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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 11
Mu'Pol lay tenderly on her side in sickbay and willed herself to stop noticing the pain in her back. It was the worst of the injuries she'd sustained in the accident that brought her to this upside-down Enterprise. She had obviously fallen on a jagged edge of Tholian metal during the explosion; it had cut her open and the wound ran deep into her muscle tissue. She was certain it had touched bone as well. The doctor promised her it would heal (and that she was lucky to have survived with as little injury as she had), but the immediate discomfort was very unpleasant, to say the least.
She commanded her mind to disconnect from the sensation, but she was only marginally successful. It was an all-consuming task most of the time to convince herself to forget she was hurting, and, ironically, she found herself cursing the kindness of her surroundings for the difficulty she was having. Back home, where she came from, she would have had much more pressing concerns to distract her from physical discomfort. Survival, playing the intricate game of kal-tow that life aboard a Terran starship was, even when she was not maneuvering herself but being played for the humans' trite schemes of advancement. Even as a pawn she could find herself 'in the way' of some ambitious officer; to stay alive she had to stay alert. It would have been a suitably intellectually engaging activity and an injury would have no choice but to be set aside.
The attitude aboard this Enterprise was vastly different than the atmosphere of the Terran flagship she knew. It was still baffling to her, but she accepted that it was true. Benign, every day events unfolded in contradiction to what she would normally expect and served as ever-compounding evidence that this ship was completely unlike the Enterprise she knew. Everyone she had encountered so far was too disgustingly, sweetly genuine that she could only come to the logical conclusion that their behavior was honest to their characters. No one in her universe could fake nice so well for very long.
As an exercise to think about something other than the pain she felt, she considered Phlox of this Enterprise. He had been attentive to her needs, gentle with his touch, kind in his manner. He cared about her recovery, and not in the cold, calculated way of one forced to perform a distasteful task by a superior officer. He didn't treat her solely because refusal to do so would earn him punishment at Forrest's hands. He tried to make her comfortable. He afforded her privacy; she had heard him (through the drawn curtain around her bed) run off more than one crewman of the ship who'd shown up curious about her and eager for a one-on-one encounter.
The few crewmen that she had met were as guilelessly pleasant to her, though a bit uncertain about how to relate to her, that there was no doubt this was not the Terran flagship Enterprise. The notion that Crewman Cutler could act so convincingly when helping Phlox tend to her was outlandish; Mu'Pol knew Cutler as a woman so repulsed by Vulcans, a 'filthy slave race' as she regarded them, that she refused to touch them. She'd lost an ear to that edict when she upheld her hands-off policy on Vulcans in the face of a direct order from Forrest. She was that xenocist. The Cutler that assisted Phlox on this ship, however, was quick to smile, spoke in a soft and soothing voice, and expressed worry over Mu'Pol's condition and wanted to help make her feel more at ease. Vertigo after that encounter had nothing to do with any head wounds suffered on Mu'Pol's part.
Mu'Pol shifted her position slightly and the pain in her back intensified sharply as abused muscles locked. She redoubled her efforts to focus elsewhere.
Jonathan Archer. The very name sent a pit of cold disquiet into Mu'Pol's stomach. On her ship he was conniving and not to be trusted, bent on his own command to the detriment of everything else, woe be to anyone who stood in his way. The Archer she knew didn't handle disappointment well and lashed out when things didn't go his way. Mu'Pol had been braced, from the moment she awoke, to be the target of that misplaced frustration and anger.
The Archer that came to see her yesterday was absolutely nothing like she'd expected. He was patient and pleasant, interested and respectful all at once, even if he had that caution behind his eyes that she knew too well. He wasn't oppressive or overpowering like she was prepared to endure. He actually smiled. Mu'Pol had never seen Archer smile before, not without a tightness of insincerity around his mouth that made it come off more like a sneer. Somehow, he seemed younger than the Archer she knew, more innocent child than spoiled brat. She didn't get much of a sense of his intentions, since the majority of his visit was spent with her telling the captain about how she got here, but just the way his body language projected while he listened was the exact opposite of how the Jonathan Archer she knew would react.
The discrepancies were taxing to handle, and in her weakened state only caused, paradoxically, more distress.
This universe was going to take some getting used to.
At the far reaches of her senses she could hear Doctor Phlox humming to himself. The Phlox from the Terran ship had been known to entertain himself with Klingon dirges while performing live dissections before, but the songs this Phlox vocalized under his breath had lilting, soft ululations. Some of them had even been pleasing to the auditory senses.
Mu'Pol let herself drift in a tranquil sea, the doctor's song a distant wind in her ears, herself afloat in a small boat with the pain in another boat very, very far away from her.
As she bobbed in numbness, a change in the windsong registered. Mu'Pol drew away from the healing ocean and attended to the voices that now carried lowly through sickbay.
"… just resting," Phlox was saying when Mu'Pol caught on to the conversation.
"Can I see her?"
That was Archer; she knew the voice anywhere, even if the gentle tone was foreign to her. Just the same, an instinctive rigidity raced up her spine and made her back scream in protest.
"I don't see the harm, but please, don't overly agitate her, Captain, she is still weak and yesterday proves she is… apprehensive around you, shall we say?"
Mu'Pol thought that an accurate and delicately put assessment, yet it was strange that such an obvious vulnerable state was not spoken of with the glee of domination over an opponent.
