Why Now? - Ch 3

Why now?

by Evalyn A

Disclaimer: Not making a dime off of this, they belong to Paramount, they don’t belong to me, although finally they’re starting to act as if they did.
Rating: T/T, Tucker POV. PG. May be archived, just let me know.
Spoilers:”E2” through “Zero Hour.”

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Part 3

She’s done it to me again, I fume as I storm toward engineering. Just when I thought we were starting to connect, she brushes me off. For God’s sake, we were married! And had a kid! That’s got to mean something to her. Why can’t she just talk about it instead of pretending there’s nothing there … I slow down as I reach the next corner and pull to a halt opposite a team working on a junction box. Liang stops her work to look at me expectantly and I wave her off distractedly.

I sigh to myself. You’re an ass, Tucker, I tell myself and I turn back towards auxiliary control. As I enter, I note she is stabbing at her PADD with an unnecessary degree of force.

“T’Pol,” I say, “I’m sorry. I was out of line.” She stares at me expressionlessly for a moment, and then her expression softens.

“I too am sorry,” she replies. “Your reaction to the situation was entirely normal. For a you,” she adds quickly, in case I misunderstand her thoughts. “I too am – disoriented – by recent events. Let us not speak of it again. Perhaps you could help me with the realignment of the secondary sensor grid? I believe the base emitters need tuning.”

I head around the back side of the panel and we pick up where we left off on the modifications that will allow us, hopefully, to traverse the subspace corridor safely. I don’t know what’s got her so edgy, but I guess I’m going to have to learn to walk on eggshells in bare feet and enjoy it. Because I’m damned if I’m going to keep running out on her the way that I’ve been doing lately. And sooner or later she’ll talk to me, if I just stop pushing so hard.

**********

The angry words leave my lips and I head out the door. Then I hear, “Commander … Trip!”

Hell, here I am running out again, after I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. And this time it was her making the first move. I turn back and the expression on her face wrenches at my heart.

She’s hurting, I can tell. What’s gone so badly wrong for her, that she’s letting me see every feeling so easily? I can’t believe it’s just the mission, for even had she not been Vulcan the events on Earth would surely have had less impact on her than on the rest of us. No, there’s something else, and it’s tearing her up.

And I realize it’s tearing me up too. So I’m going to have to be there for her this time. She needs me propping her up, not looking for chinks in her armour. So, I decide resolutely, I’ll be her friend, and we’ll see where it goes.

She tacitly accepts my offer of someone to talk to, and even responds to my little joke with a shadow of her former spirit. Who knows, maybe when all this is over, I’m going to have to start learning some Vulcan after all.

************

I feel a little flutter in my stomach. “I can’t believe you told me that. Why now?” I ask, trying hard to keep a silly smile off my face.

She does not seem to understand my question. “You said I looked old!” She sounds positively indignant. Damn she’s cute, acting like a sixteen year old.

“That’s not what I meant,” I continue. “I’ve been trying to get you to tell me your age every since we left spacedock three years ago.”

She looks decidedly uncomfortable, and replies, “Vulcans consider some information to be intimate.”

I feel like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks. “Intimate, huh?” I say stupidly. She just said it Tucker, she said we were intimate. No, hold on, fella, friends, she needs you to be her friend. Forget the intimate, think beer and football games …

And then again with the damned intercom. But this time it’s the return of our team from the weapon, and all other thoughts leave me as we rush to the docking port.

****************

It is 0300 and I am staring at the ceiling in my quarters, the knot in my throat persistent and painful.

Earth is safe. No more will die, not like Lizzie. Some part of me has registered this information and is relieved beyond measure. And yet, being human, I cannot be grateful for the large gift we have been given, I can only think of the tragedy that overlies it – he’s gone, my best friend is gone. My throat tightens even further at the thought of it. I’d known him for years, years in which we had been nearly inseparable a good portion of the time. Just about every Friday night out together, and often more, even when we had lovers we should have been spending the time with – hell, maybe that closeness was one of the reasons neither one of us had never managed a good long-term relationship of the home and hearth kind.

