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Coitus Conceptus - part 1Coitus Conceptus By enterprikayak Rating: NC-17
Part 1 Commander Trip Tucker swore violently. Three heads whipped around to stare at him, and he hopped silently on one foot, gripping his crushed toe through his boot with both hands. “Sorry,” he grunted, waving an arm at his Engineering staff to indicate that they should get on with what they were doing. Glances were exchanged as they continued their various tasks. Trip tried not to notice the humorous looks as he kicked the offending core strut with his good foot, gritting his teeth and stubbing his other toe. Finally, defeated by his own engines, he slunk away toward his ‘office’: a partially concealed corner desk with a computer terminal half-buried in PADDs and partly-finished projects. Trip sat at the desk, gathered up a random, slipping handful of different-sized plastic PADDs from the blotter and shoved them clatteringly on top of an undersized in-box at the back of the desk. Three or four rattled to the floor and lay there, inert, while Trip gingerly removed his left boot and sock and pulled his leg up onto his lap to examine his munched hallux. A shadow fell across the injured foot and Trip looked up to see Commander T’Pol watching his contortionist efforts curiously. He let his bent leg spring inflexibly back off his lap, his bare foot slapping the cold decking as he put it down. “What can I do for ya?” he asked, as if nothing was amiss. T’Pol gazed at the chief engineer’s exposed foot and the floppy boot on the desk for a second longer, before handing him yet another PADD. Trip took it and scrolled swiftly through the contents. The specs from Starfleet for the new warp field protocols. “I don’t know why everyone gives me these things,” Trip complained as he put the PADD down among the rest. “Can’t anyone just send the message through the computer?” The question was rhetorical, but T’Pol offered him a logical answer anyway. “It is well-known that you rarely check your messages. I believe that the crew give you PADDs in the hope that you won’t be able to overlook their memos so easily.” Her gaze travelled over the small avalanche of plastic display devices upon his desk, to which he just had added her own small missive. “Clearly, our efforts are misguided.” Trip pulled his sock and boot back on, satisfied that he hadn’t broken anything. “Yeah, well the reason I never check my messages is ‘cause no one ever sends me any.” “A vicious cycle indeed,” T’Pol observed blandly. She remained standing where she was. Trip finished securing his boot, put his hands on his lap decisively, and looked up at the still-hovering Vulcan. “Don’t worry,” Trip reassured her. “I won’t go barefoot in engineerin’ anymore. Just a one-time thing.” His reassurance did nothing to drive her off. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Commander?” Trip asked, finally. T’Pol opened her mouth and closed it again. If Trip didn’t know better, he’d have said she was uncertain of what she wanted to say. Finally, seeming to settle on something, she spoke. “Have you had lunch yet?” Trip glanced at the time. It was only 1030. “Uh, nope,” he replied. He sensed she wanted to speak with him about something. “Do you…want to go get something?” “I suppose,” she agreed, as if it was his idea. Turning smartly, she made her way out of Engineering. Trip watched her departing form, nonplussed, before rising to follow. They said nothing as they traversed the corridors together. T’Pol seemed wrapped in a world of her own, staring downward as the turbolift rose and starting visibly when it suddenly slowed to a stop at their destination. Trip looked at her askance. “You okay?” T’Pol’s eyes were almost frightened as she glanced at him and nodded. But then, he thought, perhaps it was only his imagination. She exited the lift normally enough and strode briskly along the corridor to the mess hall. Trip kept up silently, his curiosity fired. They entered the mess hall. No shift change was due for another couple of hours and so the place was mostly deserted. Trip chose a tomato sandwich and a strong mug of black coffee. T’Pol served herself a small bowl of steaming plomeek broth and a cup of peppermint tea. They made their way to a nearby table and sat. Trip looked about. A few crew were dotted about the large room, reading PADDs and sipping quiet cups of coffee. He leaned in toward T’Pol. “How many of those y’think are goin’ down to my desk?” T’Pol glanced about at their self-absorbed, reading companions. “I certainly hope Ensign Lefter’s isn’t going anywhere near you. I need that report for this afternoon.” Trip smiled at the total lack of expression with which she delivered the jibe. She was getting much better at humour these days, it seemed. Delivering it, anyway, if not appreciating it. T’Pol moodily stirred her broth, not paying Trip any attention. He decided to be direct. “So, how come you’re so disgruntled?” he asked, innocently sipping his coffee and then taking a large bite of bread and tomato. T’Pol eyed him, her spoon pausing in its mixing