"That's a nice way of putting it," Archer answered.
"I'll be out for a while, I have an appointment to keep with one of the crew."
"Anything I should know about?"
"No, no, just a private matter, doctor/patient confidentiality, you understand. If you should need me, comm me and I'll be back momentarily."
"Okay, Doctor… thanks."
With that, Mu'Pol knew she was about to face the captain of the ship once again, even before she heard his footsteps closing on her position. She was determined not to meet him weak and vulnerable on her side like a wounded animal. Steeling herself against the pain, she pushed herself gingerly up off the biobed into a sitting position.
She was nearly upright, gritting through the pain, when Archer came around the curtain and saw her struggling. "Whoa, easy," he took a step toward her, hand out-stretched as though to grab her.
Mu'Pol tensed and flinched away, nearly losing her balance in the process. Immediately, Archer stopped coming toward her. He dropped his hand to his side and maintained a stationary and comfortable distance.
Mu'Pol took a breath to steady herself and looked up at his face. He was watching her with a feeble, selfless concern on his face as he studied her. She forced herself as upright as she could and waited for him to make the next move.
Archer blinked and shook off whatever trouble was plaguing him. "Good to see you up; I take it you're feeling better?"
Mu'Pol wondered what he really wanted by asking such a question and how she could most wisely answer to protect herself from danger. She best not reveal any weakness, even those that were obvious, lest she give away more than he actually noticed. "My injuries are healing, according to your doctor."
Archer smiled. "Well, I trust Phlox has done a good job patching you back together. I have to say, you looked pretty rough when we pulled you out of that…" he stalled for a correct word.
Mu'Pol understood now, it was a tactic for information. "The Tholian cell," she provided, 'jogging' his memory of the discussion they had had only yesterday.
Archer mulled that over. "Cell… I guess that's as good a description as any. It could hardly be called a ship and even 'pod's' giving it more credit than it deserves."
Mu'Pol waited for the purpose of his visit.
Archer began to pace absently… though Mu'Pol noted with hidden relief that he maintained a fixed distance away from her at all times, the distance she had dictated by her reaction to his earlier approach was the acceptable zone of nearness for her to be 'comfortable'. "Actually, your recovery is why I'm here."
Mu'Pol lifted a querulous eyebrow at him.
"You'll be fit to leave sickbay soon, and I wanted to know what you intend to do once the doctor cuts you loose."
"This is an interrogation," Mu'Pol observed quickly, a vindicated self-certainty settling into her bones. Not so different in the end after all.
Archer frowned at her. "I don't see why this has to be anything other than a friendly conversation. I'd just like to talk to you about what happens from here. If you mean no one on Enterprise harm, you're perfectly welcome to stay on with us for the time being… until you figure out what you want to do."
Two things struck Mu'Pol in that statement. One was the thinly-veiled threat that he would be on the defensive toward her. If she meant no harm… meaning he had already contemplated the possibility she was hostile and no doubt had formulated counter-measures against her if that proved to be the case. Prudent, she supposed, even logical from a human point of view. The other thing she noted was the way he'd phrased the second part of his comment.
"What I want to do?" she parroted almost sarcastically. Surely this was some manner of game, one of many humans liked to play with subservient races. She'd heard Lieutenant Reed once call it 'cat and mouse'.
Archer shrugged. "Right… I don't know if you've even thought about where you planned to go beyond getting out of sickbay. I can imagine you've had a lot on your mind adjusting to… well, all of this."
"That is a typically human understatement," she grumbled.
Archer chuckled a little tensely. "It's been a lot to chew for us, too. So…" Archer took a tentative step closer. "Did you have any thoughts about what you want to do now?"
Mu'Pol eyed Archer warily when he moved closer, but once he stopped at only a single step nearer she turned her attention to his question… and found herself at a loss in how to answer. He made it sound like an easy question, but it was far from it.
"You look like something's bothering you," Archer noted, "what is it? Maybe I can help."
Mu'Pol was blind-sided by him twice over for that simple sentiment. First, he read her consternation so quickly, and second, his responsive concern and desire to help seemed heart-felt. She could not accustom herself to this Archer.
He was not through surprising her. "My first officer on Enterprise is Commander T'Pol…" he smiled at her startled blink. "I'm used to reading Vulcan expressions, and one Vulcan's especially. It took me years to the point where I was any good at it. Not as good at it as some humans, but better than most."
Mu'Pol had not considered the possibility that her counterpart served aboard the mirror Enterprise. She should have, but as Archer had said her mind was filled with so many other things more immediate to her than the potential inhabitants of this universe that she had not had opportunity to encounter. She had been reacting to proximal stimuli since awakening, paring down her world to that with which she interacted. It was a simple but effective survival technique. Now the broader implications were thrust upon her. She had a moment of almost disembodiment to think her double was somewhere nearby.
That would require further reflection and meditation when she was not 'under the microscope'.
"You allow a Vulcan to serve as your second in command?" The Archer she knew would consent to such an arrangement only grudgingly or if it served some individual purpose to his benefit.
Archer made a face like he'd bitten into a sour fruit. "I wouldn't say 'allow' her to serve on Enterprise, that sounds like I'm giving her a rank that she doesn't deserve and that I don't completely approve of, and that is certainly not the case. Truth is, I'm damned lucky she's stuck with us humans this long."
