Tonight...she had begun the initial phase of treatment. Phlox would be taking a reading of her neurolytic enzymes the day after tomorrow. He would do this regularly until her condition showed significant signs of improvement. Nothing less than his total commitment to helping T'Pol would be his calling.

Ironic that her treatment had begun on the anniversary to the day of her being assigned as Science Officer aboard this experimental ship. So much had happened in the passage of a flurry of groundbreaking days.

The soft tramp of her footfalls accompanied her as she traveled along the connecting corridor. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder, but no one followed. There was a measure of relief in that. The feeling of being hounded would live in her memory for a very long time; perhaps it would never go away.

Archer, as always had meant well, and yet, his interest in her health, unquestionably, a private matter, was obtrusive. That was her view because it was a logical one. Her privacy had suffered irreparable damage, and she added it to the list of things that would never be the same again.

Her confidence in Archer likewise would never be the same, either. She found it difficult to fault him, in that respect, in the light of these disturbing events, as much as the logical side of her seemed to demand it.

Admiration was a loaded word, let alone feeling, but the captain did both justice. When she had said if he ever needed someone he could trust, he had proven yet again that he was someone putting trust in was not erroneous.

Lying to him...it made her *feel* unworthy of his trust. She couldn't help it. Vulcans were incapable of lying. Now, she had two glaring ones to her discredit.

She had never known a species such as this one. People willing to give their all for the sake of friendship. The balance of what they held sacred in their culture was bound up in their interpretation of the concept.

One of the most basic tenets concerning it mandated that a true friend stuck by his or her friend when said friend needed him or her most.

One day, perhaps her people might embrace the same conclusions she was witnessing dramatically firthand, with each passing day that she lived with them.

Humans offered much to emulate. What could easily be dismissed as irrationality was mightily tempered by their devotion to seeing that what was fair was heard. It engendered feelings of belonging with them within her. That idea comforted her as she headed for her quarters.

The 'melders'...how they had fascinated her. Perhaps their unique abilities would pave the way for greater enlightenment for her species as a whole.

Tolaris, her seductive 'melder,' had used her to his advantage, wound her psyche around his will, and yet she harbored no ill will. Certain Humans would, perhaps, not be as charitable, she knew; many Vulcans also. Wrongly, he'd used her curiosity as his bait, a tantalizing lure she hadn't wished to ignore, he having sensed within her a certain need. Briefly, she relived the upheavling interlude. What he'd done to her was unconscionable, but, as the captain had also told her, moving on was the wisest recourse. What was done, was done. The emotions regarding the life- altering incident had long been suppressed.

Thanks to Dr. Yuris' compassion, and Phlox' medical expertise, she had her whole life ahead of her. Hope was something else she was coming to better understand.

Her decision to keep silent about how she had contracted the malady was her decision alone to make. Firmly holding to that decision had dismayed Archer, earned her his miscomprehension, but it had also garnered his respect. She knew that to be so. It was never all or nothing with Humans...

As she walked, not really seeing the monotonous surroundings, she thought back. The past several days had been rigorous and grueling. Her commission aboard Enterprise had once again been threatened.

Looking back, if she had had to leave, her body would not be present, but her heart would have remained. Her heart was with these people. There was no denying it any longer. It would be for as long as she lived.

She was in the mood for...something sweet...yes, something sweet and...the word was gooey, (his lip-smacking description) and comforting. What had Commander Tucker termed it? Ah, indeed...comfort food. She needed some comfort food.

Her brain fog lifting, she realized that the turbolift she had strode by would take her directly to the Mess Hall. Waiting for it to arrive on her present level, she could already taste her favorite indulgence melt in her mouth. For a brief moment, she thought about the one who had introduced her to pecan pie. Did he know of her condition? She did not want to think that the captain might discuss her situation over with his best friend and confidant, but she was thinking it, just the same.

If he knew, would he view her differently, as though she were less than what she was, somehow? She pushed that out of her mind, forcing herself to focus on Charles' commiserating nature.

