Consequences-Part 20

Consequences

By Samantha Quinn

All disclaimers in Part I

Part 20

Cracks in the Cement

Rating: Considering what Trip’s up to (no intentional puns), I’m bumping this Chapter up to an R. Just to be safe.
A/N: The sayings of Surak come from the Vulcan Language Institute.

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

Captain Skon was even more impressive in person, Archer noted. Watching the Vulcan descend from the shuttlepod steps, the Captain of the Enterprise felt a slight shiver go down his back. *This must be how it felt for Cochrane and the others the first time they saw a Vulcan descend from the space craft in Montana.* Archer thought quietly to himself, momentarily forgetting his typical distrust of the species. As T’Pol was normally the only other Vulcan who could inspire him to do so, an unconsciously high complement was being paid to the Captain of the T’Lar. T’Pau’s descent was equally regal, while V’Lar and the unidentified male Vulcan left less of an impression.

The trail of Vulcans made a line in front of Archer, beginning with Captain Skon. Holding his hand up in the traditional Vulcan greeting, Captain Skon spoke first to Archer, then to Soval. “Greetings, Captain, Ambassador Soval.”

“Welcome to the Enterprise, Captain Skon, Ambassador V’Lar, Lady T’Pau . . . and, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met?” Archer inquired of the unnamed male.

Archer noted that the male looked to Captain Skon first, as though asking permission to speak. *Of course. Hasn’t T’Pol told me repeatedly that Vulcans are sticklers for protocol?* Archer chastised himself. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

At Skon’s nod of approval, the other male spoke. “I am Sumarek,” he said simply. He offered no more information, and Archer decided that it was not prudent to pry. These Vulcans were simply here to check over Ambassador Soval and then be on their way. *For the sake of the peace conference,* Archer reminded himself. *That phrase is beginning to feel awfully damn repetitive.*

“Well, Captain Skon, it is unfortunate that you have traveled this distance. I am not ill,” Soval informed the Vulcan Captain.

In reply, Skon turned his gaze away from Archer and walked two short steps until he was standing directly in front of Soval. “We come at Ventik’s urging. You did not heed protocol,” he replied simply.

“There was no time,” Soval replied. “An imminent warp core breach caused sufficient. . . distraction.”

“Yes the breach timing was . . . very intriguing. But what of the time before the near breach?” Skon remarked. “Ventik has told us of your unwillingness to comply with his urging.”

*Gee, Soval being stubborn? That’s not exactly a revelation,* Archer thought. Wisely, he decided not to say anything and allowed the Vulcans to continue their communication.

“I was preparing for the conference,” replied Soval. Considering he was coming from a species that valued non-emotions, Archer thought Soval sounded distinctly defensive. His continuation was likewise defensive. “I am certain Captain Archer can assure you the time of preparation was well spent, as the conference has been proceeding smoothly.” Soval very nearly spat his next words, “Until your ship arrived, Captain.”

Archer noted with a bit of sadistic pleasure that tone used by Soval towards Skon was the same condescending one the Vulcan Ambassador used with him. *Misery loves company, after all. I’m glad I’m not the only one that has to put up with him,* Archer reflected.

While Archer usually ending up losing his temper, Skon remained his veneer of Vulcan calm as he replied to Soval. “Captain Archer is human. There are many matters of a Vulcan nature which he, being human, is unfamiliar with.” Glancing back at Archer, Skon remarked, “No insult intended, Captain.”

“None taken,” Archer replied. “I can show you our sickbay, if you’d like.”

“I fail to see why that is necessary. You can see for yourself I am non-afflicted,” Soval stressed.

Skon’s voice was eerily calm as he replied, “You will comply without argument, Ambassador, or you will be replaced and placed in custody for jeopardizing the success of the peace conference, thereby committing treason to the Vulcan government. The choice is up to you.”

Archer realized suddenly that whatever the hell was going on was a bit more serious than he had originally thought. For whatever reason, he was glad he had convinced Shran to accompany Mayweather to the Mess Hall. This definitely was not a conversation for the Andorian’s ears. Archer wasn’t even certain it was a conversation for his ears. He supposed he should be thankful the Vulcans were allowing him to be part of their conversation, but he couldn’t help but feel more than a bit frustrated. It was as thought he had come in during the middle of a movie and had no idea what the actual plot was.

“I will comply,” Soval informed Skon. “After you find me to be well, I trust you and your crew will be on your way, Captain?”

“Indeed,” was Skon’s reply.

