Theta Waves

Theta Waves

By Aquila

Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Disclaimer: Many Cato is a god and all things Trek are Paramount’s.
Summary: I really tried not to write a response to “Similitude.” Why gild the lily? I failed. Mea culpa.

==

The possibility that the donor tissue implanted in the brain of Commander Tucker might cause intermittent flashbacks was not lost on the Subcommander. If her supposition proved to be true there would be consequences, of that she was certain.

She had not shared her worry with the Captain or Phlox. Her restraint was unusual. T’Pol believed it was her job to be the voice of reason, delivering an unvarnished perspective to counter the emotion charged responses of the human crew.

Four days had passed since the operation and the sacrifice of the genetic replica. Four days of repairs, tests, systems analysis and more tests. Everyone worked double shifts, their sense of urgency heightened by the sacrifice of Sim. They would not let him die in vain. They would vanquish the Xindi threat. The human race would survive.

==

The fourth day of the rest of his life ended when Trip fell onto his bunk fully clothed, exhausted to the core of his soul. After the operation Phlox had confined him to quarters, knowing he was not ready for active duty. The Captain had overridden the order. Trip could rest when the repairs were complete.

Too tired to respond to the door chime, he remained prone on his bunk, willing the visitor to take the hint and leave. His brain began emitting theta waves, preparing him for sleep. It was in that moment between consciousness and unconsciousness that he was hit by tsunami of emotion. He rode the wave of despair, joy, wonder and fear. He cried out, unable to awaken from the onslaught.

A cool hand rested on his forehead. A low feminine voice soft and reassuring comforted him. Afraid to open his eyes, he reached out, pulling his rescuer to his side. The warmth of contact stilled his racing heart. His cheek rested against a naked belly. T’Pol. He pulled her closer, his eyes still tightly shut.

==

For thirty minutes he lay with his head on her belly, his arms around her hips. From time to time she stroked his hair. Gradually the tension melted from his frame. The waves of emotion subsided. Stiffly he rolled away, making room for her to lie down beside him on the bunk. Without hesitation she filled the space he created. Entangled in each other’s arms they slept.

==

“You are awake.”

The stubble on his cheek grazed her collarbone as he smiled in admission.

“We are awake.” His breath was warm and moist against her skin.

“When you said we, to whom were you referring?” She held her breath as she waited for his response.

“Why you and me,” he squirmed, “Who else would I be referring to?”

He lifted his head, supporting it with the hand that had rested under her neck. He placed his left hand on her belly, spreading his fingers, covering her abdomen like a blanket.

“You do not trust me.” She closed her eyes to hide her disappointment.

With new eyes his gaze ran over the body that he had come to know almost as intimately as his own. He gasped. The hand on her belly flexed.

Abruptly she sat up. “Shall I call the doctor?”

With his hands on the bunk he pushed himself into a sitting position. Unabashedly she watched the play of his muscles. He was unsettled by the possessive look that flitted across her face.

“No,” he whispered, “I do not want to go back to sickbay.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them and waited.

He broke the tension between them when he said, “You think that I can recall his memories.”

She nodded her head. Her throat was constricted with emotion making a verbal reply impossible.

He weighed his options: keep his own counsel, confide in the doctor, or answer her unspoken question. An after shock of emotion hit him. It was as if he had a fever, one moment he was cold the next he was hot. He cried out then buried his face in his hands.

T’Pol scuttled across the bunk to settle astride his lap. She placed her hands on either side of his neck, applying a neuropressure technique. For the second time that night tension seeped from his body, this time leaving him limp with exhaustion.

When she let go, he lifted his head. Haunted eyes stared back at her.

“I relive his emotions.”

“All hands, tactical alert,” erupted from the comm. unit propelling them off the bunk and out the door to their stations.

There's a sequel if you're interested: Beta Waves

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Four of you have made comments

Oh wow, poor Trip! But I am filled with joy that he has T'Pol. Haven't seen any of season 3 yet but loving this. Please write more soon! Ali D :~)

That was lovely, though obviously not for Trip...am interested in seeing where this is going :) Well donw

Huh, that was intense! Now I´ll wait(patiently - more or less...) what is going to happen.

Wow. K, um you will be continuing this right?