Careful

Careful

By Aquila

Rating: R
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise and the universe that surrounds her.
Summary: Post Raijin, T’Pol recovers from Raijin’s attack with Trip’s help– spoilers, A/U

==

“Careful.”

He stopped breathing while he watched her carry the container gingerly across the deck. The sound of liquid sloshing gently against the sides of the bucket drifted to him.

“I do not need to be told the obvious, Mr. Tucker.”

She kept the bucket at arm’s length, letting it sway gently from the handle, naturally finding level.

“You checked the gravity plating in this section before we began did you not?”

He grinned in response to T’Pol’s zing, but before he could make a comeback, Archer’s disembodied voice erupted from the handheld communicator that Trip carried.

“Archer to Tucker.”

”Go ahead, Cap’n.”

“Have you begun the application?”

“No sir,” He glanced at T’Pol who continued to make her way to him. “We will begin in about 2 minutes.”

“Did they tell you at command school that when you won your commander’s pips your duties would include painting the hull?” Archer’s bitter chuckle echoed through the catwalk.

Trip sighed, “No sir, but they did keep their promise about distant planets and exotic women.”

He winked at T’Pol as Archer’s chuckle erupted again.

“T’Pol, you have my permission to report him for … whatever the heck you want to report him for! Archer out.”

T’Pol arrived at Tucker’s side. He took the bucket from her hand, and placed it delicately on the deck.

“I know it’s stupid, but I hate standing around while you carry the heavy stuff.” He shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he raised his hands in surrender, “My response is illogical.”

T’Pol frowned slightly, “That was not what I was going to say, although your assessment of the situation was correct.”

“Correct, but still wrong,” Trip sighed. “Enlighten me, what were you going to say?”

“The dynamics of our social relationship have shifted as a result of our sessions to assist you to sleep.” She moved closer, lowering her voice. “Has it not?’

“Yes, it has.” He was back to holding his breath. Would she be more specific, he hoped so, because, ironically, the change was keeping him awake at night.

“The captain awaits our report.” She picked up a paint brush and dipped the bristles in the bucket. “Shall we begin?”
==

“Congratulations, Sub-commander, Commander.” Archer nodded at his senior staff, standing side by side while he inspected their handiwork. “I presume the smoother surface on that portion of the bulkhead is due to the airbrush?”

“Correct, Captain.” T’Pol glanced at Trip. “Mr. Tucker and I believe we have found a safe ratio of air to liquid which will allow us to continue the application of synthetic Trellium-D to the hull at a much more rapid pace than using brushes.”

“How long will it take to paint the entire ship?” Archer glanced from one to the other, not certain who would answer.

“If we work around the clock, 4-shifts every 24 hours, we should be finished within 72 hours, “ offered Trip, “but that’s if we can keep manufacturing the paint at the current rate and we aren’t attacked by hostile aliens or under clad spies.”

Archer frowned at the jibe. “Travis reports that we are in a seemingly unoccupied section of the Expanse. We are maintaining a 24-hour watch for hostiles.”

T’Pol spoke, noting that hope was absent from the Captain’s tone. “Then we will begin with the nacelles, so that you can go to warp if necessary.”

==

The application of the Trellium-D took 96 hours as there was a small incident in the manufacturing lab that left 3 crewmen injured and a shortage of paint that took 24 hours to rectify.

Trip and T’Pol had spelled each other, 8 hours on, 8 hours off during the process. There was no time for neuro-pressure sessions or contemplation of the change in direction that their relationship had taken.

Trip had slept the sleep of the exhausted, during his down time. He had visited Phlox once at the doctor’s request. Phlox had given him a pat on the back for having at last returned to normal sleep patterns.

“Doc, there isn’t anything normal about dropping into my bunk fully clothed and unconscious after 8 hours of risking my life and the lives of dozens of crew members.”

“You appear to be handling the stress admirably, Commander,” observed the doctor.

“Thanks,” Trip grinned ruefully, “I think.”

The doctor continued, “I wish T’Pol were doing as well as you.”

==

He stood outside the door of her quarters as he had for more nights than he could count on all fingers and toes. What was different about this time that would make him hesitate before pushing the doorbell?

This time it was T’Pol who needed help, and he had no idea how he could be of assistance.

Taking a long, deep breath, he pushed the button.

