Chapter Three
Argh! I know, I know, it's been a long time since I updated this story, and it might have looked abandoned but it's not, I promise. This chapter's a decent length so should make up for some lost time (but probably not a lot).
deiron lionheart – lol. I love the idea of mini X-Men/Enterprise bridge crew babies running about the ship. Kinda got me thinking actually….
~Telaka……~
Captain's Log, Stardate 1857.87
I must admit that after three days I've grown a little less cynical and wary over the presence of our new guests; the supposed time travelling mutants; the renegade X-Men. In some ways I have to ease up about the whole affair. There have been no threats or disregard to date so far from any of their number, and they still have no visible grounds in which to attack us on so far. If all I have are stories of the past to go by, then it seems I'm going to have to put it all aside and let things happen as they happen. It's predictable though that I'm not overly ecstatic about this.
My ship has been experiencing a few minor technical glitches but the group's leader, an aptly named Cyclopes, (with his head directed at his rather guilty looking Sub Commander) has said they are nothing of major concern or danger to Enterprise or its crew.
I'm even beginning to think that I can trust him.
-Computer End Log-
----
One of the great ironies of Enterprise was that the noisiest and by far most active place during the working day became one of the quietest, most serine and peaceful place at night.
It was why Trip found himself drawn to the mess hall at almost midnight when he discovered sleep on this one night truly impossible. Another irony with that – he felt complied to down a couple mouthfuls of caffeine during his visit. Coffee right now was sorely tempting him.
With a heavy sigh he entered through the double doors and headed directly for the drinks dispenser. In a weary but lucid voice he called out for a black coffee and took it in his hands not five seconds later. Handling it with tentative care he balanced its to-the-rim contents perfectly until he turned round and was met by the devilish green eyes and smirk of Rogue.
"Jeeze!"
The rim tipped and coffee dribbled down his bare wrist. He ignored the Southern girl for a second to swear fluidly at the scolding he received from the steaming brown liquid.
"Probably a sign that you shouldn't be drinkin' that stuff at this hour suga'."
Trip's eyes slowly climbed back up again, across to the two-seater table Rogue occupied by herself. From there he was at a lost on how to respond.
He had listened to the rumours just like everyone else, even made conversations out of them with Malcolm and Hoshi. He had been intrigued and sceptical at the same time but, for the three days they had been aboard, only seen the group of six minus one once, during the engine room part of the tour.
And until now he had still to confront one face to face.
He had never been a fan of the glorified terror that had been mutants, never wished to believe in them and their stories and decided promptly that if they had existed he would have been just as willing to snuggle down with a Vulcan as he would to shake the hand of a mutant.
Still he was curious. He was as curious now about the Southerner in front of him as he was about T'Pol at times…
"So, what are y'all servin' on this here fine night?"
When he caught on to the accent he delivered to his wrist another little spill. This time he didn't notice so much, or care, either one.
She delivered a slight smile to her face. "Ah think ah'll avoid the coffee anyway."
Hastily wiping away at his sodden wrist with his mouth Trip straightened up and finally greeted his companion for the night with a little less silence and bemusement. He actually managed a smile of his own.
"Actually the coffee's not bad, considerin'. Name's Trip."
He extended his clean hand and with another smile she took it in a none too delicate shake.
"Rogue. So what brings such a fine Southern gentleman like your'self to a place like this in these ungawdly hours?"
"Ah might ask the same."
"Got nowhere to go, have ah?"
Trip nodded in fairness to the questioned answer. "S'posse. Y' wantin' anything?"
Rogue smiled and shrugged and Trip found himself biting his lip at the sight of her striking green eyes, the most visible of her features in the grey light. A lot of her pale face stayed hidden under a sea of thick auburn hair and a baggy green hood. Still, beyond it all were still her eyes…
"Ah've been sittin' here the better part of an hour throwin' that thing growlers." She nodded to the dispenser accusingly. "No one told me you speak to the damn thing to get what y' want. So ah guess now that the experts've arrived, ah will be havin' the coffee ah was wantin', seein' as it's approved by Southern standards an' all as well."
