Getting to Know You

Chapter 1

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Rating: PG to PG-13 (Adult themes) Other parts may have other ratings.

AU T/T’P

Author’s Note: I wish to explore various character motivations and perhaps do a little better than ‘temporary insanity due to drug addiction’ as an explanation of why T’Pol would fall for Trip. The original writers seemed to be a bit schizophrenic about the whole thing, and were unwilling to document the gradual process whereby two highly intelligent professionals under intolerable pressure might turn to each other. I will change elements of the story arc as I see fit, without much regard for cannon.

Trip Tucker reached blindly out from under the massive pump for his socket wrench. Feeling around, his hand stopped on an unexpected object occupying the space in which he had left the wrench. His brows beetled in annoyance. Someone was playing games.

"I feel toes, but no tools. Where the hell is my wrench?" Trip waited, but there was no answer. “Well?”

Finally, he slid his head out from under the pump housing, his eyes widening involuntarily in appreciation as they swept their way up a shapely form and came to rest upon an exquisite face.

T'Pol stood in her usual 'at ease' posture, her hands clasped behind her back, coolly regarding him with that powerfully searching gaze of hers.

Trip squinted and swallowed. Unexpectedly meeting her eyes always made him squint, as if he were looking straight down an energized EPS conduit. He was willing to bet the moon against a goober pea that she had the wrench behind her back. She wouldn’t give it back either, not until she was good and ready. This was classic T’Pol hardball, payback for him trying to avoid her all week. T’Pol, for all of her supposedly pacifistic Vulcan ways, was really into these little power plays. She was currently demonstrating her ability to seize his attention whether he wanted to give it or not.

"Evenin,’ T'Pol." He hunched, waiting for it. The whole neuropressure disaster had embarrassed him to the very core, but she insisted on acting like he hadn’t made an utter and complete ass of himself. She obviously thought him an ass anyway, and saw nothing unusual in his latest gaucherie.

"It is well past ‘evening,’ Commander." T'Pol looked down at him, noting his guilty reaction with some satisfaction. As first officer it was her duty to see to the smooth functioning of the crew. Therefore it was logical for her to intimately acquaint herself with the schedule of the most important and troublesome of the senior officers. Clearly, Commander Tucker was neglecting his health again, a situation that could result in disaster for the mission. As time passed, she became increasingly certain that Vulcan itself would not escape harm should the mission fail, so her devotion to the mission was complete. "Your duty shift is over and your sleep period should have begun one hour, twenty-seven minutes ago. Do you require my assistance?"

Trip blinked in resignation. He wasn’t sleeping. Concealing his exhausted state from Little Miss Efficiency was getting harder and harder. "I know that it's past my bedtime, T’Pol, but duty calls. A captain works from sun to sun, but an engineer's work is never done." He knew even as he said it that passing his problems off with a joke might put the captain or even Phlox off of his trail, but it would never fool T’Pol.

T’Pol thought of pointing out that there were usually no suns close to Enterprise, but became lost in the various possible interpretations of his innocuous words. Shaking off her confusion, she fixed him with a level stare. He was trying to change the subject. She would briefly allow him to imagine that his ruse had succeeded before crushing him within an inexorable web of logic.

“Indeed.” Looking at him, she was reminded of a small burrowing mammal that she had seen during a visit to a farm on the North American plain. It had popped out of its hole and peered at her in much the same apprehensive fashion.

Trip managed to contain his smirk over confusing her. Bullshit baffled even Vulcan brains. He could often read the subtle flicker of expression across her face and he had definitely confused the issue. Now all he had to do was retreat safely back into his hole. Pulling a clean rag from his pocket, he wiped the sweat from his face, considering his options. He finally put on his most affable ‘good ol’ boy’ smile, abandoned all pride and tried outright begging. "I've about got it licked, T’Pol. I'll just need my wrench back and I can get this beast buttoned up."

"Why would you wish to... lick the dump condenser reflux pump? Would a rag not prove to be a more efficient and sanitary cleaning medium?" She looked down at him, apparently too puzzled by his horridly grotesque Human illogic to give up the wrench.