“Come in.”
==

She was bent over lighting a candle when he entered the room – a familiar sight. His eyes followed the long curve of her spine, sloping into a hollow that flared out and up into lush buttocks, covered in slinky silk. Her cropped top, hung down in the front. He knew if he adjusted his line of sight slightly he would see the underside of her unbound breasts, pale skinned and full like the peaches he had once given her.

Tonight, however, her hand shook slightly as she held the lighter. The uncharacteristic behaviour confirmed Phlox’s need for concern. He watched carefully for other signs when she turned to acknowledge him. A tick was evident in her right eyelid. Dark circles had formed below her eyes. Her pyjama bottoms hung lower on her hips. She appeared to have lost weight, which made her pelvic bones stand out in relief. Her hair had lost its lustre. It did not take a doctor to notice that something was wrong.

“Here, let me do that,” he said taking the lighter out of her hand. “You sit on the bunk while I light the last ones.”

She passed the lighter to him without protest. Her condition was worse than Phlox had intimated.

Satisfied that he had properly fulfilled her candlelight ritual, Trip turned toward her. He clenched his jaw to keep it from dropping open in shock. T’Pol was curled in a corner of the bunk, her knees pulled up to her chin. She leaned one shoulder against a bulkhead. Her forehead rested on a knee. He had never seen the Vulcan surrender to despair. He had no idea what a Vulcan would do for a friend so obviously in need of support, so he followed his instinct.

He turned off the bunk light, which cast the bunk in shadow, while candlelight flickered on the walls and ceilings of her quarters. He settled himself beside her, drawing her folded form into his arms. Her head and a knee fell against his chest. Her shin fell against his thigh. His right arm rested at her waist, held in place by a hand hooked over a hipbone. His left stroked her hair, while he murmured soothing nonsense.

Never lifting her head, she snuggled tighter against his body. He responded by rocking to and fro with her, still crooning nonsense, still stroking her hair. Back and forth, back and forth, crooning low and tenderly, until she began slowly to unfold.

Her head came up to rest against his shoulder. She lifted her legs so that they lay across his lap. Her left arm snaked behind his back. He leaned back, taking her with him. His spine rested against the bulkhead, so that his body was on a slight angle. His feet flat on the floor kept them both from slipping.

After long minutes of silence, he placed a kiss on the top of her head, then asked, “Trust me with your secrets, T’Pol. Let me help you, as you have helped me, please.”

==

He awoke with a start, stiff and cold, except where her body rested against his. A glance at a chronometer at the end of the bunk, informed him that he had slept for an hour. Had T’Pol slept too?

“T’Pol, my legs have fallen asleep. I’ve got to move.” He kept his voice low, as if he were talking to a sleeping child.

He supported her with his arms as he shifted his body out from under her. The movement brought her head up so that her eyes gazed into his.

“I am not asleep, Commander.”

Trip released her, which allowed her to sit upright, her legs crossed before her on the bunk.

“Don’t you think you could start calling me Trip?” he teased, “At least when we are alone together?”

“If you will call me T’Pol,” she said cocking her head.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Trip stood, gingerly bouncing from foot to foot as the circulation returned. “You are not going to distract me with that Vulcan wit.”

The cool reserve which was characteristic of her had returned and Trip did not like it.

Impulsively, he swept her into his arms, lifting her off the bunk and swinging her around so that they faced the bench where she performed her neuro-pressure massage.

“It’s about time that I returned the favour,” he declared, carrying her across the room.

He set her on the bench, falling to his knees before her. He reached for the buttons of her pyjama top. She clutched them before he could touch them.

“I can’t reach 3 centimetres either side of the fifth vertebrae with that top on.”

He had expected her to protest or remove the top herself. She surprised him by releasing her grip, leaving him clear access to the buttons. Delicately he undid the bottom button, then the middle button, then the top. He top fell open, revealing the curves of her breasts. He held his breath, while he pushed the top away from her shoulders and down her arms. He did not avert his eyes as he leaned back on his heels and waited for her to position herself face-down on the bench.

==

“Thank you, Trip.”

T’Pol still face down on the bench rested her chin on her forearms folded on the bench in front of her. She had had to lift her head slightly to express his thanks. Trip sat on the floor facing her, his arms hugging his knees which were bent and askew. He leaned forward to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.

“If you won’t talk to me, please talk to Phlox, about whatever is eating you alive, T’Pol.”

“I would prefer to confide in you,” she said simply.

“I’m honoured,” he said sincerely, reaching across the floor to capture the pyjama top that lay neglected in a heap near the bench. “Put this on, you’re going to get cold.”