She smirked again and he felt complied almost to lean forward and take a better look at the cheeky red lips. Then the word 'court-martialled' came to mind and he quickly reconsidered.
"Coffee it is then."
Rogue watched curiously as the engineer crossed over to the dispenser and spoke to it in a flat instructing tone, same as before. And true enough it gave him what she wanted. With a small smile he handed her the steaming refreshment after the simple ritual. She could have kicked herself, if she had had the sleep she'd been wanting for the better part of three days now. That and she didn't fancy kicking herself, really.
"Probably not as good as the real homemade stuff, but if it does us, then it should be fine."
She nodded and allowed Trip to take the seat across from her with his own dark liquid that he finally began to slip down his throat. As she stirred it with her gloved finger, and found fascination in watching the swirls of milk he took a deep silent breath and quickly flattened his gold streaked mop of brown hair. He knew he should have let Hoshi cut it the other night. The fringe remained resilient and kept parts of itself up and to attention. He was fighting a loosing battle and so reluctantly let it be.
After the battle with his hair he coughed slightly and shifted several times in his chair before he managed to find his voice and indulge in conversation.
"So, where ya from?"
Rogue looked back up with those deep emerald orbs and he found himself shifting about, again.
"Mississippi, an' about a hun'red and fifty years from the past. Yourself?"
His coffee stopped midway in its travels up to his mouth and was slowly put back down on the metallic surface of the table. Granted he had heard that part of the rumour – and also scoffed openly at it. Rogue sighed.
"No one's carin' to admit it, but it's a fact as clear as… day." She looked hesitantly out at the black void of space and frowned a little. "But whatever we hit, well it sure as hell wa'nt a hunkin' big piece o' rock." She tipped back the coffee and downed most of its black content in one greedy swallow. "Anyway, ah'm sure Cyke'll catch on sooner or later." There was a sly hint of a smirk as she drank again.
Trip's pale eyebrows dropped in a slight, curious frown. "Cyke? Your Cap'ain?"
The smirk became a simple smile. "Well, more a leader than anythin', not really 'Captain'. Ah mean, it's not like he's got a ship."
It was an amusing thought, Scott in a sailor's suit. Amusing until Jean came into Rogue's head, with her own outfit…
"And you don't call him Sir, or anything like that?" It seemed to have slipped Trip's mind he was talking to a mutant now.
Rogue laughed quietly and took some coffee, finished it actually, as she shook her head defiantly. Her hood began to slip a little. "Why'd ah call him sir? His name's Scott."
Trip had to consider this one. Calling Archer – his best friend – 'Captain' had become something of second nature to his tongue. Yet actually thinking about it now, it did seem a little formal, almost trivial.
He then began to wonder why, of all things, this was what he was having a conversation about with the only other Southerner he had come across in six months. He decided to keep going with it though, for some reason or another, and smiled offhandedly, in his usual fashion.
"S'ppose it's just a mark of respect really."
Rogue leant forward on the table and placed her elbows on the edge. "Well Scott knows we respect him, most of the time. He don't need no Captain title for that. Anyway, try getting' a guy like Logan to call anyone Sir, never mind Scott."
Trip sat back at a loss with the name, and the snide joke. He decided though just to nod slowly and finish his coffee, wondering again why he was discussing formalities and title with this girl.
With eyes that lingered for no more a second he noted with more silent curiosity how covered her body really was. Her face was the only place where any of her pale, flawless complexion could be seen, the rest of her was clad in green and black.
"You got a nice ship here."
She managed to bring his eyes back up and paint a small splash of red onto his cheeks.
"Aw, em yeah. Starfleet's finest."
Rogue would have asked about this 'Starfleet' but for now she was taking every new term she was given as they came – not questions about anything. Questions led to jargon, and she hadn't the head for space/future jargon.
"So, what you guys doin' all the way out here in this lonely ol' neighbourhood?"
A small hint of pride slid into Trip's eyes and he smiled again. Even his chest swelled slightly, she thought anyway.
"We're explorers, travellin' across space to make first contact with planets and humanoid races. Doesn't always go well, but that's what we're out here for." He paused for a second and realised she was more than a little interested now, so he happily continued.
