Complications-Text

Complications

By Elaine

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, it all belongs to Paramount. No infringement intended.
Summary: Trip and T'Pol are constantly in each other's thoughts. And things are getting increasingly, well, complicated.
Genre: Romance, Angst

Note: This began as the follow-up to

Incursions ... and somewhere along the line it took on a life and direction of its own. "Incursions" was very much a smut biscuit; “Complications,” by contrast, is a full-on angsty romantic layer cake complete with some yummy smut filling.

It would be helpful, but not strictly necessary, to read that story first. Suffice it to say, the bond between Trip and T'Pol is growing, and neither one of them fully realizes that is the reason for the very intense dream they both shared.

The events in this story arc take place right before Trip and Hoshi's away mission to the abandoned Klingon encampment right before Observer Effect. I have made every effort to place this story firmly within onscreen canon, because I'm funny like that.

Oh, and now I have an email account dedicated solely to feedback: elainetrek@lycos.com. I need feedback like normal people need oxygen, so please let me know what you think!

A million thanks to my betas Ludjin and TJinLOCA for their patience (when necessary) and their impatience (also when necessary). You two simply rock.

And yes, there will be another sequel. Eventually.

***************************************************************************

Chapter One

With a muttered expletive, Trip pulled the shirt over his head and threw it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes next to his bunk.

This was moving from the obsessive to the ridiculous, but T'Pol agreeing to have dinner with him was the first hint of warmth she had shown him in weeks, and he wanted it to be perfect. More to the point, he wanted her to think HE was perfect.

Thus, the shirt dilemma. He wanted to look good for her, but he didn't want to look as if he was trying to look good. Ordinarily he would have happily thrown on a Hawaiian shirt and been done with it, with the enjoyable fringe benefit of irritating the hell out of T'Pol. But tonight he was attempting not to irritate her for once, so hula girls or palm trees were out of the question. As for the knit blue tee that perfectly matched his eyes ... he tugged it over his head and inspected himself in the mirror.

No. While he knew he looked damn good in it, it practically screamed "I'm trying too hard here." Trip rolled his eyes at himself and removed it, sending it to join its brethren on the floor.

"Dammit, Tucker, you're worse than a girl," he said to his reflection. Maybe he should just go without a shirt altogether. That seemed to be the look she liked best on him last night ...

You are absolutely NOT gettin' on that train of thought, mister. This is a nice friendly dinner, nothin' more. Forget last night ever happened. It was all in your mind, anyway.

Trip thrust his hand blindly in the dresser drawer, resigned to wear whatever he came up with next and be done with it. He pulled out a long-sleeved rugby shirt in blocks of burgundy and gray, loose and nondescript. Perfect.

As he finished dressing, his own assertion nagged at him. It might've been all in your mind, but it was in hers too.

At the very thought of the intensely erotic --

-- You mean pornographic --

-- mental encounter they had shared the night before, Trip felt his nerves tingle and sensed a flame of heat deep in the pit of his stomach.

"Stop it," he said out loud. "Nice and friendly is what we're going for. Strictly G-rated. And by the way, when did I start talkin' to myself constantly?"

When you started goin' crazy, remember?

"Can't forget, as a matter of fact."

If only he could ...

He looked at the shirt lying on top of the discard heap. "Ah, the hell with it." He pulled off the rugby and grabbed the blue-gray tee.

If the situation called for an all-out Tucker charm offensive, he might as well go into battle fully armed.

***

T'Pol had been in the mess hall since 1740. She had deliberately arrived earlier than Trip as a tactical maneuver. She would be calm and collected when he arrived. She would be mostly finished with her modest meal, stay just long enough to be polite, and then hopefully escape with her control and her sanity intact.

She had decided against changing into civilian clothes; ironically, though her duty uniform revealed more of her figure, she felt much more exposed and vulnerable in her robes. Casual clothing meant off-duty. To spend time with Trip off-duty meant ... meant ...

T'Pol paused with a forkful of salad in midair, contemplating the question.

What did it mean?

It means that I am a fool for agreeing to share a meal with him. It brought up too many unbidden memories: memories of the friendship they had once shared, of the many comfortable companionable moments they had spent in each other's company.

A thought rose before she could push it away. I miss him so.

Could they regain their friendship? She considered the possibility and decided it was highly unlikely. If she had never given in to the powerful pull of their attraction, perhaps it be feasible. It was far too late to undo the past, however, and the idea of a deep friendship combined with the intense physical desire was simply overwhelming. It felt too much like ... like ...

It felt like altogether too much, and it terrified her.

When he arrived, she would tell him she was needed elsewhere, and leave. It was not a lie, exactly. Surely somewhere on the ship there was a scan that needed to be run, or a report that needed to be finished. Her decision was made. Her resolve was firm.

Then Trip appeared in the doorway. His blue shirt was the exact color of his eyes. She looked at him and he smiled, a smile full of hope and happiness and simple pleasure at the fact that she was there.

He was so beautiful when he smiled. A warm flush of affection, mixed with the murmur of darker instincts, washed over her.

Get up and leave. NOW.

She remained in her seat, feeling helplessly trapped by the depth and intensity of her feelings for him. Just one meal, just one more brief moment spent in the warm glow of his affection. What harm could it possibly do?

She did not realize that as she gazed at him, the happiness written plainly on his face was mirrored on her own.

***
"An' my cousin had to carry me the whole way home, screamin’ my fool head off. Broke both my arms, and ya gotta realize, this was in the days before we had bone growth stimulators, so I spent the next eight weeks in casts. Couldn't wipe my own nose, or my own ... anyway, it made for a pretty bad summer vacation." Trip grinned at the memory.

T'Pol took a sip of tea. "It must have been challenging for your parents to care for you in such a condition," she observed dryly.

"Yeah, it was pretty hard on my mom. I got bored and cranky, and she got real frustrated sometimes. But she made sure I knew how proud she was of me for tryin' to save a kitten."

"If you did not reach the animal, what became of it?"

"My uncle got a ladder and got it out of the tree. We shoulda asked an adult in the first place, I guess. I was a pretty impulsive kid."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I presume by your use of the past tense you are implying that you are no longer impulsive."

Trip chuckled. "Commander, today I am a paragon of restraint compared to my childhood."

The eyebrow quirked up again. On T'Pol, it was almost like seeing her smile.

They had been sitting for over an hour; when Trip had first arrived in the mess hall, for a moment he had been absolutely certain she was preparing to bolt. But then he’d caught her eye, and her face had lit up and her happiness -- yes, happiness -- at seeing him had washed over his mind like a wave. He didn't know how he knew what she was feeling -- like so many events of the past several days, he shied away from closer examination -- but he did, and he knew without a doubt that she was happy to see him, happy to be here with him.

And he was capitalizing on it. If nothing else, Trip knew how to turn on the charisma, and he was focusing every ounce of his formidable ability to charm on T'Pol. He teased. He bantered. He flirted. He focused on the woman in front of him as if no one else in the universe mattered.

And no one did. He felt as if he could sit here and look into her huge brown eyes all night. He reveled in feeling close to her, after weeks of her shutting him out. For the first time in he couldn't remember how long, he felt as if he had a chance to be a part of her life.

Nice and easy, Tucker. That's the way to go here.

"Hey, it's gettin' late. We've been sittin' here for over an hour." He gestured at the room. Only a few stragglers remained in the mess hall. "I guess time flies when you're having fun, huh?"

"I do believe that is the expression." T'Pol looked down at her mug of now-cold tea. "I presume you have other plans for the rest of the evening, Commander."

"Just catchin' up on engineerin' journals. And you?"

"I plan on meditating for a longer time than usual tonight." A slight tinge of green, almost imperceptible, rose in her cheeks. Trip felt her warm glow of comfort falter. "My failure to properly observe my meditation is likely the reason I felt ... unwell last night."

So that's what they're calling it these days, Trip thought. Erotic images briefly rose, unbidden, in his mind. Are those her thoughts, or mine?He pushed them away and focused on surrounding her with feelings of care and affection, soothing the agitation that threatened to spoil the mood. He stood, picking up the empty mugs. "Let's get you home then, so you can focus on stayin' well."

***

They walked the corridors in companionable silence. Soon they were in front of T'Pol's door. Trip turned to face her and spoke gently.

"Thanks for havin' dinner with me, T'Pol. I really enjoyed spendin' a little time with you."

T'Pol gazed up into his blue eyes, her mind desperately torn. She knew what danger she was in, and yet ... the words tumbled out before she could stop herself. "Trip, would you -- would you like to --"

Trip placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Not tonight, T'Pol. You need to meditate." He brushed his lips against her cheek. "I'll see ya tomorrow." He turned and walked away without looking back.

T'Pol stood as if frozen to the spot. Slowly, her hand came up and covered the spot on her cheek where he had kissed her, as if to save the sensation of his lips on her skin. She watched him without moving as he rounded the corner and left her sight.

***
In the safety of his room, Trip sank into the desk chair and put his face in his hands.

Walking away from her like that was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Looking at her like that, her face open and vulnerable and so confused. She was about to invite him into her quarters, and he could see the feelings and images swirling in her, and he knew with absolute certainty what would have happened if he had accepted.

And it would have ruined everything.

That knowledge was the only reason he decided to leave, to kiss her chastely on the cheek instead of hard on the mouth the way he desperately wanted to. The way she desperately wanted him to ...

And even that feather-light touch had almost undone him. Just that briefest contact with her hot, silky skin had set sparks coursing through his every nerve. His burning desire for her, which he had been able to keep to a low simmer in the back of his mind, leaped to the fore again, bright and hot and insatiable.

Just that one touch and his need for her, the restless, unsettled itch that could only be satisfied by her, was building in him again.

His earlier easy-going mood was ruined. His desire to rebuild their friendship was all but forgotten. All he could think about was what he had passed up when he had refused her invitation and walked away.

If he had gone into her quarters, she would have been naked and underneath him in minutes. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel it in her mind.

If he had stayed, he would be inside her right now.

And in the end, she would have hated him for it.

How could he ever reclaim her heart if this is what happened every time they were together?

With a growl of frustration he pulled off his blue shirt, balled it up in his hands, and threw it into the corner of the room.

***

T'Pol sat cross-legged on the floor of her quarters, eyes fixed on the flickering candle.

