Disclaimers:
Trip, T'Pol, and Star Trek: Enterprise belong to Paramount, even if Paramount has forgotten all about them...
This story is an extrapolation of deeper currents to S2E7: "The Seventh." Spoilers for that episode, S1E7: "The Andorian Incident," and S1E14: "Shadows of P'Jem."
Author's Note:
This short chapter is the last in this story, at the moment. After this, we go to drabbles, in a new story which will eventually become new chapters for this one….does that makes sense to anyone but me?
My Story A Day Sepetember Drabble Series is growing daily, and posting will commence sometime in the next few days (my husband and I will be selling hot sauce at an event this weekend, so things might take a little longer to get rolling than I hope.
As with my previous drabble series, I'm looking for prompt words from my readers…. And they don't have to be Trek-related, since I love a challenge! I've got a nice little pile from Braxin and some fans, but Trip and T'Pol are word-greedy. So, please – lay 'em on me!
Too Many; Not Enough
No sleep. No breakfast. No lunch.
Too many problems. Too many decisions. Too many calls from that damned Vulcan captain.
And way too much coffee.
And he hasn't had nearly as much coffee as he has worries over T'Pol, and what she's doing, how she's doing.
Why the hell did he just just sent her off with the Cap'n like that? The way she'd been last night, she would've almost for sure accepted having him along, and he could've kept an eye on her structural integrity. Cap'n does a fine job up there on the Bridge, and he'll take as good care of her as he can - Trip knowa enough to know that Jon Archer likes her, maybe even sometimes wants her (though he's sure the Cap'n has no idea at all what that can of worms is like once it's open...)
But Jon Archer isn't an engineer. He's not used to the type of complications a system as different and intricate as hers can present. She's like the warp core - what most people think of as the engine is just the casing, the protective shell. They've got no grasp of what makes the ship go; what's 'under the hood', as Grandpa Chuck used to say.
Trip knpws what's under the hood. Of the engines, and the beautiful Vulcan. It's not just the protective layer of logic, strength, and curve-hugging uniform the Cap'n sees - she's so much deeper than that. She's a creature of passion as much as logic, and she can burn every bit as hot as that warp core…
Even though he's exhausted, Trip can't help getting a little turned on, remembering Decon, and that Suliban cell, when she'd proved her passion to him.
She's disciplined because she needs to be, if she's going to contain her passions well enough to function. If she loses that famous control now, she might shake herself apart.
The comm signals, Trip jumps, stares around him, a little surprised to find himself in the Cap'n's Ready Room.
"What now? Malcolm get a hangnail?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, glad he hasn't pressed the button yet. He tries to take a deep breath, but his chest is too tight, and he's afraid his stomach might let go.
The comm signals again, and Trip stabs the button, letting himself imagine it's Malcolm's eye. "Tucker."
"Sorry, sir, but Captain Tavik is calling again."
"And let me guess. Whatever the hell he wants to talk about is 'classified', and he'll only talk to the Captain, right?"
""I'm sorry, sir," Hoshi says, again. She really sounds it, too, even though Trip hears Malcolm snickering at Tactical. Man needs more than a poke in the eye.
"It's not your fault, Hoshi. Not unless you invented Vulcan secrecy, anyway."
"What should I tell him?"
It hits Trip in the kind of flash he always takes seriously. Maybe that last cup of coffee had been good for something besides giving him a serious case of the jitters. "Listen, can you stall him another hour or so and come in here? I've maybe got an idea..."
He deals with three more decisions while he waits for her, and another dozen or so while she follows up on his inspiration. About a quarter of those are gonna keep Malcolm Damneed Reed too busy for idle gossip and snickering, at least for the next day or so.
Finally, though, Hoshi comes back with the best news he's heard since – well , before T'Pol dropped her secret mission bombshell on them. Trip forgets himself for a second, and lets out a whoop, grabbing Hoshi, spinning her around, kissing her cheek.
"Uh, Commander?" She's embarrassed, and Trip splutters out an apology, but she twinkles at him, and says, "I'm glad the big chair hasn't taken all the fun out of you." Damn, it fee;s good to just be himself, good old impulsive Trip, for a minute, the way he hadn't since T'Pol's classified mission started, and she started to fall apart.
But thinking of T'Pol thunks the weight right back on his chest. What's she going through, right now? Are they wherever they're going yet? Is whatever it is as terrifying to her as she'd seemed to think it would be? What is it? Is her life in danger?
The questions follow him back out to the Bridge, and into the Captain's chair, his stomach churning with nerves.
The comm chirps at him, and he sets the worrying aside as best he can, not being Vulcan. He needs to pull this off, so he doesn't get her in any more trouble. Seems like the damned High Command of hers is just looking for an excuse to blame her for things.
He's worked it out as best he can. Now he just needs to sell it.…
Five minutes later, slumped in the Cap'n's chair, Trip tries to decide whether to laugh his ass off, or hit something...a damned water polo score! All that for a water polo score!
He decides he needs to hit something – or someone.
"Malcolm, come with me."
"Sir?
"I need a sparring partner." And to try to stop worrying about a certain Vulcan in need...