To Err Is Human...

To Err Is Human, To Forgive...

By Sue

E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com
RATING: PG (Language)
CATEGORY: GEN
SPOILERS: Cogenitor
ARCHIVE: Yes, unnecessary to ask.
DISCLAIMER: Enterprise is the property of Paramount. No profit is being made.
SUMMARY: Two of Trip's many friends are worried about him. (Missing scenes from 'Cogenitor.')

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

"We're just about finished, Sub-commander." Phlox made another adjustment to the administering instrument, and gave the Vulcan an indulgent glance as she lay upon the bio-bed. She was responding well to the treatments for her ailment, and perhaps in a few more weeks she would exhibit even better results.

T'Pol remained silent, quietly contemplating the turn of events over the last several weeks. Detachedly, her dispassionate heart distanced her from the tangible rift that existed between the captain and the chief engineer. And yet, it bordered on painful observing Captain Archer answer Mr. Tucker in clipped, terse replies to any comment the subdued man would make.

Something else, aside from the obvious consequences that had resulted from the Commander's interference must have happened which she had not been made privy to. Not one to pry, T'Pol could not help but wonder what the root cause of the tension, that hung between them like a force field, was. Gone was the easy camaraderie they used to share at every opportunity. In its place, a wedge had been driven. The Vulcan was hard put to know what was needed to restore what they once had.

"T'Pol, did you hear what I said?" The doctor stood over her head, boring holes into her eyes with his.

"I must apologize, Doctor. My thoughts were elsewhere."

"So it would appear. I was just commenting on the fact that doesn't it strike you as a little odd that Mister Tucker isn't seen about much? Certainly not as much as he once was, as I've heard from quite a number of crew members."

She had also become aware of Tucker's unwillingness to socialize his new custom of wanting to be by himself. She had given all of his newer habits considerable thought, but she did not feel it was her place to launch any form of opinion. The Commander was entitled to his privacy. The Vulcan could not deny, however, that his absence was felt at movie night. The offhand comments and off-color jokes he impulsively made were missed by most of the regulars.

"Yes, Doctor, I have heard one or two things said." She sat up when Phlox indicated that it was all right for her to. "Perhaps he is devoting himself to more cerebral pursuits." She hoped that he was doing more research on diverse cultures in order to avoid any future 'incidents.'

"I believe it is more than that. Call it physician's intuition, if you will."

"What specifically?" T'Pol asked, looking as blunt as she sounded.

"I've been reading up on the subject of human psychology. Mister Tucker seems depressed, exhibiting several clinical symptoms: persistent sadness, lethargy, loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities, irritability, sudden change in appetite, difficulty concentrating and disruption of normal sleep pattern. Surely you've noticed that he isn't the same jocular, outspoken individual he once was."

T'Pol had noted all too well, but when Phlox targeted her eyes with his that prompted her for a confirmation, the Vulcan's deadpan countenance gave nothing away. "Perhaps he has come to a realization that his position warrants a more serious attitude." The science officer was about to elaborate what she meant by a more 'serious attitude,' when the doors of sickbay parted and the Commander stumbled in, somewhat slue-footed.

Phlox veered away from T'Pol, and she trained her watchful eyes on the subject of their concern who looked as though he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. His whole manner suggested that he felt uncomfortable.

"What can I do for you, Mister Tucker?" the doctor solicitously inquired, but then hastily backtracked, "that will be all, Sub-commander. I'll see you the day after tomorrow for follow-up."

"Yes, Doctor." With her hands crossed at the wrists, and anchored at the small of her back, she began the short trip to the Caduceus-emblazoned doors. All the way to the exit, T'Pol tried to engage Trip's glance, but he spared her nothing to field, not even a brief nod of acknowledgment.

After he heard the doors whoosh shut, he asked without a trace of salutation, "I need somethin' to sleep, Doc--having trouble..." His voice trailed off as a look of desperation robbed him of the completion of his thought.

Phlox looked upon him with compassion shining from his eyes. "Commander is there anything you'd feel comfortable discussing with me?"

As though Phlox' question had not registered, Trip repeated in a wooden tone with the faintest edge to it, "I need something' to help me sleep."

"As you stated..." Nodding, and without further delay or verbal exchange, the doctor went for the requested sleep aid.

Trip waited in the center of the well-lit room, looking the surroundings over as though the room's spotless walls were closing in. Phlox returned shortly with a transparent pill carrier, which contained two triangular pills, one pink, one light blue.

