A Logical- Part 3

A Logical Proposal

By ShouldKnowBetter

Category: Open Topic

Rating:PG13
Disclaimers in Part One

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

Part Three (Conclusion)

Tucker actually saw the accident happen. The fifteen minutes were up and so was the wind, shaking the pod. He had opened the hatch and was peering out anxiously when he finally saw the two figures emerge from the gloom maybe a hundred metres away and pick their way cautiously towards the shuttle pod. Both were carrying containers that appeared heavy even for the ultra-strong Vulcans and he was debating the wisdom of going to lend a hand when the strongest gust of wind yet sent him ducking for cover against the spray that blinded him. When he looked again there was only one figure left, peering downwards.

He covered the distance as fast as he could but it took what felt like hours in the appalling conditions, most of the time bent double to avoid being blown off his feet. Storan was still standing there uselessly. “Where is she?”

The tactical officer gestured down the steep slope of mud at his feet. “The sub-commander slipped down there. She disappeared.”

“Oh, jeez.” The pool at the bottom of the 2m drop was opaque with mud and there was no sign of a grey uniform. “Why didn’t you go in after her?”

“I cannot swim.”

“Neither can she!” Tucker’s hands were shaking as he directed his scanner at the pool; 3m deep, 5oC and a rapidly cooling body at the bottom, 2.5m from the point where they stood. He dropped the scanner, tore off his jacket and kicked off his boots, slithered down the slope, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and dived as deep as he could. The cold almost made him gasp and he had time for a frantic prayer that Vulcan discipline had protected T’Pol from doing the same, then his groping fingers encountered something that wasn’t mud. He took a double handful and kicked upwards, breaking the surface panting and trying to squint through stinging water in his eyes. At least it was a body he had dragged up; he just hoped it wasn’t a dead body but surely she hadn’t been down there that long. He floundered to the edge of the pool where at least Storan had had the sense to move to a point where the slope was less steep and let the Vulcan relieve him of the dead weight, hauling himself out afterwards.

“How is she?” He had to shout to be heard over the shrieking wind.

“The sub-commander appears not to be breathing.”

“Aw, shit.” Tucker crawled to T’Pol’s side, fumbling for a pulse, finding a faint one. He prised open her mouth, made sure the airway was clear, then tipped her head back and exhaled into her mouth, wishing he wasn’t panting so hard already. Did the technique even work on a Vulcan? God, but she was cold. Count, Trip, don’t think. Count and breathe.

“Commander, what are you doing?”

And ignore the blathering idiot. C’mon, T’Pol, breathe, damn you. I can’t keep this up all day. Breathe!

Tucker was starting see double before the body beside him suddenly drew a hiccupping breath and T’Pol started to cough weakly. He rolled her over, supporting her head while she brought up at least some of what she had inhaled, gulping down much needed oxygen himself, then sat her up. “T’Pol!” She was still struggling for breath, coughing intermittently. “T’Pol, look at me!” Her eyes weren’t focussing and he cupped a hand round her cheek to force her head up, careless of the proprieties. “Sub-Commander!”

She coughed again, a hand rising to her mouth then she seemed to finally see him. “Commander Tucker. What …” She couldn’t finish, coughing hard and he smoothed a hand through her sodden hair.

“T’Pol, did you swallow any of it?” His urgency was getting through to her but not fast enough. He shook her. “T’Pol, that stuff’s toxic! Did you swallow any?”
“Don’t …” She seemed to be losing focus again and he dare not wait for her to recover.

“I’m sorry, sub-commander,” and he flipped her over and stuck his fingers down her throat.

At least the gag-reflect worked for Vulcans as for humans and she had swallowed the filthy water. He just hoped she brought enough of it up to do some good. He sat her up when the retching stopped, wiping away the moisture trickling down her face. “Sorry about that.”

She mumbled something in Vulcan and he looked up at Storan who had stood disapprovingly by throughout the entire unpleasant business. “What did she say?”

“She doesn’t like you.”

Tucker almost smiled. “Now there’s a surprise.” T’Pol might resent having her life saved by a human but she was also starting to shake with the onset of shock and hypothermia. He belatedly realised that he was freezing himself and the wind was still blowing ferociously adding wind chill to the equation. “T’Pol,” this time she managed to look at him, “we’ve got to get to the shuttle pod. Can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you?”

“Walk.” She definitely wasn’t herself yet – he was worried about aphasia – but he hadn’t thought she would want to be carried, at least not by him.

It seemed that T’Pol over-estimated her ability, however. She couldn’t stand when he lifted her up, having to cling to his soaking jumpsuit as she coughed, bringing up more water then vomiting again. “S’OK,” he said gently when it was over and she was still clinging to him, head lowered, and hoisted her into his arms. “Just tell me if you want to be sick again, huh?”

“I believe,” Storan said grumpily, “that it would be more efficient if I carried the sub-commander.”

“Maybe,” she was heavier than she looked, “but I’ve got her now. Just bring my stuff.”

The short trip through the vicious wind was a nightmare. Tucker expected to be blown off his feet at every step and he was exhausted by the time they finally reached the shuttle pod although at least the delay had given him the chance to review his first aid theory and prioritise. He set T’Pol down on a seat by the emergency locker, having to prise her frozen hands from his uniform to do so. “Storan, run pre-flight checks.” He didn’t waste time checking his order was being obeyed, grabbing an oxygen mask from the locker and holding it over T’Pol’s nose and mouth. “No, you don’t.” She struggled against the cold flow and he gripped the back of her neck, keeping her still. “Just breathe, T’Pol.” She quietened, starting to breathe more easily and he relaxed his grip, fingers soothing. “Good girl. Nice deep breaths now.”

The rich flow of oxygen had an effect. Tucker watched as T’Pol’s eyes regained their customary intelligence then she closed them for a moment as she visibly regained control although even she could not stop her body shaking. He let her take the mask and used the spare hand to pull blankets from the locker. “Do you remember where you are, sub-commander?” He reckoned she was more likely to respond to her rank if she was still confused although her nod wasn’t enough to satisfy him. “Tell me! What happened to you?”

“Third planet, Veth system.” She still wasn’t breathing easily and he pushed the mask back place for a moment. “Away mission … looking for … deuterium. The wind … upset my balance. Fell in.” She gasped into the mask again then looked accusingly at him. “You made me vomit.”

