The putrid scent of burning electrical components filled the shuttlepod. Sparks were everywhere and not only that, T'Pol was having difficulty blocking what had to be her mate's pain emanating from the bond. He was in considerable pain, much more so than he wanted her to believe. T'Pol scanned the charred hull of the Shuttlepod. The readings weren't promising. There was a significant amount of structural damage. It appeared to T'Pol that they were stranded.
"How bad?" Trip queried, clenching his teeth through the pain.
"I don't believe we are capable of flight." she responded, handing him the PADD.
Tucker frowned as he surveyed the damage. Structural integrity was going to be an issue with the pitting all over the hull.
"That is an understatement," Trip sighed.
T'Pol accessed her scanner covertly, quietly assessing the damage to her mate. She could discern multiple fractures in the lower extremities. Knowing he would refuse, she administered an analgesic while he was distracted as he studied the other extent of the damage. "What the hell was that for?" he snapped.
"You're in considerable pain." she retorted.
"That doesn't give you the right…."
"I am also experiencing your pain and since I lack the ability to meditate now, this was the logical solution."
Tucker sighed. "You might have warned me. For a second I thought you still cared, but, as usual, you're just looking out for yourself. That seems to be your pattern." he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.
"My pattern?" She echoed, genuinely confused.
"Forget it. We might be here awhile. What's the next course of action?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.
T'Pol considered the question. From her scans, she knew there should be no further weather disturbances. T'Pol's thoughts shifted to the dead and traumatized crew under her command. "I will need to move Crewman Ginsberg and to assist Crewman Rogers when he wakes up."
Tending to the dead wasn't something anyone relished and the Enterprise crew had more practice than any crew ever should have in the Expanse. T'Pol saw Tucker swallow hard, his eyes were unreadable. Of all the effects of dealing with the Xindi, one of her regrets was seeing how devastating it was for her counterparts to deal with death, especially the Commander. Tucker looked at his legs in defeat.
"I'm sorry I won't be much help." he said, grimly.
"It is illogical to apologize for that which you have no control over," she replied and with that, T'Pol directed her attention to Ginsburg. The crewman was barely 20 Earth years old. She retrieved the items needed to seal the gash on her head and began the grisly task of covering her with a blanket and moving her deceased form into a refrigerated compartment inside the ShuttlePod. When the Enterprise returned, they would have a service for her. Upon her return to the Shuttlepod, Trip was struck by a wall of despair and remorse that was the sum of his own feelings and those of his bond mate.
"T'Pol." His voice was soft.
After she did not meet his eyes upon hearing her name, Trip prodded again,"You need to meditate."
She inhaled, ready to snap at him, but as she turned to face him, she saw the depth of concern on his features. Gone was the anger she had seen of late.
She drew in a shaky breath. "I will meditate when the safety of the crew of this mission is stabilized, she replied and with that, she began her ministrations to the sedated Rogers. After scanning for wounds and finding none, she covered him with a blanket from the survival pack and then turned to survey the status of her bondmate. His forehead appears to be more relaxed and his breathing less labored. She surmised that the analgesic had taken effect. She turned her attention to his injured legs, readying herself for the battle she was about to face.
"We need to check for open wounds. There is a good deal of blood soaking through your uniform. Please remove it so I can disinfect and dress the wounds," she stated in a clinically detached tone.
Trip's eyes immediately widened. Coughing, he sputtered, "I'm…I'm fine. As soon as we get back to Enterprise, I'll go to see Phlox. If you can just help me up, maybe I can work on our life support systems before it gets too cold in here."
He shuddered as he remembered his time in the Shuttlepod with Malcom. As difficult as it would be to wait for rescue, at least he wouldn't be listening to T'Pol recording any farewell messages to her past lovers–especially not him, he thought bitterly.
For her part, she was prepared for his refusal. Whenever Trip needed to focus on his own health, he stubbornly deferred care, often working himself to exhaustion or at great risk to himself. This was unacceptable.
Reaffirming her resolve, she increased the firmness of her tone.
"Remove your uniform, Commander."
He glared at her, feeling the heat rise within him. He opened his mouth to protest, but she countered with "That's an order." before he could argue. She had defaulted to the familiar structure of command ever since the turbulent emotions of her relationship with threatened her control, but this only provided a tenuous facade at best.
Then T'Pol felt it, anger and embarrassment but also something else both intense and repressed. She was not prepared for emotional assault to her defenses and she reeled backwards, steadying herself after a brief moment.
The expression on Trip's face shifted and he furrowed his brow and scanned the face of the Vulcan in front of him, but she had slipped her mask back on before he could find the answers he was looking for. He inhaled and fixed his eyes on hers with resolve.
"Fine. I'll let you check my wounds if you promise to meditate afterwards. That's the deal."
She considered what he had said and saw no logical reason to protest. She nodded.
He tried to lift the bottom of his pants up to expose his knees, but the swelling was too intense and he couldn't get his legs to cooperate. Wordlessly, T'Pol approached him and knelt before him. She reached for his belt buckle.
