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"Commander Tucker Proposes" Rating: R for sexual themes and bad language. Chapter 4 He followed T’Pol to her guest quarters, which had already taken on her distinctive smell. He breathed in deeply, savoring it. Maybe it was the candle wax, maybe it was the soap she used, maybe it was just her. He sat down on the desk chair and tried to force himself to focus seriously on this important conversation – one he didn’t expect to go well – while his body, oblivious, was just happy to be there, inhaling eau de T’Pol. He shook his head and forced himself to focus. “So. We have some things to discuss,” he said. She sat down in the center of her bunk, posture straight, hands on her legs, a study in perpendicular angles. “It may interest you to know that we are not the only human/Vulcan pairing the priest has encountered,” she said. “He knows of three others, two of which resulted in marriage.” “Oh,” Trip said, pleasantly surprised. “That’s good to know.” T’Pol did not relax her posture. “He suggested that such unions are plagued by certain unavoidable obstacles. He considers only one of the relationships to have been successful, and it is between a somewhat older Vulcan male and a human female. In that case, their mutual life spans and … other concerns … are better synchronized than ours would be.” “I see.” He sighed. He knew he was not such a great match for her in the longevity department. “And did those couples have mating bonds too?” “He didn’t say,” T’Pol said. “I believe he assumes that some kind of bond inevitably occurs in any serious Vulcan relationship. But he did tell me that he believes the phenomenon varies significantly from couple to couple.” “And he thinks it could just fade away?” “He believes it might be possible, especially if both parties desire it. He said that that if we decide that is what we want to do, we should avoid all physical contact and maintain as much emotional and physical distance from the other as can safely be accomplished. He also suggested that a period of two to three years should be sufficient to determine whether this approach will be successful; that is how long it takes most Vulcans to fully recover from the death of a spouse.” T’Pol surveyed the floor, still frowning. “He also said that some bonds are so strong that the loss of the spouse proves fatal. He did not think a bond that strong could ever be broken, but he also doubted that any couple with a bond that strong would ever undertake to break it.” “That sounds logical,” Trip said, and sighed. In the other timeline, on that other Enterprise, T’Pol had survived for many years after his death. And that was after at least fourteen or more years of marriage. So apparently their bond was not as profound as all that. Which was depressing, but also a good thing, considering how much longer she was likely to live. He said, “So he thinks we could try to let this thing die a natural death, and we’d know by the end of three years if we’d succeeded, or were never going to succeed.” She nodded. He waved his hand in the air. “And if we discover that the thing just won’t die, then will you marry me?” She blinked. “There’s more.” “Okay,” Trip said. “Let’s hear it.” T’Pol looked down. She took a breath. She looked up at him. She hopped to her feet and went to the window, which overlooked the grounds. She said, “It is possible that within that period of time, I could enter … I could suffer from…” She stopped and started over again. “You already know that Vulcans are driven to have sex every seven years.” Trip grimaced. “No, I know they have sex every seven years. The ‘driven to’ part is something new. What are you saying, that every seven years you go into heat or something?” She paced back and forth in front of the window. “Essentially. It is called the pon farr. It causes a deeply embarrassing loss of control. It’s part of the reason we are betrothed so young: so that our mates will be ready to enter the pon farr with us when it is time. I am reaching the age where this becomes a possibility.” “But you don’t know exactly when.” “Correct.” “So if this happens to you while we are still bonded…” “I will require your help as my mate. The result of an unresolved pon farr is almost always death.” Death? Trip stared at her. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. So I guess this means I’d need to serve close enough to you to be available just in case.” He sighed. “In which case, why not just go ahead and get married? Because if I end up helping you out with that, I’m going to be really, really annoyed if you want to start the clock over.” “I don’t think there would be any point in starting the clock over, as you put it. It’s very possible, however, that my pon farr will never occur.” “So then we could just have plain old regular sex same as usual. I can live with that.” “You don’t understand, Trip. It might not happen because you’re not Vulcan. Usually it is the male’s pon farr that triggers the female’s. For the same reason, it is unlikely we could ever have a child successfully.” “You know that’s not true. The technique just hasn’t quite been invented yet.” “And it may never be invented. We are not trapped in the past for 100 years with nothing