The Morning After- Pt 7

The Morning After

DestinyGirl

Rating: R
Email: anticipatedestiny@yahoo.com
Genre: Romance, Humor
Codes: T/T, A/H, M/Amanda
Summary: Something the crew picked up along their travels has an unanticipated effect, leading to Trip/T’Pol goodness.
Spoilers: Zero Hour with a twist and anything before that.
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is owned by Paramount, not me. No infringement intended, no profit made.
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know.
Feedback: Of course I want feedback! Leave your comments below.

Part 7

With a calm air that masked the emotions broiling just beneath her skin, T’Pol conducted her scans of Yendi IV. A delay caused by engine trouble had stopped them just a few hours away from the Yendi system, wasting two days while Trip worked to clear it up. As soon as they’d arrived, the investigation team had commenced with their research almost immediately.

At the thought of Trip, T’Pol barely held back a weary sigh. She’d avoided him ever since her embarrassing behavior in Engineering the week before. Looking back, she was dismayed to realize just how hostile she’d been to him. One minute she wanted nothing more than to beg him to hold her until her body and mind calmed down; the next, she could barely stand the sight of him. Phlox had been right; her emotions were a mess.

She’d thought her addiction to Trellium-D had caused a complete loss of emotional control, but looking back, she realized she was in better shape at that time than she was currently. The connection to her child was strong, increasing as each hour passed. Normally, that would be an encouraging sign of the baby’s health, something to be cherished.

Instead, it had turned into a painful reminder of her own bad choices She could feel the emotions being amplified by the telepathic connection, feel the energy building with no place to escape. Work had become her only solace; meditation was proving futile, a placebo that no longer fooled her mind into compliance.

The console beeped at her, providing a much-needed distraction. Puzzled, she scrutinized the readings. The computer detected several thousand life forms on the surface in various concentrated areas, the largest concentration about five kilometers from the away team’s landing site during the last mission to the surface. At first glance, everything appeared normal, just as it had the first time. But her console’s warning signal had indicated an anomaly.

T’Pol brought up the scans from the last away mission. A quick perusal of the population figures increased her curiosity. Fingers flying over the console, she asked the computer to compare the findings and blinked in surprise when the results popped up on her screen.

The population figures were almost identical, the disparities statistically negligible. The difference was in the computer’s error rate. It generally calculated with an error rate of +/- .02%. The second, more recent scans, were calculating at an error rate of +/- 15%.

Surprised at the degree of dissimilarity between the two readings, T’Pol realized that the sensors must be malfunctioning. She was dismayed when a quick diagnostic told her that all systems were running normally.

Perplexed, T’Pol sat back, thinking. What could possibly be causing such a reading? Her quick mind covered all the options, but none made sense. Statistical errors were common in sensor readings, but they were usually so small as to be insignificant. Determined to find a cause, T’Pol began comparing the data again, this time using the computer to analyze the data and come up with some possible explanations.

Whatever her results were, T’Pol knew that these anomalous readings were leading her to some important evidence in their investigation. A discrepancy this substantial, especially with regard to bio-sign readings, screamed one important conclusion: the inhabitants of Yendi IV had been affected by something, too.

* * * * * * *

Like a prisoner awaiting his final execution, Malcolm sat nervously in sickbay, practically biting his nails in his impatience for Dr. Phlox’s diagnosis. He’d been in here twenty minutes already. The usually verbose Phlox had not done much more than grunt or grimace since his examination of Malcolm had begun. He’d scanned him, prodded him, probed him, taken a sample of his DNA, and finally, had retreated into an alcove doing God knows what with the data he’d collected.

The level of antsiness Malcolm found himself with astonished him. He’d come here expecting to be calm and collected, imagining Phlox to find what was wrong with him immediately, maybe even without even examining him. He’d imagined that other people all over the ship were being afflicted the same way he was, just that they’d been too embarrassed to talk about it, or that Phlox hadn’t found it necessary to their investigation to mention it in command team meetings.

The reality of this visit had been quite different. Phlox had looked genuinely surprised when Malcolm had explained his situation.

“You say you’ve been experiencing the same symptoms you exhibited when the anomaly struck?” Phlox’s eyes had widened in puzzlement.

Malcolm had nodded seriously. “And it isn’t just me, Doctor. Corporal Cole has experienced the same problem.”

Phlox’s eyebrows twitched at Malcolm’s revelation. “And Corporal Cole was your partner that first night, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Malcolm admitted, his jaw clenching as he saw the knowing look in Phlox’s eyes. “But it’s got to be a result of the anomaly, Doctor. There just isn’t any other explanation.”

Shaking his head, Phlox had proceeded to examine Malcolm thoroughly. Phlox’s inability to provide an immediate explanation had made Malcolm’s nervousness grow, and as the time passed, it had ballooned into full-fledged panic. What if the phenomenon had taken him over permanently? What if there was no way to counteract it? What if he was going to be subjected to bouts of incontrollable lust for the rest of his life?

Malcolm’s breathing grew ragged with each leap of his fertile imagination. Only the re-entrance of Phlox into the main section of sickbay brought his thoughts to a grinding halt.

“Well, Commander. I’ve analyzed all the data I’ve collected from your examination, and I can say with certainty that your ailment has nothing to do with the anomaly.” Phlox’s mouth stretched into a grin of satisfaction that Malcolm supposed was intended to be reassuring, but its effect was the exact opposite.

“Y-you can’t be serious!” Malcolm finally stuttered. “If it isn’t the anomaly, what is it? A hormone imbalance? An elevation of brain chemicals? A virus? What?”

To Malcolm’s dismay, Phlox shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with you, Commander. You’re an above-average example of a perfectly healthy human male.”

Horror sparked in Malcolm’s mind and spread throughout his body, igniting a flush of shame the likes of which he’d never felt. Shoulders slumping, his body wilted like a plant gone without water as the implications of Phlox’s diagnosis swept through him. Burying his head in his hands, he groaned, giving voice to the only question left to ask.

“Then what the hell have I been doing?” he whispered. “I thought there was something wrong with me. Something physically wrong. Why would Amanda and I have been, if we weren’t—”

Phlox sighed, moving over to lean against the bio-bed on which Malcolm sat. “Commander,” he said gently, “there’s no harm in being attracted to another person and acting on that attraction if it’s reciprocated.”