Mu'Pol tried not to overtly frown, but this Archer did indeed seem to know how to read her disturbingly well.
"High Command tried to take her back early in our mission, but I fought tooth and nail to keep her. She's a valuable member of my crew."
Bewildering as it seemed, Archer sounded like he was genuinely grateful for the other T'Pol's presence aboard Enterprise, like he very sincerely appreciated her service aboard his ship. This universe became more alien to her with every passing minute.
"The Archer I served with would have paid very little for me."
Archer went very still and stared intently at her, that crinkle of worry on his brow again. "I didn't 'pay' anything for my first officer."
Mu'Pol could see he was having trouble gripping the reality of her world, and so she explained it to him. "Where I am from, Captain, Vulcans are a slave race to humans."
Archer gaped.
Bitterness licked at the edges of her emotional control. "I am not accustomed to being asked what I want, particularly not from a human."
Then, something very surprising happened. Archer became… insulted. Disgust lined his features as he said adamantly, "Well, get used to it, because here humans do not believe in owning another sentient being. Slavery was outlawed centuries ago and even then it was a few centuries too late."
A cultural divide opened between them and they watched one another and struggled to relate. She could not fathom a human that didn't believe that he or she had a right to own a Vulcan, and he couldn't fathom a human who would dare entertain the notion.
Finally, Archer spoke again. "Might as well start deciding your own future now. Phlox said you'd probably be released in a couple of days. And actually, he'd probably let you go sooner if you had someplace to go, but my crew's been working on that. Ensign Sato has offered to give you her quarters for the duration of your stay."
Fascinating. The Hoshi Sato Mu'Pol knew would not give her anything gladly except the blade of her knife.
"I guess I should cover the obvious question first, did you want to return to where you came from?"
Mu'Pol balked at the idea on reflex. Yes, it would be a return to the familiar, but go back? What was there to return to? A cruel Terran empire, enslavement… there was the rebellion, yes, but it had been floundering undercover for so long she doubted nonhumans would ever wrest independence from human brutality. Her own efforts to further the alien cause had met with dismal success at best. Nonhumans in her universe were demoralized to such an extent that intensity, the kind of passion needed to win a civil war, was lacking.
Personally for her, what incentive was there to go back to her universe? Her parents were dead, her closest colleagues spread far and thin if they were even still alive. Her captain, the one who had made life as a Vulcan slave not as unpleasant as it was for most, was dead. Commander Tucker…
She regarded Archer warily. "I believe we can both agree conditions here are far more agreeable."
Archer nodded gravely. "Honestly, if you said you wanted to go back we'd do everything possible to get you there, but I wouldn't be happy about sending you."
Mu'Pol puzzled at that.
Archer shrugged. "Human silliness… you look like my friend, and because you do I don't want to see you endangered."
Archer considered his Vulcan officer a 'friend'? Would the peculiarities of this universe never stop? Mu'Pol needed to meditate to absorb all she was learning.
"I suspected you might want to return to Vulcan as soon as possible," Archer said as he backed up against the biobed opposite Mu'Pol's and perched on the edge facing her. "I know it's not really your home planet Vulcan, but if you plan to stay here it will have to become your Vulcan. Unfortunately, Enterprise is on a scientific mission right now that precludes that happening right away. Actually, it's a mission to provide Vulcan with vital survey data, so we're not in a position to turn around and take you there at the moment."
She didn't know what she would do on Vulcan anyway. In her universe, Vulcan was a way-station for human slave-trading in Vulcan citizens. Mount Seleya was a concentration camp, the fire plains a vast smelting facility to build Terran weapons and ship materials, ShiKahr was the seat of the human Emperor's second in command and constantly under a state of martial Terran law. A vast majority of the rest of the planet surface was decimated and uninhabitable even to hardy Vulcans, courtesy of human leaders who felt a homeless enemy was easier to control. Clearly, none of that would exist in this universe if Archer spoke the truth about Vulcan's free status here. As such, she could not imagine what 'her' home planet would be like in this universe. How akin would it be to Vulcan before First Contact with humans? The disease that was humanity had warped the thinking of so many races, including Vulcan, that it was almost impossible to construct an image of a universe without human cruelty and disastrous interference infecting every corner of the galaxy.
She could honestly say, "I have not considered going to planet Vulcan."
Archer shrugged. "Well, you have time to give it some thought. Like I said, you're welcome to stay with us until you decide. You'll be free to wander around the ship when you're up and on your feet," he looked more sharply at her, "but the armory, bridge, and engineering will be off limits."
That did not surprise her. Measures like that were the kind she would expect from Jonathan Archer.
In the next moment, however, he turned her thinking on its head again with unfailing kindness on the heels of his display of a shrewd military officer. "I should let you get some rest," he said, getting up off the biobed. "I'll have some questions for you later, when you're feeling up to it."
Mu'Pol stiffened. Questions… but with or without an agony booth to assist in 'loosening her tongue'? Intellect and gut instinct told her two different answers.
"Get well soon," Archer said in parting, and as Mu'Pol watched him leave she truly, honestly believed he meant it.
