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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 2
Sub-commander T'Pol found herself between two clusters of humans, not exactly ostracized but she was well aware she was not entirely integrated into either group. She was standing in the cargo bay with the MACOs and available Enterprise crewmen waiting for their self-defense practice. Through natural inclination, the inborn herding instinct in humans that they still unwittingly adhered to, the MACOs were grouped together on her left and the Enterprise crewmen were gathered on her right. She was somewhat more enfolded into the Enterprise cluster, but there existed more space between her and any of the humans than stood between any two humans. T'Pol was not bothered, of course, but she noted it.
T'Pol pondered such situations a great deal during her meditation. Humans, behaviorally, were a constant conundrum providing endless, up-close study. For instance, the humans now were making two categories, 'human' and 'Vulcan', but if a test of loyalty was forced upon the group it would quickly change to 'MACO' and 'Enterprise' and T'Pol would no longer be regarded separate from her Enterprise shipmates.
It was in some ways illogical, but illogic seemed to be one of the ruling forces of human behavior. Just like the fact that, at that moment, Major Hayes was displaying agitation and irritability toward those present when his true hostility was directed at Commander Tucker. The engineer was late.
All eyes turned to the cargo bay doors when at last they slid open and an unapologetic Trip entered.
T'Pol marked his disposition in a fleeting instant. He had changed into exercise attire but his physical appearance else-wise indicated that he had not showered after his duty shift before coming to the cargo bay for self-defense. He looked tired and more than a little irate.
"Nice of you to join us, Commander," Major Hayes said with just enough respect in his tone to avoid any rejoinders but enough disdain for the engineer's tardiness to make his feelings on the matter known.
Trip's eyes narrowed fractionally at the MACO commander and the corners of his mouth pinched but he said nothing in retaliation... nor did he apologize for his lateness. T'Pol checked herself when she found a very faint frown of her own directed at the MACO for his manner toward Trip.
Trip had yet to look at her, tacitly avoiding it in fact, but was finally forced to face her. Everyone else, while milling around waiting, had wordlessly chosen a sparring partner. T'Pol was left the odd man out, no one jumping to pair with her, so Trip was unofficially assigned to her. It was more than his tardiness and her isolation that dictated their pairing; everyone on Enterprise, even if they did not know any specific details about the relationship between the chief engineer and Vulcan science officer, noticed that the two were more comfortable with each other than most of the humans were around T'Pol or she around humans. Trip was their escape-route, their excuse not to have to team with the Vulcan one-on-one because Trip and T'Pol were friends and did not mind the company of each other.
Normally, that was true, but today Trip moved toward T'Pol with a hesitancy in his step.
'He's reluctant, clearly uneasy about what happened last night, particularly after the discussion on the matter we shared in the mess hall this morning,' T'Pol thought as Trip drew closer. She should have known, of course, that the commander would let his emotions distract him.
He stopped facing her and one of T'Pol's eyelids flickered at what she read in his expression. She had seen Commander Tucker worked to exhaustion before, and she'd seen him irrational with profound emotions (such as grief) but the state reflected in his face right then was not exactly either.
That and T'Pol could almost sense something from him, feel something emanate from him the way she felt his emotional states when she touched him. It had only ever happened before when she was in physical contact with Trip, the nature of Vulcans being touch-telepaths, but now he stood two feet away, hands at his sides completely free of contact with her and still she felt... something.
T'Pol suppressed the urge to frown again, instead turned her attention to Major Hayes.
"Now that everyone's accounted for, I'd like us to run through the holds and throws we introduced during the last session." He looked toward the Enterprise crew to address them. "Work on your own for a while, once the MACOs have gone through the maneuvers a few times I'll have them supervise other teams."
Trip caught sight of Amanda standing opposite her male MACO partner. She returned his gaze, offered a small, congenial smile, then locked all her attention on her opponent.
Trip's weary annoyance at the self-defense class and warm friendliness at Corporal Cole was butted aside by a blatant sensation of disapproval, enough to make Trip frown in consternation and confusion.
Trip looked back to T'Pol to find a very impassive expression on her face. All the same, he got the feeling T'Pol knew he'd been making a social exchange with Amanda and she didn't seem happy.
Trip was too tired to argue, so he didn't mention it.
Teams on either side of them began to warm up into combat stances and Trip languidly began to move. T'Pol backed into a ready stance, voice seemingly flat as she asked, "Are you well, Commander?"
A little of the irritation directed at T'Pol faded, replaced by discomfort and content at the masked concern he could detect in her tone and Trip nodded. "Long day, go easy on me."
