A to Z – the final blogging frontier…and #SoCs, too!
Captain’s Log: April 2, 2016
These are the fan fiction voyages of the starship Enterprise (NX-01), the first Warp Five capable Terran craft. Humans are now able to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go….
It’s also my entry for Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday -an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: the word ‘be‘ – by itself, or as part of another word. Honestly, though, I cheated this week, BEcause I edited. Some. MayBE a lot…call it my own personal Kobayashi Maru; the truth is, I’ve got a lot going on, and it’s too perfect a fit to ignore. (And, for purists, this paragraph is unedited).
I don’t own Enterprise or her crew. No monetary profit is gained from these stories. I just want to share my passion for these characters and their world.
Today, we’re in Sickbay, with a Vulcan, a Denobulan, and a beagle.
Rated PG-13; spoilers for Season Three, Episode 24: “Zero Hour”.
A Beagle’s Bedside Manner
T’Pol exhaled a soft sigh as she stroked Porthos, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. She had worked without pause for days, between the effort to destroy Sphere 41 and serving as Acting Captain. Phlox doubted she’d found time to meditate, eat, or even sip a cup of tea. If she could find comfort and rest here, even for a few moments, it would be beneficial for her, the dog, and Enterprise.
The young Vulcan woman half-collapsed into a sitting position. Porthos rose with a soft whine, and climbed into her lap. T’Pol didn’t look away from the dog as she murmured, “Doctor, will you scan me?”
“Certainly.” Phlox picked up his scanner, and moved slowly to kneel beside T’Pol, careful not to disturb her. She was clearly still experiencing symptoms resulting from her trellium relapse. She would be at the mercy of her chaotic emotions for another several hours; an unsettling position, particularly for a Vulcan.
He’d last scanned her several hours ago. She’d been considerably altered at the time, but Commander Tucker had remained with her, and it seemed that they had reached some understanding regarding their turbulent and complex romantic connection.
T’Pol murmured to Porthos in Vulcan, tears dripping onto her cheeks. The small dog stretched up to lick her face, and she embraced him, sobbing silently. She was grieving, and in command of a grieving crew. It was she who must report Captain Archer’s death to Starfleet, and answer for everything they’d endured in the Expanse: the loss of life and extensive damage to Earth’s first deep-space starship. Given humanity’s general mistrust of her people, she was likely to be rigorously questioned, even if Ambassador Soval and the remainder of Enterprise’s crew attempted to intercede on her behalf.
“Well, now, that’s fine. The concentration of trellium in your system is dissipating more quickly than I anticipated.”
T’Pol caressed the dog’s ears. “Then why am I still crying?”
Gentleness now couldn’t prevent what was awaiting her, but perhaps it could offer comfort to balance the troubling times to come.
“You’re grieving, and exhausted. You have moderately advanced Pa’Naar Syndrome, and, although dissipating, the effects of the trellium-D will likely be noticeable for at least the next six hours. As I said, T’Pol, it is a matter of time, perhaps more so for you than for Porthos.”
“Vulcans don’t cry.” T’Pol dropped her forehead to the top of the beagle’s head. “Nor do they embrace canines, or engage in sexual relations with humans.”
“Then perhaps you are a pioneer for your species in more ways than your service aboard Enterprise.” She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. Her face was drawn and strained; she’d lost weight she didn’t have to spare, these last weeks. But one issue at a time. Rest would likely bring hunger, but it must be approached delicately; her sense of duty could be a liability, or a benefit. “Might I trouble you to assist me with something, before you go, Captain?”
T’Pol’s eyes narrowed at the rank. “I’m the Captain.” She said it slowly, as though she couldn’t quite accept the reality of it. There’d been little enough time to adjust before her revelation to Commander Tucker, and the trellium injections that had followed. For a moment, she seemed lost. Then her chin lifted. “How may I help you?”
Want more of this story? The extended version-in-progress of A Beagle’s Bedside Manner can be found at fanfiction.net.