The Thorn and the Rose - Part 2

THE THORN AND THE ROSE

By Dinah

Rating: PG
Disclaimer: see part 1

Part II

CHAPTER 5: TRIP

Commander Tucker could feel the doctor’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and drained the last few drops from his mug of coffee. A bowl of cold chicken noodle soup sat untouched on the table in front of him. There was no conversation, no clink of flatware against plates; the mess hall was perfectly quiet.

Against his will his eyes strayed over to the slim Vulcan female seated alone at a table across the room. Typical, Trip thought. Always turning her back on me.

The pain he felt was as real as if a knife had been plunged into his heart. He couldn’t take anymore of this. He had to get out now. He set his mug back down on the table a little more forcibly than he intended. Careful, he cautioned himself. Don’t let her see how rattled you are. Don’t give her the satisfaction. Standing, he grabbed a padd containing the next month’s maintenance schedule, pretended to check the data, then walked out of the room.

As soon as he cleared the door and heard it hiss shut, he stopped and slumped against the bulkhead. He was tired down to the marrow of his bones. His world was spinning out of control, and he seemed to be powerless to do anything about it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he jerked around. Trip wasted no time shrugging off Malcolm’s hand. Breathing in deeply, he straightened his shoulders and tried to convey the impression that there was nothing amiss.

Malcolm slowly lowered his hand, never taking his eyes off of his friend. “Are you all right, Trip?”

“I’m fine,” Trip shot back. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He started to back away. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but I can’t talk now. I have to get back to work.”

As he headed down the corridor, he knew Malcolm was staring at him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need Malcolm’s pity or Phlox’s disapproving glances or Archer’s feeble attempts to rekindle their friendship. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone!

He swallowed hard as he fought to stay in control. So much had happened to him in the past few months that he couldn’t take it all in: the baby, his parents, Masaro, T’Pol. Everything he touched seemed to wither and die. There must be something he could do to make things right. He just needed some time to figure things out. Just a little time…by himself. Until then, he needed to work.

* * * * * *

Both commanders had wanted to return to Enterprise immediately after Elizabeth’s memorial service, but they had to first meet their professional obligations. They were the tangible embodiment of the child that had brought a unifying spirit to the conference. Although everyone paid lip service to their need to sequester themselves, they were constantly in demand by the media, their colleagues, and countless strangers who tried to get a peak at the now famous couple.

Through their bond Trip knew that T’Pol was deeply distressed. Her daughter’s memorial service had been difficult enough, but being placed on public display was almost more than she could bear. The crush of people, the incessant questions, and the denial of personal space all threatened to compromise her already weakened ability to control her emotions.

Unfortunately, the afternoon meetings were no easier. Captain Archer had tried to give them some breathing space but the powers that be would not be denied. Somehow, they didn’t seem to fully comprehend the depth of the commanders’ grief. After all, as Admiral Chin had callously said, “it wasn’t as though she had really been their child.” Only Archer’s strong grip on his arm had kept Trip from decking the admiral and probably throwing away his career in the process. T’Pol had stood riveted to the spot, eyes wide, until Trip gently took her by the elbow and led her into the meeting room, all the while flooding their bond with thoughts of love and support to try and steady her.

The meetings lasted well into the evening. When the admirals had had enough, the couple still had to undergo debriefings with Starfleet Security. Even the local police tried to get a few moments of their time. Only Starfleet Intelligence remained ominously silent.

Throughout the day and into the night Trip never left her side. Though their bodies remained apart, she still clung to him. He knew she needed his steadfast presence to calm her and to divert attention away from her when things became too difficult. As the day progressed and her need became greater, Trip knew there was nothing he would not do for her, even if it meant knocking heads together to finally persuade people to leave her alone.

When their private thoughts and feelings had been poked and prodded for the last time, both Trip and T’Pol were exhausted. Admiral Gardner had reserved rooms for the senior staff of Enterprise in Starfleet’s officers’ quarters. As the two commanders headed off to bed, Doctor Phlox slipped the young engineer a couple of sedatives to help them sleep.

When they reached T’Pol’s room, Trip just managed to get her through the door before she collapsed into his arms. Caught off balance, her weight took them both down. As they sat sprawled on the floor, he held her trembling body, stroking her back and whispering soft reassuring words of endearment. He knew that she had been having difficulty controlling her emotions, but he was still surprised by how quickly her condition had deteriorated. It was obvious that he couldn’t leave her alone.

Finally, he decided that she needed to get some sleep. “T’Pol,” he murmured softly into her ear, “let me help you get ready for bed.”

She tightened her grip on him and shook her head.