T'Pol lifted one eyebrow but said nothing.
Trip and T'Pol wordlessly set into a pattern of advance and retreat, alternating offense and defense.
T'Pol was stronger and faster than Trip by virtue of her species, but the chief engineer was keeping pace with her admirably. T'Pol assumed he was bored by the slow executions and sped up her own moves, intensified the maneuvers.
Trip matched her, not a word spoken. With increased speed came an illogical annoyance in the commander, who channeled his energy into aggressive concentration. T'Pol startled faintly at the change in Trip but easily matched his steps. Perhaps he had a human need to work through his emotions so she felt correct to oblige him... besides, T'Pol could do with the work-out.
Trip parried her attacks, each time anticipating her actions just enough to deflect them. He was not usually so adept at hand-to-hand, much less against a Vulcan, but T'Pol found herself watching closely for an opening, a weakness, unable to land any hits. It brought razor-sharp focus to what she was doing, and with ease she locked into the singular effort.
Strange emotional concoctions rolled off him, anger, thrill, irritation, hatred. T'Pol was distracted by the psychic onslaught, and it was enough to level the playing field between human and Vulcan.
Neither noticed their vigorous, furious combat had drawn attention. All the other teams stopped and watched the two. Trip and T'Pol were ruthless, deadly, but neither gained distinct advantage over the other. Their actions were composed of powerful deflections and failed attacks. It got almost too fast to follow.
T'Pol was lulled by the rhythm, the unconscious beat, then jolted when she realized she was committing a grave error. She was enjoying it. 'It must be the emotions I am sensing from him, affecting my own,' T'Pol reasoned, and before she could reel in her control she experienced another very human emotion. She got angry at Trip.
It was just enough to tip the scales. T'Pol was fast, decisive, and with a loud thud Trip was soon sprawled on his back on the mat, his arm locked painfully in T'Pol's almost delicate grip. He yelped, tensed, then stilled and glared at her.
T'Pol realized she was standing over him, victorious and still holding him, then deliberately let him go. She extended her hand to him, offering to aid him up. Trip stared up hotly at her a moment, breath short, then relented and accepted her hand and hauled himself up to his feet.
"Did I injure you, Commander?" T'Pol finally asked.
Trip was massaging his hand, still sour from the defeat. "Nah, it's nothin', just got me on my bad hand today."
T'Pol looked down at the hand Trip was tending and saw the red raw mark of a burn.
"You should have Doctor Phlox treat that."
Trip sneered. "Well thank you, but I was plannin' on doin' that when I had some spare time." Trip frowned at his hand again then slowly returned his eyes to T'Pol. He just then seemed to realize how angrily he'd spoken to T'Pol, unjustly, and in his eyes was silent apology.
T'Pol accepted with just as wordless a look.
Trip and T'Pol watched each other, silent, until Major Hayes interrupted them. "I must say, Commander Tucker, it looks like you've been practicing the moves you learned yesterday."
Trip at last turned his eyes away from T'Pol to look at Major Hayes. "Well, don't ask me ta explain it, but I don't think I'd do as well against anyone but T'Pol."
Hayes and Trip seemed equally confused. T'Pol looked as aghast as a Vulcan could manage.
"If I pass for tonight, Major, I'd like to drop over at sickbay and have this looked at," he waved his wounded hand at the MACO, still peeved at the major's attitude when Trip first arrived and it showed in his slightly insolent tone.
Hayes nodded. "Very well. Sub-commander, I think you've earned a break if you want but you're welcome to continue sparring with us, whichever you prefer."
T'Pol thought a moment before she answered. "I will continue exercise in private if I am free to choose. I should practice some Vulcan techniques that are inappropriate to conduct on human physiology."
Hayes nodded and moved off. Everyone seemed quick to drop T'Pol from their scope of responsibility. It was indeed fortunate that a Vulcan could not be bothered by such slights, unintentional or unconscious though they were.
Trip noticed Reed watching them, open shock and questioning on his face.
Trip felt even more tired than he had when T'Pol first helped him up off the floor.
"Look, T'Pol, I'm gonna head down to Phlox and get somethin' for this burn then I'm hittin' the sack."
One of T'Pol's eyebrows rose.
"Means goin' to bed."
T'Pol said, "First you must speak with the captain; he left a message for you to confer with him in his ready room at your earliest convenience."