"Here you are, Commander."

Accepting the container, Trip mumbled a 'thanks.' He did not bother to look in Phlox' contemplative face. Tucker wasted no time getting to the doors as quickly as possible. He could not leave before hearing the doctor's suggestion.

"If you should like to talk, those doors are always open, Commander."

Trip raised his right hand, and rattled the pills.

Phlox set off for the medical database console. It concerned him that the Commander seemed even more withdrawn and insular than he had been two days ago when he had come to sickbay needing a wound that he
had sustained from a flux retroinhibitor refit dressed. Phlox mentally riffled through more data, augmenting it with the information he had already gleaned in the hopes that further searching would prove supplementary.

He was worried about the Commander.

*******

T'Pol, rigidly disciplined never to give into worry, was worried, nevertheless. Her growing concern had urged her to wait for Trip in the first corridor closest to sickbay. He was walking towards her with his head down. When she uttered his rank, he looked up, soundly startled.

He could not bring himself to look her in her eyes that were plainly assessing him. Haltingly, he mumbled, "Not, now..."

"Commander," T'Pol said sharply, "I will speak with you." Gentling her tone, she said, "I wish to. May we go somewhere more suitable?" Not wholly comfortable having heard the undercurrent of compassion in her voice, T'Pol settled herself. And yet, she wished that he would look at her. She could never admit that she missed seeing the unique hue of the pupils of his eyes. When they flashed, like his anger, they drew her to him.

He granted her unspoken request. Looking directly into her eyes he replied, sounding defeated, "Okay, you win." Then, more to himself, and looking away, he muttered, "As usual..."

Of course, owing to her superior hearing, she heard. Immediately, the way he usually phrased his questions formed in her mind--'what's that supposed to mean?' Instead, she opted for, "Mister Tucker..." The electric-blueness of his eyes momentarily disarmed her, but they were not the same. She saw his pain, anguish, acute remorse marring the inspirations of exuberance normally found in his eyes.

She was positive that he had muttered, "All my fault," then, and he looked as though he would never live whatever it was responsible for the shape he was in, down. The wounded expression he wore disfigured his face, and it aroused her curiosity even more.

The wealth of loathing in his eyes overwhelmed her, then moved her. "Commander..."

"Huh?"

"Let us find a quiet place to talk. Please?"

His study of her face kept pace with the honesty he thought he saw in her eyes. Her saying please surprised him, and he realized in that moment how much he missed their fellowship that was usually punctuated by conversations that really helped at times when he needed a sympathetic ear. Trip nodded while switching from either side of his lower lip to chew on. "Yeah, sure. Wherever you say." Was that a fleeting look of relief on her face(?), he questioned, as they fell in step with each other, proceeding down the corridor. "Where're we going?"

"Perhaps the mess hall will provide the suitable venue."

"I'd like that." He hoped that the table by the second viewportal he liked sitting at would be available. As they walked on in silence, he thought that this could be a start. He couldn't go on like this, keeping to himself, shunning the company of everyone, and while alone, his relentless recriminations eating away at his self-worth. He did not want to go on as he had for the past few weeks. If he kept this up, his best friend, whose companionship he purposely steered clear of, would have no other recourse but to request his transfer; it was conceivable.

Trip feared that Jonathan's and his friendship was rushing headlong to a point beyond damage control and there did not seemed to be anything that Trip could do about that. The fact was, he didn't know what to do to bridge the rift. His aloofness was the cause of Jonathan keeping their conversations strictly all business. Trip no longer felt worthy of Jon's friendship. Their water polo sessions had, sadly, become a thing of the cherished past.

He glanced askance at the Vulcan who seemed at the top of her emotionless form. There was strength in the firm line of her mouth and jaw; there always was. Her high, unlined forehead advertised her wisdom and strong sense of purpose. He had missed looking at her, being with her likewise. The isolation he had imposed was senseless. She was his friend too; she ranked right up there with Jonathan Archer. When it got right down to it, he had outrageously overstepped boundaries, and this time the price had been high.

He was solely responsible.

He decided that T'Pol deserved to know everything, in good time.

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

23:13 hours...

The Commander was not eating...

When they had entered the mess hall, which was virtually empty, save for Ensigns Mactow and Kline seated near the doors, he had gone straight for the spot he liked and sank into the chair with an audible thud.

T'Pol had selected his favorite dessert, thinking that if anything could brighten his mood, pecan pie would; she chose some too.

