Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 02 Mar 2004 04:43:14 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: juli17@aol.com (Juli17) 
 

Title: Momentary Distractions
Author: Julie Evans
Email: juli17@aol.com
Series: ENT
Part: 1/2
Rating: PG
Codes: T/Tu
Summary: What happened after T'Pol cracked Trip's back? A 
Author's note: I wrote most of this story shortly after "The 
Xindi" aired. I wasn't quite happy with it, and soon got 
involved in other projects. With the airing of "Stratagem," 
this story--and T'Pol's POV in particular--seemed more 
fitting. So I dug it out of my hard drive (okay, I brought 
it right up in My Documents!) and took another stab at 
finishing it. Which I did.

A special thanks to my beta-reader, Janet, for her timely 
suggestions and corrections. 


"Momentary Distractions"
by Julie Evans


T'Pol pressed her palms against Commander Tucker's bare 
shoulders and felt resistance. Whether he believed it or 
not, even his body language was recalcitrant. Even more so 
than most humans, the commander needed no words to express 
his feelings. His head turned and he shot her a challenging 
look. She returned his look evenly, raising her eyebrow just 
slightly. He turned away, relaxing into a careless slouch, 
his posture as smugly skeptical as his expression. 

A moment later he jerked upward as she applied the necessary 
amount of force with her right palm and adjusted the 
alignment of his back. Though she could not see his face, 
she estimated a very high probability that his mouth was 
hanging open and his eyes were wide with surprise. He let 
out a low, startled gasp, and she briefly lessened the 
force, moving her fingers along the warm skin on either side 
of his spine. After a few moments she found the 
neuropressure points, closer to the fourth vertebrae on his 
human frame. 

His back muscles rippled beneath her hands as he shifted 
under her ministrations. "Damn, that feels pretty good."

"To achieve the best result, this technique requires that 
you remain completely still," T'Pol said. "And silent."

"O-kay." Despite the sardonic edge in his voice, he 
complied. She resumed her efforts, her mind silently 
calculating the passage of time while she expertly 
manipulated the neuropressure points beneath his skin. As 
she felt his muscles relax further under her fingers, she 
could not help but notice that he was in excellent physical 
shape for a human. Her firm touch, which might be bruising 
to the fragile anatomy of many humans, did not produce any 
ill effect to him, despite the fact that his skin was 
surprisingly soft and smooth in contrast to his hard 
muscles. It was a curious contrast, one not found in Vulcan 
males, whose skin was quite a bit thicker and often coarse 
to withstand the harsher environment of their homeworld. The 
paradoxical combination made the commander seem oddly 
vulnerable despite his obvious vigor--

"Ahhh...Where'd you learn to do this?"

Tucker's appreciative murmur and question interrupted her 
train of thought. Though she'd merely been making factual 
observations, she nevertheless welcomed the opportunity to 
refocus her thoughts. "Eighty four point six seconds."

T'Pol could sense the commander's momentary confusion, as if 
he were trying to ascertain a plausible connection between 
his question and her reply. Then his back muscles flexed 
again as he turned to look at her. A small, wry grin lifted 
the corners of his lips. "Right. I'll shut up."

"Thank you," T'Pol said, and she continued the technique 
without having answered his question. Though he didn't speak 
again, he did let out a soft moan when she reached a 
particularly sensitive spot, much like the moan she had 
uttered when he had so skillfully stimulated her 
neuropressure points. 

Her fingers stilled for a moment, imperceptibly so to an 
observer, though she quickly resumed her rhythm. Her earlier 
vocalization had been a simple physiological reaction to the 
physical stimulation of receptive nerve endings. And it was 
surprise at his unexpectedly proficient technique that had 
caused her to so abruptly end the session. No doubt his 
ability to so thoroughly satisfy her request was based 
partly on the fact that her minor deception had been rooted 
in truth. The energy fields in the Delphic Expanse had 
affected her biological rhythms, and had left her more 
responsive than usual to the neuropressure technique. Still, 
she could not help but reflect that his dexterity and the 
strength in his fingers were nearly equal to that of any 
Vulcan who had ever performed the technique on her. 

T'Pol dismissed that train of thought also, and mentally 
assessed her loss of focus. She had administered 
neuropressure before, but had never found her mind wandering 
in such an undisciplined manner. Clearly her own fatigue 
*was* greater than she'd realized. She resolutely focused 
again on her task, one that the commander had remarkably 
allowed her to complete with no further interruptions during 
the past three point two six minutes. He would no doubt 
attain a restful sleep tonight since his muscles were now 
quite lax beneath her hands. She promptly removed her hands 
from his warm skin. "Commander--"

Tucker slumped and immediately drifted backward. Startled, 
T'Pol gripped his shoulders firmly. "Commander, I believe 
you are sufficiently relaxed--"

Tucker slumped even further and his head fell back. T'Pol 
shifted but she wasn't quick enough to get out of the way as 
he fell against her, his cheek coming to rest on her 
shoulder. Though his weight was not uncomfortable to bear, 
she immediately stiffened. Vulcans valued their personal 
space, and such direct physical contact was rare except 
during mating--
 
"Commander Tucker." T'Pol shook him lightly, then a bit 
harder. His only response was to burrow his face deeper 
against her shoulder, oblivious to her efforts to rouse him. 

T'Pol had never known anyone to fall asleep under 
neuropressure. She wondered briefly if Doctor Phlox had 
given Tucker an actual sedative rather than a placebo, then 
dismissed that speculation. She had never known Phlox to 
commit such errors. Perhaps humans were more susceptible to 
neuropressure than Vulcans. Or, most likely, Commander 
Tucker was so exhausted he had been unable to resist his 
fatigue. She had of late observed the dark smudges under his 
eyes, and the occasional loss of concentration during 
officer briefings. 

