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"Reflecting to You"
By MissAnnThropic
Rating: PG-13
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: A different ending to In a Mirror Darkly, Part I, results in the Mirror Universe T'Pol ending up on our universe's Enterprise when the relationship between Trip and T'Pol is at a breaking point. (later becomes a cross-over with ST:TOS, Spoilers: The Tholian Web)
Chapter 16
From the moment he stepped into the mess hall, Trip was looking for T'Pol. He was past the point of lying to himself or pretending he wasn't helplessly enmeshed in everything T'Pol… he was and he knew he would be until the bond was broken.
And it would be broken now. T'Pol, as he expected, had agreed to the severing of their matebond. She had probably longed for it, for freedom from his chaotic human emotions, but her Vulcan culture didn't give her a guideline for how to broach the subject. Trip had to do it for both of them.
For something he understood so poorly, he grieved the bond's encroaching demise acutely.
But it wasn't gone yet, not yet… just neglected and twisted and broken, but it was enough. It was enough that Trip was drawn to T'Pol, eternally and hopelessly. Bound. When he entered a room, he sought her, pulled as though tethered to her by an invisible rope.
She wouldn't allow a Vulcan connection, but he could try to rekindle a human one. Human friendships never delved into mental links; he could relearn to be friends with T'Pol without sharing her thoughts. It would be hard, but he had to try. He was distressed beyond rational thought at the idea of losing her completely. He could sacrifice her heart, that treasure he'd held too short a time, but he needed her companionship. Bond aside, she had become his best friend and he couldn't lose that. He just couldn't lose the rest of her.
When he arrived for dinner, he tried to look for his friend and not his mate when his eyes scanned the mess hall for T'Pol.
His disappointment at not finding her was abruptly curtailed by the other one. 'Mu'Pol' as the crew had been calling her for ease of distinguishing her from Commander T'Pol. She was there, alone, watching him like an alley dog kicked too many times.
He was given pause and for a heartbeat he truly didn't know what to think or feel.
No T'Pol, but her mysterious double.
Trip gravitated, but the approach vector was shallow, not the nosedive to her gravity well that Trip found himself in when it was T'Pol. He understood, intellectually, that she wasn't T'Pol, regardless of likeness in their appearances. He knew full well it wasn't her.
Still, Mu'Pol had the allure, the draw… the essence of Vulcanness in a sea of humanity. Trip had discovered within himself a very strong and at times baffling preference for Vulcans, even when it wasn't T'Pol. Sometimes, he found himself longing for Vulcan company, weary at the thought of socializing with his fellow humans. His own kind could be so exhausting… something he'd never really realized before T'Pol was a part of him.
He thought, at times, there was something very wrong with his brain.
Trip shared a meal with Mu'Pol, and there was no question that this was not his T'Pol (had there ever been any doubt in the first place). Mu'Pol was jumpy… not in her body (which was taut and ready for action), but in her eyes. Her gaze flicked and tracked movements like a cat on the prowl. Even during their conversations, even if she seemed engaged, she remained keenly conscious of where everyone around her was and noted where and when they moved. No one was above suspicion.
Not even him.
When she looked at him, her expression was guarded.
From the things she said about her universe, he could hardly blame her.
He had meant to finish dinner and leave her alone. She wasn't the one he'd been looking for, and appearances aside there were so many damning ways that she wasn't his T'Pol. His T'Pol had a warmth in her eyes. When her features could not betray fondness because it went against everything she was raised to know, he'd learned to find affection in her gaze.
Mu'Pol's eyes were stony and empty in comparison.
But there were moments, flashes, glimpses... doubts. His or hers, it was sometimes hard to tell. He got the sense that Mu'Pol didn't quite know where to place him in this universe so new to her. She acted as though she had categorized the rest of the entire crew, but she looked at him like he was still part enigma.
Trip felt much the same way about her.
What stopped Trip from taking his leave of her after he finished eating was the passing tightness around her eyes, the momentary grim set of her lips, the stiff way she held her shoulders and bent just slightly forward from the waist.
He was good at reading the subtleties of Vulcan body language, particularly that Vulcan body, and he could tell that Mu'Pol was in pain. Just as he'd picked up on it in sickbay last night, he saw it again across the table.