*****
T'Pol stood at the view port in the briefing room with her back to the empty table behind her. She had been summoned away from her duties by the doctor to discuss a 'personal matter'. A time not so long ago, she would have postponed any such rendezvous until after her duty shift, but she agreed to the conference and came to the deserted briefing room at the agreed upon time… only to find herself alone with her thoughts. Doctor Phlox was late, a personal habit she found unsatisfactory, and yet, with Phlox she had come to grant a great deal of leeway. After his efforts to save her daughter, T'Pol found herself harboring an almost human leniency toward the doctor.
That did not mean tardiness was an agreeable professional habit, but a forgivable one.
T'Pol turned from watching the streaking starlight at the sound of the door opening and watched Phlox enter. "Ah, sorry I'm late, the captain came into sickbay just as I was on my way to see you and he kept me a few minutes."
"I am assuming he is not ill?"
"Oh no, just checking up on you, ah, the other you… the mirror universe T'Pol currently in sickbay."
T'Pol felt nothing inside at the mention of her double, her emotional detachment was almost absolute. She was satisfied with how apathetic she had been able to remain regarding her strange doppelganger. A human would be immensely disconcerted by such an event. T'Pol informed Phlox, "The crew has taken to calling her 'Mu'Pol'."
"Hmmm… interesting."
"I presume she is not the reason you summoned me."
Phlox's entire demeanor changed. "No… no, it isn't. Please, sit down."
"I would prefer to stand; proceed with your reason for summoning me, Doctor, I have duties to attend to."
Phlox frowned and edged closer to the table. "Very well… I must speak with you about Commander Tucker."
T'Pol's center and focus suddenly shifted. Her mind pulled at her, the very mention of his name made an inborn part of her long for him as her bondmate. It was a knee-jerk reaction she suppressed for fear of the monster she would encounter if she actually met him in her mind.
She stiffened uncomfortably. "Is the 'personal matter' you wished to discuss concerning Commander Tucker?"
"Yes."
T'Pol fought down an irrational sense of annoyance. "His affairs are his own, Doctor. I see no reason for you to confer with me regarding his private life."
"Can we cut through the Vulcan façade of non-emotion and speak truthfully, Commander?" Phlox asked abruptly, his curt and direct tone drawing T'Pol up short. She did not expect him to be so blunt and cold to her. In her stunned silence, he continued, "You may masquerade a detached persona concerning Commander Tucker to the rest of the crew as much as you please, but medically and psychologically speaking you and I both know his private life is very much yours, as well."
T'Pol was uneasy with how accurate that was.
Phlox's eyes hardened. "I cannot perform my duties as ship's doctor if you will not admit the link between yourself and Commander Tucker."
T'Pol was almost angry that he would make her confront the truth that, always, she was bound to Commander Tucker, the storm and beast beating at her door in defiance of all her efforts to be true to Vulcan behavior.
"What did you wish to discuss?" she asked very evenly.
When Phlox recognized she was no longer dismissing the bond, his disposition softened. "Commander Tucker has been to see me several times in the last few days."
Despite herself, that news troubled T'Pol. She worried for him, even when she wanted to be unconcerned.
"Is he well?" she asked almost shakily.
Phlox's shoulders sagged. "No."
"What is wrong with him?"
Phlox sighed and looked sadly at her. "You're hurting him, T'Pol."
T'Pol blinked.
"You are, in fact, endangering his life."
For a moment, she couldn't breathe. "I… I assume that is an exaggeration, Doctor." She wanted it to be, she needed it to be. She could not accept such a weight on her shoulders, not now.
"I wish it were." Phlox paused. "He has been experiencing several severe symptoms from you blocking your bond to him."
She was surprised by that. She had been suffering the consequences of being bonded to a grieving human mind, even suffering the effects of a blocked matebond, but she had not expected Trip would be conscious of the disrupted link in the midst of his wild emotional upheaval. She did not think he would notice the whisper of her controlled mind, even when under stress, amid the screaming of his own incredibly untamed one.
"I did not believe he would be telepathically adept enough to even notice." He was not Vulcan, he would not be trained and raised to understand a matebond, so why would he realize when it was gone? To show a color to one who is colorblind would mean nothing is lost when the color is taken away; the subject didn't have the capacity in the first place to understand the color when it was there. In much the same way, Trip had been aware of her in his thoughts when she was the cause for mental contact, but without her initiating contact she did not think he would notice an appreciable difference in sensate experience when she was gone. She believed him, ultimately, too human.
It would seem she was mistaken.
"Commander Tucker is either far more psychically sensitive than you give him credit for, or the bond you two share is stronger than you will admit to yourself."
T'Pol touched the stone in the mind, the wall of the dungeon that protected her, and she tried to feel Trip on the other side… just a hint of him, just a touch. He was there, like a crazed sehlat, lashing out at the stone, claws on unforgiving rock. He was there, in spite of all the blockades she had up to discourage him. He was always there.
"The answer may be a combination of the two," she confessed lowly.
"Quite likely. Have you spent any time with Commander Tucker lately?"
T'Pol turned away from Phlox to gather her thoughts. She remembered the meals she and Trip shared in silence, the tensely quiet hours in engineering, the explosive encounter in the hallway yesterday that sent her hurrying to her quarters where she collapsed to her knees and shivered for the raw wound the brief contact had been to her mind.
"I have worked with him on occasion."
"Didn't you notice how much you're hurting him?"
