The Sleepwalker's Appeal

TITLE: The Sleepwalker's Appeal
AUTHOR: Sue
SUMMARY: How's a Vulcan supposed to get a good
night's rest?
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: General/T'Pol/Trip
SPOILER: No, not for this one.
ARCHIVE: Yep, that's fine.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Paramount and its
omnipresent entities do. I'm making no profit
whatsoever.

The Sleepwalker's Appeal

After an additional face-stretching yawn and
body-unkinking shake, the Commander accessed
his quarters, leaving the frustrations of the
day outside in the dimly-lit corridor. He was
bone tired, and a nice, hot shower would do
his soul the best good he'd had all day. His
door whooshed shut and he closed his watery
eyes once it had.

(Alone at last...amen, and do not disturb till
my next tour of duty rolls around.)

Those were the Chief Engineer's normal sentiments,
drawled through a tight lip, whenever his
grueling shifts ended. It never ceased to amaze
Tucker how taxing they could be. It was always
something. Manifolds that had supposedly just
been trouble-shot rupturing, surprise coolant
leakages, the fickle warp core under-performing
when it was least expected to, and then, just
when it looked as though one propulsion-related
problem was solved, two, or several more cropped
up.

Phew--it was enough to make a conscientious-
bitten, hard-working man like Trip want to tear
his hair out by the roots sometimes, in his
never-ending quest to be more inventive, finding
ways to improve on any of the ship's specs if it
would better the ship's efficiency.

That burning desire to make Enterprise the best
in Starfleet's spotty line-up was a noble
aspiration. To Trip's credit it was one
Jonathan Archer would often commend him for,
but it also had a great way of landing him
in the doghouse when he would inevitably go
head-to-head with the shapely Vulcan Sub-
Commander and her rigid policy of never
giving an inch.

Sadly, today, typically, had been no exception.

From the moment T'Pol had agreed to assist
with the routine diagnostics Trip had scheduled
for the nacelles, she had done nothing but
argue with him over the procedures he had
carefully outlined. He thought he had done
something out of the ordinary by having gone
through the trouble of handing her some very
detailed print-outs. Something he'd never done
for her benefit, or so he'd thought. He'd
thought wrong; oh, so wrong.

T'Pol, with her high and mighty Vulcan
superiority hoisted high, had acted as though
it had been his intention to promote his own
formulations and models, eschewing any critical
input she unerringly had in mind.

Trip denied that his drawing up the proposal
was an attack, the word T'Pol had used, on
her intellect. Their verbal disagreeing
within Engineering had gotten so bad, that a
substantial number of unsettled personnel
thought it in their best interests to leave
the immediate area, until the shouting, and
hooting, the boisterous posturing and
blistering name calling, which had basically
come mostly from Trip, died down.

An urgent call had been put through to the
Captain, requesting his immediate presence in
Engineering, before his first and second in
command really killed each other, this time.

"She has the knack, like a polecat has for
raidin' a coop, for makin' me lose it like
there's no tomorrow," Tucker muttered to
himself, slumping down on his bunk like a
sack of loose potatoes. He shook his head,
staring off into the compact space of his
quarters, not really focusing on anything
tangible that filled the small area.

"What I wouldn't give one day to have that
pointy-eared Vulcan witch right where I want
her." He smiled evilly, and huffed, "It sure
ain't the place where ol' Malcolm wants her.
That's one sick boy, lusting after that alien
she-devil." He scrubbed his right hand over
his stubbly cheeks, and held it against his
face. "I can't let her get my goat like that.
Not ever again, like that. My teams saw a
side of me nobody, 'ceptin' T'Pol deserves."

Sighing in deep resignation, he continued
talking things over with himself. "Man, I
was this close," he swore, leaving only a
thin slice between his thumb and forefinger,
"this close to deckin' her. Not the
gentlemanly thing to do, but, boy, it sure
would'a' felt good lettin' loose just this
once." He gave a hollow, yet long laugh.
"Yep... Pow--right in that puffy kisser of
hers." He sucked on his lower lip,
temporally lost then in self-satisfying,
subliminal thought. "Down for the count."
The faraway look in his eyes danced.
"And still champ...Charlie 'The Kid' Tucker."

