Made of Honour

Made of Honour

By Aquila

Rating: R
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek: Enterprise T’Pol would have had the conversations with Trip, not T’Les, in “Home.”
Spoilers: Yep, "Home," but it is an alternate universe too. There’s been a number of great post-wedding fics posted. I couldn’t resist adding another one.

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“I was the frigging maid of honour.” Trip kicked out at nothing in frustration. The momentum whirled him around so that he faced Malcolm.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, mate,” Malcolm whispered, “You were the matron of honour.” That thought led to a question. “You’ve slept with T’Pol?”

Trip froze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Through clenched teeth, Malcolm unleashed an admonition. “You bloody idiot. You fell in love with her.”

A cadence signalled someone was requesting an audience. They fell silent in response to the familiar noise.

T’Pol stepped across the threshold. Trip smothered a groan. She held herself rigid, eyes forward, quelling an urge to wrap her arms around him and beg for forgiveness.

Unconsciously Tucker emulated the man whom he most respected, resting his rear on the edge of his desk, his arms at his sides, hands clasping the desktop, one leg crossed over the other. His artificially relaxed posture transmitted dismissal to Reed.

Malcolm looked at the toes of his boots. T’Pol assumed he was gathering his thoughts. She kept silent, believing that he would exit more quickly if she gave him time to adjust to her presence. The oppressive silence pushed Reed out the door.

“Commander,” Malcolm heard, before the door shut behind him, “You said that if we ever needed to talk about what happened that your door would always be open.”

“I did.” He smiled with regret. “As Malcolm just pointed out, I am an idiot.”

For a moment the smile distracted T’Pol. Amongst the crew Tucker’s smile had gained an almost mythological importance. In the engineering department successful days were measured by the frequency of it. To the remainder of the crew to be on the receiving end was an omen of good luck. T’Pol like all Vulcan’s did not believe in luck. She did believe in the power of his smile to melt her most private places.

“Have a seat, T’Pol.” Trip pointed to the only chair in the room. While she made herself comfortable, he transferred to his bunk, where he perched on the edge, his elbows on his knees, torso tilted forward. Without words he conveyed his willingness to listen, repressing his desire to scream.

“Is the damage to our friendship irreparable?”

Her words rushed out, tripping over themselves. It was as if a dam had burst. Trip blamed the appearance of tears in her eyes as a trick of light. Yet the Chief Engineer reached into the cubby at the head of his bed and pulled out a tissue, “Here.”

She took the proffered tissue, bunching it in her hand, holding the balled fist close to her thigh.

“Is the damage to our friendship irreparable?”

His throat was constricted with emotion. He coughed then coughed again. The best he could manage was a whisper. “What do you want from me, T’Pol?”

The question lay between them like an insurmountable barrier. For T’Pol, although the illogic of her wish was undeniable, the need to respond overwhelmed a lifetime of self-discipline. For Trip, denial was the preferred course of action. Her answer could extinguish the last ember of hope.

Commander T’Pol’s lower lip trembled as slowly she rose. A tear trickled down one cheek. Carefully she placed one foot in front of the other. When she was within a hand span she fell to her knees. Collecting his hands in her own she lowered her forehead to rest on them. Trip felt the back of his hands grow damp. After one long sob, she raised her head. He saw before him the calm, composed façade that he was certain would shatter at the touch of his lips.

“Where is the logic in denying our passion for each other?” She searched his face for a sign of agreement but found nothing.

“My marriage is one of convenience. Our vows were meaningless.” His response was stony faced silence.

“Trip?”

The use of his first name, so intimate on her lips, tore at his heart.

“With discretion, while serving together, we could pretend that Koss does not exist.” T’Pol took aim, firing her final torpedo. “We could be lovers.”

He awoke just as her arms snaked around his neck to pull him toward. He could fell the accelerated pumping of his heart and the stirring between his legs. Sweat dotted his brow. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk, as he pulled off his t-shirt, which he used to rub the sweat and the sleep from his eyes.