Trip wasn't buying it at all. T’Pol was toying with him. She had an agenda and he wasn’t going to like it. If she were human he would say she as interested in taking him to bed, but T’Pol was Vulcan. Very Vulcan. She was clearly interested in putting him to bed, so that she wouldn’t have to try and use those exquisitely tapered fingers for that neuropressure thing on his grotesquely stinky and inappropriately horny human body again. Not that he would ordinarily object to even the least chance of getting naked with T’Pol.

I mean damn, talk about a fine lookin’ woman, Trip thought. The only problem was that she wasn’t in it for fun and games. She was innocently trying to help him, a very logical angel of mercy, come to help him in his hour of need. He, in his crass human male way, kept thinking of other needs whenever he looked at her. He simply couldn’t control a certain portion of his anatomy and it made him feel like a heel.

"Just another old expression, T'Pol. I'm almost done here."

"Licked. How very strange. In the interest of greater efficiency, I shall assist while you explain the etymology of your remark." T'Pol stared down at him for a moment longer and then finally handed him the wrench. She was writing a monograph on the depths of human illogic, verbal and behavioral. Commander Tucker was a most useful research subject. He was also the only human that would speak to her with any sort of candor about his motivations. Clearly Commander Tucker cared nothing for the good opinion of the Vulcan diplomats and xenobiologists that would see her work.

"Heh. Damn if I know, T'Pol. Jest somethin’ we sometimes say down in Florida. So how's the research coming?" Trip scooted back under the pump housing so that she was out of his direct sight. He would get an embarrassing woody if he kept looking straight up at her crotch.

"Slowly." T'Pol squatted down so that she could see him. "I still have great difficulty discerning the roots of human motivation."

“Join the club.” Trip glanced up at her over the edge of his crawlspace and quickly looked away. "Truth is, T’Pol, us Humans are always perfectly logical within the context of our own little worlds. Just like Vulcans.”

T’Pol cocked her head, accepting the challenge implicit in his words. “Do you mean to imply that Human behavior is dependant upon physical location?” He was being imprecise and so deserved to be twitted. Their discussions, though slightly less convoluted, were becoming very like the teasing skirmishes that she had regularly held with her father. She could not remember interacting with such easy familiarity with anyone since his death. Certainly not with a male.

Trip grinned, wondering why people thought that Vulcans had no sense of humor. All you had to do was talk to one to see it, although he had to admit that she never used that level of mockery on anyone but him. “It’s a metaphor, as you are well aware. I mean that everyone sees the world around them differently. I live in a different ship than you, or anyone else, because my interpretations of the reality around me are different than yours or anyone else’s. My perceptions ARE my world, T’Pol, and everyone has a different set of reality filters.”

T’Pol considered that for a moment and awarded him the point. “That is a universal condition common to every biological creature capable of abstract thought.”

Trip nodded. “Yeah. You Vulcans just try and come to a big formal agreement among yourselves on what constitutes reality. You try and standardize everything as a group and on an individual basis that surrender of the individual viewpoint often excludes anything that you don’t immediately understand. That’s why you personally have so much trouble believing in time travel, even after you’ve seen it so often.”

“Interesting.” T’Pol raised an eyebrow. It was important to remember that Commander Tucker was brilliant in his own right. He was quite capable of returning her scrutiny with a disturbingly penetrating insight of his own.

Trip paused, stripping back a wire. “Humans don’t live long enough ta worry that much about other people, T’Pol. Everyone makes assumptions about the nature of reality and bases their actions on those ‘sumptions. Unfortunately nothin’ says that those assumptions have ta be all that accurate. Sometimes people just decide to believe something because it makes them feel better. Like multi-level marketing.” Lying on his back, Trip grunted as he lifted the heavy flow regulator housing and then held it in place with one hand while awkwardly trying to thread a nut onto one of the recessed mounting studs with the other. Stripping and repacking the huge sonic pump was actually a three-man job. “Most of the time it doesn’t matter a damn what you believe in anyway, so long as you show up ta work on time. It just isn’t practical to waste too much time worrying about it.”

“Illogic as a logical survival strategy.” T’Pol could understand it in the more downwardly mobile and less hierarchical human society. She would have to investigate further.

“More like maximizing our return for a given amount of mental effort. Besides, logic has severe limits. You don’t get time to think through every possible convolution when you’re really up against it, T’Pol. Like Napoleon said to his generals, ‘ask me for anything but time.’ Circumstances change fast as lightning. You have ta instantly jump on and ride the damn tiger if ya want ta make it out of the jungle. He who hesitates, is lost.” Trip cursed to himself. He should have turned the local gravity down before starting. He was now rock hard from looking up at her and absolutely unwilling to come out from under the pump.