And yet we’d had so little time together, Jon and I, the last few months. I don’t know if we’d grown apart or if it had simply been the stress of the mission. Of course, our relationship had been strained since before that, really … since the cogenitor’s death, in all likelihood. But it had seemed better for a while after that, so I suppose the never-ending problems in the expanse, my reaction to Lizzie’s death, his responsibility for the mission, all had had their effect in driving us apart.

And yet he was still closer to me than anyone. Closer than my parents, my siblings, anyone on board Enterprise. Or is that true? I find myself wondering. How would I feel now if it had been T’Pol who had not returned from that last mission, and not Jon?

I would be sitting with Jon, in all likelihood, remembering her over a drink of bourbon; that tradition for tragedy in our lives would have survived even the Expanse. I couldn’t do that with T’Pol. There was no comparison. Was there?

After more minutes of fruitlessly trying to get to sleep, I roll out of bed. After hesitating in front of my locker, I open the door and pull out a container. I stare at the contents for a moment, tuck it under my arm and head out.

She answers her door rapidly enough that I know she hasn’t been sleeping either. She is still fully dressed. The rims of her eyes are blue. She indicates that I may enter.

I feel awkward, and yet, it feels right. I pull the bottle of bourbon out from under my arm and show it to her.

She stares at it for a moment, and then turns to her cupboard and pulls out two small Vulcan teacups. I pour the bourbon into them, and we sit ourselves cross-legged on the floor on either side of her low table.

“To Jonathan Archer,” I say, “the best Captain and friend I ever had, and the man who gave up his life to save all our worlds.” She nods, and we both drink, me downing the tiny cupful in one gulp and T’Pol taking a small sip with a dubious but determined look on her face.

I top up my cup and take another sip, the bourbon loosening the knot in my throat just a shade. She is watching me with poorly hidden concern.

“It’s all right, T’Pol, I’m not going to pieces, not just now anyway,” I reassure her, my voice a bit unsteady. “But I really needed a friendly face right now.”

“I am honoured that you chose me,” she replies, gently. “I too am glad of the company. I am also glad that you have given me the opportunity to grieve for him in such an appropriate way.” She holds the teacup up for study momentarily and then takes another sip. “Though the taste is not particularly pleasant, it is evocative.”

I stare at my cup and then, unable to sit still, stand up and stride to the window. I feel a tide of anger rising in me. “Why now, T’Pol? It was almost over, and then he has to go and die on us. It’s just not fair. It shouldn’t have been like that.”

She remains silent for a moment. The old T’Pol would have responded with logic to the irrationality of my grief, explaining to me the value of the sacrifice he gave, or the illogic of expecting justice from a universe governed by the second law of thermodynamics.

But she has developed a new sensitivity that surprises me in its sincerity. “I will miss him too,” she replies, simply, moving to stand behind me. She places her hand on my shoulder. I turn to face her, aware that I had been a liar earlier – I was going to pieces, I realize, as the tears stream down my cheeks. She pulls me into a tight embrace, and I cry, my tears soaking her hair. After a time, I realize that the front of my shirt is wet as well.

I pull back slightly and wipe her cheek with my fingers. “It’s not good for you to cry,” I say, a bit worried. “Is it?”

“Not normally,” she replies, not looking at me. “But it would appear these are far from normal times.”

“About that,” I say uncertainly. “You had something you wanted to talk to me about. Is now a good time?”

She steps out of my arms and turns away, wrapping her arms around herself. I can sense her pulling away from me mentally as well, and I put out my hand to her and turn her back around.

“No you don’t,” I chide her. “Not again. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but you’re not going to shut me out.”

I can see her fighting herself, and then, suddenly, she seems to surrender and allows me to pull her back into my arms. I hold her, my hand smoothing her hair where it is damp from my tears.