She looked just enough like his T'Pol that he was incapable of seeing her hurting and ignoring it. He couldn't look at her face, at that face, see pain, and not do something to ease it. Not when he knew he had the ability to help.
He hadn't known if she would accept the offer of neuropressure or not… it was a technique performed by a trusted friend and it was clear she did not consider him trustworthy or a friend.
But she'd accepted, to his surprise, and was presently walking at his side down the corridors of the ship.
Passing crewmen gave him a few peculiar looks when they noted his companion. A few had disapproval in their eyes before quickly glancing away.
Why? What measure did they use to judge him now? He didn't care and didn't try to figure out why. He could understand better as of late how Vulcans could find humans so taxing.
Trip reached the door to his quarters and Mu'Pol stood tensely in wait, her head turning one way then the other to take note of who was at either side of her. Checking her flanks.
She might be a tougher model of the T'Pol he knew, but Trip felt sorry for her.
He opened his door and gestured for her to precede him.
Mu'Pol cut a suspicious, calculating glare at him.
Trip didn't wait, he went inside first. Mu'Pol followed more cautiously after him, giving herself a moment to orient herself to the layout of the room from a place by the door where, if necessary, retreat would be easy.
Trip made a half-hearted, room-encompassing gesture. "Make yourself comfortable." He made his way discretely to the panel controlling the environmentals to his room and turned up the temperature ten degrees.
Mu'Pol took a couple of steps further into the room, attentive to her surroundings and for the moment letting him slip to a secondary concern as she assessed the conditions of her new situation. She still had an air of 'tactical evaluation' about her, despite her feigned casual demeanor.
'If she doesn't relax, neuropressure's going to be all but impossible,' he thought as he turned to rummage around in his cabinets. He could see Mu'Pol moving slowly around his room from the corner of his eye. He let her be and concentrated on his search.
He found the meditation candle T'Pol had given him, a gift when he had demonstrated his personal interest in mastering the art of Vulcan meditation. Initially, it had not been something T'Pol deliberately taught him. He had found meditation a natural outgrowth from the breathing exercises involved in neuropressure, and from the passing basic instruction T'Pol had given him he cobbled together his own method of calming his thoughts. When T'Pol caught him doing it… Trip smiled faintly at the memory. He'd really surprised her. Trip was rewarded with an off-guard T'Pol, privy to one of those rare moments when her control played catch-up to her emotions and in the lag gave a hint of the feeling being underneath the Vulcan mask.
T'Pol had commented on his commendable efforts, but her real praise had been to give him a candle. That was the measure of her approval, a Vulcan meditation candle that he now held carefully in his hands. Narrouv-scented, a sense-memory that took Trip back to the home of T'Pol's mother, with warm sandstone underfoot and the rich smell of the garden just outside the front door, windows plentiful and letting in the natural light of the Vulcan sky.
Trip shook himself from the memory.
He turned to face his guest and paused to consider her curiously. She was no longer roaming the room. She was facing his bunk, perfectly still, a faint frown of confusion on her face. Her hair falling down past her shoulders was distracting for seeming so out of place, because her posture just then was textbook Vulcan, austere and regal. A long time ago, Trip had interpreted it as arrogant… most humans still saw it that way. Now Trip knew it was merely the body in perfect control.
Her face wasn't.
Trip noticed right away that Mu'Pol was more emotional than T'Pol was. More… volatile. Probably a survival tactic given the world she came from. It was ironic; he used to long for more emotion from T'Pol. But now that he was presented some version of what he'd wanted, he knew it was not this kind of emotion he wanted to see. Not anger.
Mu'Pol turned away from whatever had captivated her attention and looked at him. Her gaze was questioning and puzzled and perhaps just slightly accusatory. Her question was very Vulcan, pointed and sharp. "Why do you have a picture of a Vulcan child?"
It hit Trip like a punch to the stomach.
Elizabeth.
He hadn't been thinking about the picture he'd placed on his overhead shelf, the one Hoshi gave him. He hadn't thought he would be made to answer for it.
It was as though all the warmth in the room disappeared in an instant, and he was left standing in the cold. His heart pounded in thundering agony and his grip on the candle tightened until his knuckles turned white.
