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Miscommunication - Part 7

Author - Ragua
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Miscommunication

by Ragua

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. I’m just borrowing.

A/N: All Vulcan terminology courtesy of the Vulcan Language Institute
http://home.teleport.com/~vli/vlif.htm

It’s done! (And there was much rejoicing. Yay.)

Thanks to gizzi1213 for being my beta.

Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. Hope you like the ending.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13

Jonathan Archer ground his teeth in frustration. By all rights, Enterprise should be warping the hell out of this system. Instead, they were waiting for two of the ship’s senior officers who had taken it into their heads to get creative during an away mission without informing their captain.

Despite his irritation, Archer couldn’t blame them for their actions. He doubted that he could have left any crew member behind, let alone Trip. Still, T’Pol should have given him some indication as to just what was going on down there!

The captain began to stalk the bridge, earning a raised eyebrow from Captain Kovek, who was present as a courtesy. Archer grimaced at the silent critique of his emotional response to the tension. Hoshi cast him a sympathetic look.

Well, the captain decided, we may all die because of this, but I’ll be damned if I go to my grave wondering what the hell this soap opera was all about.

Archer sidled up to the Communications Officer and tested his theory.

“How bad is he?” he asked softly.

“Sir?” Hoshi looked baffled. He’d have to get more specific.

“Trip,” the captain clarified. “How bad is he at Vulcan?”

The exasperated look that came over the linguist’s face told the captain that he had scored a direct hit. She glanced left and right before responding. “Imagine the worst student you’ve ever encountered,” she replied in disgust. Archer nodded sympathetically, but Hoshi wasn’t finished. “And then multiply it by a factor of ten!”

Before the captain could laugh, Kras calmly alerted him that Shuttlepod One had just docked. Archer immediately gave the order to vacate the Modinok system.

“Travis? Warp 5. Now.”

The helmsman instantly complied, and Enterprise’s hasty retreat led to a moment of relieved silence on the bridge.

Thank God they got back here alive, Archer thought . I’m going to kill them.

Aloud, he addressed his Vulcan counterpart calmly. “Would you like to accompany me to meet our respective away teams, Captain?”

Kovek had explained to Archer who T’Run and Solkar were. Knowing who his First Officer had been speaking about didn’t make the captain any happier. She should have been the one to inform him!

With a grim expression, Archer gestured for Kovek to proceed him into the turbo lift. Before entering himself, he sent one general glare around the bridge before securing the change of command.

“Lieutenant, you have the bridge,” he snapped as the lift doors shut.

Hoshi sat motionless at the Communications board for a moment. I have the bridge, she acknowledged incredulously. I have the bridge!

She was quite proud that she resisted the urge to leap to her feat, pump her arms up and down, and scream “YES!!!” Instead, she strode casually from her station to a point a meter or so behind Travis, hands professionally clasped behind her back, expression inscrutable.

“They are so in trouble,” Ensign Burrows, contemplating the fate of the senior officers, murmured from her spot at Tactical. In full command mode, Hoshi gave her a quelling look, and Burrows hastily went back to scanning the Modinok system for any sign of pursuit.

Travis turned his head slightly, barely controlling a grin.

“So,” he whispered slowly, raising his eyebrows. “You gonna sit in the chair?”

Hoshi eyed him haughtily, then glanced over her shoulder slightly, where the captain’s chair loomed like a medieval throne.

Yes, she decided. Yes, I am.

Hmmmm, she thought as she ensconced herself in the roomy seat. I like it!

* * *

The captain’s plan to read his senior officers the riot act fizzled almost immediately upon his arrival at the docking bay. The sight of his senior officers hovering like anxious mothers as Phlox and a medic tended their injured comrade melted his resolve.

Trip certainly was out of it. If Archer didn’t know any better, he’d say the engineer was three sheets to the wind. Or four. Or five.

At first, Archer thought the engineer had recognized his captain. That is, until Trip commented, “I liked you better with the mustache.” He continued to mumble incoherently from the floor of the docking bay while T’Pol introduced the Vulcan away team and explained Commander Tucker’s injuries.

Finally Kovek departed with his officers, and Phlox carted his patient off to sickbay. Archer, bemused, stared after the disappearing stretcher for a moment, then turned to T’Pol and Malcolm for some kind of explanation. They shared a look with each other, then Malcolm looked away sheepishly, while T’Pol met the captain’s gaze calmly, eyebrow slightly raised.

“I take it you’ve never worn a mustache, Captain?” Reed nervously filled the silence.

Archer shook his head. “Not since I was a junior in high school trying to impress a senior girl.” He reminisced a moment, smiling ruefully. “She didn’t like me with or without it.”

The captain looked back up at his recalcitrant officers and sighed. “I had intended to dress you both down for the incredibly piss-poor communication skills you displayed while on Modinok,” he began. “But I’m too damned tired. I’ll do it tomorrow.” He gave them a resigned look. “Get some food and rest. I’ll expect you at your stations in two hours.”

As he watched his Science and Armory Officer depart, he shook his head in weary amusement and scrubbed his hand roughly over his face.

Maybe when all this is over, I will grow a moustache. Archer mused.

* * *

Malcolm Reed threw himself into his duties with a vengeance. He refused to stand down until it was certain that the aliens—whoever they were—were not going to pursue Enterprise. Even then, he could not remain idle. Inactivity gave him too much time to think, and thinking was decidedly unpleasant at the moment.

More than anything, he wanted to speak to Trip—to apologize, but Phlox was allowing no visitors. Apparently the alien security device had disrupted the normal neurological activity in the engineer’s brain, and the doctor required some time to sort it out. And until it was sorted out, Trip was to be kept under sedation.

Maybe this is a good thing, Reed thought as he recalibrated the phase cannons for the twelfth time. I can use the time to plan out my apology.

