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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 4
Trip had always felt comfortable in his quarters aboard Enterprise. They were small but always more than adequate. Besides engineering it was the place he felt most at ease, the most at home. Now, as he walked back and forth in front of his small desk, he felt like a caged animal.
This was a new definition for tense and he knew it. More than once he'd considered going to Phlox to ask the doctor to give him something, anything, but he refrained because he did not know how he could explain the symptoms. 'I feel like T'Pol's tattooed inside my skull keepin' me from keepin' my mind on my work' didn't really have a professional ring to it. That and Phlox would doubtlessly ask about him and T'Pol, about why she might be such a consuming concern for him so suddenly, and the commander was not ready to tell anyone what had happened one illicit night between him and the Vulcan.
It was late, 2200 hours. Trip was leaning over his desk to review his engines specs, still clad in full uniform. He wasn't even going to pretend that he might sleep tonight; he decided to save himself the time wasted undressing only to dress again and head down to engineering for another all-nighter. Sleep had become a battle against himself, trying and wanting so hard to ignore the vivid, almost visceral presence of T'Pol inside his thoughts and always failing. Over and over again, failing so gloriously he woke up dizzy for her absence at his side.
Trip blinked tired eyes heavily and the muscles in his arms and back abruptly tensed. He took a long, tight breath, and...
Trip straightened immediately when his door chime sounded. He turned toward the closed door and for a moment simply stood there with some small hope she'd go away. No further summons issued forth but he knew she was still waiting.
Trip went to the door and keyed it open to find himself looking down at T'Pol standing on his proverbial doorstep.
"Commander," she greeted nonchalantly.
Trip braced one arm covertly against his wall. "Sub-commander, is there somethin' ya need? It's kinda late, ya know."
T'Pol looked at him silently a second, a burning second that made Trip antsy, then she said, "I have come for our neuropressure session."
Trip's hands clenched tightly into fists. The Vulcan just did not give up. "Like I said before, I don't really have the time, so I'm real sorry ya wasted a trip down here and all..." he trailed and stared down at her, so damn close he could smell the pecans and desert sand. It was like being a fly in a spider's web. He had to get rid of her... now.
T'Pol dropped her face fractionally, seemingly listened down both directions of the hallway, then turned her eyes to his once more. Her voice was pitched lowly enough to give Trip goose bumps. "Please, Trip."
Trip knew it was the worst thing he could do, but right then he couldn't refuse. With a defeated sag he moved away from the door and plodded toward his desk. He heard T'Pol step into his quarters after him and close the door behind her.
Trip didn't want to attend to every sound and every move she made but he was helpless to do anything else.
"Commander..." T'Pol finally said when Trip had not moved from standing with his back to her for what must have been a good three minutes.
Trip snorted weakly under his breath. "What happened to 'Trip'?" He finally turned to look toward her and caught the blatant look of discomfort that flickered across her face. It existed only a moment but he'd seen it, he was certain. She returned his look, as cool and unflappable as ever, and tactfully avoided answering his question. "If you would disrobe we may begin."
Trip made one more effort to spare himself this agony, because he knew that's what it would be. Even the thought of touching her, her touching him, had him spinning. "I really appreciate ya makin' house calls but maybe we could do this some other time? I can talk to the doctor in the mornin' and explain to him that he doesn't need to worry about me crackin' so this isn't really necessary."
T'Pol did not budge, though oddly she looked smaller than she had moments ago, and she said, "I believe the doctor is correct and I doubt you could convince him otherwise."
Trip's teeth ground together. "So you think I'm just a breakdown waitin' to happen too?"
T'Pol blinked at his outburst and calmly folded her hands before her. "I do not doubt that you would allow this ship to experience a warp core breach before you let personal trouble interfere with your duties as chief engineer..." Trip's anger seemed to lessen at T'Pol's unveiled compliment of his professionalism and devotion to duty. She continued, "However, there is no purpose in enduring such exhaustion when one can combat it and you have said before that neuropressure helps you sleep soundly."
Trip's frustration and confusion around T'Pol as of late dissipated for all of a second, but in that second he felt so very tired.
"If you would undress," T'Pol gestured easily toward him, command layered within her tone.
Trip, relenting, unzipped his blue uniform, stepped out of it and dismissed it with a languid kick into one corner, then pulled off his shirt. He was left standing in only his boxer shorts. Had T'Pol not seen him in far less, he might be a little more prudish about stripping in front of her. Although at the moment, with the mood he was in, it might not have made much difference either way. She'd cornered him and he was not feeling acquiescent.