He smiled, relieved that she hadn’t suffered any memory loss. “I’m not apologising again.”

“Commander Tucker.” He looked around at Storan. “The pre-flight checks are complete but external wind speeds are approaching upper safety levels. Commander,” the Vulcan was obviously disgusted, “you are … fondling Sub-Commander T’Pol.”

“Huh? Oh!” Tucker realised that he still had one hand cupped around the nape of the woman’s neck, not to mention the other covering hers on the oxygen mask. He withdrew rapidly and tossed the blankets into her lap. “Get out of those wet things. I’m taking us up.”

“I feel it would be more appropriate to raise the cabin temperature and assume safety harnesses. The wind shear …”

“Fine. You do that, Storan.” Tucker left him to it and slid into the pilot’s chair. He wanted T’Pol back on Enterprise asap. He doubted she had voided herself of all the toxins she had ingested, never mind the side effects of a near fatal drowning. The board showed green and he waited for a momentary lull in the gale then applied full thrusters, hoping to clear any ground turbulence fast.
The shuttle pod was barely 10m up when the intermittent thruster fault reoccurred. Still trying to lift-off, Tucker didn’t stand a chance of controlling the suddenly unstable craft. It flipped and came down on its side, the soft ground fortunately absorbing some of the impact although it meant that a metre of hull was buried in mud.

Bruised and winded from the impact with his safety harness, Tucker took a few moments to catch his breath then swore furiously even as he shut the engines down. “Everyone OK?”

“I believe so, due to the fact that I recommended the use of safety equipment as per …”

“Fine.” Tucker released his own harness and dropped to the side of the pod that was now become the floor. “I’ll be sure to mention it in my report. Run a damage report, Storan; but I don’t reckon we’re going anywhere.”

“No. I estimate that …”

“Lieutenant! Shut up!” The Vulcan raised a bemused eyebrow and also left his seat while Tucker freed T’Pol and eased her down. “OK?” She nodded although she was panting again, no doubt as winded as he had been. He retrieved the oxygen mask and blankets, giving her a few breaths from the former. “Get undressed.”

She wasn’t happy about it but understood the necessity, turning her back and fumbling for the fastening of her catsuit. “Commander.” He had politely turned away, rummaging in a food locker, but looked up. “I cannot.” She held out a shaking hand and he grimaced, squeezing it briefly as he clambered back to his feet.

“You’re freezing.” He unzipped her and helped her step out of the soaked garment, mostly looking elsewhere. He didn’t dare suggested that she remove the equally wet tank top but she did the sensible thing, wriggling out of it and clutching the blankets around herself.

“Sit.” Tucker indicated a place by one of the air vents then brought a steaming cup over. “Drink.”

“I do not like …”

“I know but it’s hot. You’re hypothermic, T’Pol. We gotta warm you up. It’s coffee or me under the blankets with you.”

She managed a weak glare and stretched out a shaking hand for the cup. He steadied it for her and she sipped cautiously. “It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not. It’s barely 60o. You’re just cold. Drink it.”

She swallowed some more while he rubbed her legs briskly through the blankets, mentally cursing Starfleet for not including hot water bottles in the standard emergency kit. That was twice now they’d have come in useful.
“You are wet too.”

“I’m OK.” It was warm in the cabin and he’d started to dry out a little. “Can’t have us both in our undies. What would the cap’n think?”

T’Pol finished the coffee and he took the cup while she leant her head back against the wall, eyes closed. “You must report to Enterprise.”

“In a minute.” He was studying her carefully and didn’t like the result. She was very pale and still shaking but there was a definite sheen of sweat on her forehead and her eyes looked sunken. Not just hypothermia and shock; toxic shock or he’d wasted his time in first aid class. “How d’you feel now?”

“I am Vulcan. We can control our body’s response.”

“You can’t even stop shivering!”

Dark eyes opened to stare balefully into his. “Call Enterprise.”

As it happened, he couldn’t. One item on Storan’s extensive damage report was communications – unserviceable. Tucker swore and just refrained from flinging the PADD across the cabin. He did need to update Enterprise on their status or Archer would be sending down another shuttle pod and he wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t something in the atmosphere that had caused the thruster failure. He didn’t want another shuttle pod crash on his conscience and he did want Phlox’s advice on the science officer’s condition. Tucker had exhausted his first aid knowledge and unless the storm dropped they weren’t going anywhere soon. “What’s the wind speed outside?”

“On average 82km/hour, gusting in excess of 114km/hour.”

“Shit.” The crash had probably damaged the port array but the starboard one should have been working. Maybe it had just been shaken loose but to check he would have to crawl out through the emergency hatch – they had, of course, landed airlock down – and attempt not to be blown off the hull. Or washed off. Naturally enough, the storm also carried the equivalent of rain; acid rain. “Damn.” He delved into another locker for the tools he thought he’d need. “Stay here.” That was directed at Storan; T’Pol wasn’t capable of going anywhere. “I shouldn’t be long.”

“Commander!” T’Pol’s voice was still weak but he paused. “You should not go outside alone. If you get into difficulty …”

“I won’t,” he said roughly and glared first at her and then at Storan. “Try to stop her shivering like that.”

Storan looked unfavourably on T’Pol as she watched Tucker disappear into the emergency exit, detecting poorly concealed concern. Really, he was starting to have second thoughts about their betrothal. She had clearly lived amongst humans too long. “The most effective means of raising your body temperature given the limited facilities available is to share my warmth.”

“No.”

“It is the logical course.”

“I will not allow it.”

“I believe Commander Tucker suggested it to you.”

“He was joking.” She had to use the English word; there was no Vulcan equivalent. Although if Tucker had insisted it would have been nice to be close to him. She broke off the thought, dismayed; she was definitely unwell. “In that locker, there should be hot drinks. It will suffice.” Storan made the coffee too hot and didn’t hold the cup for her so that it split and burnt her. She really didn’t like Tucker at all.