She had stood in the hallway, too shocked to move, for more than a minute. After gathering herself enough to punch in the code and enter her quarters, it had taken her several more minutes to calm her pounding heart and control her ragged breathing.

She was in turmoil over what she had almost done. She had almost invited him to stay with her, knowing exactly where that invitation would lead.

And he had declined. He had done the right thing -- the respectful thing --and walked away.

The most impulsive, emotional human she knew had just trumped her in self-control.

After a long, cool shower, T'Pol dressed in her robes and commenced her meditation. But the tumultuous events of the past twenty-four hours had destroyed her calm. And then tonight, despite her resolutions to the contrary, she had again disobeyed the commands of her disciplined mind and given in to her need to be near him ...

When his lips had grazed her cheek, his feelings had leapt up at her unchecked: affection, protectiveness, fierce attraction. Her own dangerous emotions had risen in response to his. If he hadn't pulled away, she would have taken his face in her hands and hungrily met his lips with her own.

The maddening desire for him had returned full force. At the very thought of kissing him, her nipples hardened and the sensitive place between her legs ached. She wrapped her arms around herself and whimpered in frustration and despair.

Why is he able to master his feelings towards you, and you are not able to do the same?

The answers were the same ones that had haunted her throughout her life.

Because you lack self-control. Because you are weak. Because you are a failure.

She protested her own mind's condemnation.No. There is something else here. I have never been this strongly drawn to anyone ...

No more excuses. There should be no need, no desire you cannot control. This must end.

Even if it means denying myself what I truly want?

You are Vulcan. What you want does not matter.

She knew it was true. Her connection to Trip would be her undoing. She could not be with him and still call herself Vulcan. This could not continue. She gazed at the flickering flame, gathering every shred of will, forcing away all her conflicted thoughts and shameful feelings.

Gratefully, she finally reached the white space within her mind. As long as she stayed in here, in her most personal solitude where he could not reach her, she was safe. She decided to meditate all night, as penance for her loss of control.

Certainly not because she was afraid of what impulsive actions she might take otherwise.

Chapter Two

The next morning, the door that had so tentatively opened for Trip was slammed shut in his face.

At the morning briefing, T'Pol's eyes were flat, cold pebbles instead of the shining warmth of last night. Her words were clipped, precise. Her calm Vulcan facade was positively icy. She had retreated back into her Arctic shell, cutting Trip dead as if he didn't even exist. Worse, he somehow sensed her withdrawal from his mind. Without even fully realizing it, he could feel the cold wall where she was shutting him out.

After the staff meeting, Trip shared his problems as he ran an intermix diagnostic.

"I was on my absolute best behavior, Shirley. And still, something freaked her out." He put down the PADD and sighed. "I don't know what else to do. Maybe ..."

Maybe this is beyond fixing.

"No," he said firmly. "This is important. I'm not gonna give up that easy." He picked up the PADD and opened a new window. T’Pol was analyzing long range sensor scans from a Minshara-class planet … and a small but persistent power fluctuation was interfering with her readings.

Just the opening he needed. He had a million other things to do and places to be, but all of them could wait for just a couple of minutes.

If he had to be persistent, then, he could be persistent with the best of 'em. Trip picked up the PADD, signed the finished diagnostic report and stood. "Okay, Shirl, you're on your own for a while. I’ve got a Vulcan to find."

***

Trip approached the workstation in the cartography room where T'Pol sat, her elegant brow knitted just slightly in frustration.

"I heard ya were having some problems."

T'Pol's expression visibly hardened at the sound of his voice. "I appreciate your concern, Commander, but I do not require assistance."

Trip, about to bend over her shoulder to peer at the console, stopped as if slapped in the face. "So we're back to Commander, huh?"

"I'm sure I do not understand your question."

"Oh-kay." Trip stood still for a moment, unconsciously rolling his tongue in his cheek as he considered his options. He decided to speak his mind. "Just tell me somethin', T'Pol . What did I do?"

Though it would not have seemed possible, she stiffened even more. "Excuse me?"

"I thought we had a nice time last night. I thought maybe we were gettin' somewhere. And then today, we're back to square one. Like strangers."

Trip realized he could not sense any of her emotions. She had hidden herself completely from him again.

"I apologize for the misunderstanding, Commander. We merely shared a meal together. There is no 'somewhere' of which you speak."

Her cold words stung him. Trip felt a sudden, irrational impulse to prove her wrong by bending close to her and nibbling on the tip of one delicately pointed ear. Bet that would thaw her Vulcan ice pretty damn quick. At the thought, he felt the blood in his body rush southward, felt the passing image turning to a rising need.

Before he could do something so foolish, T'Pol whipped around to face him as if he had spoken aloud. Her eyes were black and glittering, though the rest of her was still flatly, icily unreadable. "As I said, Commander, I do not require assistance. Please leave me to my duties."

Trip decided to salvage what he could of the situation. He put his hands placatingly in the air. "Okay, okay. I'm leavin' you alone. But if you decide you want to talk about it ..."

She had already turned back to the workstation as if he didn't exist.

Trip sighed. "Have it your way, darlin'." He turned and left the cargo bay, trying and failing to ignore the sting of her rejection. As he walked away, he almost thought he felt a ghostly tendril of regret and sorrow wrap around him.

He decided it was only his suddenly overactive imagination.

***

For the rest of the day Trip's mood went steadily downhill. He couldn't seem to muster the ability to be his usual friendly self, and everything and everyone pissed him off immensely for no good reason. He was crabby and miserable, snapping and barking like a bad-tempered dog on a short chain, sending junior officers scurrying at the very sight of him.

Lurking underneath it all, of course, was T'Pol. How could she reject him, shut him out like that, after everything they had been through together? Couldn't she see how much she was hurting him? Couldn't she tell how alone he felt?

Trip's emotions careened wildly, from love to anger to sadness and back again, without warning, without rhyme or reason. Throughout it all, he clung to his routine, his usual schedule, trying to maintain some outward shred of normality despite the turmoil just under the surface.

Despite the fact that he felt, just a little bit, like he might be losing his mind.

Like most evenings when some sort of ship crisis didn't take precedence, by 1900 hours he was on the treadmill. Tonight, he was ridiculously grateful for the opportunity to outrun his own thoughts. By the fifth kilometer he reached a meditation of his own sorts, the pounding of his feet and the thumping of his heart lulling him into a semi-hypnotic state, channeling his restlessness and frustration into speed and movement, the burning of his lungs and muscles a welcome distraction from the other clamoring demands of his body.

He raised the incline and increased the pace. For the first time in days, he felt almost at peace.

Trip was lost in his own zone when Malcolm appeared. Trip nodded and grunted in his friend's direction.

Malcolm came up to him and tapped the panel of the treadmill. "You ready?"

"Ready ... for ... what?" Trip panted.

"For sparring. You said you'd help me work out those new moves, remember?"

Go to hell, Mal. I'm not in the fuckin' mood.

"Ah, shit. I forgot." Trip dialed down the speed of the console to a moderate jog, catching his breath slightly. He grabbed a towel and mopped the sweat off his brow. "We gotta do this tonight, Mal? I've had kind of a bad day, I'm not really up to..."

"Come on, Trip. I need to add these moves to the self-defense seminar. "

Trip's growing irritation with his closest friend warred with his better nature. His better nature won, at least for the moment.

He's your friend. Be nice.

"Ah, geez, Malcolm..."

"If you've had such a bad day, you can take out your aggressions on me."

Trip slowed the treadmill to a halt and stepped off, taking a swig from his water bottle. He cocked an eyebrow at Malcolm. "I'm flattered, Lieutenant, but I'm afraid I only like you as a friend."

"Ha, ha," muttered Malcolm dryly. "However will I stand the rejection? Come on, the sparring area's almost empty."

Rolling his eyes, Trip followed Mal to the sparring area, tossing his towel and water bottle into the corner. "So, can I just stand here and let you flip me, or what?"

"I'm afraid I require a bit more effort from you, Commander." The two friends began to circle each other. "Okay, now come at me." Unenthusiastically, Trip moved toward Malcolm, and suddenly found himself flat on his back. He stared up into Malcolm's grinning face.

"Pretty impressive, Lieutenant." He accepted the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet.

"Okay, try again." This time, Trip tried a more sideways approach. He got an arm around the crook of Malcolm's elbow ... and then found himself again on the mat. Trip laughed at his own ineptitude.

"See? You're more cheerful already."

"Only ‘cause I'm lettin’ you throw me around. I haven't even been tryin' yet."

"Oh, really? Let me see what you've got, then."

The two men began sparring in earnest.

"So what's got you down, Trip? Female troubles, I bet."

Trip grunted in answer and lunged at Malcolm's midsection. Once again, he was disabled easily, and found himself face-down on the blue mat with an elbow in his back. He slapped the mat with his hand and Malcolm let him up. Trip stood, wiping the sweat out of his eyes with a forearm.

Malcolm eyed him with an evil glint. "You and T'Pol on the outs, then?"

Trip circled his friend. "You baitin' me, Mal?"

"Not at all. Just asking about what's troubling you. Seems I've found it."

"You don't wanna get me riled up tonight, Mal. I'm real cranky."

He lunged and Malcolm sidestepped him easily, chuckling. "I'll take that as a yes, then." The tactical officer feinted to the right, and Trip just barely dodged him.

Trip felt his blood pounding in his ears. "Shut it, Mal."

Trip knew Malcolm was deliberately teasing him, but he let his annoyance get the better of him and tackled the smaller man. They grappled about a bit on the mat, but Malcolm pinned him easily. Again Trip let his friend pull him to his feet.

"I'd better make sure she knows the location of my quarters. I'm certainly not above being used on the rebound." Malcolm grinned, the grin edging into a leer. "Such an attractive woman, after all. And what a bum on her ..."

Trip's blood began to burn. He felt feverish. The irritation was edging over into anger. He didn't like hearing Malcolm talk like that. His breathing came in ragged bursts, and it wasn't all from the exertion. "That's not funny, Malcolm."

"No humor intended, my friend. I think T'Pol and I would make a great couple. If you're done with her, of course."

Trip stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes bored into Malcolm's as his mind filled with seething, murderous anger. Rational thought left him.

Male.

Kill him.

With a growl he attacked, sending them both flying through the air as Trip unleashed the power and ferocity he always kept tightly checked. The men landed with a solid thud, and Trip pinned the shocked Malcolm to the mat. Before Malcolm could recover Trip hit him solidly once, then twice, in the jaw. Malcolm was able to use his legs to gain leverage, and twisted Trip off center. While Trip was off-balance Malcolm was able to free himself, escaping his grip and rising to his feet.