* * *

Sub-Commander T’Pol was beginning to wonder if there was some truth to the ancient human belief of karma. Since her return to Enterprise, it seemed that not a minute went by in which she was not reminded—painfully—of her hasty and erroneous judgment of Commander Tucker.

Upon hearing of the Chief Engineer’s creative plan to disable the Mahdini power relays from Kras, most of the Vulcans from the Karil expressed admiration and a desire to meet the clever human. T’Run and Solkar’s account of Mr. Tucker’s self-sacrifice, not to mention his knowledge of both Vulcan and the teachings of Surak, created another stir. Suddenly, T’Pol could not go anywhere on Enterprise without encountering a member of her species who wished to learn more about “the honorable Commander Tucker.”

Fate seemed to delight in mocking her with her mistake. No matter how she tried to immerse herself in her duties, around every corner was another Vulcan who wished to discuss the admirable qualities of a certain human.

Admirable qualities that she had completely ignored.


* * *

Enterprise’s Chief Engineer never believed he would be glad to wake in sickbay. But then, he also never figured that a simple thing like lack of nausea could make him so inordinately happy. Phlox had obviously worked some of his magic. Trip just hoped that it hadn’t involved any of the doctor’s numerous slimy pets.

How long had he been here? He sifted through his most recent memories, but he knew that he couldn’t really trust them. T’Luki and Sonok figured prominently in the fractured visions, but they weren’t real people. He also had a distinct memory of his Uncle Jimmy, who had—for some unknown reason—shaved of the glorious handlebar mustache that he’d been cultivating for as long as Trip could remember. The only constant in any of his rambling memories was a beautiful face that hovered over him, concern obvious in her eyes.

T’hai’la, the word drifted through his tired brain.

“Commander!” Dr. Phlox had just noticed his patient’s conscious state and was delighted. “It’s good to see you awake! Your numerous admirers will be most pleased!”

“Admirers?” Trip asked, confused. Maybe he was still under the effects of the alien security pulse?

“Indeed,” Phlox asserted as he readjusted some sort of medical apparatus just above his patient’s right temple. “Apparently Kras, Solkar, and T’Run have been singing your praises to their crewmembers. Now every Vulcan on the ship wants to meet you!”

“Every Vulcan?” the puzzled engineer echoed again, unaware that the crew of the Karil had been evacuated to Enterprise.

Phlox jovially misinterpreted the question. “Oh, most definitely! And some more than others,” he added with a hint of mischief as he adjusted another device above Trip’s left temple. “Sub-Commander T’Pol has taken to lurking about like a vampire, inquiring after your condition. I’ve had to chase her off numerous times.”

T’Pol was anxious to see him! That was good news. But before Trip could ask anymore questions, he felt the pinch of a hypospray on his neck.

“Visitors will, of course, have to wait,” Phlox said apologetically. “We need to stabilize the disruption to your neurotransmitters first!”

Damn, Trip thought as he slipped back into unconsciousness. One final thought assailed him as he slipped into the pleasant darkness.

Who the hell were Solkar and T’Run?

* * *

T’Run approached Enterprise’s Vulcan First Officer in the humans’ eating area, known as the Mess Hall. She was curious about the etymology of the phrase, because despite the distinct odor of the various humans present, the area was quite tidy.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol, may I join you?” she asked.

“That would be agreeable,” T’Pol responded, even though she had made an earnest effort so far to avoid the older woman and her disconcerting questions.

The two Vulcans ate their meal in the traditional silence of their people for several moments. Then T’Run spoke. “I have observed that humans use mealtime as an opportunity to discuss various topics,” she stated, obviously to demonstrate her intention of following the local custom.

T’Pol nodded, bracing herself for whatever might follow.

The conversation started out innocuously enough. “As a scientist, you must find it fascinating to interact with an alien culture on a daily basis,” T’Run began. “In just the short time we have been on the human ship, I have gathered enough data for several studies.”

“I would advise exercising caution in your methods of gathering data,” T’Pol suggested. “Humans can be sensitive if they feel they are being treated as...curiosities.”

“All the humans I have interacted with have been quite agreeable,” T’Run assured her calmly. “They are more than willing to answer questions and provide information about their culture.”

T’Pol had a sudden sense of misgiving. What kind of questions had the older woman been asking her human crewmates?

“In fact, the human tendency to engage in a communal ritual known as ‘gossip’ has provided information that supports a theory I developed shortly after our return from the Mahdini planet,” T’Run continued. “If it is acceptable to you, I would like to verify my theory.”

“What theory is that?” T’Pol questioned calmly, even though she suspected that she already knew the answer.

“That you are engaged in a romantic relationship with the honorable Commander Tucker?”

T’Pol stared at her elder coolly, attempting to formulate a response that would allow her to maintain her equanimity. “What observations have led you to this conclusion?”

T’Run seemed to find nothing untoward in being asked to justify her hypothesis. “Your willingness to risk lives in order to rescue the commander,...”

“The power relays had already been disabled. The only lives endangered were Lieutenant Reed’s and my own,” T’Pol countered.

“...your failure to fully communicate your intentions to Captain Archer, which appeared to have the purpose of enabling to you avoid violating a direct order,...” T’Run continued after a momentary pause acknowledging T’Pol’s input.

“By maintaining communications silence, we reduced our chances of being discovered by the Mahdini,” T’Pol reasoned.

“...and the fact that you and the commander referred to each other as t’hai’lu several times during the shuttle’s return to Enterprise,” T’Run concluded.

“Commander Tucker and I are friends,” T’Pol explained, recognizing that her arguments were growing increasingly weak. “It is entirely appropriate that we should refer to each other as such.” She narrowed her eyes at T’Run. “And I should caution you that humans consider eavesdropping quite offensive!”

“It was not my intention to eavesdrop, T’Pol-kan,” T’Run said gently. “I was merely concerned for the commander’s well-being and hoped to offer some assistance.” The older woman’s eyes twinkled for a moment. “It became obvious, however, that he was well cared for.”

