Missing Scenes from Season Two - Shockwave - Part 2

SHOCKWAVE, PART 2

Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me. As a missing scene, this story also obviously owes a debt to the episode’s writers, Rick Berman and Brannon Braga. It also owes a debt to Chrissie's Transcripts Site, which makes it much easier to work with existing scripts.

Author’s Note: I felt the perverse desire to play hooky from my real life obligations today, so I’m back to this, though I cannot promise steady production. If you read my missing scenes from season one, you know the drill: because we can never have enough Trip and T’Pol, I take an existing episode and insert a canon-friendly TnT scene into it. I should note that Kotik has already posted some missing scenes for season two (after politely asking my permission, which he really didn’t need). I do not intend any offense at all when I say I am just going to ignore those and do my own thing, though I suppose we may overlap at times (I haven’t read all of his and at this point I don’t plan to until I’m done).

When the door to his quarters finally slid open, Trip was ready. Malcolm merely nodded at him and left to get into position above the transporter alcove. Trip headed down the corridor to collect T’Pol.

It was the work of a moment to unlock her door. Once inside, though, Trip was surprised to discover T’Pol standing warily in the farthest corner of the room, her bare arms crossed protectively over her chest.

“T’Pol?” he said, uncertainly.

She dropped her arms, but she didn't leave her corner. “Commander.”

When he’d finally managed to raise her on the EPS grid, she had told him about her interrogation. Even if she hadn’t, it would have been obvious that she’d been drugged or traumatized in some way -- it had been impossible to miss the dazed quality of her conversation. However, her voice had steadied into something approaching normal before he’d looped in Reed and Hoshi and Travis. She had certainly seemed cogent enough as she had relayed Archer’s directions and they’d worked out their plan.

Looking at her now, however, it was obvious that -- whatever they might say about it -- Vulcans were not immune from fear. At least, not Vulcans who’d been drugged. But he doubted it would help to address this directly. “Where’s your shirt?”

She looked down at her grey camisole, apparently surprised. “I don’t know.”

What had those bastards done? Had she downplayed the extent of that interrogation? But he really didn’t have time to worry about that right now. “Um…you want to get a new one on?” he said, and then added, “Before we go?” She didn’t seem to quite realize the urgency involved.

“That would probably be wise,” she said, finally leaving her corner and going to her wardrobe to pull out another one of those ugly uniform shirts. He’d often wondered just what the Vulcans thought they were accomplishing with that particular fabric pattern. It didn’t seem like useful camouflage in the barren desert setting of Vulcan, or on a starship. It certainly didn’t hide her figure. Maybe on a forest floor or a planet full of dead brush it would come in handy. Or maybe it simply hid plomeek broth stains well. He swallowed a grin at the thought of Vulcans ever spilling anything on themselves. He was tempted to ask her about it, just to tease her a little, but then he decided he didn’t dare distract her from the mission. “All set?” he asked, as soon as she’d tugged down her shirt.

“I believe time is of the essence,” she said. Her face was quite pale and she still hadn’t moved to the door.

Unfortunately, this plan required T’Pol to put herself in harm’s way. Normally, that wouldn’t have been an issue.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and just barely resisted the impulse to reach out and give her a reassuring pat. “Malcolm and I will have your back.” He directed a scanner down the corridor. “It's all clear. Ready?”

He looked back at her. Her nod was tiny and his heart contracted just a bit. No, he thought, she really wasn’t ready at all.

He had planned on getting a head start, enough to get into position with Malcolm before she arrived, but he made a last-minute adjustment. “Come on, then,” he said, and took her hand, pulling her along behind him as he headed out.

It only occurred to him when they got to the Transporter Alcove, and he left her there to climb up into the ceiling overhead, that she hadn’t objected to his touch or attempted to pull away. Not that it was much of a distance they’d had to cover, but still -- well, it was obviously just one more indication that she wasn’t herself.

“Is she okay?” Malcolm whispered.

“I think so,” Trip whispered back. They could hear her muttering nonsensically below them. It was part of the plan for her to appear still drugged, but it nonetheless raised the hairs on the back of his neck to hear T'Pol talking crazy like that.

“Someone’s coming,” Malcolm hissed, and both men tensed, getting ready to jump.

This has to work, Trip thought. He wanted their ship back, their captain back, their engines back, and their mission back. He also wanted their Vulcan first officer’s usual cool self-possession back.

Somehow, losing them had made them each more precious to him than ever.