“We can’t stay on the floor all night. What will Admiral Gardner think if we don’t use that nice bed he provided for us, hmmm?” He sat up straighter and placing his hands on her upper arms gently pulled away from her. When he rose to his feet, he pulled her along with him. “That’s my girl,” he said as they stood up. As soon as she was on her feet he swept her into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

He said a quiet word of thanks to Hoshi when he spotted T’Pol’s duffel bag sitting at the foot of the bed. As he worked to get T’Pol out of her uniform and into her light blue pajamas, he was reminded of one his adolescent daydreams. He had devised what he felt was a foolproof five-point plan for quickly and efficiently undressing a beautiful woman. Trip grinned as he remembered the randy thoughts that usually followed that little scenario. How had he ever managed to survive puberty?

T’Pol didn’t want to let go of him, but he managed to get away long enough to go over to the small beverage dispenser and get her a mug of hot tea. He quickly stripped off his own uniform down to his Starfleet-issue blue briefs. Then he picked up the tea and the hyposprays and carried them over to the nightstand.

Pulling back the covers, he climbed into bed next to her. She immediately moved over, frantically wrapping her arms around his bare chest. He put his left arm around her shoulders to steady her then picked up the mug. “How about a little tea, T’Pol?”

She turned her head in toward his chest, but remained silent.

“You said chamomile tea always seemed to help you relax,” he tried again. “Come on, just try a sip.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, and she reluctantly rolled over releasing her hold on him. He smiled reassuringly then handed the mug to her. He kept one hand over hers as he helped her guide the hot tea to her lips. She took a sip then looked at him, her soft brown eyes searching his face much as a child would when seeking parental approval. “That’s good,” Trip said reassuringly. “Just a little bit more. That’s right.” He kissed her forehead and, taking the mug from her, set it back on the nightstand.

She immediately wrapped her arms around him again. He could feel her shivering, even though he knew she wasn’t cold. Maybe sleep would help.

“T’Pol, Doctor Phlox sent along a sedative for you,” he said quietly as he stroked her back. “He thought you might need something to help you sleep.” When he didn’t get any response, he reached over and pressed the hypospray against her neck. He held her close to him, humming softly until he was sure that she was sound asleep.

He glanced over to the nightstand at the second hypospray, the one labeled “Tucker.” He knew that his body needed rest, but he didn’t want to risk going to sleep. Phlox’s sedatives usually put him out like a light, but what if T’Pol needed him? Or worse still, what if his nightmares returned? Every time he shut his eyes, the only thing he saw was the face of an angelic infant with tiny pointed ears. It was hard enough to watch her die once. He couldn’t stand to experience it over and over again. Not tonight. His throat tightened as he fought to keep back the tears.

Leaning over, he gently kissed the top of T’Pol’s head. “At least I still have you,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me, T’Pol.”

In the early hours before dawn, T’Pol stirred and rolled over onto her back. She was still sleeping soundly, but Trip now felt free to slip away. Lying in the quiet room for hours, thinking of his dead child, thinking about Terra Prime, thinking about what this experience had done to T’Pol, had made him feel restless. Maybe some exercise would help.

He checked on T’Pol one more time to be sure she was resting comfortably before carefully slipping out of bed. It would have been helpful if Phlox had given him some indication as to how long the sedative would last. He didn’t want T’Pol to wake up alone. He figured that he’d just have to depend on their bond to alert him when it was time to return.

He quickly decided that wearing his uniform would be a bad idea. It would attract too much attention. Fortunately, there was a connecting door between his room and T’Pol’s. His duffle was waiting for him at the foot of the bed. He dressed quickly in black sweat pants, a Florida State sweatshirt and running shoes. Knowing that there would be a chill in the air, he was grateful to Malcolm for packing his brown leather bomber jacket and navy blue knit watch cap.

Before leaving, he rumpled the bed and spread around enough damp towels to give the room a lived-in look They were already under intense scrutiny; they didn’t need to provide more ammunition for the gossipmongers.

Once outside, he headed toward the waterfront. A heavy mist muffled the sounds of a city preparing to meet the coming dawn. He opened his mouth and exhaled, watching as his breath turned to vapor. He did it a second time and smiled as the remembered the time he spent with Malcolm in frigid Shuttlepod One. No doubt about it, he thought.

As he walked, he focused on the sound of his shoes hitting the rain-slick pavement. For a while he counted his steps, but soon that seemed uncomfortably close to a death knell. After that, he kept his head down staring vacantly at the pavement before him. He forced himself to keep his mind perfectly blank. He gave no thought to a destination. Time was unimportant. By concentrating, he was able to lose himself in the rhythmic movement of his body and the white noise of the city around him.

When Trip next became aware of his surroundings, dawn had yielded to a fine new day. The mist had stopped, and the fog was beginning to dissipate. He needed coffee.

He looked around. Since he’d spent plenty of time in San Francisco before shipping out on Enterprise, he quickly got his bearings. He remembered that there was a small café about a block and a half from his present location, so he altered course. He was pleased to find that the rather drab little restaurant was still there. It was a typical mom and pop sort of place frequented strictly by the locals, who valued good food at a reasonable price.

