Indeed

Indeed

By Aquila

Rating: PG, General, Friendship

Episode timeline: Occurs post-Regeneration, spoilers for any number of previous episodes

Note: This story continues the premise established in "Someone was Seeking Permission to Enter."

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The light from the video screen cast a blue hue across the face of Commander Tucker. The blond highlights in his hair took on a greenish tone as the blue light played across them. He rubbed his eyes with his fist, then pushed the send key. At that exact moment the cabin hatch chirped.

“Impeccable timing, T’Pol,” he called out as he crossed the cabin to admit his guest.

When the door slid open, he stepped aside with a flourish that included a low bow and a sweep of his arm.

“The time appointed for our session was 20:00, was it not?” T’Pol punched some keys on the PADD she carried. “Your memorandum said 20:00.”

“Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say: impeccable timing, Trip.” He grinned at her natural confusion. “I finished my report to Starfleet on the engineerin’ implications of those, those, hybrid cyborgs, we just blew to smithereens.”

T’Pol lifted an eyebrow, still puzzled.

Trip sighed, “I pushed the send button just when ya pushed the door buzzer, so ya see? Forget it.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t worry. I sent an Executive Summary to you and the Captain. The full report is encrypted and filed should you wish to read the whole thing.” Trip gestured to his chair. “Sit down, T’Pol.”

He settled himself on the floor, with has back leaning against his bunk. His long legs were stretched out before him. His feet resting just centimeters from T’Pol’s.

“I look forward to reading it, Commander.”

Charles Tucker III, Chief Engineer and third office of the Starship Enterprise was stunned into silence. His brain replayed the words. Damn, he thought to himself, that just might be a compliment. So he tested his theory.

“You are lookin’ for’ard to readin’ my engineerin’ report?”

“Your reports are,” T’Pol paused to look for exactly the right word, “colourful.”

“Colourful?” The data did not support his compliment theory. “Ya know, T’Pol, when I submitted my first report, I expected ya to return it to me, red-lined with edit marks and a note that said: revision requested.”

Trip grinned ruefully, until he noticed the momentary guilt that flashed in her eyes. “Ya didn’t?”

The Subcommander clamped down on the fleeting emotional response his remark had sparked. “I showed your report, with my edits to the Captain. He suggested that I should not try to change your unique style of reporting.”

This’ll be good thought Trip. “Did he say why?” The commander braced himself for the truth. T’Pol always told the truth. It could be maddening sometimes, but, although he would not admit it to her, he had come to rely on it.

T’Pol rotated the chair slightly so that she looked directly into his eyes. Early in her experience with humans she had observed that eye contact made even the most trivial remark significant to a human.

“The Captain explained that your reports, which would be read by astro-engineering students for generations, read like a great adventure, turning something dry and analytical into a romantic odyssey. He said your reports would inspire imaginative minds to consider astro-engineering an exciting career choice. He said that if I discovered inaccuracies in calculations or facts, I was to point them out to you, but that was the limit of my editing duties.”

Trip cocked his head to one side without breaking eye contact with T’Pol. “You’ve never drawn my attention to miscalculations or factual errors.”

“Indeed,” the Subcommander broke eye contact, swiveling her chair away from her colleague, who continued to sit on the deck.

Trip Tucker knew it was absurd that one little word could make him want to puff out his chest and pound his fists on it in triumph. That was a compliment, a very high compliment indeed.

The emotions that played across his face were reflected in the video screen on his desk. T’Pol watched fascinated as pride, humour, then pride again struggled with humility for dominance. She was pleased. The rebuilding of his self-confidence had begun.

The mission to retrieve the kidnapped scientific team had delayed the Subcommander’s plans to bolster the Chief Engineer’s self-confidence. He performed at 96% efficiency during the mission, providing a level of expertise they would be hard-pressed to draw from anyone else. Yet, his performance lacked his usual verve and zest. His trademark banter was missing and he kept his conversations with the Captain strictly ship’s business. Now that they had returned to their original mission, to seek out new worlds, the two of them had time to foster his command skills.

“Tucker to T’Pol?” Trip extended an arm over his head to wave his hand in front of the Vulcan’s face.

T’Pol blinked as she returned to the moment. “I’m sorry, Commander Tucker. I was reflecting.”

