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No More, No Less - Chapter 4

Author - Setcheti
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Illogical Behavior

sequel to “Realization”

by Setcheti

Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Paramount owns them. They don’t deserve them, but they own them just the same, more’s the pity.

Author’s Note: And here’s #4 of the series that won’t let me stop writing it. ;) If you are anti-Trip/T’Pol you probably want to skip this one, but I think as far as “Similitude” goes the two of them are good together.

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Chapter 4 - Illogical Behavior

T’Pol hadn’t been able to finish her dinner. Not that she had been very hungry to begin with; she hadn’t much felt like eating in weeks. She told herself that was because of the uncertainty of the ship’s status and the large number of repairs that they did not have adequate time or facilities to complete.

She also admitted to herself that denial was apparently not solely the province of humans.

The Vulcan eventually gave up on finishing her meal and went back to her quarters. She tried to meditate, failed, and set about doing other things in an attempt to calm herself. She took a bath, lingering much longer under the spray than was necessary, and then readied herself for bed. She checked her messages and decided on a suitable reason to avoid having breakfast with the captain – other than the truth, which was that beginning her day with him had a tendency to reduce her efficiency. Much better to encounter him in the evenings, when she could meditate away the effects of spending time in his company. Although there had been other, more pleasant ways she had preferred to spend her evenings as well. But that had been before.

Before the explosion in engineering. Before the life of one had been given up to save the lives of many. Before she very illogically had started to feel like her world had ended.

But Ensign Sato had said he remembered…

T’Pol tried to meditate again, but still could not achieve the necessary mental state required. She opened her eyes to the dimmed light and they fell on her candles sitting across the room, unlit. She hadn’t lit the candles in weeks, the sight of them was disturbing to her; she hadn’t touched them in some time either, because the feel of the smooth, cool wax triggered a sense memory that she was not comfortable with. Charles Tucker had a scar resulting from a long-ago plasma burn, a small irregularly-shaped patch of waxy hairless skin that felt so strange when her fingers would encounter it. The rest of his skin was so soft, with such a pleasant texture, and always slightly cool to her touch due to the difference in their body temperatures. And the skin on the soles of his feet was incredibly sensitive – ticklish, he called it, where a too-light touch would make him laugh and squirm and repeated stimulation would reduce him to incoherency. He had similar sensitive spots on his ribcage, but she had not had opportunity to explore the ones at the backs of his knees to see if the intensity of nerve reaction was the same.

She had not thought to have the opportunity again, ever. But he was in his quarters right now, unable to sleep. His friends were obviously seeing that he ate, were making him exercise…but they could not help him sleep. Only T’Pol could do that.

Charles Tucker needed her.

T’Pol was out of her quarters and headed to his, a robe thrown over her sleepwear and a candle clutched in her hand, before she had time to stop and consider how illogically she was behaving. It wasn’t until she was standing outside his door that it occurred to her he might not be glad to see her, and she faltered in the act of pressing the buzzer. Ensign Sato had been correct, her behavior toward Charles had been cruel in the extreme over the past weeks – especially if he truly had retained the clone’s memories. Of course, what he might be remembering could present another problem...

She meant to pull her hand away and ended up pushing the button instead, and it was only a moment before the door slid open and she was face to face with her fear. He blinked at her, his expression one of intermingled confusion and concern. “T’P…I mean, Sub-Commander? Is somethin’ the matter?”

It hurt him to call her by her rank, she saw. “Perhaps,” she answered. “I would prefer not to discuss it in the corridor, however.”

“Oh, sorry.” He stepped away from the door to let her enter, but seemed nervous once the door had closed again. “What did you need?”

T’Pol didn’t answer immediately, just looked at him. He had lost weight, she saw, and some muscle mass as well. His hair was tousled and still damp from a recent shower, and her sensitive nose could easily detect the scent of the soap he preferred to use. He was fidgeting slightly under her scrutiny, obviously not sure what to do with himself and afraid to relax in her presence. As a matter of fact, his behavior was very similar to the first time he had come to her quarters for a neuropressure treatment…

If T’Pol had been human, she would have smiled. She suddenly knew exactly how to ‘break the ice’, as humans would put it; she had broken this ice with Charles Tucker before, it was only logical to assume that the same approach would once again be effective. “You have not been sleeping,” she observed calmly.

He shrugged, but stiffened slightly. “I’m okay.”

“You do not look ‘okay’,” she reprimanded. “In order to perform your duties effectively, you must get adequate rest. You are no good to anyone if you don’t sleep.”

To her surprise, he flinched. “Oh,” he said softly. He turned away from her, crossing the small space to sit on the side of his bed. “I’ll…take care of it, Sub-Commander,” he said tonelessly, not looking up at her. “If it keeps on, I’ll go get a shot for it.”

Something was not right here, not right at all; T’Pol had expected some surprise for her concern and then polite gratitude for the same, but instead her words had pained him for reasons she could not comprehend. She crossed the room to stand in front of Trip, knowing her proximity would cause him to look up. When he did, she was shocked by the dark emotions roiling in his eyes. “You know you cannot take the doctor’s drugs over the long term without lasting effects,” she said gently, not questioning but still inviting him to answer.

He flinched and looked away again. “Should see me through until the mission is finished, that’s all that matters.” His voice was flat, dead. “Repercussions down the line don’t matter now, so you don’t have to…put yourself out over it. I’ll do what I’m here to do, you have my word.”