Over half an hour had passed before Tucker emerged from the emergency exit and collapsed in a heap on the floor, panting and shivering, just as wet as when he had pulled T’Pol out of the pond. She had tried to make Storan go and look for the engineer but he had refused, pointing out that she had clearly been relieved of duty and consequently he took his orders from Commander Tucker who had told him to remain within the shuttle pod. She had wanted to hit him.
Now both Vulcans watched the human pull himself up into a sitting position, pushing hair out of his eyes with a dirty hand. “Try it now,” he managed at last and Storan went forward while T’Pol stretched out a tentative hand to brush Tucker’s cheek. He looked up startled.

“You must get dry.”

He was too tired even to smile. “Follow my own advice, huh?”

“Yes.”

“How d’you feel?” She didn’t answer and he gave her a searching look. “Crap?”

“I am not familiar with the precise definition of that term.”

That time he just about managed an amused grunt and crawled over to serve himself coffee.

“The array is operational, commander.”

“Great,” he muttered and staggered forward, holding onto furniture. “Tucker to Enterprise.”

“Archer.” The response was immediate. “You’re late, Trip. What’s going on?”

“Thrusters failed on take-off. We crashed and damaged the comm. system. Took a while to get it working again.”

“Everyone OK?”

“From the crash, yeah, but T’Pol fell in a puddle and nearly drowned. Can you get Phlox on the line?”

“Hoshi’s paging him now. I’ll get Mayweather to power up a rescue shuttle.”

“Cancel that, cap’n. You’d never land. Conditions are foul down here.”

“Phlox is here. Go ahead, doctor.”

“What is the problem, Commander Tucker?”

“T’Pol tried to drown herself in a toxic pool about an hour ago.” He managed to find the earlier analysis. “3% deuterium, 300ppm beryllium, 60ppm cadmium plus traces of other stuff. She got it in her stomach and lungs and stopped breathing. Oh, and the water temperature was about 5oC.”

“Were you able to re-start her breathing?”

“Yeah.”

“Give her oxygen and attempt to raise her body temperature.”

“Done that, doc.”

“Ah, well done, commander. Sometimes a little knowledge is useful. What is her current condition?”

Tucker twisted to inspect the science officer again. “She’s still cold, but she’s sweating and pale and her pupils are dilated. Looks like toxic shock to me.”
“Thank you for the diagnosis, commander, but I am the doctor. Is the sub-commander conscious?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Keep her that way. Now I need you to run some blood tests.”

Tucker let Storan take the blood sample and run the tests; he didn’t like the sight of blood even when it was green. He returned to analysing the cause of the thruster failure instead, keeping an occasional eye on T’Pol who looked to be trying to meditate although she kept shifting uncomfortably. He left her in peace until he definitely saw her wince then went to crouch at her side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes were closed but she was breathing rapidly.

“You’re hurting. Where?”

“I can control it.”

“Could have fooled me.” He slid down to sit beside her. “Want to know what caused the thrusters to fail?”

“Very well.” Perhaps it would distract her; mediation was not helping.

He offered her a PADD that she couldn’t be bothered to take so he told her instead. “The average concentration of zeon in the atmosphere is no more than 3ppm so Enterprise’s sensors didn’t recognise a problem, but I ran some more scans down here and it collects in pockets where it’s up to as much as 50ppm.”
She made the connection easily enough even feeling miserably ill. “When the thrusters’ exhaust passed through a pocket the zeon caused it to stall.”

“Yeah. I should have spotted it before I tried to take off. Maybe …”

“You could not have avoided the pocket, nor altered the exhaust flow without access to Enterprise.”

“I guess.” He wasn’t convinced by the reassurance. “I’ll get them on modifying the other shuttle pod. If the wind ever drops …”

“It is still rising.” The pod was shaking as gusts impacted it.

The comm. activated and Tucker nodded Storan to answer; he was too tired to move now that he had sat down.

“Ah, Lt. Storan.” Phlox sounded cheerful although Tucker wasn’t fooled. The Denobulan would tell you your leg had been chewed off and still sound up-beat. “I have extrapolated from the results of your tests. Is Commander Tucker there?”

“He is.” The Vulcan was still disapproving. In his opinion, Tucker was again sitting too close to the sub-commander.

“Go ahead, doc. T’Pol’s listening in, too.”

“I’m afraid that Sub-Commander T’Pol is going to become extremely ill unless she can be returned to Enterprise within the next few hours. As Commander Tucker observed, the water she fell into was highly toxic; it is doing some rather unpleasant things to her lungs and stomach. Vulcans are vulnerable to lung complaints at the best of times having evolved in a dry environment and the sub-commander is already in a weakened condition. Her blood chemistry indicates that she has not had adequate rest or nutrients for some days. I don’t like to gainsay tradition, sub-commander, but this isn’t one that, as your physician, I can recommend.”

There was ominous silence then Archer’s voice came over the comm., asking the question Tucker hadn’t had the courage to voice. “How long, doctor?”
“Unless she returns to Enterprise within the next six hours, I will be unable to correct the organ damage.”

“Trip, how long until the wind drops?”

It was Storan who answered. “I estimate approximately 8 hours, captain.”
“Can you use the transporter, cap’n?” Tucker didn’t trust the technology but their options were limited.

“Negative. There’s too much interference to get a lock. We’ll bring another shuttle pod down.”

“No, cap’n!” Tucker was firm. “They’re just not designed for these conditions. Even Travis couldn’t keep one flying straight, plus you’d need to make some mod.s to the exhaust system to cope with the atmospheric composition.”

“Then what’s your plan, commander? I’m not prepared to sit up here while T’Pol gets sick.”

“Sub-Commander T’Pol should be able to put herself into a deep, healing trance,” Storan pointed out coolly. “It has been a proven technique for many centuries.”

“I would normally agree, lieutenant,” Phlox put in, “but it does require the patient to have the strength of body and will to achieve that state in the first place. I’m afraid that Sub-Commander T’Pol may already be too ill to achieve it.”

“Can you?” Tucker asked quietly of the woman by his side and she shook her head slightly.

“I do not know.”

“Next time you decide to go on a meditation binge, you stay off away missions, you hear?” Concern was making him snap. “Doctor, T’Pol’ll give it a go, but isn’t there anything you can do to help? She’s in pain even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.”

“Unfortunately, most analgesics also depress the breathing process. She would need oxygen to compensate.”

“I can fix that.”

“Very well. Then you may administer 2cc of diamorphate every hour. The red phial in the med. kit.”

“OK. Anything else?”

