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"Cry Havoc"
By MissAnnThropic
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of its mine. I’m just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching taped episodes of my favorite shows. :(
Description: The evolution of Trip and T’Pol’s relationship following the events in ‘Harbinger’.
Chapter 16
"I can feel you," Trip's voice was a low, wondering whisper. "In my head... I can't really describe it, but I know it's you... I know you're there."
Trip laid on his back staring up at the ceiling of T'Pol's quarters. He was naked, in fact had not worn a scrap of clothing in almost two days... not since T'Pol had so adamantly disrobed him that first time.
T'Pol was in bed with him, just as bare, cuddled up to his right side with one of her legs tangled in his, her right arm folded across his solar plexus and her hand resting softly on his chest. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, riding the rise and fall of his breathing.
T'Pol was forced to lay on Trip's right, because his left was damaged. Shredded strips of T'Pol's late top bed sheet were binding Trip's arm to his side, holding it immobile. It had only been after their third unbridled coupling that T'Pol had started thinking clearly again, enough to realize Trip was injured.
It wasn't until after their fifth wild, brazen sexual escapade that Trip had let her see how badly he'd been hurt. T'Pol had been worried but Trip had begged it off. He'd relented to letting T'Pol bind his arm to put his shoulder into jury-rigged traction... right before Trip had made love to her again.
And by that sixth time T'Pol was coming back to her senses, freed from the peak craze of the pon farr, and it had become making love as opposed to frantic sex.
T'Pol traced light patterns with her fingertips against his sternum and reflected on his comment. She could feel him too, in her mind, an unwavering presence. She knew it was the result of the bonding meld... but Trip didn't.
T'Pol's hand stilled in unease and Trip's hand trailing along the line of her shoulder to the small of her back stopped and he asked softly, "T'Pol?"
T'Pol lifted her head to look at him, met with sincere, gentle blue eyes. Her guilt came in waves barely held in check.
Trip frowned, sensed it in her, and T'Pol had to tell him.
"It is the matebond." She didn't know how to tell him, to spell it out.
Thankfully Trip was smarter than she was giving him credit for at that moment because he murmured knowingly, "The one ya told me about? The one ya couldn't explain to me because humans don't have words for it?"
T'Pol nodded, looked down at his bare chest, and frowned. "I had tried... I thought I could be with you, resolve the plak-tow of the pon farr, without creating a matebond between us, to spare you... but I could not fight... my instincts won and I acted without control." She was ashamed at what she'd done. In her senseless haze she'd touched his mind, his soul, and bound him to her quite probably for the rest of his life. She had no right to commit him against his wishes, because he could never have consented with full knowledge of the repercussions... he couldn't know the result even if she'd spent all day trying to tell him what exactly a matebond entailed. It made her act no better than force, taking what she did not have right to take.
She was miserable at her actions, what she'd done, but her body yearned to be near his, craved his touch. Even in her shame for her assault against him she could not leave his arms. T'Pol pointedly avoided his penetrating blue gaze and rested her lips against his chest, reveled in the hint of his taste, her body partially wrapped around him.
The thumb of Trip's hand that had come to rest on the curve of her waist began to brush in slow, gentle strokes against T'Pol's skin.
"I'm glad you did," he finally said.
T'Pol brought her face up to look at him again.
Trip looked down at her with a smile dancing in his eyes, almost lighting up his face. "T'Pol... this is amazing, easily the most incredible thing I've ever experienced. I've never felt anything like this."
T'Pol, had she been human, might have cried for the injustice. He was like an innocent child who did not know he'd been grievously wronged. She had ruined the rest of his life and he was foolishly thanking her.
Trip's hand left her hip, came to her face and his fingertips traced the delicate curve of her ear. "And I know what you're thinkin' and you shouldn't be. I want this forever."
T'Pol's emotions surged in hope, in joy, but uncertainty, doubt, fear suffocated her.
Trip smiled softly at her. "You know my mind, T'Pol, you can see inside my heart... can't you see it there? Can't you tell I mean what I say?"