Malcolm’s head shot up. “The attraction was never the question, Doctor. The problem has always been our attitude towards it.” He pursed his lips, wary of spilling so much of his inner turmoil to Phlox, despite the doctor’s psychiatric credentials. After a moment’s pause, he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“We treat each other like sex objects, like we’re animals with no emotions at all. God, it’s horrendous when you think about it.”

Phlox looked around at the empty room, then back at Malcolm’s dejected figure. He sensed the young officer’s reluctance to speak, but knew that he needed to work through this with someone, Knowing Malcolm’s habit of keeping his feelings close to the vest, it was highly unlikely that he would leave sickbay and seek out a confidante.

Clasping a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, Phlox moved slightly closer. “Why don’t we go to my office and talk about this, Malcolm?” he said quietly. “It might help to have someone listen.”

Malcolm bristled at the offer, the vulnerable look on his face now gone and replaced with an officer’s stoicism. “I’m fine, Phlox. I can handle this. It’s just a matter of adjusting my perspective. I was obviously mistaken, and now I have to deal with the fact that I have some sort of sex addiction.”

Phlox smiled to himself at Malcolm’s self-diagnosis. “That, Commander, is exactly why we need to talk. I hardly think a short but undoubtedly passionate relationship with Corporal Cole constitutes a sex addiction.”

“Then why the hell can’t I stop thinking about her, about the sex?” Malcolm groused. “I felt like I was being controlled by something. Like I couldn’t help myself. Like I had no choice. I thought it had to be a medical condition. Nothing else seemed to make sense.”

“Do you love her, Malcolm?”

“No,” he admitted softly, “I don’t.”

Phlox let that statement hang in the air for a few minutes. A sudden thought struck him, something he’d learned in his early studies of human relationships, and he looked at Malcolm’s profile carefully. “Commander, were you raised to believe that a passionate sexual relationship and deep, life-long love go hand-in-hand?”

Startled, Malcolm’s eyes met Phlox’s. “Yes, of course.”

“Until now,” Phlox continued, “Did you think you could have one without the other?”

Malcolm seemed surprised by the question. “No,” he said after a moment’s thought. “One-night stands or casual sex, maybe, but nothing like this. I didn’t think it could be so fantastic with someone I don’t love.”

Phlox nodded succinctly. “Then your feelings of guilt are understandable. Subconsciously, you think you should be in love with her, that you have no right to feel this way without a lasting commitment.”

“I feel like I’m using her,” Malcolm added, his eyes widening in realization. “But I guess I’m not.”

“If she feels the same way you do, then you’re right. You’re both in this with eyes wide open. Where you go from here is up to you.”

Nodding, Malcolm hopped off the bio-bed. Phlox had definitely given him a lot to talk about. “Thanks, Phlox. I don’t think I’ll need to bother you any further.”

“Oh, no bother,” Phlox reassured him. “Feel free to come and talk any time you like.”

Distractedly, Malcolm nodded again, then strode out of sickbay. He felt as though part of the weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but some of the burden still remained. It hung on him in the form of one very important conclusion.

Despite what he’d learned, Malcolm still wanted Amanda with an intensity that startled him. Even now, when his mind was clearer than it had been in days, all he wanted to do was find her and slake his lust in the willing warmth of her body. His sense of decency hung by very tenuous thread, and Malcolm knew that it wouldn’t take much for him to throw caution to the wind and continue this affair despite his better judgment.

Even with the reassurance Phlox had given him that his sexual attraction to Amanda and their subsequent actions were perfectly understandable, Malcolm knew he was traveling down a dangerous road. Whether he was driven by the anomaly or his own lust, the outcome of this affair could not be any different: a physical satisfaction undermined by the unsatisfied longing of his soul for a deep, long-lasting love.

* * * * * * *

“We have finished our long-range scans of the surface, Captain.”

T’Pol’s announcement brought Archer little comfort. He could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t have anything good to tell him. A glance around at the other faces in the room told him that they weren’t any more optimistic than he was.

“And the results?”

T’Pol’s mouth pursed slightly. “There are anomalous readings that can not be adequately explained.”

“Such as?” Archer’s voice was grim.

“The computer’s sensor readings show an increased error rate in the calculation of bio-signs.”

Archer’s frown grew deeper. “How high is it?”

“The difference is substantial,” T’Pol answered. “The computer is calculating at an error rate of over 14% higher than our last visit to this planet.”

“Fourteen percent?” Archer was astonished. “It has to be a sensor malfunction.”

“We’ve checked the sensors, Cap’n,” Trip added. “T’Pol ran a level 3 diagnostic and I checked the hardware myself. We don’t have a problem with the sensors.”

“Then what could possibly explain this?”

“I believe I have a theory, Captain.”

Archer turned weary eyes to Phlox and scanned the rest of the room. The entire command team had gathered for an update, and until this point in the conversation, things had been going fairly well. The EV suits were being modified to prevent contamination and were almost ready for use on the surface. Travis reported that there were no ships within sensor range. Hoshi reported that Starfleet Command was satisfied with the progress of the investigation and were keeping communication at a minimum. Malcolm said the MACO’s were ready for anything on the surface, and Phlox had indicated the crew was healthy overall, including the early-term fetuses.

And then this new mine had been tripped. Damn, would the hits ever stop coming?

“Explain your theory, Doctor.”

Phlox nodded, then pulled out a PADD and looked it over. “T’Pol consulted with me regarding the readings, and I did some extensive research on statistical errors in the calculation of bio-signs. In the past, they have been studied by analysts very carefully. When no adequate explanation could be found, the difference was finally attributed to what analysts now call ‘shadow’ life forms.”

“What the hell is a ‘shadow’ life form?” Archer asked, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

Phlox continued. “Scientists eventually concluded that a shadow life form is one with bio-signs so small or so weak that the computer almost can’t detect them. Traditionally, they have been written off as an annoyance in the calculation of statistical data. As our technology and our confidence in it has improved, they have ceased to even be a concern. In this case, however, they seem to indicate exactly what scientists have always suspected: that these ‘shadow’ life forms are not actually a statistical error rate. They are, in fact, the computer’s detection of unborn children.”

Everyone jumped to the obvious conclusion Phlox had intended.

