Consequences-Part 10

Consequences

By Samantha Quinn

Rating: Right now: PG-13. Will be R later, Romance
Disclaimers in Part One

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

Part 10

Trip was in an excellent mood. They had made tremendous progress in engineering that day. So much so that Trip no longer felt guilty for taking a quick dinner break with T’Pol and the Captain. Most of the progress was due to the fact that T’Pol had been helping them out from her post on the bridge. Trip had wondered once or twice why she didn’t just come down to engineering herself. Still, her voice had sounded steady and there was no sign of her illness that had so worried him hours before. On the other hand, she had been abnormally quiet this evening. He could fix that, of course.

“Don’t your salads ever get borin’, T’Pol?”

She responded with an unreadable expression. “No.” *Short answers are the most appropriate. They are the ones most unlikely to provoke an emotional response.*

*Hmm. That was kinda brief.* “Ya sure? I mean, how many combinations of the same vegetables can you use before you start to get bored?”

“Boredom is not a factor in determining consumption, Commander. Unlike humans, Vulcans view food entirely as fuel. A morsel’s enjoyment is not considered.”

“Yeah, but variety is the spice of life, T’Pol,” Trip argued.

“That’s true, T’Pol,” Archer remarked taking a sip of his iced tea.

“There are an infinite number of combinations of vegetables and fruits that combine to make salads,” T’Pol responded. “I also consume soups and other non-meat forms of nourishment. My diet is not lacking in variety.”

“Yeah, but you can’t really have any great soups. Chili, for example,” Trip remarked.

“I have sampled vegetarian chili, Commander Tucker,” the Vulcan replied.

“It’s not the same thing. In a good pot of chili, you mix meat, corn, peppers, onions, and pork all together,” Trip informed her.

“Before pouring it over a bowl of nachos,” Archer agreed.

“Ever had it with spaghetti?” Trip asked the Captain.

“No, can’t say that I have,” Archer remarked. “Can’t say I like the sound of it, either.”

“Ah, but it’s really good that way. Had it once in Indiana. The waitress called it ‘Midwestern Chili.’”

“I was under the belief that chili was a unique product of the Southwestern portion of the United States,” T’Pol questioned, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Originally, it was. But there are regional variations,” Trip informed her. “Hey, I bet we can get Chef to whip up some veggie chili over pasta for ya. That has to be more excitin’ than eatin’ the same salads all the time. And ya’d get your nourishment too,” he added as an afterthought.

“That would be agreeable,” T’Pol responded, trying not to focus on Trip’s inherent interest in her well being. Instead, she tried to concern herself with a false sense of irritation at the engineer for concerning himself with her affairs. “Although Commander, I still assure you, Vulcans do not need variety. It is a human affliction.” *One I have had direct experience with.* “It is not always a pleasant condition.”

*What the hell does that mean?* Trip wondered. Still, remembering that she was in all likelihood sick, he maintained his silence. Sneaking a glance at the Captain, Trip also felt more than a smidgen of guilt for not telling his friend what had transpired in the Mess Hall-in either instance. He wondered whether he should. But maybe T’Pol already had. *Is there a discreet way I can ask either him or her without stirring up his suspicions or her distrust?* Probably not, he thought in disgust as he stabbed his food somewhat viciously.

*The discrepant food consumption patterns of humans and Vulcans show a great deal about the nature of our differences as individuals,* T’Pol reflected. Humans and their incessant need for variety-to move on and try new things. Always. They are never content with what they had, regardless of the potential benefits the current situation may provide. Vulcans in contrast, content themselves with plomeek soup, salad, and fruit.

Humans, she reflected, also still practiced the concept of eating meat. A particularly barbaric practice Vulcans had learned to purge. *Just as I too will purge this illness.*

Archer had patiently been observing them both. *No one could say the Sub-Commander is acting out of sorts tonight.* On the contrary, she was her normally reserved self. There was no talk of childhoods or attempt to make small talk. When she did speak, her words had been a constant reminder of her Vulcan nature. *She’s been reinforcing our differences all night. Wonder if she realizes just how similar she proved we are yesterday?*

As all three dinner companions were wrapped up in their thoughts-T’Pol trying to repress any emotional response she may have been inclined to feel, Trip balancing guilt and loyalty; and Archer studying his crewmembers-they ate in virtual silence until desert arrived.