As he walked in the door, the smell of bacon, coffee and maple syrup welcomed him. It was too bad that he didn’t have an appetite. Under normal circumstances he would have taken one look at the menu and ordered one of everything.

There was still a chill in the air, so he figured he wouldn’t be too conspicuous if he kept the collar of his jacket pulled up and his watch cap pulled low over his forehead. He didn’t think he would be recognized in this out-of-the-way location, but he didn’t want to tempt fate.

With breakfast in full swing, the café was buzzing, but a few empty tables still remained. One, back in a secluded corner seemed tailor-made for him. He stopped at the beverage dispenser, entered his code to provide payment and walked away with a steaming mug of strong black coffee. The table was still empty so he took a seat with his back to the room. He sat huddled over the table, head down, the mug clasped tightly in both hands. The heat radiating from the mug warmed his hands, chilled by hours of exposure to the stiff breezes off the bay. He blew on his coffee then took a sip. The hot fluid burned its way down his throat sending welcome warmth radiating throughout his body and filling him with a surprising sense of peace and tranquility.

As he raised the mug to his lips again, a shadow fell across the table. Instantly, Trip froze. He tightened his grip on the mug and continued to stare straight ahead. Maybe if he paid them no mind, whoever it was would take the hint and leave.

For several moments no one spoke, then a familiar voice said, “May I join you, Commander?”

Trip suddenly realized he was holding his breath and exhaled. He slowly turned his face upwards and met a pair of steely Vulcan eyes.

“Mornin’, Ambassador,” Trip replied. “Pull up a chair and take a load off.”

Cocking an eyebrow expressively, Soval sat in the chair next to the young Starfleet officer. He, too, placed a mug on the table. Being inquisitive by nature, Trip stole a peek at the contents of the mug. Evidently, Soval was a tea drinker just like the other Vulcan in his life.

Tucker leaned back in his chair, pushed the cap back off his forehead and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I wasn’t really looking for company this morning, but now that you’re here, it’s good to see you,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, Commander. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Trip couldn’t help but grin. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned down his collar and unzipped his jacket. “I’m glad the leaders of your government came to their senses and reinstated you as Vulcan’s Ambassador to Earth.” He didn’t turn his head but looked at Soval out of the corner of his eye. “I think Earth’s gonna need good people to help her get her bearings after this mess with Terra Prime.”

Soval stuck his hands up the opposite sleeves of his robe and sat back in his chair. “Without question, the events of the past week have been regrettable. The Vulcan government is indebted to Captain Archer and the crew of Enterprise for defusing the situation. I understand special thanks should go to you for diverting the verteron array.”

“Glad I could be of service,” Trip said humbly. He rubbed a hand nervously across his forehead then sighed deeply. “Ya know just a couple of years ago I was boastin’ to T’Pol about how humans had managed to abolish war and violence. Now we come home to this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“The Xindi attack not only scarred Earth, it left an indelible mark on the people as well,” Soval said as he studied the weary face of the young engineer. “The crew of Enterprise paid a heavy price for restoring peace to the Expanse, but at least your fate was in your hands. The people here on Earth felt powerless in the face of the alien threat.”

“The devastation was caused by aliens, so all aliens are bad,” Trip said disgustedly.

“Enterprise flew off on a voyage of exploration and within a few short years your world was ravaged by the Xindi. It is not surprising that humans are wary and frightened,” Soval cautioned. “This is fertile ground for terrorist organizations like Terra Prime.” The ambassador leaned forward slightly, seemingly intent on making a point. “You must be very careful, Commander, you and all the other members of your crew. You have only won the first battle in what may prove to be a lengthy fight against intolerance and hatred. You are all very public figures. One of you could be the target of the next attack.”

Tucker shifted nervously in his chair. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “I think Starfleet’s concerned, too. We’ve been ordered to head back out by the end of the week. I’m not sure if they’re trying to protect us or just tryin’ to get us the hell out of Dodge.” He caught Soval’s questioning look and smiled weakly. “Sometimes people seem to be kinda uncomfortable when we’re around. We’re a constant reminder of everything they’re tryin’ so hard to forget.”

For a moment they sat in silence then Soval said softly, “Commander, I grieve with you in the loss of your child.”

Trip stiffened as a wave of pain washed over him. His squeezed his eyes shut as he fought to keep control of his emotions. “Our child,” he choked out softly. His hands pressed together so tightly that his knuckles showed white. “Her name was Elizabeth, ya know.”

“Yes, I am aware of that fact.” Soval continued to keep his voiced pitched low.

“She deserved better than to be a science experiment for some filthy fascist bastards.” Trip’s lower lip trembled slightly. He grabbed his mug and drank deeply, trying to give himself time to recover his composure. When he was finished, he slammed the empty mug back down on the table.

Soval sat quietly, giving the commander all the time he needed.