There was a pause. “A warning, commander. If Sub-Commander T’Pol cannot achieve the desired trance, she is going to develop a very high fever, high enough to break her mental controls. You could find yourself with a primitive Vulcan on your hands and given your past history together … you may well be advised to let Lt. Storan handle her.”

“OK.” Tucker was watching T’Pol who was looking at him. One wondering if someone he had just learnt to call a friend would really hurt him. The other concerned that it wouldn’t be a violent reaction he provoked. “Shuttle Pod 1 out.”

It wasn’t working. There were too many distractions, too much pain, she couldn’t breathe properly. The flame in her mind wouldn’t stay still and without the flame she couldn’t meditate. For what seemed like the hundredth time, T’Pol opened her eyes and looked around the shuttle pod, confused by its orientation until befuddled memory caught up.

“You will not be able to achieve the desired state, sub-commander, unless you persevere.”

Had Storan always been that smug or was it simply her illness making her less tolerant. “I cannot.”

“Surak teaches that patience and perseverance are the route to calm.”

“I cannot!” Even T’Pol could hear the impatience in her own voice and tried to calm herself. How had the doctor described it – a primitive Vulcan. She didn’t want to become like that. But it was so hard and Storan was so annoying. “Where is Commander Tucker?” Perhaps he would make the other man keep quiet.

“He is in the engine compartment. I fail to see what he hopes to achieve since my damage report clearly indicated that an extensive period of repair would be required to seal the breaches in the outer hull.”

“He likes to fix things.”

“In this case such activity is entirely illogical, although I have of course observed that Commander Tucker’s behaviour is characterised by that trait. I anticipated that a human serving in a senior role aboard a ship that Earth considers its finest achievement would have demonstrated more reliable characteristics. I find this …”

“He is a good engineer.”

“So you told me. However, as you yourself observed, he does not follow due process. Such a failing must eventually lead to disaster. Ultimately I predict that he will make a catastrophic error. It is to be hoped that he endangers no one but himself.”

T’Pol would have liked to say a great deal in Tucker’s defence but she didn’t have the breath and she rather thought she would sound too partisan. The downside of saying nothing was that Storan continued to talk.

“I have been considering our betrothal, T’Pol. I have decided that once it has been witnessed you must leave the Earth ship. You have clearly been away from your own people for too long. Your failure to achieve the required level of consciousness today is systematic of that. The way you permit the humans to have physical contact with you is another sign. I have an aunt in the monastery of Kiv. I will arrange for you to spend time there.”

“I have not yet given you my answer, Storan.”

“There can be only one logical answer. As I was saying …”

“Storan, will you shut the hell up!” T’Pol silently thanked Tucker for voicing her precise thought as the engineer slid awkwardly into the main compartment and reached behind him to lift down a small crate. “How can T’Pol meditate when you keep yakking at her?”

“The sub-commander stated that she could not achieve the desired state despite my advice as to ...”

“Well, at least keep quiet and let her rest.” Tucker didn’t take his own advice, moving to crouch at T’Pol’s side. She wondered vaguely if he would like to hold her hand but unfortunately she had both tucked inside the nest of blankets so she couldn’t find out.

“You are very dirty.”

“You’re not so clean yourself. How d’you feel?”

“Cold.”

His mouth pulled to one side. “You don’t look cold.” Briefly cool fingers pressed against her cheek but before she could lean into them they were withdrawn. “Your temperature’s up.”

Behind them, Storan sniffed. “Vulcan body temperature is higher than human. You are no doubt mistaken, commander.”

“No, I’m not.” Blue eyes were still on hers. “Want a drink?” She nodded and he fetched a water pack, tipping it to her mouth. “Not too much.” The liquid soothed her burning throat but hurt her stomach; she couldn’t control the pain and a faint gasp escaped her. Tucker winced too and reached for the hypo lying nearby. “It’s just about time for you to have more of this.”

“The last injection was administered 54 minutes ago.”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.” Tucker glanced around contemptuously. “Is 6 minutes going to make any difference, lieutenant?”

“I recommend asking Dr Phlox that question.”

“Then remind me to ask next time he calls.” He pressed the hypospray against T’Pol’s jugular and she felt the almost instant relief, closing her eyes. She still couldn’t concentrate enough to meditate but it was easier to cope. “T’Pol.” Tucker’s quiet voice forced her to open her eyes again. “Move this way a bit.” He helped her into a corner and pressed the modified oxygen mask to her face, now connected to the shuttle pod’s own supply. “You need to wear this for a bit.” She nodded and leant her head back against the wall, making him grimace and fetch his jacket, folding it into a crude pillow for her. “I’d let you lie down, but it wouldn’t help your breathing. Try and get some rest. I’m gonna have another look at that pattern enhancer for the transporter we talked about.”
If she hadn’t been prevented by the mask, T’Pol would have told him not to bother. There was no way he could get such a device to work without proper research and development. On the other hand, it would keep him busy; a bored Tucker wasn’t a good thing to have around. She closed her eyes and turned her head to rest her cheek on the folded jacket. It smelt of him; she just wished that there was a body inside.

Tucker was deeply engrossed in extrapolating working technology from an idle half hour’s speculation over coffee when T’Pol became restless. In fact, he was so engrossed he didn’t even notice although Storan did, looking with yet greater disapproval at his almost-betrothed. Her behaviour was really most unsatisfactory. “Sub-Commander T’Pol!”

Tucker looked up at the sharp admonition. “Leave her alone. She’s just dreaming.”

“Vulcans do not dream.”

“Whatever.” T’Pol appeared to be in some distress, muttering and tossing her head. Perhaps she’d be better conscious. “Wake her up if you don’t like it.”
Storan did not appear to approval of that suggestion either, but rose to his feet and went to poke the sleeping woman roughly. T’Pol jerked upright, saw Storan looming over her and panicked, scuttling away from him. He frowned and followed. “Sub-commander, this behaviour is most unbecoming. Compose yourself.”

She whimpered and stammered something in Vulcan, curling herself into a tight ball, and Storan found himself moved roughly aside as Tucker pushed past him to kneel in front of the distressed woman. “T’Pol,” he made his voice as calm and firm as he could, “it’s OK, you’re safe.” If she had been human he would have touched her but Phlox’s warning made him wary; a broken jaw wouldn’t help any of them. She muttered again and he looked up at Storan. “What’s she saying?”