T’Pol considered his words carefully and concluded that he had a point. Humans continually surprised Vulcans when pressed, their habit of instant correct decision in the face of scant data making them virtually impossible to predict. T'Pol watched him with her usual fascination as he struggled with the nut. Clearly the housing was too heavy for him to hold up one handed, but she was reluctant to lend aid. She had concluded that some Human males found any offer of help with a physical task by a female to be a slur upon their masculinity. Due to the slightly heavier gravity on Vulcan, the physical strength of the Vulcan female was approximately 1.09 percent of human female norm, and thus an offer of aid could result in proportionately greater embarrassment. "I am not unaware of the dangers of indecision, Commander. I am trying to understand how you make the decision to try and ‘ride the beast,’ but your language lacks precision. Few Humans seem to understand their own motivations well enough to allow me to deconstruct the chain of assumption that leads to their emotionalism."

"That's the inner nature of the beast.” How he wished that she would call him Trip. “You ever seen a catfight, T’Pol? It looks like a furball, a loud, blurry furball, until the loser runs. Life is just as fast. The furball changes too fast to get a nice little snapshot of it for you to weigh the odds. There’s just no time. Speed is life. A lot of Human thinkin’ takes place on a level that we simply do not control, based on factors that we don’t even recall. Dream-logic isn’t like an equation. Sometimes one plus one equals run! There is no commutative law of thinkin’. You just catch the wave and go with the flow of synchronicity until you miss the turn and pile up on the rocks and shoals of reality." Trip grunted in annoyance as he lost his grip on the housing and caught it, but not before the wiring harness pulled taut. “The trick is knowin’ when ta jump.”

“I have seen Felis Catus fighting in the alley behind the Vulcan residential compound in Brazil. I do understand your analogy. Do you allude to Jung’s so called ‘unconscious’ mind? A disturbing concept. Vulcans have no such hidden depths.”

Trip, sniggering at her ridiculous lie, let the housing hang as he examined at the stressed connector. It would have to be replaced to guarantee reliability. “I don’t know about that, T’Pol. As a whole, your people have never struck me as bein’ very logical at all.”

T’Pol’s eyebrows rose. “Please elaborate.”

Trip sighed, resting his arm. “Most Vulcans work hard all their lives to repress their emotions. If Vulcans didn’t have emotions in spades it wouldn’t be such a big deal for them.”

“True, but irrelevant to your statement, which generalizes about Vulcans as a race.” T’Pol found it interesting that he had so quickly seen past the whole ‘emotionless Vulcan’ nonsense. Most humans lacked the perception to see past the façade into the raging volcano beneath. He was highly intelligent and disturbingly perceptive, nothing like the Human stereotype of his profession.

Trip scooted up far enough to grin at her. “Ah, but the individual struggle to embrace what they term ‘logic’ often causes our hapless Vulcan to accept erroneous ‘fact’ at face value, when someone that they trust tells them that it’s logical. The Vulcan stubbornly refuses to test the thesis, as it would be an illogical waste of energy to bother. So no one notices the elephant in the room until it poops on the carpet.”

T’Pols lip twitched at the humor inherent in his vivid imagery. “Elaborate.” She didn’t actually disagree with him. She had dealt with such metaphorical elephant poop many times in her intelligence career. His point of view was interesting.

Trip massaged his arm, wrinkled his brow and considered. “The Vulcan Science Academy maintained that the subspace matter transporter couldn’t possibly work. They refused to look into the theories behind the technology right up until a working model was demonstrated to them. They preferred to believe that Erickson was a liar and that the whole scientific community of Earth was capable of being duped rather than admit that they needed to go back and check their math.”

“It was a great coup for Earth.” T’Pol had been working for the intelligence directory when the shocking new human technology had been demonstrated. The transporter had thunderstruck the Vulcan scientific, industrial and military establishments, causing a general reevaluation of humanity among Vulcans previously content to rely on the rather negative viewpoint of High Command.