Malcolm was more skilled, but he was no match for the blind rage that now fueled Trip. With lightning-fast reflexes Trip rose and lunged again at Malcolm, knocking him hard to the ground. His hands found their way around the man's neck. He would kill this male for daring to covet his mate ...

She's mine! You can't touch her, you can't have her, she's mine!

His grip tightened.

"Trip," rasped Malcolm. "Trip, for God's sake!"

Malcolm. It was Malcolm.

Trip released his grip around Malcolm's throat and sat back heavily on the mat, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. His mind was a tangled, incoherent jumble.

Out of the clamor, one thought rose above the others.

Jesus Christ, I just tried to kill Mal. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear whatever madness had taken hold of his brain.

The tactical officer sat up, feeling his neck gingerly for damage. His gray eyes regarded Trip with a mixture of anger and undisguised fear.

"Bloody fucking hell, Trip, I was just joking!"

The sudden, baffling rage had receded, leaving Trip with an acrid, shaking dizziness. "I know, Mal ... I'm sorry ..." He stood, afraid for a moment his legs would fail him. He was trembling, confused, upset. Wisps of anger and shame mingled with thoughts of T'Pol, eyes shining as she looked at him, her beautiful body in the candlelight, naked and waiting.

Waiting for him.

Mine. Nobody touches her but me. The fury began to burn in him again. He wanted to hit somebody. He wanted to break something. He wanted to hide somewhere until whatever the hell was going on was over and he felt normal again.

"Trip? What's wrong with you?" Malcolm's anger had for the most part receded, and the look he was giving him was one of deep concern.

"I don't know." Trip turned abruptly and walked out of the gym, leaving his stunned friend and more than a few confused onlookers in his wake.

***

T'Pol sat motionless, deep in meditation. Her eyes were closed, her mind floating free in her serene, peaceful white space.

She had spent every free moment in meditation since her near-disastrous dinner with Trip. She had not eaten in twenty-four hours, or slept for over thirty-six. Unaware of her dangerously weakened state, she was lulled into a false sense of security by her meditation.

She had regained control. She was safe ...

Without warning, a feral scream in her mind ripped away her warm tranquility.

You can't have her you can't touch her she's mine!

His anger, his aggression, his possessiveness poured into her. Her body responded instinctively; her eyes flew open, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her breathing grew loud and uneven.

He was fighting. Her mate was fighting over her.

T'Pol forced herself to take deep, calming breaths and focus on the flame.

You have no mate, she told herself. Even as she recited the words in her mind, she knew it was a lie.

Every cell of her body was reacting to his aggression. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on her face. She felt feverish, disoriented. Her womb contracted almost painfully as the pure, mindless heat of desire enveloped her. Her logical mind receded as she became what she was born to: the claimed prize of the male who fought for her.

The rational part of her, the part that had devoted a lifetime to the art of Vulcan emotional control, attempted to assert itself. Now do you see? Now do you understand why we fight so hard to maintain total control? This is your true nature revealed. This is what you are underneath it all.

T'Pol trembled with the intensity of the feelings, the images, the sensations that assaulted her. Her worst fears had come true. She was losing all control. She would be reduced to an animal. She moaned and closed her eyes, desperately afraid.

Why is this happening?

She had been told what to expect, of course; every Vulcan female knew the basic facts of Pon Farr. But why was this happening now? There was no chosen spouse here, no bonded mate. No other Vulcan, period.

Trip. This was about Trip.

It was useless to push it away any longer. Somehow, some way, this was about him. Some chemical aberration, perhaps ... some pheromone reaction that caused the feeling that raced along her spine when she looked at him.

Had she started this when she first seduced him, months ago?

Or had it started the day she met him, when her peculiar fascinated revulsion had caused her to behave so rudely and refuse his offered hand?

A fundamental biological miscommunication. Some kind of mistake.

Even now, thinking about him, her body reacted instantly, almost painfully. She wanted him.

Purely and simply she wanted him, all of him, body and soul, forever.

Her blood tingled and burned inside of her. Suddenly longing for cool, clear water to douse her, she rose on trembling legs. Liquid heat trickled down her thigh. Her body was ready, so ready for him --

Sudden, blinding anger flared in her.

He is no Vulcan mate. He cannot bond with you properly. He can never give you what you need. You can never give him what he needs. He is not like you.

"He is Human!"

With one sweep of her hand, she sent the contents of her desk crashing to the floor. A pool of hot wax spilled from the still-burning candle, lying on its side. She bent to pick it up, blew out the guttering flame, and hurled it with all of her might at the wall. It bounced and rolled back to her feet, now neatly broken in two. She looked wildly around for something else to break, to smash, to destroy.

Her rational mind was now a mere whisper in the roaring storm. Destroying your belongings changes nothing.

She took a deliberate, deep breath. Shower. She wanted a shower. She moved toward the lavatory, removing her pajamas as she went, dropping the items wantonly on the floor. Naked, she entered the small room and turned on the shower, cold, full blast.

T'Pol caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed deep olive-bronze, as were her lips. Her pupils were so dilated her eyes looked black and fathomless. Her hair was in disarray from her flash of temper.

She did not even recognize herself.

She was wild, tousled, flushed with desire. She was beautiful. With a trembling hand, she touched her reflection.

What have I become?

You have become what you have always been, underneath.

He was inside her mind, burned into her brain. The feel of his body, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his eyes... he was part of her every thought, every action. She could deny it and fight it all she wished. It changed nothing.

Somehow, some way, though it defied all logic and everything she thought she knew about humans, they were joined. And though he did not understand, he sensed it as well. His raw, unshielded emotions, pulsing with anger and desire, wrapped around her. His thoughts were in her head. Mine, mine, mine ...

Either he would come to her, or she would go to him. It was inevitable. Perhaps it had always been inevitable.

Slowly, she changed the spray from cold to warm, and stepped under the soothing water. A human saying flashed into her mind: The die is cast. She had never fully understood the meaning of that phrase before, but now it stood before her, crystal clear.

The whisper of her rational mind tried one last, desperate gambit.

You only wish to use him to satisfy your selfish needs.

No. She needed him. The emptiness in her soul called to her mate, and she needed him to claim her, to fill her, to make her whole.

You will never accept him as your mate. He is fragile, vulnerable., human. You will < b>break him. And he will hate you for it.

It was too late. He belonged to her, and she to him. There was only one inescapable conclusion to what she had begun. The biology of a hundred thousand years would not be denied.

Renouncing the last murmurs of her logical mind, T'Pol rubbed the lavender-scented soap over her body, making herself ready for him.

Chapter Three

Anna Hess had known Commander Tucker for close to twelve years.

She did not, however, recognize the man that exited the turbolift. Trip was flushed and disheveled, dressed in a tee and shorts, with a bruise darkening his right cheekbone. In four years, Anna could count on one hand the number of times her boss had visited Engineering in civvies, and even then only in the direst of emergencies. He simply did not come to his station out of uniform.

And yet he strode down the hall, wearing sweaty gym clothes, oblivious to Hess' presence.

She tentatively greeted him as he passed. "Hey, Chief."

As he brushed past, Trip growled at her. Not metaphorically. A low, warning rumble from deep in his throat caused Hess to back up as much as possible, flattening herself against the wall to let him pass. He did so without sparing her even a glance.

Her intuition flared. Something is really wrong with him. Then he was gone, and the moment passed.

Don't be ridiculous. So Trip's having a bad night. That's nothing new. Let it go.

And she did. Anna's shift was over, and she entered the turbolift, the entire incident practically forgotten by the time the doors slid shut.

***

Trip's eyes focused intently on the console as the streams of soothing blue numbers flowed across the screen.

His first instinct as he left the gym was to go to B Deck and take her. Go to her quarters, open her door -- with his bare hands if necessary -- and claim her as his own, rip off her silky pajamas and pin her underneath him, bury himself in her warm, willing flesh ...

But a whisper of uncertainty stopped him.

What if she isn't willing? What if she says no?

She won't.

What if she does? Would that stop you?

And he didn't know. God help him, he didn't know. The realization had burned through the fog like a phase burst, and it horrified and frightened him in a way nothing ever had in his life.

Only that fear had given him the will to take himself as far away from her as he could, to the place on the ship he felt safest. He hadn't even realized he was headed toward Engineering until he found himself there. He vaguely recalled the confused, slightly fearful look Anna had given him in the hallway as he’d passed, but he hadn't been able to take the time to answer her; he needed to get himself put away, under control, safe ...

The tiny washroom tucked away in an alcove had a built-in shower unit; it had been designed with emergency decon purposes in mind, but senior Engineering staff frequently used it to make themselves presentable for meetings or reports after a grueling second or third shift. Trip had doused his overheated, trembling body in the coldest possible water -- which had done exactly nothing to eradicate his painfully throbbing erection -- and dressed in the spare clothes and boots he always kept stashed away.

Clean and in uniform, he still felt freaked out and afraid, but soothed by the safety of his home, his haven. He had chosen to adjust the warp field subroutines, drawn to the calming, emotionless symbols as antidote to whatever was tormenting his very soul. He retreated deep into his mind, away from his raging and tortured body, as he tweaked the equations slightly, watching the minute adjustments to the field. The passionless numbers calmed him.

I wonder if this is how Vulcans do it. Focus on the emotionless, let it carry you ... I wonder how T'Pol ...

At the merest thought of her, his tenuous control crumbled. The physical demands of his body came crashing down again: the aching heaviness deep inside his belly, the maddening itch just under his skin that could only be relieved in one way. Trip closed his eyes and a tiny whimper escaped him as the irresistible desires and images washed over him relentlessly.

Suddenly, at the breach in his fragile defenses, T'Pol's mind filled his own. She was looking for him. He tried to focus on the numbers before him, to push her out of his mind, to keep her safe from the raging fire within. But she was searching for him, in need of him, her desperate want equal to his own. He felt his control slipping away.

Shame at his selfishness overcame him. How could he deny his mate when she needed him so? Find her. No other purpose existed in his mind; all else was forgotten. He stood, turned to leave ...

And saw her.