Apparently not this time, she observed, and for some odd reason it troubled her. He sat with his eyes glued to the stars streaming by as though hypnotized. This new version of Charles Tucker, his being ultra somber and reticent, left nothing to be desired. Once or twice she had imagined, even thought she wanted him more serious. Problem was, he was overdoing it, carrying it to extremes. His gloominess, day in and day out, wasn't making him a better officer. If anything, it detracted from the gregarious man whom others used to seek out when they needed cheering up.

"Commander?"

Lost in his muddled thoughts, nearly inaudibly he responded, "Um...uh, huh? You say something?"

"Why are you not eating your pie?"

His eyes fell upon his plate then as though seeing the slice for the first time. "You have it, if you want. I'm not hungry," he said glumly. His eyes shifted from her face, that was almost like a candid snapshot of concern she delicately camouflaged, to resume their nearly unblinking contemplation of deep space. His train of thought flowed to the Vissians again. Why them--why had they showed up to explore the hypergiant? Why couldn't it have been a species more like themselves, who reproduced the way humans did?

"No, thank you." Now that they were together, being with him felt awkward, as though meeting for the first time. Well, not quite like the first time. She had been very rude to him. As the captain had once noted about a Vulcan cheering a human up, T'Pol judged that she was unquestionably ill-suited for such an undertaking in the Commander's case. His brooding over the Cogenitor having to be returned to her people was basically illogical, but if this were the reason for his present mood, she was willing to suggest that they talk about it. Tentatively, she began, "Knowing what you tried to do for the Cogenitor must make it all the more diff--"

He tore his eyes away from the vastness of space, the cold, impersonal void he wondered if they had any business poking around in. The pained look in eyes was there again. "What I did..." Listlessly, his voice trailed off. Sounding anguished, he barked, with raw emotion, "I'm an asshole!"

The force of his voice buffeted T'Pol, making her heart skip several beats. She targeted him with a look that bordered on conflict. "Comm--"

"NO--it's true! I should've minded my own damn business--if I had, they'd still be alive!" He balled both of his hands into fists, and slammed the right one down on the table. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

"I don't under--"

"I was toyin' with the idea of spilling all of it," he fairly growled. "Now seems as good a time as any." His worry lines eased a fraction, and he unballed his right hand, spreading his fingers out upon the table's rigid surface.

Unseen by him, T'Pol gnawed at the left inner portion of her lower lip. Her deep brown eyes prompted without committing him. "You have my undivided attention."

He stared deeply into those, surprisingly, unjudgmental eyes for a full minute before his confession. "Tryin' to help," he murmured. "Only tryin' to help. I corrupted--that's what I did." Then, pausing, he began speaking coherently. "The Cogenitor...it named itself 'Charles,' after me. Charles committed suicide. That's why the Vissian Captain contacted Enterprise, to give us the word that I caused the death of two people. Charles preferred dyin' instead of being forced to live the way they wanted it to."

The root cause at last, T'Pol considered, and not as dispassionately as Trip might have suspected. "Are you certain that the Cogenitor is dead? What proof was offered?

"Just his word. Why would he lie?"

"Psychological advantage, perhaps. Was the body shown to Captain Archer?"

"I don't know. Jon didn't say. Jon doesn't go out of his way to be so buddy-buddy, but maybe you don't notice things like that." Some of the preoccupation with guilt drained from his face. "Why're you asking?"

T'Pol waited until the resonance from her thoughts quieted. At the very last moment, she made her decision, and it was final--impulsivity did not enter in; she would tell him, if for no other reason than to state facts that had been confirmed long ago. "The highest likelihood exists that the Cogenitor was...restored."

Trip's mouth dropped wide open, and he stared at the Vulcan as though she had told him that Earth's sparsely-populated moon was indeed made of green cheese, and the Vulcans were running a concession. "HOW?"

T'Pol fingered the edge of her plate, took a breath and condensed the documented evaluations as they had been handed down. "Many years ago when the High Command deemed it feasible for our scientists to involve themselves in exchange programs with other cultures, a small contingency of eminent Vulcan scientists, who specialized in genetic research, studied Vissian genome harvesting methods, and its implications for recombinant application."

In a constricted voice, Trip probed, "Let's cut to the chase. What were those implications?"

Sounding just as direct, T'Pol answered, "The Vissians are cloners extraordinaire. Results achieved, over centuries of refinements, leads to the logical conclusion that the Cogenitor's genetic material would have been collected for such restoration."