“Makes me wonder just how many other ‘facts’ ordinary Vulcans are banking on. It looks ta me like a lot of Vulcan ‘logic’ boils down to a series of subjective tests to determine where a new fact fits into the Vulcan consensus. If the fact doesn’t fit, it is discounted instead of being individually evaluated on its own merits and the consensus tested against the fact. With few emotions allowed to engage their interest outside of a narrow horizon, it seems ta me that it would only take a few minds being changed to hoodwink all of Vulcan.” Trip shot her a troubled glance. If he had thought of that route to conquest, then so had others.

“Perhaps this deliberate lack of detailed examination of new information is the Vulcan answer to the problem of limited time in decision making. We simply defer our examination of the problem until it becomes unavoidable.” T’Pol was also troubled by this idea of his. Humans could be so very devious. Could Vulcan be under the influence of a third party?

“We call it ‘group think.’ A committee of the most intelligent humans in existence can work hard for years on a problem and through a process of logical compromise come to a conclusion that any fool off of the street can tell is wrong. It looks to me like Vulcans as a whole are very prone to leadership by consensus and the resulting group-think.”

“The phenomenon is not unknown to us.” T’Pol thought about the many absurdities that she had seen from High Command during her career. If they were logical, Enterprise would be trying to catch up to a Vulcan taskforce. “I will not deny that there is some truth to your statement. How do Humans overcome this absurd… group-think?”

Trip laughed. “Not well. We screw up a lot, but there’s always some pissed off troublemakin’ maverick out there flingin’ mud and insults at the high an’ mighty. Sometimes that’s enough ta get them to rethink things, or else to get them replaced if they’re too far gone.”

T’Pol pounced on a chink in his logical armor. “Does not this ‘unconscious’ mind that you Humans give such credence to often lead to error? How do you determine that the ‘mud flinging maverick’ is actually right if his logic cannot be fully traced and evaluated?”

Trip shrugged. “Human logic regardin’ a policy or a technology is usually no different than the Vulcan variety. It’s the moxie, the internal logic that it takes to pursue the matter to the bitter end that takes emotion. A guy gets MAD, and refuses to do something that he knows is wrong, like for instance ta’ cancel a warp test flight for safety reasons when the last test flight’s sensor data is inconclusive and the whole program is on the line.”

T’Pol knew what he was talking about. “Commander Robinson could have died.”

Trip nodded. “Or Cap’n Archer. Hell, I was gonna take the module out myself if I had to. Fact is, if Commander Robinson were here he would be the very first to point out that it would have been completely worth dyin’ for the data we got. That test flight got us out here, and without Enterprise, Earth would have no chance at all to stop these bastard Xindi. We Humans don’t have the leisure to play it safe, T’Pol. Logic is a tool that we use to get what we want, not what we are.”

Interested, T’Pol moved closer to the pump, bracing her hand on it to poke her head and shoulders into the crawlspace that Tucker was hiding in. “How exactly does this state of… illogic driven logic occur? What spurs its formation and refines its formulation?” T’Pol thought that for the first time she was truly beginning to understand these people. One moment they could be perfectly logical, so very Vulcan in their aspect that her people simply could not help holding them to a standard that they would never dream of applying to an alien and the next, they would do something perfectly incomprehensible.

Trip shrugged, scooting back. She had him cornered. “Who can say? It’s a different motive for everyone. People have feelings that affect their actions that affect their feelings and so on. It's ridiculously complicated, like a free running oscillator, a regenerative feedback that produces a state that has almost no relation to the original biological and environmental reasons behind the feelings." He beetled his brows again. "I guess that's what Vulcan control is all about. You pay close attention and try to damp out your feelings up front, sort them out and then control the feedback loop."

T'Pol inclined her head, deeply impressed. "That is indeed the purpose of meditation and the concept that lies at the heart of Surak's teaching. It is also the most difficult to grasp."

Trip pulled out the rest of the harness and boosted the regulator up to the flange again. "Lots of people that never heard of Surak can do that. I know a couple prune-faced ol' admirals that would give the hardest, coldest Vulcan around a damn good run for his money.”

“I have met some of them.” Humans were capable of extremes, and aside from a certain irritability, the majority of the very senior military leaders seemed to be quite emotionless. This contributed greatly to the great Vulcan failing in dealing with Humans. Humans, with their short life spans and playful natures often seemed very like Vulcan children. Her people would often come to the erroneous notion that Humans could be treated as such.

