Getting out of Bed on the Wrong Foot

By Bookworm

Rating: PG-13

Genres: romance

Keywords: possession sickbay

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Chapter 1

Author's note: First I’d like to thank my beta JustTripn. She has been wonderful correcting my mistakes, encouraging me and helping me with the English language.

Also thank you to Distracted for her input when I began writing this story.

Ask me if you want to archive this story somewhere.

This is my first story and it took ages to write it. Never fear, the last few chapters are done; they just need a bit of fine tuning.

Genre: Body swap story challenge.
Rating: PG-13, because some parts are a little dark.

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount and I’m just a poor math student borrowing Trip and T’Pol for a little while for my own and my fellow fans enjoyment. No money is made with this little fanfic story.


Getting out of Bed on the Wrong Foot
by Bookworm


“I guess we got a lot of work to do.” Trip and T'Pol walked off in different directions, one wearing a cocky smirk; the other stunned into thoughtful silence. Neither saw the crewman who had followed them from sickbay. He was standing pressed against the wall only few meters from the pair. But even if they had looked, they wouldn’t have seen him, since he was practicing his new-found skills of concealment to spy on the two commanders. Oh, they are cute and finally making a little progress, but this is becoming a bit tiresome. He loves her and she loves him. So why won’t they just say it to each other and get it over with. I'm starting to get bored with this slow pace, he thought as he watched Commander Tucker pass and continue down the hallway. The crewman stood there silently for a few minutes after both the commanders had disappeared. He sighed . . . Then, suddenly, a wide smile spread over the crewman’s face. And with a happy bounce in his step, he walked away . . .

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Chapter 1: Early in the morning in Trip’s quarters

T'Pol was slowly waking up. She wondered why she was waking before the alarm. She clearly remembered setting the alarm. Optimal sleep requirements for last night would have been six point three five hours, she mused. So what is the reason for this interruption in my sleep cycle? She felt sluggish despite her conscious state, and her muscles ached. There seems to be something wrong with my body, she thought.

Since she was starting to feel awake, she decided the logical action would be to rise and find out what was wrong. She opened her eyes. There was enough light for her to see the ceiling, and at that point, she was sure that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Instantly on alert, she swung both legs out of bed, standing up quickly, and had to reach for the wall to stay on her feet. For a short moment she couldn't see clearly, and there were spots dancing before her eyes. I'm clearly ill this morning. She held precariously to the wall with both hands, attempting to recover her equilibrium.

“Computer, lights!” She ordered after the dizziness had passed. She noticed several things: There is also something wrong with my hearing ability. Every sound seemed muffled and indistinct. Even my own voice sounds strange. She looked around, noticing the photographs on the walls.

I'm in Trip's quarters and he doesn't seem to be here. And what’s that on my peripheral vision? It took only one look down her body and she froze in mid-movement. After the first glance towards the familiar muscled male body, clad in worn T-shirt and blue underwear, she lifted her gaze upwards, deliberately avoiding another look as she tried to remain focused on her analysis of the situation.

This isn't my body. This is . . . . It . . . my body looks like Trip’s, and I am in his quarters. Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted when her fingers came in contact with a coarsely stubbled chin as she pondered the mystery. She jerked her hand away from her face and closed her eyes. I was not in these quarters when I fell asleep. Trip was in these quarters. So this must be Trip's body. The supreme illogic of this most logical conclusion threatened her sanity. But why am I here? Her eyes opened wide in realization.

The bond! That certainly could explain everything, except . . . if this is the bond, why does it seem like I am the one controlling this body and not just sharing. It would be very illogical for the bond to work in this way. Although she couldn’t be completely sure since her knowledge about the subject was so limited. It was one of the subjects rarely discussed. Could it be because he is human? Would that cause such unexpected complications? I must speak to doctor Phlox. I will not be able to solve this alone.

T'Pol started to move towards the comm on the wall. A careful observer could have seen the slight shaking of the hands and how wide the blue eyes stared.