T'Pol was dressed simply, in Vulcan robes of a burgundy so deep it looked almost black in the low light. Her cheeks were tinged with olive, her eyes huge and alive with need. Trip sensed the wildness in her, equal to his own, and his last shred of rationality wavered. His pounding blood burned like liquid fire in his veins.

He went to her, heedless of the others around them. "T'Pol." His voice was strangled, distant to his own ears. If she stayed here, he didn't know what ... he forced out the unwilling words. "You have to go."

Her eyes glittered wildly. "Ashayam," she whispered pleadingly.

In his mind, Trip heard her thoughts, and understood her perfectly.

Beloved.

He reached out one shaking hand, tracing the edge of her ear, the line of her jaw. She closed her eyes and turned into his hand, like a cat.

She had come to him freely. She had chosen him, just as surely as he had chosen her.

His resolve, frayed and over-wound, finally snapped.

He needed to touch her, to feel her body against his. He moved in close, breathing her in, flowers and desert and the musky scent of her arousal. He felt her breasts against him, full and heavy through the silky material of her robe. He slid his other hand underneath the fabric, fingertips against her hot, smooth skin.

A thought tried to form. People. Not safe.

"Not here," he muttered thickly, and grabbed T'Pol's hand, leading her away from his workbench and down a short flight of steps. He would never make it back to quarters, but there was a place ... he had caught Michaels and Rostov in there once, years ago ... he punched in the code and opened the hatch to an access-controlled Jefferies tube. This one led to the primary warp coil; as a deterrent to pirates or hostiles, the hatch could only be opened by the entrance codes. And Trip held the only master code to override them all.

The blue light from the plasma conduits washed over them as Trip reset the access codes with shaking fingers. Task completed, he exhaled.

Alone. Safe.

He turned to his mate. She sat, gracelessly sprawled against the wall of the tube. He stalked towards her on his hands and knees, every feeling, every thought, every shred of emotion directed only on his quarry: her.

Trip closed the short distance between them, and grasped the back of her head her head, bending her mouth to his. He kissed her greedily, hungrily, drinking in the taste of her, exploring her tongue, her mouth, her lips...

Salt and wet. She desired him still -- more than ever, her need of him causing her body to shake with anticipation -- but she was afraid. So afraid. Waves of her fear washed over him. Gently he drew back, wiping her cheek with a gentle thumb.

He struggled for words in his haze. "Don't cry," he whispered hoarsely. "I love you. Don't cry ..." He felt her heart hammering against the side of her ribs. He pulled down the zipper of his uniform, took her hand and guided it under his clothes, to the center of his chest where his own heart pounded madly.

I know you're scared. So am I.

"Not alone," he murmured against her cheekbone, kissing away her tears, tasting each one as it fell. "Together."

"Terau," T'Pol whispered.

Together.

Her hand against his chest stroked his skin gently, then with more boldness as she sought out his mouth, returning his kiss as her desire overtook her fear. Trip tugged the zipper down to his navel, shrugging his arms out of his flightsuit as they kissed, her tongue exploring his mouth with growing boldness. With his arms freed, he broke the kiss, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Gently, he guided her to the floor of the tube, laying her down beneath him.

The robe's hidden ties were easily undone, and T'Pol was naked underneath. He moved the fabric aside and gazed at her beautiful body spread before him: her taut puckered nipples, the plane of her flat, muscled belly, the jut of her hipbones. Her eyes locked on him as he placed his hands on the insides of her thighs and gently spread them apart. The moisture glistened on the folds of her flesh as her breath became ragged. He felt her need for him, growing, becoming unbearable.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as her pelvis tensed and she moved under his hands, her body instinctively seeking his.

He gazed at her, displayed before him. He had seen her body before, he had made love to her before, but this feeling inside him, this reverence he felt for her, for what she offered him ... it felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. A wild, primitive joy spread through him. She was open and ready for him, for him and no other.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He freed himself from the constraints of fabric and entered her, crying out as he felt her wetness surrounding him, welcoming him, urging him in deeper. He could feel the pain he caused as he filled her, felt the deep pleasure that spilled out from the pain, felt her body arch as her nerves tingled and sparked along with his own. He pulled out slightly, paused, and thrust into her hard, as deep as he could, reveling mindlessly in the unbelievable pleasure that flowed through his body.

She moaned, her fingers entwining in his hair as she pulled his mouth to hers for a bruising kiss. He moved in her again and again, feeling her body as she moved with him, feeling the pleasure he gave her building to a frenzied peak as her hips bucked against him, pulling him in, goading him even harder and deeper into her

She came explosively, biting his shoulder hard as she cried out gutturally, the waves of her orgasm washing over him as he felt his own release building. Her legs wrapped around him, her heels dug into him as she climaxed over and over, whimpering against his shoulder as she shuddered helplessly. Her slick walls spasmed around him, the sensations utterly overwhelming. The aching heaviness deep inside of him tightened unbearably, and he felt his own climax approaching, unstoppable now.

"Mine," he moaned hoarsely without knowing as his body exploded in an endless cascade. His cries strangled in his throat as he poured his seed into her, feeling the sticky wetness of it filling her body. He fell, helpless, into the endless void of pleasure, thought and sensation growing ever more distant as the warm waves of bliss surrounded him, bringing peace and sweet relief to his exhausted body and mind.

The fire in his blood finally cooled, Trip gave in to the soothing lassitude and slipped into unconsciousness.

***

He lay curled on his side, facing her, his head pillowed on his arm. T'Pol gazed at Trip's peaceful face as he dozed. His face was almost childlike in its serenity, a trace of a smile gracing his delicious lips. Her eyes moved lower, raking over the finely muscled form that so irrationally pleased her. She slipped her arms out of her open robe and reached out a gentle finger, tracing along the length of his chiseled torso, down to his hip. He stirred slightly, but did not wake.

Although her emotions still pulsed and throbbed in her mind, her release had restored a measure of rationality. She could gather her clothes and leave, retreat to the dry, passionless sanctuary of control and logic, escape before any further damage was done.

She could.

She should.

But the feel of his soft, sweat-damp skin under her fingertip brought a fresh surge of heat to her belly. The scent of him, iron and ocean and the musk of sex, filled her nostrils. Her driving need to mate had been met, but her sheer want of him, her endless, maddening desire, was not satisfied.

No, not nearly.

Trip's lower half was still entangled in his clothing; T'Pol moved to his feet and gently removed his boots and socks. His naked feet looked so vulnerable to her, defenseless and oddly tempting. Acting on an impulse she did not fully understand, she caressed his foot, bending to lick his big toe, then gently nibbling at it with her teeth. Again he shifted and murmured, still asleep.

T'Pol gently eased the rest of his clothing off, kissing his ankle, running her tongue along his muscled calf. The fine hairs of his leg brushed against her lips, the taste of his sweat salty and animal and utterly unique. As her lips traced along his leg, he exhaled softly and shifted onto his back to allow her better access, his penis beginning to stir to life. As she licked and nipped gently along his thigh, he fully awoke, his fingers coming down to stroke her hair as she traced the valley of his inner thigh, tasting herself on the soft brown curls of his hair. Her roving hand moved over his body, settled between his legs, and gently massaged the warm weight there, making him groan wordlessly.

He was fully hard again, and T'Pol wanted to take him in her mouth, to give him the intense sensation that act brought him. But even more so, she decided, she wanted to dole his pleasure out slowly, make him wait, prolong his release as long as possible. A thought tumbled through her still-jumbled mind.

He belongs to me, to do with as I please. It was not at all logical ... but the very thought of making him squirm and moan under her ministrations sent a rush of possessive pleasure down her spine.

She slowly trailed her tongue across the contours of his stomach, tracing around the convoluted knot of his navel. Upward she moved, savoring the planes and hollows of the body she knew so intimately ... and, she was only now able to admit, had missed desperately. She hovered over one pink nipple, tasting the hardened flesh, gently teasing with her teeth, feeling him gasp and shiver under her.

T'Pol looked up at him, at his still-closed eyes, his lip caught on his lower teeth as she pleasured him. A rush of fierce, tender affection washed over her at the sight of him so unguarded.

Mine.

Her mouth moved to his shoulder, where she found the bite she had inflicted on him in her frenzied release. The tooth marks were traced with drying red blood. A wave of sorrow and regret filled her.

I always hurt him. She brushed a feather-light kiss over the wound in silent apology. She felt his emotions wrap around her sorrow, soothing her.

"No, darlin'," Trip murmured. "Don't ever be sorry." He took her head in his hands and brought her mouth to his, his kiss passionate yet gentle as his tongue met and danced with hers. He explored her mouth tenderly, reverently, taking the time to kiss her so deeply and thoroughly it made her tremble with the emotions that coursed through her, uncontrolled and unnamable, both hers and his as well as theirs. And behind and underneath and through it all was the white-hot aching need to touch, to taste, to explore and discover each other.

Trip's strong hands roamed over her body as his lips slid down her neck, nibbling at the tender juncture of her shoulder. T'Pol raised herself up and settled herself astride his chest, allowing his hot, searching mouth unfettered access to her body. She closed her eyes and sighed as his hand cupped the weight of her breast and he suckled at her nipple. She ground her hips against him with a moan as his tongue lapped and pulled at her, the sharp shocks of pleasure coursing directly to the sensitive place between her legs, sending waves of blissful sensation through her body.

His lips left her breast, and he held her hips firmly, keeping her in place as he moved down her body, placing himself between her thighs, his tongue trailing across her stomach, her hips, seeking the place she craved him the most. She gave a tiny gasp as his tongue found that sensitive nub of flesh and gently tasted her, his hands holding her still as he gave her this sensation, this indescribable pleasure, this act she did not even have a name for as no Vulcan male had ever thought to do such a thing solely for the enjoyment of his mate.

"Trip ..." she sighed his name as her body trembled at his ministrations. The waves of sensation were building, the pressure increasing in her belly and spine as the hot roughness of his skilled tongue explored her. Closer and closer he brought her, her sighs turning to broken moans as she again neared climax.

In her haze of pleasure it took tremendous effort to stop him, but she wanted to wait for him to join her. She stilled his head with her hands and gently broke free of his grasp.

Not yet.

She moved herself back down his body, settling herself astride his hips, his hardness pressing against her body but not yet inside her. She moved her hips against him, seeking contact with him as she kissed his still-wet mouth, the sticky musk of their mating still on his lips. The taste of it inflamed her even further and she devoured his lips hungrily as he thrust against her with increasing intensity, a growl of frustration deep in his throat as he sought the access she yet denied him.