“I think that I understand why you Vulcans want to throw out all of the emotions, T’Pol. The bad stuff can really burn.” He sighed, wishing that he could control his grief, and continued, “Without the good things in life there’s just no reason not to take a walk out of the airlock."

T'Pol sat peering into his crawlspace, considering what he had just admitted. He was clinically depressed, verging on suicidal. She focused on him again. "You repeat the arguments of the dissidents. Perhaps the way of Surak as it is practiced now is not for Humans."

“I do admire your emotional control, T’Pol. I’ve always wished that I could learn enough of it to calm down an’ not fly off the handle like a damn fool. Maybe someday a human will go through some Vulcan training and figure out how to adapt it enough ta pass on to the rest of us. There are a lot of different kinds of humans and you can bet that some of us would probably go for it." Trip looked back at her and smiled in a way that conveyed sadness and resignation. "Like Grandma Tucker used ta say, it takes all kinds to make up a universe."

T'Pol fought desperately and managed not to smile back. It was an enormously attractive vision, capped as it was by a casual restatement of the central principle of IDIC. "For us, Commander, emotional control is a matter of racial survival. As you have surmised, Vulcan emotions are far stronger than their Human counterparts. To a Vulcan of the past, you would seem a subdued and logical being, as hard as that is for me to grasp."

"Heh." Trip grunted and rocked the next housing into place on the stud. "You didn’t know me in college.”

T’Pol blinked. “Perhaps that is for the best. Consider your calmer, more logical lifestyle of the present. Do you not consider it an improvement over previous philosophies?”

“I don’t know, T’Pol. I was too busy to have much of a philosophy in college.” He considered. “Unless you consider engineering, girls and beer a philosophy.”

“I trust that you have developed one by now?” T’Pol didn’t doubt that the Commander had attracted more than his share of human females. If she were a human female, she would certainly consider him a superior specimen.

Trip laughed. “I like to think that the Starfleet mission statement pretty much sums it up for me.”

T’Pol raised an eyebrow. “Although ‘To Boldly Explore’ is a laudable ambition, it hardly rises to the level of a philosophy.”

“Well, I suppose that we humans take a significant portion of our life spans to figure out the whole philosophy thing. Then we die right afterward anyway, so I’m not looking at it as a big priority.” He poked experimentally at the connector block with a molecular fuser. “I guess that our brand of philosophical gobbledygook isn’t quite up to galactic standards yet.”

“Your characterization of it as ‘gobbledygook,’ goes some way toward exceeding most galactic philosophies. Humans at least tend to quickly discard discredited ideals. Most known galactic races still give credence in some form to the pre-scientific era creation myths of their dominant culture. The religions of the Klingons, Gorn and Tzin for example still formally punish individuals for heresy.”

“So does Vulcan.” Trip regretted saying it just as soon as it came out of his mouth.

“Elaborate.” Both of T’Pol’s eyebrows rose at this.

Trip shrugged uncomfortably. “Those Vosh Katur that we met didn’t leave Vulcan for a vacation.” He had hit it off quite well with Kov, who had proven to him that Vulcans could also be regular guys.

T’Pol was silent for a time, just watching him work as she considered his words. Sitting down on the deck, she finally replied, “Perhaps you are right. Vulcan, in its devotion to the goals of Surak, can be somewhat intolerant of error.”

“So can everyone else.” Trip admitted. He sighed. “All we can do is try ta be nice to each other, but it doesn’t always work out. We’re only people, T’Pol, and people screw up.” It was a sentiment straight from his Christian roots.

“That is the central point that Surak made. We are all deeply flawed and only by an act of will can we strive for clarity. Upon reflection, we come to the decision that logic is the preferred mode of life.”

“Seems to me that all preferences are based on emotion." He grinned at her. "So tell me, T'Pol, why do you prefer logic?"

"You are not the first to challenge Surak with that argument." T'Pol looked at him and reluctantly said, "As Surak himself freely pointed out, logic is merely an ideal to strive for. Properly speaking, by its very nature the ideal may never be attained."

Trip's grin turned wicked. "Here's some Zen for ya then. Logic is a little blue tweeting bird. Logic is a beautiful flower that smells bad. Logic-

"I have already heard those disgraceful... jokes." T'Pol almost frowned. The human standup comedian, accurately calling himself Bob the Rude, had done the impossible, causing an entire Vulcan delegation to laugh during a reception on Luna Seven. It had made the news system-wide. The Vulcan diplomats involved were still trying to live it down.