On Enterprise, everyone knew about his daughter… he was never faced with explaining her to anyone. He never had to tell the story about her death, never had to relive it that way.
Stalling for time, trying to regather his wits from the unexpected question, he moved slowly to his worktable and set the candle down with care. He stared at the burned wick in a cup of cooled wax, narrouv-rose colored and even almost folded inward like the petals of the Vulcan plant.
Trip took a deep, bracing breath, licked his lips, and turned to face Mu'Pol. She was watching him intently, clearly confused about the image on Trip's shelf and determined to get an answer. Either she didn't see the distress her question was causing him or she didn't care.
Trip looked past Mu'Pol to the picture of Elizabeth. His baby's sweet, soft face, her beautiful blue eyes, those adorable elfin ears… he remembered the way her little chest moved when she breathed, how her legs kicked, the wonderful weight of her in his arms (the scant time he was able to hold her), the feel of her tiny fingers curled and clasped on to his hand in the shuttle pod departing the Mars colony complex.
Then he remembered the agonizing moment when he watched her little chest sink on a final exhale and never rise again.
It bled him of his strength, his will, and he leaned back against his table to let it take his weight.
Mu'Pol continued to wait for an answer.
Trip had to find his voice. "She's my daughter."
Mu'Pol did a decent imitation of a dog trying to catch an odd sound. Her head tilted, her chin dipped, and her eyebrows pulled closer together. She stared at him.
Trip's ribcage was an echoing ache but he waited. He didn't care to volunteer more than she asked of him.
In the time she studied him, Mu'Pol must have decided he was not lying to her. The sharp V of her eyebrows slacked and she glanced again at the picture. Then she returned her eyes to him. The rigidity of her stance had lost a lot of its power… he'd thrown her, unbalanced her.
"You have a half-breed offspring?"
Trip frowned darkly. He didn't like the way she said that, like a derogatory slur. Like what a Terra Prime radical might call his daughter. "Her name was Elizabeth," he returned sharply, daring Mu'Pol to mention his daughter with that tone again. "And yes…" his heart and his tone sank, "I did."
Mu'Pol paused deliberately. "Did?"
Trip crossed his arms tightly over his chest, though nothing could ward off the grief that slammed into him in waves. "Yeah… she died. Almost two months ago."
T'Pol would have given him a gentle look at such an emotionally devastating revelation. Mu'Pol merely considered it. She turned her attention back to the picture and Trip could see the wheels turning, thoughts racing… he knew the look of a T'Pol brain in high-gear.
"The mother was Commander T'Pol." It wasn't a question.
"Yes, she was."
Mu'Pol turned entirely to face him then, her stance more uncertain than confrontational. "Is Commander T'Pol your mate?"
"Yes," Trip answered without hesitation. 'For now, anyway,' he thought gloomily.
Mu'Pol looked thoroughly shaken by the discovery. She dropped her gaze and moved a half-step away from him. For a moment, he thought she was going to head for the door. Her eyes returned to him at long delay, and there was open wonder and mangled hope there. Still, her voice was cutting and condescending. "Can you even understand the true meaning of a mate to a Vulcan?"
He could tell from her voice that she didn't think so.
He didn't even bother being annoyed by Mu'Pol's doubts; he didn't have enough to spare for that. Instead, Trip gave a shrug. "I haven't read the unabridged teachings of Surak on the subject, if that's what you're asking. Academically, no, I probably don't understand. I understand only what the bond has taught me."
Mu'Pol visibly jolted. "You bonded with her?"
As he nodded absently, the words he'd heard at T'Pol's farcical wedding to Koss resurfaced; words he had not understood completely then but did now. Words that had always applied to Trip and T'Pol, never T'Pol and Koss. "Parted from me but never parted…" he murmured to himself.
Mu'Pol's Vulcan hearing caught every word and she paled as she stood gaping at him.
Trip raked a hand roughly through his hair and sighed. His chest still ached from the unanticipated question about Elizabeth.
He wanted to talk about anything but his daughter, so he steered the conversation before she could ask anything else about Elizabeth. "Guess humans don't take Vulcan mates where you're from." He would hardly think so, given the nature of her universe and the relationship between humans and Vulcans (to say nothing of her refusal to believe in a human's ability to comprehend Vulcan mating).