Trip sighed, very nearly groaned, "I haven't had a chance to check my messages today. Well, thanks for tellin' me, least I can go by there without havin' ta go all the way to my quarters and all the way back. I was just gonna say that I won't be comin' by tonight for neuropressure."
T'Pol said nothing but Trip felt the need to offer an explanation. "I've been workin' like a dog all day, and after this work-out added to that I don't think sleep will be a problem."
T'Pol finally nodded, readily acquiescing. "Very well, Commander. Sleep well."
Trip nodded, considered her a moment longer than necessary, then quickly shook himself and turned to leave.
T'Pol felt the barrage of emotions fade the further Trip got. It made her nearly ill with dark portent. She would have to mediate longer than usual today to contain this. She wasn't even going to allow herself to consider the possibility of it intensifying.
If she were human, she might confess to intense apprehension... and fear. If she were human.
*****
When the comm signal chimed within the captain's quarters the alert little beagle was the first to awaken. Porthos's head jerked up at the sound, ears pricked in the dark toward the desk and its cicada-like ringing.
Captain Archer ignored it for only a split second, just time enough for him to struggled up from deep sleep, and as soon as he recognized the sound for what it was he was in motion. Archer, still half-asleep, rolled up and out of bed. He moved to the desk while Porthos hopped up from his bed and hurried to the feet of his master as the captain, in sleep clothes and sporting bed-head, sat down at his desk and depressed the control to answer the call. "Archer."
"Ensign Walters, sir, sorry to disturb you so late, but Admiral Forrest is on the comm channel; he requested to speak with you."
Archer had not been in contact with Starfleet for weeks at least; T'Pol would know the exact date of their last communique.
"Put him through, Ensign."
Archer's desk-bound monitor sprang to life, encasing the image of Admiral Forrest of Starfleet looking immaculate as ever in his uniform, if not a little tired. If it had been a more decent hour Archer might have been put to shame at his own state of undress but it was too late to worry... and he was betting the admiral hadn't called him up to dress him down for being out of uniform.
"Jonathan," Admiral Forrest greeted, "hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
Archer knew it was empty courtesy for the admiral to ask, just as it was programmed what Archer should answer with unless Enterprise was on fire.
"Not at all, Admiral, what can I do for you?"
Admiral Forrest sighed and Archer braced himself.
"What I'm going to tell you will come as a surprise to you so bear with me. You remember the second ship of Enterprise's class that was under initial phases of construction when Enterprise was commissioned?"
Archer nodded. "NX Columbia if I'm not mistaken."
Forrest paused. "Yes, well, that was the original idea. Construction was nearly halfway complete when the Xindi attack on Earth happened. When Starfleet ordered you and your crew to track down and stop this threat to humanity we here on Earth did what we could to assist. The former NX Columbia project was scraped and the incomplete ship was refitted for a different core mission."
Archer was awake now. "Go on."
Forrest nodded grimly. "The NX Ares is now complete and we're dispatching it at once to face the Xindi threat."
Archer digested this a moment, letting it coalesce in his mind, then he said, "So we're not alone anymore... why do I get the feeling there's more."
Forrest continued, "This ship is a warship, Jon, built for combat. We at Starfleet feel it appropriate for main responsibility for the destruction of the Xindi threat be shifted to the Ares."
Archer frowned. He was not happy. "Admiral, all due respect, we've been after the Xindi for months."
"Precisely. You've done a fantastic job all things considered, Jonathan, and before you object further, no, you're not being pulled from the mission. We'd like nothing more than to be able to relieve you of this burden and pass it over fully to the Ares and her crew, but we can't afford that.
"The Ares is on an intercept course with the Enterprise at this very moment, sadly its shakedown run will be traveling at top speed to reach you as soon as possible. What I need from you is for you and your crew to provide the Ares and her crew with everything you have amassed on your mission so far that might help them against the Xindi. Intelligence, weapons and engine upgrades, flying tips if that's what it takes, but update them as completely as possible in as little time as you can manage."
"What are Enterprise's orders after that? You said we weren't being pulled from the Xindi mission."
"You're not. After you've given Ares all that you can you're to report back to the Sol system ASAP. Enterprise will report to Jupiter Station for maintenance, refits, weapons' upgrades... as soon as you're fit and stocked you'll rejoin the Ares."
Archer tried to digest all the information at once. "Why wasn't I informed of any of these plans before now?"
Forrest's lips thinned. "We felt it would be a security risk for you to know that an Earth ship designed for combat was being built. If the Xindi captured you and managed to extract that information and struck against the Ares before she was operational it would have spelled disaster for Earth because it would mean Enterprise and Ares were both out of commission."