“If I were to tell you, I am afraid you would not wish to remain my – friend,” she murmurs into my chest after a moment.

“Is it that bad?” I ask her, feeling that lump in my throat returning.

“Perhaps,” she replies. “I do not know. If I were to tell another Vulcan the whole of my story, I would return to Vulcan a pariah, if at all.”

I pull back, my hands on her shoulders, steeling myself. “Did you kill someone? Betray someone?”

“No, not directly. But my actions most certainly have endangered this mission, which could have led to the destruction of your planet, and mine. I have been selfish, and irresponsible. Once we have returned to Earth, I do not know what I will do,” she concludes, unable to return my gaze.

I take a deep breath. “Okay, maybe we better sit down for this.” We once again take our seats at her table. “T’Pol, I can’t promise you what I’ll feel after you’ve told me this, whatever it is. It doesn’t sound good, I’ll give you that. But I refuse to believe that you’re the criminal you’re making yourself out to be. And along with all our shortcomings, we humans have to be able to summon up a healthy dose of forgiveness regularly, or we’d all have stopped speaking to each other a long time ago.”

She stares silently into her teacup once again, and then, steadying herself, she begins. She starts from surprisingly far back –from the encounter two years ago with the V’tosh ka’tur, the Pa’nar syndrome and all the consequences, including her resulting self-imposed isolation from Vulcan. Then the assault by Rajiin that had further damaged her neural pathways.

At this point I interrupt. “Hell, T’Pol, were you keeping this all to yourself? Were you talking to Phlox at least?”

“Dr. Phlox was aware of most of the ramifications of these events, as was the Captain to some extent,” she replied, still not looking at me.

“I didn’t mean that, I meant did you have someone to talk to?” I say impatiently.

“Vulcans do not talk about such things,” she explains, finally looking me in the eye. “We meditate and look for answers in the teachings of Surak.”

“Bullshit,” I grumble. She gives me a look of reprimand. “Sorry, go on, I interrupted.”

She inclines her head and continues, her eyes skittering away again. “The neural damage Rajiin caused was in fact less important, I think, than how she caused it.” She paused, seemingly searching for words.

“Go on,” I prompt her, after a moment.

She looks back at me, an expression in her eyes that I would have almost described as beseeching. “She was attempting to break down my mental barriers, to read more of my mind, much like Tolaris had. It was the fact that I was able to resist her that caused much of the damage. Once she realized that she could not breach those barriers directly, she attempted to circumvent them.” She pauses, and I note her hand is decidedly unsteady as she takes another sip of bourbon. “She did so by attempting to stimulate some of my … baser instincts, to cause me to lose control.”

I feel uncomfortable for her, for she is clearly embarrassed. “We’ve all got them, T’Pol, and if we’re human, we’ve all given in to them at times.”

“Vulcans do not,” she reminds me stiffly. “We cannot. But I did. She made me feel pleasure, intense pleasure. It is not normal for a Vulcan,” she concludes. “Perhaps if subsequent events had not proceeded as they had …”

It is getting more difficult every moment for me to maintain my role of sympathetic observer as her tale unfolds, but I control myself. “There’s more than that.”

“Indeed,” she continues. “Our next encounter shortly after was with the Seleya.”

I nod. I am beginning to see, vaguely, where this is going. “And you were exposed to the trellium.”

“I was. It was … devastating. I lost all control, I was angry, irrational, lustful, paranoid. As the effects wore off, and my control began to return, I seriously considered taking my own life,” she states, quite matter-of-factly in comparison to her previous tone.

I stare at her, my stomach plummeting. “My god, T’Pol, tell me you tried to get help from someone then!”

“I had not yet reached the depths of my folly,” she explains, dryly. “Allow me to continue.” I nod dumbly, chastised and shaken.