“Excuse me, but I don’t suppose you can tell me what exactly is going on here?” Archer interrupted. He was certain he probably sounded rude, but he was not about to stand for people keeping secrets from him while on his ship. *I’ve had enough of that from my own crew,* Archer noted, thinking of T’Pol and Trip and whatever relationship they actually had.

“We cannot, Captain,” Skon replied, “It is a private Vulcan matter.”

“With all due respect, Skon, it stopped being one the moment Soval brought it aboard my ship,” Archer retorted, feeling increasingly perturbed.

“It has not been established that Soval has brought anything aboard your ship, Captain Archer,” T’Pau informed him. “Perhaps you should withhold judgment until you are certain of the facts.”

“I can’t very well be certain of any of the facts, if you won’t tell me what the facts are,” Archer snapped.

“It is a private Vulcan matter. It is none of your concern,” T’Pau reiterated.
“Everything that happens on my ship is my concern, T’Pau,” Archer advised the Vulcan. “I want to know what’s going on and I want to know now.”

T’Pau started to reply, but she was interrupted by Skon. “Kroikah!” Archer had no idea what that word meant, other than it was directed at T’Pau, and silenced her comeback. As Skon turned to Archer, he steepled his fingers together in front of his chest and cocked his head thoughtfully before speaking. “A Captain’s priority for his ship is one shared by both our people, Captain Archer. Your desire to know more of Soval’s potential illness is understandable. Nonetheless, we have told you all that you can be privy to know. . . and as a result you know much more than any human before you and most likely, any that shall come after you. We can only ask that you accept that and the guarantee that your ship is in no danger. In fact, my crew and I are here to secure that outcome.”

“If that changes-“ Archer began.

“You shall be the first to know, Captain,” Skon promised. “In the meantime, we shall require the services of your sickbay. Would you show us the way?”

Archer nodded. “Alright. Our physician, Doctor Phlox has worked on Vulcan. Will you be needing his help?” Archer asked.

“No,” Skon replied. “T’Pau has previous medical training. Enough that shall suffice in determining the extent of the Ambassador’s illness.”

“All right, if you’ll follow me,” Archer said turning to go.

As they left the landing bay, Archer and Skon led the way while Soval followed closely behind them, flanked by T’Pau, V’Lar, and Sumarek.

“Captain Archer, on Vulcan ships it is considered proper for the first officer to join the Captain in greeting guests,” Skon remarked. “Is there a different protocol amongst human ships?”

“No,” Archer sighed, knowing Skon was trying to inquire tactfully as to why T’Pol had not greeted them. In truth, Archer simply had not thought it wise to ask her to come, considering the extent of her illness. “We have the same protocol. However, Sub-Commander T’Pol was . . . indisposed,” he finished lamely.

“Indeed?” Skon remarked.

“Indeed,” Archer clarified.

****

T’Pol whirled around to face the guard posted outside Commander Tucker’s cell. The woman had a decided smirk upon her face which immediately disappeared when she came face to face with the irate Sub-Commander. “Ensign,” she said firmly, “are you supposed to be guarding Commander Tucker?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Ensign replied.

“Then perhaps you can explain exactly why instead you are allowing him to engage in conduct unbecoming of a senior officer?” T’Pol inquired.

“Well, ma’am, I’m just supposed to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. And considering the pleasure he is apparently getting, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any plans on leaving,” the Ensign replied, allowing the smirk to re-emerge upon her face.

A loud moan from Commander Tucker’s cell confirmed the Ensign’s belief.

Forcing herself not to turn around, T’Pol instead focused on the irritating grin that emerged from the Ensign’s smirk. “I doubt you are being that altruistic, Ensign. Perhaps instead you are deriving a type of sexual pleasure from Commander Tucker’s predicament?”

The grin disappeared completely, followed by the smirk. “I-uh-no, no, Ma’am, absolutely not,” the Ensign stuttered.

“I trust you were not. Because watching a senior officer in such a fashion would be against Starfleet protocol, Ensign,” T’Pol reminded the woman.

“Y-yes, Ma’am. But, respectfully, Sub-Commander, what was I supposed to do? I asked Commander Tucker what he was doing, but he didn’t listen to me, and proceeded to get undressed,” the Ensign protested.

“You did not think to call reinforcements to help restrain Commander Tucker from engaging in this activity? Lieutenant Reed, perhaps?” T’Pol demanded.
“I-um, no, Ma’am,” the Ensign replied.

T’Pol felt herself growing concerned. That was definitely not in character to Commander Tucker. *Is it not? The man does have a voracious sexual appetite,* T’Pol noted, thinking of the various alien females that had been charmed by Commander Tucker. *Yet . . . his sexual proclivities have never interfered with his duties.* Admittedly, being in the brig was not the same as being on duty. Yet T’Pol refused to believe that this was normal behavior for him.

