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When Trip was little, he didn’t understand that there was no one else like him in the world. What three-year-old could? Especially one with strange abilities such as himself. Three-year-olds tend to be focused on more important things than the philosophical: like chicken fingers and naptime.
As he grew older, though, he began to understand why his parents called him “special”—and it wasn’t just one of those things parents always said to their children. Because when Trip started school, he soon learned that no one else could read others the way he could.
He learned quickly to keep quiet about it. These abilities he was born with—they could never reach the ears of anyone beyond his family. So his mama warned, anyway. Why? Trip didn’t know, and they never told him exactly, and Trip soon stopped asking.
Prying into another’s mind was a curious thing. To be able to read their thoughts and emotions without them having to say a word; it helped Trip tremendously. He tried not to use his ability so liberally, tried not to invade anyone’s privacy any more than what was necessary. It was easier said than done, and every time he accidentally heard something he never should have heard, he always felt guilty.
This ability was a heavy burden to bear. A blessing and a curse. Why he alone had it, he was certain at this point that he’d never know.
Regardless, he breezed through school, was regarded as a prodigy. He got into Starfleet Academy—his dream ever since he first went to that space flight museum in grade four. Miraculously, he got posted on the warp five project with none other than Jonathan Archer, and soon enough, they were cruising through space on a vessel with that very engine—going where no man had gone before.
Trip felt exhilarated as he watched the stars fly by out the window of the mess hall. Around him, people’s minds were abuzz with activity and gossip. Their voices carried, but their thoughts was what Trip was most concentrated on. They flew by so fast, but he was able to catch a few snippets if he focused hard enough.
Are we sure we should be doing this?
I’m so excited!
I wish I’d packed more clothes…
I hope the captain knows what he’s doing.
Trip scoffed to himself and sipped his coffee. Of course Jon knew what he was doing. He wasn’t the captain just because his father built the ship’s engine—although that had certainly helped, and everyone knew that. But Jon was wholly qualified to lead this mission.
This mission. Years, spent out in space! It was a dream come true. Trip had jitters just thinking about it—both anxious and excited ones. He thought endlessly about the possibilities: how many new alien species they’d meet, cultures they’d learn about. Technology they’d see! Maybe there was a species out there that wasn’t so resistant to sharing their technology like the Vulcans were.
Even if so far, it seemed all they’d run into was trouble.
The feeling of being watched broke Trip out of his thoughts. He looked around, and soon his eyes settled on T’Pol, the Vulcan subcommander who’d been posted on this ship by the Vulcan High Command. She was staring at him, her hands clasped around a mug of her own.
Trip scowled and looked away. He drank the rest of his coffee and brought the mug over to the counter to place it with the other used dishes, then left the mess hall without a backward glance.
T’Pol was still staring at him as he left. He could feel her eyes on him. And yet, despite the flurry of thoughts around him, he could not pick hers up from the crowd.
The crew quickly got to know each other. With such a small crew complement, it was difficult not to, and Trip suspected some relationships might even pop up here and there as people got lonely. Not that Starfleet really cared much about interpersonal activity—even if the Vulcans might have deemed it inappropriate. This was uncharted territory. Captain Archer certainly didn’t care, at least.
Trip got to know his team. He headed one of the biggest departments on the ship, and was briefly overwhelmed by how much was expected of him, but that worry soon dissipated. His team respected him and went above and beyond. They were also incredibly eager and nice; both verbally and inwardly.
And no, Trip didn’t deliberately peer into their minds to see what they thought of him, not like he’d done to his friends when he was younger. He just caught pieces here and there when he couldn’t concentrate on blocking them out enough.
He also got to know the rest of the senior staff. Malcolm Reed, the security, tactical, and armoury officer, was a bit of a stick in the mud, and his default expression was what Lizzie might have called “resting bitch face”, but Jon assured Trip he came highly recommended. And he did appear to be more than competent, even if he didn’t have a penchant for small talk like Trip did.
Hoshi Sato was nice enough, if a little timid. Travis Mayweather was one of the best pilots Trip had ever seen—and it had only been a few weeks.
T’Pol… Well, most of the crew was still lukewarm about her. Half of them were sure she was some Vulcan spy, sent to sabotage their mission. Others remained mildly wary. Trip didn’t blame them one bit.
Especially since T’Pol was the only damn person on the ship he couldn’t read.
He wasn’t sure why. Even if he tried to consciously reach her, he couldn’t get anything from her. It was beginning to piss him off, and he was sure she was hiding something then.
If only he could tell someone.
The suspicions came to a head during a mission down to an uninhabited planet. A hallucinogenic compound carried with pollen, though Trip hadn’t known that at the time. All he’d been thinking of was his fixation on T’Pol and her true intentions. It didn’t help that the away team backed him up, also affected by the pollen.
Of course, though, it was all proven to be false when Enterprise got them the antidote the next morning. And it was T’Pol who administered it.
