A short ENT (T/T'P) fic

[CX]

Trip pulled his Starfleet issue duffel out of the closet by its loose straps and placed it gently on the bed he'd slept in for the last week. As trying as the week might have been with its early mornings and the ever present tension between T'Pol and her mother, there was still a small emptiness within him as he realized he'd probably never return to the place of his lover's birth.

His face soured as he thought of the wedding he'd just seen, not that he needed a reminder of why he was leaving a full week earlier than he'd planned. He tried not to think of the sadness he'd seen in T'Pol's eyes, just before the wedding, before she'd given herself away to a man he knew she didn't love, and who he suspected had blackmailed her into marrying him. Trip's head tightened and heat radiated from behind his eyes. Koss.

Bastard just couldn't accept that she'd turned him down.

He'd talked T'Pol out of marrying that damn architect over a year ago, back when Koss's parents had threatened to call off the betrothal unless she returned to Vulcan to marry their son. She didn't want to marry him then, and he could tell that she didn't want to marry him now, but he'd still had to watch the woman he now knew for certain he loved marry another man, a man who barely even seemed interested in being married. Why else would he let T'Pol return to Enterprise right after their little week-long honeymoon?

Trip practically tore his shirts from their hangers as he grabbed a handful of them out of the closet. He didn't even bother to fold them as he stuffed them into the duffel. He could barely even stand to look at the wild tropical patterns on them. He'd only even brought them because he knew it'd drive T'Pol nuts to see him wear them, especially on Vulcan. He'd never worn them, and he'd never wear them again. But he'd still have to carry them, one last time.

He took a little more care with the few polo shirts he'd spent the bulk of his time here wearing. The course cotton felt strange somehow as his fingers brushed over it. The material had kept him relatively cool in the heat of the desert planet, wicking his sweat away and letting his skin breathe, even out on the lava plains when T'Pol had told him that she was going to marry Koss. Trip gently folded the polos into neat rectangles, just as he'd learned to do with his uniform shirts back in Starfleet training, before they, too, were stuffed into the soft-sided bag with his ship's logo on it.

He gave his underthings much the same treatment, and couldn't help but remember hazel eyes watching him as warm hands brushed over his skin, shedding the blue clothing and his modesty from his body. That was when he came closest to letting the tears escape from his swollen eyes. He stopped for a moment, and waited for the pressure behind his eyes to go away, for his throat to begin working again, and for his chest to stop heaving.

This was why he had to leave now. The flight back to Enterprise, his home, would be that much more difficult for him if she was there to constantly remind him of what he was losing.

Finished packing, Trip hefted the bag over his shoulder, and lamented to himself, not for the first time, of just how much heavier things were on this alien world. The duffel bag was a good twelve kilos heavier on Vulcan than it would have been on Earth. The thinner air didn't help matters either, but it didn't keep him from quietly making his way out of the door, carrying more than the weight of the bag as he left this place behind him.