Something- Ch. 2

Something From Nothing

By tigerkitten

PG, General, Romance
Disclaimers in Part 1

Chapter 2

Stir Crazy

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She wasn't moving. As his head cleared, he was aware of that before anything else. After that came the aching where debris had hit him, his scraped hands and face, the shooting pain in the knee he'd landed on. But first came the sinking realization that she wasn't moving. It seemed much longer than the moment it took for training to take over thought and fear. He winced as he tried to get up, and in the end he half crawled, half staggered to her side.

Only a small portion of her still face peeked out from the rubble that covered her shoulder and most of her head. It lay against a widening dark stain. As his stomach did another flip, a slight twinge of pain crossed her face.

"T'Pol? Try not to move, I'll get you out."

As he struggled to rise, Trip flicked open his communicator. "Tucker to Enterprise." There was no response. "Enterprise? This is Commander Tucker. We have a situation planetside." Sighing in defeat, he moved painfully to the rock pile that had the subcommander pinned.

He worked slowly to avoid hurting her further, and his muscles strained in pain as he worked. Before he had the last rock in his hands, she began to stir. Setting it down quickly, he moved to help her to a sitting position as she began to rise. She tried weakly to wave him away, but only succeeded in weaving off balance and falling against him.

"Easy, there," he crooned, "nice and slow now." With his help this time, she managed to sit straight up and stay there. Blood trickled down her face and into her eyes. "That's quite a gash you got there," he said as he pulled off his pack. "Good thing I've got the med kit." He pulled out the kit and opened it, careful to keep it away from the dust that stirred with every movement. "Too bad that you had most of the food, though," he said, grinning sardonically. Eyes fluttering, T'Pol merely looked at him and tried to nod.

Once he'd cleaned the wound and wrapped her brow in gauze, T'Pol tried to stand. This time she fell forward into his shoulder, her breath coming out in wisps against his collar bone. Trip tried to ignore the tickling sensation her breath sent down his spine. "All right now. We'll move away as soon as I've seen to the worst of these," he drawled, pushing her back against the heap and taking up a seat next to her. Leaning over her, Trip cut away T'Pol's right sleeve to reveal a deep laceration along her forearm. "Ouch," he muttered, shaking his head.

As he bent over her, Trip's scent filled her nose. His hair smelled faintly of soap, now over laden with dust. His body was a mix of the human smells she was coming to tolerate. More recently, she'd begun to note a distinction unique to the male scent. He smelled of sweat, certainly, and just a touch of engine oil. There was also the scent of the carnivore; warm, rich and vital. Drifting through it all was something intangible, but not unpleasant; an essence subtly unique to him that made T'Pol's nose tingle and her senses hum. As he leaned in further, there was a sudden, intense increase in that ethereal bit, and she breathed in deeply, feeling light-headed.

Trip tried to work quickly and focus on his task. He told himself that he had to be sure there was no chance for infection. That was the only reason he moved so slowly and repeated the cleaning process more times than strictly necessary. He told himself this as he struggled to keep his eyes forward, and not let them stray sideways to the part of T'Pol visible out of the corner of his eye. With a strangled sigh, he placed clean gauze over the gash and wrapped up her arm.
Sitting up, he delved into the bag once more, and pulled out a pack of water rations. Opening it carefully, he passed it to T'Pol and received a nod in thanks. She croaked a bit as she tried to ask "Enterprise?" but Trip saw that she was looking stronger already. He shook his head in response, "I couldn't get through."

Moving more surely now, T'Pol pulled her own communicator from her belt with more of her customary grace. "This is Subcommander T'Pol to the Enterprise. Please respond." Not surprisingly, there was no answer. "Must be the storm," Trip remarked.

"Have you any idea how long we were unconscious?" she asked, standing slowly.
"None," he replied standing as well, "Might have been a few minutes, might have been as much as an hour. And if that's the case..."

"Then we are here for several days."

He pursed his lips, but he didn't disagree. Turning to look around, Trip saw that they were about midway down the long front hall. He had been about to peer into the room at its far end when the front half of the hall had collapsed, bringing down portions of the ceiling onto both of them.

"Well, however long we're here, we already know we don't want to spend the time right here. Leaning down to pick up both packs, he waved to the end of the hall. "If you're feeling strong enough to walk, let's get into that next room."

She nodded her agreement and began to move, sliding away from his attempt to support her elbow. Moving carefully, he watched as she walked with much of her usual grace, her hips swaying a bit as she drifted a little unsteadily to the side. Before he could reach out to her, she righted her path and passed through the doorway.

The room inside was as blank and bare as the hallway. There was a recessed shelf cut into the rock wall, about knee height, in the corner. It was long enough that it might be used as a bed or a couch. There was no other furniture. T'Pol turned to sit down, and Trip quickly turned his head so that she wouldn't think he'd been watching her walk. He was pretty sure he was convincing enough for her, but not quite enough to convince himself.

