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"The Forgotten Time"
Rating: R Chapter 6
Trip smiled and reached up to touch her face. “Mornin’.” T’Pol smiled back to enjoy his look of surprise, before replying, “Good morning.” “Been awake long?” Trip asked, yawning. “Yes,” T’Pol replied. “I’m used to sleeping alone, in a bed. Not next to a restless human on the floor of a shuttlecraft. However, I did get to watch a number of very remarkable dreams you were having.” Trip started for an instant, but then could feel her mirth in his own mind. She was kidding. It was going to take awhile to get used to this new T’Pol. He grinned and snuggled up closer to her under the blankets. It was a bit chilly and he couldn’t remember where exactly he had flung his uniform the night before. The heated memory of last night flooded both of their minds for an instant, leaving them breathless and staring intently into one another’s eyes. T’Pol traced her fingers along the line of Trip’s jaw, his unshaven beard rough and stubbly under her hands. She shivered suddenly, and Trip tugged the blankets up closer around her shoulders and gathering her hands in his, kissed her fingers. They stayed on the floor a few minutes longer, gazing into each other’s eyes and listening to each other’s thoughts. Mostly an ecstatic jumble on both sides, punctuated by the giddy realization of their new relationship. Again and again, Trip had to mentally pinch himself as reassurance that this wasn’t some fantastic dream, that T’Pol — yes, T’Pol — was lying here next to him, a silly grin on her face, and loud joyful exuberant emotions sprinting through her heart…because of him. Emotions he could hear for himself, thanks to her amazing telepathic abilities. T’Pol had spent the night in a state of delighted turmoil. Watching the mind of the man she had pushed away so many times, T’Pol experienced Trip’s own overflowing gladness, mixed with disbelief at his luck, and a fast-budding adoration for her that was approaching worship. Slightly staggered at the joyful double onslaught of their sheer unfiltered emotion, T’Pol leaned forward to whisper cheekily into Trip’s ear. “Be careful, Commander, I believe you are putting me ‘on a pedestal’.” Her hot breath against his ear sent shivers down Trip’s spine, and he smiled as he replied quietly, “You’ve been up there a long time already.” T’Pol’s smile faded abruptly, and heeding the sudden silent shout from both their minds, she fastened her mouth onto his and kissed him impetuously. Blankets were tossed aside, the cool cabin air forgotten completely, and they lost track of time once again. *** Trip had been in love before, but he had never been plunged into it so thoroughly or rapidly as he was now. He leaned against the wall, letting the hot water pour onto his shoulders, eyes closed, grinning from ear to ear. There being room for only one in the tiny shower stall onboard the shuttle, T’Pol had bathed first and gone up front to check on their flight progress. A good thing too. They couldn’t keep their hands off one another for more than ten seconds if they were anywhere near each other. Even before the meld had scattered the last remnants of their misguided reservations toward one another, Trip had harbored a pretty heavy attachment toward the ship’s resident Vulcan. Uncertain as to T’Pol’s true feelings, uncertain if she really even had feelings the way human women did, Trip had always felt stumped when he tried to resolve his emotions regarding his enigmatic friend. Now all at once, there was no question in his mind: he was altogether head-over-heels besotted. And though the night they had just shared was more passionate than he’d ever imagined possible, there was also a profound, rock-solid connection that ran just beneath the all-consuming physical ardor that had whipped their senses into such fulfillment. Undoubtedly the work of the mind-meld, Trip felt he had known his logically gentle, unpredictably fiery lover since before he could remember. T’Pol’s memory of her older self flickered in his own mind as he grasped a sudden certainty: he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without her. *** Up front, T’Pol was dimly aware of Trip’s elated revelations, but she was distracted by the force of her own newfound emotions. She had spent most of the night and the early hours of the morning in a deliriously joyful fog. And this was love. Having spent over sixty years reining in her every impulse, she was breaking free all at once and diving unflinchingly into this new set of experiences. She felt so strongly for Trip, it hurt her chest simply thinking about it. How could she have waited so long before trusting him? Now there was no uncertainty at all in her mind. She loved him. And he loved her back so much it rendered her nearly speechless in the face of it. She didn’t care anymore about the censure of her people. They had no idea. They had spent so long burying their emotions in the fear of letting their rage get the better of them, they had forgotten, or never known, the joy she was feeling now. And tradition alone simply wasn’t a good enough reason for her. It never had been. She couldn’t believe that only two short years ago, she had been prepared to leave Enterprise — to leave Trip! — to marry Koss… a man she disliked at the best of times. All for what? Custom? She shuddered at the thought, and on some level marveled at how easily she had just shrugged off more than half a century of training. But the memory of the spotless, pure, and brilliant sunbeams of newfound love she had shared with Trip erased any ripples of doubt, and the link to his practiced mind was easing her introduction to emotions. Coming up from the rear of