Trip broke away from the kiss, bringing his mouth to the edge of her jaw, the lobe of her ear. "T'Pol. " His hot breath came in ragged gasps against the sensitive shell. "I need you ..." His hips ground against her, seeking insistently. "I need you so much ..."

She pulled back from him and gazed at his face, his lovely eyes half-lidded and darkened with desire. Her eyes locked with his, she positioned herself over his hips and guided him inside. There was no pain this time, only pleasure, pure delicious pleasure from the heat and thickness and friction of him. As she moved with him she gazed at his face, so beautiful in his rapture. She instinctively brought her fingers up to his cheek, seeking the ancient melding points.

Only her last remaining shred of rationality stopped her. No. If she melded with him, completed the connection as she so desired, the repercussions would be incalculable. I must not.

With tremendous effort she kept her hands from completing the contact and brushed them across the stubble of his chin instead. He turned into her caressing fingers, kissing them. She traced the outline of his beautiful lips with her fingertips, and gasped at the sensation when he took one of her fingers in his mouth, his rough tongue again tormenting her senses as he moved slowly, gently inside her, while his hands found and cupped her breasts, his callused thumbs circling her nipples, brushing against the tight, pebbled flesh there.

The wet heat of his mouth against her sensitive fingers, combined with the jolting shocks from his caresses, brought her careening to the edge of release, the blissful sensations building in her belly, the warmth spiraling higher and higher. By sheer force of will, she took her fingers out of his questing mouth and captured his hands with her own, pinning his arms above his head with her superior strength as she moved her hips against him with exquisite slowness.

Time stretched and slowed to a halt as she rode him, bringing him to the brink of release and then stilling, over and over again. She felt each wave of his pleasure crest and then recede as she teased him, tormented him, denied him release until every movement of her body brought a ragged gasp from his lips.

His voice was a hoarse, broken whisper as he begged. "Please, darlin'. Oh, God, please ..."

His body under her was wound tight as an overloaded spring. His white-hot, unbearable need filled her mind, becoming her own. She relented, releasing his arms and raising herself upright, meeting each thrust of his body with her own. His thumb found her most sensitive place and stroked her in time with the rhythm of his hips, bringing her to the very brink of her own orgasm as he began to grow even harder and hotter within her, the burning molten core of him demanding release as he slipped over the edge and began to fall.

He shuddered and gave an inhuman moan as he came, his waves of bliss refracting and splintering into a thousand reflected pieces in her mind as spasm after spasm wracked his body. The heat of his seed pouring into her body and the shattering intensity of his sensations in her mind destroyed the last of her control, and her own orgasm began to build, spilling out from the cradle of her womb.

It wasn't bearable, it wasn't survivable ...

She cried out in a keening, incoherent wail as her mind and body were ripped apart by the waves of mindless pleasure. She bucked and shuddered around him, gasping, straining for breath. The shocks receded, and she ground her hips into him, dug her fingernails into his sweat-soaked skin, desperately strove to take all of him inside her. Another climax overtook her, and she clutched at him, sighed wordlessly, trembled as the tides of ecstasy ebbed and receded.

Finally sated, she savored the sensation of her mate's arms around her, holding her safe as she returned to herself. For long minutes neither spoke, basking in the glow of their mutual contentment.

"I love you, T'Pol." His voice was sleepy, serene. "I know you'll prob'ly hate me tomorrow for sayin' it. But I do."

Not trusting herself to speak, she kissed the edge of his jaw, delighting in the taste of his sweat on her tongue. His arms tightened around her as he gently kissed the top of her head.

Sudden, overwhelming exhaustion overtook her. She closed her eyes, resting just for a moment.

Still joined, the two lovers slept, safe and at peace in a fragile universe that existed only for them.

***

Trip awoke suddenly, naked, disoriented and very much alone.

He blinked groggily, rubbing a hand across bleary, unfocused eyes. He ached from head to toe, his mouth bone dry, his bladder painfully full.

Blue light washed over him. The deck plating was hard under his bare back.

Where the hell am I?

Suddenly, painfully, the recollection of what he had been doing -- what they had been doing, and where -- struck him like a blow between the eyes. A part of his mind wanted to linger lovingly over the memory of the incredible lovemaking they had so recently shared. But a larger part of him -- the sane, rational, levelheaded part of him, freshly returned from wherever the hell it had gone -- was beginning to absolutely freak out.

He sat bolt upright as the full realization of his actions began to emerge. He had just had sex--fantastic, mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex--with his commanding officer. His Vulcan commanding officer.

In Engineering.

In a goddamn Jefferies Tube.

Careers had died over far less.

He buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, what was I thinking?"

The answer was simple enough. He hadn't been thinking, not at all. He had only been acting --only re-acting, to be perfectly truthful. To her. To the thought, the touch, the scent of her. Some inexplicable mania had gripped his brain and he had lost all judgment, all ability to reason, all grasp of consequences.

And now the spell had lifted, and the consequences were here. In spades.

T'Pol was gone, of course. A crashing wave of sorrow engulfed him as he realized that not only had she left him physically, but the feeling, the odd sensation that he could sense her somehow inside his brain -- that had disappeared as well. She was gone from him, both body and mind. He was so alone it almost brought tears to his eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, willing himself to regain some small measure of composure. Of course she was gone. How could he blame her? If he was freaking out right now over what they had done, she must be having a nervous breakdown -- or at least the Vulcan equivalent of one.

So what now? he asked himself.

First, put your damn clothes on.

He reached for his discarded clothing, wincing at the sharp throb in his shoulder. He turned his head and regarded the crescent-shaped wound, edges crusted with dried blood, that marked his shoulder.

He traced his fingers over the mark. In some irrational, illogical way he was glad for the injury, grateful for some physical, tangible proof that the otherworldly encounter had truly taken place. It made it undeniably real.

Still hurts like a sonofabitch, though.

Gingerly he dressed. His internal clock, almost always accurate, told him it was still mid-gamma shift, perhaps around three o'clock. He hoped like hell he was right, and the crew roster was at an absolute minimum. He briefly considered how many people had witnessed him and T'Pol disappear behind the locked hatch. He couldn't remember, but Engineering was never empty, and life on a starship being what it was, he knew word of what the commanders had been up to would be all over the ship by lunchtime tomorrow.

Good Lord, what have I done? he asked himself in growing horror.

Now was not the place for those thoughts. Plenty of time for recriminations later, he decided; at the moment he had to quickly and quietly get the hell out of here. He had been known to occasionally fall asleep in Engineering before, during a third straight shift deep in the bowels of the ship. No one would think anything of it.

Yeah, right.

He shoved his feet into his boots and ran a hand through his thoroughly mussed hair.

You've been an idiot before, Tucker, but this takes the cake. Hell, it cleans out the entire damn bakery.

Trip opened the hatch and emerged, trying his damnedest to look as if he had been working on a malfunctioning EPS relay all night, rather than being fucked senseless by the woman of his dreams.

Despite his best efforts, though, he was not able to look anyone in the eye as he left Engineering.

***

With a barely restrained huff of impatience, Malcolm pressed the door chime for a third time.

No answer.
Trip was in there, of course; Malcolm could hear the faint rustle behind the closed door, and he had of course taken the few moments to isolate the Commander's biosign in his quarters before making his way down to B deck.

Malcolm pressed the chime once more.

"Go away, Malcolm."

Well, he had at least spoken, which was some sort of progress. Reed decided on the no-nonsense approach. "Trip, if you don't open this door, I'm going to use my security override, and then throw you in the brig for my trouble."

For a long moment there was silence.

Trip's voice was one of tired annoyance. "Fine. Come in."

The door slid open to admit the lieutenant. Trip was lying on his bed, still in uniform despite the hour, fingers interlaced behind his head. He stared blankly at the ceiling. Misery came off him in almost palpable waves.

Malcolm remained silent, studying his closest friend.

He had known something was desperately wrong with Trip since the incident in the gym last night. For all his formidable strength and dexterity, Trip was the last, the absolute last person on Enterprise that would ever assault a fellow crewmember. He was even reluctant to participate in the mandatory combat training, unwilling to risk causing harm to anyone, ever. And yet, the man had been, at least for a few moments, totally intent on murder. The absolute, terrifying rage he had seen in Trip's eyes last night was something Malcolm would not forget anytime soon.

And then ... this morning's awkward, tense senior staff meeting. Malcolm was a very perceptive man; it came with his job. He had immediately noticed that Trip and T'Pol had been utterly strange, jumpy and anxious, unwilling to look at or speak to each other. Both had fled the very instant the Captain dismissed them, Trip to complete the shuttlepod repairs before he and Hoshi embarked on their mission to the abandoned camp, and T'Pol to analyze the energy readings from the debris scattered about the planet's surface.

Malcolm had seen the two at each other's throats and as thick as thieves, and at every conceivable point in between. But this dazed, fearful anxiety was something brand new.

Like long-tailed cats in a roomful of rockin' chairs, Malcolm thought. One of Trip's colorful down-home expressions. And utterly apt.

Then, before the end of Malcolm's first self-defense seminar, he had heard what the crewmen were whispering about. And the pair's shell-shocked demeanor began to take on some kind of -- not sense, exactly, if half of what Malcolm had heard today was true -- but context, at the very least.

Malcolm's attention returned to the present when Trip spoke, still staring at the ceiling above his bunk. "You really gonna take me to the brig, Lieutenant? Frankly, it'd be a bit of a relief."

"No such luck tonight, Commander." Malcolm sat down in the chair and took it upon himself to rummage about in Trip's desk drawers until he found the bottle he knew was hiding in there somewhere. He regarded the label with dismay. "Southern Comfort?"

"Gag gift from the gals in Engineering."

"Good Lord ... and you drink it?"

Trip sighed. "I don't remember inviting you in here or asking you to ransack the place, so how about you don't complain about the refreshments."

Malcolm grimaced, but found two gray metal tumblers in the same drawer where he had found the bottle. He poured two -- no, three -- fingers of liquor into each cup and held one out wordlessly. Trip turned his head and regarded him for a long moment, then sat up with a stifled groan, taking the cup and downing it in one swallow.

Malcolm drained his own drink -- God, it really was vile stuff -- and set the tumbler on the desk. "All right, Trip. I'm saying this as your friend. What in the sodding hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm really sorry about last night, Mal. I told you I was in a bad mood --"

"I'm not just talking about the gym."