“As the effects of the trellium wore off, over a period of days, I found myself dreaming. Vulcans do not normally dream,” she explains to me, “for the function of dreaming in humans is filled by our meditative state as long as we perform it regularly. My dreams were strange, disturbing, often frightening. And yet they enticed me, drew me in. You were in many of them,” and now she is looking at me again beseechingly, seemingly looking for my forgiveness now, “and you played many roles … friend, adversary, co-worker … lover,” she concludes.

I nod once more, finding myself thrilled by this revelation but desperate not to interrupt her again. She looks at me, now, despite her obvious pain, faintly amused. “You may interrupt if you need to,” she says gently, “for you are clearly now part of the story.”

Hesitantly, I ask, “Why me?”

She interlocks her fingers on the tabletop, staring at them for a moment. “How can I say. But I have felt a connection with you from our first encounters. I cannot tell you exactly what series of events triggered those feelings, but Rajiin had released them, and the trellium had made them nearly uncontrollable. As the trellium wore off further, the dreams began to subside and I was left with little but feelings of frustration and desperation. What little self-respect I had at that point, I believe I sacrificed with my next actions.”

I can only stare at her, simultaneously ecstatic, appalled, and mesmerized by her story.

“One night, I went to the cargo bay where the captain had ordered the trellium locked away for my safety. And I removed some from the container and returned with it to my quarters.”

I am shocked out of my silence. “You could have killed yourself with that!” I say indignantly.

“Of course,” she replies. “At that point, I believe that I considered that to be an acceptable outcome.”

I rub my hand over my face, and finish the last of my second teacup of bourbon. Despite my desperate wish at this point to pour myself another, it seems quite inappropriate given the current turn of the conversation, so I sit on my hand while she continues.

“I had obtained a vapour-tight container within which the small amount of trellium I had removed could be maintained safely. The first time, I simply removed a microscopic portion and inhaled it. The initial feelings were once again devastating, I nearly broke the monitor in my anger,” she indicates her desk vaguely with one hand. “But the dose had been minute, and the effects wore off much more quickly this time. And when I retired, I dreamed again.” She swallows uncertainly. “There was no going back. I developed a formulation for injection that removed most of the initial effects and allowed the residual to last somewhat longer.”

I sit there silently, reliving our last weeks in the expanse, evaluating this new knowledge. It explained a great deal, the yo-yo nature of her responses to me, her advances and her retreats. Finally, I ask, “But you’ve stopped?”

“After we took the heavy damage in the Xindi attack and the captain had disappeared. You may recall the cargo bay containing the trellium was heavily damaged. I had used up all of the trellium in my quarters, and I instructed the repair teams to make access to that cargo bay a priority. That was the first warning sign to me that my … addiction … to the trellium was becoming dangerous to the mission and not just to me. And yet I continued. Eventually, I went to the cargo bay myself to obtain some more. I nearly killed myself in the process.” I stare at her, horrified. I know now where this is going. “Afterward, I was appalled at my actions.”

I interrupt her. “When I stopped you at the shuttlepod, you weren’t going to try to reason with the Xindi, you were trying to kill yourself.”

She looks at me apologetically. “I was most displeased with you for attempting to stop me,” she says, another faint sign of humour in her expression.

“Damn T’Pol, you are an idiot!” I fume. “Tell me you went to Phlox then.”

She nods. “I did. I explained the latter part of my actions to him. I do not know how much of my reasons, or at least my excuses, for my behaviour he has inferred. But he has been very helpful. I have had no trellium since that time. The need to use it appears to have disappeared.”

I look at her, confused. “But you’re not back to normal,” I say. “You’re still just as …” I search for a tactful word, “… unpredictable as ever.”

A rueful expression flits over her face briefly. “I said that the need to use it had disappeared. That is because its effects have now become permanent as a result of the damage caused to my neural pathways from prolonged use. I am now as expressively emotional as any human, and judging from my conversation with my elder self, I am unlikely to recover significantly.”

“And how about that need to kill yourself, has that gone away too?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer, my thoughts still churning over what she has told me.

