Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 29 May 2004 05:52:48 -0700 In: alt.startrek.creative From: susieqla@yahoo.com (Sue) TITLE: Mood Swing - (23/?) AUTHOR: Sue E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com SERIES: ENT PART: 23 RATING: PG-13 STATUS: WIP CODES: T/Tu CATEGORY: Angst/Humor/Romance SPOILERS: Zero Hour ARCHIVE: Yes, all archives are fine, no permission necessary. DISCLAIMER: Enterprise is the property of Paramount and its subsidiaries. No profit is being made. SUMMARY: Missing scene Mood Swing - Part 23 His heart thrummed, and still unable to turn away, Trip stood his ground. His hand shook nearly uncontrollably. It was as though he were falling down a very deep hole, no bottom in sight. There were no monsters, no tangible ones, at any rate, and yet, there very well could have been. It had all come down to this... No word from their captain, and the majority of the crew wore the telltale eruptions of dermis, symptomatic of exposure to the form of pernicious contamination they'd been exposed to. He ordered that his hand stop shaking, both hands still bore the cracks that parched ground in the Mojave Desert was certainly no stranger to, and after what passed for a flash of time, it did. All the while, he kept his gaze riveted on T'Pol. She reminded him to be patient; like throwing oil on disturbed water, her advice floated until he paused to absorb the soothing effect of her presence. With her hand gripped on his shoulder, she calmly reined him in before his letting impulsivity command the driver's seat. She was magnificent when she was like this...frank and open as all get-out. What he hastily concluded as most likely being the end for them, might just be the beginning he yearned for. Staring him in the face, there she was...caring about how he felt, her sensing his helplessness that refused to let up. If he hadn't known any better he might've sworn she had feelings for him. Maybe...just possibly he'd transcended her designation of 'experiment.' Increasingly, he found it impossible to think otherwise. It was disturbing that her skin wasn't healing as quickly as his. Was something hindering her skin's regeneration? Or maybe human skin just healed quicker. Telling her it was possible Vulcans weren't as tough after all was said in jest, but her voice was charged with emotion when she said Phlox told her everybody should be back to normal in two to three days. Where that crack about her looking like an old oil painting came from, he'd never know. One thing was gospel, though she did look nice, even with her skin looking like a 'gator's worse nightmare, Trip thought. Their gazes held, without flinching. T'Pol wilted, something akin to melting into him, able to accept the comfort of his touch, his hands...his lips, if he decided to kiss her at that moment. Would he? From somewhere, she remembered having heard it said that a gentleman never asked a lady her age. If standing on technicality mattered, he hadn't asked, she'd told. No, she -wasn't- old, and she had to set him straight on that. Sixty-six her next birthday...why she'd hardly begun to live...sixty-six, -old- indeed. But that wasn't what he'd meant. Even more importantly though, was why she felt it imperative that he know, now. Trip's lips quirked, but a smile never quite happened. "Intimate? Hmm..." Then he winced. ::"Bridge to T'Pol":: There never seemed to be an end to this bad timing--interrupted again by that damn comm! Okay, granted, they were smack-dab in the middle of a crisis situation laced with cryptic overtones, but still. He felt what he had to say building inside of him, had been over the course of these turbulent weeks. T'Pol looked as if she'd been on the verge of confessing all sorts of personal things about herself. Well, if benevolence, which had been partly responsible for maximum firepower that had granted them success, kept favoring them, there'd be time enough for opening up on all levels. There was something he'd been meaning to tell her for the longest. "Go ahead." ::"A vortex just opened. It's Degra's ship":: 'And I -did not- call her old,' Trip reiterated while he mused, watching her attend to the comm with the undivided attention she reserved for 'official business.' 'Old? For a Vulcan she's a pretty young thing. Very pretty, and very young when it comes to the thing we've started, well she, actually, but I didn't stop her. I'm her first, and there's no going back from that now. I don't wanna go back, I'd like it to be forward for us, all the way.' Once the comm fell silent, a pin drop could have been heard. Trip exchanged a preemptive nod with T'Pol and they moved off in tandem. She, with all the authority peculiar to being first in command, and with a good measure of hope as well, said, "Degra's ship..." "Can't wait to swap good news with the cap'n..." The bad news about Archer was too much to bear. "It's just a matter of time..." That's what Dr. Phlox had said it would take for Porthos to get over his loss, but when she'd repeated the phrase to the dog, even astounding herself by touching its head, T'Pol hadn't only been consoling the pet. The effort had been made to assure herself that her acute feeling of loss concerning Archer wouldn't be so painful, as it felt now. She knew what it meant to be grief-stricken, her liberated emotions made sure of that. Grief had to lessen, over time, all these raw, negative feelings just had to, or she'd be no good to anyone. One thing was certain, her empathy for Trip had profounder