"Ah'm here as head of engineering, so ah basically keep this beauty flyin'. Archer's our Captain, ah know you've met him, an' T'Pol, she's the second in command. You met her yet?"
Rogue shook her head and again the hood slipped a little. A daring grin passed over Trip's face.
"Aw, you'll like her. Our own resident Vulcan. Although in all fairness she does kinda grow on y' after a while. And ah'm third in command here, after her."
Rogue smiled, laughed almost, as she watched the Southerner swell a little more with his still admittedly quite modest pride. It almost seemed to her he didn't get to boast a often.
"Then there's Malcolm, the tactical officer and chief pessimist."
Rogue did laugh this time, pleasing Trip some more.
"Hoshi's our translator, nice girl, a little nervous though. Gotta be nice to her when you meet her. Travis is the other guy that keeps us flyin' our Helm officer, and then there's Phlox. Now him you've met, right?"
Rogue nodded, remembering the strange, but very likable, doctor. With an inward smile she also remembered Hank's almost overwhelming joy when he clasped eyes on the medical marvels surrounding him. There was probably where he was as they spoke. Certainly the doctor seemed as fascinated by him as he was of the equipment.
And just as Hank had found himself quite taken by the impossibly sophisticated equipment, Rogue found, without being able to honestly deny it, that she was quite taken by Trip…
"So, chief of engineerin', an' third in command. That's pretty impressive, if ah may be so bold as to go ahead an' say."
Trip smirked. "Y' may."
Rogue shook her head and raised a brow. "An' modest too, well ah am impressed."
Trip finally sat back in his chair, relaxed, and Rogue repeating the action with him.
"So…" he grew tentative with his words now, considering his next statement, "you're a mutant."
Rogue sighed, any slight smile disappearing as her eyes dropped to the table. "Well that one was sure t' come. Don' worry hon' ah don't bite, just sting a lil' sometimes."
Trip decided to let the tail end of the remark slide.
"Well it's a good thing ah'm not intimidated, least not by you."
Rogue's eyebrow shot up again with her gaze and a wicked smile played across her lips, she couldn't help but let it. With her leather gloved hands she took her hood and dropped it. A fall of auburn hair slid down her shoulders and with it, down the sides and at the front only, two snow white streaks sat framing a delicate, but firm face. She was both feminine and sturdy. Trip didn't even think that that oxymoron was ever physically possible in anything else other than the rare few female Vulcans (T'Pol included) he had come across in his time with Starfleet on Earth.
Her lips, a much darker red than he had originally wagered began to move and he thought maybe the word 'intimidated' hadn't been the best to use. As she continued to talk he knew that word hadn't been the best to use.
"Ah'll give ya one small warning 'afore we go carryin' on here." She tossed back some stray chunks of hair and smiled more subtly now. Her eyes were still on fire though. "One touch, one simply tiny touch o' skin to skin contact, anywhere between us, you wont have a clue what hit ya an' ah'll know more about you than your cap'in Archer does. Memories, thoughts, wishes an' hopes an' fantasies," she paused for a second and he swallowed, "ah'll know 'em all for now an' forever."
She watched him squirm slightly and softened her voice and eyes again. "Just a warnin' suga'. Ah've had too many boys findin' out the hard way what kinda a mutant ah am. Don't mean ah don't think you're still cute."
Trip stopped squirming. He nodded a little instead, and even managed a smile that wasn't big and stupid.
Behind them was a gentle swish of air and the mess hall opened up once again to allow two more late night wonderers in, T'Pol being one of them.
He almost swore when he saw the other come up on the Vulcan's heal. She was tall, exotic, well built and with the most striking of features. Someone was torturing him tonight.
A mass of pure white, silver streaked hair sat atop a dark smooth face, that in the middle held the bluest of eyes the young Commander had probably even seen, or ever remembered seeing.
Trip was a reserved being though, or certainly more so than most men. He wasn't aware of it, but he was acting more a gentleman with more self-control that most any other man could even pretend to claim in such a situation. It didn't really make any of this any easier. The word 'court-martialled' continued to commanded his self-control really.
