Lone Wolf- pt. 4

Lone Wolf

By Aquila

Part Four

Rating: NC-17
Warning: Spoilers, Alternate Universe
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Trek universe
Summary: A sequel to The T’Key

==

Xander had asked him one too many questions about Starfleet battle tactics. His special operations red alert had sounded in his head. Something wasn’t right. He considered the possible scenarios. The one he liked the least was the one he decided was most likely.

The freedom fighters were a covert operations force sent from Xin’di to do what he was doing gathering intel. Axelana’s attempt at seduction made sense when viewed from that angle. Trip knew he was not at his most presentable. He had let his hair grow. A beard hid his dimples. His nails were broken and caked with dirt. No woman as fastidious as Axelana would have found his current appearance attractive. Only nightcrawlers and boys of ill repute would find him irresistible as scruffy as he was.

In the darkness of a moonless night, Tucker slipped away from the camp. He took a circuitous route, pausing to determine if he were being followed. When he was certain he had slipped away unnoticed he headed toward his shuttlecraft.

When he landed he had created a malfunction as a reasonable excuse for his appearance and the length of his stay. To demonstrate his acceptance of their cover story, he had not returned to the shuttle. His approach now was cautious. He examined the discreet markers he had left had been disturbed. Someone had found the shuttle. The engineer sat on his haunches in a copse of trees, watching and waiting.

==

The woman appreciated the logic of the captain’s ultimatum, as he did not have the option of putting her off the ship to make her way back to Vulcan. She was thankful he had left the fourth option unspoken, saving them both from embarrassment.

The fourth option, that they blend their professional and personal lives, forming a partnership that would avoid awkward questions and impertinent slights, was the most Vulcan. He would not make the offer, because he could not settle for second best, nor would she.

Her choices were narrowed to two. The first was to reject Charles publicly, returning to Vulcan as soon as circumstances allowed to follow a regimen prescribed by the monks. The second was to accept the consequences of her action by completing the bond, learning to live with his dark side, while initiating him into the biological realities of their union. A romantic would say the choice was between her head and her heart. A realist would say the choice was between logic and libido. Both would be right. An insight for which T’Pol could thank her time aboard Enterprise.

==

No wildlife had scurried off. Nothing had disturbed the rhythm of the nightbirds’ calls. His calves were falling asleep and a headache had begun to eat away at his composure. If someone was in that shuttle, they had settled in for the night.

Trip closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hoping the send the headache into oblivion. Instead it began to tighten like a vise, causing stars to dance before his eyes and tears to stream down his face. His right cheek became numb. Plaguenation, illness was the last thing he needed. Dawn was only a few hours away. The alarm would be raised at his absence if he did not return to camp by the first rays of light.

==

Restlessness began to gnaw at the edges of her patience. She felt a slight increase in her pulse rate. When her breasts began to pucker and her womb to weep, she recognized the message her body was sending her. She had found him.

She keyed in the sequence into the PADD she held in her hand. For a brief moment nothing happened then a high pitched whine was emitted. A pale blue glow began to shimmer, which slowly formed into the silhouette of a man, holding his hands to his head, as if he were in pain. For a moment the image froze, then with a thud, the man dropped to the deck of the craft.

He moaned, still unaware of anything, but the pain in his head. T’Pol knelt by his side, placing three fingers of her left hand on his right cheek. She chanted in Vulcan for a brief moment, then fell silent. Trip dropped his hands from his head. His eyes rolled into his head. He lay limp on the deck, oblivious to all but his thoughts.

==

T’Pol’s jaw clenched as she reviewed a montage of images of the life he had led in his absence. Rather like stop motion photography, his beard grew before her eyes and his hair lengthened. She saw him stripped, sweating in the sun as he laboured over a recalcitrant machine. Then he was around a campfire, taking a swig from a bottle that was passed from hand to hand. His doubt seeped into her mind, filling the hollows his departure had created.

The relief he had felt at the disappearance of his headache had been drowned by the doubt her intrusion had resurrected. Only to be replaced by relief once again when she confirmed of his suspicion of the Xin’di.

Damn it, T’Pol. His anger hammered at her control. His hopes and dreams for their child overwhelmed both of them. Instantly Trip felt her pain and understood. His body responded automatically, pulling her into an embrace as they shared regret, sorrow and grief. He asked no questions. She gave no explanations. There was no need. Their emotions voiced more than thoughts ever could.

When the last sob had wracked her body, when she had dried his final tear, only then did they take on the persona of Starfleet officers. Why are you here, darlin’? She replayed the scene with Archer. He watched as their commanding officer delivered his ultimatum. T’Pol felt the dread wash over Trip as he waited for her to make known her choice. She broke the bond.

For the first time Trip felt the cold metal deck under him. He raised himself, so that his back was against the bulkhead and his legs stretched across the deck. T’Pol’s withdrawal left a void colder than the metal decking in his heart. She had made her choice.

==

“Anything?” Archer snapped at Sato.

“No, sir,” she replied for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Her captain seldom displayed his anxiety on the bridge, so she made allowances for his tone.

“I’m sorry, Hoshi.” The captain apologized for his lack of control. “I’ll be in my ready room. Malcolm, you have the bridge.”

==

“Charles, you misunderstand.” T’Pol ran her fingers through his beard. The sensation lured him away from his thoughts into the external world of words.

For a moment hope flickered in Trip’s eyes, then died. “Don’t be cruel, T’Pol.”

“Charles,” she pulled on his beard so that they were eye to eye. “I choose you. Do you choose me?”

End of Part Four

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

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Four of you have made comments

oh come on don't leave a girl hangin' i'm already hooked on this story! Post faster!

I love the whole feel of this story - emotional, dark, full of suspense! Great, great job! I look forward to more! Thanks!

Very cool. I like this so much and you know I must be one of those nightcrawlers cuz I'd like him in both his neat crisp Starfleet form and this one too ;-)

Oh wow, how could Trip *not* choose T'Pol? This is excellent. I love how the story is building and growing. The darker edge and the balance of choices with consequences is very well realised and I can't wait to see where you go with this one. Well done. Keep up the good work, Ali D :~)