He unballed his right hand from the fist he
had unconsciously made. "My reputation as
a gentleman shot to hell, and they'd throw
my as the the brig for assaulting an officer,
but she sure ain't no lady."

He was just about to go over in his mind's
eye the list a mile long he loved to
review that enumerated the Vulcan's innate
shortcomings, when it dawned on him how
great a serving of pecan pie would be right
about now.

"Yeah...I really could go for some 'Dixie
sweet.' Up and at it. And to think I had
the crazy notion of introducing her to my
favorite dessert. Hah! I can forget that.
From here on out, until the end of our
mission, I'm makin' it my business to have
as little to do with her as possible.
Strictly professional, and whatever she says
goes in one ear, and clean out the other.
Yes, her to death, and do what *I* want.
Tunin' her out's gonna be the order of the
day, far as I'm concerned."

He rose stiffly on bowed legs, and
straightened to his full height when the
slight soreness in his muscles mellowed out.
Carelessly, he ran both hands through his
short hair, preparing to head back out.

The cabin door retracted out of his way,
revealing just one of the many shocks of
his life, standing before him like one very
solid piece of stone; fast asleep on her
feet.

Trip's wooly-feeling mouth went drier.
Through slitted eyes he took in the
unbelievable spectacle of a somnambulate
T'Pol at his door, looking like a natty
zombie, in one of her flowing meditation
robes, her critical eyes shut for a change.

"What the hell's this?" he wondered aloud,
but it was said in an undertone, aware
that if the Vulcan had been wide awake,
there'd be no way she'd be crowding his
threshold; not after the way he had 'torn
her another one' this day.

She swayed a bit then, and reflexively,
Trip reached out with both hands to
steady her. He looked up to where the
bulkhead joined with a molding brace,
and balked at the idea that with all the
quarters T'Pol ho cho choose from, why for
the love of failing interspecies relations
did she have to pick his?

He'd had quite enough of her for one day.

"Wak--" He cut himself off in mid-reveille,
swiftly reminding himself whether or not
it was wise waking a sleepwalker. No one
in his family had ever been one, but he
remembered one of his friends in high
school, whose house he'd once spent the
night at, had had the problem.

His friend's mother had quietly guided
her son back to his bed and had wordlessly
coaxed him to lay down. She hadn't left
her son's room until she'd been sure he
would stay put. Trip remembered his
gawking at his spooky friend, not sure
about what he was supposed to do through
the whole weird experience.

Gutterally, he voiced, "Yeah, but does
that rule of thumb apply with Vulcans?"
Knowing T'Pol, if I have the bright idea
of waking her, he thought, she'd try
takin' a poke at me when she sees whose
place she wound up at.

His line of vision glanced off his
communications link, just to the right of
his sleeping visitor. "Better raise the
Doc. This is the kind of stuff that's his
field of expertise. Mine is makin' sure
this finicky piece o' technology doesn't
implode on us one fine day."

Holding T'Pol, who was now propped up
against him, around her firm, sensuously
firm, he dimly thought, middle, he put the
call through to the doctor.

"Hey, Doc. I need your help."

"How may I be of assistance, Commander?"

Stringently, Trip kept his voice low.
"I've got a sleepwalking problem on my
hands." He lowered his head, his chin
bumping against T'Pol's drooping head,
and thought, literally.

"Oh?" the jovially-tinged sound of Phlox'
voice wafted over the link. "You sound
wide awake enough to me, Mister Tucker."

Trip made a gurgly sound deep in his throat.
T'Pol shifted a bit in his grasp, but still
remained dead to this sector of the galaxy
the ship was presently traversing.