Trip knew that the ambassador was subtly monitoring the room to ensure that they weren’t attracting undue attention, and he appreciated that. He used one of the breathing techniques that T’Pol had taught him to try and rein in his emotions. He didn’t want to make Soval uncomfortable, and he certainly didn’t want to draw curious glances from any of the other diners. When he felt able to continue he muttered, “Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize.” Soval stared intently at the young commander. “How is T’Pol?”

Trip sighed and sat back. He carefully locked away his memories of his daughter and focused on the subtle signals he was receiving from T’Pol through their bond. “She’s still asleep,” he said finally. “Yesterday was kind of tough on her.” When Soval didn’t respond, Tucker looked up. The Vulcan was scrutinizing him with one eyebrow raised almost up to his hairline.

“Say, how’d you find me?” Tucker asked suddenly. “Even I didn’t know where I was going. Don’t tell me you’re part bloodhound.”

“I caught sight of you an hour ago, Commander. I’ve been following you ever since.”

“Followin’ me? Why’d you want to do that? I’m not gonna go for a one-way stroll into the ocean, if that’s what’s worryin’ ya.”

“Vulcan’s do not worry, Commander. That is a human affliction.”

“Yeah,” Tucker laughed bitterly. “Don’t I know it.”

They sat quietly for a brief while, content in each other’s company. The café was still busy, but slowly the crowd began to thin out. Through the large picture windows in the front of the café, they watched the airborne antics of the seagulls and the rhythmic sway of the trees propelled by a stiff breeze off the bay.

Finally Soval stirred.

Tucker turned in his direction in anticipation that their conversation was about to resume. He was surprised that the Vulcan had hung around this long. Maybe there was something he wanted to say; however, Trip was hard-pressed to imagine what that might be.

Soval cleared his throat. “I have been unable to express my regrets to T’Pol over the dissolution of her marriage.”

Tucker’s eyebrows rose. Now that was a surprise. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond: loyal friend, frustrated secret lover, disinterested bystander or ignorant colleague. He gave ignorant colleague some serious consideration, but after the furor surrounding the funeral he figured that wouldn’t fly. He figured he’d have to go with loyal friend.

“Yep, it was too bad.” He cautioned himself to be careful what he said. “T’Pol didn’t seem to be too upset by the break-up, though.”

“You attended the marriage.”

“Yes,” Trip said warily. This chat was shaping up to be more dangerous than a spin through a Romulan mine field. “My home was destroyed in the Xindi attack. T’Pol invited me to go home with her, so I wouldn’t have to spend my shore leave alone. Koss seemed like a nice enough guy.”

“Koss’ family has a great deal of influence on Vulcan. They were not pleased that things turned out as they did. Evidently Koss decided to end the marriage when he discovered that he was unable to bond with T’Pol.” Soval cast a questioning look at Tucker. “Were you aware that Vulcans bond with their mates?”

Trip shifted restlessly. “Um…bond?” Think fast, Tucker, his inner voice prodded. “Well, um…let’s see. T’Pol might have mentioned something once awhile back. That trip to Vulcan was kinda long and we did talk a bit. You know…exchanged cultural information…,” his voice began to peter out, “…that sort of thing.”

“It is vital that a Vulcan bond with his spouse,” Soval said firmly. “Mates must be completely united in both mind and body in order to perpetuate the species. A bond is a sharing of the life force, the essence that is each of us. It is two halves becoming one: shared thoughts, shared feelings, shared lives. Do humans experience a similar joining with their mates?”

“Um…” The comfort level on this conversation was diminishing rapidly. Trip could only hope that it was the temperature of the room that had brought out the first beads of sweat on his forehead. “Actually, no. Our bodies are joined…um…you know…uh…in the act of sex, but our minds…no. We keep our thoughts pretty much to ourselves. It’s hard enough to be married to a woman without her knowin’ what you’re thinkin’ all the time.”

“Such cultural differences would make it extremely difficult for a successful union to occur between a Vulcan and a human. A bond would have to develop and, as you said, that is unheard of for your people.” Soval stopped momentarily and adjusted the left sleeve of his robe. “It is probably just as well in these troubled times that our two species are not compatible.”

Trip nodded dumbly. He needed to respond, but he had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Of course humans are not alone in their need for some small measure of privacy in their lives,” Soval continued. “Even bonded couples sometimes need to be able to block the thoughts of their mate. Fortunately there are techniques that enable us to shield our thoughts from one another.”

“No kidding.” Tucker was suddenly very interested in the direction this conversation was taking. “You can shield your thoughts? Is it hard to do?” Watch it, he chided himself. “Um…I mean for Vulcans. Is it hard for Vulcans to learn?”

“It takes practice and concentration, but it is not difficult,” Soval said evenly.

“And you’d be willin’ to tell me about this as a kinda cultural exchange?”

“Yes,” Soval assured him. “If you have any other questions about Vulcans, I would be happy to answer those as well…in keeping with the new spirit of cooperation between our species, of course.”

