Green Skins and Regret

Green Skin and Regret

By Aquila

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything Trek.

Category: Angst

Summary: A continuation of Blue Skins and Golden Opportunities, an alternate universe that may not appeal to fans of the canon.

--

“Is that a description of me, Commander?”

Her question and his inability to answer it were followed quickly by the realization that he knew little about T’Pol’s past. What he did know was recent, things that had occurred during his lifetime. The woman staring him down had lived 30 years longer than he had. Who had that woman loved? How had that woman lived?

“That’s not how I would describe the current you; that’s true.”

T’Pol’s spine softened until he asked a question with implications she did not appreciate.

“What were you like at S’Lyn’s age, T’Pol?”

Unconsciously Tucker straightened. Passing strangers recognized the body language of two beings skirting the edge of anger. If asked they would have predicted that the human would raise his voice and that the Vulcan would lower hers. He would step into her social space. She would stand her ground.

Porthos dashed up the steps unnoticed, his tail wagging in greeting. Ignored, he whined and plopped his rear on the landing. His tail swished across the stones. The dog cocked his head first at one then the other. Strung tautly on a wire of anger, the couple continued to ignore him. Impatiently Porthos emitted a bark. At last they swivelled their eyes down then upward seeking his master, who they knew would not be far behind.

“T’Pol. Trip.” Archer nodded to each one as he greeted them.

Trip noted that the captain’s black-eye had turned yellow. T’Pol was repulsed by the scratch on his cheek which was the colour of raw meat. The weight Archer had lost during captivity was made evident by the shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders.

“How did the enrolment go?”

“They never looked back, Cap’n. Just sauntered down the hall toward their first class.” Trip grinned ruefully. “They made T’Pol and me feel superfluous.”

Archer smothered a smile when T’Pol added, “The superfluity occurred after we paid the tuition.”

Trip grinned despite his frustration with her continued denial that she was the twin’s biological mother.

“The tuition was substantially less than the ransom the Andorian’s demanded. Varlek got a bargain,” noted the recuperating captain of Enterprise.

T’Pol took a deep breath before announcing, “Their father never intended to pay the ransom, Captain.”

Archer and Tucker vacillated. T’Pol did not lie, but accusing the Director of the Vulcan Science Academy of refusing to ransom his children was difficult to swallow. After some internal debate, Trip accepted T’Pol’s judgment. Unable to contain his disgust at the Director’s behaviour Trip asked, “What kind of monster is he, T’Pol?”

Archer made a horrific leap, “Are the twins still in danger?”

“Perhaps.”

T’Pol started down the steps. Porthos bounded ahead. Archer and Trip followed in single file. No one spoke during the ten minutes it took them to walk to the housing that she and Trip had been assigned by the university.

Archer gathered Porthos in his arms while he waited for the iris scanner to recognize T’Pol and release the locking mechanism. “That’s not standard issue.”

Trip turned his back to the door so that he could watch the approaches. “She asked me to install it. Didn’t even ask the uni for permission. She paid for the gear herself.”

Porthos wiggled, eager to be allowed to follow T’Pol into the townhouse. As soon as Archer loosened his grip the dog jumped out of his arms. He disappeared inside. The men could hear the sound of his nails clacking on the wooden flooring.

Archer followed the woofs that echoed down the hallway. Trip backed into the foyer, keeping his eyes on the street until he could lock and bolt the door.

“What is going on, Trip?” Archer whispered his question.

“Mr. Tucker knows no more than you do, Captain,” called T’Pol from the back of the house.

Trip shrugged when Archer looked at him to confirm the comment. Archer frowned. “T’Pol, isn’t it about time you confided in us?”

--

The dining room table sat eight easily, twelve in a pinch. Trip removed three chairs and placed them against the wall, since there would be five for dinner. Jon was putting the cutlery in place. Trip’s next assignment was to carry in the glasses and decant the wine. Jon’s was to choose the music and fold the napkins.

T’Pol had told the men to set the table for the twin’s first evening meal as citizens of Earth. Trip suspected that they would have preferred to eat with their dorm mates, but the pair had acquiesced. Trip recalled T’Mul looking at S’Lin as if to say there will be plenty of other meals we can share with our friends, just before S’Lin accepted the older Vulcan’s invitation.

“Did you know that T’Pol could cook?” Archer had to know. He had listened with disbelief when T’Pol had divided the duties amongst them, giving herself the job of chef.

“The subject never came up,” admitted Trip. “Just between you and me, she might be the best chef in the universe, but if her specialty is Vulcan cooking, I don’t think I’m going to be able to tell!”

--

Trip tossed his napkin on the table in front him as he pushed himself away from the table. “That was spectacular, T’Pol. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“On Enterprise,” T’Pol’s answer surprised her guests. “Chef graciously offered to give me lessons one night when he found me prowling the corridors in the middle of the night.”

“That must have been during those naïve first months of exploration.”

“Naïve is an odd adjective, Captain?” S’Lin hid her surprise. The question had caused Commander Tucker to frown and the Captain to clench his jaw. T’Mul sensing a change in the atmosphere watched T’Pol from the corner of his eye.

“Your people,” began Archer, “Told us Earth wasn’t ready for deep space exploration. We believed they unnecessarily held us back for nearly a century.”