"I ain't the one with the problem," he
airily huffed, this time. "It's the Sub-
Commander... T'Pol's here with me in my
quarters, out like a light, snorin' her
head off."

"Ah, I see..." the doctor intimated. The
little smug smile he made would have
gotten Trip's goat further if the Commander
were there in Sickbay to witness it.

"It's not the conclusion I hear ya jumpin'
to, Doc. So help me. I found her standin'
at my door fast asleep." He didn't know
what to think when her warm head came to
rest upon his shoulder, as though they had
a history of her using it for a pillow.
After a sticky swallow, which felt as though
it had taken several protracted minutes to
do, Trip continued whispering, "Should I
wake hp, op, or what? Is this normal for a
Vulcan?"

Trip's smirky smile ruled his lips as he
thought, (there's nothing normal 'bout
Vulcans).

"Under no circumstances should you attempt
waking her, Commander. Undoubtedly,
Sub-Commander T'Pol must have undergone
something stressful today; an experience that
has triggered this Vulcan defense mechanism of
coping. It's a common respon" T" Trip tried
hard not to wince. Following a brief pause,
Phlox ventured somewhat knowingly, "Were you
two, shall we say, engaged in some form of
confrontation earlier?"

Tucker rode roughshod over that speculation,
which he judged had come out of left field.
With the heated words they'd exchanged not
more than four hours ago, still fresh in his
mind, Trip buttressed, "Just tell me what to
do. Bring her to Sickbay? Or maybe you should
come here. Have a look at in in my quarters,
huh?"

"I'll take your reluctance to answer my quiry
as a 'yes.' I'll be there momentarily, Mister
Tucker. Try not to have her remain on her
feet. Trust me when I say she needs to be
completely relaxed."

Trip gnawed on the side of his mouth. "Is
she okay?"

"I can assure you that the Sub-Commander's
behavior isn't anything out of the ordinary.
If you two were doing what seems to come so
naturally for you both, so frequently."

Annoyance gnawed on Trip. Phlox had to work
on curbing his presupposing attitude, which
was really getting on his nerves, more and
more Trip found. "And what's that?" Tucker
spewed in cloying irritation. "There's
nothin' natural about her bein' with me,
actin' out a scene from 'Night of The Livin'
Dead.'" These folks think they've got us
poor humans all figured out, Trip considered.
(If she can't take my brand of vocal criticism,
that's just too tough.)

"Oh? Is that what you think? She's acting?"

Trip shrugged, feeling T'Pol snuggle up even
closer against him, and it wasn't his ears
playing tricks on him when he heard her give,
what sounded to him like, a very contented
sigh. Flustered then, the Commander marshaled
his resolve to disregard the quickening
beating of his heart. (It's not like I don't
know she's attractive, hell. She's got some
beautiful body. It's her damn disposition
that stinks to high heaven. I could never get
with a gal who treats me like crap, day in,
day out.)

"I don't know what to think," he dismissed,
growing clammy beneath his uniform. "Could
ya just get down here on the double? She's
startin' to worry me."

The way T'Pol had suddenly taken to twining
her pliable body around his had started
making his susceptible flesh react. Trip's
knitted eyebrows reached for the ceiling,
and he gulped, gingerly beginning to move
over to his bed with her in clingy tow.
Getting her to lie down, instead of her
like this, all over him, was a better idea
each time he thought about it.

"On my way, Commander," the roseate physician
guaranteed in his overly optimistic pattern
of delivery. Mentally, he riffled through
the uniquely categorical possibilites that
might account for T'Pol's sleep-inspired
journey to Tucker's place. The medical
officer couldn't help but smile. For a
couple who seemed to have nothing in common,
there was no shortage of numerous experiences,
they'd shared thus far, he thought.

Subconsciously, the placid Vulcan began
speaking in a husky whispered tone of voice
in her native language. Trip stared down at
her, having laid her upon his bunk. T'Pol's
exotic features and the raw sensuous draw of
her puffy, moist lips held him in fascination.
He felt powerless to look away, and wondered
what having those full lips fondling his own
thinner ones could feel like.