“So the Yendi have been affected by the anomaly, too,” Malcolm said. “The error rate was extremely high.”

“It appears so,” Phlox said. “But I’ll need those short-range scans to confirm my theory. And even if we can confirm it, the knowledge does nothing to tell us why this has happened.”

“Maybe we can speak with the aliens themselves, Captain,” Hoshi offered. “They might have some answers. I think I can translate for you with the data I’ve collected.”

Archer shook his head immediately. “No, we want to avoid contact. These people aren’t even in an industrial society yet. We don’t want to contaminate their culture any more than necessary. It’s best if we try to find the answer by ourselves.”

“We can re-create our previous visit almost exactly, Captain,” T’Pol said. “The landing site is virtually unchanged, and it places us within walking distance of one of the villages.”

“Good,” Archer said, straightening slightly as he faced his crew. “We’ll send an away team, including two MACO’s, down tomorrow morning. T’Pol, you’ll be in command. Malcolm and Travis, you’ll go with her.”

“Aye, Captain,” they both acknowledged.

“Trip, make sure those EV suits are going to do the trick.”

“I’m on it, Cap’n,” he reassured him. “Won’t take much to finish ‘em up.”

“We’ll need the same vegetation samples we took last time,” Phlox added.

Archer turned to Trip again. “You’ve got the bio-containers fixed?”

“Yes sir, we do. They can be transported from the surface with no problem. Atmosphere and vegetation.”

“Does that work for you, Phlox?” Archer asked.

“It will do quite well, thank you,” Phlox said.

“Then we’re all set,” Archer concluded. “You all have your duties for tomorrow. Don’t forget the ceremony in the Mess Hall tonight; everyone’s invited. You’re dismissed.”

Archer watched his command team exit the situation room, glad to see that they seemed buoyed slightly by the promise of some answers. Archer himself felt a bit more optimistic about their chances at finding some answers, but the sense of unease that blanketed him wouldn’t depart for a few hours yet.

He had a wedding to perform.

* * * * * * *

“Do you, James Montrose, take this woman, Catherine Sanders, to be your wife?”

Archer’s voice was steady, a deep testament to the seriousness of the vows he was leading. In front of him stood an unlikely couple: Ensigns Montrose and Sanders. They’d been at odds since the day they’d stepped onboard, he a competent young engineer and she a biochemist. Ironically, their first argument had been an explosive disagreement over the ability of the environmental controls to combat unknown pathogens in space.

From that fiery moment on, Montrose and Sanders had been inseparable, friendly adversaries with a healthy level of unresolved sexual tension.

Glancing out at the crowd, Archer spotted Trip standing just behind and to the left of T’Pol. There was another couple with enough incendiary tension between the two of them to light a substantial bonfire. Silently, Archer sent up a brief wish that they’d find the balance that Montrose and Sanders had discovered.

Continuing, Archer noted the intense looks on the faces of the couple before him. “Do you promise to be steadfast in sickness and in health, in happiness and grief, as long as you both have life?”

“I do,” Montrose answered, and the conviction in those simple words struck a chord in Archer’s chest. A wave of something he refused to identify swept through him, something that suspiciously resembled longing. Unable to help himself, Archer’s eyes flickered over to Hoshi for one brief second, and he had to keep himself from visibly reacting as he realized her eyes were on him, too.

Focusing on the task at hand, he led Sanders through her promise, then both of them through their vows.

“Repeat after me. ‘I, James, take you, Catherine, to be my wife. I promise to love, honor, and cherish you, as long as I am alive. I promise to remain faithful to you for the rest of my days. I love you.”

Archer’s voice broke over the last words, but James Montrose’s voice was steady and confident as he claimed this beaming woman as his wife. As Archer finished, he felt a wave of helplessness flood him. Would he ever find the happiness that this young couple had? Would he ever find the love that they so obviously shared? He’d never realized how much he wanted it until now.

Again, his eyes went to Hoshi, but this time, doubt colored his view. He and Hoshi didn’t belong together. Not really. So why did he suddenly long for her eyes to caress him the same way Catherine’s did to James? Was he just transferring his mid-life crisis onto her? Or were there really some feelings blossoming between them?

The couple took advantage of Archer’s struggle for composure to revel in the silence and solemnity of being joined in marriage. They clasped hands, staring into each other’s eyes and drowning in the love they shared. To everyone who watched, it was a moving experience. For some, it was a sign of hope for their own future. For others, an affirmation of the commitments they’d already made.

And to a small but unfortunate few, it was a painful reminder of what they didn’t, and might not ever, have.

Archer cleared his throat and finished the ceremony.

“By the power vested in me as captain of the Starfleet vessel Enterprise, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He lowered the PADD he held. “You may kiss your bride.”

The cheers of Enterprise’s crew reverberated off the walls of the Mess Hall. Montrose and Sanders broke apart with grins and then bouts of happy laughter as their crewmates rushed forward to congratulate them.

Archer stepped back, blending into the shadows as his part was now thankfully over. A myriad of emotions cycled through his mind, rapidly swishing by until they finally stopped, surprisingly, on a tiny sliver of hope. Hope that maybe someday, the love he thought he’d sacrificed for his career would be there for him after all. Searching the crowd, Archer felt disappointment snatch that hope away when he realized that Hoshi was nowhere within sight.

He sighed. She probably wouldn’t want him in the end, anyway.

A nudge to Archer’s elbow startled him enough to make him whip his head around, glowering.

Hoshi’s clear eyes stared back at him. “Something wrong, Captain?” she said quietly.

His countenance softened. “Nope. Just caught up in the moment, that’s all.”

She nodded. “They seem happy.”

“They do.”

“They’re lucky,” Hoshi whispered, her arm brushing his. Her voice was wistful.

Archer looked down at her, her subtle beauty stunning him like it never had before.

“They are lucky,” he agreed, his eyes full of possibility as they met hers. “Damn lucky.”

* * * * * * *

In a secluded corner of the Mess Hall, T’Pol of Vulcan watched as the newly bonded couple held each other close, dancing slowly to a song with questionable musical value. Having been exposed to human music before, T’Pol was not as annoyed as she might have been, but the imperfect harmonies and simple melody, not to mention an erratic rhythm, scraped at her ears in a way that was not pleasant. Even so, T’Pol’s eyes and ears were drawn to the dance floor, drawn to the young couple as if all the lights had been put out except for a spotlight on them.