The question stung. She had not allowed herself to see because she didn't want to. It was another heartache she couldn't handle, but she would be forced to own it now, Phlox left her no alternative.
"T'Pol, I know you're going through a tough time right now, and I would like nothing better than to give you the space and time you need to recover, but Commander Tucker is in pain and I am duty-bound to try and help him. For his sake, I need you to be completely honest with me."
T'Pol closed her eyes, confident Phlox would not see. Without turning to face him, she asked, "What would you have me confide, Doctor?"
"I need to know, truthfully and completely, if you will consent to having your bond to Commander Tucker severed."
No!
T'Pol's eyes snapped open and she turned quickly to face the doctor, her mind screaming protest at the very thought. She was speechless, shocked.
Phlox said, "Commander Tucker came to sickbay last night and asked if it would be possible to sever the bond you and he share."
T'Pol's heart was racing. Trip was asking for this. He wanted this. Her mate wished to break the matebond.
"He wishes to sever the bond," she repeated gravely, her 'heart' unable to believe it.
Phlox nodded.
T'Pol felt unVulcan-like panic rising.
"I told him I would have to research the subject and consult with you. I don't know the specifics of the procedure he wants done, but I do know enough about Vulcan neurology and physiology to know that both parties have to be in agreement on the decision to sever a matebond or death is usually the outcome."
Death to the unwilling party, T'Pol corrected mentally. Agreement by both parties was only 'necessary' if both parties wished to be confident of surviving the procedure.
Could she ever go through with such a procedure and really mean it? Trip was her mate; her Vulcan instincts knew only that. He was hers and she was his. They were one, they had produced offspring together.
The thought of Elizabeth sent a lance through her control and she almost cracked. In the second when her control was thin, Trip's presence in her mind threw itself against the walls of her dungeon. As much as her lost daughter's memory hurt her, Trip's emotions terrified her. She had to fortify herself to hold back the flood of Trip that would surely, surely drown her.
"T'Pol?" Phlox asked at her protracted silence.
"This is what Trip desires?" she asked.
Phlox frowned. "He needs you, T'Pol. He needs you to go to him or he needs you to let him go."
T'Pol felt the stone wall threaten to come crashing down and heard the howling beast of Trip's emotions trying to get to her. She backed away from the sound, the sensation, the presence that would tear her apart and leave her beyond recovery.
"I cannot go to him, Doctor," she confessed weakly, her strength failing further at the admission. "His emotions are too powerful… I am Vulcan; in his present state, I am incapable of functioning when I am connected to him. My only recourse is to block him; I can do nothing else."
"Then you have to let him go."
'But I cannot,' came the unbidden thought, but she did not speak aloud.
"I'm sorry, T'Pol, but Commander Tucker can't go on as half of a bonded pair. No Vulcan would be expected to endure such hardship; it's unfair of you expect a human to."
Phlox was right.
"Only a Vulcan telephysician can perform a bond severing; it is a very difficult procedure and the danger to both participants is great," she said clinically.
"I thought that might be the case."
"We will have to return to Vulcan and submit ourselves to specialists in the field if there is to be any hope of a successful procedure."
"So you will agree to the severing?"
"I will agree," she answered softly. What she did not say was that she estimated her odds of surviving as low. Beyond reason and beyond logic, she did not desire a severing of the bond. It was tormenting her and destroying her, but it was hers. Her link to her mate. Vulcan monogamy ran deep; it was not in her nature to cast it aside, no matter how painful. But neither could she give it access to her core. She was not built to break a matebond, and she was not built to weather human emotions as strong as Trip's. She was damned either way she decided.
But she was hurting Trip and he had given up. He wanted to be free of her. The strain became too much and he wanted to end it. She could not blame him. She did not blame him. In her affection for him, she could give him that freedom. She would do that for him, at whatever cost to herself.
She regretted only that she could not be what Trip needed… a human wife.
"Romeo and Juliet," she mumbled under her breath, a play she had read after Trip's dour reference to it, and she was finding it more applicable to their relationship than she liked.
"I'm sorry?" Phlox asked.
T'Pol looked up dejectedly at the doctor. "Trip once stated ours was a doomed pairing if we ever embarked upon a committed relationship. At the time, I had thought him excessively emotional and impulsive to come to such a conclusion. I realize now that he was prescient in that prediction."
Phlox looked very sad and very sorry. "If it means anything, Commander, I always believed in the two of you. I've seen the extent of how deeply you two care for one another. Lorian made me believe it was possible."
T'Pol thought of her son, of her daughter, children she and Trip had against so many incredible odds, and wondered why it had fallen apart. She wondered how humans could live with emotions as overwhelming as those she was sensing from Trip, those that she had to block or lose her sanity to their gales.
If she were human, she might indulge in feeling sorry for herself.
"I trust, in the meantime," T'Pol said with care to keep her voice unbroken, "that you can adequately see to Commander Tucker's medical needs until the severing can be performed?"
Phlox gave a very uninspiring shrug. "It's not an ideal situation, but properly medicated he should be all right until a more permanent solution is a viable option."
That, at least, was good news… in a situation rife with bad news.
"What about your well-being, Commander?" Phlox asked.
"Doctor?"
Phlox gave T'Pol a pointed look. "If a human bondmate is having difficulty with a blocked matebond, I don't even have to ask if the Vulcan mate is suffering ill effects as well."
