Chapter Five – What We Want To Be When We Grow Up

Hoshi, being the ruthless linguist that she is, made me go back and get T'Pol after that. Don't ask me why, it's not like the two held any of that cliqued sisterly bond thing between them that you tend to see in the forbidden film genre to men that is the 'chick flick', but her vicious hazel glare did not look impressed by my antics, (although she did look hungry…)

The release of the lioness was as brief as my canine companion and I could make it. She no less held a nerve-pinch glare in her eyes that I hadn't seen since, well… last week when I ordered her to work on a project with Trip that involved volatile chemicals and a dangerously clueless Trip. (And here was me thinking it do them good to work together on a mutual project. Oh well. Wouldn't be the first of my plans that's shot to hell, quite literally. It was the first plan of mines to shoot a hole in the roof of sickbay though…)

I'd be a fool and a liar to try and convince myself it hadn't been worth it, putting an un-bathed Porthos on guard as he kept her thoroughly pissed off in a corner, her nose, I'm sure, losing the will to live as she growled that this was a violation of her restraining order on the dog. I had enough bruises on my ass to remind me that every second I delayed loitering in the corridors when I went off to get her, talking to crewmen I'm sure I'd never seen even before, had been worth it.

In a silence broken only by snorts of immature laugher admittedly made on my behalf, we returned to the bridge for the last half hour of the shift.

Slowly as the night (metaphorically) drew in the regular faces of the bridge left to be replaced by their second-to-regulars. Travis left first, trying to hide the skates from T'Pol. Failing to of course. Then Hoshi edged away, not unaware of the nerve-pinch-glare now trained on me and unlikely to be going away any time soon. I would have huffed away a little at the fact that Hoshi was point blank afraid of the Sub Commander, yet quite happy to show her audacious side to me, but I was too happy from before so I found my ability to feel the emotion of pestered anger lacking.

Malcolm had had a fun day. Malcolm had gotten to play Captain Malcolm for almost two full shifts. (And I'm sure in that time he had fired at least one missile at a glitch on the screen.) But Captain Malcolm was as glad to call it a day in the line of duty when his replacement came in, as I would be happy when I found a pair of sunglasses for T'Pol to put on.

Technically no one had the Chair past nine, not when space was being this boring. The comm. system stayed on and that was all I needed for peace of mind in that department.

"I thought you would appreciate a head start Sir."

It was five to nine and I turned warily to my devoted First Officer, the one person on this ship really who shouldn't be staring at me like that.

"Pardon?"

"Leave, before I find out what revenge feels like."

I don't know what she'd call chasing me through corridors on skates if that wasn't revenge, but I did exactly as I was ordered. Travis has passed her the skates on his way out.

There was always a fifty/fifty chance that the mess hall would be on my way en route back to my quarters at the end of a day, depending on where I was on the bridge at the time; on the bridge and hungry, or on the bridge and not so hungry. Today it was the first of those, the route I liked taking after a day being chased and mutilated by a Vulcan on the warpath. (Let me be the first human in history to say it thank you.)

I brought Porthos with me. I felt the proud, responsible owner as he chose, really only of his own free will, to walk to heel. He seemed perfectly unaware of the fact that there was now a feline on the hunt most likely for him as well as my own – relatively innocent I'd say – self. Bless his naïve doggy heart, but I was honest to God frightened for him.

I like the dinner hall at night. When empty the air, like most things, tastes like chicken, and doesn't smell so much of half-digested beans since Chef opens the doors and lets the recycled air circulate. Retreat heaven. Yes, I am aware that this is partly what your quarters are for, but I was hungry and Chef doesn't like you taking food out the hall and to your quarters, especially at night, and generally what Chef says, goes.

Porthos and I opened one of the doors together and stopped there. The doors hadn't been left to ventilate the recycled air, it didn't quite taste of chicken inside, and it wasn't empty. Instead a cluster of my crew had taken up residency in the middle of the hall – Captain Malcolm, the ever-giddy Trip, Travis (oh ho, Travis) and Phlox (beer in hand in place of toenails). Travis cringed at my particular interest in him.

"It wasn't my fault Sir, honest! Her fingers were twitching, and she had her eye on my neck. You ever been nerve pinched by a Vulcan? Well I have. The skates were all hers I'm afraid."

After a second, all silent gazes directed at our boomer and perhaps the longest speech he had made in his life, I shrugged a 'what the hell, she's been looking for an excuse to chase me down stairs I didn't even know existed until now since she boarded this ship' and sat. Porthos had already made himself comfortable at Phlox's feet. I was determined that one of these days I'd find out what it was between those two. Today would not be that day. Instead I cocked a perfected T'Pol-brow at his beer and asked without asking. He smiled. Thankfully it was a reserved smile.

"Commander Tucker suggested it to me. Interesting as the taste is though, it's not quite what I'd usually prefer."

No, I know exactly what his usual tastes accounted for; those chunky, crusty, yellow—

"Sir, what are you going as tomorrow?"

Malcolm grabbed my attention just in time, before I added my own addition to the froth atop the doctor's warming beer.

"Huh?"

"Tomorrow, at Trips' party. You have to dress up, the whole crew's dressing up now, not an exception amongst them."

"I've chosen to go as Dr Frankenstein."

I gave Phlox a lope-sided grin. Go figure.