Sounding unconvinced, Trip did his own conjecturing. "The cap'n and Dreneek struck up a solid friendship. If he was a real friend, how could he drop such a giant bomb like that, then expect Jon to just deal with it? Some friend he is if he held back. What reason would he have?"

T'Pol decided against steepling her fingers as was Mayweather's habit. She was picking up many curious habits from her crewmates who were laden with mannerisms. "As I mentioned before...psychological advantage. If you, and the captain especially, hold the opinion that your initial first contact was disastrous, it could be used against your species, making you subservient to their wishes as recompense. Such recourses have been taken, perpetrated by other, less scrupulous people."

"If what you're saying is even remotely true, it's downright sneaky of 'em. They seemed real frank about everything--everything that is except their Cogenitors." Trip scrubbed his lightly stubbled face with his hand, looking very haggard then. "I don't know, T'Pol, I'd like to believe what you're saying is true...it'd sure make it easier for me to live with myself...but, but I just don't know." Curtailing a brief yawn behind his hand, he added, "Proof--knowin' for a certainty--that's what'd make all the difference. What you're talking about's pure speculation, and my conscience needs more to go on than that." Looking defeated, the corners of his mouth headed downward.

T'Pol nodded slightly, not altogether resistant to conceding the point, yet wanting him to accept the fact that things weren't always what they might seem to be. Her people were more knowledgeable. These humans still had so much to learn along those lines. She determined that she could be a patient teacher if Tucker offered whatever he was capable of by way of encouragement. "What I submit is that you keep an open mind, Commander, one that learns from enlightening experiences.

"The Vissians have the technology necessary to perform the procedures they have perfected, and have been known to use such knowledge on various occasions. Occasions that are well documented in the databases on Vulcan. Who is to say, yes or no, that restoring 'Charles' is not one of these occasions?"

"And they're not above runnin' a mind game on us to gain an upper hand just in case it might come in handy, one day."

T'Pol's look was impassive, but she knew no species was above claiming dominance for themselves if an opportunity presented itself. "It would not be the first time for the scenario."

Tucker did not look as skeptical as he had looked before her words made him think. Unlike what so often happened when he 'got into it' with her, he found himself liking the sound of her logic. Although he still wasn't ready to take himself off the hook, she had offered him a hand. Grateful, he gave her a small smile, which had wonderful potential.

Mindfully, she continued, "You made a critical error in judgment, which is never without consequence. You may, or may not be responsible for lives lost, but regardless--learning from this experience would be beneficial in the long run."

Trip nodded as he came forward in his chair. He had the feeling that she was as relieved as he was. Things felt a lot better than they had just an hour ago. "Yeah--like I said--I'm an asshole. I only see things MY way. Period!"

"I take exception, Commander. You are impulsive, willful, stubb..." She hesitated.

"Go on, say it--I can take it 'cause you're right.
I am."

"Stubborn." Her listener nodded, posing no argument. "Motivated by, what you say, 'a heart that is in the right place.' But you are not defective when it comes to reaching logical conclusions when you apply your mental abilities to your commission. The be all and end all of the galaxy is not human, nor is it Vulcan. Each culture has its own rights. Now, move on as you profit by this occurrence. First contacts leave lasting impressions from many aspects. Do not let what occurred cripple you from making wiser decisions in the future."

Trip could not believe he was hearing this from her.
Caught up in sentiment, he blurted, "I should've listened to you from the get. Should've walked away, but no--I had to play God. Like I'm the only one who has a leg up on anything. I'm sorry I treated--nah, who am I kiddin'? Treat you like you're the biggest pain in my ass whenever I feel I'm the only one who's right--and you can just shut the hell up. Is there any hope for me? Think I'll ever learn, ever change?"

She weighed her words carefully before replying. "One of many numerous constants is that things change...with negligible exceptions, all things. Learning is continuous until we are no more. I have faith in you, Mister Tucker, and I have faith in the enigmatic future..."

Trying not to sound as overwhelmed as he felt, he managed to say, "Thanks, T'Pol."

"I will speak with Captain Archer. He should be made aware of the Vissians' resourcefulness, and their potential for manipulation." Not liking that idea, he asked her if she would not do that. "Why do you oppose?" she solemnly asked.