"V'alkaak...tau'vrak-auu...saaraak." She
kept repeating the musical-sounding mantra
like some mystical litany.

"God, this just keeps gettin' spookier, and
spookier," Trip intoned, looking around his
quarters half expecting to see the apparition
she sounded as if she were summoning put in
its ethereal appearance anytime now.

Trying to get his mind off the peculiarities
of the circumstance, he concentrated on how
vulnerable and slight she looked, stretched
out on his bed. She was a long way off from
portraying the cut-and-dry tongued, despiser
she prided herself on being, on and off duty.

Right now, she looked like a woman he wouldn't
mind trying to woo. For once her presence
wasn't a nuisance, a hinderance to his being
his outspoken self. She looked fantastically
sweet lying there; sedate, with an innocence
he found strangely intoxicating, as though
he needed to breathe her lovely bouquet in,
and swoon.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, wrapped up
in T'Pol's womanness. The woman who was as
outspoken as he. The woman of conviction he
sometimes found himself wishing she'd allow
him to know underneath her hardcore Vulcan
mien.

Hesitantly, he reached out to dust her lovely
face in sweet repose, with his tremulous
index, middle and fourth fingers. "Darlin',
I'm sorry I lost it all with you like I did.
You didn't deserve..." He chuckled softly.
"Well, most of the crap I hurled at you the
way I did. Just a little of it," he playfully
mused. His fingers stalled against her
velvety cheek, and the smile never left his
lips. "You really are somethin', y'know that?
You trounce my pride like it's an old shoe,
and I still come back for more. Why do ya
suppose I keep comin' back, huh?"

Talk about conflicted, and he capped the
paradoxical thought, that cut like a two-edged
sword, by inching closer to the unconscious
first-in-command. "I could go for you in the
biggest way, bigger than for Ruby even, if you
could appreciate that I'm not a simp," he
softly gusted through clenched teeth, sparing
her a look that softened the hard edges of his
face.

He recalled the first day they had met, he
being struck with the thought that she was
the first Vulcan he'd ever met that had
potential in a 'your place or mine' sort of
way. Trip smiled then, recollecting the
look of curiosity that had sparked in her
eyes, which T'Pol had been a failure at
hiding.

'That wasn't curiosity, Commander, it was
examination spawned by your...'

"Geez--what the hell?" Trip recoiled, jumpy
and surprised. His amazement deepened when
he found he could not withdraw his hand away
from her face. It felt as though some strong,
invisible force had his fingers welded to the
pliant facial flesh. His hand shook with the
effort of his trying to pull his fingers free.
He struggled, sweat beads forming upon his
forehead.

'Calm yourself, Commander. Be with me, be
close to me in this manner. I want to
understand you, as your desire is to
understand me better.'

Trip blinked, a prickly sensation of fear
coursing through him, realizing that it
was T'Pol speaking to him, doing so by some
eerie link she had somehow bridged between
their minds.

'No harm do I wish to cause you. Allow your
thoughts to become my thoughts, as my thoughts,
become yours...'

Incredulous, Trip stared at her, with eye eyes still shut, and his mouth agape. A
feeling of well-being overwhelmed him, and
not entirely against his will did his eyes
flutter shut. His breathing deepened as his
mind swam with pleasant, unburdened thoughts.
T'Pol, standing squarely in his mind's eye,
with her hair tousled by a gentle breeze,
beckoned for him to come to her.

A flowing conglomeration of his thoughts
urged him to find meaning laced with solace
in her outstretched arms, and obligingly, he
did.

'...Better?' her moving ideas whispered to
him.

'A whole lot,' his power of reason, which
T'Pol caressed with hers, eagerly responded,
although his emotions were in an uproar, and
he felt as though he had been on a bender for
several days; the stupor he was sliding into
was nothing he could prevent.