T'Pol ventured cautiously toward the live link in her mind bridging herself and Trip. She had been too repentant to test it, to trace it back to the source. Trip had been unavoidably branded with the connection to T'Pol's mind in his own but the least she could do to actively amend for her actions was to not press herself into his psyche. Unhindered by the same resolution, Trip's consciousness had flowed freely through the connection, almost cavorting into her mind and she'd welcomed him with every excursion. She'd taken him to her with warm affection, unchallenged loved, every time his untrained mind reeled and collided into hers like a recklessly playful child but T'Pol had not reached into his... not since the initial invasion that had locked them both into an intertwined future.
Now, with his indirect permission, T'Pol found that highway and traveled it, reaching into his mind with ease. She was startled by the immediate reception, equal parts love and happiness, that greeted her, undisciplined and untamed though it was. Trip's soul, had he been Vulcan his katra, gathered T'Pol's essence with perfect love and perfect trust. T'Pol rejoiced in him, in Trip's vibrant spirit, before she looked for that seed of truth.
And she found it, just as he said she would. Intent, strong and blinding. He wanted her as his mate, his wife, without doubt or question. The sentiment stretched into nothingness, extending to the end of his own life... the end he could not see therefore could not concretely imagine.
'I want this,' she heard his thoughts echo unerringly. 'I want you.'
T'Pol let herself fold to his emotions, his certainty, and his human mind was like a storm of feelings around her, buffeting her, confusing, but always, always safe.
Trip's exuberant mood was shot with a dark fear. 'If... if you don't want that... If you don't want me,' his mind churned in fear, in impending grief.
'I do, beloved,' T'Pol answered at once, inside this matebond able to cry it aloud like a wild, emotional, screeching le-matya. 'Forever and always touching and touched, parted from me but never parted, I choose thee.'
Trip pulled T'Pol closer to him with his one free arm and T'Pol curled to his side desperately, joyously. His body, solid and soft beside hers, his scent, human and uniquely Trip, clouding her thoughts, his presence in her mind... exquisite. It was the only word T'Pol knew that even partially captured the feeling she received from the sense of him. Her human mate. Her husband.
Desire raced through her, lanced her logic, a resurgent spike of the pon farr in her blood, bringing the tendrils of unreasoning fever. She trembled, tried to fight the spiraling arousal, tried to merely stay quiescent in Trip's embrace.
Trip sensed it, through their bond, in the shivering figure in his arms, and via the mental link T'Pol marveled at the flavor, the distinct mental taste of human arousal.
T'Pol's hand rubbed at first slow circles on his chest, then his stomach, moving steadily lower. She kissed languidly, softly on his chest, licked his sweat-sheened skin as his breathing grew faster under her touch. She experimented with the sensations she felt from him, in his mind and his in hers, the fog of his own desire combining with her own. It was an intoxicating cocktail.
'Want you,' his mind blared, repeated again and again.
T'Pol writhed sensually against him, possessively, then she left the comforting envelope of his arms to straddle his hips. She sank on to him, engulfing him, eyes never leaving his. His hooded, lusty gaze bored into her, his mind ensnared her, and she the willing prey in it all.
She moved up and down slowly, savoring their union. The pon farr was diminished enough that it no longer ruled their encounters, merely incited them, encouraged them.
Trip's good hand rested on her hip, drawing her closer with every move, keeping time with the steady rhythm of their bodies.
They moved and rocked, joined in body and in mind, four reactions building to a blinding crescendo, tempo speeding in impatient anticipation.
Trip came first, a human explosion inside her mind and body, then T'Pol matched him a second later, body reeling and mind blasting into a din of raw pleasure that echoed in broken-mirror doubles to Trip's.
Still rocking together, ghost movements of minds and bodies that had wild dreams of their coupling never ending, T'Pol curled down against Trip's chest, the human's arm coming around her back and caressing her hot skin, his breath on her shoulder and hers blasting puffs of heat against his neck.
T'Pol could stay there, letting him hold her forever, but Trip physically couldn't. He shifted to try and hold her closer, accommodate her better, and he winced.
T'Pol sat up, looked down at him, and saw the shadows of pain in his face. She knew his shoulder hurt.