depth. She was experiencing firsthand how he'd felt over the death of his sister. The mental anguish was stultifying, as crippling as an acutal physical impairment could be. Death was the truest of any enemy imaginable. Jonathan had been her friend too. Archer's friendship had differed from Trip's, and T'Pol was at a loss to exactly understand why. Perhaps, with the passage of time, she'd reason the quandries out for herself. But, in the meantime, in the here and the now, whatever this here and now purported to be, she was in commmand. The crew was counting on her to get them through this, their current, most mind-boggling, perception-altering dilemma, to date. Starfleet non existent? How was that possible? How did they wind up in Earth's 20th century? What accounted for it? Was it the 20th century of documented, recorded history, or some parallel alternative? What was it going to take to transport them back to the correct time continuum? When she racked her brain over these things, her head would start to hurt. Everything depended on her having the right answers. How glad she was, how reassuring it was to know that relying on Trip wasn't an exercise in futility. With each day that never failed to be more problematic than the one previous, he proved to her time and again that having him as her friend was something she'd never regret. "The database contained limited information on the aircraft you encountered over San Francisco's airspace," T'Pol said as she set the mug of steaming herbal tea, 'Morning Thunder," before Trip. It was five past 0600. The mess hall was all but empty, save for them and a few other early risers. Two ensigns were already heading out. "I'd know those planes anywhere," Trip adamantly declared, thanking her for getting him the tea, and half wondering if he was going to like it. His trying it was -her- idea. She was of the opinion that he was consuming much too much coffee, and the over consumption of caffeine seemed to pave the way for insomnia for him. "I built models when I was a kid. P-fifty-one Mustangs, circa nineteen forty-four. Their bubble canopies really made 'em stand out. Gave 'em distinction." He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. "No mistakin' 'em for what strafed Travis an' me that first time, and every attempt we've made to visit the surface." He stared into the contents of the mug, liking the way the slip of steam rose, curling as it did. "It's weird scans can't pinpoint a point of origin." "I'd like you and Mister Mayweather to visit the surface again." T'Pol finished raising her cup to her mouth, blew into it before taking a sip. "Yeah, we can do that, provided we make the trip after nightfall. For, or no fog, Travis pilots on instinct as much as relying on sensors. I think he'd have no problem gettin' us in under cover of darkness, without runnin' the risk of bein' shot at like all the times we've tried in broad daylight." "I agree." "It's worth a try, nosin' around where Starfleet's supposed to be, but where those planes have routinely picked us up before we can get close enough. On our last attempt to land, we could almost make out the city's skyline. The buildin's are modern, not architectural design of the forties. The planes' insignias don't jive with U.S. aircraft for the period." Trip steepled his fingers, picking at a frayed cuticle before doing so. "It'd probably be a good idea if a MACO came along." T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Any MACO in particular?" "First Lieutenant Magnuson. He specializes in reconnaissance, accordin' to Malcolm." Her voice warbling, T'Pol replied, "Oh?" "What?" "Nothing." "Who'd ya think I was gonna say?" Trip asked, having a good suspicion who. Reading her was getting to be as easy as pie: pecan, apple, pumpkin...any old pie would do as long as it tasted great. T'Pol shifted imperceptively in her seat, as though she were in a hot one. "I don't know what you seem to be imply--" "You thought I was gonna say Amanda, didn't ya?" Trip said confirmatorily, watching her with an amused look on his face. "She never entered my mind..." Trip relaxed his jaw. "You're sure 'bout that?" "Positive." "'Cause, ya know, if she had...she would've been squattin', bein' somewhere she doesn't belong." Trip reached across the table with both hands to secure T'Pol's within their clasp. "You've spoiled me for anybody else. And why in the world are ya sittin' way over there?" He tugged on her hands. Come join me on my side of the table." He waited, wondering if she could handle such an obvious invitation. He didn't have long to wait. Once she was sitting next to him, T'Pol wrapped her arms around Trip's neck while he gently began nibbling away on the bottom of her earlobe. "I missed ya last night, missed the cuddlin' before fallin' asleep." T'Pol held on, and when he informed her that he, "Liked his lovin' sweet," she, in turn, asked if he considered her to be such. His swift reply was heartfelt, ardent and to the point: "Darlin', compared to you, pecan pie's sugar free." It wasn't an official PDA. (Trip hated seeing couples get carried away in public. T'Pol had no idea what a PDA even was.) They had the mess hall all to themselves and they made the most of it. TBC...and come the start of Season 4, we're off and running again! Happy hiatus, everybody! -- Forwarded to ASCL by: Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek.creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? 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