'I wish to understand, Commander...'

Through the swirling mists of electric thoughts,
Trip nodded, as T'Pol grasped both his hands.
'...Guess you could say this is a start, huh,
Darlin'?'

'Yes, Commander. I would say...' Much to
Tucker's stark suprise, she squeezed his
hands which she held with an undeniable
possessiveness.

'...I could get real used to this euphoria,
T'Pol...habit-formin''

'I too am enjoying the feel of your mind as
well...'

'So you came to me for this?'

'...It is our way. I am not your superior,'
she assured, her mind absorbing any risidual
tension it was hard for his to brush aside,
which she accomplished by evoking sun-soaked
impressions of his favorite fishing hole he
had once described to her. Ripples of
contentment surged through his thoughts. 'I
seek to understand the inner workings of your
mentality. I wish to grow...'

He squeezed her hands firmly. '...I reckon
there's room for me in that department too.'
She allowed him to draw her in closer, her
newly-expressed impulses sonorous. Her
intrinsic beauty was such that it broke
through any last vestiges of resistence he
felt lurking just below his subconscious. 'I
don't want every interaction we have just one
more exercise to see how inured we can be with
each other's differences...' He was loath to
have the linkage end, but he could feel it was,
could feel T'Pol's imageries slinking from his
aggressive grasping. '...This won't be the
last time for us, will it?'

'No...it will not...'

The 'tinging' of his quarter's visitor signal
sounded far off. It came to the fore of his
consciousness that it was Phlox. T'Pol opened
her eyes at the same time Tucker opened his, and
he smiled at her in a distracted sof wof way.
"I called the doc."

"Yes. I heard." Already, she was dislodging
herself slowly from his bed, efficiently
swinging her legs to the floor after he stood.
"I have no need of his ministrations. I am
fine, and will return to my cabin."

Trip told Phlox to come in.

"Anything ya say, T'Pol." He skirted out of
her way. "Uh...glad ya stopped by." Trip
purposedly sounded expansive, playing to the
doctor's curiosity; who fairly reeked of it.

"Well, it appears Sub-Commander T'Pol is no
longer asleep," Phlox duly noted with enough
twinkling going on in his eyes to display
during the next feature-length presentation
in the mess hall. The hypospray he was armed
with vanished behind him to nest in the small
of his back.

"She woke up not much after I got finished
talkin' ta you, Doc," Trip informed him, and
watched as the ex-sleepwaker stepped lightly
off to Phlox' left, on her way out.

"I'll catch ya on the bridge, later, T'Pol.
Sweet dreams," Tucker called out after her,
amusement animating his visage; his
playfulness not an easy thing to subdue.

"The cat seems to have her tongue," Phlox
remarked, raising his eyebrows a time or
two. "As you humans say." His probing
eyes rinsed the suggestibility from Tucker's
face.

Watching after T'Pol several moments more
after she had left, Trip turned to Phlox.
"She woke, and we talked. Y'know, I never
noticed how refreshing she can be when she
doesn't monopolize the conversation." His
eyes had stolen some of Phlox' sparkle. "She
makes the most sense when her lips don't move."

The doctor didn't bother to voice how little
sense that statement made to him, and Trip
shelved an explanation, happy in the knowledge
that T'Pol and he had had whatever it was
that had happened between them. He'd ask
her the next convenient time just what had
happened between them.

"Hey, Doc, I was just on my way to the mess
hall for some pecan pie," Trip stridently
announced. "Wanna join me?"

Nodding, Phlox replied, "By all means,
Commander Tucker. It's been something I've
been meaning to try."

"Yeah, Doc. Tryin' new things." He arched
an eyebrow, thinking about his favorite
fishing hole, the one T'Pol had flooded his
mind with. "Guess that could fall under a
sub-category of why we're out here."
Clapping the doctor hard on the back, Trip
grinned, and Phlox experimentally returned
both gestures as they vacated Trip's
quarters.


End