“Well, I guess that would be okay,” Tucker said slowly. “T’Pol keeps tellin’ me that I should spend more time tryin’ to understand other species and less time tryin’ to tell them what to do. This would show her that I really am interested in learning more about her people.” With his right elbow propped on the table, the engineer rested his chin on his hand. “So how does this shield business work?”

For one brief moment Tucker thought he saw one side of Soval’s lips curve upwards, but then he dismissed the idea. Vulcan’s don’t smile, he reminded himself. He hadn’t even been able to wangle one out of T’Pol.

The rest of the conversation with Soval was informative to say the least. Tucker wasn’t sure how much the ambassador suspected and how much he actually knew, but at this point he didn’t really care. The Vulcan was giving him some very powerful tools that could make his life and T’Pol’s life a whole lot easier. For that and for his obvious display of friendship, Trip was truly grateful.

Soval was answering a question about the importance of meditation when Trip suddenly shifted nervously in his chair. “I don’t mean to interrupt, Ambassador,” he said anxiously, “but I think I need to get back. I don’t want T’Pol wakin’ up alone, and it’s a good twenty minute walk back to the room.”

Soval took a deep breath. “I understand, Commander. Please tell T’Pol of my concern for her welfare. The coming weeks may be difficult for her.”

“Thank you, Soval. I’ll be sure to tell her,” Tucker said as he abruptly stood to leave. He stuck out his hand and to his great surprise Soval not only took his hand but shook it in a way that was very human. “And thank you for takin’ the time to talk to me. I appreciate it. Good-bye, Ambassador.” Trip barely heard Soval echo his farewell as he strode out of the building.

As soon as he was out of the café, Tucker started to run. At first it was closer to a jog, but it wasn’t long before he picked up the pace. He was thoroughly winded as he ran into Starfleet’s officers’ quarters. As he shot down the corridor to T’Pol’s room he made a mental note to start working out more. He was definitely out of shape.

He entered the code and the door opened. He threw off his cap and jacket as he walked across the room. He kicked off his shoes, pulled his sweatshirt over his head then climbed into bed next to T’Pol. She had begun to stir, but she was not yet fully awake.

“Good mornin’, sleepyhead,” he said softly. He leaned over and ran one finger softly across her cheek. Her eyes opened slowly and looked aimlessly about the room. Any hope Tucker had for an improvement in her mental state vanished when she suddenly whimpered and lunged for him. She clung to him with such desperation that he knew he had no choice but to get her back to Enterprise right away.

His sedative was still on the nightstand. He hated to knock her out again, but he couldn’t think of any other way to get her back to the ship without attracting a lot of unwanted attention. The hypospray hissed against her neck, and she immediately relaxed against him.

Sighing, Trip put in a call to the captain. Archer was just preparing to leave for a briefing on efforts to ferret out the remaining members of Terra Prime, but he quickly assured Trip that he would take care of Starfleet. There would be no more meetings, no more questions, and no more nosey admirals. T’Pol was all that really mattered, and they both knew it.

Tucker spent the next ten minutes tracking down Phlox. Together they arranged for T’Pol’s transfer to Enterprise. It was done discreetly and within an hour all three of them were back aboard ship with no one the wiser. With the ship in orbit and most of the crew still on shore leave, Trip knew that he could devote himself completely to helping T’Pol.

The next couple of weeks weren’t easy. T’Pol’s runaway emotions placed great demands on both of them. But, looking back, these were unquestionably some of the best weeks of Trip’s life. She needed him, shared with him and cared for him in ways that were previously unimaginable. Through their bond, she projected her rampant emotions onto him, and he helped her to cope. Yes, he paid a price, but it was a trifle compared to the distress she was experiencing. Besides, it filled him with joy because it was something that he and he alone could do for her.

Against his better judgment, he slowly allowed himself to think about the future they could share together. Phlox had told him that it would be possible for a human and a Vulcan to have a child. Elizabeth had died, but there could be other children for the two of them to cherish and love. When he thought about having T’Pol and the family he’d always wanted, he was almost overcome by the sheer wonder and glory of it.

But then everything began to change. Without warning, T’Pol started to shut him out again.

One minute they were as close as two people could possibly be without simply merging into a single entity, and then suddenly that special intimacy was gone. He tried to talk to her about it but it did no good. As she began to gain greater control over her emotions, T’Pol the Stoic Vulcan returned with a vengeance. Oh, she was grateful for what he had done for her, but she expressed her thanks in a cold, impersonal way that set his teeth on edge. He’d laid his soul bare for her, done things that he wouldn’t have done for another living being, and this was the thanks he got. How could he have misread the situation so badly? What could he possibly have done to drive her away?