"You need to let the doctor tend your injuries," she said pointedly.
Trip frowned, grimaced, then sighed. "All right... it is gettin' kinda hard to ignore anymore."
T'Pol rose from her perch atop him and left the bunk to search her disarrayed quarters for a robe.
Trip struggled into a sitting position on the bed, left arm cradled carefully in his lap, and turned to the comm panel nearby. He pushed down the transmit button, "Tucker to Doctor Phlox."
It was only a couple of seconds before the doctor answered, "Yes, Commander?"
"Uhh... could you come to T'Pol's quarters?"
"I'm on my way."
Trip cut the connection to sickbay and called toward T'Pol in the bathroom, "Hey, T'Pol? Ya see my underwear anywhere in there?"
*****
Doctor Phlox had a full emergency medical kit in hand as he reached T'Pol's quarters. He gave a courteous, cautious glance around for any unwelcome prying eyes before pressing the summons button.
T'Pol answered in moments, dressed in a blue robe.
"Sub-commander," Phlox greeted, his tone and expression betraying none of the relief he felt at seeing her so much better off than when she'd come to sickbay symptomatic.
T'Pol stepped aside to let him in and as he did so the doctor got his first good look at the damage.
Initially that was T'Pol's quarters. Her meditation candles, desk chair, and a few personal items and PADDs were scattered on the floor haphazardly, as well as bits and scraps of cloth that seemed to be from T'Pol's bed covers of all things.
The second testimony to the rigors of pon farr sat on the edge of the single bunk clad only in blue boxer shorts. Trip Tucker was favoring his left side, the arm strapped and tied to his torso by ragged pieces of cloth.
"Hey, Doc," Trip greeted almost sheepishly.
Phlox stepped over the mess on the floor to approach the commander. "Well, well, what have we here? Sit still, Commander, and let me take a look at you."
First Phlox did a visual inspection. While nonfatal it wasn't pretty. Angry red marks trailed from his chest to his stomach as well as striping across his sides and his upper arms, making it look as though he'd tumbled into a thorn bush on an away mission. Similar, more numerous scratch-marks tracked over his back. His shoulders, both sides, as well a couple of places on his neck, were speckled with bloodied teeth marks. Dark purple bruises discolored the engineer's body in a number of places, bruising on his jaw, on his torso, in a large patch on his left clavicle, his arms, his legs, and making sick violet bracelets around his wrists.
"Any specific complaints?"
Trip took in a careful breath. "Yeah, my left shoulder, and it's been hard to get a good breath, and my wrists are a little sore." T'Pol remained out of the way, watching closely from the shadowed corner, while Phlox dug into his case for a tricorder. He started at Trip's bound shoulder.
"Well, no wonder, your collar bone's broken. I can't imagine how you've refrained from sending for me earlier to see to this. Hmm... and you have a couple of bruised ribs, let's see, and... yes, it looks as though you've fractured both of your wrists. Not to worry, nothing I can't take care of, in fact everything but your shoulder should clear up in a few days. Under the circumstances I'd say you came through remarkably well."
Trip gave a wane smile. "I'd hate to see coming through badly."
Phlox proceeded to administer antibacterial swabs to the commander's open wounds first. Trip hissed at the stinging medicine and T'Pol took an immediate step closer, stopped, then retreated again. Next came the bones. Phlox removed the impromptu sling, palpated the commander's shoulder a couple of times (to the vocal complaints of the engineer) then securely wrapped the commander's shoulder with his own medical gauze to immobilize it much more securely. The doctor also wrapped both of Trip's wrists to stabilize them while they healed. Phlox injected Trip with calcium regeneration stimulants, then a mild pain-killer, then gave one more full-body check of the human for good measure.
"I think that should take care of you, Mister Tucker. Now, T'Pol, if you'd allow me...?"
T'Pol balked at first, lifted her chin mutinously, but a quick, wordless glance at Trip and she relented. T'Pol came to the bed and sat beside the commander.
Phlox cleared his throat pointedly.
T'Pol momentarily looked disgusted then untied her robe and pulled it away from her body. Her hands, on principle, came up to cover her breasts and she sat rigidly still for the doctor's exam.