As Commander Tucker’s sounds began to increase in frequency and volume, T’Pol noted the Ensign’s gaze traveling past her shoulder to the cell behind them. Momentarily breaking the no-touch policy, T’Pol’s hand guided the face back to eye level with her own. “I understand there are several female members of the crew that find Commander Tucker desirable, is that not a fact, Ensign?” T’Pol demanded.

“I suppose so, Sub-Commander,” the Ensign replied, shifting uneasily.

“You are in the enviable position of many women, therefore, are you not, Ensign?” T’Pol pressed.

“I suppose so, Sub-Commander,” came the reply, less steady this time than in its previous incarnation.

“You seem to be uncertain of a number of things, Ensign. Allow me to assist you in alleviating your confusion,” T’Pol had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the depraved noises emanating from Commander Tucker’s cell. “You are hereby dismissed from guard duty. You will report back to the armory and consider this incident to be confidential. If anyone attains knowledge of this incident other than you, myself, the Captain or Commander Tucker, I shall hold you solely responsible. Is that clear, Ensign?”

While the Ensign was fairly certain the Vulcans did not believe in violence--in fact, they were known to be pacifists--she could have sworn she heard malice in the Sub-Commander’s tone. It rather frightened the poor girl. T’Pol was, after all, quite intimidating to begin with. The addition of potential malice was downright terrifying. “Yes, ma’am,” the Ensign replied. “Clear as crystal.”

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

The Ensign, embarrassed to be caught red-handed, yet relieved to be free to leave, hurriedly ducked out the door.

T’Pol took a deep breath and chanted the phrase of Surak in her head repeatedly before turning around. * Logic is the cement of our civilization with which we ascend from chaos, using reason as our guide.*

Convinced she had control of herself, T’Pol turned around and walked to the cell. Not daring to trust her disease ridden body, T’Pol focused exclusively on the prisoner’s face. “Commander Tucker,” she said, attempting to gain the man’s attention. He paid her no heed. She tried again. “Commander Tucker, you must cease this activity at once. It is most unbecoming conduct of an officer,” she reasoned with the man.

He did not pay attention.

Unfortunately, Trip’s lack of compliance with T’Pol’s orders tempted her gaze to wonder from his face. She reasoned that she needed to gain a fuller picture of the situation before being able to help Commander Tucker.

It was an error in judgment.

The sight of Trip’s sweat dampened skin combined with his continual moans-T’Pol marveled inwardly at his stamina-was enough to trigger the reaction she had been able to forestall since entering in the brig. The predictable headache intensified. Doubling over, T’Pol fell to her knees, grasping her head with her hands. Her cry of anguish was enough to jerk Trip from his self inflicted enjoyment. “T’Pol?” he asked in confusion.

Realizing she was hurt, he slowly became more aware of the imperativeness of the situation. “T’Pol?” he repeated. Her only reply was to grasp her head and rock back and forth on her knees.

*No. . . cannot . . . lose. . . T’Pol.* Trip didn’t understand what was going on. Only moments ago, he had been holding T’Pol. Touching her. Removing the Talaxian silk. . . At least, he had been certain of it. *Why is she . . . in pain?* Trip wondered. “T’Pol, honey, please stop crying.”

“Can’t,” T’Pol replied. Dear God, T’Pol was *crying.* Dimly, Trip registered the unnatural state of affairs that fell under. Shaking his head in a desperate attempt to clear his mind, Trip tried again.

“Yes, you can, darlin’. Please, for me-T’Pol, ya have to.”

“Must put. . . clothes back on,” T’Pol gasped. “You . . . and . . . sex . . . hurt. Hurts so much.” The overwhelming agony was too much. 65 years of Vulcan meditation fell to the wayside as T’Pol sobbed. “Want. . . can’t have.”
Hurriedly, Trip struggled back into his clothes. The very feel of the soft fabric against his skin burned as surely as coals. *For T’Pol. . . have to. . . hurting . . her.* Trip’s impaired mental ability registered. Zipping his uniform, Trip reassured T’Pol. “See, look, it’s all better, T’Pol, I am dressed. Ya can stop cryin’ now, Darlin’,” he added.

“STOP IT!” T’Pol’s exclamation surprised Trip and confused him.

“Stop what?” he demanded.