else to do. But even if we could have children, should we? They would be neither Vulcan nor human. Where would we raise them, and how? What reproductive options would they have?” “Okay, I understand. It’s a complicated issue. Maybe we’d decide we shouldn’t have any. I’m still up for it.” “That is not the only complication.” Trip swallowed. This was going to be it, whatever it was. He could tell by the way her fear was spiking to new levels. “T’Pol, nothing you tell me is going to change the way I feel.” She turned back to the window. She stiffened, her fists held at her sides. “In the Expanse, after my exposure on the Seleya, I began to inject Trellium-D into my bloodstream on a regular basis over a period of several months. This addiction caused permanent damage to my synaptic pathways, resulting in a significant loss of emotional control.” Trip sat there, trying to make sense of what she’d said. Finally, he said, “Huh?” She left the window and went to the bunk, where she sat down stiffly. “I was addicted to the Trellium-D until after Azati Prime, when I sought treatment from Dr. Phlox.” She swallowed and finally looked at him directly. “The Trellium-D allowed me to feel emotions in a way I’d never experienced before, and I did not think the small amounts I was using would harm me. But when my supply was cut off, I realized that it was in fact a dangerous addiction that was affecting my performance and damaging my self-control.” He squinted, remembering back. Her behavior had sometimes been strange and even alarming in the Expanse, he remembered that. “You injected a substance that had nearly killed you into your bloodstream, and you didn’t think it would do you any harm?” She nodded, her face pale, her eyes on him. He calculated. “So when we…?” Oh. Oh. “So without that drug messing you up, you never would have….” He blinked and forced himself to breathe. It felt as his chest was being squeezed by a giant cold hand. No, of course not. She never would have dropped that robe in a million years. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Trip, I have you always found you compelling. I had long considered you a friend. I probably would have experienced some irrational jealousy about your relationship with Corporal Cole even without the Trellium-D. But I never would have considered attempting an intimate relationship with you. I would have understood very well that there was no logic in it.” He got up to the window and stared out of it with unseeing eyes. “So this whole thing is really just a big, Trellium-D-induced fuck-up.” “I was inexcusably weak,” she said. “I am sorry.” He sighed, suddenly exhausted. “You got high on emotion,” he said, trying to understand. “I’m honestly surprised you found that so appealing.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Vulcan mental discipline keeps the world and everyone in it at a rational, analytical distance. This allows logic to maintain control over the inherent pleasures of belonging to a group, or indulging one’s curiosity, or feeling affection and desire. With that customary distance stripped away, life seemed much more vivid, much more immediate. The pleasures were greatly intensified. The negative emotions were, too – but they carried with them a level of excitement and stimulation I had never experienced before. For the first time I felt as if I truly understood my shipmates. For the first time I felt truly part of the crew.” He listened, trying to understand. “And it was a great pleasure simply being able to touch you, during our neuro-pressure sessions. I began to crave those times together. I felt that I was seeing a side of you I’d never seen before. Then you were injured.” She stopped and looked at him. “Watching Sim was like watching you come back from the dead and live out the essence of your being in just a few short days. You are such a beautiful man, Trip. In the state I was in then, I could not help but fall in love with you.” He frowned, deeply touched by her admission but also very confused. For one thing, he was still jealous of Sim, even if Sim was technically him. He could never help feeling that Sim had somehow been a nicer guy than he was. “But now?” he said. “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” she said. “And my emotional control has been permanently impaired. But I have not lost all logic and discipline. I cannot ignore inconvenient truths. I don’t believe that a marriage between us has much chance of success. I doubt that our sincere mutual affection will be enough to compensate for the many sacrifices involved, from both of us.” She swallowed. “However, I recognize that this bond places an unfair burden on you. It is entirely my fault that you are in this situation. So if you still wish it, knowing what you know now, then I will marry you.” Trip stood there, watching her, feeling bewildered. How had she managed to say no and yes at the same time? How could she break his heart in a brand new way and profess her love for him in the space of ten minutes? It was too much to take in. “I think I need some time to think about all this,” he said. She nodded. “Of course.” Trip nodded dazedly at her. He walked out and took the first exit to the outdoors he could find. He needed air.