“Tucker to Sickbay. Are you there, Doc?” That was not what I was going to say.

“Good morning, Commander. Or is it good night?” responded Phlox cheerfully.

Good night? She was confused.

“Good night?” Trip’s voice responded in a puzzled tone.

“Well it’s still so early in the morning it might be either way. Did you have something you wanted to discuss?” Yes I have something to discuss.

“It's nothing much, Doc. I just felt little dizzy when I woke up, but it's probably nothing,” said Trip’s voice without her volition.

That was not what I wanted to say. Suddenly it hit her. Was she trapped in here? Trip is it you? Trip are you there? She sensed no response to her earnest entreaties. Trip . . . listen to me. Something is wrong; it is not just dizziness, she pleaded. There was nothing. Trip please you have to tell the doctor. Why don't you hear me? I'm here with you. I do not belong here; not like this.

“Hmmm, when did you last eat, Commander? Did you do another double sift to finish those repairs?” replied Phlox in a concerned tone. Working several sifts without rest to finish the repairs explains the sore muscles and the tiredness of this body. That is his typical behavior. T’Pol reminded herself.

“Yeah, I kinda thought that myself, but, well, you know, with all that Orion stuff going on and not knowing why I’m immune, I just thought . . .” I told you why you are immune, Trip. What is going on? T’Pol thought, even more confused by everything. “Commander why don't you go eat some breakfast first, and as soon as I have time, I’ll look more closely into why you were immune. I’ll let you know if I need to do some more tests,” suggested Phlox. No, it is a private matter. No tests. No! T’Pol protested hopelessly.

“Okay, Doc. Thanks.”

T'Pol felt suddenly helpless and afraid. I’m not afraid. Vulcans do not experience fear.

The minutes ticked by as T’Pol just stood there waiting for something to happen. Occasionally she tried to call for Trip, but only silence greeted her until a rumbling sound from the stomach distracted her from the uncomfortable feelings of growing panic.

She needed a plan, I need help and this body needs food. Trip has not answered nor is he doing anything anymore. I’m again in control, so I must act. With that thought firmly in mind, T’Pol walked a few steps towards the door. But as she raised her hand to press the door control she noticed the hairy bare arms of her current body. She slowly tipped her head to look down the body she had, until now, tried to ignore. Shower and clothes, she admonished herself. T’Pol had a strong urge to both groan in embarrassment AND snort at the humor of the surrealistic situation.

Exhaling slowly she gathered her equilibrium. Shaking her head slightly she turned and walked briskly into the bathroom.

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She stepped under the warm spray and enjoyed the relaxing sensation of the shower massaging her aching muscles. His aching muscles, not mine. Despite the warmth of the water, that thought made her shudder. To distract her from the returning gloomy feelings, she picked up a shampoo and with a degree of hesitation in her movements, she started to massage it into her hair.

Gaining more confidence in the strange situation of washing a body that was and wasn’t hers, she continued soaping, starting from the arms and moving towards the chest. He has nice arms. Feeling his strong masculine features under her fingers awoke warm, happy, and even erotic memories from the past, and unconsciously her hands started to glide over the body with more passion. She longed to be in his arms, and to be touched as well. What am I doing? This is wrong. I’m letting my feelings, my desires guide my actions. This is still his body. His! Not mine to do with what I please. Am I violating him? With that horrible thought making her feel almost sick, she slammed the shower off and almost ran out of the stall, covering her body swiftly with a bathrobe.

Slowly inhaling and exhaling, T’Pol stood in front of the mirror, the blond hair, dark and still dripping wet. The shower had been a taxing experience on her control— if she really could call it control, as she was able to sense even the smallest emotion. Her only defense against the new feelings was her ability to distract her attention with something else. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in . . . She tried to concentrate on the most basic breathing exercise that every Vulcan child learned at a young age. She was gripping the washbasin, knuckles white.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in . . . Her inner turmoil was easing to more manageable level, and she slowly raised her gaze towards the mirror. She knew what she would see in there, but finding the blue eyes of Commander Tucker instead of her own caused her to step back abruptly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in . . . Some part of her wanted to turn away and to ignore the situation, but she used every amount of self-control she could muster to keep her gaze on the mirror and the familiar face of Commander Tucker. Trip, but not Trip. Where are you?