Phlox went through the same routine as he had with Trip. T'Pol, expectedly, had come through the pon farr far better than Trip had fared. Still, she was not unscathed. Almost like a badge of solidarity, T'Pol's shoulders (in addition to a couple of places on her neck) were marked with bite-size crescents of green, dried blood. Here and there were green scratches marring her skin. She sported her own collection of bruises, dark green and brown patches of off-coloration in contrast to her hearty bronze and tan complexion.
Phlox took note of them, but with T'Pol his real concern was internal. Withdrawing the scanner he ran it over her unyielding body.
"I'd say this is one storm that's blown over, if you'll pardon the expression. Your hormone levels and neurological activity are returning to safe, acceptable levels, Sub-commander."
"That's good news, Doc," Trip provided earnestly.
Phlox went back into his medical kit for supplies and moved to touch T'Pol's own broken-skin wounds with antibacterial solution.
T'Pol pulled sharply away from his impending touch and shot an unmistakably aggressive look at the doctor. There was a hint of the unpredictable, hostile T'Pol of the pon farr still glittering in her eyes.
"Umm... Commander Tucker?" Phlox extended the swabs toward Trip and the engineer knew without asking what the doctor meant.
Trip took the pads and proceeded to carefully dab T'Pol's injuries. T'Pol sat quietly for his ministrations, giving no indications that the medicine stung. Quite the opposite, she seemed soothed by the commander's attention, his touch and proximity when he had to reach across her to tend to the bite marks on her right side.
When he was done Trip returned the swabs to Phlox and asked, "So... what have you been tellin' the rest of the crew?"
Phlox was annoyed at the mere memory of coming up with that slippery excuse. "I told the crew that you and the sub-commander had contracted a rare bacterial infection during your stay in Florida, a bacteria that affected the aggression-centers of your brains. I've assured everyone it was nothing contagious and that you were both successfully treated to get rid of the bacteria, but not before you two had gotten into a fistfight. Your alibi is that only Captain Archer and myself were present for the altercation and we're both maintaining the cover story."
Trip cast the doctor an amused look and one of T'Pol's eyebrows rose.
Phlox threw up his hands. "Well, I had to account for the condition you two would both be in after all of this. If you had a better idea you might have suggested it."
Trip laughed. "Nope, Doc, it's better than what I could have come up with. Do you think it's all right for us to leave quarters now?"
Phlox shrugged. "If you both feel comfortable then I see no reason why you couldn't."
"Good, 'cause I'm starvin'. I haven't eaten since this whole thing started. Has to be... what, about two days? When did you last eat, T'Pol?"
T'Pol slipped her robe back on and answered, "At your parents' house."
Trip startled in concern.
T'Pol answered mildly, "One of the symptoms of pon farr is loss of appetite."
"Goodness, I should have considered that, I might have had meals brought to you," Phlox distressed at the oversight.
Trip chuckled roughly. "Don't worry about it, this is the first time I've stopped to think of food." A wry smirk told the doctor that the same was true for T'Pol. "Though ya think you could give us somethin' to cover up these... um... killer hickies? Claimin' T'Pol and I got in a fight is well and good, but I think bite marks are gonna be conspicuous no matter what you and the cap'n say."
Phlox chortled in agreement and pulled from his kit a number of square-shaped adhesive bandages. The doctor cut a glance at T'Pol and noticed an uneasy, restive air about her and sensed he'd outstayed his welcome.
"I'll be leaving you two for now, if you need anything else just comm me. Oh, and don't even think of returning to duty until tomorrow at the earliest." With one last medically appraising look at the two officers Phlox let himself out.
Trip, bandages in hand, looked over at T'Pol. "You up for some chow?"
T'Pol stiffened, blinked, then answered in measured words, "I don't think it would be wise for me to be around the other Enterprise crewmen yet; I have not regained my emotional control to a satisfactory degree."
"Ya want me to stay?"
T'Pol shook her head. Her Vulcan physiology could last longer without food than the body of her human partner could. "I will be fine alone."