But Mu'Pol didn't answer right away, and that made Trip look up at her. She was… uncomfortable. She tracked her eyes over the carpet before replying, "Not usually."
"Not usually. But it happens? Sometimes?" Maybe her universe wasn't utterly lost if somewhere a human and Vulcan could care for one another. Maybe it even turned out better than his and T'Pol's botched union.
Mu'Pol shifted uneasily, her muscles taut and voice strained. "On rare occasion." She darted a nervous look at him. "I took you as a mate. Or, rather, I took your counterpart as a mate."
It was Trip's turn to gape. After the way she described the humans she served with, and the disdain and contempt that had filled her voice, she would still choose one as a mate? And she chose his counterpart? A foolishly romantic part of him wanted to think that was a mark of fate, a sign of destiny, but the practical part of his brain caught up and firmly shackled the wild ideals of a heartsick human.
Mu'Pol looked flighty at his prolonged silence following her confession.
"I thought you said you and your Trip weren't friends."
"I said you were different from him," Mu'Pol corrected snappishly.
"But you had feelings for him," Trip pressed gently.
Mu'Pol sighed, irritated. "It is… complicated."
Trip couldn't help it. He laughed.
Mu'Pol looked up sharply at him for his outburst.
Trip shook his head. "Sorry… seems there are some universal constants, no matter which universe."
Mu'Pol lifted a brow at him.
Trip grew serious and studied Mu'Pol closely. He tried to imagine what kind of life she had left behind when the accident with the Tholian cell brought her to their universe. When he thought it was only slavery and subjugation she'd left behind he was guilt-free in keeping her from it. But did she have a family she'd left behind? Was there another Trip out there missing this T'Pol? Was Mu'Pol's connection to her Trip half as strong as what Trip and T'Pol had before the death of their daughter?
He wondered. He asked his guest softly, "Does he love you?" At Mu'Pol's pointed look Trip clarified, "Your Trip?" He knew better than to ask if she loved him… not in those words. No Vulcan would own up to them.
Mu'Pol frowned openly. She looked flustered a moment, lost for words, then said haltingly, "I… believe he cared for me in the only way he knew how." Mu'Pol silently took a seat on the end of Trip's bunk, appearing much less… imposing than she had a minute ago. She glanced up searchingly at Trip, maybe looking for her Trip, maybe just understanding, he wasn't sure. From the crinkle on her brow, she didn't find what she was looking for when she continued, "Affection is defined differently in my universe than it appears to be defined here. The humans in my universe rarely commit to one mate if there is not a political advantage in doing so."
Political advantage? Trip's face screwed. "That's all that matters to the humans in your universe? Promotion? Self-preservation?"
"There is nothing else," Mu'Pol answered plainly. "The Commander Tucker of my universe was no different in that respect."
Trip scowled. "Then how do you know he… cared for you? If everyone is just using everyone else for their own purposes, just to get ahead, what would make you think he was any different?"
Mu'Pol's eyebrows drew together slightly. She seemed to contemplate refusing to answer, then she inhaled. "Where many human males abuse their sex partners, Tucker was only harsh in the way he spoke to me. His touch…" Mu'Pol sat up straight. "His hands never meant me harm."
She sounded almost moved by that show of fondness, but Trip was far from impressed. He winced. "That's affection in your universe?"
Mu'Pol narrowed her eyes at him, as though contemptuous that Trip would belittle what she clearly saw as a sign of Commander Tucker's affection. "I saw many of Tucker's other sexual conquests after the act, and he did not spare them physical harm."
"So because he didn't beat you he loved you?" Trip said acidly before he could censure himself. He didn't even mention the fact that this other guy apparently felt no reason to be faithful to a woman for whom he supposedly held 'affection', much less 'loved'.
"I did not say 'love'. Only the weak use such a flaccid word," Mu'Pol returned shortly.
He felt the wrongness there, but Trip bit his tongue… he didn't want a fight. He had to remind himself she was from a different universe, a completely different life, and maybe he could never understand. "What he gave… that was enough for you?"
Mu'Pol didn't so much as blink. If she were human, she might have shrugged. "When the time came, I chose him." She obviously meant for that to say it all.
