The Taste Sorrow

The Taste of Sorrow

By DestinyGirl

Rating: PG
Email: anticipatedesiny@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The characters from Enterprise are owned by Paramount. No infringement is intended, no profit made.
Genre: Angst, Friendship
Codes: T/T, A/T (friendship. this is not an A/T shipper story, I promise! Any love mentioned is platonic.)
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know.
Summary: T’Pol reacts to Archer’s death.
Spoilers: “Zero Hour” Spoilers: “Zero Hour”
Feedback: I would love to hear any and all comments about this story.
Notes: This could be considered a “missing scene” fic from Zero Hour. I found it odd that T’Pol and Trip didn’t talk about Archer’s death at all onscreen, and this vignette is the answer to that.

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My grief consumes me.

I stand in my captain’s ready room, the words of the Xindi humanoid echoing in my ears. They are of little comfort to me at this moment, yet I mull them over in my mind just the same.

Your captain’s sacrifice will not be forgotten.

He was correct, this Xindi. Jonathan’s sacrifice will not be forgotten. It will not be forgotten by the Xindi and Human races who now have a future because of my Captain’s courage. It will not be forgotten by the crew of this ship, who fought valiantly by his side, some sacrificing their lives alongside his so that our universe would not be destroyed.

And neither will I forget. It is my vow, my tribute to a man that I admired, respected, and loved.

I stare out the portal in this small room, the bowels of the Xindi Aquatic ship bouncing a cool, soothing green reflection off the walls. I take solace in its serenity, my eyes closing as it washes over me like a cool bath soothing a fever. In my hand, I clutch a book, a non-descript pile of parchment in binding. Upon examination, it would reveal nothing about Archer himself. I do not even know the title or its contents, nor do I care. I hold it because it belonged to him. It belonged to my friend, and I want him back.

Yet even now, I know my grief pales in comparison to that of another. Somewhere else on this ship, Commander Tucker sits alone and attempts to absorb the news that his best friend and captain will not return. My three years worth of memories cannot compare to the lifetime of his, yet my sorrow feels as thick, as painful, as his must be. Just the thought of the pain in his eyes as Malcolm told us brings fresh tears to my own eyes. We were so close in that moment, but still, so painfully far away.

I ache to go to him, to comfort him, my lover, confidante, and friend. My hands itch to slide around him, to pull him to my chest and run my fingers through his hair as we shed tears together over this man who meant so much to both of us. He needs the solace of my presence, the warmth of my body, the sound of my grief. And I, in my unfamiliar, emotion-filled mind, need his strength and friendship.

As if fate has intervened, the chime on the ready room door chirps and startles me out of my dark musings. I bid entrance to my guest, my entire body tightening in nervousness, fear, and anticipation as Charles Tucker walks over the threshold. His eyes catch mine, and in their red-rimmed depths, I see the perfect mirror of my own sorrow. He walks over, eyes never leaving mine, and stops within inches of me.

“D’ya got a minute, T’Pol?” He asks quietly, then blinks and looks away.

I feel cold as the power of his gaze leaves my face. I long to reach across the space between us, cup his face in my hands and force his eyes back to mine. Yet I feel powerless, caught in a quagmire of uncertainty. We are so unsure with each other, he and I. It invades our every encounter, and at this moment, I curse it.

“I do,” I answer him, and to my chagrin, my voice is flat. Devoid of the warmth I so desperately long to give him.

Sighing, Trip runs a hand through his unruly hair. “The aquatic ship is carryin’ us along just fine. Our warp engines could use the rest. Hell, everybody could use the rest. But I can’t seem to sit still. I need—” he pauses, searching for the right words. With a sigh, he sits on the bench across from Archer’s desk and rubs his jaw tiredly. “Hell, I don’t know what I need.”

I stand there, a trembling tribute to the concept of hesitation, and say nothing.

After a period of silence that is rife with the unspoken, his blue-eyed gaze raises to meet mine again. The tiredness in it lays wrapped around mourning, tugging at the same emotions within me. I am struck by how much we are the same in this moment, our sorrow and exhaustion overwhelming every other recognizable feeling. Our relationship has been so marked by our differences, yet in this profound instant, our grief makes us one.