Their contentment was almost palpable, and it pulled at T’Pol like a magnet drawing in metal. She saw the longing in their eyes, the need for each other, and the confidence in the love they shared. T’Pol couldn’t help but compare their obvious happiness with her own life, and found herself lacking to a degree that was decidedly unpleasant.

It was unnerving for her, a Vulcan, to realize that she was envious.

Straightening her spine to a rigid degree, T’Pol crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply. Immediately, her mind began to clear, the agitation smoothing away to a dull buzz instead of an insistent roar. Her emotions were like this lately; one minute volatile, the next calm. She counted herself fortunate when she was able to control them. Too often in the last few days she’d lashed out or broken down without warning, and it had unsettled her like nothing had before, not even her withdrawal from Trellium.

Needing something to focus on besides the abject happiness of the newly-married couple, T’Pol scanned the crowd. She noted how morale seemed to be boosted by this event. The wedding, combined with the realization that they were probably very close to some answers in their investigation, brought the crew to an attitude that could almost be considered back to normal. There was still an underlying current of unease, though, buried deeper than it had been in the last few weeks. If an observer looked closely, he or she would note an overall feeling of exhaustion among the crew, especially with the command team.

Without intending it, T’Pol’s eyes came to rest on Trip, who was talking with Travis across the mess hall. He appeared to be enjoying himself, gesturing widely and laughing in a way that reminded T’Pol of a human custom called ‘telling a fish story.’ She wondered briefly what he was discussing, the din of the crowd rendering her sensitive Vulcan ears incapable of deciphering their conversation.

Her eyes swept over his face, her mind flushing with a longing that shocked her. Every day since Phlox had reminded her of her need to create a bond with Trip, T’Pol had spent untold mental energy in the pursuit of ignoring that need. She spent hours in meditation, concentrating on eradicating all emotion associated with Commander Tucker, desperate to purge herself of these unwanted feelings. But every time she shoved them away, they came back even stronger than before, until she’d been loathe to even meditate.

It hadn’t helped that her connection with her child grew stronger every day. She’d realized the day after she’d yelled at Trip in engineering that she’d revealed the gender of their child in the heat of their argument. Until that moment, she hadn’t even known it was female, but suddenly, she had just been certain of it like she was certain of the color of her own hair.

The emotions of her daughter were precious, but they, even in their newness, were a dangerous force. Even so early in her pregnancy she could feel the little girl’s personality beginning to form, the perfect blend of T’Pol’s analytical, scientific mind and Trip’s easy-going nature and quick-witted intelligence. There was no doubt in T’Pol’s mind that their daughter would be a force to be reckoned with when she reached her maturity, and would most definitely be a challenging child to raise.

It was the dominance of Trip’s contribution to their child’s psyche that concerned her, though. T’Pol had enough on her plate already, and adding snatches of Trip’s unique presence to the babe’s forming katra was enough to cause T’Pol to lose sleep. She knew on an elemental level that her child needed the connection with her father, but T’Pol’s own sense of self-preservation overrode it. Occasionally, though, the baby’s stubbornness and outright need tugged so hard on T’Pol’s mind that she became breathless with the effort to maintain control.

There were nights when she had to literally hold herself in bed, her fists clutching the sheets, to keep herself from getting up and going to Trip, despite the consequences. There were times when she even wondered why she fought against it. As time passed, it seemed inevitable, a force that would not be stopped, no matter her efforts in opposition to it.

In the middle of her mind’s wanderings, Trip’s laugher burst forth across the room and carried over to T’Pol, startling her back to awareness of the wedding reception. She watched him, seeing how different he was from her, and felt a moment of helplessness.

Her downward mental spiral was interrupted by a throat being cleared at her side.

“Enjoying the festivities, Sub-Commander?”

T’Pol spared one glance at Phlox, his too-observant eyes penetrating hers. Quickly, she turned away, clasping her hands behind her back and staring back across the room at Trip.

“They are an interesting study in human cultural traditions,” she conceded, hiding behind the formality of her words.

Phlox chuckled softly. “I would’ve thought you wouldn’t want to stay for the entirety of the reception.”

She shrugged, a movement so unlike her that Phlox’s eyebrows twitched. “I find that being in a crowd has a calming effect.”

“Then your meditation isn’t helping like you’d hoped,” he concluded, and was answered by her deep frown.

“It has been less than adequate,” she admitted. “But I am confident that the new techniques I have been implementing will prove valuable over time.”

Phlox grunted, a sound that was a decided disagreement with her statement. “Have you given any thought to the alternative option we discussed?”

T’Pol’s chin raised defiantly. “It is unacceptable.”

“And why is that?” Phlox asked, alarmed that she was so dead-set against bonding with Trip when her life and her child’s were hanging in the balance.

“We have absolutely nothing in common, and our interpersonal interactions are frequently unsatisfactory.”

Phlox waded through her complex statement, realizing instantly that she was hiding her fear behind her intellect.

“No relationship is without its problems, T’Pol. And it is sometimes the most volatile relationships that make for the most passionate romantic ones.”

“Romance holds no interest for me. It is a frivolous result of human love.”

“An emotion which you are now capable of accessing,” he pointed out.

She bristled at the reminder. “Bonding myself to him would be absurd, a surrender to my unpredictable emotions,” she finally concluded firmly.

Phlox answered gently, knowing is words would be impact enough. “Are you sure you aren’t already letting emotions interfere with your decision?”

T’Pol’s head whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she stared into Phlox’s intelligent face. Was he right? Was she letting emotion cloud her judgment?

As she thought about it, T’Pol discounted Phlox’s conclusion. She had carefully filtered emotion out of her decision. Each reservation she had was based in logic.

No longer was T’Pol fooling herself into believing that her reluctance to bond with him stemmed from the idea that Vulcans and humans were incompatible. It was a much deeper issue than that. What concerned her was whether or not she and Trip were compatible not as different species, but as individuals.

How could they possibly make a relationship successful? They had literally no shared interests, save their work. They shared passionate physical encounters, what few they’d had, but they did not equate to a satisfactory long-term relationship. There were elements of Trip’s personality that drove T’Pol to the outer edges of insanity at times, and she knew that there were characteristics of her own that affected him as negatively.