the shuttle, Trip flopped down next to her in the other seat. The fresh damp scent of soap drifted pleasingly past her sensitive nostrils. Trip leaned back in his seat and smiled at her. T’Pol returned Trip’s gaze for a long moment and then brought up her most recent sensor readings. “We are eleven point three hours away from Earth. When we arrive, it will be 0600 Pacific Time. How do you think we should best confront your counterpart?” Trip gave the matter some thought before replying. “I think it would be best if you approached him first. That way the shock of seeing his double is lessened. If I wasn’t prepared, I’d probably just think I was Silik or something.” T’Pol nodded assent. “A logical choice.” “I’m usually up pretty early in the morning,” Trip added, “Maybe we can get this thing sorted out quickly… have a few hours to look around San Francisco.” T’Pol nodded assent. “Normally, I would discourage any unnecessary dealings with a future timeline, but as Daniels is modifying our memories, I suppose it is a moot point.” Trip suddenly cocked his head as a stray thought of T’Pol’s snagged his attention. “Tomorrow’s your birthday.” T’Pol seemed caught slightly off guard. “Yes,” she replied, sipping her tea. “It is.” Trip grinned. “Well, happy birthday!” He noticed her discomfiture and added in a mock undertone, “I won’t tell anyone.” “Thank you,” T’Pol replied dryly. “So what do Vulcans do to celebrate?” T’Pol considered this for a moment. “Nothing. The anniversary of our birth is simply a time for personal reflection. It is a very private occasion.” But Trip could sense her interest in the question. Wondering how humans normally celebrated the day of their birth. He let her see into his own memories of his birthdays, most spent with family, some alone at university, and an early memory of winning a pin the tail on the donkey game at his fourth birthday party and his mother giving the prize of an action figure to the boy in second place, since Trip was already getting birthday presents. He had a tantrum and was sent to his room. “I don’t understand why you were so distraught that day,” T’Pol said after a minute. “Oh, well, you know. I was just all keyed up ‘cause it was my birthday, I guess.” Trip chuckled at the memory. T’Pol focused on a reminiscence of herself and her mother attending a lecture at the museum of natural history near their home on Vulcan. Tiny and attentive, the child-T’Pol’s spine was straight and her eyes only wavered from the speaker to glance down at the notes she held in her elven hands. —How old are you here? Trip asked incredulously after examining the scene for a moment. T’Pol answered back silently, —You look about three. —The Vulcan ageing process doesn’t slow down significantly in comparison to humans until almost age thirty. However, Vulcan children still appear to be physically a few years behind human children of a similar age. —What was the lecture on? —The lifecycle of the Vulcan silverbeetle. Trip laughed and spoke aloud. “Always the scientist, huh?” T’Pol grinned back. “What about you? You made your father take you to the Houston Space Center repeatedly as a child. There was that one engineer there…Frank. You badgered him every chance you could with questions.” “Hey,” Trip said with mock severity, “Quit going through my memories.” T’Pol leaned back in her seat, still smiling, and reached for Trip’s hand. Their mental connection was stronger when they were touching. For a moment, neither spoke. Closing her eyes, T’Pol savored the emotions shining around the two of them. Trip had also closed his eyes and was marveling at the strength and intensity of the shared thoughts. As if each was amplifying the other’s feelings and giving them back tenfold. “I kinda know how Sim felt,” Trip said quietly into the silence of the shuttlecraft speeding its way towards Earth. “Only I can’t tell which of these feelings are mine and which are yours.” T’Pol opened her eyes to his contented face and felt her heart press painfully and happily for a second before she closed her eyes again and answered him in a calm blissful voice. “Me neither.” Trip squeezed her hand as he considered her face. Emotion lit it up, set her normally smoldering eyes sparking with energy, as she wore her newfound heart appealingly on her sleeve. So different from the T’Pol he knew on Enterprise. On Enterprise. A sudden sick realization poured over Trip like so much cold water. T’Pol gasped with surprise and flicked her eyes open to meet Trip’s gray face. “What is the matter?” “T’Pol… what’re we gonna do…after Daniels…?” he let the import of his fear carry across the space between their minds. T’Pol frowned. Dread tugged sharply at the corners of her brain as she considered for the first time since last night the true nature of their situation. Her mind kicked illogically as she searched in vain for a way out of the problem. Her troubled eyes fixed on Trip’s. “Why didn’t we consider this before?” He shrugged helplessly. “We can’t help the way we feel about one another.” After a moment, T’Pol spoke in an aggrieved voice: “I don’t want to lose you. We’re going to go back to Enterprise and forget any of this ever happened…” At her words, a stray memory surfaced in Trip’s mind. He and T’Pol were sitting in the mess hall discussing their sexual “experiment”. …In fact, we should probably just forget it ever happened… A tear welled in the corner of one of T’Pol’s wide eyes. “I don’t want to forget this,” she said determinedly. Trip pulled her closer, kissed her once and leaned his forehead into hers. “We’ll think of something.” *** They spent the rest of the hours of the voyage preparing for their arrival on Earth and spending time together talking, or simply