Slowly, all of the violence, betrayal and death of the past few years began to take a toll on him. With every passing day, he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his grief bottled up. People had come to mean pain to him. Where he had once been open, optimistic and gregarious, he now craved solitude. He had his work and that was enough for him. It was safe, impersonal and made few demands on him. He could see the looks of concern in everyone’s eyes, and he hated it. He didn’t want their pity. But no matter how hard he fought against it, his friends kept trying.

Malcolm had pestered him for weeks to go to movie night. “It will do you good to get out and be with people,” he’d said over and over until Trip was tired of hearing it. Who would have thought that under that stiff British exterior lurked a damned Pollyanna. Finally, Trip agreed to go for no other reason than to shut Malcolm up. The man was relentless.

The movie, a period black and white classic entitled “A Night to Remember,” had been selected by Ensign Mayweather. A child of space, he was endlessly fascinated by all aspects of life on Earth, and besides who could resist the saga of a doomed ship sailing off to meet her fate. Reed was a bit upset when he discovered that the film dealt with the sinking of the RMS Titanic. Sinking ships and cold murky waters were not favorite subjects for the lieutenant, but Malcolm made it clear that he would not be dissuaded.

So, the two of them went to the movie and, in keeping with the theme of the picture, it turned into a disaster.

The evening before movie night, Trip was ordered to help T’Pol increase the range on a new communication buoy. As he checked out the wiring, Trip surreptitiously watched her. He still ached to be with her. Maybe he’d pressed too hard, driving her away. If he’d just taken things slower…

“Please hand me the microcaliper, Commander,” T’Pol cut into his reverie.

He caught her eye as he placed the caliper into her outstretched hand. She immediately pressed her lips together and looked away. “Thank you,” she said coolly.

Once again the silence rose oppressively like an invisible wall between them. He wanted to batter it down and sweep her away to live with him forever, but he knew that as soon as this wall crumbled another one would take its place. He also knew that he had to keep trying.

“T’Pol,” Trip said hesitantly.

The Vulcan raised her lovely face to look at him.

He swallowed hard. “I thought I’d take in the movie tomorrow night.” His eyes remained locked on her face, trying to judge her reaction to his invitation. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go with me. Not as a date,” he clarified quickly, “just as friends. We are still friends…aren’t we?” He tried without much success to remove the plaintive tone from his voice.

A look of supreme sadness passed over her face, but in an instant it was gone. “I’m afraid that will not be possible,” she said quietly.

“There has to be more to life than work, T’Pol,” he said pleadingly, “at least that’s what everybody keeps tellin’ me. Come with me. It’ll be fun. We could both use a little time to relax.”

“I’m sorry, Commander, but no.”

“Okay,” Trip dipped his head in defeat. “Just thought I’d ask. I miss you, ya know.”

T’Pol placed the caliper on the work surface next to the buoy. “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should continue this some other time,” she said, her voice tight. Instead of waiting for him to respond, she turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

As Trip watched her leave, he was filled with a sense of utter hopelessness. Work! a little voice shouted in his head. You need to work. With a sigh, he picked up the caliper. It was well past dinner time, but he wasn’t really hungry. He knew that he’d continue to work until the project was completed regardless of how long it took. If the modifications were finished, at least he wouldn’t have to work side by side with T’Pol for awhile.

The next evening Malcolm showed up in engineering to make sure that Trip didn’t try to back out. Tucker pulled out every excuse: he had too much work to do, he wasn’t really in the mood, he needed a shower and didn’t want to offend anyone. But Reed had an answer for everything. Finally, with a total disregard for the privilege of rank, Malcolm grabbed Trip’s arm and pulled and prodded until they both ended up in the mess hall.

Trip couldn’t help but smile at the greetings he received as he walked through the door. He could see the Captain in a chair at the front of the room deep in conversation with Doctor Phlox. Malcolm waved to Hoshi and pulled Trip toward the back of the room where she and Travis had saved them a couple of chairs. Trip took the chair on the end but not before grabbing another chair and setting it next to his. He still held out hope that T’Pol would change her mind and join him.

He’d almost given up when she walked into the room. Her eyes met his, and the rest of the room fell away. Malcolm continued on with the story he was relating, but Trip no longer heard a word he said. He took hold of the back of the chair next to his and started to rise, but just then she turned away. As he watched in stunned silence, she walked across the room and sat down next to the captain. Archer turned and leaned in close to her. Tucker was too far away to hear what was said, but he could read body language. The captain had been waiting for her. This couldn’t be happening.

“Trip,” Malcolm whispered anxiously as he tugged on the commander’s arm. “Trip, the movie’s starting. You need to sit down.”

Tucker turned in Reed’s direction, but nothing the lieutenant said seemed to make any sense. Malcolm tugged on his sleeve again, and Trip finally sank back down in his chair.

“Trip, are you all right?”