"All right... I'll bring ya somethin' from the kitchen." Trip stood and went to the bathroom. When he reemerged after some time he was in his wrinkled uniform and the bite marks on his neck were covered up with medical patches. T'Pol sat on her bed, unmoved from where he'd left her, content to watch him.
Trip moved over to T'Pol once again and set the remaining bandages on her nightstand then knelt on the floor before her. He looked up into her face and smiled warmly. T'Pol's eyes glinted warmth in return.
Trip brought up a hand and brushed his fingertips across her lips. A rush of T'Pol in his mind was his reward. He dropped his hand to her knees and with his fingers casually draped over her legs he asked softly, "How do ya wanna handle this with the rest of the crew?"
T'Pol, because she heard his inner thoughts, knew exactly of which he spoke. "What level of discretion?"
Trip nodded and watched her closely. As though anticipating her concerns he said, "I see no reason to hide this, I don't care if the whole ship knows I'm in love with you, but I know Vulcans think differently about privacy and whatever you want to do I'll go along with it."
T'Pol considered him a moment. "Does anyone else already know?"
"Just Malcolm that I know of."
Trip sensed T'Pol's surprise that the tactical officer was already aware of their relationship.
"Not like I set out to tell him, it just came up. But we can trust him to keep it a secret. Oh, wait, and Buddy knows, I had a long talk with him on the subject back in Quincy."
T'Pol lifted an eyebrow. "You discussed our relationship with the dog?"
Trip was radiating amusement, laced with tender affection that pierced straight into T'Pol's thoughts. T'Pol found Lieutenant Reed's knowledge inconsequential in juxtaposition.
T'Pol hunted for words, failed to find the adequate vocabulary, and instead spoke directly into Trip's mind. 'I feel no shame for my bond to you, Trip, but it is not for others to approve our love. I will not hide, but nor will I announce our union. The depth of the matebond is a private affair between mates... as it is in Vulcan society, so should it be with us.'
Trip squeezed her knee for a second and nodded wordlessly up at her. In so little a gesture she sensed his consent, his willingness to accede to her wishes on the matter. She loved him deeply for that concession, that deferment to her cultural propriety.
Trip rose from his crouch, kissed her once more on the mouth, then left her quarters for the first time in almost two days.
*****
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed possessed only a short list of people with whom he would frequently share meal times. He was a private person, content with few friends. He subscribed to the notion of quality versus quantity. That wasn't to say that he didn't respect and even like the Enterprise crew on the whole, but he tended to focus himself on a handful of individuals. For a social buffoon as he frequently was, it was easier to handle interpersonal relations when they were few.
It also meant there were many times when he found himself dining alone. Today was turning out to be one of those days. With Hoshi off the ship working aboard the Ares with the MACO crew, and Commander Tucker apparently incommunicado because of his recent bacterial infection, Reed was left to eat in quiet solitude. Luckily, solitude didn't bother him, but it gave him entirely too much time to think. Unless it was a tactical drill or procedure, Reed was just as content to not think and simply follow orders.
Reed had his eyes locked on his peas and mind dislocated from his surroundings, so he almost missed the conversational-volume voice near the front of the mess hall say to another, "Hello, Commander Tucker."
Reed looked up and even from the back recognized the shape of his friend at the food dispensers.
Trip turned with a tray of food, spied Reed sitting alone to one side, and made his way over.
"Hey, Malcolm," Trip greeted as he awkwardly set his tray down on the table while barely moving his left arm.
Reed assessed the commander's appearance at a glance. Med patches were stuck to his neck, a bruise blossomed purple and blue on his jaw, and there was obviously something wrong with his arm.
Trip sank down into the seat opposite Malcolm and dug into his dinner.
"Christ, Trip, you look awful."
Trip returned around a mouthful of food, "Well, thanks." Malcolm watched the commander shovel another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth and realized for the first time that both of Trip's wrists were bandaged.
"Captain Archer told us what happened with you and T'Pol." Trip paused for a fraction of a second. Reed was already talking again, "I can't believe you got into a fight with the sub-commander!"
Trip swallowed. "Well, we weren't exactly ourselves."
"Still... it seems she did a number on you."