He headed toward the water instinctively, taking the path down to Crissy Field, trudging across the sand to where the waves were washing in. The wind was cold, but the sun was bright, and the beach was busy with families dressed in typical San Francisco layers. He walked fast on the wet sand, trying to warm up. He knew he should be thinking rationally about everything T’Pol had told him, but it was as if his brain simply refused to focus on the problem at hand. He watched his feet, he looked across the water, he breathed in and out, he wondered how he was supposed to get through the night. He wished he had an engine to fix, a technical problem of any kind. Maybe he should take a shuttle up to Enterprise. Of course he’d have to take another one right down the next morning for the damned conference. Scenes began to play in his mind: Neuro-pressure sessions with T’Pol. The lowered lighting, those candles, that smell. Those silk pajamas. The uncustomary softness of her voice. Her near-hysteria when Archer went missing at Azati Prime. The maddening mixed signals she’d given him ever since their first sexual encounter. Eventually he got the end of the beach and turned around. Changing direction took the cold wind out of his face and he sighed, relaxing a bit. At least she’d said she loved him. That was something. His communicator buzzed. “Tucker,” he said. Archer’s voice was nearly carried away by the wind. “Trip! I heard you’re in town.” “Yes sir. I stopped by the hall earlier, but you were busy.” “Yeah, I know. There’s an opening reception for the delegates tonight at the Officer’s Club. I’m trying to round up as many people as I can for that. We want to make sure all the delegates feel welcome.” Trip scowled. “I’m not sure I’d be very good company tonight, sir.” “What’s wrong?” “Nothing I can explain right now.” “It would mean a lot to me, Trip. Malcolm is making it, and Hoshi and T’Pol. But Hoshi’s the only one I trust to really schmooze anybody. We need your Southern charm. You know how important this coalition could be to us.” Trip sighed. “In uniform?” “Of course. It starts at seven. See you then.”
Trip walked into an Officer’s Club that was all tricked out for a festive opening reception and knew without looking that she was there. Yes, over there, talking to Soval, looking very serious. She glanced his way, then turned back to her conversation. He stood up straighter, took a deep breath, and picked out a clump of delegates to introduce himself to. Might as well get to work. Half an hour later he was discussing local venues for rhythm and blues with a cluster of Andorian diplomats when Captain Archer came up and clapped him on the back. “Glad you could make it, Trip. Think I could grab you for a moment?” Trip walked away with him. “What’s up, Cap’n?” Archer leaned in and lowered his voice. “There’s been a bomb threat called in. We don’t think it’s legitimate, we suspect it’s just an attempt to disrupt the proceedings, but we can’t be one hundred percent sure. Samuels is about to announce a surprise moonlight cruise of the bay. We need to escort the delegates down to the Presidio dock as quickly as possible.” “These people aren’t dressed for going out on the water, Cap’n,” Trip said. “How long do we have?” “Forty-five minutes. Plenty of time. And it’s an enclosed boat. I know, Trip, it’s not the ideal situation. But we really don’t want to have to start this conference with a bomb scare.” Trip frowned. “Starting it off by hiding a bomb scare might be even worse.” Archer clearly wasn’t interested in a debate. “You’re in charge of the Andorians. T’Pol has the Vulcans. I’ve got the Tellarites. Hoshi has the Rigelians, Malcolm the Coridanites. Let’s just get it done, okay?”