The 'lift arrived, she boarded, second guessing Tucker's reaction. If he didn't know, would she tell him before it drifted his way past another's lips?

She stood before the Mess' closed doors before entering. Tolaris and she had conversed on a more personal level within this facility known for its more casual atmosphere. She had done nothing to encourage him, she had concluded long ago. She left her self scrutiny outside, having keyed the doors to be admitted.

Helping himself to a glass of cold milk was none other than her other friend who smiled at her as she entered. "Evenin', T'Pol. How's it goin'?"

She regarded him with eyes that spoke nothing of her state of mind. "Might I join you, Mr. Tucker?"

Trip cast circumspect looks around the empty dining room. "Be my guest, Sub-Commander." He indicated where she should grab a seat. "What are ya havin'? A little mint tea? Hearts of lettuce salad? I'll get it for ya."

Masking her surprise, she thanked him, then said, "I had decided on having a piece of pecan pie. The mint tea will be acceptable. Thank you."

"Ya got it," Trip added, the persona of cheerfulness. T'Pol watched him, feeling a twinge envious. "Busy days, huh?" There was an air bout her he couldn't identify. He set his glass down where they would sit. "Tea an' pie comin' right up." He was back with her order, forcing her to fold up her thoughts as though they were separate parts of an overall whole. "Here ya are." He seated himself, rubbed his palms together over his selection, (a hero, he'd called it, if she remembered correctly) and started in. "Spicy meatball," he told her with a gleam in his eyes.

She didn't move a muscle, her eyes homed in on him, as though they were staring into the flame of one of her candles.

"What?" he said after swallowing a sizeable bite he'd bitten off. Anything meat was his favorite food.

"Nothing..."

Shrugging, he conceded, "If ya say so. What are ya waitin' for?" He hinted with the canting of his head. "Dig in..."

T'Pol picked up her fork, but didn't use it right away. She was still turning several things over in her mind.

Hoping to drag her off from whatever distant place she was, he said, "Ya know, I heard--"

"Yes?"

'Whoa,' he thought, 'that was pretty enthusiastic for her.'

"Heard you and Phlox went down to the surface to meet with some of your doctors."

Dramatically arching an eyebrow, she asked, "Who told you? Was it Dr. Phlox?"

"Uh, no. It wasn't..." Trip smiled, humoring her. "Why're askin' like that?"

"The Captain then," she pressed, hearing the tenor of rueful confirmation in her hushed voice.

"Nope, wasn't Jon either." He looked at her suspiciously. "Is everythin' all right?"

The left corner of her mouth involuntarily twitched.

Taking all of her atypical mannerisms in carefully, he divulged, "One of my engineers happened to mention it in passing. Ensign Meyers. She's become fast friends with Hoshi. Somethin' amiss about that? They were just havin' a catchin' up kind of conversation. The latest goin'-ons around the ship."

T'Pol said nothing. What could have been an innocent remark had just made her stomach flip-flop.

Again, he posed the amiable question, "You sure you're all right?"

Trying to gauge his moods was still a challenge. She was still new to reading them with any degree of efficiency. She waited. 'The other shoe to drop,' as her Human colleagues would sometimes say, she was sure was poised.

"T'Pol...if you've got somethin' ta say, for the love of Feezel, say it." He gulped down the last of the milk, understanding that look. "I'll explain later..." He folded his arms over his chest. Beneath their table, he jiggled her foot with his right. "Again, I repeat, are ya all right?"

She was going to be. She wasn't sure how she *knew*. She just had a feeling, though. Nodding once, T'Pol reciprocated his steady gaze. She wasn't proud over the fact that there was already one secret between them; the debacle involving Menos. Was she willing to make it two? How would telling him affect their curious relationship?

'Oops, there she's gone again,' Trip recognized. "T'..."

"Commander, are you familiar with the Vulcanic affliction known as Pa'nar Syndrome?"

"Can't say as I rightly am." His mind began adding things up. "Is that why you went with Phlox? Some kind of consultation?"

