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"Commander Tucker Proposes" Rating: R for sexual themes and bad language. Chapter 2 That night Trip lay in bed and felt cold and lonely and totally, totally justified. He’d just asked her to marry him! She didn’t want to! Case closed! But he was uncomfortably conscious that his completely spontaneous proposal had not exactly been well-thought-out. Did he really want to leave Enterprise? Where would they live? And in terms of romancing T’Pol, if such a thing were even possible, it was not particularly clever – or persistent. Did he really expect the notoriously cautious T’Pol to say yes the first time he brought it up? It certainly didn’t fit with the strategy he’d employed over the last month. Then again, that strategy hadn’t really worked either. What had finally worked was honestly being willing to walk away. And so here he was, honestly walking away. And there she was, huddled on the floor of her quarters. When he finally dozed off, he had vivid, painful dreams of Vulcan, of T’Pol in her wedding dress, of that trapped look on her face. It felt so real: the thin air that made him feel continually short of breath, the crushing grief in his heart as she married a man she didn’t love. But in the dream, T’Les shook her head sorrowfully and said, “You should have told her.” He woke up with his heart pounding: why hadn’t he told her? But he had. He had told her. And it hadn’t mattered. He got up and got ready for the day, going through the motions, feeling shaky and ill. But instead of going to the mess hall as he intended, his feet took him to her quarters. He buzzed before he could think better of it. After a long moment, the door slid open. She looked up at him silently and stood back, allowing him in. He noticed that she hadn’t changed her outfit. “Are you all right?” he asked gruffly. She didn’t answer, just moved back into the room and sank down onto her meditation cushion. “T’Pol?” he prompted her. He kneeled down across from her, uncomfortably remembering past attempts to get her to open up to him. He sighed, suddenly certain that this was a pointless effort. “Did you sleep at all?” It didn’t look like it. There were dark circles under her eyes. “I have been attempting to meditate,” she said. “Attempting?” “I have not been entirely successful.” Her tone was flat, even by her standards. He waited, watching, and finally said, “What are we going to do?” She looked up at him. “I believe we are operating without important information. When we return to Earth, I will speak with a Vulcan priest at the compound and try to learn more about the nature of the mating bond. Perhaps….” She stopped and took a measured breath. “Perhaps, if there were a way to remove that from this equation, we could both think more clearly about our choices.” His heart contracted. “You want to break the bond?” Her voice was very soft. “It’s clear that you feel entrapped by it.” “You weren’t listening to me. I only feel trapped if you don’t return my feelings, or you aren’t willing to do anything differently because of them. Because then I am trapped. It’s not like I can say, okay, fine, whatever, I guess I’ll move on with my life. It’s not like I can go fall in love with someone else.” T’Pol bowed her head. “I understand. If we cannot remove the bond, I will marry you…if that is still your wish.” He slumped. “You know, I always kinda hoped that when I got married, it would be to someone who could work up a little enthusiasm for the idea.” “There are significant reasons to doubt a marriage between us would be successful. There is also information about me, about us, that you should have before you take a step as important as marriage. It may materially alter your feelings in this matter.” His eyes narrowed. “What kind of information?” She said nothing, just hunkered down into a smaller space, but the spike of shame she felt was unmistakable. “T’Pol. Tell me.” “I can’t.” “Why the hell not?” “I’m not ready.” “You’re not ready, or you’re hoping you won’t have to?” “I need to prepare for my shift,” she said, and rose shakily to her feet. He rose to his feet as well. He was getting too old for this not-sleeping shit. “What could be so awful that you wouldn’t want to tell me?” “I’m sorry.” She walked into her bathroom. She was afraid, he could see that. But of what?