The Vulcan diminutive—and T’Run’s ready acceptance the increasingly undeniable relationship—startled T’Pol out of her defensiveness. Perhaps she had been interacting with politicians and diplomats for too long. It was logical that a fellow scientist would be less judgmental about a cross-species relationship.

T’Run’s next statement left T’Pol in no doubt as to this conclusion.

“Attitudes are changing, child,” T’Run reasoned. “A mate of a different species would not carry the stigma today that it might have in the past.” T’Run paused to consider her next words carefully. “From what I have observed, Commander Tucker has many of the qualities to be preferred in a bondmate. There are certainly Vulcan males who are far less...satisfactory...than this human.”

The other woman’s matter-of-fact acceptance left T’Pol speechless. T’Run’s words—the Vulcan equivalent of a ringing endorsement—were liberating. And yet she went on to shock the younger woman further still.

“I realize that I am intruding in a most personal matter, T’Pol-kan,” the older woman continued. “But these humans intrigue me greatly. I would be most interested to observe and collect data on a cross-species courtship.”

T’Pol was stunned at the older woman’s audacity, and yet, as a scientist, she had to admit that it was a matter to generate interest. Still...

“I believe I can safely speak for Commander Tucker in this matter. He has no wish to be viewed as an...experiment,” she stated firmly.

T’Run sighed. “That is understandable, of course. But would you be willing to keep in touch with me?” she glanced up at T’Pol, and again there was the hint of a twinkle in her eye. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind exchanging letters with a curious old woman?”

T’Pol contemplated introducing her elder to the human term “nosy,” but decided against it. T’Run meant no harm.

“I believe that would be agreeable,” T’Pol replied calmly, after taking a moment to consider the request. “But please do not expect these letters to be overly...detailed.”

T’Run twinkled again. “Of course not, child. That would be most inappropriate.”


* * *

Malcolm Reed peeped around the privacy screen in sickbay. Bloody hell, Trip was still sleeping. Would he never get the chance to speak to his friend? With the ship swarming with Vulcans, many of whom seemed to have formed a kind of fan club for the engineer, it was nearly impossible to catch Trip alone.

The Armory Officer admitted that he could abase himself in public, but he would much prefer to beg for forgiveness in privacy, thank you very much. As Reed was grousing to himself about the unfairness of his lot, the engineer’s eyes opened. “About bloody time,” Reed growled.

Trip blinked. “Nice ta see you, too,” he replied.

Malcolm grimaced. Not a good start. “Sorry, Commander. I’ve had a bit of difficulty getting in to see you, what with all the Vulcans running about the ship,” he explained. “And every time I manage to escape for a few moments, you’ve been sleeping.”

The engineer grinned wryly. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Doc says my innards need the rest.”

“No doubt!” Malcolm agreed, the memory of his friend’s nonstop vomiting all too vivid.

“So, why am I Mr. Popular all of a sudden?”

“I can’t speak for the Vulcans, but I would guess that you impressed them with your engineering expertise, what with you saving their lives and all,” Reed responded glibly. “And for your knowledge of their language.”

“Yeah, it’s gettin’ kinda embarrassin’,” Trip admitted. “I don’t know how to handle Vulcans bein’ friendly to me.” He hesitated a moment before going on. “But I actually meant, why were you so het up to see me?”

The two men eyed each other for a silent moment. Now that Malcolm finally had the opportunity he’d been waiting for, the words he’d prepared didn’t want to come.

“Trip,” he began, “I want to apologize for my...assumptions. I acted like a complete and utter ass.” Once the words began flowing, Reed found it difficult to stop. “You were in a bad spot, and you needed a friend. And instead I behaved like the lowest of juveniles, asking for details of your sexual conquests. As your friend I should have known, I should have realized...God, I’m such a bastard! You’re my best friend. I can’t believe I treated you that way!”

Malcolm paused in his self-recrimination to see how his friend was taking the apology. Trip was eyeing him blandly, but the Armory Office thought he saw a gleam of amusement in the engineer’s eyes. “Feel free to jump in and disagree with me,” Reed encouraged acerbically.

“Oh, I dunno, Malcolm. I was kinda enjoying the groveling,” his friend responded drolly. Yes, Trip was definitely suppressing a smile. Reed couldn’t keep back his own grin. He should have known that his friend wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

“Well, I’m glad you liked it,” Malcolm responded dryly. “I’ve been practicing since we returned from Modinok.”

The two men sat in companionable silence for several moments, both relieved and pleased. Then Trip spoke up. “It really bothered me that you thought I’d treat Hoshi and T’Pol that way,” he said softly, studiously avoiding Reed’s gaze, poking nervously at his IV line.

Malcolm shook his head in regret. “I realize that now,” he apologized again. “It’s just...” the Armory Officer hesitated, struggling to explain his behavior, both to his friend and himself. “I think I was angry...jealous...that you obviously had a secret, and you wouldn’t confide in me.” He looked down. “I thought you didn’t trust me.” He raised his eyes to his friend’s for a moment, then both men looked away, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I know,” Trip acknowledged. After another short silence, he continued. “But you see now why I didn’t want anyone to know?” He looked up at Malcolm hopefully.

The Armory Officer shook his head again, grinning impishly. “Oh, most definitely,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the moment. “Nothing shrieks ‘I love you’—hysterically, I might add—like attempting to learn your would-be paramour’s native language!” He continued to laugh softly, pleased to noticed that his friend was joining him, despite turning red around the ears. “No, I understand. Your secret was very...” He trailed off, searching for the appropriate word.

“Embarrassing? Pathetic?” Trip supplied.

“Well, I was trying to decide between ‘personal’ and ‘private,’” Malcolm admitted. “But those work, too!”


* * *

“Lieutenant Sato, may I join you?”