enjoying each other’s presence. While somewhat subdued over their delayed realization that their new relationship was slated to be erased in two days, they tried to push that information away and focus on the time they had together. Always attracted to one another, they were finally indulging the impulses that they had denied themselves for the past three years. And even though they knew full well that their feelings could be gone day after tomorrow, neither could help the giddy feeling that gripped them each time either realized anew their good fortune. As the glistening blue orb of Earth swelled into view, Trip felt a fresh pang of relief/anguish at the fact that the planet was still there…and his sister was not. He shook the feeling off and concentrated on making sure nobody was paying any attention to their small craft as he gently sailed down into the atmosphere over North America. He and T’Pol had already selected a remote location in the nearby desert to leave the shuttle. Assuming its cloak would work while grounded, they weren’t too concerned with accidental discovery. The early morning sun shot over the bare ridges of the scrubby Californian terrain and warmed Trip’s suddenly homesick heart. He knew this wasn’t his timeframe or state, but it was still home: Earth. He expertly lined the craft up, lowered it onto a flat stone plateau next to several large boulders, and powered down. T’Pol had gathered their things into a pile near the hatch and was adjusting her outfit, a non-descript pair of pants and a jacket with a hood that she could pull up to hide her face in shadow. Gathering his things, Trip nodded to T’Pol who opened the hatch. The fresh, cold morning air washed into their lungs, dispelling the dry recycled oxygen mix they had been breathing for the past three days. It had the same invigorating effect on both of them. They spent a few moments just breathing and enjoying the early-morning birdsong. Eventually they got underway, relying on a map and tracker to ascertain their direction. After walking for an hour, they approached the edge of the city. A public transit station entrance was nearby and they descended the steps into the chill subterranean platform. T’Pol tugged her hood up and mentally suggested Trip do the same. We do exist in this timeline. It could become awkward if someone mistakes us for our alternate selves. Trip agreed. A homeless man shambled past with a cart of belongings. His eyes beetled suspiciously at Trip and T’Pol from beneath his wiry white brows, and he muttered to himself as he passed, mouth only visible as a stained opening in his matted beard. T’Pol’s nostrils flared inconspicuously as she endured the seamy odor that wafted in the man’s wake. She waited till he was well out of earshot before asking Trip quietly, “Why is that man so destitute? I thought Earth’s social programs had done away with poverty.” Trip sighed resignedly as he watched the man’s bulky form retreating in the distance. “Y’can lead a horse to water, but y’can’t make ‘im drink. The programs are there. It’s just some folks are stubborn and they don’t want to take advantage of ‘em. They’ve got a right to the choice, I guess.” T’Pol looked nonplussed, but said nothing more as their train was approaching. It slid silently to a halt and the doors opened. They took seats by the door on the nearly empty train. This far out of the city center, few people were traveling so early on a Friday morning. Daniels had given them the address of the future Trip’s apartment in San Francisco. It was near Starfleet Headquarters by the water. Trip and T’Pol emerged from the subway three blocks away from their destination. They tried to avoid eye contact with the people milling about on the sidewalks, and made their way toward the line of buildings along the water. —It’s 0730. Do you think the other Trip will be at home? Trip glanced sideways at T’Pol, who gave no outward sign she had just asked a question. He answered back. —I don’t really know, but I think that’s the best place to start. Hopefully we’ll catch him before he goes out for the day… Trip broke off as T’Pol stopped and gripped his arm. They were walking along the paved causeway that lined the waterfront. Trip’s building was ahead on their right, and a decorative rope fence edged the side of the path that was next to the water. Just behind them boats bobbed on the quiet surface, moored at a small dock. T’Pol’s eyes were trained on a lone figure that was standing about fifty meters ahead. His head was tipped back, hands deep in his pockets as he stared out across the water to the early horizon. Next to T’Pol, Trip swallowed. The profile was unmistakably his own. She looked up to meet his eyes once before starting forward alone as planned, to meet his counterpart. As she approached, the other Trip turned. T’Pol pushed her hood back and composed her face to begin an introduction. But the words died in her throat as she met the eyes of the man in front of her. His face was eerily identical to Trip’s, yet it had more lines—more wear—on it than could be simply accounted for in one year. And the eyes were nothing like the happy ones she had spent so many hours gazing into over the last few days. These eyes were plagued with a desolate despair. And as they fixed on T’Pol’s face, they lit with incredulity and a strange kind of craving, yearning flame. This Trip stepped forward as a man in a dream, hands pressed together almost in prayer. He reached out tentatively, and as T’Pol took his hand, he finally spoke. “How…how?” T’Pol was perplexed by this and gently asked, “What is the matter, Commander?” Trip searched her face before replying. “You died.” |
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