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Combat

Author - Distracted | C | Genre - Challenge: Sincerest Form of Flattery | Genre - Drama | Genre - Romance | Genre - Vignette | Rating - PG
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"The Sincerest Form of Flattery" Challenge

Combat

By Distracted

Rating: PG

Genre: Sincerest Form of Flattery Challenge, drama, romance

Disclaimer: These characters are most regrettably not mine.

Summary: Trip’s musings before deciding to leave Enterprise for Columbia… or they would be if he were a true drama queen. Sorry.

Ummm… not only is this REALLY over the top (Not my fault! You should READ this author’s other stuff!), but it’s also AU… in a good way. : )


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Early in the wee hours of beta shift, I lifted my head, and looking round and seeing the pinpoints of stars passing on their wandering way by my window, I asked, “What am I gonna do?”

But the answer my mind gave –“Leave Enterprise at once” -- was so prompt, so dread, that I stopped my ears. I said I couldn’t bear such words now. “That she’s gone and married someone else is the least of my worries,” I told myself: “that I’m now awake after the dream of a future with her, and find my dreams destroyed, is something I could bear; but that I must leave her now and immediately, never to return, is intolerable. I just can’t do it.”

But then, a voice within me declared that I could do it and predicted that I would do it. I wrestled with it: I wanted to be weak that I might avoid the suffering which leaving the ship-- leaving her-- would surely cause; but Duty, the tyrant, held Passion by the throat and told him that he had only begun to suffer, and swore that with his sinewy arm he would thrust Passion’s delicate sensibilities down to unsounded depths of agony.

“I’ll go to her,” I cried then. “She’ll help me!”

“No; you’ll do this yourself, Trip Tucker. She won’t help you. She’s got her concerns and can’t bear yours as well. You’ll pluck your own right eye, yourself cut off your own right hand, and offer your own heart upon the sacrificial altar.”

I rose up from my bed, resolved to face the solitude that awaited me, and after a splash of cool water to clear my head, approached the door of my cabin, intent upon some exertion to distract me from my distress. The door opened, and there she was, gazing upon me wearily. I allowed her entry, for she was inadequately dressed.

“You must sleep or ship’s function will suffer,” she said quietly. Why she should be there in the dead of night, and what arcane means she had used to determine my condition were not discussed. Simply looking upon her face caused my chest to tighten once again and my heart to pound nearly from my body. I averted my eyes from her silk-clad form.

“You’re a married woman, T’Pol. Should you be here dressed like that at this time of night?” I asked her curtly. She gazed at me, wide-eyed, seeming somehow injured by my words.

“You are angry with me,” she said. She sighed, and the musical utterance sent a shiver through my soul, yet I said nothing.

“I can help you sleep, if you’ll allow it,” she offered wistfully.

I closed my eyes, and with all my heart wished that this could be so, that her gentle ministrations could once again be mine, and that I would again feel the touch of her fingers upon my skin. Only one word thwarted that wish and made it a futile one: Husband.

“I think you should go before I do something I’ll regret,” I told her through clenched teeth. Her eyes held mine, with a question deep within them. She stepped closer.

“Would you?” she whispered. The cabin was cold, and her clothing provided little warmth. She wrapped her arms about her shoulders, drawing my eyes to the shimmer of silk and the glow of copper skin.

“Would I what?” I breathed distractedly.

“Regret,” she murmured, reaching a hand, so warm, smooth, and strong, toward mine. Our fingers touched. I couldn’t prevent myself from grasping hers. Duty spoke again, loudly railing against Passion, and engaged him in combat, once again throttling him and attempting to force him to submit. Passion rallied and fought back. In the struggle, tears were shed. They left trails down my cheeks, a single wavering line beneath each eye.

She reached up and pulled my head down, soothing my heated cheeks with the sweet touch of her lips, and Passion won.

End


If you want to know which author Distracted was imitating, check out the "Sincerest Form of Flattery" Challenge: Author List

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

As I stand here gazing off at the lowering clouds, my hair blowing attractively away from my face, I think I can make out voices in the wind calling

"T'Pol!!!"

"Trip!!!"

But, then again, it may just be the innkeeper calling me in for tea.

A fun one, Distracted, :D

LOL! I'm glad you "get it", Bucky. Of course, you have an advantage the other readers don't have. You know who I'm imitating, so you understand what I'm aiming for. I think others who read this story might be sitting for a minute afterwards with their mouth's open like guppies, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing with Trip's character in this story, and then deciding to follow the "if you can't say nuthin' nice" axiom. It's okay, guys. Lemme have it. I'm a big girl. I can take it. (Even if you hate it, you still have to guess, though.) : D

I hate throwing guesses out there when I'm not all that sure, but, well...what about Helen Fielding? She seems to have written some fairly silly stuff. A touch overdramatic, you think? Even more than I am, LOL! If I'm wrong, well, you know I don't read as much as I should.

...Buh?

I'm so confused. Amused, certainly, but confused. You've got me, D, I have no idea. Nice to see another bit by you, though. :)

I'm guessing Bronte. Personally I've never read her, but it fits the style of her times, and it's first person.
Add me to the list of confused readers. T'Pol is still married here? Hmmm...funky.

I guess I'd have to pick Bronte, too. I'm sure glad the tyrant Duty finally gave way to Passion. You sure are good at this. I have trouble writing like myself, let alone have the ability to write like someone else. You have my undying admiration. Have a great holiday!

I think Brontë as well, but not Charlotte or Anne (the forgotten one who wrote The Tenant of Wildfeld Hall), but Emily. And I'm taking my cue from Bucky's first post, although the style is gothic romance. Did people REALLY talk like that?

Well, Charlotte's the only Bronte on the author list. If you go to this link

http://www.online-literature.com/brontec/janeeyre/27/

from Chapter 27 of Jane Eyre, in which Jane laments the need to leave Thornfield after discovering that Rochester is keeping his crazy wife in the attic, you'll see that this story is about 50% blatant plagiarism and 50% wishful thinking. : )

Egad...

*snicker* I kinda thought you'd have that reaction BnB. I guess gothic romance is a chick thing. ; D

Another snicker! He he . . . I don't think you're crazy. I love it. I remember reading something like this in school, oh so many years ago.

I even think it's hot.

"Would I what?” I breathed distractedly.

“Regret,” she murmured.


Why thank you, kind lady. *deep curtsey*

That part, at least, was mine. ; )

I just love how BlackbBLue's only repsonse was "Egad..." hahahahahaha.

I found it politely disapproving, yet respecful of my delicate sensibilities. I appreciate his restraint. I'll wager he knows the answer to the question "Darling, does this dress make me look fat?" as well. : D

THIS is what I hoped someone would write when I came up with this wacky challenge. :D S'why I put Bronte on here. Beautiful.

"You’ll pluck your own right eye, yourself cut off your own right hand, and offer your own heart upon the sacrificial altar."

CB's pretty good huh? Full of determination. No wishy-washiness. Read this at ten and got hooked. I've probably read it ten times, and NOW as an adult I realise how silly it is in some parts. But that's what makes it great. And when you're ten and you don't see it as silly at all but as wickedly, shockingly, despairingly serious, you sit wide-eyed, struggling thru the language till the wee hours with a flashlight under the duvet.

Well done, Dis.

Thanks, but as I've said before, I can't take all the credit. CB herself wrote about 33% of this story. I'm a shameless plagiarist. : D

Uh, Dis....it's the imitation challenge. Well done. ;-)


SHAMELESS!