He held the top like he was helping her on with a coat. She slipped off the bench to sit in front of him, so that she could slip her arms into the top. When he had settled the garment on her shoulders to his satisfaction, she fastened the buttons.

He held out his hand to help her to her feet, where they stood toe to toe for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes. His stomach figuratively sinking to the floor was the first clear indication that his body and mind had decided that their relationship had moved from impulse to warp drive. He had no way of knowing if she returned the feelings. He was not sure that he wanted to know.

==

Over a cup of steaming tea she told him of Raijin’s violation of her mind. Her story unfolded matter of factly, as if she were making a verbal away-mission report.

“That doesn’t explain the condition I found you in earlier,” Trip challenged.

They had once again taken refuge on her bunk. This time, Trip stretched the length of it on his back. T’Pol was on her side, resting half of her body on his. Her back was to the bulkhead. His left arm rested against her spine. His right arm was bent at the elbow so that his head rested on his wrist.

T’Pol placed a finger on the side of his chin and applied a small amount of pressure, which brought his face around so that they were almost nose to nose.

“I liked it,” she whispered in horror.

“You liked having your mind raped?” His voice was devoid of judgment. He could not believe that was what she meant.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said holding his gaze, “I liked the emotions that she released. For one moment I was nothing but emotion and it was…liberating.”

“That must have been terrifying for you?”

“So much so that I struggled to regain control, before I lost my sanity,” she admitted, stroking his cheek with her finger, enjoying the play of textures as her finger moved from skin to stubble and back.

Trip rolled on his side so that they were facing each other. “Phlox said he healed your wounds.”

“My physical wounds, but he has not been able to heal my mental wounds.” She rested her forehead against his.

Trip placed his hand on her exposed hip. “Explain.”

“I am experiencing sporadic residual emotional flashes,” she whispered. “They are momentary, but overwhelming. My control shreds and I am left raw with feeling.”

“Is that what was happening when I came in tonight?” He pulled her into his embrace, turning so that once again he was on his back, but she lay atop him.

She rested her cheek on his chest and said, “Yes.”

“You said they were sporadic?” He began to stroke her spine. “Have you isolated triggers?”

“Yes,” she admitted, beginning to draw circles on his chest.

“What are they?”

“Not what, who!” She slipped her hand under his t-shirt so that she could draw circles on his skin.

“Well then you can just schedule shifts so that you avoid whoever it is, until you are completely better.”

Trip pleased with himself for identifying a solution to her problem finally registered the change in her touch. He trembled in response to her touch.

“You haven’t asked me who triggers the emotions.” Her voice was low and throaty.

“Didn’t think it was any of my business,” he replied. “But if would make ya feel better to tell me, I promise your secret is safe with me.”

“You trigger the emotions, Trip,” T’Pol said, slipping her hand under the waist band of his trousers.

The End

***********

You may wish to read the sequel, "Too Careful."

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Nine of you have made comments

*grins widely* Hhmmm... hmmmm, indeed. That was certainly spicy :)

And I love spicy things.

I wondered what emotion Rajiin had evoked from T'Pol. I guess desire, given the way she affected Archer, was the obvious choice. I'm just glad that, when left to her own devises, she prefers Trip.

Love the story. Have enjoyed all of your writings. I've spent the better part of a lazy sunday reading through nearly all of stories achived on this site. Lovely way to spend a day!

Wow, loved this! I do hope you are going to write a sequel. Trip's reaction to T'Pol's revelation and then.... well that would be telling. And to think, all they had to do to get there was paint the hull... Thanks for a great story, Ali D :~)
Trip + T'Pol = Heaven

wow! a joy to read. the perfect ending to a perfect day! but you know. there is one thing this story needs....a sequel!

I loved this! It seems logical to me that Raijin's attack would harm T'Pol's ability to control her emotions, and of course Trip would be the trigger for them. :-)

I agree with everyone who's asking for a sequel. I'm dying to know Trip's reaction to all this.

oh dear, that was perfect! I would love to read a second part.

Wow I love your story... I hope that's not really the end. Please write more:)

Oh oh oh! Come on, you can't just leave it there? Give us Trip's thoughts, the morning after (whatever is going to happen), something!

That story was far too good, far too short, to just leave it hanging there!

Great job, obviously.

Oh, I´ve reread this again and again. Sorry, for forgetting the review. It alsways leaves me totally breathless. Woohoo!