“It appears so,” she replies. “I have achieved a certain degree of equanimity regarding my condition over the last few days. I cannot guarantee, however, that it will remain.”

I look at her, some of the anxiety alleviating, and being replaced by a profound irritation. “Goddamned stupid,” I comment.

“I can only agree with you,” she replies, attempting to appear in control despite the momentary flash of something that passes over her face.

“Soul-destroyingly, idiotically, catastrophically stupid!” I repeat angrily, once again pushing myself away from the table and striding over to the window, this time slapping it in my frustration. I turn back to face her. “You should have come to someone – Phlox, me, the Captain, Chef, for God’s sake,” I explode. “Goddamn, I am so sick of Vulcan superiority, thinking you can handle everything and don’t need our help. It should never have gotten that far,” I conclude, my anger evaporating as quickly as it had come. “You could have died, T’Pol. You could have died.”

“You are not angry that I have endangered the mission?” she enquires, clearly somewhat thrown by the tenor of my diatribe.

“Of course I’m angry,” I state, rolling my eyes, “you were a damned idiot, didn’t I just say that? You could have gotten us all killed because you were too proud to ask for help. And I’m betting,” I add shrewdly, “that Surak never said you had to do it all on your own, either.”

She looks taken aback by my argument, and after a brief moment replies, “No, probably he does not. Just like many of your great philosophical and religious works, Surak’s teachings are open to many interpretations. I suppose we tend to emphasize those that suit us and ignore those that do not, just as humans do. I have always been independent, and unwilling to admit my errors.”

“But you’re admitting them now,” I point out.

“My time spent on Enterprise,” she pauses, and appears somewhat surprised as she continues, “has perhaps, in the end, added somewhat to my level of maturity, albeit via a rather unpleasant path. I am still quite young,” she notes apologetically. “You mentioned forgiveness, earlier,” she continues, somewhat uncertainly.

I step over to the table and sit down again. I take both of her hands in mine, and examine them while I formulate my reply. Finally I look up at her. “It’s not my forgiveness you need, T’Pol. It’s your own.”

She looks pained for a moment. “Then you do not forgive me.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “There we go again, with those goddamn cultural barriers. Let me make myself clear, T’Pol. I forgive you. I forgive you for being young, and foolish, and weak, and stubborn as a mule. I forgive your poor judgement, both in command choices and apparently in who you find attractive. And I admire you for being one of the strongest people I have ever met, for coming through what you did in one piece, and for returning to Earth in command of the finest vessel in Starfleet, having assisted in saving our planet, and more than likely all of the species in this sector, from obliteration, despite having experienced enough trauma to have knocked any one of the finest in Starfleet out of their gourd.” I take a long breath, and I add, “And I love you, because, or in spite of, all of it.” I sit back and fold my arms over my chest. “So sue me.”

The expression on her face is comical. “Why would I attempt to extort payment from you when you have just expressed feelings for me, which although I admit I return, I surely do not deserve?” she concludes indignantly.

I grin back at her. “Well, that’s the most peculiar expression of undying affection I’ve ever heard, but I guess I’ll take it.” Reluctantly, for I have every desire to take this conversation to its logical conclusion, I stand up. I will still need to be the logical, reliable one in this relationship for the next while, I suspect. “Listen, T’Pol my darlin’, I would love to stay. But we’ll be at Earth in a few hours, and this conversation seems to have achieved the desired effect in taking our minds off of the captain for a while. So I think we’d both better focus on looking rested and presentable for the grand homecoming, and pick this up again once all the hoopla is over.”

She stands also. “You are both wise and sensible,” she agrees, and then continues ruefully, “Although I might wish that you did not pick tonight to behave in such an uncharacteristic manner.”

I grin again, and lean forward to give her a soft kiss on those delectable lips. “We’ll have lots of time, let’s just take it slow, okay?”

She nods, and holds up two fingers to me in a gesture that clearly calls for reciprocation. I comply, touching her fingers with mine. “What does that mean?” I ask, gently, feeling as though I have just been given a very precious gift.