"Humor is a powerful force." Trip grunted in sweaty triumph as he finally managed to get the housing to fit on all of the studs. "It finds your hidden emotion and brings it out, whether you like it or not. If humor works on Vulcans, then logically there must be lots of suppressed emotion in there."

"That is supposition, not logic." She forced herself to remain calm. Commander Tucker was a wonderful resource for honing her logic. His arguments were often true masterworks of rigorous logic, built upon a carefully hidden core of conjecture or even of outright deception, when he was feeling playful. The engineer in him enjoyed testing her logic. Few, if any Vulcans were capable of giving her such a stimulating contest. "Perhaps it simply evokes emotion. I am quite sure that I have no hidden well of emotion."

"How do you know? Maybe your religious training teaches you to overlook it." He began to thread on the nut, but his hand as was tired from the previous thirty seven hours of work as the rest of him. His overstressed finger muscles had a spasm and he lost his hold on the nut, which fell straight for his eye.

T’Pol’s hand shot out and caught the nut in midair. "The Way of Surak is not a religion. Not precisely, although it shares many of the elements of classical Vulcan religion. The Way grew out of the ancient religious and philosophical traditions of the Priesthood of Gol."

Frowning briefly at the illogic of human male pride, T'Pol suddenly inserted her feet into the crawlspace and wriggled her way into the narrow space beside him. With one slender arm she, pushed the heavy housing firmly up into its place against the pump. With the other hand, she rapidly installed and finger-tightened two nuts. Firmly plucking the wrench from his hand, she began setting the torque. "I find that I cannot logically prove or disprove your supposition."

"Well there ya go, that's philosophy for you." Trip tried to ignore the heat of her body next to his, as well as his simmering outrage at being shouldered aside from his work, so to speak. Her hip had actually done the nudging and it was still pressing tightly against him. He was having a monumentally hard time concentrating through the sparkling waves of warmth that suffused him from that contact.

Reaching up, he started closely examining the wires of the harness block. "It all boils down to a supposition, no matter what angle ya come at it from, T'Pol. Might as well spend your time building a house of cards. That's why I like ta stick to warp engineering. Philosophy doesn't pay very well, even if you're right."

T'Pol narrowed her eyes and stared at him. It was inconceivable, but could he be right? Was she overlooking some hidden font of emotion? It would explain a lot. Why did she feel so inexplicably drawn to these people? It wasn’t only her, either. The Vulcan race rarely bothered to contact other races at all. Certainly they had never tried to 'guide' one, regardless of the security concerns that High Command might have.

"Vulcans are often touch telepaths, Commander. Our mind healers have never discovered any hidden store of emotion in a sane Vulcan."

Pressing as far away from her as he could without dropping the disassembled wiring harness connector block, Trip controlled his panic. Could she tell how her touch affected him? "Telepaths? Damn it, T'Pol, what kind of tricks-

"You didn't know? It is not something that we were keeping secret. Do you have a guilty conscience, Commander?" With difficulty, T'Pol suppressed her amusement at his fumbling reaction. "It is very difficult and not done without considerable effort on the part of both parties. You certainly have nothing to fear. I doubt if a Human like you could even manage it."

Stung, Trip replied without thinking. "Ha! Like two Vulcans would be any less blind than one Vulcan or ten! Only an emotional being can help you see. You just don't even know how to look in that direction anymore. And what do you mean a Human like me? I’m the chief engineer of the finest starship the Earth ever produced, not some grease monkey on a cryrogen scoop."

T'Pol finished her task and rolled up onto her side to regard him. Oddly enough, his scent did not affect her. "I doubt if you have the patience to sit still for more than an hour, Commander, let alone to control your mind sufficiently to project your thoughts."

Trip opened the block and glanced at her, thoughtfully. "Don’t be so sure, T’Pol. The old noggin might not be quite as hollow as you think.” He clipped off the block and began fitting a new one.

T’Pol felt a twinge. That had been a low blow and not strictly true. “Perhaps.”