Finally, know his squirming could no longer go unnoticed, (T'Pol's brow had gone up on him) he got up.
"Well, Rogue, it was swell meetin' ya, but ah've gotta go get maself some shuteye 'afore the next shift." Before he left though he leant in for a brief whisper to her ear. "That one there's T'Pol, by the way." He smiled and nodded. "G'night and good luck."
Rogue bit her lip to stop short of a laugh as Trip left and T'Pol eyed him silently.
"Is something wrong?"
Rogue straightened up at T'Pol's flat tone and Storm coming out from behind her. Storm, deciding to be a tease, looked from Trip's empty seat, to her dear Southern friend, and then to the door the engineer had exited, before back to Rogue.
"Nothin' the matter ma'am. You just have yourself a nice ship here. An' some nice engines too."
----
"And they say Heaven isn't a personal affair."
Sickbay had never been met by such eagerness since Phlox himself had taken his first optimistic steps into its cool, pristine scope of the ship. Eyes had never examined it with such fierce wonder and a jaw had never gloated with such admiration since Phlox. No one had ever taken to it like a shrine other that Phlox, and no one had ever really truly appreciated the place other than Phlox.
It was clear Phlox was something of the nature of overwhelmed and even thrilled to have such a spectator in his midst. And with no patients and all manner of biological life fed he was far more than happy to boast away to his blue fuzzy companion.
The blue fuzzy hulk that was Hank seemed to have taken something of a bright-eyed interest in the cages of recently fed bugs and insects and was far from afraid to stick the occasional black claw into the black holes of cages and cubes. The frequent shakes and squawks of violent protest did nothing but place a wide smile on his cat-like muzzle before he would turn to Phlox, who was leaning on one of the beds, and ask the predictable question of 'what's in the box'?
"That," he answered to wire-wrapped cage along the rim, " is where my Pyrithian bat lives. Although I try to be impartial I have to admit a favouritism in that particular specimen. Quite a feisty creature when it wants to be."
Hank moved along to the next small plastic tub with tiny holes along its upper rim and Phlox beamed quite literally from ear to ear. "Ah, my osmotic eel. Similar to your Earth eels I believe." He paused as he watched one black claw tap the side experimentally. "You know, I should tell you when the next feeding time is. You might even grab a glimpse of some of them, if only for a second."
Hank turned his yellow eyes back to Phlox with the same twinkling awe that a fresh new millionaire would possess right to heart. He almost seemed wary that a cruel and private joke was being pulled from under him, just to watch the childlike joy shatter from his smiles. This was far from any truth though, and in the same light Phlox was almost unsure of how genuine Hank's newfound love was.
But of course neither had much of anything to worry about and Hank quickly took up Phlox's offer.
The midnight hour was slowly beaten away by the earliest of the morning's reign, yet for the newly acquainted couple the long hours of the third day, and the new ones of the fourth, possessed almost no sense of time at all. Hours were easily minutes, and the minutes nothing. Denobulan and mutant seemed to have struck some sort of harmonious cord, and of course the appearances of ridges and blue fur were nothing of concern or matter.
The only tragic thing about the coupling was it was one of only a few enthusiastic meetings with the new crowd of lost X-Men to date. True the ship's numbers did not discard their new members with any distaste or hostility, but neither were the band of seven spoken to much, or approached at all really.
Phlox and Hank were only dully aware of this at the time. What they both took more interest in than anything else was the way the Pyrithian bat reacted to a nibble on one of Hank's finely filed black claws. They seemed to have the same desired effect on it as Phlox's toenail clippings did…
As Hank reiterated to his dear new best friend on the wonderful discovery, "And they say Heaven isn't a personal affair."
----
Dawn it was, perhaps a little after, Logan gauged. His fine nose hairs took in the unappetising scent (for himself anyway) of hash browns and waffle, with Vulcan cuisine and other alien recipes picked up on the majestic ship's travels that the crew had taken uncanny likings to.
His stomach barely twitched, despite the fact that it had lived on mere herbal tea and whatever Ororo had decided to eat's leftovers. The artificial process of it all, from the drinks dispenser to the food on the metallic plates, unsettled him in ways he didn't express to anyone, although Ororo was perfectly aware of the unease that mirrored her own.