“It means,” she replies, slowly, uncertainly, “that I wish to remember this moment when we are back on Earth and you are once again surrounded by your friends and family. For I very much fear that you will see things differently then.”

Appalled, I turn her chin up to me with one finger. “Don’t ever think that, my darling,” I reply, my voice rough. “You are it for me. Do you trust me?” I wait for her reply, holding her gaze.

Finally, after searching my eyes for a long moment, she relaxes. “I trust you,” she murmurs softly. “Good night, thy’l’a.”

“G’night,” I reply reluctantly, and tear myself away. I take one last look at her as the door closes behind me, trying to burn each detail into my brain as she stands there watching me. Then I turn to stride down the corridor towards the lift, my mood radically altered from that of an hour ago when I had entered her quarters. I had lost a dear friend, but T’Pol had given me as much and more in replacement tonight. I think Jon would have approved.

The End.

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

*SHIVER* *SNIFFLE* That was beautiful!

very good, not sure i like trip getting really angry but well written:-)

Oh Wow, this was so wonderful and perfect. I just loved it to pieces! Wish it could have lasted another twenty chapters - sigh. Thank you so much, Ali D :~)
Now I can have happy dreams

I loved it... though I was a little surprised to hear Trip call her stupid. But it was nice! Hope to see a sequal though! There's so much you could do with this!!!!

oh yes.... this is the conversation they need to have... well done... very very very well told.

Yes, I agree that this is the conversation they should have had, and hopefully will have, on the show -- although the writers won't handle it half as well as you! I loved how you tied up the loose ends -- Pan'aar syndrome, Trellium-D addiction, Rajin, etc. -- and made it believable. As for Trip's anger, I see it as being quite in character for him -- it's a way of expressing strong emotion (like fear!). And I noticed that T'Pol didn't back away from it -- I think she understands that when he is shouting at her and calling her stupid, it's a surface emotion (not to mention that she may have deserved it!) and there is much more behind it.

I would have liked it if you had spent a bit more time on the "Commander . . . Trip!" scene. We saw it on the show, but it's such an important moment for them, and I would have enjoyed "seeing" it again through your eyes. Perhaps a vignette?? From T'Pol's POV??

This is a scene I would love to see in Enterprise between the two of them. You handled it wonderfully. Trip had every reason to be angry and T'pol realised that, but his concern and love for her though shone through that anger. Wonderful.

This was wonderful...

I think Trip was completely in character...I'm sure we all get overcooked when somebody we love does something foolish and dangerous to themselves as well as others. Oh, and I loved the way T'Pol told him that she loved him:

"...which although I admit I return, I surely do not deserve?”

Don'tcha just love Polly to bits!?!?!

Very nice indeed! Like the others, I wish we could have seen a scene like this one on the show. My hope is that when the time comes, the writers will give this conversation the weight it deserves, just as you've done here. Thank you!

The first two sections of your story were kind of strained from my point of view, but the last section was better. I guess I am having trouble with the first person viewpoint. It would have worked better if Trip and T'Pol were writing in a journal, but it seemed awkward when they were telling it as the action was happening.

The first section was after The Forgotten, the episode where Trip got some closure with Lizzy's death, so I was surprised you did not mention Lizzy in that section. But having Trip think about the death's of several important people in his life in the third section, was creative and emotionally compelling. I didn't, however, pick up from the episodes that Jon would have been more important than Lizzy or his parents.

I hope my comments are helpful rather than hurtful to you. When I get comments from people who have trouble with my writing, they are more useful to me than the praise. The praise helps me keep going and the criticism helps me get better. All readers do not see a piece of writing from the same perspective - thank goodness! Best of luck with your writing. I think it is important to say that I will be back to read more of your writing, as those who left criticisms for me, never did leave further comments, so I think they gave up on me as a writer. I do not intend to follow in their footsteps.