“That there are hokeet – small rodents native to Vulcan – under the bed.” His disgust was obvious. “She is delusional.”

“She’s just had a bad dream from the fever,” Tucker corrected; he could feel the heat radiating from her. “T’Pol, there’s nothing here gonna hurt you. Just me and Storan.” She uncurled very slightly so he supposed she had understood the English if she had forgotten how to speak it. “Come on, T’Pol,” he risked a hand on her shoulder through the blankets still wound around her and her eyes seemed to focus on him, “let’s get you comfortable again.”
She gave a convulsive shudder. “Hokeet.”

“No.” He was trying to be gentle and firm at the same time, remembering how Archer had been with him when he was off his head with sunstroke. “No hokeet. Not on any ship where I’m chief engineer.”

T’Pol swallowed, maybe relaxing just a little more. “Commander Tucker.”

“’Fraid so.” He managed a faint smile to mask his concern. “You back with us, T’Pol?” She nodded although the hand she raised to her mouth was shaking. “OK, let’s get you back in your corner.” He helped her move and gave her the oxygen mask again, hearing her breath wheezing, and without thinking pressed a hand to her forehead, grimacing at the heat.
She sighed, eyes closing. “Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry.” He drew back and the dark eyes flickered open.

“It’s nice.”

“Oh.” He was so surprised he couldn’t think of anything to say, although if he had been as hot and feverish as T’Pol perhaps he too would have liked anything cold against his skin. “OK, let’s try to cool you down a bit.”

“No.” Her hands tried to prevent him stripping away some of the blankets but he persisted.

“You’re too hot, T’Pol. We gotta keep your temperature down.”

“It’s cold.”

“No, it’s not.” If she felt cold why had she liked his hand on her? Just showed how screwed up she was. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to look at you.”

“Why not?”

He almost laughed, wondering if he would be able to tease her about that one later; she had practically sounded disappointed. “Because I’m a gentleman and gentlemen don’t take advantage of ladies in distress. Storan, get me some water, would you?”

The other man handed him a ration pack along with a glare that practically equalled one of T’Pol’s. “You are dishonouring her.”

“What the hell?” Then Tucker noticed that T’Pol was cringing again, leaning away from the other Vulcan. “Aw, just keep the hell away from her! She doesn’t like having you around.”

“But she tolerates you?”

“Yeah, she tolerates me.” Tucker wetted the corner of one of the discarded blankets and started to wipe T’Pol’s face and neck, ignoring her murmur of protest; she had wanted to be stroked, not wiped. “We’re friends, Storan. I’m sorry if that doesn’t translate into Vulcan but that’s how it is.”

“T’hy’la.” If a Vulcan had ever looked murderous since the time of Surak, Storan managed it then. “The term you refer to is t’hy’la.”

“Fine. Now get away from her.”

Storan retreated in a huff, seating himself and sinking quickly into a trance, while Tucker continued to work over T’Pol in silence, trying to suppress his own anger and impatience. So much for Phlox’s advice. He could have done with the other man’s help in caring for the very sick science officer, then he could have got on with assembling a pattern enhancer. His long shot was looking promising.

“Commander.” Half back with his engineering problem, he took a moment to react then found T’Pol looking up at him, apparently half sensible again. “I believe you have achieved your purpose.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” She definitely felt cooler. “Want a drink?”

“No.”

“Won’t hurt.” He picked up a beaker. “Phlox said this wouldn’t irritate your stomach.”

She swallowed some of the alkaline solution then leant back against the wall, resisting the urge to rest her head on the blue-clad shoulder next to hers. He was so kind and she wanted him so much … “You should continue with your work.”

“OK.” Tucker watched T’Pol for a moment. She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable and he didn’t like leaving her on her own. “Want me to tell you about it?”

“Yes.” Then he would have to stay and she wouldn’t have that dream again, where she was a little girl and the hokeet came and chewed her hair. All her parents’ logic had not helped but she trusted the engineer; he would never allow hokeet into the ventilation system.

Tucker left but returned within a very short time with a PADD and a heap of components, handing her a toolkit. “You look after that.” Even desperately ill, T’Pol registered that he was pandering to her but didn’t have the energy to object. “You remember we had that row with Malcolm over why the transporter was so unreliable?”

“We had an intellectual debate on the matter.”

“Yeah, we rowed about it; it was fun. Well, I reckon it all comes down to pattern discrimination.”

“That is obvious.”

“Hush, you’re supposed to be resting.” He was warming to his theme and T’Pol let herself drift; it was always entertaining to listen to Tucker when he was talking professionally – and sometimes when he wasn’t. “So if you could give the pattern a boost at the far end when you’re trying to get a lock you ought to have a more reliable transport.”

“That would require dissolution of the matter into an energy stream by a remote terminal. It cannot work from here.”

“Nah, you’re being too obvious. I said discrimination. If you can’t enhance the actual pattern, you can maybe suppress the background noise.”

“A dampening field?”

“Exactly. Tuned to the surrounding environment.”

“You will never be able to match the frequency spectrum.”

“Will too.” He turned to grin at her, his expression fading into concern again. “Rest, T’Pol. You look terrible.”

“How will you test it?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t got that far yet.”

“There is always the captain’s canine.”

He smiled and stretched out a hand to stroke her check; she knew he was only checking her temperature but it was comforting. “Rest.”

She obeyed. If she did not try whist she still had a vestige of control, she would be trying to climb into his lap to be held while she slept.

The next time T’Pol awoke, Tucker had nearly finished assembling what he hoped would be the first transporter pattern enhancer. If not … he had just wasted five hours and Enterprise’s first officer was going to die a very unpleasant death. This time he did not wait to see if Storan would do anything useful for the woman. Not that it looked as if the other Vulcan would even have bothered trying; he appeared to be meditating still. T’Pol had fallen over and was thrashing weakly, caught in the blanket still covering her scantily clad form and frightened by it. Tucker reached her as she started to cough, lifting her into a sitting position and supporting her struggling body, holding her head still as she fought for breath. “Ssh, it’s OK. Keep still, T’Pol, it’s OK.” The coughing continued and Tucker watched horrified as green phlegm appeared around her mouth; she was bleeding internally from the effect of the toxic muck she had swallowed. He continued to sooth her until the coughing fit finally eased then wiped away the blood and tried to prop her back up in the corner, meaning to cool her down again - she was almost too hot to touch – but she began to struggle again.