“Y’ know, T’Pol, Humans meditate too, in all kinds of ways. We have monks and the like who sit around in funny robes just like Vulcans, going ‘ohm,’ listening to the sound of one hand clappin’ and all the rest of that fine old mystical hokum. Matter of fact, I meditate too, but I just don't get all formal about it like you do. I know how ta do it on the move." He gestured up at the pump. "I meditate by workin' on simple no-brain things, like this. Why do you think I'm here, anyway? Anyone in the division could have done routine maintenance like this. I just wanted something to do with my hands while I think some things over."

T'Pol cocked her head, thoughtfully. There were indeed ancient monasteries on Earth, some of which had absorbed a worrying number of Vulcan postulants and missionaries from their counterpart organizations on Vulcan without a trace. Although Commander Tucker had never shown any sign of observing the strictures of any religion, he did show an unwavering single-mindedness that was somewhat akin to a meditative state when he began a task.

"And was your meditation successful?"

Trip shrugged. "Not really." He had been considering the mechanics of quitting Starfleet after the mission, if the Xindi were successfully dealt with and they survived, and there was an Earth left to go back to. Trip had always been far more interested warp theory than space exploration and the warp five system was all but perfected now. It was time for warp six, or even a big jump of the kind that always scared the Vulcans right to warp seven or eight, if some private research on the various alien warp plants that he had gotten a look at bore fruit. Being the chief engineer of a starship in space gave him access to the finest mobile warp research laboratory imaginable, but he was almost at the end of what he could learn on board. Earth needed much faster and stronger ships and Trip knew that he could be instrumental in providing them. The only thing that held him aboard Enterprise was the necessity of the mission, his thirst for revenge and his unwillingness to let Jon down. There were other reasons to go too. Trip had no one left at home and no one really aboard Enterprise. Professional relationships weren’t enough. Trip was horribly lonely any time that he wasn’t working, and there was only so much work. Natalie dumping him had been a terrible, but not unexpected blow, but his sister’s death had been a killer. Trip knew in his bones that if he didn’t find a girl to connect with soon, he wouldn’t last. Even if he did, would he want to end up like Jon someday, retired dirt-side with a million funny stories to tell and no one around to tell them to? No, he had to go. The pickings were vanishingly slim in space with only chance-met aliens or his equals in rank being remotely available. Given that he was a commander, it pretty much cleared the field. He just wasn’t the type to be content with shore leave conquests. Trip Tucker was a romantic in his heart of hearts. He wanted something special in his life.

The truth was that the only woman aboard Enterprise that had ever truly attracted him in a ‘to have and hold’ sort of way was a curvy Vulcan know-it-all, and he wouldn't know what to do about it if she was interested.

"Did I interrupt your meditation?" T'Pol was peering at him intently, trying to properly asses his emotional state.

"Um, no, T'Pol." Trip knew a moment of horror as he looked into her eyes at close range and went rock hard again. He felt his face get hot and knew that he was blushing like a ripe tomato. “It wasn’t really working for me. I was just spinnin’ my wheels, goin’ in circles.”

"Fascinating. Why are you turning that peculiar color?" T'Pol watched with great interest.

"Heat regulation." Trip tried baffling her, but he knew it was futile. She would work it out with frightening speed.

"The blood is rushing to your skin, and the iron based hemoglobin makes the skin appear to..." she halted, struck. Vulcans blushed too sometimes, only green. "You are... embarrassed. Why?"

Trip laughed, nervously. "Me? Nah."

“You are sexually aroused.” She could feel it in him.

Trip swallowed. “Sorry.”

“There is no reason to apologize. I did not intend to make you uncomfortable.” She still didn’t leave.

“You’re a beautiful woman, T’Pol. I know that you’re just being a friend, but sometimes it’s hard for a lonely man to keep things like that in perspective. It’s very unprofessional of me and I want-

“It is unimportant, merely a consequence of your biology.” T’Pol had never considered that he might find her physically attractive. For an uncomfortable moment she reflected on the fact that she would never treat a Vulcan male in this fashion.

“Yeah.” He finished the rewiring and snapped the modular cover back on, ignoring the Vulcan heat of her closeness as best he could.

She stared at him until he had to look, instantly capturing his eyes. “You are not sleeping.”

“No,” Trip replied, miserably. She just kept boring in. There was no avoiding it. “I catnap enough to get by.”

T’Pol scooted up on her side until she was eye to eye with him. “Our mission is of critical importance, Commander. Enterprise requires your utmost care. You cannot rise to the necessary level of efficiency if you are physically and emotionally exhausted. I do not understand why you have not approached me for help.”

