Mood Swing- Pt 7

Mood Swing

By Sue

E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com

RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: Friendship/Romance?
SPOILERS: “North Star”
ARCHIVE: Yes.
DISCLAIMER: 'Enterprise' is the property of Paramount and its associates. No profit is being made.
SUMMARY: Missing scene...

Author’s Notes: This is an on-going string of vignettes, tailored to this pair's developing relationship.

***************

Part 7

Ah, yes..."How hard can it be?" No truer famous last words were ever spoken...

"This John Ford, your virtual mentor concerning these temperamental beasts...exactly how many of his films did you watch?"

Trip frowned with a shrug, acutely mindful of how hard T'Pol was hugging him. Under different circumstances, he would have hardly minded, but atop this fickle beast, it was terribly uncomfortable. "Don't worry, you're all right. I know what I'm doin'." This made the third time the horse had come to a dead stop in mid-canter. The commander muttered several choice, blue words, knowing he didn't know the first thing about what made horseflesh tick. He looked to the cerulean sky above wishing for a break.

"How many?" The Sub-commander deliberately eased her grip of his torso after resettling herself. This was far more closeness for her comfort, discounting neuro-pressure altogether.

"Enough of 'em to know he shouldn't be doin' this. Maybe he's sick." Tucker jiggled the reins, then pulled on them, but not too hard, at a loss as to why whatever he tried was having no effect. "Jackass!"

"You are confusing this animal. Additionally, you hold the reins incorrectly," T'Pol said definitively. "You allow him to have his head, confounding him. He cannot think for you. You must make your intentions clear."

"Since when did you become such a horse expert?" He got the horse going again, but for how long? They were picking up some speed, though.

T'Pol, preparing to answer him, realized before Tucker that the horse's left forefoot had met up with a sizeable hole in the dusty dirt path they traveled. Startled, the animal faltered, effortlessly losing its footing and in apprehensive response, reared up on its hind legs. The sudden jolt of movement unseated Trip, plunging him to the ground in a single fluid motion.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Once his vision stopped somersaulting, he glared up at the pensive Vulcan, an explosive expression etched on his face, not knowing what had hit him.

"In this instance, *mare* would be the more appropriate nomenclature, not bitch." Cursorily, running her eyes over him, T'Pol asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just peachy," Trip spat out, wondering why he was on the ground and she was still on the horse, as cool as a cucumber. "What aren't you tellin' me?" He began clapping off the dark brown dirt soiling his hands, rising to unsteady feet in stages. "Don't tell me. You've ridden before?" Her reply sounded coy enough to him.

"Yes."

"Uh, huh. Let me guess. Vulcan's version of the O-K corral. Ride 'em, cowgirl--yee-haw!" He had a ways to go before cleaning off most of the silty earth from his replicated clothes. Embarrassed to the bone, he beat the filth off his person.

Offering him a hand in the same way he had extended his to her when they first started out, when he had been cocksure that knowing anything about horses was far removed from her field of experience, she countered, "No, Commander," Trip gave her the facial expression she was used to seeing him give her when she slipped up. "No, Charles." He didn't look as peeved as he had a moment ago. "One of my associates at the compound in San Francisco used to invite me to go riding with him on a regular basis most Sunday afternoons. It proved quite relaxing."

Trip was looking peeved again; in fact, his scowl seemed indelible. "*Him*?"

T'Pol replied simply, "Verlon. His transfer to New Paris came through just as
my assignment to Enterprise was confirmed. He served as liaison for Public Relations. He was an excellent rider."

"Yeah, I bet he was. Vulcan too?" Trip took her hand, felt her grip strengthen, never failing to be amazed how strong this woman, built along the severely flawless lines of a ballerina, was. Her inner and physical beauty were quite the attraction, an attraction Trip acknowledged was growing steadily, like an acquired taste. She was still a puzzle, one he wanted to figure out to his satisfaction.

"No," was T'Pol's terse reply. "A human, Verlon Montgomery Smith."