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"Don't fall asleep!" he said sharply, jolting her just as she'd started to dose. He was looking down at from the doorway at the back of the room, his lips drawn up in annoyance.

Sitting on the shelf, her head still leaning to the corner, she arched a brow almost irritably. "For what reason?'

"You can't sleep with a head injury! You might have a concussion."

"That is illogical. A concussion would require rest for recuperation. Why then shouldn't I sleep?"

"Don't you know anything about concussions? It could cause brain damage."

"Not for Vulcans."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean? Seems to me that just because you're stronger doesn't mean your heads are any thicker. Then again, you Vulcans are known to be pretty pig-headed," he added, annoyance starting to seep through his words. "Do Vulcan Science Officers get medical training?"

"All Vulcans are trained in rudimentary survival first-aide."

"And what did that have to say about concussions?" When she didn't reply or look at him, he went on, "Ever even know anyone with a concussion?"

"No."

"Well we can't be too sure, then," he said emphatically. "That's one nasty bump you've got there, and we were both knocked out. I say we'd better play it safe and stay awake."

"For how long?"

"Well," said Trip, shifting a bit nervously, "until we're sure that we...that you're out of danger."

"And how do you propose we determine when that might be?"

Ignoring her question he said, "There's two more rooms off the next hallway. Smaller and thinner than the ones off this room, and just as empty. Hallway leads to an outside door, looks like. I was a little worried about air pressure collapsing that hallway, but it looked solid enough. Leads out to a sort of courtyard or compound surrounded by more buildings like this one. Door sealed tight as a drum when I closed it, too. It looks like some sort of hydraulics, but more sophisticated."

Knowing she had inexplicably lost another pointless argument with the commander, T'Pol welcomed the change in subject. "That would indicate that these people are more advanced than this dwelling suggests."

"I'll say. Looks like some of the walls are two to three feet thick of solid rock. That front door faces almost directly into the wind. Probably collapsed from centuries of standing against it. Anyway, whatever we're looking for isn't coming from this building. I'll try to get out to some of the others first thing in the morning. We're gonna need to find a food supply anyway...hey, now, no falling asleep!"

"Commander, your logic is faulty. I'm tired and I wish to rest."

"Ah-ah-ah! No you don't. That's it," rubbing his hands together, he looked at T'Pol with a determined glean in his eye.

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"I have no idea."

"C'mon, you have to give it a try. I'll help you," he says, cocking his hand around his ear as though repeating the motion. "Sounds like....."

"This is foolish. You're pantomime makes little sense, and does not resemble a physical hand-language in the slightest."

"Not even close. Goldfish. Here, try this one..."

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"Movies?"

"No."

"Restaurants?"

"Few. They are used mainly by visitors."

"Highways?"

"No."

"Rock music?"

"Certainly not."

"How about politics? Do you elect your leaders, or are they born to it?" Seeing her look he answered himself. "Right. Divine selection would be illogical. Of course they're elected."

"Why do you wish to know so much about a culture you have no liking for?"

"Just passing time. Anyway, I don't have anything against you personally."

"I find that difficult to believe, based upon our past interaction."

"Maybe when we first met. We've gotten along all right since then."

"You tried to kill me."

"Hey, you know that was the pollen talking. You turned into quite the wild woman yourself."

"I merely lost a small amount of self control."

"Just what I said."

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"So, we took some of the..."

"Commander. Is there ever a time when you stop talking?"

"Sure I do. You know, my mama used to tell me I talked too much as a kid. She always said..."

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"Go ahead, it's your turn"

"No."

"Don't be a spoil sport. I blocked you with an 'X', now it's your turn."

"The game will only end in a tie, just as it has the last 17 times. It can only be won if someone makes a foolish mistake. Only a child could lose, and therefore no one can win."

"Well, sure. Everybody knows that. Come to think of it, I stopped playing when I was a kid, right about the time I stopped winning."

Looking almost annoyed, T'Pol's eyes swept off to the side as she dropped her stick.

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"I've never gotten this up close and personal with a Vulcan before. How 'bout you?"

"I know many Vulcans."

"Are you sure there's nothin' in the air here? You're getting' down right giddy."

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"A human."

"I haven't even started, yet! Watch this, now."

"A foolish human."

Trip glared at T'Pol, his lips drawn together in his ever-ready pout. "No-"

"A foolish human with abnormal medical training."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

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"And then, now this is my favorite part, the guy is halfway down the tower and his rope starts to break." Trip wiggled his head into a more comfortable position on his folded arms and tried to settle into the dirt floor. "See, he didn't understand that it would be less stable the longer it got. If he'd a known better he'd a known that the longer rope couldn't hold his weight the way the shorter one did. Course, it should have, but back then they thought ..."

His words grew quieter as his eyes drifted shut. Allowing her own eyes to droop, T'Pol leaned back against the shelf wall and fell asleep.

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