An hour later, Trip was pacing the deserted lower deck of a spacious tour boat, surreptitiously scanning for any approaching vessels. No bomb had exploded back at the Officer’s Club, but a suspiciously-timed demonstration had erupted just outside Starfleet grounds, near the hotel where most of the delegates were staying. The delegates, of course, were on the boat, eating and listening to music, but they had friends and family, they had consulate staff and intelligence officers. They would hear the news soon enough, if they hadn’t already. He knew without looking when she came in behind him. He turned and smiled a weary greeting at her. “Anyone seasick yet?” “Thankfully not,” T’Pol said. “Many of the delegates are not used to the sensation of being at sea.” “This is actually just a bay,” he said. “And there’s not much of a swell tonight. I haven’t seen anything that looks like a potential threat.” “The captain wanted me to tell you that Starfleet has set up a security perimeter. You’re free to rejoin the festivities.” “Lucky me.” He looked out at the wall of windows that faced the bow. Their yellowed reflections looked back at him. She’d left a good three meters between them. It looked further away than it felt. “Can I ask you a question?” he said. “Of course.” “If you took away any feeling of obligation or responsibility toward me for what’s happened, if you purely considered your own preferences, would you want to marry me?” “It’s not that I find the idea unappealing. I just can’t see it working.” “What if I we weren’t in a rush about it? What if we agreed to spend another year or two on Enterprise, keep this low-key, explore our options?” “Do you truly wish to do that, with the knowledge that I may never consider marriage a viable option? Would you not resent being left ‘on the hook,’ as you put it? ” “I’m on the hook anyway, aren’t I, with this pon farr thing floating out there?” She looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. “I believe the chance of that actually occurring is rather small.” Trip sighed. “Okay then. Suppose we do call it off. We’ve done that before. What if I keep popping into your white space? It’s not like I have any control over that. Wouldn’t that mess up the whole attempt?” “The priest taught me some techniques I can use in my meditation that should help. He said that those involuntary encounters are a symptom of ambivalence and unfinished business.” “T’Pol, there’s no way I could ever walk away from you without feeling ambivalent.” “I was referring to my own ambivalence. I am the source of those … intrusions. I believe I can prevent that from becoming an ongoing problem.” “And that’s what you’d honestly prefer to do.” She nodded. Trip turned away from her and leaned forward until his forehead was against the cool plexiglass of the window. It intensified the low thrum of the tour boat’s engine, the slight bounce as the bow cut across the waves. “Well,” he said. “I have no desire to force you into a marriage you think is doomed to fail. So I guess we’d better just call it a day.” The surge of grief from her surprised him. He turned around, ready to accuse her of being full of shit, but the open distress on her face made him tone it down. “You don’t want this anymore than I do,” he said. “I never said this would be easy – for either of us. But I do believe it is for the best.” Her fucking logic again. He was suddenly quite certain that she was wrong, that this was never going to work, and all it would mean was three years of needless suffering on both their parts. But he was damned if he was going to try to drag her into something this important. “Fine.” He sighed. “Three years. Solar years, right? So I guess we’ll shake hands on January 18, 2158, and see if anything happens. And in the meantime, no touching? What else did he say? As much distance as we can safely manage?” She nodded miserably and backed up a step, her eyes fixed on him. He was reminded of the day she’d married Koss. Just as he had that day, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t just pick her up and carry her off over his shoulder, and never mind what she claimed she wanted. Of course, that wouldn’t work on a boat in the middle of San Francisco Bay any better than it would have worked at T’Pol’s mother’s house on Vulcan. Funny how there was a crowd of aliens he was required to play nice with in both situations. “Well, Commander,” he said. “I’m sure you’re needed upstairs. I think I’ll stay down here awhile longer. I’m not exactly in the mood to socialize right now.” She turned and left. He sat right down on the deck, suddenly exhausted. It was over. Again. Just as he’d expected. Now if he could just get his heart to believe it. |
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