momentarily. “Pardon me?” she stalled. She had heard him perfectly well. Trip just chewed, gesturing as if he would reply, but, y’know…sandwich. T’Pol was left either waiting for him to repeat himself or admitting she had heard what he said. She swiftly chose the latter, if only to close the matter. “I am not disgruntled. I am perfectly regular.” She deliberately held his gaze for a moment before dipping into her soup, as if this would lend credence to her point. Trip swallowed. “Yeah, except you’re lyin’,” he explained patiently, as if they were simply discussing the lack of weather. He dusted his hands over his plate and tipped his chair back to reach a couple of napkins from a nearby pile. He handed one to T’Pol. “Now, y’asked me in here for lunch two hours before lunch starts, you’re all disgruntled and jackrabbity, and now you’re saying you’re fine. You’re perfectly gruntled.” “Gruntled?” T’Pol took a napkin from him disbelievingly. “That is not a word.” “Sure it is,” Trip said carelessly, opening his sandwich to salt it. He licked his thumb. “Opposite of disgruntled. Ask Hoshi. She says it all the time.” T’Pol simply stared at her friend, wholly uncertain, as she often was, as to whether or no he was teasing. He chewed another bite of sandwich busily, his eyes twinkling at her suspicious expression. T’Pol pushed her untouched soup aside and wrapped her suddenly cold hands around her mug of hot tea. The smooth ceramic was comforting against her skin, and she spoke quietly, while Trip was still dealing with his latest giant mouthful. “Dr. Phlox suggested that I speak with you.” Trip raised his eyebrows in an unvoiced question, still chewing. He wasn’t going to interrupt now that she’d finally started to spill. T’Pol glanced once at him, took a breath and continued. “That is why I asked you here.” Trip waited silently for her to stop procrastinating. Suddenly finding the venue somewhat too public, she began to push her chair back, formulating a sentence in her mind about needing to run to the bridge. The bathroom. The brig. Anywhere. But Trip had caught her subtle body language and was already behind her chair. He tucked it in with a gentlemanly-seeming forceful shove as he nodded and smiled benevolently at the room in general, still chewing away. He sat back down, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to have done, and resumed his tattered sandwich, looking at T’Pol interestedly. T’Pol silently seethed at him through a dispassionate glare, as she readjusted her seat so the table wasn‘t cutting quite through her liver. Fine. He wanted to know, she’d tell him. “I am having a…medical problem,” she hissed at him, her voice nearly non-existent. This got his attention. He sat up and swallowed. Looking around first, he leaned in. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His dining companion blushed the green version of furious crimson. Trip’s brow furrowed with the beginnings of real concern. “T’Pol? What’s up?” T’Pol inspected her fingernails, her face flaming. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She finally spoke, simply to end the humiliation of being in the middle of trying to start. “It’s…been seven years….” Trip’s eyes snapped wide. “Since….” “Yes.” T’Pol glared at him with a shut-up sort of face. “Oh.” Trip sat back in his chair, examining the remains of his sandwich. Thoughts clicked into place. He looked up. “And you want me to.…” “Yes.” T’Pol interrupted, her whispered voice becoming weary. “Oh.” Trip looked back at his sandwich. Something occurred to him. “This was Phlox’s suggestion?” T’Pol met his eye for a long second before answering. “Phlox made the diagnosis and recommended treatment. I made the choice as to whom I would approach.” Trip swallowed at the implications of this and deflected his sudden unease with humour. “And no one else’d agree, huh?” T’Pol didn’t bat an eyelash. “Not even Chef. You are my last hope.” Trip laughed aloud at her reply, attracting the faintly curious attention of their crewmates. Usually laughter and the Science Officer were not at the same table. After a moment of silence, the pair found themselves unscrutinised again. “Your answer?” T’Pol demanded quietly. Trip thought for one second. Of course he wanted to say yes. He was dying to say yes. He was freaking out at the fact that she had asked him for help, even as a more cynical part of his mind acridly enquired as to exactly who else she would approach on this matter. Little did she know she could have chosen almost anyone. Male or female. Trip shook his head as this thought invoked some sudden, bizarre, tasty mental pictures. He looked at T’Pol. She was waiting for his answer, and there was an edge to her patience that betrayed actual nervousness. He sighed. “Of course. Whatever y’need.” “Thank you,” T’Pol replied sincerely, and with that, she swiftly rose and left the mess hall. Startled, Trip watched her go, fighting an urge to call after her. He put his head in his hands, oblivious to the glances of the others. What had he gotten himself into? Return to Coitus Conceptus MENU page. Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS! A whole mess of folks have made commentsYay! I'm first @ 00:38:44 BST. First Chappie is good. Can't wait for next (don't write to slow now!) Well Done. I'm intrigued. Nice setup - can't wait for you to update... Guess I'm a little confused. Is TATV "official" in this universe? Are T'Pol and Trip a couple or are you adhering to that "break up" nonsense from The Abomination? I'm not real keen on female pon farr, but I'll try to keep my dislike of that element under wraps. That said, I really like T'Pol's sense of humor in this fic. The line “Not even Chef. You are my last hope.” absolutely cracked me up and I can so envision Ms. Blalock delivering that line with a straight face. Indeed!!!! \:| :D YAY! It's a funny Ponfarr fic. I thought I was the only one who'd done that. This is great. Can't wait for the juicy parts. : ) Seven years from what, though? I thought TATV was six years after "Terra Prime" which was, what? A year after "Harbinger"? Was their night in the Expanse her last Ponfarr? What have they been up to since? Are we ignoring TATV (my recommended course of action) or is Trip destined to die soon? Oh shoot! Just when I'd sworn off the NC-17. But I can't miss this! The characterization is perfect BTW. I love it that Trip seems to have the upper hand this time. This is taking place after Terra Prime...an unspecified amount of time afterward. As far as I am aware, we never found out just *when* that 7th year was to be. So I figure, at the latest, this is taking place no more than 6+ years after Season 1. Or it could be right after Terra Prime. I had better decide and put it into the next bit. Either way, we don't run into TATV yet in this universe. And at first I planned a rather simple to-the-point story, and I figured it would stay within the "canon" of TATV...this is a simple request for help...not necessarily any type of an attempt at a relationship (although isn't that what she always does, the little tease!) And then I started thinking and scheming and getting alllllll ahead of myself and NOW I think there'll be a few Parts, and perhaps this story veers off into some non-TATV universe. A universe that doesn't suck. Who knows what will happen??? Remember, Trip and T'Pol don't know the name of the fic they are unwittingly prisoner of. And thanks for the gold stars guys! :+) The ENT section of TATV was set in 2161, which is 6 years after Terra Prime. Exactly. So this takes place in like "season 6"...two years after Terra Prime....somewhere around 2156. The season we'd be on now if life was beautiful. However, based on the comments of Trip in the fic, he's not only aware of pon farr but he has "helped" in the past. Seven years before 2156, (2149) Trip didn't even know T'Pol and Enterprise hadn't launched yet ("Broken Bow" was set in 2151). If you're suggesting that the Polly Farr took place in "Harbinger", then this would need to be *in* 2161. The math just doesn't add up... Heh. Unless, of course, this DOES take place in 2161 and the events of the Abomination are a cover up to fake Trip's death... I don´t worry about the math, I´m **waiting** for the next chapter. :-))) I'm not saying that Harbinger was Pon Farr...that was just frolicks. :D I *am* contending (in this fic) that her last PF was in 2149, before she met Trip. Trip knows about PF (easy enough to find out about his fave female), but has not helped her with it before. See line above "He was dying to say yes. He was freaking out at the fact that she had asked him for help..." It's the first time she's had this problem on Enterprise. Right. The problem is, however, based on what we've seen of Vulcans, they don't exactly tell people about pon farr. Look how Spock reacted or T'Pol in that terrible "Bounty" episode ... this is embarassing to them so I'm having some trouble buying that Trip *would* be able to find out about pon farr without being immediately involved. I still have difficulty buying into the whole female pon farr thing in Trek since everything BUT "Bounty" indicated that it was a male only thing ... but I'll read on. Sorry to derail the comments... Yeah, but Trip talked to that fat little Vulcan engineer who was buds with Tolaris, remember? And he said V's only had sex every seven years, and that got Trip's attention all right. (Of course, we TnTers know that he only noticed cause he had designs on T'Pol.) And who knows how much more the tubby little V. engineer revealed during that meal? Or, y'know, if you don't like that, it's not totally unreasonable for Trip to one day ask Phlox, "Hey what's up with that 'every 7 years' stuff..." Phlox could probably tell him enough that he has at least pieced together the minimum necessary: that Vulcans get saucy every 7 years. Or he looked in the Vulcan database. Or maybe even, just possibly, T'Pol told him. We (unfortunately) didn't see all of their implied NP sessions...who knows what they spoke 'scientifically' about? Scientific dirty talk. Hmmm...gives me an idea. As for female PF, I figure they must get it, because T'Pol had it that time whilst under some outside influence. I don't