It was a long, tedious day of constant tweaks to the engine mix and hyper-vigilance of the related systems. Enough minor blow-outs occurred that he successfully lobbied Archer down to warp 4.2 for six hours that night. He didn’t totally trust the gamma shift to be able to handle a rapidly cascading problem and there was no way he wanted to stay up for it, nor was it fair to keep Kelby up the whole night. He tried to go to bed early, but once he was lying down all he could do was wonder what it was T’Pol was so afraid to tell him. Had she had an affair with Jon? Did she have a secret identity? Had she killed somebody? Did she have a love child somewhere? Nude pictures? A terminal illness? Multiple personalities? Was it possible she simply suffered from a pathological need to keep him continually off-balance? Finally, desperate, he threw on some clothes and went to see Phlox. “Could give me something to help me sleep?” The Denobulan eyed him thoughtfully. “It’s been awhile since you’ve asked for something like that. Is something wrong?” “Please, Doc. I just want to sleep.” “Lieutenant Reed was telling me just the other day that warm milk with a pinch of nutmeg works wonders for him. I was surprised I’d never heard of it before. Would you like to try it?” “No, I’d like that nice hypospray you used to give me after Lizzie died.” “What about some neuro-pressure with Commander T’Pol? I believe you found that quite effective.” “That’s not an option.” “I see.” Phlox grimaced. “Anything you want to talk about?” “No.” Trip bit his lip. “Well….Do you know anything about Vulcan mating bonds?” Phlox’s eyebrows went up. “Mating bonds? I’m afraid I’ve never heard the term before in association with Vulcans. Various animal species, of course, and I believe also Rigelians, yes. Hmm. Are you saying you have one?” “So I’m told.” “How interesting! Would this be the cause of your mysterious immunity to the Orion women?” “That’s the current theory.” “Oh, my. I think I’ll have to have you both in for some further evaluation, if you don’t mind. And this bond, it also prevents you from sleeping?” "No. Not per se.” He double-checked to make sure no one else was in the room. “I asked her to marry me, but she doesn’t seem too interested.” “Ah.” Phlox gave him a sympathetic wince. “You’ve got three wives. You got any advice?” “I’m afraid not. Among Denobulans it is the women who traditionally propose marriage. Though I have to admit, I did hint about the subject a fair amount to my first wife! I was afraid she’d never take me on, and I knew I wasn’t the only eligible young fellow to catch her eye. Quite a catch, that one. Ah, the heady aroma of her—” Trip quickly interrupted. “T’Pol said there’s stuff I don’t know about her.” Phlox’s face turned cautious. “Did she?” “I guess you couldn’t give me a hint even if you knew what it was.” “No, Commander, of course not,” Phlox said. “But if she’s told you that much, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you learn the rest.” He went and got his hypospray, and gave Trip a dose. He smiled supportively. “I do believe she is quite fond of you. You know the drill, now. Straight back to your quarters. No dawdling!”
Trip collapsed onto his bunk just as his door chime went off. He pulled himself reluctantly out of bed. T’Pol stood there at his door, her eyebrows drawn together. “Yes?” he said. “Are you ill?” she asked. “Phlox gave me something to help me sleep.” He aimed for his bunk and crawled back into it. “I couldn’t face another night like the last one.” “Oh,” she said, and stood uncertainly next to his bed. “Is it making you sleepy?” he guessed. “A little dizzy,” she said. “Sorry. It should wear off pretty soon.” He nuzzled into his pillow, too doped up to muster any real concern. “Could you turn the light off?” The light went off. A moment later she crawled over him and settled in next to him. He didn’t remember inviting her to do that. She was wearing nothing but her tank top and underwear, but he was too sleepy to care one way or the other. “G’night,” he mumbled. “Good night,” she whispered back. They slept.
This time he woke up with a warm Vulcan next to him, watching him. “Hey,” he said. “Good morning.” Should he kiss her? Maybe he’d better not push it. He blinked, vaguely remembering the night before. “You feeling better?” he asked. “Yes,” she said. “I believe I needed sleep as well.” “So my sleep meds made you sleepy too. This could get a little dicey. Does this mean if I drink too much you’re going to get drunk?” “I believe that I would have been more successful in blocking the effects if I had managed to meditate successfully yesterday. But I was also concerned that you were not well.” “How long have you been awake?” he asked, checking the time. His alarm would be going off in just a few minutes. “Two hours and seventeen minutes.” “You didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” “That is correct.” “Thank you,” he said, and sat up. “I appreciate that. I guess it’s kind of silly, though, you having to lie around for two hours and seventeen minutes just to keep me happy.” “It is not a particularly efficient use of my waking time,” T’Pol agreed. “I need to take a quick shower,” he said. “You gonna be here when I get back?” “I thought perhaps you would like to engage in sexual relations. You appear to be quite aroused.” He nearly choked. “Well. Um, well, normally I would say sure thing, but I don’t think we really have time for that sort of thing right now.” “Are you certain?” He could feel his face turning red. “No, but let’s pretend I am. You want to eat lunch together?” “That would be agreeable.” He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Great. See you later then, darlin’.”
