Chapter 3 – Dress Uniforms

"You can't wait for inspiration.  You have to go after it with a club."   - Jack London (1896-1916)

"The females of all species are most dangerous when they appear to retreat." – Donald Robert Perry, Marquis  (1878-1937)

T'Pol avoided sickbay for the next couple of days.  She had had enough revelations to keep her meditating for many days to come.  Close proximity to the commander resulted in an odd tickling sensation in the recesses of her mind.  She had reread the literature about the mind meld and could find no reference to a connection lasting beyond the meld.  Connections such as that existed only for bonded Vulcan mates. 

She grimly considered as she entered the welcoming solitude of her cabin, the documentation did not even contemplate the possibility of a Vulcan/Human mind meld.  As Trip would say, she definitely has gone where no one has gone before. 

Trip, on the other hand, was going nowhere, fast.  The Captain had 'assigned' him to quarters for the duration of the week.  If he was honest with himself, he was still sore and not yet fit for duty.  But true to his contrary nature, it was all right for him to admit it to himself.  It was another thing to have someone tell him he was less than 100 percent. But at least his enforced rest had not been boring. 

Rook had been thrilled when the doctor had finally relented and let him see the Commander.  On his third day in sickbay, Trip woke to very loud shushing noises as Porthos was yelping and going though his entire roster of canine tricks.  Rook sat cross-legged on the floor, but was not distracted from his primary mission.  The moment that he heard Trip stir, he bounced straight for his hero's bedside.

"Hey Trip.  You've been sleeping an awful long time.  You feeling better?" 

"Yeah kid, I'm feeling better.  Looks like you've had your run of the ship."  Trip realized a moment later that he had opened the proverbial dam.  He got an entire run down on Rook's tour of the ship, Porthos's unfortunate reaction to eating too much of a yellow substance called cheese – uh, there's a spot on the floor in your quarters, Trip, Rook informed him – and that the Captain was going to make him a cadet and give him a medal – called the Order of Porthos.

The doctor wandered over.  "It's a good thing you decided to wake up Commander.  All of the festivities have been on hold until you could attend.  I'd like to run a few tests and then I think that sometime today you can be released from sickbay."

The Doctor had not been kiddin' about festivities, Trip reflected.  No sooner had Trip been released, than he was informed by the Captain that they would be attending a reception in the mess hall tonight.  The Aviarians had wanted to honor the Enterprise crew on the planet.  The Doctor's protests that the Commander was not yet up to a planet-side event and the ongoing repair work had changed the venue to the mess hall.  The Aviarians would not hear of the Commander not attending. 

Dress uniforms were the order of the day and Trip was struggling to get his on when a chime announced a visitor at his door. 

"Malcolm, I've never been happier 'ta see ya.  Could you give me a hand here?" 

"I thought that you might need some tactical assistance."  Malcolm stretched to his full height and looked down his nose at the commander.  In very clipped, precise English, Reed added, "Malcolm Reed, personal valet, at your service – Sir."  The effect was spoiled somewhat by the wide grin that he favored the frustrated Commander with.

In his blue skivvies, Trip was trying to throw the waistband of his pants like a lariat to snag his foot since he couldn't quite bend down far enough.  Malcolm was not sure how the commander thought that he was going to get his trousers on over the brace.  It wasn't going to happen.  The hinged brace was strapped around his shin and extended to just above mid thigh protecting the break in his femur that had occurred just above his knee. 

"Commander, I would think that an engineer of your accomplishments would know better than to try and fit the proverbial square peg in the round hole."  Malcolm knelt in front of the commander and gently undid the brace and put it aside.  The skin was still discolored and slightly swollen around the break. 

"I don't recall that a gentleman's gentleman would give his employer any lip, Lieutenant.  Maybe you should rethink this career.  I don't think it suits ya." 

"Just as long as I can 'suit ya' as you so colorfully put it.  Dreadful pun, by the way, Commander.  After tonight, I think that I can retire from this line of work with a sense of accomplishment." 

Trip leaned on Malcolm's shoulder as the Lieutenant helped the commander with his pants.  Trip put on a shirt and shrugged into his dress jacket.  He sat heavily on the edge of his bed as Reed helped him reattach the brace over his trouser leg.  Once the operation was completed, a bit of the Commander's irrepressible humor surfaced.  As he stood up glanced in the mirror.  "Damn brace.  Completely ruins the line of the uniform.  Won't have the same impact on the ladies."

"Don't worry about the brace commander. What with your dubious charm, newly acquired hero status and limp – women love this wounded hero business – you will be the belle of the ball."

"Finally," Trip said with satisfaction, "something to look forward to."

As the two friends made their way to the mess hall, Trip thought that the ship never seemed bigger.  Maybe he had been a little cocky to decline the use of an antigrav sled.  He was leaning pretty heavily on Malcolm by the time that they reached the doors of the mess.

But when Trip got an eyeful of what was waiting for him when the doors slid open, he straightened up and practically pushed Malcolm out of his way.

Malcolm was just as impressed as a soft whistle escaped his lips.  He thought that the uniform that T'Pol wore daily was quite flattering.  What she was wearing tonight would pop the pennies off the eyes of dead Irishmen.  Malcolm looked back at the Commander to check on the effect of T'Pol's 'dress' uniform. 

Mr. Tucker looked like a hound that had treed a fox and didn't know what to do next.  Trip's jaw dropped open and then snapped shut.   Somehow he achieved forward momentum again only to be cut off from his desired destination as crew and visitors surrounded him. 

TBC…