T'Pol could nearly hear that other shoe dropping. "I accompanied Dr. Phlox because the Vulcan physicians requested my being in attendance at the meeting with the doctor."

"What did all y'all talk about?" Trip asked, the soul of curiosity now.

"The Syndrome which I spoke of."

"Yeah?" he arched.

Without hesitation, she informed, "I am infected."

Trip's eyes bugged, not liking the finality of her proclamation. "Bitch!"

"I beg your pardon, Commander..."

He shook his head, keeping his voice level. "Not you, sweetheart. Son-of-a... For how long? Do you know how ya got it?" His concern was so genuine, it was in sole possession of his eyes. His mouth was drawn in a tight line. "How serious is it?" he asked with baited breath.

Not batting an eye, she replied, "It is very serious, Mr. Tucker."

"*How* serious?" he wheedled.

"If left untreated, it is always fatal."

It felt just then as though someone had come up from behind and had 'thwacked' every last bit of air out of his straining lungs. "T'Pol," he gasped, "no, *damnit*, NO!" He looked lost suddenly. "Why the hell YOU?"

His emotional response was an entity unto itself, affecting her deeply; more than she would have ever thought. Somehow, her hand found its way to his, and she squeezed it with firmness, centering herself. "The Syndrome is harmless to Humans."

"I wouldn't care if I got it breathin' the same air as you, T'Pol."

The burning within her intensified. "Under Dr. Phlox' ongoing treatment, there is more than a reasonable chance that I will sufficiently recover."

"That better be how it turns out." Forseeing a future without her figuring into it, somehow, made no sense anymore. His heart had made his mind up not long after he'd parted some very confusing company with the royal pain of a hellcat from Krios Prime. "How long b'fore ya know if the treatments are workin'?

"The normalization of my neurolytic enzymes is the most salient indicator."

"I want progress reports, each and every time ya check in with the doc, young lady. Ya got that?" He felt gratified when she nodded, a moist, glowing look saturated her eyes. He continued, sounding thoughtful, "How'd ya get so sick? You're the healthiest gal I've ever known."

She wasn't so sure how he would receive the rest of what she had a mind to tell. "Do you recall the small band of Vulcans who sojourned with us less than a year ago? The Vahkla?"

"Uh huh. Some sort of breakaway bunch, as I recall."

"They are viewed as pariahs in Vulcan culture." Choosing her words carefully, she said, "I entered into a risky practice with one of the males...a man named Tolaris..."

Trip felt his heart sink a little. "Another man, huh?"

"The man I was assigned to work with. Our relationship was professional..."

There was no reason not to believe her. She never lied. "Go ahead. I'm all ears." His eyebrows jigged. "No pun intended."

If she had not been so hemmed in still by her deeply- entrenched Vulcan sensibilities, she would have thrown her arms around him, promptly upsetting the delicate balance of being what she'd been bred to be as opposed to becoming more than her species had the potential to become. "None taken...Comm...Tr..."

"Go on. You know you want to..."

For once, she did. "Trip." His name floated about in the environmentally-regulated air for several quiet moments. "Trip," she repeated, with conviction.

"It sounds real special comin' from you." He squeezed her fragil-feeling hand back. "So what does this guy haveta do with what you've gotta deal with now?"

After she'd explained, her hand in his bore pressure marks for having been held so tightly. "I misjudged him," she said morosely.

"That mind-fu--" He aborted, seeing how somber and engulfed she looked. "Damn that mind meldin' sleeze bag." He lowered his voice, and the out-of-control tone. "So help me. Darlin', if we ever run into that s-o-b --that, that skanky loser again, I'm tellin' ya right here an' now from the get, I'm takin' him apart," Trip muttered menacingly. "Forget that he'll probably kill my ass. Five minutes before I go down swingin', I will have taught him plenty about takin' advantage of a true lady."

She tried the novelity of the use of his more personal name on for size again. "No, Trip. If you value any small fraction of the logic I do, you will not react in that manner." She said with deadpan deference, "You will be of no viable use to me dead."