He had found refuge over the past couple of days in a small lounge that for the most part occupied an empty beige carpet and a bar stand. He had also come across a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the only other thing he had feasted on for the three days.
It was there where he was now, and where he intended to be left in peace.
Her long strides broke through the automatic doors slowly and carried her gracefully, but wearily to the stood where he sat with his glass and his Bourbon. Her blue eyes both smiled and scowled at him with a small twitch at the corners of her brown lips. His own eyes remained trained on the swirling contents of the glass.
"Logan, is that yours?"
Finally, with a seeming amount of effort he lifted his eyes and turned his head to her as she settled beside him. Anyone else would have been greeted by his usual hostile grunt and rough accent telling them quite frankly that they weren't welcome. But with her he could not be bothered and only shrugged.
"What d' you think darlin'?"
She shrugged back. "I think it's the Captains, and I wish you good luck on his discovery of it."
Logan nodded. "Good luck t' me then." The glass was raised and the rest of the drink downed down his throat. After that he left the half empty bottle be and gave her a more respectful amount of attention.
"How y' holdin' up then 'Ro?"
She was tempted to shrug again but instead smiled quietly. "As well as yourself."
He grunted, but it was more a halfhearted laugh. "We aint made for space an' all this technology junk at all, are we?"
Ororo's laugh was lighter, but also sadder. Her eyes left his and hit the bar in reflection. "No, no we aren't…"
The closets thing to sympathy that he could express flitted across his level gaze. "Y' really hurtin' then."
She produced a wiry, knowing smile. "No more than you."
----
A dark pink hole emerged suddenly on her face as she stretched back and yawned languidly. The small cold bed she now found herself sprawled across felt like a luxury far surpassed its actual comfort and its sheets and pillows more a rich satin than smooth thin cotton. Across from her, her roommate would probably have said the same thing.
Archer had finally found spare quarters. There weren't seven of them, but there were seven beds and with some adjustments and furniture movement the X-Men were finally granted proper rest and sleep. None of them complained.
Jean turned to her side and smiled weakly at Scott. Feeling her dark eyes on him he turned and faced her. Words were not said for a long while. Their long trails of thought ran almost parallel though.
Reality was only really catching up on them now. They couldn't deny time travel as a very real possibility to how they had ended up here now, in the year 2151 now and on the Enterprise NX-01 now. It was all worthy of a headache – the entire situation and what it implied – but to have any plausible reason behind events right now eased the anxiety and worry that had come to plague the X-Men.
Jean yawned again. Neither had any clue to the time, and had no way of gauging the day, but for all it was worth on this small matter it could have been midnight or noon, they wouldn't have cared. Her eyes finally began to drift closed.
"Do you know how the others are?"
She started a little and blinked furiously as she shook herself to attention. Scott was up on his elbows, again. He was restless. She sympathised with that, he had something of a burden on his shoulders right now, but she was tired, and he should have understood that. But she hadn't the heart (or more so the energy) to let him know this. She did sigh loudly through her nostrils however – her way of throwing him a gentle hint.
"To be honest, I haven't really seen any of the others. I've been with you most of the time, playing 'Sub Commander'."
With this she did manage to smile thinly. 'Sub Commander' had something of a ring to it, even though she wasn't one, and would have to pass the honourable title down to Storm as soon as she declared herself well enough again.
Scott didn't share in her smile. "Have you seen Storm?"
'Speak of the devil…' she thought. "Yes, Logan's taking good care of her, and she him." She paused then considered a list for the others in the hope of easing some of his angst. "Rogue's smitten with the head of engineer and Beast's smitten too, with bats. Gambit's taken a liking to space food and we're here now, finally able to sleep."
Scott frowned, but he was only considering Jean's list. His minute of silence was enough for her to let herself lower her head down onto the pillow again. She came so very close to sleep as well.
"Smitten?"
After another start her teeth began to grind. "Goodnight Scott."
He looked around the small warm room and seemed only now to notice the darkness and the comfort of his bed.
"Right… night. Okay."
It was three o'clock in the afternoon.