“Nirsh.” It was almost the only Vulcan he could remember and it was a flat negative. She said something else just as desperately and he groaned.

“Don’t do this to me, T’Pol. You know I don’t speak Vulcan.” With little hope he glanced over at Storan and found the other man looking back with what could only be described as anger.

“She said, ‘No, hold me’.”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe my translation was accurate.”

Tucker was so surprised that he stopped trying to control T’Pol’s increasing frantic movements and she took advantage, wriggling through his grip to press against him, head tucked into his neck. “Hold me.” It was still in Vulcan but he recognised the phrase from moments before. Tentatively he closed his arms around the slight body and she sighed, positively snuggling closer. “Charles.”
Before he had a chance to absorb the implications of that one she went limp and Tucker pressed his fingers to her jugular in alarm. The pulse was still there but it was frighteningly weak.

“Cap’n, just do it!” Tucker rarely lost his temper with Archer but he had this time.

“No, Trip. I’m not risking your life with unproven technology.”

“It’s not unproven. The bio-matter went through all right. Now beam me up!”

“No.”

“Cap’n, T’Pol’s dying down here. D’you want her death on your conscience?”

“No, and I don’t want yours either. Trip, calm down and think. This is T’Pol’s only chance. Send her up first. If it works, fine. If not … then she was already dying. This is an order, commander. Put T’Pol in the pattern enhancer and BACK OFF.”

There was a pause then Tucker’s voice came over the comm. again. “OK, she’s in.”

“Energise.”

As always, it took an agonising time for the matter of a living being to be broken down into an impersonal energy steam and then reassembled, but once the process was complete there was a blanket wrapped form lying on the transporter pad. Phlox and Archer hurried over and after a brief check the doctor nodded. “She’s alive.”

Across the room, the transporter operator passed on the good news, while Archer bent to lift the seemingly comatose Vulcan into his arms. She woke with a whimper, staring up at him. “It’s OK, T’Pol,” he said reassuringly, “you’re home.”

Unfortunately the reassurance didn’t have the desired effect. She snarled and thrust him violently away, then dealt an even fouler blow to Phlox as he tried to intervene.

“Hey,” Tucker had caught the sound of the altercation over the comm., “what’s going on up there?”

Archer struggled upright, bruised and annoyed. “T’Pol’s being … eh … primitive.”

“Bring me up.”

“Trip …”

“Bring me up. She’s scared.”

“She doesn’t look scared.”

“Cap’n!”

“The risk …”

“Fuck the risk! Cap’n, please!”

The beleaguered captain nodded to the transporter operator; if Trip thought he could help with a Vulcan who seemed intent on kicking seven bells out of everyone in sight, he was welcome to try.

Tucker materialised, glared briefly at the chamber around him then jumped out, crossing to grip the Vulcan woman by the shoulders; she had Phlox backed into a corner. “T’Pol, take it easy.” She spun around, eyes wild, and he cupped her face in his hands. “T’Pol, it’s me, I’m here, you’re OK.”

Bemused, not to mention annoyed and very probably jealous as well, Archer watched as his first officer gave something suspiciously like a sob and collapsed into Tucker’s arms, her own going around him. She mumbled something and Archer saw Tucker’s mouth twitch into a smile. “No, no hokeet, not on Enterprise, and I’ll make sure the doctor’s got his bat locked up as well. C’mon, T’Pol,” the engineer hoisted the woman into his arms, “let’s get you to sickbay and let the doctor sort you out.”

Phlox had regained his feet, eyes watering only slightly. “If you would place the sub-commander onto the trolley, commander.”

“I reckon she’s better where she is.” Briefly Tucker met Archer’s eye, a frown beginning as he read something of his friend’s mood, then he headed for the door. “Let’s go, doc.”

Archer drew a steadying breath and found that while he had been distracted Storan had also been beamed up and was glaring after the first officer and chief engineer. “Captain Archer, I will be filing a report on Commander Tucker’s quite inappropriate behaviour during our recent away mission.”

“I’ll read it with pleasure, lieutenant,” and a great deal in interest.

“His attitude towards Sub-Commander T’Pol is entirely over-familiar.”

And just how close had those two become when he wasn’t looking? “They’re friend, Storan.” Or so he hoped.

“So Commander Tucker informed me.”

“Then leave it at that.” And perhaps he would too.

T’Pol awoke to full awareness, identifying Enterprise’s sickbay around her as soon as she opened her eyes. So Charles’ entirely irrational plan for returning them to their ship must have been successful. He really was a most talented engineer. The only problem was that she couldn’t quite remember … had he touched her while she had been ill? She seemed to recall the feel of muscular arms holding her close to a hard, cool body, or was that just her fevered imagination? Surely she wouldn’t … Charles! She had thought of him as Charles. Not Commander Tucker, not the chief engineer, but Charles. It was, as he had said, a nice name but it was his personal name and she was Vulcan and she didn’t like him and …

“Ah, Sub-Commander T’Pol,” Phlox’s cheerful voice broke into her panicked thoughts, “I see you have rejoined us.”

“I wish to return to my quarters. I must meditate.”

“Not just yet, I’m afraid.” The Denobulan inspected the monitor beside her bed. “You’re still running a significant fever and I cannot release you until your temperature has stabilised for at least 12 hours.”

“I must meditate.”

“I assure you, sub-commander, that no one will think the worse of you for your behaviour while you were ill. Even me.”

She was too distraught to catch the last comment, never mind ask for an explanation. “I must meditate.”

Phlox sighed. Some patients were even worse than humans. “Behind you.”
She turned and found her meditation lamp on the bedside table. “Thank you.” Normally she didn’t see the point of human pleasantries, but that one was sincere.

“Thank Commander Tucker. He thought you’d require it.” The doctor paused, wondering if that had been pain that crossed his patient’s face. “He also left the other lamp. I didn’t understand the reference.”

T’Pol reached out an unsteady hand, not for her lamp but for the sheet of paper tucked behind it; between it and an extremely ugly object shaped, she thought, like a primitive human representation of a robotic device. The writing was barely legible to one used to print and to neat Vulcan script but she managed. “Mom bought me the nightlight when I got scared of the dark. Guaranteed protection against hokeet. Charles.”