Archer could not argue with the logic, even if it did irk him. T'Pol would probably admire the practicality of Starfleet's actions.
"Admiral..." Archer said testily, "Enterprise is fit now to continue the mission. We'd appreciate the help the Ares can offer, but it's not necessary to divert all the way back to Sol for a tune-up. We're ready and willing to keep going."
"I knew you'd say that. I understand how you feel, and I can sympathize with and even admire the effort and time your crew has put into this mission, but Enterprise is not built for fighting and you know it. Even with these upgrades she won't be a warship, but she'll be better off than she is with what she has now. You won't be abandoning the hunt for the Xindi, the Ares will be carrying on in your stead."
"All due respect," Archer pressed, "but we've held our own pretty damn well so far."
"No arguments, but you have also been very lucky. This isn't a request, Captain, it's an order. The best outcome we can hope for from this series of events will leave Earth with two well-equipped ships to face a hostile force. Starfleet feels the inactivity of Enterprise for a short time to achieve that is worth the sacrifice."
Archer seethed inwardly, and outwardly sagged. An order was an order and he knew when he'd pushed his comrade past the point where he would bend. "Understood."
As he disengaged the link with Starfleet he idly turned his eyes down to the patiently waiting and watching dog at his feet. Archer was looking down at Porthos but his mind was on the conversation he'd just had with Admiral Forrest. His crew was not going to be any happier about this than he was.
It was a briefing he was not looking forward to at all.
*****
The passion they created, the flurry of desire, as he moved into her, alien and right. All of her with all of him. The rhythm as they rocked as one, the oneness of motion. His hand on her thigh, his mouth on her throat. Her hands on his back, her body arching into his with primal alacrity.
The cascade, the fall, the sweet desert onto which he lowered his tired body, the embodied Vulcan sands that embraced him in the aftermath and the peace. The desire. The passion. The love.
Commander Tucker awoke with a gasp and for a second blinked up vacantly at the ceiling. His mind was racing, jumbled with memories so real his skin prickled.
When the images faded back to their proper place in the corner of his mind, when he finally managed to shake himself free of the last vestiges of his dreams, he laid quietly. For a minute he had every intention of merely going back to sleep but it became obvious in short order that he would never be able to sleep after that wake-up call.
Heaving a sigh, Trip turned his head to look at the chronometer. His sigh turned into a groan. 0350 hours.
Trip growled angrily and moved to get up, mood only worsened when the initial attempts to move only ignited a plane of complaints from his body. Yesterday's abuses had festered in his sparse sleep and he was sore as all hell.
Cranky and cramped, Trip got out of bed and shuffled absently toward his bathroom. He still had a couple more hours before he had to report for his duty shift and he didn't know what he'd do to fill that time.
An arrested attempt to disrobe for a morning shower convinced him that, however he ended up occupying himself, a primary destination would be sickbay to get Doctor Phlox to give him something for his myriad aches and pains.
Somehow this was all T'Pol's fault.
*****
Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather did not make it a habit to spend breakfast in one another's company, but as luck would have it both ensigns were up early that particular day and ran into each other on the way to the mess hall. They were as friendly toward one another as anyone else among the crew, comrades and comfortable in each other's company, but among the bridge crew Hoshi and Travis were perhaps the most dissimilar. Hoshi had never really wanted to travel in space; Travis was born and raised on spaceships. She put up with it because it was her job and she was able to learn completely alien languages on her current assignment; Travis would be out of place anywhere but in space.
It was just enough of a rift to ensure they never became best friends, but regular friends was entirely possible and already they were congenial colleagues.
When they stepped into the mess hall it was all but barren at this hour. A couple of crewmen were eating breakfast, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and chef was gearing up for a full day of serving food to the Enterprise crew.
Hoshi and Travis both noticed Commander Tucker sitting alone at a table at the same time. He was partially slumped in his chair, tray before him from which he dispassionately picked at something that resembled scrambled eggs.
Hoshi and Travis approached the solitary officer.
"Morning, Commander," Hoshi greeted.
Trip looked up and gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Didn't know you two made a habit of early risin'."
Hoshi offered a smile. "I wanted to get in some extra work on a translation I've been trying to crack today before my shift started."
Travis pipped in, "Mind if we join you for breakfast, sir?"
Trip shook his head, "Please," and gestured toward the empty chairs around him. He acted kindly enough but there was a dullness to his words that implied he either didn't really want company or would himself make pretty lousy company. It deterred neither ensign.
