"The hell…"

Trip stared at the file, it was from Lieutenant Junior Grade Cassie Fisher to Ensign Boni Delacroix. They were in separate divisions, there was no reason for any official communication using the ship's server, if they were arranging time to hang out or any other possible activities each crew member had a private communication account for inter-ship communication. The only limiting factor was you could not transmit files via the PUI and messages were limited to 500 characters. There were thirty six files in all, limited in size between 62 and 218 kilobytes.

Usually Information Systems Technician Third Class Steve Carlisi was in charge of policing the server, but he'd been reporting slowed performance of late. Trip's inclination had been to tell him to run an archive sweep to move anything older than six months to one of the low-priority shares, but Carlisi had insisted, that, per MCS'a ITS FM, all content was to be kept on live access shares for 18 months from original send date. Thus, he'd been effectively forced to run a series of hardware checks on the system, the first thing that struck him was how sixty three percent of system storage was tied up, he knew for a fact that was eighteen percent above listed optimal so he'd invoked her purview as the ships Joint Strategic Services designated Counter Intelligence Officer to begin coming through files.

Of the staff on the ship, only Jon knew of his classified posting, there was no entry in the ship's personnel registry for the Counter Intelligence Officer, it was usually known by only Joint Strategic Services and the officer in question, but there had been a stipulation with Archer as the Enterprise was the first of the Guided Missile Cruisers to come from Earth, some prior precedents had been turned on their head.

The file was titled "Fire Control-man's Folly Chapter 33" which immediately struck him as not being the sort of thing one availed themselves of the "office" electronic mail system to send. It was a standard reporting word processor document and Trip opened it.

"You're fuckin' kidding me…"

Archer looked up from the other end of the conference table from the PADD he had in his hand, "Hmmm?"

Trip cleared his throat, "The Fire-control lieutenant approached the antebellum throw-back, taking but the briefest moment to luxuriate in the image of his tight musculature as shrouded…obscured've been a better word choice…by his utility uniform. 'Commander,' he began, 'might I have a moment of your time?' The engineering officer turned, his golden locks bouncing as he graced the Briton with his brilliantly white grin, 'Sure Mal, what do you need?' 'I was wondering…if we could discuss this in your office?' Lieutenant Reece inquired in his tenuous received pronunciation. There was a glint in Commander Tulley's eyes as he nodded, 'Sure, let's go.' As they walked to the office Tulley made a show of mock-flirting with Lieutenant Hesselring, but Reece knew better. When they entered the office Tulley closed the hatch and stared at the Gunnery officer, a smile creeping across his lips. 'We have to talk…about what happened in the shuttle." Reece began uncomfortably. Yes the shuttle, the moment that awakened his true feelings, the years of teasing of the Tojo had been hard enough to live with, the suppression of his inner desires to maintain the illusion just like Tulley did. But in the shuttle, when they both believed death was imminent, Reece had finally surrendered to the yearning. He had always assumed Tulley's advances were in jest, that he had never actually meant any of them, but when the engineer stripped off his clothing and presented his pink pucker to the Lieutenant-"

Archer sat upright, "What the hell?"

Trip was chuckling at the absurdity of it, "Apparently me and Malcolm…no, what'm I sayin', Commander Chauncey Tulley and Lieutenant Mallory Reece are gay."

Archer walked around the table to look at the screen Trip was viewing, "What…the…hell…"

Trip opened another file, "Whoop…lookie here Jon, looks like Commander 'Deuce' Tulley just cheated on Lieutenant Reece with Captain James Bowyer and Cap'n Bowyer's poor Jack Russel Athos saw the whole thing!"

Jon fumed, looking at the screen, "Trip, what the hell is this?"

"Looks like the extra-curricular activities of a pair of our junior officers." Trip was still chuckling but it wasn't the kind of amusement anyone wanted to be privy too.

"These aren't Hoshi's are they?" Archer asked with concern on his face.

"Nah, Hoshi keeps her porn on a personal civilian model PADD." Trip replied absently.

"Wait…how do you know where she keeps her porn?"

"She had me upgrade the chipset on it a few months back with some hardware she picked up from the L two exchange."

Archer wasn't sure he should ask, but his curiosity was killing him, he had always wondered what made the perpetually chipper Ensign so positive yet seriously professional. "What is she in to?"