Trip felt lousy for a solid day afterwards. And, hell, why not admit it—he felt sort of bad for pointing that weapon at T’Pol. Because near the end, T’Pol had opened her mind to him, and Trip could read nothing untoward.
It could’ve been a trick, he supposed, but somehow he suspected it wasn’t.
Regardless, he felt the need to apologise. But it was T’Pol who found him first.
They bumped into each other in a deserted corridor by chance while Trip was on his way down to engineering one morning. Trip stopped in his tracks, face to face with the Vulcan woman he’d accused of being a traitor no more than three days ago.
“Um,” he articulated.
“Commander Tucker,” T’Pol greeted icily.
Trip resisted the urge to wince. She was definitely mad at him. “Subcommander, look, I…” He began.
“Are you attempting to apologise, commander?” T’Pol asked after a moment.
Trip nodded once. “Yeah,” he murmured.
“I assure you there is no need.” T’Pol met his eyes. “You were under the effects of a hallucinogenic compound. Your actions were not your own. There is no need to apologise.”
Trip frowned. “Listen, I know logic works for you lot, but humans have emotions. And this human is… feelin’ guilty. So just let me apologise, will you?”
“There is no need,” T’Pol repeated.
Trip scoffed. “Okay, fine. Have it your way.” He began to walk away.
There was a beat, and then from behind him came T’Pol’s voice once more:
“You’re telepathic.”
Trip stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around to face the Vulcan subcommander. How the hell did she know?
He could deny it. Ask her what the hell she was talking about; tell her that telepathy didn’t exist among humans. But the fact of the matter was: it did. At least, it did to this human.
T’Pol remained remarkably calm as Trip stared at her with his mouth agape. She quirked an eyebrow, but that was the extent of her actions as she waited patiently for him to respond. Her mind was empty—Trip couldn’t get a read on her.
Snapping himself out of his shock, Trip’s earlier guilt morphed into irritation. “What’s it to you?”
“I did not know humans had the capacity for telepathic abilities,” T’Pol said smoothly. “Your minds are… shall we put it… simple.”
Trip’s brow furrowed even further. “Well, this simple-minded human don’t much appreciate being insulted.”
“It was merely an observation.”
“Yeah, sure it was,” Trip murmured.
T’Pol clasped her hands behind her back. “As far as I am aware, humans are not capable of telepathy. Yet you are.”
“Yet I am,” said Trip, throwing out his arms. “So what?”
“Explain.”
Trip huffed. “I dunno. I was just born with it.”
“Does that not strike you as odd?” T’Pol cocked her head slightly.
“Of course it does!” Trip exclaimed. “But I’ve long since stopped carin’. So I’m telepathic. So what?” He paused. “Why the hell can’t I read you?”
T’Pol blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t read your thoughts,” Trip clarified. “I could on the planet, but I can’t now. Why?”
T’Pol squared her shoulders. “I have suspected you were telepathic from the beginning of the mission. I have been consciously closing off my thoughts. Vulcans are a very private people, and I am no exception. We don’t appreciate our minds being read without explicit permission.”
“You think I just pry into people whenever I feel like it?” Trip snapped. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t like being able to read everyone all the time. Hell, I had to learn how to block people out so I didn’t accidentally invade anyone’s privacy—and I still do it sometimes!” A thought occurred to him then: “You let me read your mind down there three days ago.”
“Yes, because you were becoming increasingly irrational, and I thought perhaps showing you I meant no harm would benefit.”
Trip huffed a sigh again, but had to admit, she had a point. He’d been bordering on the edge of shooting her dead due to paranoia. Her opening her mind to him had confused him long enough for her to administer the antidote to the away team.
“Well, listen,” Trip said, “my ability…” He scratched the back of his head and glanced away, glanced back. “I know we’re not on the best terms, but no one else knows, and I’d really rather not have them find out. Y’know?”
T’Pol regarded him for a moment, then inclined her head slightly. “Rest assured, commander,” she said, “your secret is safe with me.”
Trip blew out a breath. “Thank you.”
“And should you ever desire an aid to walk you through how to, as you put it, block out other people’s thoughts, I am offering my services to do just that.”
“Your services?” Trip frowned.
“Indeed,” said T’Pol. “Meditation can calm and focus the mind. Perhaps it might help you to manage your ability better.”
Trip stared at her. Here he was, having been thinking uncharitable things about her, having just pointed a phase pistol at her three days earlier and threatened to blow her head off—and she was offering to help him with his ability. She wasn’t prying into the why. She wasn’t mocking him. And as they stared at each other, Trip felt T’Pol open her mind, and all he read was sincerity.
She actually wanted to help him.
“Y-Yeah,” Trip heard himself stammer. “Um, sure. Yeah, that’d be… great.”
She nodded and continued on down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.
Trip watched her go. Once she was gone, he let the tension out of his shoulders and shook his head. Damn. But of all things that could have happened out here, he never would have expected this.