Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear - Chapter 1

Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear

by Rogue

Rating: PG
Genre: Romance/Angst

Disclaimer: Mirror, mirror on my door, I’ll fall and worship on the floor, Paramount who owns up to the sky so blue, they don’t belong to me—so please don’t sue!

Spoilers: Through Season 3 and 4, up to and including “Home”

Summary: As T’Pol and Trip try to come to terms with her marriage, tensions on both Earth and Vulcan do their part to complicate the situation on all sides.

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Chapter 1

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U.S.S. Enterprise, NX-01
15 March 2154

“I have to say, T’Pol,” Archer said. “I was a bit surprised when you came back a married woman.”

“I was also unaware,” T’Pol said, twirling the pasta around her fork. “Koss is an acceptable match for me. Considering my somewhat persona non grate status in the Vulcan High Command, I would be hard pressed to find another husband much better.”

“I thought a Vulcan couple lived together for the first year of marriage,” the captain continued.

T’Pol’s gaze flickered from Archer’s face to Tucker’s and back before she returned her attention to her meal. “Koss released me from that tradition in view of my duties here. After joining Starfleet, I could not request such a sudden or lengthy leave of absence?”

“Well, I can’t say I understand it, but nonetheless, congratulations,” the captain said, holding up his glass. “To T’Pol and Koss. May you live happily or at least logically ever after.”

“Hear, hear,” Trip said quietly, letting the captain clink his glass against his own.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Captain,” T’Pol said. “I will convey your congratulations to my husband.”

The comm buzzed. “Bridge to Captain Archer.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair to hit the comm button. “Archer here.”

“We’re receiving a message from Admiral Forrest.”

“I’ll take it in my ready room.,” he said. “I hate to disrupt our dinner, but duty calls.”

Trip laid down his napkin. “It’s all right. I’ve got things to do in engineering.”

Archer dismissed his comment. “It won’t take me long. Besides, you’ve hardly touched your dinner.”

The captain was gone before Trip could protest, and the engineer sat back down, determined to tuck into his dinner as quickly as possible.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Trip couldn’t help but reflect that perhaps T’Pol had been right—it was impossible for him not to develop feelings for her after what had happened between them. And then she had very logically set him aside and done like good Vulcans had done for centuries and married a Vulcan. Because in the grand scheme of things, Vulcans had no real idea of what love truly was.

So instead of mourning what he’d lost, he’d sit here, and pity them for what they’d never had, and laugh internally at the logical way he’d come to that conclusion.

All of which was good and fine until he looked up at her face, and all his resolve disappeared again.

“You have not spoken much tonight,” T’Pol observed.

He offered a smile. “Just got a lot on my mind. Repair schedules, upgrading the antimatter injectors. You know.”

T’Pol nodded. “If you have calculations or designs you wish me t look at, I will assist you.”

“If I get anything concrete put down, I’ll be sure to bring it to you,” he said, rising. “I do have things to do in engineering. If you’ll excuse me.”

He walked out of the dining room, leaving T’Pol to stare at her meal alone. Her gaze found it’s way towards the window, towards the stars flying by, wondering if she’d left hope behind her—because Vulcans did experience hope.

***

Archer was sitting at his desk when Trip entered his ready room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Archer nodded. “You’re aware of some of the tensions involving the Mars colonies.”

Trip nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a cousin who lives on Mars. Says that things are getting kind of rough over there.”

“Earth is threatening to remove the Martian governor and impost martial law in response to several violent outbreaks recently. Several of the perpetrators have escaped in one of the faster cargo shuttles. Starfleet hopes that if we can catch them, we can avoid any type of further violence.”

Trip sank down into his chair. “Are you serious?”

The captain nodded. “Unfortunately.” He pulled the bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer along with two glasses. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Trip said. “I can’t believe Earth is considering this. We haven’t had an armed conflict between humans in a hundred years.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Archer said. “That ship of theirs has a maximum speed of Warp 1.9. We’ll catch them in about twelve hours since we’re so far out.”

“And if they don’t take kindly to being escorted back?” Trip asked.

The captain shrugged. “Then we polarize the hull plating and let Malcolm have a shot at them.”

Trip clinked his glass against Archer’s. “Here’s to fates worse than death.”

Archer pressed the comm button. “Travis, set an intercept course for that cargo ship. Warp 4.”

***

Trip walked down the hallway, intending to return to his quarters and catch up on his technical journals. He nodded to two female crewmen heading for the mess hall, offered advice to the engineer repairing a burnt out EPS conduit, and almost turned around when he saw T’Pol walking out of sickbay with a padd in hand.

“Commander,” he acknowledged, hoping he could scoot on by with nothing more than that simple pleasantry.

“Mr. Tucker,” she said, her tone level. “We have not had a neuropressure session since we returned from Vulcan. If you like, we can resume our routine tonight.”

“Ah,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “T’Pol, I’m sleeping pretty well now. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Or that I don’t like spending time with you, but—“

“You do not need to explain,” she said, with that twitch of her head he knew too well. “I understand. Goodnight, Commander.”

He watched her walk down the hallway, wanting to run after her and apologize or something, but her back had straightened, and he could see the Vulcan exterior right itself, the woman that only he saw disappearing under the old mask that she’d come on board with.

Sighing for an indefinable loss, Trip continued his way to the lonely company of his technical journals.

Continue to Chapter 2

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