“The Letter" – Part I
Rating: PG-13 (for adult language)
Author's Note: Pretty much everyone else is making a real hopeless romantic type deal out of this letter that was mentioned but was never actually in "The Good That Men Do", and I can't help but think that a real guy who's been dumped this many times by the same woman might not be so… wistful. I also haven't read the book yet, but my beta Rigil Kent has, so any inaccuracies are all his fault. He also gave me the idea to write this letter too, so … yeah, all his fault.
Trip plopped down in the chair that was next to the small desk in his modest quarters, his body and mind exhausted from the work that he had once again thrown himself into. He knew that it was a bad habit, that eventually his body would pay the price for this pattern of behavior, but right now he really didn't care. He had to do something, anything, to get his mind off of the pain he was feeling, and the person that was causing it. T'Pol.
So far, he hadn't been successful. No matter how hard he worked, no matter what task he tried to occupy his mind with, his thoughts kept drifting back to the beautiful Vulcan woman he'd given his heart to, only to have her break it, not once, not twice, but three times. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't forget about how she'd made him feel when they were together. How he'd felt when he finally realized that he was in love with her. The last time they'd gotten back together, he'd finally gotten her to admit her feelings for him, and though things had been a bit rocky at first, he'd hoped that they could finally make it work. But then there had been Elizabeth, and she had changed everything.
Trip fought back tears as he pulled his boots off, the image of his daughter haunting his vision. He'd hardly gotten a chance to see her before she'd died. She might not have been of his making, but he still accepted her as her own. And that had been the beginning of the end.
He kicked his boots under the desk. He was angry, and frustrated, and he had to get what he was thinking out of his head and onto something tangible, so he had at least a matchstick's chance in hell of getting to sleep tonight. He looked through the shelf over his desk, searching for something physical to write on. Typing something into the computer, or a padd, just wouldn't do. He pulled a binder from the shelf, one of the many technical manuals written for Enterprise. He flipped it open, and tore out the blank page that was just inside the cover. He didn't even bother to shelve the binder again, simply tossing it absently aside on his desk while he searched for a pen.
For several minutes, Trip simply stared at the blank page. He felt the tears falling silently down his cheeks, absently noting them as they fell on the desk, centimeters away from the sheet of paper. Finally, he brought his hand up, and put pen to paper.
He sat back, and carefully folded the letter in on itself. As an afterthought, he wrote T'Pol's name on it, just in case he ever did decide to give it to her. Finished, he gave it an angry push with his fingertips, watching with an odd sense of satisfaction as the flimsy material slid to the back of his desk.
He felt fatigue wash over him. Stripping the remainder of his uniform off, he clumsily made his way to bed and flopped down. He couldn't quite close his eyes, though, and simply stared at the ceiling. As tired as he was, he knew he wasn't going to get any sleep. His thoughts drifted to the one friend he had left on board that he knew he could always count on.
Wonder if Malcolm's still up. I could sure go for a drink.
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