Hoshi was jerked back to the reality of the Mess Hall from a daydream which involved her sitting nobly in the captain’s chair and issuing orders like one of the bushi ancestors her father was always claiming they had. She turned her attention to the Vulcan First Officer in surprise. Although T’Pol had been nothing but professional in her presence, the linguist had sensed a coldness since the gossip mill had thrown their lives into turmoil. She gulped down her mouthful of salad and gestured for T’Pol to take the seat opposite her.

“I have been meaning to relay to you how impressed the crew of the Karil are with your proficiency in our language.” T’Pol addressed the Communications Officer while gazing down intently at her own meal.

“Yes, they’ve all been very eager to speak with me,” Hoshi acknowledged.

“It is well that they are experiencing your skill firsthand,” T’Pol answered, somewhat off topic, Hoshi thought. At the linguist’s confused look, the Vulcan went on. “Solkar and T’Run were of the opinion that Commander Tucker’s poor pronunciation was due to the fact that he had been learning our language from a human, instead of a Vulcan. I am pleased that they have now had the opportunity to realize that such was not the case.”

“Ummm—” Hoshi began, unsure how to take what appeared to be both a compliment and an apology.

“Perhaps once the commander has been released from sickbay, he can continue his lessons with you,” T’Pol added.

“His pronunciation is going to need more than a few lessons,” Hoshi admitted glumly, glad that T’Pol had made it possible for them to treat the extremely personal conversation as shop talk. “He might benefit from some...private tutoring sessions with a native speaker,” she suggested innocently.

T’Pol finally raised her eyes from her pasta. The two women shared a look. “Perhaps,” T’Pol agreed slowly.

“And who better to tutor him than a t’hai’la?” Hoshi added mischievously, dropping her eyes back to her salad. T’Pol sat in stone-faced silence for so long that Hoshi could stand it no longer and raised her gaze back to the Vulcan.

“A friend would be the best person to assist him,” T’Pol admitted grudgingly.

“Absolutely, Sub-Commander,” Hoshi chirped supportively. “A... friend would be the best person to explain to the commander how Vulcan words sometimes have more than one meaning.”

Hoshi smiled smugly into her salad, ignoring T’Pol’s glare.

* * *

“You know another reason I reacted the way I did?” Malcolm asked his friend.

“Hmmm?” Trip was getting tired of the grovelling, but his friend seemed to feel that it was true confessions time, so he lent a willing, if weary, ear.

“I was judging you by the way I would have behaved,” the Armory Officer said morosely.

It took the engineer a moment to understand what his friend was saying. When he figured it out, he protested. “You wouldn’t run around cheating on people, Malcolm,” Trip defended him staunchly.

Reed shook his head. “No, my friend, we each see the world through spectacles of our own making. You don’t see me as a...a cad...because you would never behave that way.” He paused, evaluating his own character with disgust. The obvious corollary was that he had judged Trip the way he did because he himself would not hesitate to do such a thing.

“I don’t believe it for a minute,” Trip declared.

“Trip, you were stuck in that bloody shuttlepod with me. How many women did I write the exact same letter to?” Malcolm demanded.

“Well, yeah,” Trip admitted, “but you weren’t with all those girls at one time!” He paused for a moment, uncertain. “Were you?”

“I might as well have been,” Malcolm grumbled, completely caught up in self-flagellation. “Why do you think I can’t stick with one woman? Why do you think I’ve never had a successful long-term relationship? Why do you think my counterpart died a lonely death on that other Enterprise? Why do you think—”

“Whoa, big fella!” Trip interrupted him. “That has nothing to do with you being dishonorable!” he assured his friend. “You’re very honorable, Malcolm.”

The Armory Officer cast a look of regretful disbelief at his friend. “It’s kind of you to say so, but—”

“You’re plenty honorable, Malcolm,” Trip went on as if his friend hadn’t spoken. “It’s just that you’re a chicken.”

“You don’t—I beg your pardon?” The unexpected statement caught Reed amidships.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re a Security Officer, I don’t know,” Trip cheerily expounded on his preposterous statement. “But when it comes to women, you’re a big fat chicken.” As Malcolm stared at his friend, dumbfounded, the engineer went on. “Totally understandable. Being in love is pretty scary. Kinda like going into battle with the hull plating offline.” He eyed his speechless friend shrewdly. “You’ve gotta be willing to put your shields down every once in a while, my friend. Otherwise you’re going to spend the rest of your life writing form letters to cookie-cutter women.”

Malcolm was sputtering with indignation. He had never heard anything so outrageous in his life! “Well, thank you, Doctor Tucker,” he snapped caustically. “How much do I owe you for this session on the couch?”

Trip was unfazed by his sarcasm. “Free of charge, Malcolm. I’d never take money for helping out a friend in need.” He returned Reed’s glower with a cheeky grin. Then his face became solemn again.

“In all seriousness, Malcolm,” he said quietly, “there is a favor you can do for me.”

The sincerity of the tone led Reed drop the snide comment he was about to make regarding his friend’s mental acuity—or lack thereof. Instead, he nodded for Trip to continue.

“Will you apologize to Hoshi?”

“Ah,” Malcolm fell back on his traditional, all-purpose, non-intelligent response. He had been avoiding the Communications Officer like the plague. Obviously she deserved an apology as much as Trip did, but the thought of doing so made his stomach cringe.

Trip sat quietly, awaiting his response. When none came, he sighed, casting a disappointed look at the Armory Officer. “It’s okay. You don’t have to, if you’re too scared,” he said with exaggerated resignation.

“Scared!?” Reed responded indignantly.

“Well, yeah,” Trip answered in mock surprise. “I mean, if you catch her at a bad time, and she doesn’t feel like accepting your apology, she might kick your ass again.” He nodded understandingly. “I can totally see how that might—”

“For your information,” Malcolm replied archly, “Lieutenant Sato has never ‘kicked my ass.’ Nor will she!”