Trip shot an eyebrow upward, "Are you askin' as Captain Archer or just Jon?"

"Just Jon."

Trip sighed, "You know, Erika'll-"

"Not trying to get with Hosh, Trip, besides if it ever slipped the admiralty would have my ass."

"She's into super conventional stuff, romantic, heterosexual with impregnation plots, might as well be educational."

Archer crossed his arms, his curiosity sated but now there was a larger issue to address, "Who are the ones sending these?"

"Lemme talk to 'em Jon, we can make this go away without any paperwork'n maybe put the fear'a God in 'em."

"Trip-"

"Jon…I can separate m'self outta it, it's just two horny girls with'a boy-love fetish. They're gonna be more embarrassed 'bout bein' found out by one'a the people they're writin' about for this t'turn into a pro'lem."

Archer arched a skeptical eye at his friend, "Talking is all you're going to do, not going to give them a first-hand taste of reality, are you?"

Tucker frowned, "C'mon Jon, give me at least'a shred'a credit here, 'sides one'a 'em is operations division so I'm kinda her CO."

"And the other one?"

"Science."

"Maybe we should let T'Pol talk to her."

Trip's eyes widened, "No! No way in hell! She'll turn it into'a bit to-do. Hell, she'd insist on compilin' a report about every time some guy rubs one out in the head."

Archer chuckled, Trip wasn't wrong, a Vulcan would never be able to wrap his or her head around humans' harmless sexual outlets. If this series of stories hadn't gotten so painfully specific they could probably overlook it too, but as it was it was crossing into Article 134 territory.

"Alright, if you're sure, but if you need backup, give me a call, alright?"

Trip nodded, "I know it's in the range'a prejudicial to good order, but I'm not gonna go 'bout bustin' up someone's career this early on 'cause of this kind'a crap."

Archer nodded an affirmation, "Yeah, I feel the same way, at least this way we have a ground floor from which we can escalate if things get worse."


Trip saw the two cut their eyes over at each other in an unspoken expression of alarm as they walked into the division class-room on deck four. Trip was standing behind the lectern with his arms folded across his chest. He thought he saw Ensign Delacroix swallow uncomfortably. He pointed to one of the tables, a pair of neatly arranged PADDs sitting there, "Take a seat, you two."

They crossed to the table, and sat, he could swear he could hear their hearts pounding, he was making a show of frowning and it was clear that it was making them incredibly nervous. He reached to the lectern and depressed a key causing the screen on each PADD to illuminate, revealing the passage he had left on-screen for viewing. It was the belabored details of his fictional likeness performing a manual sex act on the Malcolm proxy. They both paled instantly, tears were starting to form in Delacroix's eyes and Fisher was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Ladies…" He began as he stepped around from behind the lectern, arms folded back across his chest, "are you two acquainted with the UCMJ articles one oh eight and one thirty four?"

Delacroix looked like she was about to melt out of her chair and Fisher managed to shake her head without looking up from the damning document before her.

"Article one thirty four; all disorders and neglects to the prejudice of good order and discipline in the armed forces, all conduct of a nature to bring discredit upon the armed forces, and crimes and offenses not capital, of which persons subject to this chapter may be guilty, shall be taken cognizance of by a general, special, or summary court-martial, according to the nature and degree of the offense, and shall be punished at the discretion of that court." Trip intoned in a crisp manner, so different from his usual lazily drawled regional pronunciations. "In short…when ya' write a schlick-fic'a me'n lieutenant Reed slappin' swords in various parts'a the ship." His tone lightened at this point as he leaned forward to look in the face of the young women.

Delacroix let out a small sob.

"Why'd'ya make me a power bottom…just gotta ask?"

Fisher looked up a moment then quickly averted her eyes, "Well…sir…I…"

"You…?" Trip prompted, standing up straight again, cocking a brow at her.

"I just thought…nobody would see that coming."

Tucker bounced his other brow to match the first, "Hmm…yeah, I sure's hell didn'."

Fisher fidgeted, her hands clasped in her lap.

"Now, on t'article one oh eight, while y'all technically didn' damage, sell, or destroy the server, you did willfully misuse government equipment pursuant t'article nine'y two."

This time Fisher let out a small sobbing sound, her eyes locked on the table, ringed in red.

"So you two both messed up in a majorly huge way."

