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Counting Down to Zero
Rated: PG … mild language and adult situations. A/N: This has long lain fallow upon my hard drive though some of you may recognize it from my LJ. There are 6 planned "chapters" and I hope I can finally figure out the ending... Z Minus Ten The data on the screen in front of her had long since ceased making sense. Giving up, T'Pol deactivated the screen with more force than was absolutely necessary and rose to her feet. As she rubbed her temples in a futile attempt to ward off an impending headache, she divided her attention between the plan that she and Trip had devised to disable Sphere Forty One and the odds of the captain's suicidal run against the Xindi weapon being successful. When that did not help distract her sufficiently, she added an additional level of complexity to her mental calculations by attempting to calculate exactly how much deuterium would be necessary to reach Earth from the rendezvous point at warp four. A moment later, she discovered that she was pacing back and forth, and forced herself to stop. In that moment of weakness, her thoughts drifted to Cargo Bay Two and the trellium within. Anger flashed through her then, hot and fast, and T’Pol clenched her hands together tightly. Her nails dug deeply into her palms and she welcomed the distracting pain. She grit her teeth as her control wavered; for a heartbeat, she seriously considered curling up on her bed and allowing the tears to come before discarding the notion. Phlox had helped cleanse most of the physical effects of the addiction, but she was discovering that the psychological dependency was far, far more insidious. Visiting the doctor for support was not a logical course of action; he was, after all, still quite busy treating the wounded from their recent battle. That left only Trip. He remained oblivious to the true source of her recent emotional flashes, but had indicated a willingness to lend aid, including today. She knew, somehow, that he would not turn away from her if she went to him. Trip cared deeply for her, even if the exact nature of their relationship remained ... ambiguous. Control wavered, and she felt the overwhelming urge to visit the cargo bay once more. Just to look, of course. Her feet carried her from her cabin even before she realized that she had made her decision. At the commander's door, she hesitated, suddenly overcome with fear. Would he turn her away? She had treated him poorly in the past, and if he knew how far she had allowed herself to fall, all in an insane quest for emotion, would he be disgusted? Angry? Or even worse, would he be indifferent toward her plight? Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the door annunciator, and she silently cursed herself for her weakness. She input the override code, fully expecting him to still be awake despite her orders to the contrary. If she were entirely honest with herself, she was hoping that he was awake so they could argue. It would give her something to focus on beyond the intense craving for trellium and she had never denied that Commander Tucker was a stimulating conversationalist. When the door slid open, T'Pol paused in momentary surprise at the darkness of the cabin and Trip's unmoving form on the bed. Her hesitation was short-lived, though, as she heard the approach of a crewman down the corridor. Stepping forward, she closed the door behind her quickly. As inappropriate as her visit was, it would be even more inappropriate to actually be seen entering. Trip was deeply asleep, and she took a moment to admire his features illuminated by starlight. In slumber, the anger and bitterness that seemed to hound him since his sister's death was gone, and the innocence that she had mourned the loss of seemed to resurface. Her fingers trembled as the urge to touch his face swelled within her, and she shivered at the force of the impulse. Somehow, he remained unaware of the power he held over her. Most days, T'Pol hoped he never learned of it. Especially tonight. Her thoughts drifted once more to Cargo Bay Two, and she looked away from him. A part of her wanted to blame him, wanted to accuse him of being the reason that she was a fool who had voluntarily poisoned her body and mind. It was tempting to do so, but she knew better. Without allowing herself to think of the consequences, T'Pol quickly shed her uniform and stacked it on a nearby chair. She slid into the bed next to Trip, drawing in a sharp breath when he instinctively rolled toward her and draped an arm over her stomach. Remarkably, she felt her anxiety dwindle, as if he were somehow siphoning it from her, something she knew to be categorically impossible. Control slowly began to return. She could not stay, of course. It would lead to too many difficult questions if Trip woke to find her in his bed after the way she had treated him lately, but, for the moment, she let herself relax into his embrace. He snuggled closer to her, burying his nose in her hair and mumbling something that she could not comprehend. Only a few moments longer, she told herself as she closed her eyes. |
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