Snorting, Trip worked at hoisting himself up. In short order, he sat behind her. "Why did ya let me make a complete ass of myself, knowin' full well that you were the one who should've been sittin' where I sat, first?"

"Is your male pride offended?"

"Scuffed up a bit, a touch bruised, but it'll survive."

The horse began to fidget beneath them but T'Pol settled the obedient animal down with a gentle pat to its right shoulder, then the wither. "Easy, Hosann," she entreated. The beautiful animal nodded its majestic head a time or two, its long forelock tufting in the mild breeze of early evening. The animal appreciated the masterful, yet indulgent hand in control, stamping its left forefoot several times, then whinnying, as though expressing its approval of the soul in charge now.

"'Hosann?'"

"What I used to call the horse I was given to ride...a magnificent animal." Was it his imagination, or did she sound a mite wistful, as though the horse wasn't the only thing she'd found magnificent. Trip, despite present circumstances, rankled a bit, not wishing to dwell on T'Pol's and Verlon's equestrian trysts. "The good ol' days, huh?" (Stop), he chastised himself, (don't take it there--there's no cause. She's not yours to feel that way about.) Yet, the idea occurred to him that he wanted history with her, things they shared in common on a more personal level, all their own. But maybe all that they'd gone through with this mission was some kind of start, at least he could imagine it to be.

Letting his emotions cloud savvier judgment, he clung to her, his hands positioned just below her belly, tenaciously. He certainly could not place his hands where she'd had hers on him starting out, over his chest. She'd knock him clean off the horse like he was a creep, trying something cheap, incredibly unworthy of him owed to the way he felt about her. Her abdominal muscles were tight, admirably taut, the product of sit-ups belonging to a grueling work-out regimen.

Trip tapped the wide brim of his hat back so it wouldn't touch her head when he settled his chin upon her left shoulder. "We've all had 'em at one time or another."

T'Pol clicked her tongue, tapped the horse's silky flanks with both heels and resumed their trek through the wind-dusted countryside of tall, undulating vegetation the color of Nebraska wheat. The alien settlement they sought where the old ship was wasn't far according to the coordinates that Archer had reconfirmed. She hoped contact with the humans who lived on this world was minimal. For some indistinct reason, she didn't trust them. They bore little moral semblance to humans her assignments had brought her into close association with.

"Too bad you yielded your harmonica as partial compensation for this animal." Trip's sniffing, near to her ear, sent an unanticipated, affecting shiver racing down her spine. Her guard lowered, T'Pol tingled in his embrace. She pulled back on the reins, halting their progress.

Softly, as though thinking out loud, he commented, "It's gone and that's the end of it."

"Oh, I see... Regrettable."

Well, maybe he had spoken too quickly; on second thought, what was T'Pol really saying? "How come?" The harmonica had been a gift from an old girlfriend, a very affectionate old flame who had thrown him over for a veterinarian. Hildy loved animals.

"You play the instrument well. I conclude you'll miss the opportunities. Playing seemed to refresh you."

Trip lifted his chin and T'Pol turned slightly to him, aware that she should. Indulgently, he said, "I could always pick up another one, somewhere, I guess. How 'bout we keep our eyes peeled on the lookout for one next time we visit a laid back place that goes in for mouth organs."

"Agreed." She turned back around and fixed her gaze between the horse's ramrod straight ears. "Before the movie is run on a movie night, you might consider giving a performance once another harmonica is secured."

"That's a thought." History, Trip thought, giving her supple middle a firm
squeeze; the smile he wore directly behind her head was his little secret. She filled his arms better than he had ever imagined. "If you want me to, I will. C'mon, let's get this show on the road. Cap'n is countin' on us."

T'Pol 'clucked' to the horse and the animal attuned its ears to the sound like radar. "You must grip the animal tightly with your legs when it runs so you won't fall off."

"Got it." He did the same with his arms around her. Concertedly, they kicked its sturdy flanks, sending their steed into a full-out gallop. "Ride 'em, cowgirl--hi-ho silver, away!"

*-**-***-****-*

Continue to Part 8

Return to Part 6

Return to Mood Swing Menu page