But the biggest difference surpassed all of these as if they were trivial concerns. T’Pol knew that Trip would need and expect a complete and utter devotion from her. She had no concerns that he would expect her to act as a human woman would; he respected her culture and her personality enough to accept her limitations in that area. But she knew that at some level, she would be inadequate. She would never be able to express what humans called “true love,” despite her newly-accessed emotions.

She was concerned for a thousand things, each compounding the next until all the potential problems outweighed the potential benefits like an elephant sitting on a mouse. She was concerned for the Vulcan High Command’s response. They would be intolerant, not only of the half-human child but also of T’Pol’s life-connection to a human male. She and Trip would most likely be ostracized by a majority of both populations, tolerated as a curiosity but not welcomed.

She was concerned for her parents’ reactions, for Trip’s parents’ reactions, for his and her careers. She was concerned for the future of her child, for Trip’s long-term contentment when saddled with a Vulcan mate who could not give him the emotional support that a man like him needed. She was concerned for her own delicate emotional control, and she was concerned for their inability to communicate when real problems faced them.

As each day passed, she found more and more arguments against establishing a mating bond with him. Each one piled onto an already insurmountable obstacle that loomed in her life’s path. It strengthened her resolve to avoid a life-long bond.

Finally, she looked back at Phlox. “Meditation will have to suffice, Doctor. I have examined the positives and negatives of initiating a mating bond with Commander Tucker. The possibility of a successful outcome is very unlikely.”

The apprehension behind her words was blatantly obvious, but to Phlox’s dismay, T’Pol seemed blind to it. She seemed unable to see that the very foundation of her so-called logical argument was rooted in emotion. The emotion of fear.

Next to him, T’Pol seemed to have forgotten Phlox was there. He followed her gaze across the room, and in contrast to everything she’d just told him, her eyes were riveted on Trip Tucker as if he were the answer to all her problems.

In T’Pol’s mind, the discussion was closed. But against her better judgment, she kept her eyes fixed on Trip.

As she watched him, his eyes swept up, catching hers even at such a distance. T’Pol felt her breath catch. Quickly, she looked away, but the feeling lingered that he had seen straight into her soul. The reaction she had to mere eye contact added another item to her list.

Any relationship that inspired such all-consuming, all-encompassing emotion within her had to be destructive.

* * * * * * *

”There’s no harm in being attracted to another person and acting on that attraction if it’s reciprocated.

As Malcolm walked down the corridor towards the gym, Phlox’s words rang in his ears for what seemed like the thousandth time since he’d been to sickbay. He was beginning to wish he’d never gone to the doctor in the first place; his advice was haunting him.

Leaving sickbay, Malcolm had been somewhat reassured that since his problem was not physical, he should be able to control himself purely by application of willpower. He placed his earlier failures to stay away from Amanda firmly behind him, considering them to be caused by his own conclusions that the behavior was beyond his control. Now that he knew differently, he should be able to return to a state of normalcy. He was a strong individual, both mentally and physically. It was ludicrous to imagine that he could be bowled over by an emotion as base as lust.

The last twenty-four hours had not lived up to his carefully arranged plan. His dreams, like every night past, had been plagued with memories of her mixed with fantasies he hadn’t had time to act out. He woke up in a sweat, desperate in his need for her, and he’d stumbled blindly out into the hallway before he could stop himself. Thankful that no one had been in the corridor, he’d slunk back to his room, his jaw locked in embarrassment and an even greater determined spirit to break his will and banish these unhealthy feelings once and for all.

He had managed success on one front. Due to careful planning, Malcolm had avoided any and all contact with Amanda since he’d visited Phlox. He knew that the doctor would’ve given her the same diagnosis, and Malcolm wasn’t eager to discuss it with her. It was all much better if they could just go on about their duties as if nothing had happened.

Just like they should’ve the day after the anomaly struck.

The pang of regret struck him fully just as he reached the doors to the gym. Checking the chronometer on his wrist, Malcolm noted with some satisfaction that it was 0200, a time when he was likely to have the gym entirely to himself. He wasn’t getting any sleep anyway, so he might as well put his excess energy to good use.

At the rate he’d been going lately, he would be in the running for Mr. Universe by the end of the month.

Stepping inside the gym, Malcolm strode over to the row of empty treadmills, slinging his towel over its bar and climbing aboard. A few touches to the controls set up his strenuous workout, and Malcolm found his rhythm, eyes half-closing as he let the exercise bring his body some relief.

He hadn’t realized how intense he’d gotten until he heard the treadmill next to him begin to beep. His head whipped over to look, and he nearly tripped mid-stride when he saw that the very person he’d wanted to avoid most was climbing onto the machine to his left. His mouth pursed into a frown, Malcolm turned and faced forward again, determined to ignore her. Good manners would have to be sacrificed for the sake of his sanity.

Unfortunately, Amanda wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Yes,” Malcolm grunted reluctantly.

She fell silent, and they ran together for several minutes, their feet pounding in a syncopated rhythm that was close to becoming hypnotic.

Her voice broke the silence again.

“I take it you saw Phlox?”

Malcolm almost stumbled again. “I did,” he affirmed.

She sighed. “I guess he told you the same thing he told me.”

Rolling his eyes as he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, Malcolm asked, “What was that?”

She paused, and he could see her head turn towards him and cock to the side as if in thought. Finally, she answered, “He told me that I was being controlled by something beyond myself and I shouldn’t feel guilty.”

This time Malcolm did trip. Stumbling, he reached for the console and shut off the machine, reaching over to turn hers off as well.

“He told you what?” His voice was barely a whisper, the words choked out.

Amanda faced him. There was a knowing look on her face. “I thought that would get your attention. I lied. He told me there was nothing wrong with me.”

Malcolm saw red. “Why the bloody hell would you lie to me about something like that?”

It was obvious that she was trying to stifle a laugh.

“It isn’t funny, damn it!”

“Oh, Malcolm,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Yes it is. This entire situation is funny when you think about it. Stop being so damn serious! We had great sex. We used the anomaly as an excuse to keep having it because we were feeling guilty.”

“And how is that funny?” Malcolm asked through tight lips.

