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Command and ControlAuthor - Evalyn A. | C | Genre - Angst | Genre - Episode Addition | Main Story | Rating - G
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating Command and Control By Evalyn A Rating: G ******************************************************************************** “You are the Captain now,” she says, her voice rough and her hands shaking slightly, as she turns away to leave the ready room. “I will be in sickbay.” I stifle an overwhelming desire to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything I feel. But that type of behaviour would only drive her deeper into whatever hell she was in now. I realize now that when she left for the planet, she was planning to commit suicide in the most dignified way she could. So instead I focus on my anger. “Hold everything, T’Pol; I’m not lettin’ you off the hook that easily. I’ve got way too much to do on this ship to be messin’ around with all the command functions as well. Go see Phlox, have him give you a shot, acupuncture, neuropressure, whatever, I don’t care, but sort yourself out and get back to duty.” I know, based on what she’s told me, it could be a while before she’s fit to return to duty, but if she’s going to be sitting around feeling guilty, I want it to be because she’s not on duty when she’s needed, and not because she’s screwed up so far she’s been relieved of it. “I may be in command now, but you’re still science officer, and the only one on the ship besides me with real executive experience. I need you on the bridge. Is that clear?” She turns and glares at me, a flicker of anger evident. “I am not fit. I have explained that clearly to you. Has your hearing been damaged as well?” she queries sarcastically, gesturing to indicate the many burns and abrasions that I haven’t had time to attend to. Already an improvement, I note, nothing like a good session of Trip-baiting to liven her up. She starts to turn away again, and I grab her shoulder. Second time today she looks at me like she wants to kill me. Whoa, two for two, I’m on a roll. “T’Pol, you’re not the first person to get messed up by the pressures of war and for sure you won’t be the last. I know you, and I know you’re stronger than this. Stop feelin’ sorry for yourself. You’re going to have to deal with this sometime, and it might as well be now. So get whatever help you need from the doc and get back here when he says you’re ready. You may be relieved of your command responsibilities for now, but you’re still part of the team,” I say, fixing her with a steely eye. She glares at me, considering further insubordination. I stare her down, and finally something in her seems to shift. She changes her stance, her shoulders straighten ever so slightly and she braces her feet further apart. “Aye sir,” she replies neutrally, and then indicates the exit with a small gesture of her head. I nod, and she departs looking a bit more like herself, with her hands clasped behind her back. The door closes behind her, and I sag back against the bulkhead, pinching the bridge of my nose. Then I slam the comm button viciously. “Tucker to Phlox.” “Phlox here,” I hear the reply after a moment. I can hear muted sounds of suffering in the background. “How is it, Doc?” I ask, dreading the answer. “The numbers have not changed since my last report,” he replies briefly. I take a steadying breath, thankful for at least that small piece of good news. “Sorry to bother you, but T’Pol is on her way, and she’s not in good shape,” I say, trying to keep it businesslike, not knowing who can hear on the other end. “It can wait till you’ve dealt with the seriously injured, but in the meantime she’s going to need constant supervision, understood?” There is a short pause while Phlox digests what I have said, and fills in the blanks. “Understood, Commander.” “Hang in there, Phlox,” I offer softly, and close the channel. A wave of weary anger passes over me – anger at the Xindi, for being the patsies, and at the mysterious race of sphere-builders, for starting all this; anger at Jon for leaving us here, leaving me here, with this situation, for having failed at his mission and maybe leaving Earth to be obliterated; anger at the Vulcans for abandoning us, and at the Andorians for betraying us; anger at T’Pol for the stupid risks she’s taken. And anger at myself for caring so much when all she can be to me now is my science officer, and maybe still my friend, but nothing more. “Well Tucker,” I murmur to myself, pushing back off the wall, “I guess this is what you’re stuck with. Make the most of it.” Has it all been for nothing? Will there be anyone left to remember, at least, that we tried? Or will history once again be written by the winners, of the glorious Xindi-Reptilian victory over the vicious planet-killers, with the losers just another set of faceless monsters? It was still unexplained why the reptilian ships had broken off their attack on Enterprise when confronted by the other Xindi ships, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t come back to finish off the job. In the meantime we were dead in the water, a third of the crew dead, one warp nacelle gone, Engineering covered in a film of toxic coolant, nothing left to fight with, and