Tucker had to chuckle in spite of the sharp anger he still felt.

"Trip..." She allowed him to maneuver her small-knuckled, trembling hand to his lips. The success with the move shone in his eyes. "The value of your being viable is far greater." The Commander knew when to quit when he was so way ahead. The last of his anger drained from him. "I choose to believe that the Vahkla should test the limits of their special abilities. They pose no threat. They are explorers, such as you and your fellow Humans on this mission." Before he made so bold as to kiss the pliant back of her hand, she said, "I've moved on since the interface. You would be wise to do the same. We should move forward, together."

She held his undivded attention as never before. He cursed the Vahkla, a certain male in particular, in his heart, keeping his feelings about 'the pig,' close to the vest. There was no sense airing the issue over the act and the creep responsible for compromising T'Pol's health. Not if his upset meant ruffling the placid waters of this developing relationship that somehow, inexplicably, felt meant to be. Their vast cultural differences set aside, they just felt right...together.

"So, what you're really sayin' is, you'd like us to be more than friends...in time." He liked the conclusion he'd drawn, whether it accurately described the direction she was leaning towards, or not.

T'Pol's eyes deserted his face for a brief moment. Is that what she, in no uncertain terms, meant? She decided to probe a bit further. "Is that what you desire?"

He braided his fingers with hers, feeling his heart rate ramp up. "I want whatever it is you want, Darlin'."

She minced no words. She had given the question of 'them' a great deal of thought over the past months. Now seemed the appropriate time to voice her opinion, as tentative as it might sound. "I wish to be free to choose. I wish greater mutual understanding...and..."

"Yeah...and?" he indulgently coaxed.

"And to be...just be, Trip Tucker."

The Commander sidled himself while still seated in his chair up beside her. His nose's length separated him from her seductive ear when he whispered, "Like I said, I'm all for whatever you think's right for us, Darlin'." He paused meaningfully. T'Pol arched an eyebrow, looking expectant. "Whatever that turns out to be. Let's explore..." He toyed with the impulse of tracing the outline of her ear's pearly-like shell with his tongue.

"We are diametric in mostly every way. Exploring a relationship does not promise to be easy."

"My momma was fond of sayin' 'nothin' that's worthwhile ever is.'"

"Indeed." She canted her head nearer to the warm puffs of air coming from his mouth. Small frissions of pleasure coursed through her. He felt good to be near.

"Darlin'," he spooned directly into her ear, "I want ta find out what we're about. What do ya say? Explore with me?"

"Indeed..." The word was a trembly whisper. She shut her eyes, and her mind expanded. She saw herself back on Earth, AWOL from the compound, with Jazz rifts seducing her.

"Is that a yes?" he soothed, content to sit here with her all night, yet knowing that she needed her rest, even more so since her health warranted it. The tip of his nose nuzzled the lower portion of her earlobe.

Feeling tipsy, as she'd felt after having drunk just one glass of the libation she'd imbibed for the first time in the Jazz club, a martini, she nodded. Trip snagged all of her supple lobe between his lips. Smoldering images filtered in and out of her mind.

"Yes!" he susurrated against the point of her ear, feeling her twitch beneath his aggressive lips. He took his ardor down some notches for fear she'd get the idea he was being prematurely insistent. "We'll make it work. It'll be good." He closed his eyes too then, envisioning all manner of possibilies that lay before their being a couple; one underwraps. If it didn't work out, no one need be the wiser. Considering his relationships track record, he was playing it prudent.

"Trip..." She opened her weary eyes and stared, fixating them on the far wall. She wanted something cleared up. It wasn't something as splintering as a bone of contention, but she liked to keep pace with his arsenal of ambiguous remarks he was prone to make.

"Hmmm..."

"Clarify something for me."

"I'll try. What needs some clarifyin'?" He slipped his arm around her shoulders that begged he claim them. He felt her stiffen initially, but instead of slackening his hold, he firmed it up until some of her stiffness eased.