Trip regarded his friend. Malcolm saw what little color was in Trip's face drain away.

"Oh sweet Jesus. How many people know?"

"I spent the better part of the day threatening to throw people in the brig if they repeat what they heard. If I followed through ... let's just say there wouldn't be enough crew left to pilot the ship."

Mortification filled Trip's face plain as day. He held his glass out wordlessly, and Malcolm refilled it generously.

"Does the Cap'n know?"

"I don't believe so," replied Malcolm. "I was fairly aggressive in my damage control." He filled his own glass.

"What-- what did you hear, Mal?"

"The story is, you were in Engineering out of uniform, T'Pol showed up, and the two of you disappeared into a Jefferies tube. There were, um, noises heard, and then you were seen exiting separately, several hours later. Both looking rather, well, disheveled." Malcolm gave him a level stare. "Is that essentially the truth?"

Trip nodded minutely. "I don't ... I don't know what happened," he said bleakly. "I mean, I know what happened. I don't know why." Trip drained his tumbler again. "Mal, I swear to God, I don't know what I was thinkin’. Except that I wasn't thinkin'. I couldn't even see straight. Nothing else mattered but her."

"What makes now different from before?" Malcolm was the only one on the ship who knew about Trip and T'Pol's relationship in the Expanse. That tenuous exploration had come to a crashing halt with T'Pol's marriage to Koss. He knew Trip had been devastated by the rejection, and he had seen how the once-close relationship between the two had curdled into bitterness and anger.

And now this. Whatever this was, it was ripping his friend apart in a way that Malcolm had never seen before.

"I can't explain it, Mal. It's like she's in my head, all the time. Ever since the other ... for the past couple of days, she's all I can focus on." Trip regarded him miserably. "And then, last night, what we did ... Jesus, Mal, you're the most by-the-book guy I know and you spent today coverin’ for what I did. I can't even begin to imagine what you think of me."

"For what it's worth, Trip, you were both technically off-duty. That knocks at least a couple of charges off your court-martial."

Trip seemed to realize Malcolm was making a joke and assembled his features into something approximating a smile. "Thanks for easin' my mind there, buddy."

"Look. I've known you for close to four years. You've often shown a certain flexibility when it comes to rules, but something like this ... it's just not like you, Trip. Something else has got to be going on here."

"Like what? Some sort of Vulcan love spell?"

Malcolm grew quite still. "Do you love her, Trip?"

Trip hung his head for a moment, contemplating his empty tumbler. He sighed. "Yeah, I do. And I told her."

Malcolm felt a sudden blinding pang of sympathy for his friend, hopelessly in love with a Vulcan -- with a woman -- who had dedicated her life to feeling nothing. What a bloody mess, he thought sadly to himself.

"Maybe you should see Phlox."

"What for? I've been in love with her for months, Mal. Maybe longer."

"But this reckless behavior is entirely new. And dangerous, Trip. You don't need me to tell you that."

Trip said nothing, still contemplating the cup he held as if some answer might magically appear there.

Malcolm groped for words. "Maybe ... maybe there's some reason, some illness that's causing both of you to behave so oddly." Trip was silent, and Malcolm pressed on. "At any rate, it couldn't hurt to talk to him. He's the expert. A brutally repressed armory officer with severe relationship issues is perhaps not the best source of advice on matters like this."

A shadow of a grin crossed Trip's face. "And how isHoshi?"

"I said three whole sentences to her today without putting my bloody foot in my mouth. Excellent progress, I'd say. And you're changing the subject."

"I was tryin' to." Trip sighed. "I promise, Malcolm, I won't put you in this situation again. Whatever is goin' on ... can't continue. I know that. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Promise me you'll see Phlox."

"I promise I'll seriously consider it."

"All right, I'll take what I can get. " Malcolm set his cup down on the desk and rose. "Try to get some sleep, Trip. You look like hell."

"Not surprised. Feel like it too."

Malcolm crossed the small room and stopped, turning to face his friend. "Trip, I never said I accept your apology. I do, you know. There's nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive. Well, eventually."

Trip gave a real smile at that. "Thanks, Mal. Now get your sentimental ass out of here before we start eatin' chocolate and braidin' each other's hair."

Malcolm left, a small smile on his own face ... but he couldn't shake the firm suspicion that this was going to end very badly indeed for his friend.

***

Trip kept his promise to Malcolm and seriously considered going to see Phlox.

For about six seconds. And then, of course, he decided not to.

He was humiliated enough over the whole thing without rehashing it with the doctor, who would undoubtedly give him one of those sympathetic yet bemused smiles that he seemed to reserve exclusively for the Chief Engineer's frequent misadventures.

Trip knew Phlox didn't mean anything unkind by it; the Denobulan was a superb doctor and a great guy all around. But at this point, Trip had all the embarrassment and remorse he could handle, and he'd be damned if he would be pitied on top of it.

That choice, however, like so many others, ended up being made for him.

As Trip labored to bring the shuttlepod's impulse engine online, his marked shoulder began to burn and throb with every move he made. Every time he picked up anything heavier than a spanner, a silver spike of pain shot through his arm. By early evening, the engine was operational, and ordinarily Trip would have spent almost the entire evening running and re-running diagnostic checks. But he was sick of getting the hairy eyeball from his crew, he was tired, and he was feeling a bit warm and nauseated to boot.

So, in an unusual move for him, he delegated.

The reason I have a crew, he told himself, is so I don't haveto do everything myself. "Burnside," he said, handing his PADD to the golden-haired L.J.G. assisting him with the repairs. "Run these diagnostics and send the results to my quarters."

"Aye sir," she said, taking the PADD and moving around to the opposite side of the pod to begin the test sequences. Trip straightened and stretched, grimacing as the burning throb in his shoulder traveled down his arm. It's nothing, he told himself as he left the bay. I'll feel better when I clean up and get something to eat.

As he made his way to his quarters, Trip found his thoughts pulled back again toward T'Pol.

It had been two full days since he had exchanged as much as a word with her. They had been giving each other as wide as berth as possible on such a small ship, both of them needing time to recover and recoup from what had happened between them that night. But Trip could swear he could still sense her in his mind at times ... and as the hours apart from her wore on, she began to take over more and more of his thoughts. He missed her presence more with each passing moment.

The longer he stayed away from her, the more he craved her. I feel like an addict, he reflected, not for the first time. He found himself welcoming the pain in his shoulder. It distracted him from his unsettling train of thought.

Trip entered his room, stripping off his grimy uniform en route to the shower. Before stepping under the spray, he inspected the damage in the mirror. Just past the point where his neck met his shoulder, at the juncture of the trapezius and deltoid muscles, was a puffy, red circle of angry flesh. It was hot to the touch.

He sighed in irritation as he stepped into the hot spray, the sigh turning to a hiss as the water hit the wound. He absolutely did not want to see Phlox. But dying of an infected Vulcan love bite would do nothing to rehabilitate his already badly tarnished reputation.

"Just once," Trip said aloud to the walls, "I'd like to have a small say in my own business."

Chapter Four

In a private, curtained corner of Sickbay, Phlox was silent as he dressed the Commander's wound.

He immediately recognized the dental pattern as Vulcan, of course. And barring the exceedingly remote possibility that some mythical Vulcan vampire with a taste for human flesh lurked onboard, there was only one way those marks would have ended up on Tucker's body. In addition the doctor had, of course, heard the gossip circulating the ship over what had supposedly transpired in Engineering two nights ago ... heard it several times over from various sources, as a matter of fact.

Still, he said nothing as he applied a numbing antibiotic gel to the region, hoping the Commander would be the first to broach the topic. The human's body language was clearly tense and unhappy, and despite the commander’s stoic silence, Phlox felt it would be therapeutic for Tucker to share what was troubling him. But his patient remained stubbornly silent, only letting out the occasional soft exhalation of discomfort despite the anesthetic.

Finally, Phlox gave up. "Are you going to discuss the obvious, Commander, or do I need to bring it up?"

Tucker regarded him evenly. "What makes you think there's anything here to talk about, Doc?"

Phlox's voice was carefully neutral as he applied the dermal sealer. "You are clearly troubled by something, Commander. And coupled with the nature of your injury, that leads me to believe that whatever is making you unhappy is of a rather intimate nature, and involves the only Vulcan on this ship. Am I on target so far?"

Tucker looked at the floor and said nothing. Having had a great deal of experience dealing with the man, Phlox was able to read the signs and remained quiet, giving the commander the time he needed to speak his mind.

Finally he sighed. "It's just crazy, Doc."

"What is crazy?"

"The way I feel. I can't get her out of my mind. I can't think about anything or anyone else. And it's makin' me ... behave in ways I never would've otherwise."

He took a deep breath and continued. "And it's not just that I'm in love with her. I am, I admit it. I have been now for months. This is different, Phlox." The words were tumbling out now. "I can't think rationally around her. I lose my judgment. I lose my reason. Nothing else matters but being with her. And it's scarin' the hell out of me." He looked up, meeting Phlox's eyes for the first time, and his voice grew soft. "I've never felt so out of control, and it has to stop. I want it to stop. But I ... I don't know how."

Phlox put down the dermal sealer and sat down on the stool next to the biobed. He deliberated before he spoke, choosing his words with care.

"Commander, what do you know about Vulcan reproductive biology?"

"Not much. I know about the seven-year cycle, but I don't know the specifics." He chuckled softly. "I guess I don't know as much as I should, considerin'."

"Few humans do." Phlox felt a bit uncertain. "Vulcans consider that aspect of their biology very private. I'm not even entirely certain it's appropriate to discuss this with a non-Vulcan."

Tucker's irritation visibly flared. "I might not be a Vulcan, but I'd say I've got a hell of a vested interest here."

"Indeed." Phlox folded his hands in his lap and continued. "Vulcan mating instincts are very strong, Commander. That is one of the reasons they are betrothed as children, a practice recommended by Surak as a means of gaining control over the intense, unpredictable attractions that can spontaneously occur between unattached adults when Pon Farr manifests. Attractions that can be severely disruptive to an ordered, logical existence."

"Are you sayin' that T'Pol is goin' through Pon Farr?"

"No, I am not. If she were, she would not be capable of performing her ship's duties ... and your injuries would be significantly more severe."

"You're losin' me here, Doc."