only a slim hope that somehow, the apparent schism within the Xindi ranks might play out in our favour. I enter the bridge and stop by the centre chair, staring at it vacantly. It was mine now, like it or not. “Commander?” Malcolm asks worriedly, seeing the expression on my face, clearly wondering why T’Pol had called me to the bridge and then departed. “I’m in command now, Lieutenant,” I reply. “You just drew the job of exec. I’ve gotta figure out how to get this bucket of bolts moving again, so if the Xindi come back and things go downhill fast, well, I trust you. Improvise,” I conclude with a small smile. He smiles back at me, grimly. “Aye sir. Good luck,” he concludes, stifling his questions. As I step into the lift and drag my arm across my forehead, I feel the coolant and sweat on my forehead smear into the various contusions and burns, stinging quite unbearably. I realize a visit to sickbay to get myself attended to would improve my focus, and a visit to the wounded while I was there would be a morale booster for the injured – now part of my job too. As I step in the sickbay door, I nearly trip over a wounded crewman lying against the wall. So many injured, and so few to attend to them. Phlox looks like he needs to be three places at once. Ensign Akita sees me, quickly grabs a medikit, and starts swabbing at my forehead. “Thanks,” I reply, my stomach lurching at the sight of the injured around me. And then I see T’Pol. She is holding a cloth to the head of one of the injured, Crewman Kruus, who is lying beside someone so burned they are unidentifiable, covered in healing leeches. She is murmuring something to Kruus, awkwardly touching his arm, and he replies uncertainly, unable to reconcile her behaviour with that of his (currently former, although he likely does not know it) first officer. The brief stinging as Akita applies the medication to my burns is worse than the stinging that sent me down here, and I curse unthinkingly, but it subsides quickly. “Thanks,” I say apologetically to Akita, “That’s better.” I slowly pass along the row of injured, making sure to say each one’s name even if they seem too out of it to hear. When I reach T’Pol, she looks at me somewhat defiantly. “Good goin’, T’Pol,” I murmur to her, and she nods at me, not speaking. But she looks steadier, better than the woman who fell apart in front of me just a short time ago. It occurs to me that seeing other people’s suffering may have just put her own in some perspective. Unfortunately, it hasn’t done much for mine. I leave Sickbay and head for Engineering. This has been the day from hell. I can’t even begin to think about the Captain, almost certainly dead, who, through all that’s happened, remained my oldest, dearest friend. And T’Pol, who has come to mean as much to me as Jon, if I’m honest with myself, maybe more – I struggle to take a breath as I enter the lift. Okay, think about something else Tucker. Even though one nacelle is probably damaged beyond repair, I’ve still seen no damage to the ship that’s so bad we can’t get moving again, with a bit of luck and some time. And every moment longer that we sit here, defenceless but yet still alive, leads me to believe that maybe, just maybe, the Captain somehow bought us that time. The trouble is, of course, I can always fix the bits and pieces that are broken – I know them like the back of my hand, I know every relay, every circuit, every plasma conduit. But fixing the real damage to Enterprise – not to the nuts and bolts, but to her soul, the people that make her the ship she is, the living and the dead, the people I’ve worked with everyday, that I’ve loved – I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m not sure anyone would. So I’ll do what I’ve always done, work on the problems I can fix and drown the ones I can’t in a good shot of bourbon. Only this time, I’ll be doing it alone. Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS! Half a dozen of you have made commentsI bow to you, O Queen of Angst! Very, very dark and delicious. Great POV, right in character! I'll be honest, I almost didn't read this when I saw the timeframe. It seemed like so long ago I wondered what interest it could hold for me. Wow! I'm so glad I didn't listen to that crazy inner voice! This was a fabulous piece of insight. Very in-character, very descriptive, very angsty! Another job well done! Beautiful. I'm such a sucker for angst. Wonderful insight into Trip's mental anguish and the burdens he was carrying. I really liked the look into Trip's thoughts here he was in command and in a desperate situation.Great look into scenes we didn't get to see in Damage.T'Pol in withdrawal from the Trellium addiction she seems to be like I saw her in the episode.Thanks for sharing your story.I Liked your story I hope you'll do a sequeal to this. I like stories based on the earlier episodes. In some ways the characters were stronger and more fully realized before the Trip/T'Pol romance took off (heresy, I know!), and this "character study" is excellent. Oh, this is really good! I love the detailed background. Your writing flows really well, none of those mental "hitches" when writers choose a word that's out of place. I could see Trip's face as he dealt with T'pol's self-doubt. Please continue! |