Delacroix was crying now, trying to remain quiet but she was blubbering softly as her cheeks were painted in tears.

Trip frowned, "Oh knock it off, you two messed up. Now on the heirarchy'a fuck-ups it's pretty low on the totem pole but this is not how we run things in'th'navy, un'erstand?"

The women nodded, realizing there was nothing left but for them to accept their respective fates. They both still had their heads lowered and Trip allowed himself a little grin, this was just too damn ridiculous. Both of them had tears coating their cheeks and Delacroix had progressed to the point where she had the runny nose of a kid who'd just gotten his or her hind-parts tanned.

"Knock it off…I'm not gonna recommend a cap'n's mast on this or refer it to a court martial, but here's what gonna happen."

The two women lifted their heads, sudden hope in their disheveled features.

"Fisher…since yer in my division, yer lookin' at fourteen days extra duty startin' tomorrow, uner'stand?"

The lieutenant junior-grade bobbed her head emphatically, "Yes, sir."

"Now, miss Delacroix…you aren' technically in my division, but science is tied in with operations, so I'm gonna strongly recommend you volunteer to see about ensurin' all science labs are up t'muster for the next ten days on yer own time."

The ensign nodded, still blubbering, wiping her sleeve across her eyes, "Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

Trip nodded, smiling slightly now, this had been a lot easier than he'd expected it would be.

"Now, I'm gonna give your two one more piece'a advice…not as a commandin' officer but as a senior one…after you get those off the servers…which you will do…if you don' delete 'em outright, change the names and personalities 'round a bit more, 'cause I can tell ya right now…if lieutenant Reed ever sees 'em, he will insist you two be brought up on charges."

Both women nodded emphatically.

"Alright, now, take'a minute t'get yerselves squared away'n return to yer posts, but I want these off'a the server by eighteen hun'erd today, and I will be checkin' right at seventeen fifty nine so they'd better be a memory by eighteen oh one."

"Yes, sir, commander, thank you, sir." Fished declared as she stood up from her seat.

Trip nodded, "Carry on."

With that he left the classroom and headed for engineering. He'd alternately chuckled and felt immensely offended by the stories for about thirty minutes as he went about running a series of standard power-plant diagnostics. The real question in these situations…from a purely personal level…was whether one should feel flattered or utterly appalled? He had to figure out what he was going to detail Delacroix with, it needed to be a shit detail for certain so she could adequately learn her lesson…you didn't do this sort of thing with actual people, the lesson had to stick. Maybe he'd make her clean all the grating in the auxiliary access tubes throughout the ship. It was functionless busy work, the ship wouldn't truly benefit from the attention, but he had to admit he hated how filthy he always got when he had to crawl through them, nothing on a warship had any right to be that dirty.

He resolved to go put it down as a duty order in his PADD when T'Pol came storming into engineering. Oh great…she was on the warpath…he could tell by her pace, the way her feet came down the narrowing of her eyes.

"Commander Tucker, I must speak with you immediately."

Just great…what was it now, what had put a burr under her saddle this time?

"If it's got somethin' t'do with operations or engineerin' put in a work order, sub-commander, an' we'll get to it at our earliest available time." He replied in an exasperated tone.

"You will speak with me, now."

His hackles were already raised, and now she was trying to through her perceived weight around.

"Excuse me?"

"I will not." She retorted.

"No, I mean, I don' think I just heard you right." Trip narrowed his eyes, he was in the mood for a confrontation, he just realized how pissed his was about the way he'd been characterized in the stories now this Vulcan so-and-so was coming into his engineering hold on a ship he built telling him what he would do? There were only two people on this boat that had that kind of right and both of them knew better.

"I am ordering you to stop what you are doing and discuss this most recent matter with me."

He let out a humorless chuckle, "You…ordering me…"

"I hold superior rank to you."

He let out a single derisive laugh then picked up a PADD, tapping a set of keys then snapped the PADD in her direction, proffering it for her to take. "What does this say?"

"It is a diagram of the chain of command of this ship." She replied, sharply.

"I didn't ask what it is, I asked what it says." He fired back with his brows furrowed.

She looked at the PADD, some flicker of defiance in her eyes, "Captain Jonathan Archer, commanding officer."

"An' under that?"

"Commander Erika Hernandez, executive officer."

"An' what follows that?" He voiced, his tone a mockery of being conciliatory.

