Meditation

Rating: PG
Genre: General
Archive: Triaxian Silk, LJ.
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise and its characters are copyright CBS/Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended by the author of this fic, which is solely for the purpose of entertainment and is not for profit.
Spoilers: none
Summary: T'Pol teaches Trip the finer points of meditation.
A/N: Set in early season 3. A million thanks to my delightful beta, Diane! ^_^

After a moment's hesitation, Trip mashed the button on the panel in front of him. T'Pol's door chime sounded and she told him to enter. With the pressing of a subsequent button, the door to her quarters whooshed open and he stepped over the threshold. A single candle had been lit and placed between two sets of large pillows on the floor, where T'Pol sat kneeling, her back to him. He lingered in the doorway and pursed his lips.

She took in a breath and turned her head slightly. "You didn't interrupt me, Commander. Please, come sit down." The air stirred slightly as Trip walked around her to kneel on the other set of pillows. T'Pol's detected traces of his soap, evidence of his second shower of the day. No doubt a combination of the necessity to rid himself of the grit and grime of a long day's worth of engineering tasks and his consideration of her heightened sense of smell.

Trip started to tug at the hem of his shirt, but she interrupted him. "It's not essential to disrobe in order to meditate, Commander," Trip paused and she raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. "Unless it makes you more...comfortable."

He seemed to mull it over in his brain for a moment, then released his shirt. He shifted his weight back towards his feet and rubbed his knees mindlessly. Almost nervously.

"Commander, are you alright?" She asked, slightly lowering her chin. Trip nodded silently, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself. T'Pol continued to stare at him, her doe eyes wide and as disbelieving as a Vulcan could look.

Trip licked his lips. "Look, I've never tried this meditation thing before. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to do like those Tibetan monks and not say anything."

"This isn't a monastery, Commander Tucker. I haven't even instructed you on beginning techniques yet. Vulcan meditation is a wordless practice, but don't feel as if you can't ask questions."

"Okay then, my first question is: am I sittin' right? This is startin' to hurt my butt." Trip shifted again, trying to keep his heels from digging in to his backside.

If T'Pol had been any species but Vulcan, she might have laughed at that. "If you wish, you may sit with your legs crossed. That might be more comfortable for extended periods of time." Trip looked visibly relieved and readjusted his position, folding his hands in his lap.

"Thanks. My second question is: you really think this will help me?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrows a bit. "You mentioned earlier that your mind has started to wander during the course of your daily duties, and that memories of your sister are becoming a distraction. I suggested meditation because I believe that it will be beneficial to you. If you can learn to control your emotions and guide your thoughts while working, you will be able to improve efficiency."

"I hope you're not suggesting I suppress my memories about Lizzie."

"Captain Archer informed me of a human saying: 'There is a time for everything'. Perhaps work is not the best time to . . . explore those memories."

Trip looked at the floor, then nodded in agreement.

"Now close your eyes and clear your mind. Let the day's events float away from you."

Trip took a deep breath and did as asked. After only a few seconds, he snuck one eye open to look at the elegant Vulcan woman seated across from him. She was so serene in her posture. Don't stare at her, Tucker, Vulcans probably have a sixth sense about that kind of crap, like we do. As if reading his thoughts, T'Pol opened her eyes and caught him staring. Busted.

"Commander?" Her voice was even.

Trip tried his best to disguise the guilty look on his face but didn't have much success. "Sorry," he offered. "Uh, how long is this supposed to take anyway?" He was twiddling his thumbs already.

If T'Pol was impatient with him, there was little trace of it in her voice. "Meditation is a process that can take many months or years to master. Patience is crucial. It's illogical to assume you will be proficient at your first attempt."

"You mean it's gonna take years before I'm any good at this?" Trip sighed. "Maybe we should just skip the meditation and go straight to the neuropressure. I'm having trouble focusing."

"We were only silent for a few seconds."

"I know, it's just that I had a lot on my plate today and there's still a laundry list of things in Engineering that need to be fixed. It's next to impossible to clear my head when there's so much that needs doing."

Always thinking about his engines. T'Pol took in a breath. "You are off-duty, Commander. The other crew can see to those tasks."

Trip's charming smirk crossed his face. "My momma used to say that the Good Lord musta skipped over me when He was doling out the patience virtue."

She didn't laugh at his drawled comment. Didn't even crack the faintest hint of a smile.

Okay, so it wasn't a news flash.

"Try to concentrate." she replied, closing her eyes.

Trip loosened his shoulders and inhaled, following suit. Almost instantly his brow furrowed and he opened his eyes again to look at T'Pol. "Wait, how am I supposed to focus on anything if I'm supposed to clear my mind?"

She opened her eyes and pursed her lips slightly. Trip shrugged his shoulders and lowered the corners of his mouth as if to say, Hey, it's a valid question! This time her voice had a meager hint of irritation. "Focus on clearing your mind." Trip narrowed his eyes, clearly frustrated and slightly confused at her response. "If that proves too trying for you, then try to think of something that helps keep you focused when you are trying to work." She didn't wait for him to think about it, but went back to her attempt to start the mental meditation chant.

Trip stared at the candle between them. Its light hardly flickered in the still atmosphere of her quarters. Something that helps me focus when I'm working . . . working . . . Engineering . . . dammit, Rostov is going to forget to check that EPS grid we just patched. As soon as the thought ran through his mind, he caught himself drifting back to duty-mode. He widened his eyes and stuck out his jaw in frustration. I'm impossible. This is impossible. I can't go three seconds without thinking about work! Meanwhile, T'Pol is sitting over there, probably wrapped up in some Zen-zone, and I can't even stop thinking about the damned--

Trip froze and nearly slapped himself for not realizing it when she first suggested he find the thing that helps him focus while working.

Engines. He couldn't stop thinking about the engines.

With a satisfied smile he shut his eyes and thought about the ship's engines. Not the plasma injectors, the matter/antimatter intermix ratio, or the endless purging and monitoring. Just the soothing, constant reverberating hum of Enterprise. And the swirling, undulating eddys of magenta, blue, yellow, orange . . .

As Trip felt his mind calm, he became aware of the gentle vibration of the deck beneath him, hardly detectable through T'Pol's soft mediation pillows. There you are, old girl . . . He didn't need to feel it, he knew it. The white noise surrounded him and his breathing became more even.

Just as the pulsating vibrations were lulling him into a trance, T'Pol broke his reverie. "Commander." Trip startled, and opened his cool blue eyes. Focusing, he locked gazes with her. Her doe eyes widened slightly as her eyebrows raised. "Do you still wish to attempt a neuropressure posture? It's rather late."

Trip looked confused. "How long have we been meditating?"

"Nearly an hour."

"Whoa. I guess I kinda lost track of time there," he chuckled lightly. "I could see how this could get to be an addicting habit." T'Pol tipped her head.

"It is not a habit, Commander Tucker. It is a way of life. Without meditation, our emotions are unbridled, free to overwhelm us." She paused. "Impair our judgement."

Deciding not to take that as a rebuke, Trip climbed to his feet. His knees were a little stiff, but it wasn't anything a few minutes of cycling wouldn't cure. He stretched his strong arms above his head. "How about a rain check on the neuropressure for tonight? I actually feel pretty good right now, a little more . . ." He trailed off to find the right word.

"Centered?" T'Pol offered.

A millisecond to process, and Trip nodded. "Yeah. Centered." He made his way to the door of her quarters and pressed the button on the panel. As it whooshed open, he turned. "Thanks for bein' patient with me, T'Pol. See ya tomorrow." And he was gone.

-END-