Trip shook his head. As he was listening to her, appalled and saddened, he reminded himself that T'Pol had married Koss for no other reason than to help her mother regain her former standing in Vulcan society. Just because he thought love should be the only reason to be with someone didn't mean his counterpart would be so… sentimental, not when even his T'Pol wedded for other reasons. It didn't really leave him a position to judge.
"Well, I guess that's something," he conceded weakly.
Mu'Pol looked askance at him, cocked her head slightly, and seemed to make a decision. "It is clearly not comparable to what you have achieved with my counterpart." Mu'Pol looked almost frustrated. "Though I took Commander Tucker as my mate when one became necessary, I never bonded with him."
"Too bad," Trip muttered. When Mu'Pol frowned at him, Trip hurried to add, "I mean, for him. I know how being bonded feels to a…" Trip saw Mu'Pol staring at him and he trailed off and sighed. "Nevermind." If this other Trip was anything like Mu'Pol described him, he didn't deserve a bondmate, anyway.
Mu'Pol looked over her shoulder at the picture of Elizabeth again and Trip's throat tightened.
"Are you not concerned that your mate would find you performing neuropressure on another female a violation of the matebond?"
A bitter, wry smile tugged at Trip's mouth. "Not really."
Mu'Pol looked directly at him in open question.
"T'Pol and I are… kind of having some problems right now."
Mu'Pol considered that a moment. "The death of the child?"
Trip's expression hardened. "Elizabeth."
Mu'Pol seemed to balk a moment in defiance, then she gave a faint half-nod of acquiescence. "Elizabeth."
Trip huffed out a breath. "Losing our baby girl was…" Trip struggled to find an adequate description for the tragedy, "heart-breaking. It's hard for me to…" Trip clenched his jaw. "You know what, can we not talk about it? I just…" Emotion choked his voice and he looked away before his eyes watered and betrayed just how human and weak he was to this strange T'Pol for loving his daughter so deeply.
Mu'Pol's voice was capitulating when she said, "I believe I have a measure of understanding of how… difficult the— Elizabeth's death has been."
'How could you ever?' Trip thought miserably, but she was letting the topic go and he would take that. He cleared his throat. "Right… thanks."
Mu'Pol looked down at her knees then belatedly up at him. "I grieve with thee."
It may have been a standard Vulcan platitude, a practiced 'I'm sorry for your loss', but he appreciated it.
An awkward silence fell upon them. It lasted no more than ten seconds, but it felt like an uneasy hour as Trip tried to think of how to go back to casual conversation. He couldn't think of an easy segue. The nature of a starship negated any talk about the weather.
"The room temperature has increased since our arrival," Mu'Pol noted.
Trip smiled. 'Or maybe not,' he thought. "Yeah, I turned up the heat when we first came in. My T… uh, T'Pol prefers it around eighty-five. I just thought you would, too… I can turn it down if you like… or up."
"Do not alter the setting. It is very… relaxing."
Trip smirked. "That's the point. You'll get a whole lot more out of neuropressure if you're relaxed and comfortable while I'm doing it. Speaking of…" Trip moved to his cabinets and retrieved a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. When he turned to Mu'Pol brandishing the items she eyed him warily.
Trip held out the garments. "You might want to change into these."
Mu'Pol lifted an eyebrow.
"Unless you're entirely comfortable with the idea of stripping down in front of me. I know neuropressure's best practiced in the nude, but these will be loose enough on you that I can still get my hands where they need to be without… undressing you." He could feel a slight blush in his cheeks. "Not the perfect way to do neuropressure, but I figure given the circumstances…"
"Preferable," Mu'Pol finished for him and stood from the bunk. She accepted the clothes and Trip jerked his head toward his bathroom. "You can change in there, I'll be waiting."
Mu'Pol went into his bathroom and Trip lit the meditation candle and laid it in the center of his floor. Immediately the scent of narrouv filled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. After the fact, after her last-minute appeal to Trip to stop T'Pol from marrying Koss by confessing his love, Trip held T'Les fondly in his memories. She may have been a Vulcan mother, but deep down she proved to be more mother than she was Vulcan when it came to T'Pol's welfare. He associated the narrouv flower's smell with T'Pol's mother and childhood home.