"Commander Charles Tucker the third, vice-executive officer, operations chief officer, engineering chief officer." Her tone was resentful, knowing the trump he was playing.

"You know what it doesn't say?"

"I have thirteen more years of service than you, I have seniority." She tried to reframe the argument.

"It doe'n't say Sub-commander T'Pol who would have the title of diplomatic attaché which exists completely outside the MCS chain of command."

"I-"

"As a matter of fact, yer not beholden to anythin' regarding MCS Navy rank structure as you have no status with Military Command Starfleet beyond your position as an observor."

"That is not-"

"And yer seniority is with a non-affiliated military organization that does not possess any concurrent structures or duty obligations as associated with Military Command Starfleet." He had to admit, he enjoyed watching her when she was flustered, the way her skin would darken slightly, the Vulcan blush making her skin a deeper bronze shade, the way her eyes would widen, the way her mouth would twitch a little. God, she was down-right beautiful when she was mad.

"What did you do to Ensign Delacroix?" She shouted, or as much as she actually shouted anything, before he could cut her off again.

Heads all around Engineering swiveled in their direction. The two of them had, had it out right where they were currently standing more than once and most of the personnel tended to ignore the outbursts, but this had grabbed everyone's attention. Tucker looked in the direction of Kelby, Rostov, and Chief Petty Officer Pierce and gave them a single shake of the head. They knew what it meant, it conveyed paragraphs worth of context in a single gesture; this was a command issue that was outside of their paygrade and outside T'Pol's purview.

He could end this right now by explaining that the ensign and one of his people had engaged in behavior counter to proper order and discipline and end this right here and now, but…no…fuck that, he was tired of having to explain what his duty was to her. She demanded all the answers all the time but good luck trying to get any out of her.

"I am goin' to repeat, sub-commander, you have no standin' as an officer on this ship except whereas it is delegated by this ship's chain'a'command, I do not owe you an explanation nor are you in any position to demand one. If you don' like that, take it up with Cap'n Archer an' maybe when he explains it you'll grasp the concepts I have elucidated upon with a degree of authority you will deem fit to accept."

That hadn't come out right at all, even when they were fighting he normally pulled his punches, but right now he'd had enough. He felt the twinge in the left side of his back, oh…that's right, that's why he'd been short tempered. He had vague memories of sleeping two nights ago, but since then…had he seriously been up fifty seven hours now? She recoiled slightly, taking a step back, she drew her shoulders down, effectively lengthening her neck, the muscles loosened in her jaw and her eyes were wide. He'd scared her…he'd actually scared her, this was not a defensive posture, she was trying to make herself appear less threatening. He was suddenly aware of the fact that other people were staring again and now he could feel a shard of plastic digging into his hand where he'd inadvertently crushed the PADD in his grip.

She swallowed, "Please disregard my inquiry."

With that she turned and left the hold quickly. Trip sighed, he had not meant to go off like that, usually he enjoyed the arguments, but this time there had been something more going on, it had gotten more personal than usual, he mentally stilled the tremor in the hand he had crushed the PADD with, exhaustion, those stupid fucking stories, low blood sugar, and T'Pol's normal insufferable self, it had been a perfect storm, he was angry…frustrated…exhausted…and absolutely turned on. He wanted to bend her back over his desk and-

"You okay, boss?" Hess inquired.

"Yeah…just had a bad night," that wasn't entirely untrue, "and I'm gettin' real fed up with her delusions of grandeur." Which was also technically true, except for the fact he gained an inordinate level of satisfaction when he snatched the rug out from under her.

"Well…" Anna began, "you might wanna head to sick bay about that hand."

He lifted it and saw that a sizable shard of plastic was actually stuck in his hypothenar eminence, a thin line of blood running down his wrist.

He nodded, "Yeah, I'll do that once I finish this diagnostic."

Hess bobbed her brows at him, "You're in charge, commander."

He chuckled ruefully as he pulled the jagged piece of plastic housing from his hand and dropped it on top of the console to his left with the broken remains of the PADD, "Glad there's someone who's got that bit figured out."

An hour later he was in sick-bay while Hospital Corpsman Cutler placed a butterfly suture over the hole in the meat of his palm, Phlox was looking at a PADD, he insisted on taking a neurological scan under the pretense, of course, of checking for nerve damage in the hand, but Trip knew what it was really about. His reproving look told a story Trip knew all too well, he could almost hear Phlox's thinking, could imagine what he would say. Commander, why haven't you come to me about this insomnia?