T'Pol looked down at the floor of Trip's quarters. "We do not have posture mats or meditation candles but we will make do for tonight. Sit."
Trip did so without a word. He turned his back to her, straightened his body, and initiated deep, controlled breathing. He heard T'Pol kneel down behind him, could feel the heat from her hands as they drew near his bare shoulders. He also felt her stop just before she touched him, as though reluctant.
At last her fingertips were in light contact with his skin, then they pressed harder into taut muscles. Trip shut his eyes and fought to focus, to concentrate beyond her.
T'Pol's movements were stuttered and uneven, so different from the confidence she usually exuded with neuropressure. She stimulated nodes along his spine that had always in the past unwound the commander like a hypospray of Phlox's most potent sedative.
This time, despite her ministrations, his stance remained tense, his muscles rigid. Trip could feel her consternation but he couldn't shake the tightness throughout his body. He was fighting too hard with himself to relax to let himself do just that. There was also the fear that if he did relax around her it would lead to disaster.
T'Pol's voice finally issued forth behind his shoulder, "Relax and breathe, Commander."
Trip did take a breath and attempted to do as she asked, in vain because the instant he became aware of T'Pol's hands moving again he stiffened.
T'Pol stopped again, paused a long time, then with motionless, slender hands resting casually on his shoulders said, "Doctor Phlox mentioned that you had seemed more agitated and tense than usual lately," she faltered, "perhaps you would like to... talk about it?"
Trip couldn't help but laugh. It was a wired, pathetic laugh, but a chuckle all the same. "Talk?" he parroted in surprise.
T'Pol removed her hands and Trip gave a silent thank-you to the universe.
"The neuropressure does not appear to be relaxing you, and I have heard it said that humans relieve pressure frequently by discussing their problems with another. We could attempt that method if this is ineffective."
Trip heaved a sigh but said nothing. He didn't know what he could say, and for all the anger he'd harbored before, now, at that very moment, he couldn't blame T'Pol for any of it.
Her voice again from behind him. "Is the Enterprise recall so troubling to you?"
"Yes... but it's not just that."
T'Pol said nothing, expectantly quiet, and Trip knew it was coming. The conversation he could well have avoided completely was going to happen whether he liked it or not.
"Then what else?" T'Pol asked, and he could swear she sounded worried. It was in her vocal inflections.
Trip finally moved. He shifted to turn and sit facing her. He looked at her closely sitting atop her legs with hands folded in her lap as she watched him intently but warily.
Trip studied her a long time, swallowed, then plunged ahead with the terrifying truth because T'Pol always responded to in-your-face honesty. "You."
T'Pol did not so much as blink but the edges of her mouth tightened and her hands curled closer together in the wake of his answer.
Trip lowered his eyes as he said, "I don't know what's happenin' but you... you've been in my head somehow, ever since we..." Trip gestured feebly with one hand, a motion that spoke volumes. "I just can't stop thinkin' about ya, and I don't mean that in some adolescent, hormonal way, I mean that this is way different and it's... I can hardly work because of it. I'm not sleepin' because of it, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make it stop."
Trip stared at the floor a long time, in no hurry to look up and see T'Pol's face in reaction to his confession. When he finally did he was not met with the disgust or disapproval he had anticipated. On the contrary, T'Pol looked calm, far from surprised, perhaps a little tired.
As though sensing his eyes upon her, T'Pol looked up and met his gaze. She returned his look silently, unmoving, then said with heavy certainty, "What you are experiencing are the initial stages of a mental bond."
Trip's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "A what?"
T'Pol looked fractionally away, the most avoidant the Vulcan ever allowed herself to become, and Trip's curiosity perked because he well knew that.
"The symptoms you've been experiencing are perfectly normal."
"Not to me."
T'Pol gave a relenting half-nod. "No, but were you Vulcan..."
Trip rubbed his forehead, fearing the beginning of a headache. "T'Pol, just tell me, what's happenin' ta me?"
T'Pol returned her eyes to him. The intensity in her gaze was enough to make Trip lower his hand from his temple, every fiber of his being locked in complete attention on her.
"Had I suspected that this was possible, that a human would experience this process, I would not have initiated sexual relations with you. I apologize for that."
Trip tensed marginally again at the thought of that night, for all its trouble, never happening. It struck a sour chord in him in ways he couldn't really explain.
"When two Vulcans become close, become intimate, they begin to form a mental connection with one another. I did not think a human could link in such a manner to a Vulcan, though I had begun to suspect you had established some manner of connection to me during the MACO training session."
Trip thought a moment to try and grasp what T'Pol was saying then asked, "What exactly does that mean?"