He stood and turned toward his bunk. His eyes flew unbidden to the picture of his daughter.
It was strange to hurt and love so much at once.
Within moments he heard movement approaching him from behind and he turned to look toward the bathroom. Mu'Pol returned wearing his clothes and looking quite ridiculous in them if truth be told. Trip's shirt was enormous on her and the pants no better. She looked like a child dressed in her father's clothes. She was carrying the form-fitting uniform in one hand and her shoes in the other. The loss of height only added to the childlike appearance. She looked up at him expectantly.
'If her eyes were blue, this might be what Elizabeth would have looked like all grown up,' Trip thought.
Trip shook himself from the dangerous rumination and held out his hands for Mu'Pol's clothes. When she handed them over he set them on his desk and then he gestured toward the bunk. "Go ahead and lie down on your stomach."
Mu'Pol paused at first then moved to do as bade. She stretched out carefully atop his bed sheets and curled his pillow under her head. When she put her head down she drew up short and made a peculiar face.
"Sorry," Trip said to her expression, assuming he knew the reason. "If I'd known you were going to be using my bunk I'd have washed the sheets. Excuse the smell of human," he joked feebly.
Mu'Pol stiffened. "The smell isn't… I was only observing that your scent is almost identical to the Commander Tucker's of my universe."
"Huh," Trip mumbled, not sure how else to react to that. Luckily, Mu'Pol didn't seem to expect a response, because she proceeded to lay her head down on his pillow and took a couple of noticeable breaths to try and relax.
Trip took a seat beside her on the edge of his own bunk and gave her some time. He could tell just from looking at her how rigid and uneasy she was, and he didn't make a move to touch her until he saw the lines of her back soften and her shoulders drop. It took longer than it had ever taken T'Pol to get comfortable in his presence.
When the room was Vulcanly warm, when the air was thick with the comforting smell of narrouv flowers in full bloom on the vines, Trip gently reached for the hem of his T shirt that Mu'Pol wore.
She took in a breath and he waited.
When she was breathing normally again he slid his hands inside the article of clothing and moved them up her back, still inches from actual physical contact.
Finally, he brought his fingertips to rest against her skin, once again high near her shoulder blades.
Mu'Pol tensed and Trip waited. In a few seconds Mu'Pol was quiescent again and Trip blindly traced his fingers over the curve of her spine, finding by feel, like a blind man reading brail, the proper neural points. When he did, he applied pressure.
Mu'Pol involuntarily sighed and the remaining tension that he could feel in her body melted away.
Trip moved a few centimeters down to the next neural point. "Let me know if I do anything wrong," he said softly, remembering his unfortunate sessions with Amanda Cole. "I'm far from an expert at this."
"You seem quite proficient," Mu'Pol said lowly, eyes closed.
Trip just barely smiled. "Well, I've done neuropressure on this body a lot. I mean…"
"I know what you mean."
Trip worked on Mu'Pol's back for five minutes in silence. Mu'Pol relaxed to the point where Trip almost thought she had fallen asleep. Instead, she opened her eyes languidly and fixed her gaze on the flickering flame in the middle of Trip's room.
Trip was intent on his task, but in the back of his mind was a wave of relief. It had seemed an eternity since he was able to touch T'Pol without feeling a brick wall of grief and agony assail him. Of course, this wasn't his T'Pol, but the feel of her beneath his fingers was the same. The fevered feel of Vulcan skin, the smoothness stretched over hard muscles and bone. She had noted his smell being just like the other Tucker's, but Trip was noticing that she smelled a hell of a lot like his T'Pol, too.
Trip and Mu'Pol both startled when the door chime to Trip's quarters sounded. Mu'Pol glanced back over her shoulder toward the door then at Trip.
Trip frowned, not sure who could be looking for him at this hour. Once upon a time, it would have been T'Pol and she would have been welcome no matter the hour, but he wasn't about to delude himself with thinking she would seek him in his quarters.
"Give me a second," Trip said to Mu'Pol and rose. He went to the door and commanded it open, blinking to see Jonathan Archer outside his room.
"Captain," he said in surprise.