Most Terrans would have missed the scepticism on the face of S’Lin and T’Mul. Archer and Tucker were not average Terrans.

“I think the Captain is trying to tell you that the truth lies somewhere between our belief that we were ready and the Vulcan belief that we were not.”

“Ah,” voiced the twins, surprised at Commander Tucker’s insight. Their father had led the Vulcan opposition. They had grown up listening to the reasons Earthlings would never be mature enough for space exploration.

--

While T’Pol and Trip finished the dishes, (a scenario of domesticity that seemed unpredictably natural), Archer lit a fire in the grate.

“Pour yourself a drink, Jon,” called Trip from the kitchen. “Pour me one while you’re at it.”

En route to the drinks cabinet he passed the entrance to the kitchen, enabling him to overhear an unexpected conversation.

“How about you, baby? Want a drink?”

Archer froze. The twins had left. There were only the three of them in the townhouse. He was certain that Trip was talking. The only being Trip could be addressing was T’Pol. Jon knew it was wrong to eaves drop but his legs refused to respond to the signals sent by his brain.

“You know what a drink does to my inhibitions, Trip.”

When did T’Pol start calling him Trip? Archer gagged with jealousy. My skin must be as green as a Vulcan’s in heat he thought.

“I ask again: How about a drink, baby?” Archer could hear the teasing in the younger man’s voice. Distracted by the regret that had started to well within him, he failed to notice Trip appear in the doorway.

“Ah, there you are, Jon.” Trip’s puzzled expression spurred Archer into movement. “Do you think you could pour a drink for T’Pol too?”

“Of course.” Archer strode toward the cabinet. “Three Scotches coming right up.”

--

The candles were stubs. The fire had turned to glowing embers. The bottle of Scotch was empty. Jon rested his stocking feet on an ottoman. Trip was sprawled on a sofa. The dozing men looked up when they heard light footsteps on the stairs.

“Captain, your room is on the right side of the landing. I have placed clean towels on the end of the bed. Please feel free to use the bathroom next door to your room. Our room has a bathroom en suite, so you will not be inconveniencing either of us.”

Our room…not my room…our room…two simple words communicated the most complicated of relationships. Trip and T’Pol were a couple. He was the outsider.

--

“Should we let him?” His breath caught. The change in the rhythm of her pelvis had sent an unexpected shiver of anticipation from his tailbone to his neck. His jaw slackened with the heightened sensation. She took advantage of the opening to join her mouth with his to create a duplicate rhythm. The answer to his question would have to wait.

There had been no need for foreplay. The Scotch had readied her body for him. As soon as the bedroom door was closed she had begun to remove his clothing. He had learned not to interfere when she took the initiative. Tonight was a record. She had divested him of his clothing in less than 20 seconds. He would never wear the shirt or underwear again. She had shredded them in her need.

Only in these the most carnal of moments did she allow her emotions to suffuse her face with desire and something he had come to recognize as appreciation. With her fingers and mouth she explored every inch of exposed skin. He never had to voice his need for her. His body spoke for him. His arousal was irrefutable evidence of his passion for her.

Only when his body began to tremble did she release him momentarily from her addictive torture. That was his cue to settle on the bed with his back against the headboard and his legs crossed. She arranged the pillows to support his knees and elbows. Moist and slick she sheathed him. Instinctively he moaned, which caused her to clench inner muscles, holding him in place so that he could not thrust.

They were well past the overture now, nearing the finale. She slowed the crescendo of sensation she had been building, having recognized that he was on the edge. “Not yet,” she whispered, “This is a duet, not a solo.” That was his cue to move forward, pushing her against the mattress, while he came to rest on his knees. He used pillows to raise her pelvis to an angle that experience had taught him would increase her pleasure to such an extent that her control would shred.

--

Archer covered his head with a pillow. The unmistakable sounds from the room across the landing were to his emotions like fingernails scraped across a blackboard. The pillow failed to muffle T’Pol’s keening and the moans of her partner. Desperate to distance himself from the intimacy being enacted he tossed his few belongings in his kit and crept down the stairs.

--

Her skin was slick with perspiration that became gooseflesh when the chill night air caressed her. Trip had pulled his torso away, causing his back to arch upward. His arms acted as support, while he held the cobra pose. Her internal muscles gripped his imprisoned sex. Their chests heaved. One final deep thrust would ensure their mutual satisfaction. He hesitated.

“I too had a younger sister who came to an untimely end 18 years ago.” T’Pol searched her lover’s face. She found the reassurance she sought. “She was the donor of the eggs.”

Trusting him with her secret evaporated his hesitation. He bore down. She writhed as waves of contractions milked him then they grieved for the sisters that they had lost.

The End

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Half a dozen of you have made comments

wow, i was skeptical after the first part how this would all work together, but it does--fabulously. it has a darker tone to it, which i like very much.

Some of the best stories I've read are AU. This is shaping up to be one of them!

Excellent, I really loved how the explanation rounded off the story and Archer's jealousy and self torment reveal how little he picked up on their deepening relationship. Very fine and much appreciated, Ali D :~)

This was really great Aquila... truly enjoyed it!

Great fic! I was sure, the twins were T´Pol kids, but you´ve given us a very surprising end.

A surprising end, great AU storyline. Got a reall deep undertone to the whole thing. love it