Hoshi sat down while Travis went to get some chow. The communication's officer looked down at Trip's tray. It was half-eaten and the way Trip was picking at it absently she suspected he'd been at it for a while.
"When did you wake up, Commander?"
Trip's mouth pursed, his brow darkened, then he shrugged and pushed again at his eggs. "Too damn early, that's for sure, but anyway, what translation was it ya were so gung ho to work on that it was worth wakin' up this early?"
Hoshi didn't miss his blatant attempt to change the subject but she allowed it without protest. If Trip didn't want to discuss what was bothering him she had no right to pry, and he was a senior officer.
"A Xindi translation. At first I thought it might be a unique dialect among the insectoid species, which I have not encountered yet among any of the Xindi specie languages we've discovered, but when I paid attention to the context in which it appears... my hunch is that the insectoid Xindi use a distinct form of verbal communication for mercantilistic exchanges, which, if it's true, would be intriguing," she noted the rather displeased shadow cross Trip's face and amended, "uh, source aside."
Trip gave a silent nod. Travis joined them with a tray of breakfast foods and two cups of coffee. He passed one cup to Hoshi then handed over two slices of toast and a halved grapefruit to the grateful young woman.
"Is everything all right, Commander?" Travis inquired.
"Fine, Travis, just listenin' to Hoshi talk about that insectoid translation that's got her all fired up."
Hoshi took a bite of toast and smiled thinly. "I don't think I'd call it 'fired up'," she paused a moment, "not in the sense you seemed to be last night, so I've heard."
Trip's eyes rose questioningly to the woman as he ceased poking at his scrambled eggs.
Hoshi obliged. "Lieutenant Reed told me that you and T'Pol were quite brutal last night in the self-defense training."
Trip scowled. "Malcolm made more of it than there was. We just got a little overzealous."
Travis's eyebrows rose. "An overzealous Vulcan? I'd have paid to see that. I can't picture T'Pol getting worked up."
Trip gave a strange little smirk that vanished almost instantly. Hoshi's eyebrow flickered at seeing the fleeting gesture but she held her peace.
Instead, Hoshi said for Travis's benefit, "Lieutenant Reed said it was a real show, even stopped the MACOs in the middle of what they were doing. I'm sorry I missed it myself."
Trip sighed raggedly. "Well, I paid for that little stunt this mornin', woke up so sore I counted myself lucky to make it to the mess hall without endin' up on my ass."
Travis smiled after swallowing a piece of sausage. "I can imagine, going head-to-head against a Vulcan and getting 'carried away'... lucky you came away walking at all."
Trip didn't respond at first, perhaps a perfectly natural lag in conversation, but Hoshi sat close enough and was keen enough to register a distracted, glazed expression on Trip's face. He was physically at the mess hall table with them, but mentally he was anywhere but.
The three lapsed into casual, friendly conversation as Travis and Hoshi finished their breakfast, the entire time Trip pushing the remainder of his food around the tray like he was herding the eggs.
Other crewmen soon began to trickle into the mess and before long a regular attendance had coalesced around them, gathered around tables in talkative groups, the last minute cram before shifts started.
One of those later arrivals was Malcolm Reed. He walked into the common room and spotted Trip, Hoshi, and Travis chatting amiably over abandoned trays. He swooped by the chow line for a quick grab at some food then made a bee-line for their table.
"Do you have room for one more?" he asked.
"Pull up a seat, Malcolm," Trip implored, in somewhat better spirits than Hoshi and Travis had first found him.
Reed seated himself between Trip and Hoshi and launched into his food with due haste.
"Easy there, Malcolm, we're not at tactical alert," Trip teased.
Reed washed down a mouthful of jammed biscuits with orange juice then retorted, "Maybe you have time to dally, but when I woke up and read the message from the captain it meant I only had about ten minutes for breakfast."
"What message from the cap'n?"
"You didn't get it?" Reed seemed puzzled.
Trip answered cryptically, "I checked my messages last night, but I left my quarters pretty early this mornin'."
Reed nodded. "Ahh, well, that explains it, according to the message Captain Archer sent it an hour ago to all senior officers."
"Well, what was the message?"
"A senior staff meeting in the briefing room before shifts."
Trip frowned, pensive. "Any idea what this is about?"
Reed shook his head and looked at the chronometer. "No, but we'd better get a move on if we don't want to be late for it."
Trip and Reed rose, bid Travis and Hoshi farewell, then after dropping their trays off at the counter left the mess hall and headed at a fairly brisk walk toward the briefing room.
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