Trip lowered his arm and drew his legs up so that his knees rested against his chest. He rested his chin on his knees, wrapping his arms around his shins. The open, gregarious, proud human had become an uncertain, self-doubting cipher of himself before her eyes.

T’Pol lowered herself to the floor to sit beside him, her back to the bunk as his was. She was close enough to invade his social space, but far enough away to avoid contact. The energy that leaped between them surprised her. The Commander must have felt something too, because he straightened one leg to turn toward her slightly.

The Chief Engineer’s world was comprised of invisible forces made visible when energy was converted or gasses were passed through fields. It was his ability to conceptualize the invisible that set him apart from all but the best engineers. He knew this as surely as he knew that his Mama loved him. He looked for the ability to conceive the invisible when he interviewed young engineers eager to join his crew. He prized the skill above all others. So why was he having difficulty imagining the force that his proximity to T’Pol generated?

T’Pol tingled. It was an unfamiliar and somewhat unpleasant sensation. It left her restless and wanting something she could not identify. She did a quick inventory of her physical condition: a slightly elevated heart rate; a tightening of her womb; and a puckering of her breasts. Her skin was flushed, but it was not accompanied by a fever. Perhaps she should visit Dr. Phlox in the morning?

“Commander,” the title was delivered in a tight voice, so T’Pol cleared her throat before continuing, “We should begin.”

In response to her words, Trip turned 90 degrees, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on them. His head was thrust forward so that he could look directly into her face. He turned his concentration on the woman before him. She was offering her help - he would attend her.

Without thought, T’Pol mirrored him. She crossed her legs, turning to face him, resting her elbows on her knees. Unlike his, her back was straight, her head held high.

“I want you to close your eyes, Commander.” She kept her voice low and intimate.

Trip did as he was told, without protest. Closing his eyes reduced the power of the invisible force that flew between them. He welcomed the change.

“Imagine you are sitting on a beach on a beautiful summer afternoon,” T’Pol began. “You are content, happy to rest on a beach chair in the sun. You are wearing sunglasses, so you are able to gaze up and down the beach without anyone knowing.”

The grin that erupted on the Commander’s face confirmed that his imagination was fully engaged.

“From your left appear some people, they are romantically involved. Their actions as they stroll along the sand leave no question in your mind.” T’Pol watched fascinated as his face reflected the actions of his mind.

“The people pass you, you continue to watch until they are out of sight.” T’Pol paused giving him time to follow his imagination to the conclusion she had requested.

“You may open your eyes.”

T’Pol’s breath caught in her throat as the Commander’s eyes met hers and their gaze locked. The tingling sensation that had faded during the exercise became an electric storm, battering her about, sending jolts to the tips of her fingers. Her toes curled. She blinked breaking the connection.

Her eyes are brown, Trip marveled. Why have I never noticed? They are a rich, passionate brown. Are they obsidian when she is strung taught with desire? Where the hell did that come from, Tucker? He shook his head to rid himself of the unsettling direction his thoughts had taken.

“Is there a point to this exercise, T’Pol,” he said gruffly to hide his discomfiture.

“What were the gender of the romantics that you imagined, Commander?” T’Pol was grateful that he recalled her attention to the exercise.

“A male and female of course.”

“So you imagined a romantic pair, one male and one female?” T’Pol asked to confirm that she had understood his answer.

“Yeah,” then the light dawned, “Why wasn’t it three Vissians, or an androgynous Thermalite or…”

“Because each of us, no matter what the species, carries with us certain assumptions that are fundamental to our life view.” T’Pol whispered.

“So fundamental that we don’t recognize when they are influencin’ our actions and inhibitin’ our ability to see another reality.”

“I will leave you to ponder that, Commander.” T’Pol rose gracefully. “Shall we meet again tomorrow evening?”

“I’d like that Subcommander.”

END

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The series continues in Flirtin'

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Four of you have made comments

That was very nice. I loved the interaction between them, and hope you develop this into a longer story.
Thank you.

Oh that was so sweet! and so cool

I liked your story it's nice to see a new writers interpretation of Trip and T'Pol's relationship.I hope you'll write another story soon.

Excellent follow up... Can't wait for Trip & T'Pol's tomorrow!