Disclaimer: Enterprise and its characters are the property
of Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Based on spoilers/rumors for an upcoming episode, this is
Monkee's fault. Thanks to Seema for the beta.
It's Not Easy Being Green
By Rocky
"Pull yourself together, woman!" Trip recoiled in alarm from a weeping T'Pol.
"Are you a Vulcan or a leaky hot water bottle?" He would have left then and
there if they hadn't been standing in his quarters. So he did the next best
thing--he handed her a handkerchief with an ornate numeral III embroidered
in the upper right corner. "Here."
T'Pol blew her nose loudly. "I am a Vulcan, of course."
"Then you'd better start actin' like one," Trip said. He took a step back
when she tried to hand him the dripping cloth. "No, it's all right, you can
keep it."
"Thank you," she said, somewhat muffled. She dabbed at her eyes, then patted
the waist of her catsuit, obviously looking for a pocket in which to tuck
the handkerchief. Finding none, she crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it
in her sleeve.
In his best, most reasonable tone, Trip tried talking to her once more. "Now
what's gotten into you? I thought your people weren't supposed to have any
emotions, and here you are actin' madder 'n' a wet hen one minute, then impersonatin'
Ol' Faithful the next!"
"We do have emotions, we just keep them under control."
"Well, you're not doin' a very good job of that at the moment, are you?"
As the volume of her sobs increased, he hastily added, "Sorry, I didn't mean
to set you off again." He ran his hand through his hair helplessly. "Look,
T'Pol, I don't know what you thought you saw the other night, but there's
nothin' goin' on between me and Corporal Cole. Amanda and I are just friends."
"And I am the High Priestess of Gol," T'Pol said, drawing herself up and
giving him a gimlet-eyed stare.
Trip's jaw dropped. "Really? Then what are you doin' muckin' around in space--"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh. Sorry." Mentally, Trip kicked himself for getting sidetracked. But in
his defense, he hadn't felt this befuddled since he was in 10th grade and
Bobbie Sue--or was her name Mary Lou?--had told him she was "late."
"You say you're only 'friends', but I know for a fact you and she exchanged--"
T'Pol's mouth contorted again "--backrubs."
"Is that was this is about?" Trip laughed in relief. "Come on, backrubs don't
mean anything. Why, you and I have been rubbin' each other's--" he stopped
suddenly. "Oh."
"Are we simply friends, Charles?" The hurt was plain in T'Pol's voice.
Trip glanced around the room, wondering who she was talking to, then flushed
when he realized she meant him. Shoot, nobody called him Charles except his
mama, and that was when she was real mad, standing there in the kitchen
with her hands on her hips saying, "Charles Jethro Tucker the Third! What
in the sam hill have you gotten yourself into now?" Trying not to think what
his mama would say if she could see him, Trip said, "Sure we're friends,
T'Pol. I mean, you're a nice girl and everything..."
T'Pol cried harder. He patted her awkwardly on the arm. She sure looked like
she could use a hug, but he wasn't sure his arms were long enough to reach
around her with her chest in the way.
"I thought we had something more between us!" T'Pol cried, then blew her
nose again. Trip noted absently her blue eyeshadow was still firmly in place,
despite the waterworks. We could use some of that polymer on the hull plating,
he thought to himself.
Aloud, he said, "Maybe I'm bein' a little thick here, but what did I do to
give you the impression we were more than friends?"
"You are always staring at my breasts."
"No, that's the Cap'n, not me." And Malcolm's the one forever talkin' 'bout
your 'bum', he added silently. He'd had no idea what the Armory officer had
meant at first, mistakenly believing Malcolm had been accusing T'Pol of dereliction
of duty.
"You've never noticed my breasts?" T'Pol demanded.
"Well, they are kinda hard to miss," Trip admitted.
"And?"
"And they're uh, nice." He added quickly, "If you're into that kind of thing.
I've always been more of a leg man myself."
T'Pol sighed, clearly deciding to switch tactics. "You seem to enjoy my company."
"It's better than watching those infernal games of water polo with the Cap'n,"
Trip said. Though come to think of it, those were at least as effective at
combating his insomnia. "That didn't come out right. I do like you, T'Pol,
and I'm sorry you feel I've hurt you. Believe me, that was never my intention."
"I forgive you, Charles." She launched herself into his arms. Trip staggered
under the weight of her upper body.
"S'OK," he grunted. "How about I make it up to you? Want to join me in the
Mess and see if Chef can rustle us up some pieces of pecan pie?"
T'Pol smiled through her tears. "That would be very nice."
A short time later, the two of them were seated at a table, indulging in
sugar heaven. Trip sighed with contentment as the flavors flowed sensuously
over his tongue. He looked over at T'Pol and saw she looked a lot happier
than she had earlier.
"Charles?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you ever eat pie with her?"
Sighing, Trip put down his fork. "Are you going to start that again?"
"Sorry. I could not help myself."
He smiled. "That's all right. Lord knows, it's never easy dealin' with the
green-eyed monster."
T'Pol's eyebrows rose precipitously. "Green--are you referring to my Vulcan--"
Hastily, Trip shoved a forkful of pie in her mouth and bit back a sigh.
FINIS
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