There was no sign of his presence in the blue eyes or the stoney expression. No! I’m not afraid.

Her gaze shifted to the stubble covering the chin and the cheeks, and she seized the opportunity of a new distraction. She had once seen Trip doing it. He prefers shaving that old way, physically removing the hair rather than dissolving it with chemicals. It would be surprising if the engineer did NOT prefer the machine.

T’Pol!

“Aauh.” She exhaled quietly. The razor dropped from T’Pol’s hand, clinking onto the sink as her other hand slapped her cheek, covering the sudden cut. She stared into the blue eyes looking back from the mirror. Could she glimpse the horrible despair she had just heard from Trip inside her head? Nothing! Where did he go?

The cool, dampness of the cut on the cheek now drew her attention. Red . . . blood!

A frightening thought entered her mind—a logical explanation to why she might be here inside Trip. No, could it be? . . . I’m not able to feel any connection to my own body. I have none of my emotional control. I must be here in his body as a whole. There was only one thing that could explain her lack of contact with her own body. I’m…I’m… My katra has been transferred. “I’m dead,” she whispered covering her mouth and slumping on the floor in shock.

T’Pol shivered and raised herself from the tile floor. She blinked and looked around disoriented. I’m dead, her mind whispered over and over, like a recording on a loop.

T’Pol picked up the fallen razor and forced herself to continue the interrupted task as if nothing had happened. She went through the motions like a preprogrammed robot. Cleaned and groomed, she stepped out of the bathroom, walked directly to the closet, and selected clothes. Dressed and ready, she walked to the door, her dull eyes staring straight ahead. Hand up. Open the door. Step out. Turn left. Walk.

The lighting was dimmed as it was still few hours to the end of the gamma sift, and most of the crew were still sleeping. The hallways to the mess hall were deserted, but if T’Pol had run into someone, they would have probably looked twice at Commander Tucker, who now had a frighteningly haunted look, his eyes cold and dull, without any of the usual cheerful sparkle.

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T’Pol was sitting beside half-eaten plates of food, staring into nothingness, the warm chamomile tea growing cold in her hands.

There was a lack of something she couldn’t identify right away. It was like being outside and not really connected to what was happening around and something was missing something she would have expected in a situation like this. No panic and no sadness nothing. I do not feel anything. For the first time in her life she was experiencing a total lack of emotion. It is not like I would have expected, was her dry remark.

At the new revelation, her thoughts started to race, light years per minute. Why don’t I have any recollection of what happened to me? Where is Trip? The conversation with Doctor Phlox wasn’t logical. Why isn’t Commander Tucke, . . . . we . . . this body in sickbay? Don’t they know about the katra transfer? So many unanswered questions were circling her thoughts. She kept analyzing every single fact she knew over and over, but wasn’t able to come to a conclusion about anything. I must start finding some answers.

She cleared the dishes absentmindedly, puzzling out her situation. A logical place to start my investigation would be in sickbay, or my quarters. For a few seconds she hesitated at the mess hall doorway, until she started walking towards her own quarters.

Only a few of the early risers would have crossed paths with their preoccupied chief engineer. Though he didn’t react to greetings, the haunted look on Commander Tucker’s face had given way to a look of utter concentration. Perhaps they put his silence down to some engineering problem, because no one gave his odd behavior a second look.

They have changed my door code! T’Pol pondered her locked quarters in silent frustration. Does this indicate some time has passed since . . . whatever happened? Or did they just immediately see to the . . . practical details?


Comments:

Linda
Nice start of a story. The thought flow seems true to T'Pol's character. It was an interesting point to have T'Pol feel she might be violating Trip's body, thinking erotic thoughts while inside it.
Asso
[b]See chapter two[/b]:p

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