"Ah think he should go as the Greyhound."

Both Porthos and I threw a quizzing brow in Trips' direction.

"Not the dog, the train, on account o' you should never be allowed to drive a vehicle again after that monster truck fiasco."

Ah, the Greyhound. That trusted mode of public transport we all knew and loved, which had gracefully aged over the years to become the gravity-defying death trap it is today. And they wonder why shuttlecraft traffic continued to grow on an average of 3.78 every year. I wondered why I had ridden it so often from my hometown and back to visit my mum out East. But that was a random wonder for another day because now I had five sets of eager eyes just waiting to see what I would come out with as way of an answer.

"What are you going as Malcolm?"

They passed a patient sigh between them as I smiled, enjoying my authority as authority should be enjoyed – getting your own way no matter what the circumstance.

"I'm going as Superman."

I bit down so hard on my lip I thought I had drawn blood. Trip's face spilt with a grin of utter delight.

"Y' know, y'd think hearin' it for the eighth time it wouldn't be quite so amusin' – but it is."

Malcolm shot him a look that was so dark it looked like the girls had gotten to him with the eyeliner again. I released my lip and smiled to somewhat of a lesser degree than Trip's unbeatable grin.

"Where did you get the costume?"

Malcolm looked directly over to Travis.

"Okay… Trip, what you doing outfit wise?"

The other three rolled their eyes and sagged in their seats.

"We've been trying to get him to tell us for the better part of an hour now. It would be futile to ask I think, unless you ordered him to tell you. And even then…"

When Phlox trailed off in ellipses you knew to heed what he was saying. Trip's smile seemed to be growing younger with each chance we gave it, so I moved on to my last customer.

"Travis?"

His smile boasted pride. I was dreading to think.

"I'm going as the legendry Joe DiMaggio, a.k.a Joltin' Joe."

I pouted out my bottom lip thoughtfully. "Really? I didn't know you got baseball games beamed onto cargo ships."

A muscle ticked over his left eye. "Sir, I've been asking if we can order in bats and balls in for the better part of a year and a half now."

I bit the pouting lip once again. That would explain the small pile of unread petition letters in the bottom of my desk drawer then. A quick diversion was as much in order as it ever would be.

"Well I don't know what to go as, yet. I'll have to think about it, sleep on it."

Trip suddenly looked angst. The kind of angst that was born through agitation that came when everything, absolutely everything, wasn't going his way. For a Southern boy he was unusually uppity.

"Yes, Trip?"

He drummed his fingers lightly across the table, throwing on a façade of calm that was as convincing as Hoshi's 'brave face'.

"Y' know y' only have twenty-one an' a half hours until the party right?"

I hated it when he tempted me to split a grin at an inappropriate time. So many times it had gotten me into trouble with the Big Guns. But I kept myself restrained and locked on a sincerely sympathetic pair of eyes with his.

"Yes, Trip, I understand. I wont let you down – I'll be going the whole nine and a half yards, for the sake of staff moral."

He eased back slightly in his chair. "Good, good."

I realised then that the very one point of me coming here had been destroyed, as I looked around at the shelves that hugged three of the four walls of the mess hall and saw them as bare as Soval's 'caring face'. Strange enough, the four men around me looked content around the stomach area. I held in a discontent crimple of the nose and stood up.

"Well, it was… interesting to hear the costume ideas, but I've still got the job of Captain to get on with and scans to run, regardless of party plans I'm afraid. Duty wont be excused until—"

"Seven."

"Seven, so full attendance at your stations would be appreciated until then. Goodnight."

I received a chorus of 'goodnights' back as I waited for Porthos who was quite happy to come in his own time, and then left them with a discarding wave.

I didn't get very far en route back to my cosy quarters. I was met by the lioness and the gazelle again. They were exiting the territory of the gazelle, the lioness non-too pleased as she involuntarily held hands with that which was usual her prey.

"You lied to me again Ensign. I am gradually finding it difficult to trust you."

Hoshi managed to stop the Sub Commander going any further down the corridor, grabbing more persistently at her wrist and tugging her back into the doorway of her quarters. Both were happily oblivious of my approach.

"Technically, and firstly, I didn't lie, more you just misinterpreted my intentions. Secondly, you're being a complete Vulcan about this!"

"Ladies."

The two turned and nodded and then turned back and crashed their glared together again.

"It would be difficult for me to 'be' anything other than a Vulcan Ensign. You are asking the obscure of me, I do not see how you can expect me to reply with enthusiasm."

Hoshi was asking for enthusiasm off of T'Pol? Trip had gotten to her.

"Goodnight Sir."

With one surge of Vulcan strength T'Pol yanked her wrist free and stalked down the corridor and into the turbo lift. Hoshi stood on her tiptoes, for effect I guess.

"Don't think I don't know where your quarters are! Don't think I'll be letting this go! Don't—"

It seemed T'Pol didn't want to 'Don't' anymore as the turbo lift doors shut over and she disappeared without protest about it.

"Rough night Ensign?"

She blew a sigh that seemed to carry on into the dawn and then turned back to the retreat of her quarters.

"Goodnight Sir."

And really I was lucky just to get that out her.

(Crash rides the greyhound from his hometown
When he comes around 'cause they don't let him drive now

Playing Superman, he was wearing eyeliner

Holding hands, making big plans)