Trip eyed the fading bruise on his friend’s cheek, but wisely refrained from mentioning it. “So you’ll be going to apologize to her right away, then?” he asked innocently. Malcolm glared at the engineer, decidedly irritated at the manner in which he was being manipulated.

Trip looked up at the ceiling of sickbay and made a few clucking noises in the back of his throat.

“I take back anything nice I ever said to or about you,” Malcolm snarled, defeated.

“Bawk, bawk, bawk,” his friend responded, smirking up at the ceiling.

* * *

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” a clipped voice interrupted Hoshi from yet another daydream about captaining her own starship. She looked up into the face of Malcolm Reed, who seemed extremely nervous and ill at ease. “May I join you?” he asked.

Hoshi narrowed her eyes, seriously thinking about refusing him, but then decided against it. “Sure, why not,” she answered lackadaisically.

The Armory Officer sat at rigid attention, hands flat on the table, staring at his tray for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye.

“Lieutenant,” he stated formally, “I would like to apologize for the assumptions I made about you and Commander Tucker.” Hoshi blinked in surprise. “As you said about people who make assumptions—” The Armory Officer broke off, confused for a moment. “Well, I can never remember the damned quote, but the ‘ass’ part is most definitely applicable in my case.”

“It was extremely wrong of me,” he went on, “and if you wish to file an official complaint about any inappropriate remarks or behavior on my part, I will understand completely.”

The Communications Officer gaped. She had smacked him upside the head, and he thought she’d want to file charges over a few snarky comments?

Malcolm mistook her silence for continued ire. “Of course, if you are unable to forgive me, that’s understandable.” He hesitated. “Expected, actually. My behavior was absolutely unconscionable.”

Hoshi realized that he might go on condemning himself for a long time if she didn’t step in. “Well, sir,” she drawled slowly, suddenly delighted to be in the driver’s seat. “I could probably forgive you.” She paused to consider a moment. “But it would take an awful lot.”

Reed, recognizing her teasing tone as an opening, took up the gauntlet. “I would be perfectly happy to make it up to you,” he replied in the same vein. “You could stand a little work on your sparring technique,” he mused, touching the bruise on his cheek. “Perhaps a few martial arts sessions, free of charge?”

The linguist sat back and eyed him speculatively, arms crossed as if she needed convincing. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to start up practice with some of the traditional Earth weapons. My father recently sent me some of his collection, including a jutte, a hachiwari, and an Edo katana that dates back to the 16th century.”

Malcolm gawped in surprise, suddenly overwhelmed by the image of Hoshi in armor, wielding a samurai sword over her head. The Communications Officer mistook his silence for confusion. “They’re ancient Japanese weapons, used by warriors known as samurai,” she explained enthusiastically. “Hachiwari means ‘helmet-splitter.’ They were used for—”

“I know what they are!” Malcolm interrupted, somewhat alarmed—not to mention aroused—at the eager light in her eyes as she described the weapons. “At least, I know what a katana is, and I can guess at the others.”

Hoshi smiled delightedly at his familiarity with the weapons. “Well, it would be great to have a chance to use them as they were meant to be used,” she continued avidly. “They’re antiques, but they’re perfectly serviceable!”

“Let me get this straight,” Malcolm summarized, still pleasantly distracted by the thought of the Communications Officer bristling with weapons. “You’ll only forgive me if I give you the opportunity to bludgeon me with a big stick and skewer me with various pointy objects.”

“If you don’t want to, I completely understand,” Hoshi responded, suddenly a bit embarrassed about coming off as a bloodthirsty termagant. “I was just kidding.”

Malcolm ignored the clucking noise—complete with Southern accent—that suddenly piped up insidiously in the back of his mind.

I might end up getting killed, he thought, but, bloody hell, what a way to go!

“Your proposal sounds most intriguing, Lieutenant,” he answered, smiling broadly. “It’s a date!”

The linguist seemed a bit taken aback by his use of the “D” word. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then both quickly glanced away, unaware that they were wearing the same goofy grin.

The two spent the rest of the meal studiously avoiding eye contact and smirking into their respective plates.


* * *

“Commander Tucker, really!” Phlox admonished. “Your behavior is most childish.”

The doctor had been attempting to get his patient to eat for quite some time, with little success.

Even if I had an appetite, Trip though in disgust, that bowl of mush certainly wouldn’t be the thing to satisfy it.

Their battle of wills was interrupted by a calm voice. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance, Doctor?” T’Pol offered, materializing spontaneously from around the privacy screen.

“Definitely, Sub-Commander,” a frustrated Phlox told her. He handed her the bowl and spoon. “He’s all yours,” the doctor huffed, before he stalked off.

T’Pol and Trip gazed at each other uneasily for a moment. Then T’Pol moved closer to the biobed, taking up the seat the doctor had vacated.

“You have managed to irritate the doctor,” she commented. “That is usually very difficult to do. He is normally the most agreeable of individuals.”

“Can’t help it,” the surly engineer responded, uncomfortable with their first conversation since Modinok. “That stuff tastes like crap!”

T’Pol gave the bowl she held a searching look before turning back to him. “As I have never consumed excrement, I will have to accept your assessment.”

Trip stared at her in disbelief, a spontaneous guffaw erupting from his throat. T’Pol took the opportunity to plop a spoonful of mush in his mouth.

Really, T’Pol thought as she watched him struggle to swallow, the number of expressions a human face is capable of is quite remarkable.

When Commander Tucker had managed to down the offending mouthful, he gave her his full attention. “Did you just make a joke?” he asked wonderingly, holding his broken right hand in front of his mouth to stave off another sneak attack.

“The scientists from the Karil have made me realize how important humor is in everyday human interaction,” T’Pol responded. “I am attempting to learn the intricacies, so that I may better relate to the crew.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Was my first attempt successful?”