“It’s just that we’re so inhibited, Malcolm. People all over the place have casual relationships all the time and here we are, all hung up about it. We should just let go and enjoy it if we want to. What’s the harm in that?”

Phlox’s words rang in Malcolm’s head again, seeming like an affirmation of Amanda’s words. He looked at her face carefully, and noticed that her eyes weren’t quite as light as her tone seemed to be. But he didn’t know her all that well, so maybe he was imagining it. Maybe she was as unconcerned about this as she claimed to be.

“I guess there isn’t any harm in it,” Malcolm conceded, stepping closer to her. “We’re both adults. Technically, I’m not in command of you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Technically,” she agreed, although they both knew it was a formality. Major Evans, who’d come on board when they’d gone back to earth, actually gave her orders, but Malcolm directed the security on the ship. It was a fine line and they both knew it.

Malcolm threw caution to the wind and zeroed his eyes in on her mouth. “So are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

Malcolm’s gaze grew blacker as his mouth descended on hers. It shouldn’t have surprised them when the kiss turned frenzied in a matter of seconds, but it did. Amanda moaned against his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him and pressing every generous curve of her body against the angles and planes of his.

Breathing heavily, Malcolm broke the kiss and began to work his way down her neck, tasting the salty tang of her sweat on his tongue. The zipper of her top slid down without resistance, the milky-white skin drawing him in. He could no more avoid touching her than he could avoid breathing, now that he’d let go of his inhibitions.

Amanda slid down his body, drawing Malcolm down to the floor with her. He immediately took up position half on top of her, one thigh draped across hers. Their mouths met in another fiery kiss, a maelstrom of breathy sighs that made their ears ring.

Malcolm’s hands were everywhere, touching her everywhere, and he was so caught up in the feel of her beneath him after what seemed like an eternity apart that he didn’t notice when she began to push against his shoulders instead of pulling him closer.

His hand reached to the exposed skin between her breasts, his fingers sliding beneath the cloth to touch her breasts, and it was only when she jerked away, whimpering, that he realized something was wrong. Finally, her voice penetrated the lustful fog in his brain.

“Stop, Malcolm! Please!”

He sat up, utterly bewildered. “But I thought you wanted this!”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought I did, too. I just missed it so much, Malcolm. But I can’t—I can’t do this. I can’t have this kind of relationship without love. I can’t! It’ll tear me up inside.”

The words she spoke so echoed his own earlier thoughts that Malcolm felt an immediate rush of shame over his inability to say no. He’d seen the truth in her eyes a few moments ago, but he’d ignored it, listening instead to her efforts to convince herself as much as him.

Shaking his head, Malcolm moved a safe distance away and sat back, his eyes haunted.

Amanda stood up quickly, zipping up her top and grabbing her towel, her movements stiff and jerky.

“I’m sorry, Malcolm.” Her eyes came up to meet his. “I’m so sorry.”

She turned and sprinted toward the door, and Malcolm let her go, his regrets increasing with every pounding step that took her away.

But even as she left, Malcolm knew this was a turning point. Despite the awkwardness of the last few moments, they’d succeeded in one area.

They’d stopped themselves, and they hadn’t needed a roomful of onlookers to do it.

* * * * * * *

Trip’s hand moved toward T’Pol’s doorbell as he stood, shifting his feet anxiously, outside her quarters. Hesitating, he tried to come up with the nerve he needed to push the button and draw the lioness out of her den.

He hadn’t seen her since that electric moment at the Montrose-Sanders wedding. But if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that that very moment had led him to her door.

But damn it, he was nervous.

It took a lot to shake Trip Tucker, but there was a lot riding on his relationship with T’Pol. The most obvious thing being his future relationship with his child, but beyond that, he’d had a growing suspicion over the last couple of days that the entirety of his future happiness was on the line.

Nothing like setting high stakes.

Scraping the corners of his heart for the last of his courage, Trip pushed his fingers out and depressed the button. He could hear the chime through the door and waited nervously, clasping his hands together in front of him and bouncing a little on his toes. Breathing deeply, he rehearsed what he’d been about to say, but every word fled when the door swished open and T’Pol stood standing there in her silky blue pajamas.

It was early in the morning, only just after 0600, so Trip shouldn’t have been surprised to see that she wasn’t dressed yet, but the moment he took in her slender form encased in all that soft blue fabric his mouth suddenly went dry and his mind went blank.

T’Pol arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest as he stared at her open-mouthed.

“Did you want something, Commander?” she asked with a calm tone that did nothing to give away the wave of panic that bubbled up in her chest at the sight of him.

He cleared his throat and shook his head slightly as if to clear his mind of the fog. “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you. You got a minute?”

He watched as her jaw tensed, and the small movement made his heart sink a little bit. Obviously, her heart hadn’t thawed any toward him after a few days of carefully avoiding her.

Her next words surprised him, since he’d expected her to slam the door in his face after a terse ‘no, thank you.’

“I have a few moments, but not many. I’m meeting the away team in the shuttle bay in less than an hour, and I have not yet had my morning meal.”

Trip nodded, almost offering to join her in the mess hall, but he had a feeling this conversation would be more successful in private. He followed her into her quarters and stood by as she settled gracefully onto her bunk, crossing her legs and balancing her elbows on her knees.

Silence reigned as Trip’s mind raced. He paced back and forth a few times, opening and closing his mouth more than once as his practiced speech broke into tiny pieces and flew like fragments of explosive debris in the turmoil of his mind.

Through it all, T’Pol sat quietly, just watching, waiting for the bomb he was sure to drop. Her stomach clenched in dread over this conversation, one she knew would be difficult. She would’ve liked to avoid it all together, but she knew that it had to be said.

Her face gave away nothing, and one glance at her increased Trip’s agitation to an impossible degree.

At that point, there was no place for his frustration to go but out.

“We need to talk!” he said abruptly, stopping and staring at her, feet spread slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

T’Pol only arched her eyebrow at his glowering figure. “I suspected as much,” she said dryly. “What do you wish to discuss?”

He frowned at her. “Oh, nothin’. I just want to know who the hell you are and what happened to the T’Pol I know.”

Indignation at his attitude made her eyes narrow. “Your sarcasm is unnecessary, Commander.”

“See?” he said, jabbing his finger at her. “There ya go. Callin’ me ‘Commander.’ You haven’t called me that in off-duty hours in months. There’s somethin’ wrong, and I want you to explain it to me.”