"A reference that you made earlier. I am unfamiliar with the phraseology."

"Which was..."

By rote, she recited, "'For the love of Feezel.' What, precisely, is meant by the expression?"

Tucker grimaced, and with overly-pursed lips, scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "It's just somethin' dopey I said, is all. Ya can't look it up in any English language databank."

"What did you mean when you used it?" She turned so she could look him in the eyes. "I find the phonetics of the word 'Feezel' pleasant to the ears."

Trip tongued his cheek. "Pleasant enough, I suppose." More to himself, he muttered, "If I had suddenly turned into the world's worst cad..."

"I am not following your line of thou--"

"I'll explain as I escort ya to your quarters." He stood, bringing her along. "Seems ta me ya should be gettin' your rest." He set the fork on the plate, alongside her untouched pie, and took it up. "We'll take this to go."

"I am fatigued."

"Sure ya are. Not sayin' you haven't taken care of yourself in the past, but I'm makin' it my business ta see that ya do the best job possible. Doctor's orders is the order of the day till you're all well again." As they left the Mess Hall, T'Pol realized that Terran males' penchant for female domination wasn't just talk. "No way I'm losin' ya. Not now." But then, sounding meeker, he asked, "How's that square? Ya know...is that okay with ya?"

Having fallen in perfect step with him, she acceded, "I appreciate your concern."

"Hell, you know it's more than concern."

They waited at the turbolift, and moments prior to its arrival, she agreed, by rephrasing, "I appreciate that too..." When the 'lift arrived, and they boarded, she reminded him, "Feezel?"

The 'lift's door began closing, and Trip piped up, "Oh, yeah. Didn't slip my mind, though." He broke a tiny piece of pie crust off, and popped it in his mouth. "Did ya get a chance to meet Phlox' wife?"

"No, I did not have the opportunity."

"Interestin' lady. She's uh...one of three."

"That I did know. His having three mates, and in turn they have subsequent mates as well."

Trip's grimace was more profound this time. "And goin', and goin', and goin' and goin'. Anyways, like I said, interestin' and very nice..." They had arrived on the Senior Officers' quarters level. "Maybe a touch *too* nice..."

His 'too' arrested her attention. "In what way?"

They started down the corridor that led to her cabin. "In a Feezely sort a way," he chided.

T'Pol was determined to have him quit speaking in riddles he was unwilling to put a stop to. In front of her cabin door, she stated pointblank, "Trip, I have no idea what overall thought you are attempting to convey."

"Ya gonna eat your pie?"

She no longer wanted it. She was more in need of sleep than comfort food now. "It is yours."

"Gee, thanks." Cheerfully, he said, "Gettin' back ta Feezel before ya turn in... She wanted ta get it on with me, and her hubby Phlox encouraged me ta go for it. Imagine me and his wife hookin' up and he cheerin' us on. God--no ma'am! My momma didn't raise no philanderer. No, sir!"

"They have their mores, you have yours."

"They can keep their quaint little customs like that one to themselves, thank ya very much."

"So your phrase is descriptive of the unique complexities of their relationship."

Shrugging, Trip acknowledged, "Hmmm, I guess that's a way of lookin' at it." He sheared off a sliver of pie and persuaded her to eat it, which she did, not wanting them to separate on a discordant note.

"Different cultures, varied venues, many synergies, defining life. One, no more absolute than another."

"Amen. Live an' let live." He leaned in and kissed her forehead, and afterwards, his eyes embraced hers with a depth of tenderness she had only glimpsed in a dream, once. "Get your rest, Darlin'. Breakfast at zero-seven hundred hours?"

"I will be there, Trip."

His grin smothered his face. "Beautiful. Till then, then."

"Goodnight."

"It was, wasn't it. See ya in the a.m. 'Night."

Once her door had obscured her, Trip moved off, munching pie as he strode, and thinking that maybe he had been less than perfectly gentlemanly to one very pretty, married lady.

=======

End

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