“Stop using terms of endearment. . . hurts so much,” T’Pol gasped again.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” Trip promised. Privately, Trip was more than sorry. He was extraordinarily dismayed and disoriented. *I was touching her just a couple of moments ago and she was fine.* A feeling of dread swept over Trip as he realized the implications. *I must’ve hurt her when we. . . * “Oh, God, I’m sorry, T’Pol,” he murmured.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

He complied, and could do nothing but watch in horror as T’Pol laid there, cradling her head with her hands and rocking slowly back and forth on her knees.

T’Pol was trying desperately to regain control by repeating the Vulcan mantra that had brought her calm earlier. Instead, it twisted into another Surak saying: *Reach out to others courteously. Accept their reaching in the same way, with careful hands.* T’Pol’s weakened mental state twisted that saying around to fit the morbid nature of the situation and only proved to make things worse. T’Pol was certain the end was near. If the teachings of Surak could not help her, then what hope did she have?

Having no other choice, Trip withdrew back to the corner of the cell. Bringing his knees to his chest, Trip curled his body up into a human ball and allowed the tears to come freely. He’d hurt T’Pol. The thought was the foremost upon Trip’s mind, even more so than the burning felt by his body and groin.

****

Malcolm Reed hastened his walk to the brig. Having just come from the armory, Malcolm had ran into both Ensign O’Reilly and the Ensign that had been assigned to guard Trip’s cell. Upon speaking to them, and hearing that the Sub-Commander wished to speak to him, Malcolm went directly to the brig. *Perhaps she has additional information on Commander Tucker,* Malcolm thought optimistically. Such optimistic thoughts were dashed however, when Malcolm entered the brig and saw the sight that greeted him.
Sub-Commander T’Pol sat, with her head in her hands, rocking back and forth and sobbing. Commander Tucker sat in the corner of his cell, curled up into a ball, tears running down his face and murmuring something that distinctly sounded akin to “I’m sorry.”

Malcolm glanced from Trip to T’Pol and back to Trip again. “Sub-Commander?” he asked tentatively. “Are you all right?”

There was no reply from T’Pol. Trip, however, spoke for the Vulcan. “No, she isn’t, Malcolm. She needs to go to sickbay. . . I-I hurt her, Malcolm.”

“How did you hurt her, exactly?” Malcolm demanded.

Trip shook his head. “Don’t know. Hurt her bad, though. Won’t stop cryin’.

Take care of her, Mal. Please.”

Dutifully, Malcolm knelt beside T’Pol. “Sub-Commander?” he said softly. “Let me assist you to sickbay.”

In her mind, Malcolm’s words only added to her discomfort and her irrational mind sought to strike at him. Fortunately, Malcolm remembered his Vulcan training and put it to good use in restraining T’Pol.

“Trip. . . no. Can’t. . . hurting me,” T’Pol whispered.

“Sub-Commander, I am not Trip. Further, I am only restraining you because you have to go to sickbay. Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

Malcolm asked, his voice as gentle as though he were talking to a child.

“Reach out to others courteously,” was T’Pol’s reply. *What the hell?* Malcolm wondered. Not wanting to hurt T’Pol, but knowing something was wrong, Malcolm slowly reached his hands under T’Pol’s legs and back, lifting her easily. He was afraid he’d have to try to restrain her again, but all he received in response to his actions was, “Accept their reaching in the same way.”

*Curiouser and curiouser,* Malcolm thought to himself as he headed towards the exit. Pausing momentarily, he called over his shoulder, “I’m taking her to sickbay, Commander. She’ll be all right.”

“Thank ya, Malcolm. Don’t let anyone else hurt her,” Trip whispered softly. With a feeling of dread, Malcolm knew he would have to come back and interrogate his friend to determine how exactly he had hurt T’Pol. But that would have to wait.

As they left the brig, T’Pol whispered softly, “With careful, careful hands.”

*********

Please Review.
A/N: Yep, T’Pol’s all out of character. She’s very, very, very sick. ;) Why shall be answered in the next chappy, unless the plot gremlin mutates it when I sit down to write it. ;)

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Two folks have made comments

Intriguing. Methinks there will quite a confrontation in Sickbay and hopefully a few revelations to slot the pieces in the jigsaw you have created. I bet that voyeuristic ensign has some pretty erotic dreams. Poor T'Pol and poor poor Trip. Loved Malcolm's reaction. Can't wait to see what happens next. Well done, this is excellent. Ali D :~)

Wants more story now! HURRY PLEASE you are killing us Trip and T'Pol are suffering and that scum sucking Soval is not going to get his fast enough!

Hurry more posts and now please!

Tracy-theeverpresentnaggingcubedone