Carefully T’Pol set her meditation lamp down in front of her and pressed the auto-ignite. He was illogical, emotional and sentimental; and she loved him very much. Now she must concentrate on returning him to the box marked Commander Tucker, chief engineer, Enterprise. A human with whom she had nothing in common and whom she despised for his contempt of her species and puerile interest in women.

T’Pol was still in sickbay when Storan’s tour of duty come to an end. She had pleaded but Phlox had been adamant. Until her temperature was stable she had to stay and it kept fluctuating despite intense meditation. But if she had hoped that her continued sojourn in Phlox’s care would spare her a visit from Storan she was disappointed. He arrived there, stiff and disapproving and quite prepared to interrupt her meditations which hadn’t been going well; no doubt due to her continued fever.

“T’Pol, I am about to leave Enterprise. I cannot say that I have derived any benefit from my time here.”

“I regret your failure.”

“Regret is an emotion which I do not experience. I observe that you have again demonstrated your unfitness to become my wife.”

“I am sure that you will find a suitable alternative.”

“As am I. T’Pol, given our dealings together I feel at liberty to point out that I doubt your ability to find an acceptable partner. It is clear to me that you have … feelings … quite improper feelings … towards the human Tucker.”

“He is my friend.”

“I do not think so. You want him for your lover.” It was the same word, t’hy’la, but the inflection was different. “Until you rid yourself of this illogical desire you will not find a Vulcan mate. Think hard on this infatuation, T’Pol. It does you no credit.”

He left without a further word and the smugness made T’Pol want to throw something after him. Her fever was definitely still present.

Sub-Commander T’Pol,” it was late at night and Phlox was doing his final round, “that is quite enough mediation for one day.” He snuffed her lamp and placed it on the bedside table. “I want you to rest, please. If your temperature remains down over night, I will release you in the morning. Captain Archer has said that he will escort you to your cabin if you wish.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“As you will. Goodnight, sub-commander.”

T’Pol waited until the Denobulan had turned out the main lights and left, then turned on her side so that she could see her bedside table where her mediation lamp still occupied the space alongside Tucker’s nightlight. He had not come to visit so she had been unable to return it and she had not felt it sufficiently important to ask Phlox to do so. Slowly she stretched out a hand, hesitated for the briefest moment then closed it on the meditation lamp. She would conquer this. Tucker was an annoying and irrational human whom she did not like at all.

End

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

"A Logical Proposal" has a sequel: "Illicit Trade" .

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Great storey, i really enjoyed the plot and i really think the interaction between the charecters was dead on.

Excellent story! I really enjoyed this... Tucker being a good friend -- rock solid in his loyalty and compassion -- and T'Pol hating, lusting for, and caring for him all at the same time. It's a real relationship, isn't it? Nice work!

And yes, I can see a Vulcan suitor looking at T'Pol in exactly that way: tainted, damaged goods, more than he could handle (a woman who knows what passionate expression is first hand, not some sheltered emotional virgin to be easily manipulated/dominated).

Go write more!

Excellent story. You had me totally entralled from the very first paragraph.

I really liked how you portrayed the conflict in T'pol's mind about how she regarded Trip: disgust, loathing, lusting, and even loving. Everyone was truly in character. I especially found Storan to be well-written.

Looking forward to seeing more from you. Thank you so much.

Awesome story! Loved the interactions between Trip and Polly. Her internal conflicts were very well within character. Excellent job!

Fantastic story! You absolutely have to write a sequel to this saga. The characterization was dead on. I could imagine this story playing out on Enterprise *sigh*

Wonderful job!! If it was a book it would definately be a page turner...I loved Trip and he was truly himself in front of T'Pol and Storan. Just tryin to be there for a friend. T'Pol mixed feelings on her relationship with him lend themselves to a sequel. I'm definately looking forward to more of your work.

Everything you wrote was right on. Sequel...Please. Great job.

I agree with everything said above - a truly wonderful story. An actual, gripping plot too! T'Pol's internal conflict was well presented and Storan was a very well written character, very in keeping with the Vulcans we've seen on Enterprise. Yes, there were a few obviously British turns of phrase, but they in no way diminish from the fact that this is a really great yarn - well told and a lot of fun to read. I found this at 1 AM and couldn't stop reading 'til I was done, sleep be damned!

You ABSOLUTELY must continue this with another chapter at least, or a follow-up story! What's Trip thinking about these events? How does the Captain react to Soren's report? How does it affect his friendship with Trip? How much of this gets back to the Vulcans? Where do the characters all go from here? Do continue, and well done!

That was cute! You gotta write a sequal.. even though it does finish nicely and all.. It would be good makings for a sequal.. cute.. Hokeet.. THat is the cuteset little name I have ever heard.. hokeet.. LOL that is so cute.. makes me think of a little kid.. LOL I love that word.. hokeet...

I loved this. A very good story with some great little comic observations. You really had Trip and T'Pol characterised to perfection. And as for Storan, his attitude was so stoically Vulcan. Bravo for a good story, well told, with the promise of the friendship between Trip and T'Pol turning into something much deeper and more permanent. Please write a sequel! Ali D :~)

Oh very good.

*sob* to put him back in the box... nooooo....

Oh T'Pol. Oh Trip.

Please write more of this wonderful relationship.

Tracy -- the nagging cubed one.

I really liked your story alot.Especially T'pol's conflicted feelings for Trip.I hope you write a sequeal to this story.About Trip reactioin's if the captain has about Storan's report to the Vulcans. And what will happen to T'Pol for rejecting another arranged marriage.

Thumbs up!

Please continue it.

In agreement with the others here.....look how many comments you got- the most I think on any fanfic at this archive!! You should feel very proud of yourself girl! WRITE SOME MORE!!!!!!

I absolutely loved this story.that line about putting Trip back in a box to try to deny she was in love with him packed an emotional punch.Her struggle with how she dealt with Storan and not wanting be forced into marriage with him.After what happened with Tolaris I think she's afraid to be around other vulcans perhaps.She likes having freedom away from vulcan.I would like to see what consequences result from T'Pol not getting betrothed to Storan .and what happens with Archer and Trip having T'Pol choose Trip instead of him.