*It’s a good thing we’re not having pecan pie tonight* Trip thought to himself as he tasted his jello. *The last two times I’ve had it in T’Pol’s presence, she’s passed out. Hmm. Maybe it has something to do with pecans.* “Hey, T’Pol? Can I ask ya a question?”

“Yes, Commander Tucker?”

Trip scowled. *I’ve carried the woman to sickbay twice in a twenty-four hour time span. Why can’t she drop the formality?* “Can’t you call me Trip?” he asked, irritated.

“Is that the question you wished to ask?”

“No. But we’ll start there and build up to what I wanted to ask.”

“No.”

“No? No ya can’t call me Trip or no we can’t build up to the other question?”

“No, I cannot call you Trip.”

“Why not? Trip is my name.”

“It is not.”

“Trip, maybe you should move on to whatever it is you wanted to ask,” Archer interjected. *They were getting along so well only moments ago, now they’re fighting over something as childish as names?*

“Right,” Trip grumbled. “Anyway, I knew this kid once who was real allergic to peanuts. Real allergic. Anytime there were any peanut products around, he’d get almost deathly ill. The smell alone was enough to put him in the hospital for weeks.”

“Didn’t his parents take him to see a doctor?” asked Archer.

“Yeah, but the medication was something he had to apply everyday, and he forgot once or twice,” Trip recalled.

“What exactly is your question, Commander?” T’Pol asked.

“Well. . . uh, I just thought. . . since they probably don’t have the same nuts on Vulcan as they do on Earth, you should probably get checked to make sure you don’t um, have allergies to any . . . nuts,” he finished lamely.

“Nuts, Trip?” Archer asked in disbelief. “Whatever made you think to ask that?”

T’Pol did not have to ask the same question. She knew why the man had inquired of nuts. It was not peanuts he referred to. In this instance the offending substances were pecans. More specifically, pecan pie. T’Pol did not allow herself to dwell on what that meant. Instead, she focused on the reddish jello in the bowl in front of her.

“. . . T’Pol would have had the basic allergy test. Wouldn’t you, T’Pol?” Archer inquired.

“Yes, Captain, I have and no, Commander Tucker, I am not allergic to pecans,” she replied. She did notice the slightly confused look that came across Archer’s face when she referenced the offending substance by name. She allowed the unasked question to remain unanswered.

*No, I am not allergic to pecans. However, I do wonder if it is possible to be allergic to a human,* T’Pol reflected. Unwillingly, her mind reviewed all of the instances that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours, coming to rest at the intimate gesture she had initiated, foolishly with Commander Tucker.

Unfortunately, that memory sparked yet another immense headache.

“Are you all right, T’Pol?” asked the caring voice of the engineer seated to her left. She did not respond immediately, as she was trying to suppress the emotional outburst that had allowed her to express her discomfort in front of the Captain and Commander Tucker.

Her lapse in responding compelled Trip to gently reach over and touch her hand. A very human gesture used to express concern. Nonetheless, the intimacy of the gesture sparked waves of passion coursing through her body. Quickly, she jerked her hand away. “Do not touch!” she hissed and promptly pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes to maintain greater distance from the men in the room. This would, T’Pol believed, help to strengthen her feeling of isolation and thus resolve her headache. Her theory proved correct. By the time she opened her eyes, her headache had lessened greatly.

“Can you make it to sickbay or do you need me to call Dr. Phlox to come here?” Archer asked with notable concern in his voice. *His concern for my well being does not incite physical discomfort,* she noted.

To Archer she replied, “Neither is necessary, Captain.”

Archer shook his head. “You nearly passed out, T’Pol. You need to see the doctor.”

“I have seen him already,” she replied calmly. “He is aware of my situation.”

“Trip,” Archer said firmly, “will you excuse the Sub-Commander and myself? I believe we need to talk.”

“With all due respect, Cap’n,” Trip began, but stopped when Archer raised his hand to halt the protest.

“Excuse us, Commander,” Archer said simply. He didn’t sound very happy, and as much as Trip wanted to stay to find out what was wrong with T’Pol, he knew better than to argue with his friend when he was in such an irritable mood.

Before he left, Trip turned to look back at T’Pol and sheepishly muttered, “I’m sorry for touchin’ ya, T’Pol. . . I-I know Vulcans don’t like it.” Then he left.