T'Pol answered slowly, as though instructing a cadet, "It means that when we engaged in sexual activity together a mental bond spawned between us."
"So what is this bond? If I HAD been a Vulcan, what exactly does it do?" Somehow, breaking it down as he might an engine to figure out how it ticked made him feel easier about the rather unsettling ideas T'Pol had been broaching. Mental links? Wasn't supposed to happen to a human? What the hell was happening to him?
"It is a means for Vulcan mates to maintain personal, intimate contact with one another even when they are not physically together. I confess that I too have been effected. I was taken off guard to discover I was capable of experiencing such a link when the partner was human, but that I would develop a mental bond is not as unprecedented as it is for you to have developed one. Like you have been toward me, I have been sensitive to your emotions since the night we had sexual relations."
Trip seemed befuddled and a little consternated as he thought long and hard. "I haven't 'sensed' that from you."
T'Pol considered this only a second. "I do not believe humans capable of conscious awareness of such sensations, your psychic abilities are next to nonexistent in Vulcan terms, but it seems obvious that, subconsciously, you have been in mental contact with me."
Trip shook his head skeptically. "I don't know about that. I think I'd know if I was pickin' up anything like that from ya."
"How, then, do you explain what transpired when we sparred with the MACOs?"
Trip had no answer.
The two sat a space apart quietly regarding one another for a considerable amount of time.
At long last Trip spoke. "What... what do we do about it?"
T'Pol did not look full of confidence. "Unnurtured the bond will fade in time. Again, if you were Vulcan some techniques might be tried to sever the connection more quickly and precisely but I feel that would be unsafe with your untrained mind. Logically, our only recourse is to allow the tenuous link to dissipate on its own... and, of course, we cannot be intimate again."
Trip was more saddened, bereft, at that idea than he thought he would be. But of course she was right, T'Pol usually was.
T'Pol collected a breath and said, "Perhaps we should complete the neuropressure so that I might return to my own quarters."
Trip nodded. "Yeah, sure... look, mind if I do neuropressure on you first this time? Nothin' personal, well, guess it is, I just... don't think I'm ready to relax just yet with you... touchin' me."
T'Pol nodded in swift deferment, "Very well," and turned her back to him. Moments later her hands moved over her front, a zipper sang, and T'Pol peeled her suit off down to her waist. Her hands came up to customarily cover her breasts (heedless of the fact Trip had seen it all before) and she began to adopt the breathing patterns of the posture she had assumed.
Trip moved across the floor over to her and laid his hands on her back. Her skin was hot, soft, just as his burning memories of her flesh had been. He began to work the neural nodes along her spine with increasing expertise, sensitive to the incremental easing of her muscles under his touch. He knew her body so well, its subtle language and behavior. He tried to think but could not recall ever knowing any of his human woman partners' bodies as keenly. It was a knowledge about T'Pol he found he fiercely treasured, in all rights cherished. T'Pol relented to his touch, she placed complete trust in him. It spoke in the way her muscles relaxed each time he found and pressed a neural node. The way her guard dropped when it was just the two of them, separate from the rest of the crew. The way T'Pol felt safe and free in his company. The way, he realized, that he felt the same around her.
At that moment Trip knew with absolute certainty the closest he could ever get to T'Pol would never be close enough. And that the thought of distancing himself from her as she'd suggested was down-right abhorrent.
Without thinking, Trip stopped the neuropressure to lean in and softly touch his lips to her shoulder. Pecans swirling under his tongue, the heat of her warming his lips. Heady and sweet, and he wanted more, wanted it to never end.
No movement at first, and then T'Pol shifted beneath his hands. She craned around to look up at him just as Trip withdrew his face enough to return her look. Her dark eyes were shrouded, penetrating, but he did not back away. In all truth it took everything he had not to slip his arms around her.
Instead, Trip's hands went from motionless to caressing her sleek back, hungry for the feel of her, intoxicated by her.
T'Pol blinked once, never breaking eye contact with him. There was question in her gaze, intensity in her presence, and Trip was answering with all he had by shifting ever so slightly closer. She did not flinch away. T'Pol's eyes left his once, momentarily, to flicker down to Trip's insanely near mouth.
T'Pol lowered her hands that had been covering herself, leaving herself wondrously exposed. She anchored one hand on the floor, twisted her body further in his direction, and her second hand came up to his neck. Long, branding fingers danced with restrained passion along the skin of his throat.
Trip lowered his lips to hers and was met with matched intent. His hands circled around her lean body, gathered her closer, and without a word T'Pol went to him.