He didn't really have an excuse save for, perhaps, not wanting to admit it to himself. As Cutler finished up the comm channel in sickbay chimed.

"Sick bay." Phlox answered.

"Is Commander Tucker present?" Jon's voice inquired.

"He is." Phlox answered, volunteering no other information.

"Trip, could you come see me in my office when you get done down there?" Jon's voice was almost contrite, this was going to be one of those obligatory ass chewings he hated administering as much as Trip hated hearing them.

"I'll be there in a few minutes, sir." Trip replied, knowing he needed to pay the piper, these were mostly half-hearted on Jon's part, informal admonishment, maybe a counseling statement at worst.

Cutler picked up the medical tray and went towards the dispensary cabinets as Phlox stepped up close to him, "Commander, come see me after you get off duty for the day, if you would, please."

Great…just great, could this day get any better? He nodded, "Alright Doc…might be late though."

Phlox nodded once, "I will be here, after all, you're not the only one who seems to operate on very little sleep.

He'd barely made it into Jon's office before the captain was already telling him to take a seat.

"Look, Jon, I know I got outta line, so just lay the ass-kick on me so we can go about our days, please."

Archer shook his head, his expression genuinely concerned, "Are you alright, Trip?"

"I jus' didn' sleep well last night." Was that a lie? 'I didn't get any sleep the last two nights' was a few orders of magnitude worse than just 'didn't sleep well'. Still, best not to concern Jon with it, it was his problem to face and resolve.

"T'Pol was more concerned than mad, she's never witnessed that kind of…behavior from you before."

Trip sighed, collapsing into the seat opposite Archer's desk, "I'm gettin' mighty sick of her trompin' all 'round the ship actin' like she's in charge, she's a glorified hall monitor, Jon."

Archer nodded, "I know, but she also reports to Vulcan and all they need to hear is how out of control our senior staff is."

"Fuck 'em!" Trip exclaimed.

"Oh, c'mon Trip."

"No, I mean it…we've been doin' most of the heavy liftin' policin' their space for how many decades now? Our engines outpace 'em, our patrol range is five times theirs, we run eight times the interplanetary freight they do and save fer the part where we've been at it one tenth the amount of time they have we've surveyed more per year than they typically do inna century."

Archer sighed, it was tough point to argue counter to, still… "Yeah, but sometimes the best thing to do with a neighbor is not constantly remind them how much better you are than them."

Trip nodded, "Yeah, you're right Jon."

"Aright, that being said…" he keyed the console on his desk, "sub-commander, could you please come in here?"

Trip opened his mouth to speak, but Jon gave him the 'not right now' look and he promptly closed his lips.

The hatch slid open and T'Pol entered, hands clasped behind his back, "Yes, captain?"

"I am not going to instruct the commander to apologize for his behavior in engineering, nor am I going to admonish him for it, I am however going to instruct him to explain what occurred with Ensign Delacroix."

"Cap'n…" Trip cocked his head to the side, he didn't want to have to instruct the captain on what constituted operational strategic security, especially not in front of someone he was monitoring but…

"All she needs to know is what we found, commander." Jon replied, his tone commanding but Trip picked up on the subtle hitch that said, 'I know we can't let he know how you found it'.

Trip gave a half nod, then turned his head to look in T'Pol's direction but not actually at her, at the moment he was warring between wanting to strangle her and kiss her, maybe both at the same time or one following the other in an unspecified order. "Ensign Delacroix was reprimanded for flagrant and inappropriate use of ship equipment for personal reasons."

Archer shook his head, "Just show her, Trip."

He turned his head to look back at Jon, his expression screaming at him in volumes that would preclude human hearing; seriously?

Archer just nodded emphatically with an equally emotive expression, uhh, yeah!

Trip sighed and reached for a PADD on Archer's desk, cocking his eyebrows upwards as a silent query for permission.

"Just don't break this one." Jon granted with a slight smirk.

Trip rolled his eyes at Jon and released a silent chuckle before picking up a PADD and pulling up the files, holding it out for T'Pol who reached but caught her hand, hesitating.

"Just take it, sub-commander." Trip instructed in as soft a tone as he could manage at the moment.