When they were alone, Archer folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath before saying to T’Pol, “As Captain of this ship, I have a right to know when one of my crew’s safety is in danger. Particularly my second in command. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Then do you care to explain exactly why the hell you have ignored this protocol? Not once, but twice now?”

T’Pol struggled to control her own anger. She decided that her near inability to do so was the direct result of her current illness. “The doctor and I are unaware of what my illness is. I was planning on waiting until I was certain of the extent of my disability before sharing it with you.”

Archer frowned. “I suppose that makes sense. But in the future, I expect to be notified immediately, is that understood?”

T’Pol simply looked at him for a moment before responding, “Yes, Captain.”

She had very little strength to argue. The headaches, each time they came, were stronger and left her more fatigued.

Archer noticed her uncharacteristic silence and his frown deepened. “So, Sub-Commander, what do you and the doctor know about this illness of yours that you can share?”

“I experience great head discomfort when Commander Tucker is being emotional in my presence,” she replied carefully. She was unwilling to acknowledge that the true reason for her discomfort was because the engineer sparked emotions as well. *That knowledge is not part of the Captain’s prerogative.*

“Trip? Why?”

“We are uncertain. All that is certain is that with each passing attack, part of the mid section of my brain increases in size. If I continue to be subjected to such attacks, the swelling will increase to such a size that I will die.”
Her voice betrayed no emotion. *She could have just given the co-ordinates for an alien planet,* Archer noted to himself. *Instead of pronouncing her own death sentence.*

“I am uncertain how this will affect my duty, Captain. It may become necessary for me to resign. I am prepared to do so at the first sign that I will be unable to fulfill my duty as first officer,” T’Pol informed him.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, T’Pol. Besides, if Phlox is working on a cure--"

“The doctor is currently working on a diagnosis, Captain. He will need that before he can discover a cure.”

“I see. If there is anything I can do, Sub-Commander. . . " Archer trailed off. He would never have believed it two years ago, but he had grown to respect and trust the woman sitting across the table from him. Her death would greatly affect both him and his crew.

“There is one thing, Captain,” T’Pol said slowly.

That Archer had not expected. “What is it, T’Pol?”

“You could tell Commander Tucker the reason for my illness. I would do it myself, but I am relatively certain his . . . concern for my welfare would cause additional head discomfort.”

“I will, T’Pol,” Archer promised. As he excused himself from the dining area, he let out a small sigh. This conversation was not one he was looking forward to.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Curious,” remarked Ensign Thomas to Lieutenant Hess.

Engineering’s second in command looked up from the diagnostic she was running at Thomas’ remark. “What do you mean?”

“Well, first the fire breathing dragon appears, right? A completely uncharacteristic Commander Tucker from the calm, caring Commander we know. Then today the dragon magically disappears. And now,” Thomas nodded in the direction of the Chief Engineer’s office. “Now he’s having a little heart to heart with the Captain with a closed door and they’ve been in there for an hour.”

Hess shrugged. “Commander Tucker is third in command,” she reminded the woman. “Maybe they’re discussing official ship business.”

“Without the Sub-Commander?” Ensign Ross questioned, joining the conversation.

Hess shrugged again. She was just as confused as her peers. Still, she had to maintain at least a veneer of professional detachment.

“All I know is that the commander’s been awfully damn moody lately. Maybe we should start calling him Charlotte Tucker,” Thomas remarked.

“That will be quite enough, Ensigns,” Hess snapped. “Thomas, I believe the plasma conduits need a good scrub. I suggest you get to work on that immediately. And both of you should not need reminded that Commander Tucker is your superior officer. I expect you to behave accordingly.”

As the Ensigns nodded meekly and walked away, Hess turned her back to hide her own smile.

Behind the closed door, neither Trip nor Captain Archer were smiling.
“It’s because of me that T’Pol’s been passin’ out?” Trip repeated in disbelief.
Archer shifted his weight uncomfortably. “That’s what she said, Trip.”

Trip’s mind wandered back to their conversation the previous night. **“Discuss something bland . . . Ah’len . . .Liana . . . insult . . . affectionate form of goodbye.”** “But not all the time, right? Just when I’m being . . . emotional?” he questioned. *Explains why the alphabet didn’t cause her any discomfort.*

Archer nodded and rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. “I don’t really know what that means. . . or why it bothers her. Neither does she. She says the doctor is still working on a more exact diagnosis.”