T'Pol did not answer.
"You would not have resorted to blocking the bond if there was not a factor of extreme discomfort on your part."
T'Pol's eyes narrowed fractionally at Phlox.
"I am only trying to help you, T'Pol."
She knew it was true, but that did not make his meddling less of an inconvenience to her Vulcan desire for privacy on such intimately personal matters.
"I am… having difficulty with my emotions… and even more difficulty with Commander Tucker's."
"Is there anything I can do to ease your pain?"
The three most important words according to Surak's teachings leapt into her mind at Phlox's appeal.
Let me help.
If Phlox could have saved Elizabeth, perhaps. If her daughter had lived, if Trip had had the chance to be a father, if she'd been given time to embrace motherhood, but short of that T'Pol could not think of anything that would be of any significant help.
"You did everything you could," she answered with solemn regret.
Phlox understood her meaning all too well. "I am very sorry."
"It was not your fault, Doctor."
"Should you require anything to make you more comfortable…"
"I prefer to deal with my… emotions… on my own."
Phlox looked downtrodden.
"However, should I think of anything you can do to assist me, I will keep your offer of aide in mind… thank you."
Phlox nodded, turned, and left the room.
T'Pol turned back to the stars and watched the starlight race by, as fleeting and untouchable as her child's last breath. Soon, as transient as her bond with Trip.
It was a bleak, sobering reality. Never had the idea of being alone been so… lonely.
At that moment, T'Pol made a decision. If she survived losing Trip, she would resign her commission with Starfleet. She would stay behind on Vulcan and commit herself to the Kohlinahru, the purging of all emotion. It would mean loss of her fondness for all of her shipmates, her affection for Trip, and for Elizabeth and Lorian… there was a time when such a course of action was unacceptable to her. She was not willing to give up that which had become precious to her. Now, it would be the only way she could fathom living another one hundred years.
It would be worth it if it was the only way she could give Trip a chance to live a normal, full human life… without her.
*****
Mu'Pol was looking forward to having quarters of her own. She had not considered where she would find herself when she was deemed well enough to leave sickbay, but ever since Archer brought up the fact that Ensign Sato was going to give her the use of her personal quarters (as hard as that still was to truly comprehend and accept), she had begun to look forward to the privacy with almost impatient anticipation. In her universe, she would want to be free of sickbay as soon as possible to escape the doctor's sadistic torment and less-than-helpful 'medical assistance', such as it was. This time, her eagerness to leave the medical bay was for an entirely different reason. A difference between the Phlox she knew and the Phlox of this Enterprise that had become unimaginably clear was that this Denobulan was insanely social.
Mu'Pol had Vulcan hearing and could not avoid eavesdropping on the doctor's visitors… and he had a lot of them. Here, crewmen came in for the smallest complaints, which was surprising to Mu'Pol. On her Enterprise, one didn't succumb to a visit to sickbay unless the pain was debilitating, for sometimes the cure was worse than the disease (as the humans were fond of saying with a chuckle). Here, the slightest headache, a sprained muscle, a metal splinter… anything and everything brought crewmen to the doctor.
The problem was he was too pleasant; he encouraged people dropping in for trivial injuries by the way he received them. Mu'Pol listened to him welcome everyone who came through his doors and apply himself diligently to their care, even when it was something insignificant. He made every scrape and bruise sound important and demanding of attention.
And he always talked. The Phlox of the Terran Empire ship talked, of course, but he played games, tried to talk people into compromising corners with well-chosen words. This Phlox genuinely seemed to enjoy conversation and the company of his human shipmates. He instigated conversation most of the time, Mu'Pol noticed, and in doing so consistently kept a crewman twice as long as he or she would have been in sickbay had their wound simply been treated silently and efficiently.
Mu'Pol found this Phlox took it upon himself to function as medical professional to the crew's mental health as well as their physical well-being. Mu'Pol was floored by how open everyone was with Phlox. They told him personal things, things that would reveal layers upon layers of weaknesses and vulnerabilities, opening entire inner worlds to their physician with no fear of the repercussions such admissions might have.
Mu'Pol heard the care with which Phlox took these confessions into his confidence, eased their troubled minds as well as battered bodies, and marveled at the sincerity with which he did so. It was mind-blowing and difficult to assimilate, but Mu'Pol was growing weary of the constant chatter. She had not had a chance to meditate in true peace and quiet since her return to consciousness, and she was looking forward to being able to close and lock her door on the world of the ship.
Then, perhaps she could apply herself adequately to mind over body enough to trick herself into ceasing to notice the pain in her back. Phlox tried to give her medicine to ease the pain, but Mu'Pol was conditioned to decline any treatment from Phlox unless absolutely necessary… one could never be certain what was in the injections he dispensed. Reed had once consented to an analgesic injection for a migraine and woke up minutes later on the deck vomiting and urinating in his uniform with Phlox laughing at his 'mistake' in dosage. Mu'Pol learned from that incident by observation alone and it was an indelible lesson.
The tightness in her back was an ever-present dull fire across her shoulder blades. She twisted slightly to try and ease some of the pain and it only sent a sharp twinge down one side. She suppressed a sigh. Until the muscles healed she would have to accept pain. If only the doctor would stop his incessant talking, she might be able to think past her own body.