Doctor Phlox was correct. The commander was obviously in 
need of natural, uninterrupted sleep. But this was not what 
she'd had in mind. She could call Phlox and ask him to help 
her move Tucker to his quarters. She could even carry him 
herself, but the commander's quarters were some distance 
from hers. She would no doubt be observed, and though the 
distorted speculation humans called gossip was of no 
relevance to her, she did not wish to find her duties 
interrupted by numerous requests for clarification that 
would no doubt follow. And such physical conveyance to his 
quarters might also wake the commander. 

T'Pol sighed as she accepted the inevitable. The logical 
course of action was to let the commander sleep until he 
woke naturally. She looked down at him, suddenly aware of 
how closely he was pressed against her. Odd that she could 
have forgotten that intrusion for even a few moments, as if 
it was a natural thing to have his body warmth pressed to 
hers, to sense his calm mental state--

Impossible. Those telepathic theories the V'tosh ka'tur 
Vulcans had presented were unproven, lacking sufficient 
verifiable evidence. Her perception, compounded by her 
momentary distraction, was therefore unreliable. T'Pol 
lifted Tucker by the shoulders and quickly extricated 
herself, eliminating any further unnecessary contact. She 
lowered him onto the bed and with impersonal precision 
removed his shoes. He cooperated with her efforts by turning 
until he was reclined on his back, one arm hanging over the 
side of the bed. 

T'Pol straightened and looked down at him. Since he was 
several centimeters taller than she was, his body stretched 
the length of the bed. She needed less sleep than humans, 
and she could often use deep mediation to achieve the same 
amount of regeneration for her body functions that sleep 
provided. However, the Delphic Expanse had reduced the 
efficiency of her rest. She had planned to sleep tonight. 

It would be illogical to change that plan. Tucker remained 
close to one side of the bed, leaving her sufficient room to 
recline also. His presence was immaterial to achieving the 
rest she required. She dimmed the lights, then settled 
herself on the unoccupied side of the bed without glancing 
at the commander. She turned on her side, facing away from 
him, and closed her eyes. 

Fifty-two point six seconds later she sighed. Tucker's 
presence was not immaterial. While they were not in physical 
contact and she could not see him, she could smell him. She 
had initially found the strong smell of humans mildly 
offensive, but as she had become used to them she'd become 
accustomed to their scent. She'd also learned to 
differentiate between the individual scents of those she 
worked with regularly, including that of Commander Tucker. 
At the moment she could smell the soap he had used to shower 
recently. Its clean, crisp scent contrasted with the rank 
aroma of organic waste. He had been correct when he'd said 
he needed further cleansing to remove all traces of the 
sewage.   

But, most of all, she could smell *his* scent, a combination 
of musk-laden pheromones indicative of his sex and species--
their purpose to elicit a mating desire among females of 
that species--overlaid by the keen tang of his natural 
sweat. It was not an unpleasant combination, but it kept her 
constantly alert to his presence beside her.

T'Pol turned onto her back. Though she was not of his 
species, even among Vulcans certain primitive aspects of the 
midbrain had an unavoidable effect on the autonomous nervous 
system. It was a purely physiological reaction, nothing 
more. It was negligible and easily controlled. There was no 
reason she couldn't ignore his scent, as well as the soft 
whiff and whoosh of his respiration that was audible to her 
sensitive ears. 

After several moments, she turned abruptly and looked at 
him, as if her stare would influence him to cease making her 
aware of his presence. It was an illogical action indeed. He 
was deeply asleep, virtually motionless except for his bare 
chest rising and falling gently with each breath. She 
noticed absently that his expression was far more relaxed 
than she'd seen it since they'd first heard about the attack 
on Earth. He looked young, and quite peaceful, as if he'd 
been untouched by any recent tragedy. As if he might wake at 
any moment and smile at her, with the wicked, amused gleam 
in his eyes-- 

T'Pol sat up and dropped her legs over the side of the bed. 
Observing Commander Tucker was clearly not conducive to 
relaxation. It was illogical that she found his presence in 
her bed too distracting to allow sleep, however it was true. 
It was this Delphic Expanse--besides disrupting her 
biological rhythms it had clearly left her mental defenses 
weakened. To strengthen those defenses required discipline, 
and while sleep would best serve to restore her to full 
fitness, in its absence the prudent course was to pursue the 
best alternative. 

She rose from the bed and raised the lighting to a low 
level. Two minutes later she was seated on her meditation 
mat, her back upright in the standard meditative posture, 
her eyes focused on the meditation candle. She pressed her 
palms tightly together, steepled her fingers, took a deep, 
emotion-purging breath and allowed the cool clarity of logic 
to wash over her. It seeped into her bones and her blood, 
spreading like a soft, hypnotic blanket over her body and 
her mind, allowing her repose, and serenity--

T'Pol started and the mental blanket fell away. Something 
had disturbed her concentration. A second later an insistent 
sound penetrated her consciousness.  

Commander Tucker was snoring softly.  

T'Pol opened her eyes and stared intently at flickering 
flame of the candle. She forced down her frustration, 
refusing to be distracted. She closed her eyes again, took 
another deep breath and restarted the process, letting the 
cool logic again flow over her, coursing into and through 
her, accompanied this time by the soft, sibilant sound of 
Commander Tucker's snoring. That sound integrated itself 
into her meditative state, interweaving into the blanket of 
calm with unheeded ease. In her subconscious state it seemed 
natural, even logical, that the noisy evidence of his 
presence nearby should soothe her. She did not question it 
as she drifted deeper into the gentle oblivion that allowed 
her body--and mind--to mend and restore itself...

(continued in part 2)

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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