She accepted the electronic device and her eyes began running over the contents, her brow furrowed, a slight frown marring her mouth before her eyes suddenly shot very wide, Trip was pretty sure what she had just read. "This is-"

"Yeah…" Jon concluded her open declaration.

"These characters-"

"Yep." Trip supplied, popping his lips slightly on the final consonant sound.

"Ensign Delacroix-"

"To be fair…" Trip began, "she didn' write 'em, but she was eggin' the person who did on, she has also been disciplined. For the record, under most circumstances this'd be grounds for'a summary court martial which'd put a black spot on their career it'd be hard t'recover from or possibly worse, she got off with'a reprimand and instruction to voluntarily complete additional duty for the next ten days. I conveyed the gravity of their situation to 'em and they were suitably upset at bein' discovered in violation'a several articles of the UCMJ."

"Why did you not address this issue to me?"

Trip sighed but Jon jumped in before he could speak, "Because, T'Pol, Ensign Delacroix reports to you for duty delegation but you are not legally allowed to prescribe disciplinary action for any member of this crew which means you would have been force to come to me which would have resulted in me having to put this into paperwork which would have impacted her military record. Commander Tucker was providing an old traditional form of human punishment without ruining their careers."

T'Pol continued scanning the PADD for a moment then lowered it, looking in his direction and inclined her head, "I apologize for forming a conclusion without basis, Commander."

Trip waved it off, "Water un'er the bridge now."

She nodded, "Very well, if there is nothing further, captain?"

"You can return to your post."

She tuned to leave, PADD still in her hand, Jon and Trip cut eyes to one another as the hatch slid open she had just stepped out when she stopped, turned, stepped back into the office and hesitantly, returned the PADD to the desk.

The two men stared at each other for a minute, both somewhere between wryly amused and mildly concerned by the situation.

"You think she'll tell anyone about it?"

Trip smirked and shook his head, "Nah."


At seventeen fifty nine Zulu, on the dot, he logged into the ships inter-departmental mail system and found all the files between Ensign Delacroix and LTJG Fisher had been removed, all the messages referencing them were also deleted, he would purge the backup latter. Returning to his quarters he changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt selected at random pulling out a NSWC-Crane tee. On any other day he'd have put it back. Jon, Phlox, and maybe Malcolm were the only people on the ship that knew he had a Special Warfare trident but everyone knew what Crane was and how one acquired anything relating to it. Still, it was movie night in Cargo Bay four so chances that he'd run into anyone were quite low. He was in no mood for a film, as a matter of fact, all he want to do was get something on his stomach, see what Phlox had to say, then hit the bottle to maybe temporarily-lobotomize himself just enough to conk out for a few hours. Tomorrow was a day-off and all he really needed to do was make sure that Fisher had her extra-duty assignments once she completed her bravo shift.

The mess was empty when he arrived, but he could smell that there was fresh soup in one of the tureens and grabbed a bowl from the table. Chef's vegetable soup was one of his favorites, he usually didn't care for soup but he needed to get something on his stomach if he intended to do some serious drinking. He ate quickly, reviewing reports on a PADD then scarfed down a pair of ciabatta rolls for volume and to potentially sop up some of the alcohol he would be imbibing. When he left the mess the passageways were still empty and upon reaching sickbay he found the lights dimmed to the night cycle. As he entered he saw Phlox sitting in his office, illuminated by the screen of a PADD. Phlox was chuckling to himself.

"Hey Doc, wha'did ya wanna discuss with me?"

Phlox shot upright, his expression alarmed, "Ah…commander…"

"Uh, yeah…you said t'come back after I got off duty."

"Ahh, yes, I expected you to be at the movie." He replied, placing the PADD face down on his desk with nervous deliberateness.

Trip cocked a brow at the Doctor, he was acting in a peculiar manner, "Watcha readin'?"

"Oh, it was something T'Pol wished for me to review." He answered, his demeanor was still all wrong.

Trip had entered the office and was taking what were meant to seem like nonchalant steps in his direction and towards the desk.

"Can't imagine she'd send somethin' funny t'somebody."

He saw Phlox's eyes dart guiltily towards the PADD then back again, "Oh, she was just confused by context, she wanted input from someone who might understand the humor from a non-human perspective."