Even now, despite the fact there was no one but herself in sickbay, the doctor was talking. He spoke to his assortment of animals when there was no sentient company with which to converse, and though he kept his voice low the sickbay was not that big and Vulcan hearing too sensitive. She heard it just the same. At the moment, he was counseling his bat that was having digestive troubles. Mu'Pol puzzled what the doctor thought such actions would accomplish; the animal could not comprehend speech and certainly couldn't take his advice (no matter how medically sound).
The sound of sickbay's door opening made Mu'Pol want to groan. Yet someone else for the doctor to converse with, and unlike the bat this subject was one that could actually talk back.
Mu'Pol contemplated the chances of being released from sickbay ahead of the doctor's initial predictions.
"Commander…" Phlox said, and Mu'Pol knew this was a therapist's approach moreso than a physician's right away; she had become skilled at reading Phlox's different tones.
"Hey, Doc."
Mu'Pol froze involuntarily. The tone was not one she had heard before, but she would know that voice anywhere.
Tucker.
Suddenly, despite herself, she found herself paying attention to the muted conversation transpiring only a few feet from her.
"What did she say?"
Phlox paused. "She agreed."
"I knew she would." Tucker sounded… strange. Like there was not an ounce of fight left in him. Where Mu'Pol came from, that was a surrender to death, and the Tucker she knew did not give up. Was this Tucker so much weaker than the Tucker from her universe? She had trouble accepting such a great diversion in any Commander Tucker from steely and resilient, but it would seem so from this Tucker's voice.
"I'm afraid I can't perform the procedure myself; it will have to wait until we return from the Expanse… the section of space that used to be the Expanse, that is."
Tucker sighed. "All right. At least there's an end in sight this way."
Mu'Pol could detect tension in both men's voices, tension and sadness. Why? Perhaps Tucker was terminally ill, though why any treatment of such an illness would require anyone else's approval or 'agreement' was beyond Mu'Pol. This universe was full of conundrums.
"If you want, I can administer another sedative to help you sleep tonight."
Tucker didn't respond right away. "Yeah, thanks. I could use the sleep."
There was the sound of people moving beyond the curtain that was surrounding Mu'Pol's biobed, the clatter of items being shuffled, then the distinct sound of a hypospray being used.
"Good night, Doc," Tucker said lowly, but there was no following sound of footfalls departing sickbay. A moment later, Tucker's voice issued forth again, even softer, "Is she awake?"
Mu'Pol's stomach clenched… she knew Tucker was referring to her.
"Yes."
"Can I see her?"
Mu'Pol tensed, causing renewed flares of pain in her back.
"If you like; she's going to have to get used to interacting with the crew soon enough. Don't be long, though, I'd like you in your quarters before the sedative takes effect."
"I won't be long."
Mu'Pol froze, unexpectedly uneasy at the impending confrontation, but she had little time to prepare before she heard him coming toward her bed then the curtain was tentatively pulled aside and Tucker peeked in on her.
Mu'Pol stared back at him from the biobed, her heart fast in her side. She felt quite like one of her universe-Phlox's unsuspecting creatures about to be dissected to satiate the Denobulan's wicked curiosity. There was no question that it was Charles Tucker, III standing before her. He studied her in silence while she studied him with just as much scrutiny.
In her mind's eye, she'd expected to see Tucker of the Terran Empire. She expected the disfiguring burn marring one side of Tucker's face, reducing one pale blue iris to little more than a hint of azure in shadow. She expected the spiked brown hair, the hard set of his mouth, the blue fire in his gaze, the ever-present sexual lust when he set eyes upon her.
That was nothing like what greeted her. The most immediate aspect that leapt out at her was that this Tucker did not have facial scars from radiation burns. The symmetry and softness of this Tucker's face was jarring since Mu'Pol was so accustomed to Commander Tucker with a grotesque disfigurement. His hair was lighter, lacking the sharp lines and angles of his counterpart. She found herself looking back at two clear, Earth-sky blue eyes. Eyes that were filled with… something profound that honestly eluded Mu'Pol, but certainly nothing hostile and dangerous.
She realized they'd been staring at each other for some time, and yet she couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. Of all the doubles on this ship she had encountered, she could not formulate a correct reaction to this one. In her universe, this was the human she had chosen to mate with when her time of need arose. When she looked at this universe's Archer she recalled the other Archer's cruelty. When she looked at this universe's Phlox she remembered her Phlox's deceitful and sly tactics. When she looked at this Tucker she thought of the other Tucker who had taken her as mate, however superficially, even if he did not understand the Vulcan meaning of 'helping her out' with the pon farr.
Mu'Pol blinked away the memory with effort.
"Sorry to disturb you," Tucker whispered, as though he too realized the silence between them had become oppressive.
"Commander Tucker," she greeted tightly.
Tucker cocked his head faintly. "Guess I exist in your universe, too."
Mu'Pol could not begin to fully speak to that observation. "Yes."
Tucker nodded and moved into the curtained area with her, the entire time watching her with a strangely soft gaze. She stared back at him a moment then said, "You were the one who found me in the Tholian cell."
Tucker pursed his lips and one side of his mouth ticked. "Actually, Captain Archer found you."
"I remember you," Mu'Pol argued.
Tucker mulled that over. "Well, yeah, I was in there with you when you were first brought aboard." Tucker regarded her curiously, "You remember that?"