After a long pause, Trip finally spoke again. “Why couldn’t she tell me herself?”

“She anticipated that you’d feel concern for her condition, Trip,” Archer started.

“Well of course I would!” Trip exclaimed.

“That would have caused her a further head ache,” Archer said gently. *If I thought I had grown fond of the Sub-Commander, I had no idea how Trip was responding to her.* Archer realized.

“So, she’s just going to avoid me til the doctor finds out what’s wrong with her?” Trip asked, forcing himself to sound angry to mask the hurt threatening to show up in his voice.

“Trip, she doesn’t have a choice,” the Captain pointed out. “It’s a matter of self preservation at this point. One happy sound from you could put T’Pol in sickbay.”

The thought alone was enough to pull Trip out of his self-indulgent pity fest. “I understand, Cap’n. I won’t be botherin’ the Sub-Commander until the Doctor finds a cure.” *He will find a cure. He has to.*

Archer nodded. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. How are the engines coming, Commander?”

Trip gave a half-hearted smile at Archer’s attempt to change out of the serious mode by switching to his rank. “We’re way ahead of schedule, Cap’n. We’ll make it to the rendezvous point in plenty of time.”

There was, Archer decided, a considerable lack of energy on Trip’s behalf when he spoke about the engines. Finding this most uncharacteristic and most disturbing, Archer could do nothing but give his best Captain nod. “Good work, Commander. I’ll see you on the bridge.”

“I-uh, don’t think that’s such a good idea, Cap’n . . . with T’Pol being sick and all,” Trip remarked.

Archer frowned. “Your mere presence doesn’t bother her, Commander. Further, I need my chief engineer to be able to report to the bridge at will. If T’Pol’s condition worsens to the point that she can no longer tolerate your presence, then we will have to remove her from the bridge. Otherwise, I expect ship operations to not be affected by her illness.”

“How can you be so cold as to worry about ‘ship operations’ at a time like this?” Trip demanded.

“Because,” Archer replied coolly. “I’m the Captain. It falls under my job description to be primarily concerned with ship operations. The only person who should care more about the ship’s operations is the chief engineer.”

The unspoken message of the Captain’s words were heard very clearly by Trip. Gritting his teeth, Trip replied only, “Aye, Cap’n.”

“Trip,” Archer sighed. “As long as you just discuss duty specifics then you should be fine. Just don’t . . . don’t be so emotional.”

T’Pol’s words from the night before came back to haunt him. *”You tend to become too passionate when discussing the warp core.”* “Right.”

“Trip? How emotional do you get about pecans, exactly?”

Trip shook his head. “I don’t, Cap’n. At least, I don’t think I do. But hell, the last two times I’ve had it, T’Pol’s passed out cold.” *Do I radiate that much joy when I eat the damn pie? I’d better not eat catfish in front of her anytime soon.*

“You knew about her illness and didn’t tell me?”

*Oops.* “I figured that was her territory.”

“I see. Well, I’ll let you get back to your territory now, Commander,” Archer commented, his voice letting Trip know just how unpleased he was. Watching Archer go, Trip reflected that he was not particularly concerned with Archer’s unhappiness.

His own took precedent, as well as his own confusion. *I shouldn’t be this unhappy,* Trip scolded himself. *T’Pol might be a friend of mine, but I wouldn’t be this unhappy if Malcolm, Travis, or Hoshi had a disease that kept them away from me.* The realization was not one Trip wanted to deal with right now. He would have plenty of time to deal with those ramifications later, after T’Pol was cured of her illness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC . . .

A/N: Sorry, gang, but the vacation is over. Which means less updates and most likely more mistakes. J
Please R/R, as always
Up next: Trip and T’Pol reflect on the consequences (haha) of their emotions and Enterprise finally meets with the Vulcans and Andorians.

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

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One person has made comments

I really liked this a whole lot. I can well sympathise with both Trip and T'pol and I did chuckle at Lt Hess having to upbraid some of the engineering crew for their speculations while hiding her own little smile. Don't agree with Jon wanting Trip to still attend his station on the bridge after finding out about T'Pol's illness. That seemed pretty callous of him. Can't wait to see what happens next. You are writing a wonderful story, keep going! Ali D :~)