Trip chuckled. "Yeah. T'Pol's got quite a vicious streak in her when you get past the Vulcan stoicism." Rather than miffed or disgruntled at that recently discovered fact, Trip seemed bemused.
Reed leaned in closer to whisper, "Are things all right between the two of you? I mean, this bacterial thing didn't cause any... interpersonal problems, did it?"
Trip smiled, almost serenely. "No, we're fine, but thanks for your concern. We both know what happened was just a... biological reaction."
"Well, that's good."
Trip gave a wordless nod as he proceeded to wolf down half his food. Only after he'd satisfied a considerable portion of his appetite did the blonde southerner look up at his British companion and ask, "How was shore leave in San Francisco?"
"Not bad. For a boomer Travis sure seems to get around on Earth. I think I finally grasp that old cliche of a 'hole in the wall'. And... um... your shore leave, Commander?"
Trip faltered at the shift, the formal address, and he read it as discomfort on Reed's part. He had a fair idea what it was about, too. And he saw no reason in talking around the issue.
"Guess ya know that T'Pol came home with me."
Reed gave a careful nod. "I'd been told as much."
Trip took another bite of food and seemed to mull over his answer before swallowing. "Nice. Got ta introduce T'Pol to my parents; she seemed to like 'em and I'm pretty sure they liked her. I'm glad she came. Besides, I didn't like the idea of T'Pol spendin' leave alone."
"I'm kind of surprised she didn't go to the Vulcan Consulate."
Trip glowered at the thought. "Ambassador Soval told her she wasn't welcome," he nearly growled, "pretty much hung out the 'no vacancy' sign."
Reed's eyes widened. "You serious? What possible reason could he have for doing that to the sub-commander?"
"Try Vulcan pride and stubbornness for starters. Some crap about her resignation from High Command and decidin' us humans were worth a little extra time and attention bein' disgraceful. Actually, I'd rather not talk about it. I'm still a long way from forgivin' Soval or any of those Victorian fascists at Vulcan High Command."
Reed shook his head in disgust. "And I thought the humans on Earth were behaving deplorably toward the Vulcans..."
Trip didn't comment further on the issue and Reed obligingly let it drop. He didn't have to be an expert to see that Trip was bitter toward the topic.
"Malcolm," Trip lowered his voice and met Reed's eyes squarely. "Can I ask you somethin'?"
"Of course."
"What's the crew been sayin'? About me and T'Pol?"
Reed stiffened fractionally, sat back, then stammered, "Well, you know I don't listen to rumor, Trip. I try to keep myself as far from that kind of stuff as I can. Too bad Hoshi..." Reed stopped, frowned, then hurried on, "Well, she always knew the good rumors on Enterprise... or so I've heard, I mean, as I understand. People find it so easy to talk to Hoshi, you ever notice that?"
Trip was trying not to smirk. Instead he nodded. "Yeah... Hoshi's a great listener... when you want to her to be and when you don't. Look, I'm not tryin' ta start anything, and I really don't care what kind of pools you got goin', I just want to know what the word's been lately."
Reed shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cast a glance to the left and right, then relented. "Well... you knew that before you and T'Pol were actually... an item, the rumor was the two of you were involved anyway. What with the late-night neuropressure treatments and all. After this little bacterial infection incident brought to light the fact that T'Pol spent her shore leave in Florida with you... well... Technically no one knows, but everyone knows."
Trip nodded thoughtfully.
"And I haven't said a word, I swear."
"I believe ya."
Reed studied his friend closely. Trip looked wholly unconcerned that his unannounced relationship with the ship's Vulcan science officer was out of the bag, even if it was an unconfirmed suspicion to most on the crew. "You're not bothered by that?"
"No. I told you before, it's not a secret. T'Pol and I weren't plannin' on hidin' anything. Better that it just be common knowledge, saves me and T'Pol from havin' to actually tell anyone."
"So Captain Archer approves?"
Trip finally frowned at that. "Haven't talked to him about it yet. Guess I better do that this evenin', though. I hope he doesn't have a problem with it."
"And if he does?"
"Well, then T'Pol and I will have a problem, too... a big one."
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