Had Trip been looking, he would have seen her frown. But the frown was still there when she very deliberately sat down in front of him, so he got to see it anyway and was apparently confused by it even more. T’Pol shook her head at him. “That does not make sense. After this mission, there will be others – or if it is not your choice to remain in Starfleet, there will be whatever life you choose for yourself at that time. So what happens to you now most certainly should matter.”

“After?” Trip actually drew back from her. “The only reason I’m here is so the mission can get completed.” His chin lifted, a show of spirit that would have been encouraging if not for the bleakness of his expression. “I agreed to that, and I’ll keep my word. But once we’ve stopped the Xindi, I can’t…” He closed his eyes, and shuddered. “That’s all I owe, no more.”

T’Pol’s eyes widened. Vulcan’s didn’t have a word for suicide, but she understood the concept. What could possibly make this man think that his life had no value once the mission was over…and then she realized that she knew exactly what. Or rather, who. Captain Archer had been extremely vocal about the reason for his decision to save the engineer; trying to convince himself, she’d thought at the time, and apparently he’d been successful convincing someone else as well. She was positive Archer had had words with the clone on the subject, words he’d thought he was speaking to a dead man, arguing with him about the necessity of giving up his life.

The dead man hadn’t died, but he was still convinced. And it could not be allowed to continue, it was…an obscenity. She would have to make him see that. T’Pol took his face in her hands and ordered, “Charles, look at me.”

He shuddered again, but obeyed. “T’Pol…”

“Shhh, you must listen to me,” she told him, although she was pleased that he had used her name and not her rank. “You are correct that this mission cannot be completed without you, and that the captain justified the use of such…drastic measures to save you for that reason.” A tightening of her grip kept him from closing his eyes again. “But that does not mean your life has no value beyond the reason it was saved, or that you as a person have no value because you sacrificed yourself for the good of the many.” He started, and she raised an eyebrow. “The memories are yours, therefore the life was as well. Had I known your essence would not be lost, I would not have been so firmly against the procedure.”

His hands were suddenly, and almost painfully, gripping her wrists, a terrible hope flooding his face. “You were against it? You didn’t want them to…”

“No,” T’Pol assured him, careful not to look away from his desperate blue eyes. “I did not approve, and not only because the cloning process is forbidden. And I knew you would not approve either.”

“I…I don’t.” He released her more gently than he’d latched on, fingers lingering on her wrists as though in apology for their prior roughness. “Thank you for…for knowin’ that. And for objectin’ to it bein’ done.” He swallowed. “Means a lot to me.”

“You are important to me,” she told him gravely, allowing one hand to slip around to the back of his neck, finding the nerve points there and applying gentle pressure. The barest hint of a smile graced T’Pol’s lips when he tipped his head back into her touch with a faint, relieved moan. She increased the pressure, and moved her other hand around on the other side to find the points there. “And you are most welcome. I am…sorry I did not come to you sooner.”

“You didn’t know.” Trip sighed. “Hell, for a while I thought I was dead too.”

“I am very glad you are not.” T’Pol was pleased when he smiled at that, although he didn’t say anything. She continued to gently work the pressure points in his neck and at the base of his skull until she hit a spot that made him stiffen and cry out in pain. Quickly she made him lay back on his pillow, keeping her hand on the back of his head. Nothing she was doing should have hurt him, she was sure of that. If he hadn’t been fully healed it might be a different story…

T’Pol suddenly felt cold. Ensign Sato had said Dr. Phlox hadn’t seen Charles since the funeral. Which had been the same day the engineer had awakened from his coma, and only a day after having had major intracranial surgery. Surely the doctor hadn’t…she adjusted the head she was holding on the pillow and carefully slid her hand out of it’s protective position, trailing her fingers across his cheek. “Charles, have you been suffering from headaches?”

He didn’t quite nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Dizzy too, sometimes. Nothin’ I can’t handle, though.”

“Of course not,” she agreed, finding different, safer points to apply pressure to and working them gently until he relaxed. “You should sleep now.” His eyes blinked open, the request he would not voice plain for her to see; he didn’t want her to leave. T’Pol looked at him seriously for a long moment, then leaned forward to place a tender, chaste kiss on his lips. “I remember as well,” she told him, this time allowing him to see the smile. It was just for him, a gift she knew he would recognize and appreciate. “Go to sleep, Charles. I will return in the morning.”

A nod, and his eyes closed again. T’Pol stayed beside him, rubbing his temples until she was certain he was fully asleep, and then she pulled up the blanket around him. It was while she was tucking it in that she noticed the captain’s dog lying in its basket in the corner, watching her. She looked from dog to sleeping engineer and back, and then decided its presence was unimportant; the chances of Captain Archer in his current mental state coming after the stolen animal were slim, and she seriously doubted he would ever even mention how Tucker had come to be in possession of the little dog if asked. Charles would doubtless take better care of the animal anyway.

T’Pol set the candle she’d brought on the desk where Charles would see it when he awakened and then matter-of-factly flipped on his terminal and pulled up his message logs. There were very few for the time period she was interested in, which was disturbing to her but made it easy to spot the single message from Dr. Phlox. Dated the day of the clone’s funeral, it contained a short, impersonal reminder that Charles was to have the next day off and that he should contact Phlox if he had any serious problems. No advice, no instructions, no offer of painkillers if needed or scheduled appointments for counseling…T’Pol could not believe Phlox’ guilt and shame had drive him to such unprofessional behavior. She backed out of Trip’s message folder and shut the terminal down again, checked once more to be sure he was asleep, and then let herself out . She would be back in the morning. And the morning after that, and the morning after that.


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