think a male could go through a full-on menstrual cycle just cause he got exposed to some weirdo space thing. Menstruation is ONLY for females. So, likewise, I don't think a female Vulcan would get a full-on PF going artificially unless they could naturally anyway. If PF was only for males, it would be outside her body's repertoire. No worries about comments! I love it! Nitpick your very rapier worst! I shall parry all your blows, thou creamfaced loon! Specifically, Kov stated that Vulcan MALES had the seven year cycle; I really can't see him opening up THAT much and revealing the rest of the dirt on PF. I'm pretty sure in "Amok Time", they make the distinction of it being male. In Trek III, Saavik stated that Vulcan MALES go through pon farr after adolescence and every 7 years afterwards. In response to your other theories, Phlox wouldn't tell Trip about it because of doctor-patient confidentiality & it's none of Trip's business. It wouldn't be in the Vulcan database because it's very, very embarassing to them and they don't like to talk about it - otherwise, McCoy would have known what the hell was going on. T'Pol wouldn't tell him because it's a private matter among Vulcan couples and, from what we've seen of her, she doesn't talk much about "private" matters, even to Trip. My theory is that, in "Bounty" due to the weird pathogen, T'Pol entered a state of reciprocal arousal that she would enter when her bonded mate entered pon farr. It further doesn't make sense for females to enter the same sort of cycle as males because that's not how biology works. Males and females are *different* and in the animal kingom, only one sex goes "into heat". Maybe it's why the female Vulcan has the super sensitive nose - they smell their mate entering PF & it triggers a reciprocal response ... Look at T'Pold in E2: she clearly was still in love with Trip and there was *no* indication whatsoever that she had been intimate with anyone but him since his death... Again, don't mean to detract you from your fic ... I just have soooooo many problems with female pon farr that it hurts. It's why Zane's "Differential" and his intro of pon frell works better for me... I now return you to your regularly scheduled Polly Farr... Except that Vulcans are pretend and so you can say whatever you want about them. *smacks RK across the face with duelling glove* (no, really though, it's not against canon until canon specifically says that they *don't*. And I think that it's so much tastier when they *do*. And Kov was pretty down and detailed...so who really can say?) Now sit back and relax while I write your smut sandwich! ACK! Too much words! Just get on with the story! This little chapter is well written and it looks like it's going to fun places, but, like Rigil Kent, I have a bundle of problems with the female pon farr. The thought of a widowed T'Les, or of T'Pau or T'Pol or any of the other rather elegant single Vulcan ladies we have occasionally seen having to spend a humiliating evening every seven years down at T'Slut's bar and grill (where all the best star pilots hang out) is simply very distressing to me. I plan on addressing that in part 2. T'Pol: You have no idea what you are denying yourself. "It's not time"...not "It's only for males." She is implying that Pon Farr *is* a normal condition for her, just not right now. I knew I hadn't imagined things! At least not episodical things. I am imagining all sorts of tasty things between coming up for air and checking the latest on comparitive xenobiology and gender dimorphism. I've already listed my theory for what she's going through (the female reciprocal "version" of PF triggered by the male entering PF), so I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree. I like it. As they say do not be slow in writing. Lisa It does leave open the question of prior Pn Farr episodes though. I know, if she has been through it before why didn't she and Koss get married then? But there are a number of possible explanations. One biggie might be that T'Pol just kept finding excuses to avoid it, and managed to be away from Vulcan on assignment for the Security Directorate whenever it happened before. Who knows? All she said was, "It is not time." She did not say, "No," or, "Not until now," or anything equivalent. Under the circumstances, her answer to Phlox sounded evasive to me. Thanks for all the good comments guys. I like a challenge! The best part of writing serial fics. Part 2 is coming nicely. (I like your guesses, BnB). Y'all, As nice as these exchanges are, they belong in the BBS, not here. Comments are intended to be about a particular story, not a conversation. Bucky I opened a new topic on the BBS. Awe, that was so cute- I LOVE[d] it! Awe, that was so cute- I LOVE[d] it! Hee hee hee! "Not even Chef." That was classic! Love it, can't wait for more! :) How's part 2 coming? The debate on the board is petering out... It's done. It's about 18 pages though *whew*. (Talk about needing a ciggie, BnB). I've gotta finish the proof before I submit. Likely today! :-O Done. Now let's see if y'get to read it before Monday. :) |