What a difference it made, just knowing that he would see her at lunch. The morning raced by. “I’d like you to meet my folks,” Trip said, as soon as they were sitting together in the mess hall. T’Pol looked up from her broth, her expression guarded. “What do they know about me?” He shrugged. “Just stuff. I’ve talked about you quite a bit over the years, but I never told them we were … you know. I guess they might have guessed something was up.” He grimaced. “Or maybe not. Last time I was home they were pretty much coping with their own issues.” His dad had been drinking pretty heavily, he remembered that, still angry and morose about losing his younger daughter. Trip, just home from his nightmare visit to Vulcan, had joined in with enthusiasm, at least until his mother read him the riot act. “One self-pitying Tucker is all I can stand in this house,” she said. “I can’t control your daddy, but I don’t have to watch you go down the same road. Either sober up, or go drink someplace else.” So he’d gone to Hawaii, where he’d stopped drinking, aware that he’d need to be back to work soon and mindful that the ocean was holding far too much appeal for him, because he kept fantasizing about swimming out into the waves until he couldn’t swim any longer. Eventually he’d met up with Malcolm, who was only too happy to leave his parents’ house early. He remembered he’d tried to flirt with a few pretty women while Malcolm played the Starfleet hero poolside, but he just couldn’t maintain his interest. He spent quite a lot of time politely avoiding the hotel room they were sharing, drinking coffee and wondering what was going on sixteen light years away. Wait a minute. “We were bonded when you married Koss.” T’Pol gave him a sharp look. “Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere?” He lowered his voice. “Nobody can hear us. We were, weren’t we?” “I believe so,” T’Pol said. “Do you not remember, the night before the wedding, when we shook hands?” “I felt what you were feeling.” “Yes.” “You know, I really wanted to kill him that night. It felt very strange. Was that you?” “I don’t know,” T’Pol said. “I considered calling the challenge, of course, but I feared you would be killed.” “Killed?” “Having rivals fight to the death for you remains a valid option in the Vulcan marriage tradition.” He stared at her. “That doesn’t sound very logical.” “There is nothing particularly logical about Vulcan mating practices.” Her tone was bitter. “However, the kal-if-fee has become quite rare in modern times.” Suddenly her reservations about going into a marriage when she didn’t know the customs made more sense to him. “I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior when I went home. Drank way too much. Did you feel that?” “I don’t know,” T’Pol said. “I was attempting extended meditation on Mount Seleya, but I found it extremely difficult.” Trip snickered. “I got you drunk.” “Actually, what I most remember was an oppressive sense of hopelessness.” “That sounds about right,” he said softly. He chewed his lip for a moment. “T’Pol, when are you going to tell me what you need to tell me?” There was no mistaking that sharp spike of fear through the bond. He watched her hands grip the table until her knuckles turned white. Whatever it was, it must be very bad. “Look,” he said. “What if I promise you that it won’t change anything?” “You can’t promise that when you don’t know what it is.” “Nothing you tell me could be any worse than when I had to watch you marry Koss.” She blinked a few times, looked away. “After I talk to the priest.” “You still want to do that? What’s the point?” His voice had risen, prompting several crewmen to look their way. T’Pol lowered her voice. “We should know all our options.” “I don’t need any damned options! You’re the only one who wants options!” He stood up, seething. It seemed like she just wouldn’t be content until she’d found a way to break his heart again. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you at all,” he said, and left.
She didn’t come to him that night; he didn’t go to her. There was no contact beyond that required by their jobs the next day, or the rest of the week required to get back home. The engines kept him busy; he was going to be relieved when they arrived at the Solar system and Archer finally had to drop out of warp. At least all that speed had bought the crew a week and a half of leave. Trip made arrangements to visit his parents in Mississippi and then take them with him on a trip to his sister’s place in Ireland. The night before they were to arrive home, Archer asked him to join them for dinner, so he did. T’Pol was quiet. Trip couldn’t think of anything to say either. Archer looked between his two senior officers and sighed. “So what are you doing during your leave, Trip?” “Visiting my folks and my older sister. I promised my nephew I’d drop in at his school and answer any questions they might have four years later. Hopefully not about poop this time. How about you?” “I hope to meet up with Danica at some point, see how’s she’s holding up, but I’ll also be pretty involved in the prep for this conference.” Trip smiled politely. Archer had a passion for diplomacy that far surpassed his own. The captain had already made it clear that he expected all his senior officers to attend the opening ceremony, which meant returning to duty a day early. “What are you going to do, T’Pol?” Archer asked. “I will most likely stay at the Vulcan compound in Sausalito,” T’Pol said. “Maybe if you’ve got some free time, you could help with this conference too,” Archer said. “Perhaps,” T’Pol said, with a glance at Trip. “Sounds like a plan,” Trip said. She hadn’t actually said yes or no to meeting his parents before, and he saw no point in renewing his invitation now. Not with so much uncertainty between them. He couldn’t help thinking that she still wanted out at some level, and it was clear she didn’t trust him with the truth. Trip had begun to think the best thing would be if they could get out of it. Even if it took years, at least he’d be free of this awful dragging weight when it was over. He’d find some nice, normal human woman who had at least slightly comprehensible motives, and he’d marry her and have children and a dog and a yard and a job that never made him stay up all night, and he’d never, ever look back at all this crazy alien shit ever again. T’Pol bowed her head. Archer stopped chewing and glanced between them. “Still nothing going on I need to know about?” “Nothing going at all,” Trip said. “You planning to catch up on water polo while you’re home?” He wouldn’t look at her. He could feel her staring at him, willing him to look at her, but he wouldn’t. No, damn it, he’d just wait to hear the verdict.