He stands abruptly, startling the pool of my thoughts like a rock skipped across water. “I’ll let you get back to your” —he gesticulates haphazardly— “your duties. I’ll be in my quarters if you need anything.”

I nod, no words springing forth in my mind. I ache to reach for him, but my body betrays me, my hands tightening on the book as my eyes follow him longingly out the door.

It is so new to me, this need for touch. It has accompanied the influx of emotions like warmth with the rise of the sun. I did not see it coming. Before this year, I prided myself on my independence, on my self-sufficiency, on my detachment from life and my condescension for the illogical mood swings of humans. But now, I stagger under the weight of my own emotions if I do not feel the hand of a friend on my arm, or the touch of fingers brushing against mine. The neuro-pressure sessions with Trip, once a nuisance, have become a panacea for every problem I encounter. It seems as though one touch from him is worth a hundred hypo sprays, and I crave each moment that his skin contacts mine.

In remembrance, my hand tingles from the pressure of his fingers just hours ago, moments before our world was shattered by loss. Every second of that encounter replays in my mind. His eyes are awash with emotion: agitation as he worries for his friend, warmth as he finds beauty in my marred skin, a teasing sparkle as I reveal an intimate secret.

Yet the memory is not enough to sustain me forever.

I need him now. His warmth, his loyalty, his friendship, his passion. I need his limbs tangled with mine as I lay surrounded by his scent. I need to sleep in the security of his arms, if just for a moment.

I sink into Captain Archer’s chair, the feel of it invoking a fresh wave of grief across my mind. It tastes bitter, this emotion, full of regret and loss so profound it chokes. I lay the book down carefully, staring sightlessly across the room. Even now, in the strongest moments of my sorrow, needing Trip’s touch is not enough to propel me forward, not enough to break through the last of my insecurity and lead me to his quarters. The catalyst I need to accomplish this has eluded me.

Fate, it seems, has determined to intervene once again. The chimed doorbell rings, but this time, my guest does not wait for permission to enter. Trip strides in once more, the purposeful nature of his steps belying the uncertainty I know exists in his thoughts. He stands across the desk from me, leaning over and placing his palms on the smooth surface. His head becomes nearly level with mine and he stares, with eyes the color of cobalt, into the very recesses of my soul.

“I just can’t let you do it,” he says, his voice a mere whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t let you sit here and suffer alone. Hell, comin’ in here a few minutes ago was flimsy excuse enough. You can’t be a captain like this, T’Pol.”

I can’t help myself as I answer, “I shouldn’t have to be a captain at all.”

He blinks as his eyes moisten at my words. “You’re right. You shouldn’t. But you are, and you need to be strong.”

“I’m trying!” I whisper, suddenly feeling trapped by my grief. It pushes at me, prods at me painfully until I burst from my chair, scooting away from him and toward the end of the desk. “I need to be alone,” I finally say.

“T’Pol. That’s the last thing you need,” he says tiredly.

I stand stiffly, my silence a testament to my inability to let go.

“And it’s the last thing I need,” he finally says. Walking around to face me, his eyes bore into mine. “I lied. I didn’t come in here just for you. I—”

In wonder, I watch as his eyes flood with tears and the rawest of his emotions are poured out to me. He swallows, fists clenching as he struggles to regain his control.

“I need you,” he finally whispers brokenly.

His tortured words are the only impetus I need. My hands come up, one landing on his chest and shoulder, the other on his warm jaw. My fingers stroke his face, eyes holding his as his grief spills over, tears running down and over my thumb where it rests on his chin. In one powerful move, his arms come out and wrap around me, pulling me close into his body until we are in full contact from knees to shoulders. I feel immediate relief as his arms envelop me, the weight bearing down on my heart suddenly lessened as we share the burden of our grief.

I lay my cheek against his shoulder, his head buried in my neck.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he murmurs against my skin. “He was just here! But he’s—oh, God, T’Pol, Jon’s dead.” His breath catches on a sob, and suddenly, he’s crying, broken in my arms.

My only answer is to clutch him more tightly, my hands constantly moving across his chest and shoulders in an attempt to soothe us both. Tears of my own flow unchecked down my face. Whatever control I had regained since the Trellium addiction has fled, raw emotion consuming me. But I know it is right, these emotions. Jon deserves our mourning. He was our friend, and anything less would be insulting to his memory.