Trip shook his head, still unable to register that T’Pol had made a joke. He began to laugh heartily, but quickly realized it was painful to his fragile stomach and tried to stop. He wrapped both bandaged arms around his abdomen, alternately moaning and chuckling.

“My intent was to make you laugh, not to cause you pain,” T’Pol said in some consternation. “Forgive me.”

At these words, all laughter disappeared, and Trip raised his eyes to hers. They stared at each other in silence for several moments. Then T’Pol addressed him in Vulcan.

“Please forgive me, t’hai’la,” she repeated. “My fear led me to see impediments where none existed. I have treated you with dishonor. I have shamed myself. I am not worthy of you.” T’Pol bowed her head, unable to continue, awaiting his judgment.

Trip was completely at a loss. A short week ago, such a meek, heartfelt apology would have made his spirits soar—would have made him feel vindicated and self-righteous. Now it seemed inconsequential. In fact, it hurt to see T’Pol so humbled.

T’hai’la,” he began and then stopped. He couldn’t do it in Vulcan; he just didn’t have the right words. Hell, he didn’t even know if he had the right words in Standard! But he’d try. “It’s okay. It’s scary, being in love. It’s a scary situation to be in. It makes people do stupid things.”

She raised her eyes to his, unable to accept his forgiveness. “I should have known—” she began again.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed softly. “But...but you see that now. And I’m telling you that you never have to worry that I’d do something like that,” he assured her. “’Cause I wouldn’t!” he vowed fiercely. “Not ever!”

Despite the passion of his response, T’Pol still seemed unwilling to relinquish her guilt, so Trip went to the bullpen for his ace reliever.

Dakh’uh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na’fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak,” he bumbled, in what he knew was an atrocious accent.

“Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear,” T’Pol repeated his words, bemused at hearing the teachings of Surak used to argue a matter of the heart. She tipped her head to the side, wondering how such an emotional individual could be so forgiving.

As if reading her thoughts, Trip dredged up another axiom for his cause. “Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim!” he assured her earnestly.

There is no offense where none is taken, T’Pol translated effortlessly, despite the butchered pronunciation. And yet...

“Even a Vulcan would have taken offense at the insult I offered you,” she argued, as if illogically seeking some sort of punishment. “I cannot believe that our...friendship...will not suffer from this incident.”

“It won’t suffer ‘cause we won’t let it,” Trip assured her with determination.

“How can you be sure?” T’Pol questioned hopelessly.

“Because...” Trip hesitated. “Well, that’s what being in love is all about.” Suddenly, he realized that was the whole problem: T’Pol had never been in love before. No wonder she was terrified! Trip searched desperately for the right words to allay her fears. “Because...because ‘Tilek svi’khaf-spol t’vathu—tilek svi’sha’veh.’”

The simplicity and absolute rightness of the statement took T’Pol’s breath away.

The spear in the other’s heart is the spear in your own.

Of course. She had been in pain during their separation because he had felt pain over her accusations, her lack of trust. And now he was suffering because she could not release her guilt, because she feared that his forgiveness was a transient thing.

She raised her eyes to meet his. He smiled tentatively, hopefully.

Their pain—and their joys—would always be shared. They were together.

T’Pol leaned forward abruptly, pressing her lips to his. He squeaked in surprise and then began to reciprocate enthusiastically, clumsily attempting to embrace her with his bandaged hands.

After several long, pleasant moments, she drew back, somewhat breathless, irrationally pleased to see her t’hai’la likewise affected. She took the opportunity to plop another spoonful of mush into his open mouth.

Only seconds earlier, T’Pol might have been intimidated by the outraged look he gave her, but now she was confident. He was her t’hai’la. She knew what inducement was necessary.

“The sooner you are healthy, t’hai’la,” she explained to him, “the sooner you will be able to return to your quarters.” He didn’t need her raised eyebrow to follow the train of thought to its inevitable conclusion.

Like a baby bird, Trip opened his mouth for another spoonful of mush.

* * *

Jonathan Archer strode through the corridors of the ship, inordinately pleased with himself. He knew he was tempting fate by basking in the sensation, but it had been a long time since things had gone right, so he felt he deserved it.

Tomorrow they would be rendezvousing with two Vulcan ships to offload the Karil crew. The Vulcans had been surprisingly easy guests. Although reserved, Captain Kovek and the rest were unfailingly polite and non-judgmental—something Archer had never expected from Vulcans. In fact, they were quite curious about the workings of the earth vessel and the culture of its human crew.

When he’d asked T’Pol about it, she suggested that—since the Karilcrew were scientists whose careers revolved around studying different cultures—perhaps they were more open-minded when it came to interacting with humans. Which made sense to Archer. Normal everyday Vulcans were just more amiable than the politicians and diplomats from the Vulcan High Command.

As the captain rounded the corner, he saw a figure waiting for the turbolift. The very person he’d been meaning to speak to!

“Travis! Just get off shift?” he asked the helmsman.

“Yessir,” Mayweather responded, holding the lift doors for his captain.

Once the doors shut, affording them some privacy, Archer asked the question that had been on his mind since leaving Modinok.

“So, how much was the take?”

Travis grinned, not bothering to pretend to misunderstand. “Well, sir, seeing that gambling aboard Starfleet vessels is frowned upon, let’s just say that I greatly benefitted from the generous suggestions you made.”

Archer smiled back, pleased.

“To be fair, sir,” Travis went on, “you should get a share of the pool winnings.”

The captain drew himself up, as if offended. “Ensign, it would be inappropriate for the captain to profit from his personal knowledge of his crew.”

Mayweather suppressed a smirk, looking at his captain sideways. The lift doors opened, and both men stepped out onto B deck.

“Of course, I wouldn’t say no if a member of the crew wanted to buy me a gift during our next shore leave,” Archer continued. “Say a couple bottles of bourbon. Or maybe some Andorian ale. A fine red wine is always a nice alternative, too.”