Tucker watched as patches of light and dark played over the backs of the people seated in front of him. T’Pol sat unmoving in the chair next to Archer. How could she do this to me? the little voice in his head shouted. I don’t deserve to be treated with such contempt. Trip squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. Nothing made sense anymore. When his eyes opened they went to her, not to the screen. He tried to reach her through their bond, but her cold, impersonal barrier was firmly in place. This was no good, he thought as he shook his head. He had to get out before he said or did something he would regret. He couldn’t sit and watch her with another man, especially one he’d always considered to be a friend.

“Commander,” Malcolm whispered frantically as Trip rose and strode purposefully out of the mess hall.

Tucker grabbed the turbolift and never slowed down until he reached the sanctuary of engineering. He needed to work. There was no question of sleep tonight.

The next morning he reached out to T’Pol once again through their bond. When he felt her start to block his thoughts, he raised his own shields. Since he and Soval had had their talk in that little San Francisco café, Trip had been diligently practicing the shielding techniques that the Vulcan had taught him, and he’d become quite proficient. At first, he’d practiced so that he could protect T’Pol from some of his stronger emotions. Later, he tried to block his thoughts so that she wouldn’t know how deeply she’d hurt him. It had been more demanding than Soval had led him to believe, but he was not the type of man who ran from hard work. Finally, with his shields in place, he began to feel as though he once again had a little control over his own life.

Unfortunately, as the days and weeks passed he began to realize that this so-called control was only an illusion. He had no appetite. He wasn’t sleeping. He’d work for days at a time without rest, and when he finally did fall asleep from sheer exhaustion he was soon awakened by horrible dreams. Night after night he was forced to watch as people he cared for died. Each of them begged him for help that he was powerless to give, and it was destroying him.

He knew that his insomnia was starting to affect his work. Fatigue was clouding his mind and warping his judgment, but he couldn’t go to Phlox. He knew the doctor was just waiting for an excuse to get his hands on him. He’d tried on numerous occasions to entice the commander into sickbay, always stopping just short of ordering him submit to treatment. As long as Trip could function, he knew he could keep Phlox at arms length. He wasn’t sick, he told himself. He was just tired. If he could get rid of some of the stress, he’d be okay.

With Phlox out of the picture there was only one other option open to him. He had to try to see T’Pol. Neuropressure had saved him in the Expanse. Maybe it could do so again.

It took him three days to get up the courage to go to her quarters. When he finally did, the results were disastrous. She interpreted his plea for help as a request for sex. After all they’d been through together, with all she knew about him as a man and an officer in Starfleet, how could she make that assumption? Did she really think so little of him?

When he left her, he returned to his quarters. Throughout the night he lay in the dark and tried to sort things out. As the time approached for him to start his shift, he knew one thing for sure. This was the last time she was going to break his heart. He would work with her when necessary, but he would never allow her to get close to him emotionally again. He wasn’t going to let her turn him inside out and make his life a living hell. He deserved better than that. He was a man, not some weak besotted fool. Whatever they had between them was over. He had to accept that. It was time to move on.

Trip sat up and turned so that his feet hit the floor. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes then levered himself up off of the bed. He needed a shower. Five minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He put on a clean uniform and, returning to the bathroom, ran a comb through his wet hair.

He had to go to work.

He stopped for a moment and stared at the sorry-looking man in the mirror. When did “want to” turn into “have to”? he asked himself. When did work become an obligation instead of a pleasure? During his first few years on Enterprise, every day offered something new and exciting. Now he worked to forget. He pushed himself relentlessly because it was the only way he could hold back all of the misery, failure and death that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no longer any joy or any sense of accomplishment with a job well done. There was only fear.

He reached up and rubbed a shaky hand across the stubble on his face. He really should shave. If he went to work sloppy he knew that it would set a bad example for the rest of the crew, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care. He sighed and dropped his hand back down to his side. At least his body and his uniform were clean; he’d managed to do that. He could shave later when he wasn’t so tired. If he could just get through the day, maybe tonight would be better. Maybe he could finally get some sleep. Wonderful dreamless sleep. With that hope to buoy him, he turned away from the haggard face in the mirror to confront another day.

* * * * * *

Trip reached up and rubbed his hand across his chin. Weeks had passed and he somehow couldn’t muster the energy to always stay clean shaven. Tomorrow, he promised himself. I’ll do it tomorrow.

He had intended to return to engineering after he left the mess hall, but he was so tired that he knew there was no point. If he made a mistake that caused damage to Enterprise or injured one of the crew, how could he live with himself? No, he had to try to get a few hours of sleep.

He dragged himself through the door to his quarters. The padd with next month’s maintenance schedule was still in his left hand. No more work, he promised himself. As soon as he walked over and tossed the padd on his desk, he noticed that the message light on his monitor was blinking. A part of him wanted to ignore the damned light, but he was the chief engineer. It could be something important that required his immediate attention.