"Pon Farr is essentially the seven-year cycle of the Vulcan male. When the male enters the precursor stage, the production of key hormones and pheromones, normally almost nonexistent, spike to extremely high levels. These secretions trigger the mating drive in a responsive female. The female's corresponding biochemical response triggers the onset of full Pon Farr in the male."

Trip now looked completely lost. "But I'm not a Vulcan, and I'm not in Pon Farr. Though, I hafta say I'd be willing to believe just about anything at this point."

"You have to understand, Commander, that from this point on I am departing from known biological facts into the realm of full conjecture." Phlox hesitated, gathering his thoughts. "No, you are not a Vulcan. But several of the key hormones and pheromones involved in the Vulcan mating cycle are identical to those which human males secrete; and while in a Vulcan man the baseline profile of these compounds is very low, human males have a much higher output on an ongoing basis. Not nearly as high as the levels seen during Pon Farr, but apparently ... enough."

"Enough to ..."A look of slowly dawning comprehension came over Tucker's features. "I think I'm startin' to see where you're going with this."

Phlox nodded. "It would be a reasonable assumption that your prolonged close contact with Commander T'Pol, combined with your clear affinity for one another, has resulted in a permutation of the usual female Vulcan biological response ... which, in turn, has led to your own endocrine system being altered, causing the symptoms you describe. Aggression, loss of impulse control, heightened arousal ..."

"Okay, Doc, I get it," Tucker said, growing noticeably pink around the ears. "The question is, what can I -- what can we do about it?"

Phlox considered his options for a moment. He had been truthful with the Commander ... but not entirely truthful. Is it possible, he wondered, for a Human to be party to a full Vulcan mating bond? Or is this merely the manifestation of chemical responses?

Almost certainly the latter, he decided. The telepathic abilities of humans were next to nonexistent. And if by the remotest chance there was a bond developing between Tucker and Commander T'Pol, then the person to explain the ramifications was T'Pol, not Phlox. Besides, the human had a difficult enough situation as it was, without introducing highly unlikely hypotheticals into the equation.

Phlox chose his words carefully. "It is not unheard of for adult Vulcans to find themselves in this sort of situation. Once the mating drive has been met, there are essentially two choices: accept the attraction and attempt to forge a deeper, more lasting relationship, or observe a strict physical and emotional separation until the responses subside."

"Phlox, it seems to me that you just used a whole lot of words to say somethin’ real simple: either stay together or break up."

"Put succinctly, yes."

"That's not real helpful, Doc."

"I have information from the Vulcan database on synthetic pheromone and neurotransmitter regulators that can be used to temporarily mitigate the physical responses. I'd like to run some scans, see how your biochemical profile has changed, and use those to titrate an appropriate human dosage.

"However, while the synthetic compounds are effective, I suspect they will only be helpful if you and Commander T'Pol remain as separate from each other as possible."

"And if we decide to try and work this out?" Trip asked. "Could this craziness be ... temporary? Could we meditate or somethin' until it passes?"

Phlox did not miss the spark of hope that flickered in the man's blue eyes.

Almost apologetically he said, "If you were Vulcan, the overwhelming and disorienting nature of the stimulation would pass as your endocrine system returned to normal. But you're not Vulcan, and your system has a higher baseline output of these compounds."

"That sounds like a no."

"What I mean is I am uncertain, Commander. As I said previously, this is all conjecture on my part. I'm afraid you're a pioneer yet again, this time in the field of Vulcan-human intimate relations."

Tucker just looked at him, his expressive brows knitted in an expression somewhere between bemusement and despair. He gestured at his shoulder with a tilt of his head. "All finished?"

"At the moment, yes. I've cleaned it and applied a broad-spectrum antibiotic. I'd like to begin the dermal regeneration immediately, but that will take over 16 hours to take full effect, and I don't want you poking around a Klingon garbage heap with an open wound, even in an EV suit. So I administered a dermal sealer, and when you return I'll take care of any scarring."

An unreadable expression passed over Tucker's face. "Nah, Phlox, that's okay. I'll keep it the way it is."

"An infected bite wound will undoubtedly--"Phlox began, then stopped as understanding began to dawn on him. Humans can be sentimental and romantic about the oddest things, he reflected.

"As you wish." Phlox rose and moved to the control panel next to the biobed. "Lie down, please. The bioscans will only take a moment to complete."

Slightly over a minute later, the output display beeped. As Phlox surveyed the results, a ghost of a grin crossed Tucker's somber features. "So am I a Vulcan yet, Doc?"

"Fascinating. See the spikes here ... and here. The neurochemical regulator should work quite well, if that's what you wish, Commander."

The grin disappeared. "Go ahead and make it. I'll decide later, if that's all right with you."

"I'll send it to your quarters. If you decide to use it, you can self-administer at your leisure."

Tucker rose and dressed, still wincing a bit as he pulled his shirt over his head. He zipped up his coveralls. "Are we done here, Doc?"

"I believe so. About Commander T'Pol ... I think I should see her as well. Do you want to speak to her or--."

"Yeah, I'll talk to her."

“That would probably be best. But I still need to see her, and sooner would likely be better for all involved."

"Understood, Doc." Tucker gave the doctor a sad smile, underscored with more than a trace of bitterness. "Phlox, I appreciate your help, but I can't begin to tell you how goddamn sick I am of being the universe's go-to lab rat for interspecies relations."

Phlox couldn't help but have a passing thought. Your affinity for females of other species is no one's doing but your own, my young friend. But he knew it was an unkind and unfair characterization. The commander's feelings for the Vulcan ran far, far deeper than any mere interspecies intrigue.

"I'm sorry, Trip." Phlox spoke gently, more as a friend now. "I know you care for her very much."

Tucker sighed. "I do. I really do. But my job and the ship and the crew have to come first. No matter what."

"I admire your dedication to duty, Commander."

"At this point, Doc, you're one of the few."

***

Trip hesitated a moment in front of her door, attempting to calm his rattled nerves. Anxiety coiled in his stomach, and put a bitter, acrid taste in his mouth.

He knew he needed to talk to her. That knowledge didn't make him any less afraid. He tried to take in a deep breath, feeling the constriction in his chest, and pressed the door chime with slightly shaking fingers.

"Come in." Even through the closed door, Trip could hear ... feel ... the tension and unhappiness that lurked beneath that calm voice. He opened the door and entered T'Pol's quarters.

She stood, facing away from him, hands clasped at the small of her back in the traditional Vulcan fashion. Trip could clearly see, though, that her normally ramrod-straight posture was slumped just fractionally, her head lowered slightly.

"T'Pol, we need to talk."

"I agree." Still, she did not face him.

The anxiety swirled in him. This was even harder than he had thought. "I -- I spoke to Phlox."

At that she finally turned to face him, anger and embarrassment plain in her face. "You discussed our encounter with him?"

Trip was struck by her lack of control. Suddenly he realized how badly the events of the past few days had affected her. He continued, more gently, "Not intentionally. I kind of had to. The, um ..." he pointed at his shoulder, "... bite. It was starting to get infected. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out how I got a set of Vulcan tooth marks on my shoulder."

Her anger faded, replaced by a look of sorrow that pierced Trip's heart. "I apologize for any pain I caused you."

Trip shrugged. "I've experienced worse." The bite's nothin', darlin'. The real hurt is where you can't see.

She gazed at him silently. Gathering his courage, he continued. "Phlox says -- he thinks this thing goin' on with us may be caused by some kind of Vulcan matin' response gone haywire. That the amount of time we've spent in such close contact triggered some kind of reaction that's responsible for our, um, lack of judgment."

She turned away from him again and was silent for a long moment. "That seems like the most logical explanation for our behavior," she said finally.

Trip thought he could feel her pulling away from him, putting up her blank facade and shutting herself inside. He could feel the emptiness inside her head where she had been only moments ago.

Stop it. You don't feel any such thing from her. It's just your overactive imagination and wishful thinkin'.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that she had been in his mind only moments before ... and now she was gone from him. The loneliness and pain he felt cut through him like a knife.

He took a step towards her. "T'Pol?"

She did not face him. "What does the doctor recommend?"

"Well, he says he's not sure if the Vulcan remedies will apply in this case. Seems we're kind of a test case for this sort of thing ... but for Vulcans in this kind of situation, the choices are pretty simple."

She turned to face him again, her face calmly unreadable to him. "Either strengthen the emotional connection to balance out the physical," she supplied, "or enforce physical and emotional separation and allow the attraction to dissolve."

Trip realized he had been telling T'Pol something she already knew. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You knew what was going on here?"

"No, I did not. I only started to realize the possibility after the events of last night. I never believed a human could trigger those types of ... urges."

'Phlox says it's not the full-blown real thing, though."

"He is correct. If it were, you would have been severely injured."

"So I've been told." Trip leaned against the doorframe. "Phlox is synthesizing some pheromone and neurochemical regulators discussed in the Vulcan database. They should take the edge off the, um, impulses. If we decide that's what we should do."

Her eyes flicked down and away from him, seemingly unwilling to meet his own.

Trip spoke suddenly, impulsively. "T'Pol, do ya think ... is it possible we could --."

She returned her gaze to his face, a flicker of hurt in her eyes. "No, Trip, it's not possible." She turned again, crossing the small room and wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. "Phlox does not fully understand what that kind of emotional connection entails. It is not something a human would even be able to attempt."

"T'Pol, you don't know that--"

"Trip, I'm not telling you this to cause you pain. I do not wish to hurt you more than I already have. But there is no future in this. Our foolish actions endanger not only us, but everyone aboard this ship. Not to mention the potentially disastrous consequences to Starfleet and the Vulcan High Council ..."

"I don't give a --"

"Whatever this is between us is a mistake," she said with finality. "It is an aberration, not meant to be." Her voice softened. "We cannot continue like this, Trip. We just ... can't."

Trip's eyes burned with unshed tears at the pain her words caused. But he knew she was right. Damn it all to hell, but she was right.

"This is it for us, then," he said softly. "We can't even be friends, can we?"

Her eyes glittered with barely concealed anguish. "No, I don't believe we can," she said in a near-whisper.

He looked at the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears that threatened to fall. "Goddamn, but this hurts," he said, his voice sounding harsh and strangled, even to himself. After the worst of it passed, he swallowed thickly and raised his eyes to hers.

"Do you really believe this is all some chemical reaction gone haywire, T'Pol? Do you?"