Travis couldn’t hide his grin any longer. “Well, my parents taught me to always listen to the captain’s advice.”

* * *

“I had no objections to Lieutenant Reed joining us,” T’Pol told Commander Tucker as they left sickbay at a snail’s pace. Phlox had released the engineer, but Trip still felt a bit wobbly after being off his feet for so long.

“Ah, Malcolm won’t mind,” Trip replied, a bit irritated with his friend.

The Armory Officer had arrived at sickbay at the same time as T’Pol, loudly announcing his intention of escorting his friend back to his quarters. From the glint in his eye as he looked from Trip to T’Pol, the engineer knew that this was payback for their earlier conversation. When T’Pol turned a quizzical look on the Armory Officer, Trip had made a slashing movement across his throat, which Reed gleefully ignored. Trip had been forced to convert the “cease and desist” gesture to a head scratch when T’Pol quickly turned back around to look at him.

It took a few minutes of dirty looks and polite refusal to counter Malcolm’s insincere protestations that it was his duty as a friend to accompany them. Finally, Reed acquiesced, allowing T’Pol to do the honors. He grinned evilly as Trip gave him one last glare over his shoulder.

“You do not think he was offended by your refusal of his offer to accompany you from sickbay?” T’Pol queried.

“Nah,” Trip responded sourly. “And if he was, he’ll get over it.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps the strange noises he made as we exited were an indication of irritation?” the Vulcan pressed.

Trip narrowed his eyes at the memory of the clucking. “Trust me, T’Pol, Malcolm’s fine.”

T’Pol inclined her head, ready to accept his expertise on what did and did not constitute an offended human.

“I have been discussing your language lessons with Lieutenant Sato,” T’Pol suddenly changed the subject. “We have agreed that you should continue.”

The engineer hid a grin at the fact that they obviously had no problem planning out his life for him. He kept his mouth shut, though.

“Lieutenant Sato suggested, however,” T’Pol went on, “that you might benefit from extra tutoring sessions with a native speaker.”

Trip felt his grin widen. “Hmmmm,” he pondered. “Can you think of anyone who might fit that bill?”

T’Pol gave him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised. “Obviously,” she replied blandly. “I can also see that I will have to broaden my sphere of interaction if I am ever to master Earth humor.”

It took Trip a moment to realize that T’Pol had just made another joke. She was teasing him! His jaw dropped, and he gave an exaggerated squawk of indignation. “Ouch, T’Pol. That hurt.”

They continued to plod along the corridor in amiable silence. Ordinarily, Trip would have been frustrated at being forced to travel so slowly. Now it seemed like a little slice of heaven!

Suddenly, however, the door to his quarters loomed in the distance. Ah, shit, he thought. Wouldn’t ya know it. Just when things are getting fun.

Would she accept if he invited her in? Before he could phrase the question, she spoke up again.

“Lieutenant Sato also suggested that I explain how certain Vulcan words have multiple meanings.”

“I—huh?” The subject seemed to come out of left field, puzzling the engineer. He was saved from trying to form an intelligible answer by having to open the door to his quarters—no easy task with two heavily bandaged hands.

“The word t’hai’la, for example,” T’Pol continued, preceding him into his quarters. Trip said a silent, “Yes!” She obviously intended to continue their conversation inside!

T’hai’la?” he prodded helpfully, when T’Pol paused. “It has more than one meaning?” When she nodded, eyeing him thoughtfully, he felt a sense of foreboding.

Shit! Had he used a word wrong again? Geez, he hoped he hadn’t called her something worse than fat this time!

“Uhm, what else does it mean?” he asked in trepidation. “It’s not bad, is it?”

“I do not believe so,” she responded enigmatically, increasing his nervousness.

“Aren’t ya gonna tell me what else it means?” Trip finally asked, unable to bear the charged silence any longer.

“No.” Before he could protest or ask why, she continued. “I will show you.”

And with that, she stepped forward and put a lip-lock on him that nearly caused his knees to give out. He only kept himself upright by holding onto her for dear life.

Finally, she pulled back, leaving him panting. He tried to respond nonchalantly. “Well...I...uh...I guess I won’t be usin’ that word with Malcolm or the captain, then,” he mumbled hoarsely. “But...”

“Yes, t’hai’la?” she murmured, stepping close again.

“If that’s ‘t’hai’la,’ then what’s ‘ashal-veh?’”

“This is ‘ashal-veh,’” she whispered, demonstrating.

Trip couldn’t see much of a difference between the two. But both were nice words.

Reeeeally nice words.

Maybe he’d have to get her to demonstrate both of them until he figured out the difference. A delighted laugh bubbled up from his chest, causing them to break apart again.

T’Pol stayed in his arms this time, but raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Trip said, unable to stop grinning. “What about ‘ashayam?’”

Of the three words, Trip definitely liked the definition of ashayam best, but he decided that he’d withhold final judgment until he had more evidence on which to base a conclusion.

“You know, t’hai’la,” he murmured into her hair after she had thoroughly defined ashayam for him, “I’m going to need a lot of practice before I can get these words right.”

“As I said earlier, ashayam,” T’Pol responded. “I am the obvious person to tutor you.”

And she proceeded with the lesson.

The End


Return to Part 6

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


A whole mess of folks have made comments

This is just what I was waiting for! Malcolm eating humble pie; Hoshi the dominatrix, er, antique collector; and Trip getting to work out his pronunciation! The only VERY LITTLE THING missing was Trip meeting his textbook heroes when he woke up! This was an awesome fic, R!

YAY! I'm glad you found another beta. I couldn't open the attachment you sent me anyway.

This was a wonderful story. I especially liked the scene with her feeding him mush. All that would have made that better would have been if someone had walked in on them. LOL. Great stuff!