She shrugged, her expression closed. “The pregnancy has made me fatigued and has compromised my mental control. That is all.”

Scrutinizing her carefully, Trip noticed T’Pol’s eyes shift away from his.

“That’s not all, T’Pol. There’s somethin’ you aren’t tellin’ me.”

T’Pol wasn’t about to reveal her medical condition to him. He’d insist on following Phlox’s advice and bonding with her, and T’Pol didn’t think she was strong enough to refuse him right now. She had to stand her ground, and that meant being evasive in her answers.

“Please, Trip,” she said softly, her eyes coming up to meet his. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. And I’m scheduled to be leaving with the away team in 47 minutes.”

Trip seemed to falter for a moment, but his resolute expression came back and he strode over to sit beside her on the bunk. “Look at me, T’Pol,” he commanded quietly.

T’Pol could no more refuse him than she could avoid breathing, not when he spoke with that gentle tone that warmed her from the inside out. Her wary brown eyes stared back into Trip’s blue ones, and she was overwhelmed by the depth of emotion she saw in them.

“I’m worried about you,” he admitted. “You’re angry at me half the time and you don’t get angry. I’ve seen tears in your eyes more than once in the last 48 hours and you don’t cry. I’ve watched you stare off into space in the middle of your work and you never get distracted.”

She couldn’t deny any of it.

Sucking in a deep breath, Trip played his trump card. “I love you, and you’re worryin’ the hell outta me.”

Bolting upright, T’Pol skittered across the room, hugging her arms to herself. Her defenses against the power of her own emotions were so damaged that his admission struck her with the force of a phase cannon blast. Her breath caught, eyes widening, as he gave voice to the feelings that she’d known he held for her. She’d known they existed, he’d hinted at them several times before, but hearing the words was a shock that she wasn’t prepared for.

“I think you should leave now.” Her voice was strained.

Sighing, Trip ran a hand through his hair before getting up tiredly. He should’ve known an emotional appeal would never work on a Vulcan. If she couldn’t experience the true emotion of love, then his admission of it would hold no more power than an weather forecast.

Across the room, T’Pol was working hard to keep herself from trembling visibly. Item #27 in her long list of reasons arguing against a mating bond with Trip was his previous inability to commit to a relationship. But if she knew him as well as she thought she did, this declaration of love was an indication that Trip wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. As he would say, he was ‘in it for the long-haul.’ Knowing that he was willing to commit to her only made it that much harder to stay away, only that much harder to keep her hands from reaching out to his face to begin the bond that would tie them together forever.

But she had to stay away. The only problem was, she couldn’t remember why, exactly. That’s why he had to leave. He had to leave now!

“Go!” she whispered. “Please!” Her eyes found his, panic filling her eyes along with a flood of tears.

The sight of her tears made Trip’s heart crumble. They were something so uncharacteristic of this woman he cared about so much. Seeing her so broken shook him, and he couldn’t help but move over to her and bring his hands to her shoulders, his big fingers gripping her gently.

“T’Pol, please! Let me help you.”

“No!” she whispered. “Go!”

Eyes narrowing, Trip had a sudden but hare-brained idea. If an emotional approach wouldn’t work, maybe an appeal to her taste for physical pleasure would.

“I won’t,” he said stubbornly. “Not until I can make you see. . .”

Her lip trembled as she stared up at him, and that movement drew his eyes toward her mouth. Trip was overcome with the desire to feel her lips beneath his again, and there wasn’t a force in the quadrant that could stop him from fulfilling it.

Swiftly, he pulled her closer and lowered his mouth to hers, swallowing the whimper of protest she released. Her mouth was soft, a taste of heaven mixed with the salt of her spilling tears. His tongue swept in to claim her unique taste. Trip groaned, arms sliding around her waist and gripping her more tightly.

Under his mouth, T’Pol grappled with the flood of emotions that consumed her. Lust, desire, irritation, panic, fear, anger, affection. And love? Was that what this was? This all-consuming need to crawl inside him and stay there forever? Whatever this unnamed emotion, it was tearing her apart, so destructively overwhelming to her fragile mind that it quickly turned to anger. Full-blown, fiery fury.

With a burst of energy that surprised even T’Pol, she planted her hands flat against his chest and shoved, her superior strength allowing her to easily break his hold on her.

Gasping, Trip stared at her, dismay growing as he saw her eyes flash and her chin rise in defiance.

“Leave,” she said in a clipped tone.

“But, T’Pol—”

“LEAVE!” Her scream reverberated off the walls in a way that would have made a Klingon female’s legendary anger pale in comparison.

Trip’s eyes widened in disbelief as he nodded, stumbling backwards before whirling around and escaping into the corridor. He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until his lungs began to burn and he suddenly gasped for breath.

His earlier suspicions had been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt.

One, T’Pol definitely had feelings for him, Vulcan or not. She couldn’t kiss him like that and be apathetic.

Two, fatigue was the flimsiest excuse in the book for whatever the hell was wrong with her. And it wasn’t just the pregnancy, either. There was something else going on here, goddamn it, and Trip had a funny feeling that Phlox knew the entire story.

Trip was going to drag it out of him if it was the last thing he did, doctor/patient privilege be damned. Her last little outburst had just upgraded his mindset from concern to scared-to-death.

* * * * * * *

Yendi IV was a stunningly beautiful planet.

Malcolm shook his head as he looked at the gorgeous expanse, one that would make The Alps pale in comparison. Majestic, snow-capped mountains loomed beyond them on three sides, their landing site nested in a lush, green valley covered with trees. It was ironic that something so breathtaking could be so hazardous. But weren’t most deadly Earth animals just as beautiful?

Nature had a funny way of saying “hands off.”

In front of him, T’Pol had gathered her gear and was trekking toward the village, 4.6 kilometers from their present location. The EV suits made everything bulky, and in truth, Malcolm felt kind of silly wearing a one when he remembered how fresh the air smelled the first time he was here. Sighing, he shook his head, checked his gear, and moved after T’Pol, followed closely by Travis and two of the MACO team, Jones and Moritz.

As he caught up with T’Pol, she turned her head slightly, caught his gaze, then turned away again before speaking.