She gazed at him silently but said nothing. He chuckled, a short, humorless sound, and shook his head. "Me neither." He ran his hand along the edge of the doorframe. "I'm gonna take the hypospray, I guess ... and me an' Hoshi are taking the shuttlepod out to that Klingon encampment tomorrow morning, so I'll be out of your hair for at least 24 hours, maybe a little more. After that ... I promise our only interactions will be one hundred percent work-related."

Her voice was flat, distant. "That would be best."

"I guess so." He straightened, and reached for the door button. "Good night, then, Commander."

The door slid open. He willed himself to leave, to find the strength to walk away from her.

"Trip."

He hesitated, then turned. For one split second, he could see past the mask into the very depths of her soul, to the pain and sorrow that dwelt deep inside her.

"Trip, do you ... regret it?"

He felt his heart, so full of love and need and desire for her, never to be satisfied, and he felt as if he might literally break into pieces. But even for all of that ... "No, T'Pol. I wouldn't take back a single second. Not for anything."

Impulsively, he crossed the room to where she stood, gathered her into his arms, and felt her melt against him. As he kissed the top of her silky head, the memory of her Vulcan endearments returned to him.

"Ashayam," he whispered gently into her ear. Then he released her and left, walking out of her quarters, out of her life, willing himself not to look back.

***

T'Pol did not even pretend to meditate.

After he left, she wrapped herself in a ball on her bunk, staring sightlessly at the far wall. They were bonded, she was certain of it. It was illogical -- it was impossible-- but it didn't change what she felt. She felt him, in her mind, branded into her brain. He was a part of her, now.

And it was her fault. She had drawn this beautiful, kind, guileless human into something far too wide and deep and complicated for him to understand. She could only hope that he was able to disentangle himself, distance himself enough for the bond to fade away so he could be free.

If it could fade away. If it wasn't too late for even that.

They had to remain separate. There was no other path to take. She knew the decision was absolutely the right one.

Then why did her very soul cry out in protest?

She had no language for her racing thoughts, no way to express the anguish that burned inside of her. His words returned to her, more fitting than any of her own.

"Goddamn, but this hurts," she whispered to the empty room, receiving only empty, thunderous silence in response.

She had never felt so alone.

Though her mind struggled and wailed in turmoil, after a time her body's exhaustion betrayed her. She fell asleep despite herself, still curled on her side, fully dressed atop her bedclothes.

In violation of all her Vulcan discipline, she dreamed. She dreamed of rusted iron and ocean and palm trees under an impossibly blue alien sky.

And in the freedom of slumber, the tears ran freely down her face.

***

The hypospray was waiting for Trip when he arrived in his quarters.

He sat in his desk chair and opened the box, taking the silver implement in hand. He felt the weight and coolness of the metal against his fingers.

Phlox had said the effects were only temporary. So why did this action feel so irrevocable?

The decision was made. All over but the shoutin', his gramma would say. But still, he hesitated.

He knew it was the right choice. They couldn't risk letting this madness continue. Why, then, did every cell in his body tell him he was making a terrible mistake?

Stop being a fucking drama queen, Tucker. Take your medicine. He jabbed the hypo savagely into his neck and pressed the trigger before he could change his mind. Despite the fact that he knew the spray was painless, he flinched at the hiss.

Within moments the restless, unsettled feeling in him began to ease. The irritation he had carried around with him calmed. He felt some semblance of normality begin to seep into his veins.

His body was calming. But his mind and soul did not.

If only Phlox had a hypospray that would make him stop loving her as easily. Trip knew he would take that shot, and gladly. He would pull the trigger directly over his heart and gratefully welcome the spreading numbness.

He would do anything if it meant he didn't have to feellike this about her anymore. He was so damn tired of feeling.

After many long minutes of sitting blankly in his chair, Trip noticed the message light on his console was flashing. More out of habit than any real desire to read his mail, he opened the message window.

One from Hoshi about the away mission. One from Hess about an upcoming staff meeting. One from his friend Scott Keller on Columbia.

Hey, Chief.

Glad to hear you're happy on Enterprise. Capt. Hernandez was disappointed, but asked me to let you know (on the DL, of course) that the top slot is yours for the taking anytime you want. All you have to do is say the word.

LaKeisha Jordan says hi. She'd love to have you over here. I'm sure she'd enjoy serving under you again, if you know what I mean (and I think you do). She also says she can still kick your ass in one-on-one and that's why you won't transfer. I think you need to prove her wrong, buddy.

Write back sometime and tell me more of your deep space adventures. We've been having so many problems I'm starting to think I'm gonna draw my retirement before we leave dry-dock. Another reason for you to come over ... how can you resist a challenge like that?

Think on it.

Later,

S.

She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. And when he thought about her he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It felt wonderful.

It would be such a relief to spend his days around people he cared nothing for. Colleagues who at the end of the day were nothing more than ... colleagues.

Wait a minute. Am I thinkin' ... really thinkin' ... about leavin' Enterprise?

Trip sat motionless, lost in contemplation, deep into the night.

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!

A whole mess of folks have made comments

Ooh! I think I might be first. :-) What a marvelous job. Hot sex, angst o'plenty, terrific characterizations (not only for TnT, but for Malcolm and Phlox too), and funny lines. (Love Trip's comment about Mal being a sentimental slob.) I can't wait for the Observer Effect installment in your series. Tee hee. Why is it, when I love these characters as much as I do, I also love to see them suffer? Bad Ancasta. Bad! ;-)

Wonderful! Kinda wished it turned out all right for they dynamic duo...but I do see how you could 'fit' this into the show...we wish!

;)

That was excellent. Looking forward to the next chapter.

Wow. That was incredible. In spite of the angtsy aftertaste - I loved this. It was funny, sad, smokin' hot (!!!) and fit so well with what we saw on screen. Loved the scenes with Trip/T'Pol and their inner musings - so well done. Looking forward to your next

-j

"Thanks, Mal. Now get your sentimental ass out of here before we start eatin' chocolate and braidin' each other's hair." -D'oh.

Nice. Love nice, long, angsty stories. Looking forward to the next piece.

Ok totaly loved the smutt,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, But dang it,, God that false start/breakup,,, hurt like hell... God I wanted to smack them both at the end there.,,,,,,,,, Please write a sequal with a Happy endin,,, I can only take so much angst,, even if smutt is mixed in with it. Great fic.

Love this fic! I can just see how this would fit into the show's storyline. I find I really like your writing style; it's very spare, with just the essentials to get the idea across to the reader. Some are so overly descriptive it becomes tiresome, but I am enjoying this one tremendously. Keep it going!!!

Wow, what a fantastic angst-fest! Please hurry with the sequel! Happy endings, we need happy endings!!

Wow!...You certainly have a way with angst :) That was well written and I am really enjoying this series now. Can't wait for you to update...

This was NOT smut. This was positively heart-wrenching and soul stirring. I don't know how you do it, Elaine, but you make me gasp in pleasure and cry at the same time. Absolutely marvelous... but so sad. I also vote for a happy ending.

Loved this story -- loved the angst, loved the smut, loved the romance, loved the humour! Can't wait for the next installment . . . how long is "eventually"???

Very beautiful, breathtaking and heartwrenching all at once!! Just: Don´t stop there!!! We´ll NEED the next chapter soon. ;-)))))

Great job. I can't wait for the sequel.

Elaine, I love it!! Beautifully written - heart breaking and touching at the same time. It feels so right. Please write more.

i am gonna feedback your ass off!!! this was so good that i had to stop in the middle and save it for the next day---so i could read the first part over again. it really wasn't the sex either.... but i did love the primal energy they had and the fear. that was absolutely riveting. and i cried. i cried when trip said "don't cry. i love you..." really, just broke down. i'm kind of starting again right now just thinking about it. yep, the tears are rollin' again. jeez! that was sooo good, and so heartbreaking that i kinda feel like i might throw up later---i'm so wound up by this (and incursions). THAT if anything, should give you an idea of the resonating effect this has. you did a superb job on this even though it broke my heart. lucky for me that i like getting wound up and feeling---'cause i'll be reading this over and over again. for sure. just can't say enough...

Well done! The sequel has surpassed the original. :) What a great dose of angst, romance, smut and good characterization.

I love poor Trip going primal and not understanding why. And T'Pol just being so drawn to that through the bond.

Nice stuff. This is a keeper. No doubt. :)

omg, you have to write the sequel, and soon!

Yeah, yeah... I don't read smut and all that... and I didn't--read the smut part that is, but the rest of the story. Wow! So powerful! So moving!!

I knew that it wouldn't end happy, since you said where it placed in the series. But still, it broke my heart. This was just excellent! Thank you!

I agree. OMG....Very Very well done.....Incredible.. Definitely needs a sequel.....T.

I think this is one of the best fics I've ever read...*goes to take cold shower*

Soooooooooooooo, it´s four days later. Any sign of the sequel? ;-)))

Wow, this was SO intense! It kept me on the edge of my seat, heart-pounding and then left me with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. So very well written. Thank you for this and please continue soon!

I read it when it first came out and read it again. Also read the comments. Agree with all said and hope to see the continuation soon! Can't think of anything else to say, 'cause you left me speechless!

Very sad at the end, but I'd say the hot jefferies tube sex made up for it ;) I wish there were more fics like this one - guess you'll just have to write more! :)

this was excellent and very well written. poor trip!!! i hope you continue to write more ff and especially continue this story line, because i can't wait to find out what happens between them!!! keep writing!

That was just an incredible story. You KNOW how to write them both so well and the other characters too, well done for everything, plot, dialogue, scene setting, all perfect.

Oh my heart....tears are falling on my keyboard as I type. I'll be honest, I usually skip to the NC-17 parts for some yummy smut but this was just heart wrenching and breath taking. Thank you for this wonderful story.....now please write a happy ending before I eat chocolate to drown my sorrows.

Please write more soon..

wow, i am so amazed! i had to read it again. this was such a well written piece, i felt so sad when i read it, poor trip! i really hope you'll write the sequel to this - SOON! i've been waiting forever!

so sad! i can't wait for the next part, please please PLEASE write it soon!

This is so very good! Please continue. I love the story line, the characterizations, the humor, angst and of course the smut. This is just too good not to continue.

These were great!!!! Any chance of e sequel, it's been a year. Please!!!

These were great!!!! Any chance of e sequel, it's been a year. Please!!!