He took a ground car to his parent’s home in Mississippi. He had an Andorian symphonic piece he hoped his mother would appreciate. He wasn’t fond of its brittle atonal intricacies, but she was a mathematician who liked music far more complex than he did, and Shran had said it was the most important piece of music Andoria had produced in the last two hundred years. He’d also brought a bottle of Andorian ale, after clearing it ahead of time with his mom. Apparently Dad had finally moderated his intake. He hoped this meant they were both feeling better than the last time. He rang the doorbell and waited for the onslaught. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about T’Pol surviving a Tucker welcome. The thought triggered a pang of regret so profound that he inhaled sharply. But then his mother was pulling him into her arms, his grandmother was shrieking about how tall and handsome he was, and his dad was pounding him on the back. And he smelled a pie in the oven. It was good to be home.
Dinner was fried catfish and hushpuppies with grits and broccoli. Trip ate well and tried not to reflect that T’Pol probably could have eaten everything except the fish. His grandmother looked much more fragile than the last time, he noticed, and his mother looked older and tired, too. His father was more like his old self, and peppered him with questions about the warp engine and their adventures. Trip caught up on all the family gossip and was concerned to hear that his sister and her husband were having issues. “We’ll never get that granddaughter at this rate,” his dad complained. “Are we still going to see them?” Trip asked. “Oh hell yes,” his mother said. “Got to see my grandson. If Patrick doesn’t like it, he can just take himself off to the pub.” “Like he usually does anyway,” his father muttered. “Maybe that’s just a cultural difference, Dad,” Trip said. “I think my friend Malcolm would spend every night in a bar if he could.” “Likes his beer, does he? Isn’t he your tactical officer?” “He’s no drunk. He just … likes bars.” And the kind of women you met in bars. “Patrick’s a drunk,” his dad said, definitively. Trip and his mother exchanged glances and his mother gave a little shrug: whatever. “Speaking of drunks, I brought you some Andorian ale,” Trip said. “Packs quite a wallop.” His father looked interested. “You want a glass after dinner?” “Honestly, I’d rather have a beer.” “Good,” his dad said. “Then I can save the other stuff until I can bring it out and tell people look what my son the Starfleet officer brought me from Andoria.” He grinned. “None of the old coots around here can beat that.” “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” his mother said. “Aliens are not very popular right now.” “That’s still going on?” Trip asked, concerned. “Eh, they’re just bored now that the world isn’t about to end any minute anymore,” his dad said. “No, they’re being stirred up,” his grandmother said, finally looking up from her intense focus on her food. Trip had noticed it was taking her forever to chew anything. “You mark my words, this is going to get nasty. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.” “Your grandma quit her church last month because the preacher started going on about the alien threat to humanity,” his mom said. “I always thought he was a puffed-up little yahoo, but that was the last straw,” Grandma said. “And what’s worse, those people were eating it up. I stood right up in the pew, and told him In Jesus’ day, the Samaritans were the aliens and Jesus had a thing to say about that, didn’t he? And then I walked right out of there and I haven’t darkened their door since.” “Good for you, Grandma,” Trip said. “Yeah, except now I don’t have a goddamned church,” Grandma grumbled. “I’m too old to start over in a new one. And that goddamned little weasel, if I saw him coming to bless me on my deathbed, I’d have to turn right over and die before he got there.” Trip grinned, but his mom sighed. Trip thought he had an idea why she was looking so tired. “How’s your alien friend doing, Trip?” his mother asked. “The one who got married?” “That’s been annulled, actually.” His mother’s eyebrows went up. “That was quick. What happened?” “Her mom died. Her mother was the only reason she’d gotten married in the first place.” “So what’s she doing during this leave? Does she have other family to visit?” “No,” Trip said. “She’s in California. At the Vulcan Compound.” He hoped he sounded nonchalant. “You should invite her over. It must be lonely not having any family to see.” He smiled stiffly. “Maybe next time.” |
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