*****
Trip and T'Pol both knew they had surrendered to a fate intertwined. In some form, some shape that neither could define, it existed. Neither spoke a word on the matter, because as they lay naked and pressed together on Trip's bed, their state testament to their guilt, they both knew such words were unnecessary.
Trip looked over at the chronometer. 0530. He'd have to go on duty in an hour and a half. T'Pol was laid out partly under his body on the bed. She was partially lying on her stomach, face turned away from him and hands tucked under her head, while his body was laid half over hers. Trip's hand idly brushed along her arm for the sake of the physical contact, fingers trailing the almost fevered skin in a gentle caress. It was scary as hell but also the most right thing he'd felt in what seemed a very long time.
He'd stopped fighting her, in his mind and in his life, and the difference it had made was astounding. She was still there, he could feel her in his head like a persistent phantom, but it was a comforting reassurance that she was near, no longer a consuming invasion or aggressive reminder. He could work with that, the way one might go to work every day with a picture of his family on the desk. Surrender had been the fast, easy way to peace.
T'Pol lay awake, eyes locked on the far wall with a distracted stare.
Trip snuggled down closer on impulse, molded himself tighter to her back, and burrowed his face in the crook of her neck. She let him; she remained still and in doing so, unresisting, accepted his gesture.
For a minute they laid thus, unmoving. Then, just barely, hardly capable of being detected, T'Pol tensed underneath him.
Trip backed off, pulled up to lay on his side with his weight lifted from her, and, allowed that further range of movement, T'Pol rolled over on to her back. She looked up at him. There was something sincere and pensive in her look, clearly indicating she was thinking of something.
Trip had a pretty good idea what was on her mind. Not because he picked up anything from T'Pol through their supposed mental bond, but because Trip knew, to a degree, how T'Pol's mind worked, as well as he suspected any human could know a Vulcan's mind. It was the logical concern to preoccupy her.
It was a difficult position for both of them, he knew that. Both were facing a possible interpersonal entanglement with an individual from another species, ripe with conflicting cultural norms and traditions. Relations between humans and Vulcans were not exactly stellar by anyone's standards. A relationship between a human and a Vulcan was littered with hitches and complications, a fact they both knew well. It didn't even pretend to be easy.
Trip propped his head up on his elbow and offered her a small but easy smile as he spoke to her concerns, "This is gonna be all right, T'Pol."
T'Pol nearly frowned. "It is unwise to assume you are certain of that." She looked away, in doing so managing to seem as though she had put miles of distance between them even though she still lay within inches of him. Trip resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, bring her back, because he got the feeling T'Pol needed the space.
"It is done," T'Pol finally uttered, expression neutral, "we will have to accept the consequences." T'Pol sat up and moved to get out of bed.
"T'Pol," Trip called gently.
T'Pol stilled at his voice. She did not look back at him but she didn't move further to leave either.
Trip shifted up to a sitting position as well and studied her closely as he asked, "Just tell me, do ya regret it?" He almost feared to ask but he had to know.
T'Pol was motionless a long time, not uttering a word, then she slowly turned her head toward him. Her partial profile was back-dropped by the stars outside his quarters' window. Set determination was carved into her angular Vulcan face as she met his eyes squarely and answered, "Vulcans do not regret." After that she left the bed and went about getting dressed without another word or even look spared his direction.
Trip laid back and watched her, the entire time smirking. It was almost enough to make him forget about the whole business with the Ares.
Trip's smile faded just a bit as T'Pol discretely left his quarters and he slowly got up and headed for his bathroom to get ready for work.
Almost enough to make him forget the Ares, but not quite.
*****
Captain Jonathan Archer sat in his ready room, eyes fixed to his computer screen as he scanned through the messages in front of him. One by one, with admirable speed and efficiency, stations and departments were beginning to report in with their ready status for the meeting with the Ares. As always, his crew had come together and performed above and beyond expectations. The task he'd assigned would have taken a week under ideal circumstances, but the Enterprise personnel had scrambled what he'd asked for together in a matter of days. The only departments' reports he was missing were the major departments that had undergone the greatest en route change due to the mission against the Xindi.
A sharp bark drew Archer's eyes away from the screen. He turned in his chair, rested his hands on his knees, and looked across his small ready room toward the source of the sound. Porthos was sitting underneath the room window, tail wagging and ears perked toward his master alertly.
Archer smiled. "What's the matter, boy, all this starting to get to you, too?"
Porthos licked his lips and shuffled his front feet but remained in place.
Archer patted his thighs with his hands in invitation. "Come here."
Porthos at once got up and trotted to his master's side, looking up at the human only a second before rising up to hind legs and anchoring his front paws on Archer's left leg.