Archer smiled. "Hi, Trip. Hope I'm not catching you on your way to bed. My dinner guest cut out on me so I decided to take Porthos for a walk and thought you might like to give me some company."
Trip glanced down at the captain's beagle standing by Archer's legs and wagging his tail.
"Uh, well…"
Archer stepped into Trip's quarters, giving the engineer a friendly pat on the arm as he did so. "Damn, Trip, it's hot as Vulcan in here," he teased.
"Captain…" Trip tried to explain, but just then Archer stopped in his tracks when he saw Mu'Pol on Trip's bed.
Mu'Pol sat up hastily and turned to face Archer. Her eyes fixed on the captain and Trip could see distrust flare.
"Oh, uh…" Archer stammered, lost for words. He turned to glance at Trip, and Trip saw confusion in the captain's eyes, then accusation, then… disappointment.
"It's not what you think," Trip said quickly.
Archer eyed Trip with disapproval but before he could say anything Porthos took it upon himself to wriggle past his master's legs and trot over to check out the Vulcan. Both men watched.
Porthos had no sooner touched the tip of his nose to Mu'Pol's leg to smell her when Mu'Pol reached down, grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck, and held him aloft at arm's length. Porthos whined and tucked his tail between his legs, all four legs curled tight to his body as he was held dangling above the deck. Mu'Pol scowled at the canine.
"Hey!" Archer exclaimed and strode across the room. He gathered up Porthos in his arms and stepped back from Mu'Pol with a hurt look. Porthos snuggled into Archer's chest and looked forlornly, like a friend betrayed, at Mu'Pol from the safety of Archer's hold.
Mu'Pol lifted an imperious brow at the display.
Trip stepped forward. "She just came by for neuropressure, that's all."
Mu'Pol stood and retrieved her clothing from the desk. She said to Trip, "I thank you for your assistance; I will leave now." She paused. "I will return your clothes later."
With that, Mu'Pol left Archer and Trip standing in the room together.
When the door closed after Mu'Pol's departure Archer looked pointedly at Trip.
Trip sighed. "It wasn't like that, so stop looking at me like… like…"
"Like what?"
"Like I was cheating on T'Pol!" Trip snapped.
Archer frowned and absently pet Porthos. "You said it, not me, Trip."
Trip plopped down on the foot of his bunk. "She was still in pain from her injuries, I was just helping her. Neuropressure has therapeutic applications. T'Pol had nothing to do with it."
Archer went to the desk chair and sat down, settling Porthos in his lap. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
Trip placed his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He groaned. "I don't even know." In the ensuing silence Trip looked warily up at Archer and found the captain looking over Trip… in the direction of the picture of Elizabeth.
To his relief, Archer didn't say anything about it. Instead, the captain returned his attention to his chief engineer and said, "Look… it's confusing to me to have this other T'Pol aboard, so I can't even imagine how confusing it is to you."
Trip snorted.
"I just don't want you to do anything you'd regret later."
Trip dropped his gaze to the candle still on the floor and stared at the flame. How could anything make matters worse? T'Pol was already leaving him.
"Well, that awkward moment with the other T'Pol aside," Archer said, "my invitation to join us on a walk still stands if you're up for it."
Trip suddenly felt weary down to his bones. "Actually, I'd like to be alone."
Archer looked sadly at him a second before he put Porthos down on the floor. "Okay… just let me know if you want to meet up later and… you know, talk. Or if you'd just like some company. Good night, Trip."
Trip saw Archer and Porthos to the door.
When he was alone again he habitually turned to his environmental controls to turn the temperature down, but he stopped himself before altering the setting. He considered his quarters, motionless but for the dancing lick of fire of the narrouv-scented candle on the floor.
Instead of adjusting the temperature, he turned off the lights instead. He found his way to his bunk by candlelight, sheets still rumpled from the little use Mu'Pol had made of his bed.
Trip stripped out of his uniform and underwear, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He lay down naked on his bed, on top of the sheets. He'd let the heat of the room be his blanket tonight.
He put his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, breathing in and smelling that so familiar, Vulcan scent imprinted on the fabric.
It lulled him to sleep without the need for Phlox's sedatives.
Back to Chapter 15
Continue to Chapter 17
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