He heard the door to his quarters slide open in response to his muffled, “Enter.”

He slid the rumpled shirt down his chest to lie in a crumpled, damp heap in his lap. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming. T’Pol stood before him.

“My mother sends her greetings.”

Such a simple statement thought T’Pol. She was thankful he was unaware of the implications. The relationship between the First and Second Office of the NX-01 was complicated enough without that.

“My mom asked me a question the first time I brought a girl home to meet her. I never understood it until I met T’Les.”

Commander Tucker had not lost his ability to intrigue her intellectual curiosity with his conversational gambits noted T’Pol.

“Before you ask,” Trip held on to the t-shirt like a lifeline, “She wouldn’t explain it to me. She said that one day I would get it. She was right. It took nearly 20 years, but I got it.”

T’Pol waited certain that he would not keep her waiting twenty years for the question or the answer.

Trip willed his errant manhood to retreat. “She asked me if I had met the girl’s mother.”

“When you are your mother’s age, you’re going to be one sassy, sexy woman, T’Pol.” He sighed. “Does Koss know how lucky he is to be able to grow old with you?”

She had prepared herself for recrimination and anger. She had feared that their first encounter since her wedding would evoke feelings of hate and betrayal. The wistfulness and genuine regret in his voice was completely unexpected. Her resolve dissolved instantly.

“My mother has never before asked me to extend her greetings to another.” She paused for effect. “Not even to Koss during our long years of betrothal or since our marriage.”

Distracted by his body’s reaction to the dream and to her presence, Tucker missed the point of her story.

“You look good in red.” Trip having conquered his confusion drank in the site of her dressed in red civvies that clung to curves he once had permission to explore.

Disconcerting – to upset the self-possession of – if anyone had asked disconcerting was the one word T’Pol would choose to describe the sleep dishevelled human who sat on the unmade bunk.

“Thank you.” Did he know that she had chosen this colour to wear just for him?

There was something about the way she said thank you that caught Tucker’s attention. He stopped admiring the curves to search her face. The last time he had seen that expression on her face she had seduced him. The t-shirt twitched, urging him to take advantage of her vulnerability.

Trip stood, letting the shirt drop to the floor. Her pupils dilated when she understood why he had been clutching the shirt so tightly. She moistened her lips with the tip of the tongue then re-established eye contact with him.

He placed one hand on each of her upper arms, holding her at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, T’Pol, if you find the physical side of your marriage unsatisfying. Although, my body won’t let me deny that I want you, I’m never going to act on that desire as long as you’re another man’s wife.”

“My mother said something I did not understand the day I left Vulcan.”

Trip cocked his head waiting for her to continue.

“She said that you were made of honour.”

The End

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

beautiful. i like how it cycled back to the first line with the play on words. good job!

I just loved it. I look foward to more of this story. There is no end to the future of Trip and T Pol. Keep up the good work....

I like how it is T'Pol's mother that hits the nail on the head when she tells her daughter about Trip's honour though I did find the 'dream sequence' confusing as it never felt like a dream sequence and it was jarring to realise that was what it was. I do hope you write a sequel. Ali D :~)

enjoyable. quite satisfactory. the play on words i see others noted it too.

*sob* our southern gentleman.

*sniffle*

Thanks for the kind words and I apologize for the slip of the fingers under spoilers. After rereading it, I can see how it might be construed as an immodest pat on my own back. Not intended that way at all. Mea culpa.

I liked it. :)

I liked the dream sequence very much. I didn't realize it was a dream either and was probably as disappointed as Trip when he woke up! Good contrast between the dream and Trip's "awake" behaviour -- it really plays up his sense of honour.

I didn't realize it was a dream, either; but I also liked his "awake" response. He really is a man of honor - our everlovin' Trip!

Please write more.

I was horrified to find out it was a dream! But yeah, the part about Trip being honorable was good, too. :-)

I had to read it a couple of times before I realized it was a dream; nicely written, I like the 'spareness' of your prose.