"Since whether they cloned, or didn't is up for grabs, I'd prefer leaving it be. I want Jon and me to work through this on our own without a shadow of reprieve hanging over us. We need to do this. See, I've got somethin' to prove now. Somethin' to myself as well as to him. We'll be fine, T'Pol." He extended her hand to hers, which had seemed to inch closer to his hand, but maybe that was only his imagination that had moved it closer. "You've done enough already, believe me, and I'm more than grateful. I'm indebted."

"Very well, Commander. As you wish." She rose to leave. "Do you still require my company?"

He was beginning to think that he did on a regular basis, but he tamped down his feelings. "Nah. I'm fine." He glanced at his untouched dessert. "Don't forget your pie."

"*My* pie?" she said with the distinctive arch of her eyebrow.

"I'm not in the mood." As he watched her remove his plate and fork from the table, he turned the idea he'd just had over in his mind before trying it out on the science officer. "You free tomorrow night?"

"At what time specifically, Commander?"

"Say about an hour or so after dinner."

She recognized the sense of expectancy in his voice, finding it to be uncomprehendingly reassuring. "I had planned to further my readings on torsion retroflex bi-value static and concurrent reconfigurations."

His toneless whistle tweaked her ears. "Definitely not light reading." Choosing his words carefully, Trip said, "Postpone your homework, at least for a little while. I've got this movie I'd like you to see, in my quarters. I doubt it'll ever be shone for mass consumption. It's not a real 'guy flick.' Travis and Malcolm wouldn't sit through it for all the tea in China."

Intrigued, but ever in control of her enthusiasm, she inquired, "What is the title of this movie?"

Seeing how nicely his lure had worked, he informed, "'It Happened One Night.' It stars Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert--two of Hollywood's finest."

"*What* happened one night?" T'Pol was looking at him absorbedly, as though the answer to her question would demagnetize locked doors that had been polarized.

"To find out," he dangled, "you have to watch the movie. Guaranteed, you'll find it right up your alley."

"My alley?"

He nodded with a mischievous glow in his eyes, but did not expound on what he meant. "You bet."

Although unsure over his ambiguity, she wanted to give the movie a chance. Again he was successful at piquing her curiosity. "I will see this movie." Voicing her opinion, she said, "You have decided to forgo the communal aspect of movie watching, opting for it being a more...private interaction."

Trip wondered if she had meant to sound coy, almost beguiling, because she sure had. Nonetheless, he deemed it wiser if he read nothing more into her leading statement, let alone make some wisecrack. Gleefully, and the lift in spirits sure felt good, he replied, "I'll make sure there's plenty of popcorn on hand, seein' how partial you've become to it."

It was true; popcorn was becoming one of her favorite foods, right alongside plomeek soup. "Very well, Commander, it is a..." She decided against using the ominous word that the captain had chosen when he had formally invited her to participate in movie night. Instead, she said, "An appointment."

Chuckling lightly within his throat, Trip responded, "Now you're talkin'." His smile was healthy, having more in common with his former ones, the kind that lit up his face. He watched her every move as she headed for the mess hall doors. She would never know how much better she had made him feel. The important thing was, he knew.

Before leaving the now empty eating facility, T'Pol did the unexpected. She took a last look at him. She had never looked at him quite like the way she was looking at him now, before. Trip plumped out his lower lip and waved at her, then thought how the 'she against me' mentality was history.'

"'Night, T'Pol."

"Good night, Mister Tucker."

Standing briefly in the corridor, alone with her thoughts, the shapely science officer thought about the man behind these closed doors a moment longer before moving off to seek the solitude of her quarters. Feeling satisfied, she had done what she could. Perhaps if she presented him with a convincing premise, he would permit her to tell the captain about what the Vissians could have feasibly done. It was worth a try, for all their sakes.

All alone in the mess hall, Trip looked out the portal again. He breathed in a long breath, thankful for the peacefulness that had settled into him. He noted how the brilliance of the star streaks was brighter, filling him with renewed awe...and hope. It was a good sign.

Following a good, long yawn, he stretched again, then stood. He decided he would save the sleeping pills for when he really needed them.

end
=========
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Two folks have made comments

Ah, God bless T'Pol! I have not seen the episode alluded to yet but it sounds like it was pretty traumatic. I love it that T'Pol goes to so much effort and thought to try to help Trip through it. Thank you for a really thought provoking story. Ali D :~)

I knew there should have been more to that episode... you've resolved on at least confronted Trip's personal crisis perfectly! Interesting twist to the Cogenitor situation.