"The recollection is faint, but I know I recognized you being there." She remembered the almost dream-like image of him in the darkness with her, shafts of light striking stark contrasts on his face, the smell of acrid smoke and Tholian flesh in her nose, then the darkness when her mind gave in to the damage of her body.
Tucker frowned and he nodded gravely. "You were in pretty bad shape. Are you feeling better?"
Mu'Pol considered the trouble her back had been giving her, but all things considered… besides, she was not going to freely confess discomfort the way everyone else on this ship did. It was too… weak.
"I am fine."
Tucker's face flinched and his brow crinkled. Mu'Pol grew uncomfortable with the sense he was reading something in her words that she did not mean to give away, though she failed to see how that was possible. She had suggested nothing more than her fit state of health.
Tucker canted his head slightly as he studied her closely. "You look like you're hurting."
Mu'Pol blinked in surprise. How could he discern that?
"Are you in pain?" he asked gently.
Mu'Pol almost stammered. How did he know? What had she said, what had she done, that revealed her discomfort?
"Only slightly," she finally answered, to her own consternation.
Tucker seemed to take that admission hard… he winced sympathetically.
Then, without warning, he took a step closer.
Mu'Pol braced herself, though she couldn't really say why.
"Where does it hurt?"
Mu'Pol locked a steady eye on him and watched for any clues, any hint about what he was intending to do. He looked so… harmless, but she found that appearance eternally difficult to believe, even in this place. In her universe, humans always meant harm… almost always. It was a hard lesson to unlearn.
Tucker seemed to know her very thoughts. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." The fact that she suspected he might seemed to wound him. He continued with a gentle, "I might be able to help."
Constantly with the desire to help in these people… it confused her, but it seemed a universal truth in this place.
Mu'Pol decided that if she must take a chance in trusting anyone on this crew, she would be most capable of making that first effort with the double of Commander Tucker.
"My back," she answered in a faint voice.
Tucker's eye moved to her side and he seemed to contemplate the situation. "Lie over on your stomach."
Mu'Pol eyed him warily.
Tucker took another step closer. "Please."
She'd never heard that word spoken with honesty, particularly not from a human, but the sincerity in his voice was undeniable and disorienting.
Mu'Pol found herself rolling over on to her stomach gingerly, not certain what she could expect, senses alert for any sudden threat as she turned her back to him. She rested her head on the pillow and watched Tucker draw nearer from the corner of her eye.
She jerked in surprise when she felt Tucker's hand come to gentle rest atop her back, high near the juncture of her neck and shoulders. She instantly tensed for something more violent. "Sorry…" he said to her startled reaction, but his touch remained, and it continued to be careful.
This close, Mu'Pol could smell him, and she noted he smelled very much the same as the double in her universe. She wondered, before she could censure her thoughts, if he felt the same to the touch as the one she'd touched in her universe.
Tucker's hand traced the line of her back slowly, more purposeful than an absent stroke like Archer petting his dog, but she could not figure out what he meant to do.
His fingers danced over the fourth and fifth vertebrae of her back, her breath hitched involuntarily, and he stopped. Without a word, he brought up his second hand to join the first, his thumbs moved into position on either side of her spine, and he pushed down, just right…
And relief washed through Mu'Pol's spinal column like a cooling trickle of water dousing the pain-racked nerve-endings.
Mu'Pol's eyes widened in undisguised surprise.
Neuropressure.
"Better?" Tucker asked.
Mu'Pol twisted underneath his hand (easier now, since the pain was less from his ministrations) and he backed away to look at her. Mu'Pol stared at him in shock. "You know Vulcan neuropressure."
Tucker nodded.
How was that possible? Mu'Pol's mind was racing. In her universe, such an intimate Vulcan art would never be shared with a human. Any Vulcan who dared to instruct a human in a culturally treasured Vulcan practice such as neuropressure would be shunned by and ostracized from all other Vulcans for the betrayal. Humans were not privy to private Vulcan practices, it was an unspoken rule but still forbidden.
In this universe, someone had taught Tucker how to touch a Vulcan.
"Where did you learn to do neuropressure?" Mu'Pol asked, still astounded by the discovery.
Tucker opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word Phlox joined them. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Commander, T'Pol. Mister Tucker… you need to retire for the night before the sedative takes effect. I don't want you up on your feet much longer."
Tucker tore his eyes from Mu'Pol to consider the doctor. When he did, Mu'Pol realized just how tired he looked.
"Al'right, I'm leaving."
"You may visit tomorrow if you want," Phlox said, casting a searching look at Mu'Pol for permission.
Mu'Pol found herself honestly amenable to the idea.
Tucker nodded wearily and left sickbay. Mu'Pol was left alone with a mystery and a thousand questions. Commander Tucker mastering Vulcan neuropressure… she could not fathom a universe where such an eventuality would be permitted to occur, and yet she could not deny the ease with which he'd drastically eased her suffering. An expert Vulcan touch was in his human hands.
"Is everything all right?" Phlox asked to her preoccupied look.
Mu'Pol snapped back to her surroundings and looked at the doctor. "I am fine." She decided to address the thought she'd been entertaining for hours. "I would like to discuss with you the possibility of being released from confinement to sickbay early, however."
"Ah," Phlox said pleasantly. "Feeling that much better?"
After what Tucker did… "Yes."
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