Superb story, beautifully written. I particularly like that you have a clear, character-driven plot. You take only liberties necessary for your story. I love that T'Pol retreats back to her initial denial.

I loved this story. Trip was wonderful and yet clueless - just perfect in other words. T'Pol is really struggling with her Vulcan heritage. Thanks for a well-developed story. I was intrigued from beginning to end.

Hello, I stayed up at 3 am in the morning to read this. I was looking for something in-character, well written, intriguing, and enjoyable (Not to mention original). You can only imagine how pleased I was to have stumbled upon this gem, as my highly advanced and ill-proven method was merely reading by alphabet.

I'd say that you've done a very good job with writing Trip and T'Pol - Kudos there.

I remember your warning at the beginning about the characters sounding as Malcolm. I've had that same problem, but from the opposite end as I am a California Child myself. Dialects are often challenging -literary potholes, if you will-. I always feel very accomplished when I know that I've overcome that difficulty. You should feel accomplished here as you've done a wonderful job. You're characters were rather well rounded and you kept with the characters for scenes and that's a very good thing. I've seen fanfiction writers switch perspectives inconsistently within scenes and it usually serves only to further display that one is, in fact, reading fanfiction and not a published work or the television show.

Your story was so entertaining and well executed that I've placed it in my favorite's list to share with others. I plan on going on and further reading in the series, yet I wished to be sure that I left you a review. As a fellow writer, both original and fanfiction, I know that feedback is a very nice and uplifting thing. So few people review (I believe that the statistics are about one in ten on Fanfiction.net and even less on less frequented sites) even when so many read. Thus, I always make sure I tell an author what I think when I enjoy a work . . .Because I just hope it makes their day as it makes mine.

Off topic there . . .Anyways, I think I'd like to write a bit about your characterization.

I liked how you portrayed Archer and usually I’m not fond of his character. I think I’m usually unfond of captains as they tend to be somewhat narcissistic and fool-hardy, but I believe that tends to be some of the qualities that got them through the ranks and to that position. Though he was mostly a secondary character, he was well developed. He had reason and motivation.

Nice job with Phlox and Malcolm. Both were not really involved but, where they showed, they spoke through in their own, true voice. Phlox did not appear overly comedic or cartoon-ish. Malcolm appeared genuinely proud that he was chosen to serve in the exchange. His words with Tucker really reminded me of my girlfriends and myself. Hold there, that is not a bad thing. Friendship, though tinted –tainted?- through gender still rings true in basics. Malcolm was still enjoying the high of this ego-trip and his friend and colleague comes along and bursts his bubble. I think Trip was a bit disheartened that he had not even been asked and thus was taking it out a little on poor Malcolm. He might inwardly cringe at a shipful of Vulcans but he also felt overlooked or putout. Kind of like brothers there; where the second, quiet brother gets the attention and the first-born, lively brother is unaccustomed to the occurrence and lashes out against it. Of course, I could be over-analyzing.

Now, with Storan. Nice name; sounds like a male Vulcan. I instantly did not like him, which I think was what you were trying to do so is a good thing. Part of me would’ve liked him a little more fleshed out. He struck me a little more 2D than the rest. (Inserting here on my reread: I do have to say though that his indulgence in food is a good characteristic that did add to him as he was otherwise very logically led.) But in your defense, Vulcans when they are not behind the perspective or a main attraction are very difficult to portray as more than that. They restrict themselves to logic, efficiency, and –usually, though not with Storan- refrain from superfluous conversation, which pretty much encompasses all save work-related. That can be Hell to write. Overall, I think you did a commendable job.

I would’ve greatly enjoyed hearing what Malcolm thought, experienced, upon the Vulcan vessel, though I understand that that was not this story line. Perhaps it may be mentioned in the sequels; as of yet, I do not know.

And in conclusion, your ending . . .Kudos and bravo! You did not take the easy path. The Road Less Traveled, in this case that of coming and acceptance of emotionality in an unemotional being raised by fellow unemotional beings in an unemotional society, like in the poem, is no more satisfying. In fact, it’s been trod bare. I was ever so pleased when she reached out . . .And took her meditation lamp! As you were describing the act, I went to just scanning the text, so sure you’d have her grasp the nightlight and come to terms with her feelings for the Commander Tucker. I, of course, went back and reread it in earnest and was most pleasantly met. It only causes me to become ever more encouraged to read further in your series.

Well, I think I just wrote the longest review I have ever actually seen on the Trip/T’Poler’s sight. I hope you do not mind.

Yours truly,
Sahra
musedepandora@yahoo.com

love it love it love it. i just have one question- whatever happened to the shuttlepod, since all of its inhabitants were beemed to Enterprise- how'd it get back...?

I have to say you write really well. I enjoyed reading it and kept reading to the very end. Most of the fan fic is merely OK, and not written particularly well. This is pretty damn good.

I hope you'll write some more.

As I was reading this, it was easy to imagine that I was watching it played out on TV. I have to say that this is currently the best Enterprise story that I have ever read. Please keep writing and put out more like this. Happy 4th of July from Stevensville, Montana!

“You should also bear in mind, T’Pol, that with one broken marriage contract already and with little logical justification, you will not find it easy to procure another offer.”

Lol! SO Pride and Prejudice!

This was *so* the *best* T/T fic I have ever read. Seriously the whole series rocks and this is definately one of my fav from the series.

WOW! I don't know what else to say. Just WOW!

Thanx for writing and posting it.

Write more please! lol

I just discovered your fic and I am torn by the desire to devour each story as quickly as possible (they are just so good!!) or take my time and make them last. I really, really like your take on Trip and T'pol. Plus, you're funny. I love the little asides and character observations. Thanks for a job well done.

I never tire of reading this one. Great story all around.

I have read this story several times and I am still impressed at how closely your characters resemble those of the series. An interesting story that would have fit will into the second season, and probably a better story than some of the episodes.

this must be the third time i've read the story, and i will no doubt read it again, and agian

I really like your story, but with one minor quibble. You tend to make Commander Tucker speak like an Englishman. Americans don't weigh things in 'stone' or know what a fortnight is. We don't mess about, we mess around. You should read Huckleberry Finn to get the authentic Southern voice down if you want to write Southern characters.