Archer was petting Porthos when the ready room door sounded.
"Come in," he called over his shoulder without turning from his attention to his pet.
The door hissed open and Porthos's tail began to jerk back and forth more quickly.
"Cap'n."
Archer would recognize that voice, that accent, anywhere. The captain's good mood vanished, replaced by sympathy and reluctance. Trip had been unpleasant since learning about the Ares... not that Archer could blame him. Despite that, Trip's attitude was not exactly what the captain wanted to handle at the moment. The southern engineer had not been the best of company as of late. Trip wasn't letting his disappointment and anger at their latest orders interfere with his work, it was just that his disposition was tainted with bitterness, a bitterness that was hard to miss. Archer couldn't very well order his chief engineer to lighten up; Archer understood all too well where Trip was coming from concerning his reaction to the news of Enterprise's detour back to Earth.
Archer sighed and at the sound Porthos dropped down and returned to his place by the window. Archer watched the dog move off, almost envious. He had yet to look at his friend standing in his office.
"Trip, report?" With one last second to steel himself against the walking sore Commander Tucker had been lately, Archer turned his head to face Trip.
He was greeted by the very familiar face of his friend and chief engineer. Also familiar at this point was the unhappy scowl that marred the young man's kind features.
The younger man's voice, however, distinctly lacked the hostility and anger it had been known for as of late. In fact, it was almost even and calm when he said, "Engineerin's almost finished with the major upgrades and the summaries we'll need to pass off to the Ares. Another day and all we'll need is that ship to show up so we can take their engineerin' staff by the hand and walk them through it."
Archer took a moment to adjust to Trip's demeanor. "That's good news, Trip. Your team's done a good job."
Trip's lips pursed, he looked on the verge of saying what was on his mind, then he exhaled and bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes, sir."
Archer released a breath he didn't realize he'd been keeping in check. Trip had come in calmer than Archer had expected and the predictable tirade he'd been bracing for had never come. The day was starting to look up.
"So, how much work is the Ares crew in for?"
Trip's lip faintly curled. "It's not gonna be a walk in the park, but if they're even half as good as Enterprise's crew they can manage to implement all our recommendations within three days."
"Three days?" Archer asked in surprise as he thought of all the on-the-fly repairs and refits Trip and his team had done aboard the Enterprise in the last few months.
"I didn't say it would be an easy three days."
Archer allowed a smile. "Of course." The captain pushed back in his chair, elicited a creak from the furniture, and looked up at Trip critically a moment. "To be honest with you, Trip, the more I think about this assignment the more I find myself conceding to its wisdom."
Trip's eyes locked on Archer's and though he didn't say anything his eyebrows furrowed. The tempest was stirring again right before Archer's eyes.
"Don't get me wrong," Archer quickly amended, "I still think we should be out here, but we have our orders and I think you can agree that this crew could use a break, even a little one."
Trip's lips thinned, his eyes narrowed, then he said lowly as though he loathed to say it, "The Enterprise too could do with the down-time."
"God knows she's earned it. You've done a great job with her. When we get back to Earth I intend to inform Starfleet of your exemplary performance."
Trip looked torn between frustrated, angry, and tired. He didn't seem the least interested in commendations. Still, about his person, was a renewed sense of acceptance that for days had been staunchly avoiding the young engineer. It was refreshing to Archer to see a Trip Tucker that he could be around, that didn't give the impression he was always on the verge of exploding, and Archer found himself saying, "If you can spare the time, I'd like you and T'Pol to join me tonight in captain's mess for dinner. We haven't had much time for that lately."
Trip, for the briefest moment, looked like he was combating the flight reflex. Then, with a descending calm, he gave a regretful shrug. "Love to, sir, but I'm not quite finished with my procedures for the Ares on properly applying Trellium D to the outer hull and if they don't have that they may as well fly into a sun."
"Of course. Well, once we're back underway to Earth, then?"
"Count on it, Cap'n," and Trip shifted on his feet, not enough to appear rude but enough to indicate he would really like to be dismissed.
Archer gave a relenting nod and in the next breath Trip was at the door and Archer was alone in his office once more.
A whining bark drew Archer's attention back to Porthos. The dog had laid down, head resting on the floor between its paws. The soft brown eyes were watching Archer closely.
"What do you make of that, Porthos?" Archer asked aloud.
Porthos mouthed twice and his ears laid back in an enigmatic expression.
Archer turned in his chair back to his computer screen that he'd been reading before he became distracted.
Back to Chapter 3
Continue to Chapter 5
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