“Take Jones and Moritz and get the vegetation samples, Commander. Travis and I will proceed to the village and commence with our scans of the population.”

“T’Pol, with all due respect, Moritz and Jones are trained in combat tactics. That’s what we brought them down here for; to protect against the aliens if they attack.”

Through the clear plate of her shield, Malcolm could see T’Pol’s jaw tense, as if she were trying hard not to lash out at him. “I am in charge here, Commander. Do not question my orders.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed as he watched the small beads of sweat pop out on her forehead. T’Pol didn’t look like she was feeling well, but he didn’t know if now was exactly the right time to challenge her ability to command. They’d be out of here in a few hours, and if T’Pol couldn’t take it, she would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t she?

“Understood,” he said finally, and motioned to the MACO’s before heading off toward the copse of trees they’d taken samples from on their last visit. The bio containers were heavy on his back, but they didn’t have to travel far.

It wasn’t until they were almost to their destination that Malcolm allowed himself to look back at T’Pol and Travis. He looked just in time to see T’Pol stumble, almost falling, then stagger onward, jerking her arm away from Travis as he tried to help her maintain her balance.

The ground she’d been walking on was as flat as a sidewalk in Kansas.

* * * * * * * *

Three hours later, Malcolm, Jones and Moritz were securing the last of their gear, readying the shuttlepod for transport. The biocontainers had been transported back to Enterprise a half hour ago, and all they needed now was for T’Pol and Travis to get back from their mission.

Malcolm took out his communicator. “Reed to T’Pol.”

There were a few moments of silence, then a breathless voice answered him back. “T’Pol here.”

“Do you need assistance, Sub-Commander?” Malcolm kept his voice steady, but the sound of hers had made him suspicious. She sounded even worse than she had when they’d left.

“Negative, Mr. Reed. We will be rendezvousing with you momentarily. We are,” she paused, “1.76 kilometers from your position, due east.”

Looking up, Malcolm could faintly see a splotch of white against the green landscape, moving slightly. It had to be them.

“Acknowledged. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Moritz and Jones were in the shuttlepod when the pair arrived. Malcolm was turned away, checking a few readings, when he heard Travis behind him.

“Commander!”

There was a note of urgency in Travis’s voice that made Malcolm’s chest clench. He turned, seeing T’Pol swaying, her face angry. Travis had apparently reached out to steady her, but she was just as obviously upset by it.

“I don’t need your help, Ensign, I told you that before! Remove your hand from me. Immediately!” Her words were labored, frequently interspersed with huffs of breath.

“Get her into the shuttlepod. Now!” Malcolm ordered, and Travis shoved her inside, despite her struggles.

They closed the door, sealed it, and purged the air inside with the specially enhanced bio-filters that Trip had installed before they’d left.

“We’re clear,” Moritz informed them, and Malcolm jerked his helmet off, reaching instantly for T’Pol’s.

Her breath came in huge, gulping gasps, as if her oxygen supply had been cut off.

“Her O2 level was fine, Commander.” Travis was looking at the gauges on her EV suit. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know, Travis,” Malcolm said grimly, “but she doesn’t look good.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Reed, and I’m not deaf!” T’Pol growled at him, her eyes flashing. With a violence that made the men back up, T’Pol jerked off the bulky suit, sweat rolling down her face and into the neck of her uniform.

“Your body temperature is skyrocketing!” Malcolm’s eyes were wide as he looked at the read-out on his hand-held medical scanner. “And your heartrate—”

“I know that!” she hissed, eyes wild. “I just need—I just—”

Eyelids fluttering, T’Pol caught a big breath and passed out, slumping to the floor.

TBC

Continue to Part 8

Return to Part 6

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!

A whole mess of folks have made comments

Oh my goodness! I have been checking every day for the next chapter and now that it's here, I must say: Wow!!

I cannot even begin tell you how much I love this story. You make me laugh, sigh and cry - all in the space of a few paragraphs.

Thank you for continuing this wonderful story. I look forward to the next chapter.

What a fantastic chapter. Can't wait for your next update.

Oh no! NO, NO, NO! You can't stop here!

Thank you, thank you, thank you! -- I've been watching for an update to this story for weeks! It's a wonderful story and the depth and complexity of emotion you've captured in it is amazing. I've gotten so involved with all the characters (even Archer!) and I want so badly for them all to have happy endings, but I can't for the life of me see how (or if) you're going to do it!

AHHHH! Finally we get a chapter and you leave us hanging again like this! You better be pounding out that next chapter...

LOL. Nice work! :-)

OMG, OMG!!!

You do realize I can't wait too long for the next chapter. I know you want it to work but for god sakes your killing me! Do you hate us that much that you'd do this to us? Come on! Please! Mercy! Mercy! LOL

Hey, I have to get my sadistic torture fixation satisfied somehow. Why not here? :)

Oh,here´s another NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! And please, get your "sadistic torture fixation" somewhere else!!! ;-)))))))))

Oh,here´s another NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! And please, get your "sadistic torture fixation" somewhere else!!! ;-)))))))))

You evil cliffie-monger. I need another chapter now, please I’m begging you.

Agh! T'pol. She is so darn stubran.
I'm on the edge of my seat.
I love the internal struggle you've show threw out the story.
Great writing:) I can't wait for more.

Your "TBC" better arrive in the next few days, I'm dying with anticipation!

This is a brilliant, wonderful chapter, thank you...but hurry up on Chapter8! :-(

She NEEDS TRIP!!!! Hang on T'Pol and don't be so stubborn. This is great,can't wait for the next part. Ali D :~)

MORE!!! This is so good, please don't keep us strung along too long!

Terrific! Keep it coming!

This story is getting better and better with each chapter.
You can't leave us here with that cliffhanger...
Please update soon!!!!!!!!!

OK you must post your next chapter ASAP! How can you leave like that?

That was great! I've been waiting for ages for this! And forget the next few days on the TBC, that better be here tomorrow!

In case anybody's been checking back on this...the last two chapters are almost done. I promise it won't be too much longer!

DG

Any story that can pull you in like this, get you so worked up about the characters, is genius in my book. Awesome, and PLEEEEEEASE update soon! I can't wait! :)

Come on DG!!!!!! Hurry up with the next chapter! I've been waiting forever... I hope you haven't forgotten about us!!!!!!