“Do you mean that… neuropressure?” Trip locked eyes with her and swallowed, quickly looking away, staring up at the pump housing. She was too close. He’d made the mistake of telling Malcolm, the smug bastard, about that crazy neuropressure session and how he had made an absolute ass of himself. Malcolm had laughed at him, teasing him over being the only human to experience the legendary Vulcan Sex Massage and offering to take his place in the bed of the bumlicious first officer any time. For Trip, it was a matter of sheer self-preservation. All he needed after being dumped by his longtime fiancée and losing his sole remaining family member was to fall hopelessly in love with an inhumanly beautiful woman that couldn’t possibly ever love him back. It would be so easy to do. He had to duck the horrible psychic bombshell that was screaming inexorably down upon his scarred head. “Do- I uh, T’Pol, you see, I don’t think that’s such a good-

“Come with me.” T’Pol wriggled out of the crawlspace and dragged him along behind her.

Trip emerged and stood before her, swaying a bit and squinting in the brighter light. His eyes felt like they were filled with sand. T’Pol was standing there, hands clasped behind her back, looking daisy fresh as usual. Why the hell did he always feel like he was looking up at this tiny woman?

She peered at him and felt a pang of dismay. His appearance could only be described as ghastly. “I cannot allow this to continue. You must have adequate rest, Commander.”

“I don’t know how to get over it, T’Pol.” Trip sighed, sounding as defeated as he felt. “My whole family is gone. I’ve got no one now. No one at all in the universe. I’ll do my job though. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Will you really?” T’Pol looked him up and down, not bothering to hide her worry. “What if an emergency were to occur right now that required an extended period of repair? Humans can do without sleep for approximately seventy two hours before physiological breakdown occurs and you must be nearing that limit now. What if the captain and I were killed? You would be in command, and your sleeplessness and depression could result in the mistake that destroyed Enterprise, Earth and very probably Vulcan too. You must become capable of controlling your emotions, Commander. Your entire species as well as mine are at risk from this unacceptable personal failure of yours.” T’Pol knew that she had to engage his anger. That would spur him out of his funk.

Trip glared at her for a furious moment and then swallowed, face falling. “You’re right, T’Pol. I’m being stupid and unprofessional.” He shook his head, distraught at this vision of failure. “Gawd, I can’t believe that I didn’t see this. You must- I’m really not worth a damn as an officer.”

“You have been damaged by an enemy attack, just as any other element of the ship may be damaged under such a circumstance. You must accept the help that you require and strive to repair yourself, Commander.” T’Pol had concluded that loneliness was the major component of his depression and simply spending time with the man would help him, even if Vulcan mentaton techniques turned out to be ineffective for a human.

“I’ll go to Phlox and-“

“Submit to his leeches? That would also disrupt your ability to carry out your duty.” T’Pol’s eyebrows dropped. “That sort of help will not suffice in the long term and a regimen of drugs would be unacceptable in a command level officer. You would be placed on limited duty and the ship proportionately weakened.” She began to pace. “You have little choice, Commander Tucker. It is your duty to get over this depression as quickly as possible and my duty to do all that I can to aid you.”

Trip blinked, picturing T’Pol shucking the top of her snazzy blue pajamas and demanding to be touched. That sort of thing could probably help a lot with depression, but it had not encouraged sleep. Blotting out the hideously embarrassing memory, he strove to regain some professional detachment. “Um, right.”

“We have established that your performance as chief engineer is of paramount importance to the mission, and that this mission must not fail.” She stared at him for a long assessing moment and then continued, “I shall simplify the matter for you. You will call a maintenance crew to finish this menial task and proceed to your quarters for a shower. Once clean, you will report to my quarters immediately for neuropressure. This is an order that I expect you to obey. You shall be there, dressed in a robe and undergarments, within thirty minutes.” T’Pol turned to go, and then looked back to add, “Tonight’s session will consist only of neuropressure, but subsequent sessions will begin with the study of basic venlinahr techniques for emotional control. These sessions will be a recurring event taking approximately two hours and thirty seven minutes each evening before you retire, so do be sure to alter your schedule accordingly.” She immediately turned and strode away.

Completely flummoxed, Trip picked up his tools and called the duty engineer for a crew to finish the job.