As the wave of grief overtakes me, I bury my face in his shoulder and let sobs wrack my own body, my arms clinging to him for support. I am silent in my sorrow, the small movements of my body and the wet tears on my face the only signs of my deep feelings. But I feel connected to Trip on an elemental level as we cry together.

After a minute of eternity, the swell of my grief passes and I raise my weary eyes to meet his. There is a depth there, an unguardedness that I have never seen. His finger travels the length of my face, from forehead to chin.

Finally, he speaks. “Will you—” he hesitates. “Will you come to my quarters tonight, T’Pol?”

I stare at him in disbelief. What is he asking of me? When it comes to matters of intimacy, these humans are rarely clear in their intentions.

He must see the confusion in my eyes, for reassurance is written all over his next words. “I just don’t want to be alone, and I don’t think you need to be, either. I don’t know what we have between us, T’Pol, but I know that right now, you’re the only one who understands what I’m goin’ through.”

I contemplate his request a split second before I answer. “I will come,” I state softly, my hand cupping his face.

He nods, and with one last squeeze to my frame, he backs away, his hands dropping to his sides. I feel immediately bereft as his warmth leaves me. For one, unguarded instant, it is all I can do to keep my hands at my sides and away from him, when all I long to do is grab him and pull him back to me.

“I’ll go then,” he whispers, eyes locked to mine. “Come soon.” The addition of those two words tugs at my being, and I watch as he suddenly turns and strides out the door.

As it closes behind him, I feel a pang of loss more profound than even my grief. It was as if his presence had served to support me, and with out it, I am on the verge of collapse. Quickly, I straighten the disorder I have created in this now sacred space. I turn back for one moment as I move toward the door, my eyes sweeping the room, encompassing everything that reminds me of my captain, my friend.

Later, as I lay, finally at peace in Trip’s warm embrace, I realize that Jonathan Archer is gone, but his sacrifice will truly not be forgotten.

And neither will he.

End.

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Breathtakingly beautiful! What a gift you have! Thank you for sharing this!

Awww... that was so sweet. *sniffs*

I actually like Archer now that he's dead...

I agree with Plumtuckered. You truly have a gift of weaving words and images together, seemlessly blending them into the character. My favorite is that of the stone skipping on water. How appropriate, since such a little thing as his presence sends increasingly large ripples through her. I look forward to more from you!

Breathtaking, oooooooooh, yes!

Bwahahahaha Jenna!

Excellent story! Now why can't they put scenes like this on TV?!?!

Very beautiful and moving! There is a delicacy to emotions such as grief and sorrow that can't be captured on television. This is where the written word, and a gifted writer, have the advantage. Thanks for sharing this.

That was so tender. Good job!

Wow, excellent! I loved how you showed the awkwardness of grief, the pull of powerful emotions making natural gestures suddenly a minefield to be carefully crossed. So happy T'Pol went to Trip later where they could give comfort and solace to each other in a universe of pain. Ali D :~)

Very beautiful! Wonderfull images... especialy the one where T'Pol is holding onto a book belonging to Archer-- a way of keeping him close at hand. Reminds me of when my father pasted away six years ago. While going through some of his things, deciding what needed to be discarded I came across his last pack of cigarettes. I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. They're sitting in one my bookcases to this day.

Dang it - here I sit bawling like a brat and needing a kleenex - hell, I need a whole box of them!

Wow, what a touching story. This missing scene so needed to be written and you did a wonderful job! I too had imagined the two of them discussing the loss of their friend and captain. I could feel their pain and sadness. It takes a good writer to be able to convey that on the printed page.

Great job and Thank you!

wow I know this is weard but I like Archer finally now he is dead strange =S
but great story its so sweet.
To badw this is not going to happen on T.V.

This was some very powerful imagery. Beautifully written.

Darn it, I don't have any Kleenex and am reduced to wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt. Wonderful job. I loved it.

oh i'm so enjoying all this fic and this one worked so well... oh yes we needed to see the is scene and the one to follow and while we don't get it on TV we got it here and so wonderfully done!