Trip was playing it off, but he felt a sudden dreadful suspicion, "So it was human humor?"

"Hmmm? Yes…oh, yes. Certain universals of humor translate appropriately across species lines, but given the rather stunted understanding of the underpinning emotions from a Vulcan perspective…" He knew he was digging himself in, he had to misdirect, which he, predictably did, "Yes, well, the reason I asked you to come see me, are you still having issues with your sleep?"

Okay, now Trip knew something was up, "Yeah, I've hadda rough couple'a weeks."

"Perhaps a sleeping pill?"

"Ya know…I always found if I read somethin' entertain' it would put me to sleep…"

"Reading?" Phlox squeaked, his body language getting more rigid, his back edging towards the wall.

"Yeah, when I was'a kid, if there was somethin' I was really enjoyin' readin' I'd always focus on tryin' t'stay awake so I could get jus' a bit further in th'book. Problem was, the harder I tried t'stay awake, the more tired I got."

"I'm sure the ships library would have numerous books that could help to that end." Phlox's voice came out as a nervous squeak again, his eyes once again shot to the PADD.

Trip smirked, but there was very little humor in the expression, he placed his hand on the PADD and Phlox noticeably flinched, that confirmed it.

Trip lifted the PADD and saw Phlox wince as he turned it over, the file header indicated "Fire Control-man's Folly Chapter 7." The act he saw being described on the page was anatomically questionable as it was contextually.

"So T'Pol sent it to you, huh?" Trip didn't look back up, his tone was the faked lilt of masked menace.

The Denobulan was silent.

Trip looked up, eyebrows arched, a feigned affable curiosity on his face but layered under the honey sweet tone with which he spoke was the kind of mortal danger that could wipe out planets, "Doctor?"

"Yes." He choked out.

"She must'a downloaded 'em pretty fast, did she get 'em all Doc?"

Phlox looked like he was seriously considering threading himself into the groove between floor plates and sinking into the ships super-structure. "Yes."

"Well…" Trip sat the PADD down and smiled, the kind of moue that killed stars, he stepped over to where the Doctor stood, his back against the wall, his toes trying to push him up the wall and to the ceiling so he could somehow evolve the ability to crawl along its surface to escape the current situation. "I'd like t'hear a summary once ya finish 'em all. Night Doc."

He pat the Denobulan twice on the shoulder and forced the smile wider, giving his head to quick shakes to emphasize how much he was psychopathically displeased with the situation and left the sick bay. Upon leaving the medical bay his face immediately sunk, he had a Vulcan he needed to talk to.

Exactly eighty seven seconds later he was standing outside the hatch to T'Pol's quarters, his thumb stabbing into the door-chime, he held it there until his knuckle whitened. Nothing…was she hiding? Maybe he'd tipped his hand by holding the chime so long. He released the key then waited…nothing. He pressed it again, not holding it as long this time.

"Sub-commander, we have something to discuss." He intoned in a flat tone with a subtle lilt that said he meant business of the direst variety.

Nothing at all, he couldn't even hear a sound inside.

"If yer holdin' yer breath 'til I go away yer gonna pass out first, just open the door so we can have this out like adults, please."

"Commander?"

Trip turned to see one of the Fleet Marines, he was in woodland MCUU as was worn by all FMF personnel during the fall and winter months. "If you're looking for Sub-commander T'Pol she's still in cargo four, sir."

Trip furrowed his brow, "The movie still showin'?"

"No sir, the wooks-…the female crew is having a book club, sir."

Trip nodded and began towards the cargo bay, stepping past the Marine and nodded, "Much obliged, corporal."

When he reached the cargo bay everyone had cleared from around the entrance, upon entering he saw a small knot of people sitting in a hastily arranged circle of chairs, all holding PADDs in their hands. Some of them immediately turned shades of white he was not sure had been categorized white, others impossible tones of pink. Hoshi was there, T'Pol, Cutler, about seven other women he did not care to recognize…and Ensign Delacroix who wore an expression that looked like what one would expect to see on the face of someone conscripted to take part in the firing squad where a close personal friend was the condemned. Hoshi waved sheepishly as he stood frozen in his tracks, eyes locked on the Vulcan who turned her head elegantly in his direction and with an arched brow spoke.

"Commander, perhaps you would be willing to join us to provide input."


[!-Author's Note-!]

Some people...amirite?