"Wh-What are you doing?" he choked out.
"What needs to be done. You are injured and you need assistance."
She continued to work the garment down lower, eventually having to tear it to get it past his swollen limbs and he knew she was right. As she worked, her hands brushed over his thighs and he felt the hair on his legs begin to stand at attention. He prayed that the rest of his body wouldn't betray him any further.
After what felt like an eternity, his torn pants were discarded and T'Pol began dressing his wound. Thankfully, the burning sting of the disinfectant was enough to overpower any other sensations that might be problematic with her touching him dangerously close to certain areas.
"T'Pol. I-". He began, but the words failed him. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for his emotional assault earlier but he felt the topic was loaded and probably would not be appreciated. This was hardly the time and place, but he wondered when and where would be. There never seemed to be the right time.
She attempted to slide what remained of his pants over his legs, but the swelling was again too intense. He shivered. The temperature was dropping in the small craft, but that was hardly the reason for his body's response and he knew it.
"It appears you will not be able to dress until the swelling reduces."
She forced herself to look away from him, not knowing if the awkward embarrassment she felt was entirely emanating from her bondmate. It was illogical for either one of them to feel embarrassed. Firstly, exposing the lower half of his body was necessary for treatment and secondly, she had already seen him in his underwear and out of it. Flashes of the blue hue of the decon chamber, their neuropressure sessions, and a certain other night coursed through her mind. Desire was quickly replaced by shame. She chastised herself internally. Her actions where Trip had been concerned were appalling by Vulcan standards.
Realizing her implication, Trip's eyes widened.
"So I'm just supposed to sit here in my underwear?" he asked in disbelief. She couldn't be serious.
She forced herself to turn to look at him and found her eyes scanning the whole of him. She drew in a breath and made a strong effort to appear nonplussed at least outwardly.
"It is illogical to be embarrassed of that which we have already seen many times. I will attempt to find another blanket in the storage compartment." She turned, eager to disengage from this awkward moment.
She quickly took a mental inventory of the storage compartment. There were no additional blankets, but she was surprised when she saw a spare energy cell and what appeared to be a space heater, a bottle of scotch whiskey, and a small pouch, all of which were not standard items on the supply list for the Shuttlepod. She lifted the items and returned.
"This appears to be a space heater," she regarded him quizzically.
Trip tried to suppress a smile. "The last time I was stranded in a Shuttlepod, I added a few items that I wished Malcolm and I had then.
"Hand me those. As long as my hands are still working, I can at least set that up so we don't freeze."
She set down the items in front of him, both grateful that giving him this task seemed to shift the attention off of the fact she was in close proximity with a half-dressed Trip Tucker.
As he worked swiftly on getting the heater running, T'Pol opened the small pouch. A pair of rubber ear plugs fell into her open palm. He glanced over at her, noticing the ear plugs.
"Ear plugs?" She queried.
Trip smirked as he connected the power cell to the heater.
"After being stranded with Malcom for so long and nearly freezing to death, I made sure I put a few extra things in there I thought would come in handy if anyone was ever in that situation again. Freezing to death would have been better than that.'
He could see her elegant eyebrow raise and the corner of her beautiful mouth raise slightly. God, she was stunning. This was not helping. He took a deep breath and willed himself to focus on his task, grateful for the organized nest of red and blue wires. Electrical poles and circuitry were predictable and reliable. He could fix any problems that arose with them easily. His relationship with T'Pol was a whole different story. If she would just talk to him, openly and honestly, he felt they at least could return to being friends. He knew he didn't have a shot at anything more. She had made that clear with her avoidance, but he missed her deeply. He accepted that ever since he returned from Columbia, he needed her in his life, whatever form that might take. With a few more careful adjustments, the heater whirred to life.
She gingerly lifted the unit to a central location in the Shuttlepod. It was already warming up the space. She turned to face him.
"I will begin cataloging my scans from earlier," she said and she turned to go sit on the chair in the front of the craft. She felt his strong hand firmly encircle her wrist.
"The hell you will. Quid pro quo. It's your turn. Meditate."
She opened her mouth to protest but he had narrowed his eyes and she knew it would be futile to resist. Further, she knew he was right. Her control was slipping. Her Trellium usage had made meditation even more critical. Before she could respond, he pulled her down to sit beside him. Letting go of her wrist, he activated a switch on the heater. A gentle, flickering amber LED glowed at the top of it.
"It's not a candle, but it should do," he said tenderly.
The suddenness of his physical contact with her followed by the absence of it had left her undone. Her hands began to tremor and she drew in a ragged breath, hoping he would not notice. Despite his bedraggled appearance, he was as attractive to her as he'd ever been
Even more than that she knew one simple truth, he was hers. She felt his soft hands cover hers tentatively and gently.
"T'Pol. Are you alright?" he asked softly.
She considered her usual defensive tactics of deflecting him, but she knew she could not dismiss the deep regard he held for her in his fixed gaze. The raw emotions overwhelmed her and she made a decision.
"Would you meditate with me?" She asked in a barely audible voice.