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Before Janeway...and Picard...before Spock...and Kirk...the Star Trek saga began.
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Between Friends by gammara - Trip and Archer get into a fight (Part II)
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------------------------------------------------ T’Pol was livid, and it took great effort to stifle the emotion. It was a feeling absolutely foreign to her. She’d have to admit, she’d been mad before – poor decisions that had been made by the Vulcan High Command and occasionally a disagreement with the captain or the engineer. Her ire had been stuffed down and ignored every time through the most simple of Vulcan meditations. But, this went beyond all limits of understanding, which is why she felt it bubble inside of her, threatening to burst. The captain, in a fury, threw punches at his friend and junior officer, without remorse, without regret … even without an explanation. It was the antithesis of the man she’d come to know; he seemed incapable of such a heinous act. It was unprofessional. Dangerous. Childish. Foolish. And she had every right to haul him down to the brig and keep him there because of it; it was regulations. In this state, she was more than half-tempted to grab him by the collar and drag him down there herself. Trip’s tongue had nearly been severed. She and Trip refused to tell Phlox what happened or who the culprit was. The fact of the matter was: it was a scandal to everyone involved. Trip and she had been violating regulations; by describing the incident, her reputation and Trip’s would be tarnished. The captain, if reported, could face court-martial for his actions. Even if he didn’t, his good name would also be soiled. And … there was something else. Despite the circumstances, they were fiercely loyal to the man and couldn’t divulge to the doctor that he was the one who’d caused such damage. Mixed with her anger at Archer, she was also concerned. This wasn’t the friend she’d come to know. The man she served under was noble, kind, brave, bold, intelligent and caring. He’d move heaven or hell to help her … to help Trip … to aid anyone under his command. He’d offered his support, bartered his reputation and more just to keep her on Enterprise. His unwavering backing and assistance is something she’d always counted on. And now …. She tapped her finger against the chime a few times – mostly because he refused to answer. She knew he was there. “Captain?” He didn’t answer. “Sir, let me in.” A choked, hoarse voice answered her request. “Not a good time right now, T’Pol.” “Jonathan?” Her hand instinctively reached out to touch the door, and as soon as her fingers felt the cool metal, she withdrew it and straightened. His silence rang out. Without masking the disapproval in her voice, she explained the problem. “Commander Tucker is in Sickbay having his tongue melded back together. I would like to know why you did this." No response. Drawing a deep breath, she persisted. "I would prefer it if I was not forced to send you to the brig and contact Admiral Forrest." The comment sparked resentment … enough to respond; that was her intention: to get him talking. "I'd like to see you try that one, Sub-commander." The threat was pitiful. "I hold twice the strength of any man on this ship. Taking you out would not be such a strenuous task." After a brief silence, he spoke. "And the door?" She didn’t hesitate, staring at the steel contraption before her. “I have tackled a door before." "Weren't you in Pon Farr then?" She threw her eyes to the floor, poking up a slender eyebrow. "That is beyond the point. Open this door and talk to me." "We're talking now aren't we?" Irrational. She’d seen the captain act irrationally from time-to-time, but she attributed the occasional lunacy to compassion; an emotion that she’d come to admire. That was not the type of irrational behavior she was experiencing from him right now. Perhaps getting straight to the matter would help both of us. "What possessed you to take out one of your own senior crew in the mess hall?" He didn’t respond. "I am going to have to report this." "You think you have the right to sabotage this mission and my career by reporting one mistake?" Pressing forward, she spoke back to him sternly, but softly. “I will unless I’m given a reason not to. Right now, it appears a clear violation of the regulations … protocol a captain should be expected to follow.” Suddenly the door slid open and he towered over her, his face flushed and his lashes wet. Air sucked into his flaring nostrils and his eyes were wild; she knew right away he was going to erupt. "T'Pol, I don't give a damn what you do anymore. Whatever floats your boat … whatever makes you happy …. whatever you want to do in your free time – do it! If reporting me for one mistake is what it takes, fine. If rolling around in bed with Trip is what you want, do it. I don’t care. Just don't drag it in front of the rest of the crew so it ends up waved under my nose by a passing Ensign.” She swallowed and was about to say something, when he continued. “You mean nothing to me.” A frown was taunting her mouth as he shook his head and finished his rant. “I'm glad I’m not Trip." She titled her head back to stare into his face and he glared into hers. As his chest quickly rose and fell, the two blinked at each other. Just as she saw his eyes become glassy, he jutted his jaw forward. "Throw me in the brig and report me to Forrest if you need to, but split tongues won’t the end of your troubles when I get out. Do you understand?” Her eyes widened at the idle threat. “Yes, sir.” “Now, get out of my sight!” Turning on her heels, she marched down the corridor. Through her peripheral vision, she saw him watch her walk away – his shoulders slumped. Rather than lift her gaze or turn back to him, she kept her eyes stubbornly on the floor or in front of her … almost as if to punish him. For some reason, she wouldn’t let him reel off an apology, which she knew he’d be tempted to do. Smashing her thumb against the turbolift button, she chose Sickbay’s floor and then folded her arms against her chest still feeling his eyes on her. When the doors shut, she finally looked up at the ceiling to reflect on the idiocy of the moment and the immaturity of her friend. He was crying. She’d known. He’d masked it, but the wet lashes, hoarse voice, light green tint of his eyes – as opposed to the dark hue – were all the evidence she needed to come to the conclusion that he had shed tears. She’d seen him sulk, brood, yell, complain, laugh and a litany of other emotions, including show sadness. But he’d never cried in the four years she’d known him. Not over Sim. Not when he received the news about Earth’s attack. Never. At least … not until now. He is upset because of his trespasses against Trip. The two were friends. She’d seen him unreasonably clone the engineer just to save his life. He’d risked his own life, many times, to prevent harm from falling on the man. It’s why the captain would need to have a reason to harm him … a strong emotion … something so powerful that humans were at its mercy despite all efforts to the contrary. The doors slid open and just as she was about to step onto the deck plating, a thought came to her. He’s in love with me? Fraternizing was against regulations, and both she and Trip knew that. Somehow they’d expected when the captain eventually found out that he’d be pleased. Of course, they’d anticipated a verbal chiding from him, but believed he’d smile through each teasing remark and wink when it was over to signify his approval. In the end, they thought he’d encourage them to explore a deeper relationship. She never would’ve hypothesized this would be his response. When she made it to Sickbay, Trip was lying back on the biobed. He’d managed to avoid serious damage – the only visible sign of the brawl – a swollen lip. “We godda talk,” Trip said, his tongue numb from the stitches. A nod was her response.
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