Great story! I thought there was a perfect mix of action, romance and humour. I laughed out loud at this line:

"Suddenly, T’Pol could not go anywhere on Enterprise without encountering a member of her species who wished to learn more about “the honorable Commander Tucker.”"

I hope you'll write more!

Man, that was thoroughly entertaining. I love the line that T'Pol says to T'Run:

“I believe I can safely speak for Commander Tucker in this matter. He has no wish to be viewed as an...experiment,” she stated firmly.

That was hilarious. Absolutely priceless.

Great characterization, better dialogue and filled with all the right essentials.. action, adventure amd romance. Please gift us with more of your writing!

YAY! that was a very nice ending! not too short and not too long! I do hope you'll write some more...maybe not to this story, but another story! you're very talented! ;)

Excellent!!! Hah, can't say anything better than what everyone else has. Wonderful, wonderful! This is going on my list of best Ent stories, I really hope to see more from you very soon!
And not neccessarily something 'completely different'. ;-)
-Sandy

Sandy Kitten, you get a gold star for being the first person to acknowledge the gratuitous Python reference!

This story is my favorite one. Everybody stays in character, and on top of that it was hysterical! This morning, I was giggling in the shower over the T'Luki and Sonak bit. And very much in keeping with the "Poor Trip keeps getting tortured" tradition. I loved it. Well done!

What can I say.... LOVED THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what a great end to a fantastic story:-D

Ah, what a beautiful end... and story! You´ve made me laugh so often, it got everything, action, great romance, humour, please, please, please write more!

“The sooner you are healthy, t’hai’la,” she explained to him, “the sooner you will be able to return to your quarters.” He didn’t need her raised eyebrow to follow the train of thought to its inevitable conclusion.
Like a baby bird, Trip opened his mouth for another spoonful of mush.

:-))))))

I absolutely loved this story. Just the right combination of humour and romance. I can't decide whether I'm sorry it's over or glad it ended so well. Please write more!

This is a very satisfying conclusion for an altogether fantastic story, Ragua. As the others have pointed out already, it really had everything: Romance, humor, great character interaction ... wow! I had lots of fun reading it.

bloody excellent ending. of course the clucking and T'Run are by far the best bits except for Trip needing lessons and practice with which of the phrases is better ;-)


nicely done from Travis and Jon, to Hoshi and Malcolm (you know of course you'll have to wander over to the MHE list or LD and post a lovely NC-17 story about their lessons with the ancient weapons ;-D), to T'Run and T'Pol, to All the Vulcans and of course TnT!!! WOOOHOOO!!!

continues her thoughts... i want, no need some of those letters that t'pol will write to t'run ;-)

Absolutely and totally brillo pads! Loved this concluding part to pieces, so much goodness in it and you write so very beautifully. Loved every word of it and especially how T'Pol is going to teach him the meaning of every word personally. Oh wow, just got to love Trip and T'Pol... and the rest of our friends on the good ship Enterprise! Thank you so much, Ali D :~)
Unable to wipe a big happy smile off her face

Nice job.

I really like stories that do not make Trip look like a boob.

Wow. that was perfect. i couldn't ask for more. *thinks* what the hell yes i can. I'd really really like to see Hoshi and Malcom trying out those weapons of hers. Maybe an offshoot from this story?

Excellent! I whole heartly agree with the rest of the chorus here. This was very entertaining right from the start. I found all characters from their personality traits, dialogue, and interactions extremely believable. I had fun reading this. Thanks so much.

Marvelous job! Excellent concluding chapter. Loved Trip and Malcolm- the apology, the manipulation, just acting like best friends in general *cough* ruining time e. significant others *cough cough*-lol!

Excellent excellent job on this story! Wonderful work!

I really enjoyed this story! Your characters and the situations they found themselves in sounded so real. I wish you were writing for Enterprise.

Looking forward to more stories.

Anyone wanna come up with a T’Luki and Sonok fanfic? ;P

Sweet :) Great ending to a lovely story, I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Hope to read more from you soon!

This story is an instant classic, IMHO. :) I just spent the day reading it. I couldn't stop myself. It is that good. The dialogue and the humor and the romance is just great. I love the way you managed to use most of the characters to great effect, along with introducing several interesting original characters into the mix. Simply outstanding. :)

even after reading this its still amazing!!!! now we need a another story continuing this!!!!! A++++++++++++++++++++++++

Wow. No wonder everyone at the HoT T/T board was raving about this. Beautifully written, involving, spot-on characterizations, grippingly suspenseful. And Trip is so... so *wonderful* in it. Even though beset by the most awful of maladies-- I know, I have motion sickness. (Probably the only thing I can claim to have in common with Scott Bakula.)

I thought you couldn't top The Raised Eyebrow Of Death... until I came to the part where Trip looks like he's horking up a furball. I lost it. And all the Vulcans fawning over "the honorable Commander Tucker"... big smiles.

Thanks for giving Polly a good kick in the pla'kruslar for us all.

Tee hee hee! That was great! Some more could you write, maybe? :)

You are an exceptional writer. Every story that have read from you, has been absolutely wonderful.

This was great all around, I like the language lessons and how they came back in his "altered" state. It was hilarious!

This is the first Enterprise fic I ever read, and probably my favorite. I just read it for the second time, as delighted as ever. You gave us spot-on characters, hysterial dialogue and insight ("Alien access panel, you're my only friend!" made me laugh out loud like a loon.), a little hurt/comfort (which I'm a sucker for), and a convincing threat. I'm hoping with summer that you'll write some more. Your stuff is just marvelous.

I just discovered this... man I laughed so hard. Excellent story!!

Wonderful!! I've read it three times in succession. Thank you!!

This was a terrific story! Great Job!!!

This was a terrific story! Great Job!!!

Got to get this in before we have to stop posting. This was one of the funniest, most well-written and entertaining stories I've read in a long time. It would have made a fantastic ENT episode. Loved it to bits!!!!! Am about to start reading it again LOL!!