The first message was from Captain Hernandez, who said that she was just checking in to see how he was doing. As she spoke about Columbia and their latest mission, one message came through loud and clear. She would welcome him back as chief engineer in a heart beat. As he closed the message, he grew pensive. It was worth consideration. He had run away from T’Pol and Enterprise once before. Maybe this time he could run toward a whole new future and put his problems behind him forever.

He pulled up the second message. It came from a large interplanetary corporation that had been after him for the past month to accept a position as general manager in charge of research and development. In the next few years, the company was preparing to upgrade their fleet of cargo vessels so that they would be bigger and faster than anything currently available. The message was from the company’s CEO, and he was selling hard. In appreciation of Trip’s experience and his stature in his profession, they were willing to offer him an obscene amount of money and total control. It was very tempting. Maybe there really was more to life than Starfleet.

No, he cautioned himself. He couldn’t think about it now. You don’t make life changing decisions when you’re dead on your feet. He should just turn off his monitor and try to get some sleep.

His finger hovered over the power button. He wanted to press it, to make the screen go dark, but something in him seemed determined to prevent it. So what if the final message was from his parents. He’d deleted all of their other messages without reading them. He could do it again. He hesitated then drew his hand back. But wasn’t that the act of a coward. He couldn’t just keep deleting them from his life without giving them a chance to make amends. Maybe this message was an apology. Maybe they wanted to tell him that their membership in Terra Prime had been nothing more than a terrible mistake. He balled his hands into fists. He craved their love and support like a starving man craves sustenance. Maybe just this once it would be okay. He opened his right hand then slowly stretched his index finger forward. Taking a deep breath, he brought up the message from home.

The weathered face of Charles Tucker, Jr. filled the screen. In that instant Trip smiled. He suddenly felt a rush of warmth and contentment, the kind of comfort that children can only derive from their parents. His dad was his hero. He’d spent his whole life wanting to be just like him, trying to live up to the high standards his father had set. Trip fought to keep the tears back; he missed his dad so much.

His dad looked tanned and fit. Dressed casually in a navy striped short-sleeved shirt, he had a few more wrinkles than Trip remembered, but that was to be expected. A lot had happened in the past few years.

“Hi there, son,” his father said in the same hard-edged voice that Trip remembered so fondly. “I guess I can’t blame you for not takin’ our calls, but I’ve got some things that need to be said and by golly I’m gonna get it done.”

Trip shifted restlessly in his chair. He wanted this…no…he needed this to be a positive message. Please couldn’t just one thing in his life go right? His brow wrinkled and he pressed his lips together in a thin line as his father plunged ahead.

“From the time you were just a little tadpole, we’ve always been honest with one another. You know that I love ya, and I know you’ve got feelings for your Mom and me. We don’t want that to change, but we also aren’t apologizin’ for what we’ve done. Joinin’ Terra Prime was the right thing to do. We’ve got to protect what’s ours. Paxton and his people understood that.

“You weren’t here when those Xindi bastards came and destroyed our home. If your Mama and I hadn’t been attending a conference in Seattle, we’d be dead, too. You’re out there flyin’ around from planet to planet – and more power to ya – but you’ve got to understand that this is the only world we’ve got. If we don’t stand firm and protect Earth nobody else will. It’s us against them.”

Trip sat numbly staring at the screen. He knew he should delete the message, but there was still one small flicker of hope that his dad would say something that would allow him to reconcile with his parents. Unfortunately, he knew that once his father was set on a course, it was almost impossible for him to deviate from it.

His father leaned forward and stared intently at Trip. “It was aliens that took your sister from us, aliens that destroyed our home and the town you grew up in. They terrorized our people and robbed us of any chance to ever feel safe or secure again. And now we hear that you’re consortin’ with some damn Vulcan!”

Trip froze, his eyes riveted on his father’s face.

“Didn’t your sister’s death mean anything to you? She was burnt to a crisp and her ashes blown away with the rest of the debris. They didn’t even leave us a handful of dust to bury. Aliens did that. That Vulcan of yours and all her kind are just as responsible for Lizzie’s death as those bastard Xindi…”

Trip slammed his hand down on the delete button. Shaking with fury, he jumped up, knocking his chair over. He started to pace, but stopped and swung around to stare accusingly at the monitor. How could a man as decent as his father spew such malicious filth? How could he ever respect his parents again? How could he continue to love them? Yes, his parents had lost a child, but so had he. Terra Prime had killed his baby! They killed his Elizabeth and the sons of bitches were proud of it! A howl of intense pain burst from his lips.

Enraged, he stalked across the room, grabbed a picture of his family and threw it at the monitor with every ounce of strength he possessed. The monitor shattered on impact sending sparks flying in all directions. He threw his hands up to his face and dug his fingers into his flesh as if he was trying to claw all of the evil words from his memory. He had to get away. He had to find someplace without people, someplace where he could hide from the cold, dead eyes of lost souls. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he was across the room and out the door. Maybe if he ran far enough and fast enough he could put some distance between himself and the hell that his life had become.

Part III

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