Mood Swing-Pt 11

Mood Swing

By Sue

E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: Friendship/Romance
SPOILERS: “Extinction”
ARCHIVE: Yes
DISCLAIMER: Enterprise is the property of Paramount and its subsidiaries. No profit is being made.
SUMMARY: Missing scene.

NOTES: On-going series of vignettes focusing on this pair’s developing relationship.

Part 11

Sometimes Trip wondered whether, under Phlox' supervision, Sickbay was more like a menagerie than a medical facility. Presently, as he sat on an examining bay, waiting for the doctor to render first aid in the form of administering some Altarian 'pus and blood' leeches to his cuts and bruises, the weird sounds coming from some of the cages reminded him of the zoo back in Kissimmee. He used to spend many a summer up that way, visiting his uncle Vic, his dad's older brother. The father of four had worked in naval shipbuilding for over forty years. Trip wrinkled his nose--phew! Sickbay even smelled gamy sometimes; this was one of those times. His nostrils flared as strong odors assailed him and his impatience grew.

"Hey, Doc, what's keepin' ya?" Folding his arms over his chest, the senior officer scowled. What he'd sustained was superficial, it wasn't necessary for the doctor to treat his wounds as though they were life threatening. He reflected on how he'd sustained these minor injuries.

Distantly off to Trip's right, Phlox' forbearing voice filtered over, reaching the chief engineer's ears. "I'll be right with you, Commander. The leeches are a little testy today."

They weren't the only ones, Trip couldn't help but think. The workout should have helped him blow off steam, but instead, running into the loudmouths who'd badmouthed T'Pol, and saw nothing wrong about doing it in his presence, set the match to the stick of dynamite. ...He went and done it...the meaty jerk had to open his big yap...and when he did *I* shut it for him...it's one thing to call her a ho when I'm not around, but doin' it front of me...them's fightin' words, yeah boy... He chuckled. ...Guess I showed all three of 'em... Even with his buddies holdin' me, I got the better of 'em...

"Here we are..." Phlox had returned bearing his feisty little band of squirming blooksuckers. The jar he had them in didn't seem large enough; those suckers were huge!

Trip gulped, drawing back. "They're harmless right?"

"Perfectly, Commander," Phlox said amiably. "Would I ever promote a treatment that would be harmful?"

Trip thought that over, declining to say how he really felt. The Denobulan said they were acting testy. What if they decided to take it out on yours truly? Trip still looked hesitant.

"Really, Commander, they'll have the discoloration from your bruises gone in no time. They're quite benign."

Be brave, Trip admonished himself, and nodding he told the doctor to go ahead. He wondered if he should tell Phlox about the particularly large deep purple bruise his ribcage on the left side sported, sadly, its color had ripened quickly. The mental midget who was T'Pol's chief insulter had given him that one. As he watched Phlox pluck a skinny leech up with forceps, he pondered how baffling that such obvious rejects as those three had gotten into Starfleet in the first place.

"There," Phlox said, having placed the gracefully undulating creature on the raised bruise near Trip's mouth. The leech's tiny suckers adhered to the man's skin seamlessly. In short order, five more leeches were delicately moored at various strategic locations on Trip's face. The doctor took meticulous inventory of his work and pronounced, "You'll be looking your own even-toned self in no time, Commander."

Tentatively, Trip sallied, "Uh, Doc...I uh've got one winner right, uh, here." Undoing his uniform, he unveiled himself to Phlox' critical eyes. "I figure that big sucker there," he pointed into the jar, the only one left, "has its work cut out for it, huh?"

The impossible grin took possession of the Denobulan's expressive face. "Some
very impressive internal hemorrhaging, even for you, Commander. Tell me, you
didn't sustain these injuries by falling off the catwalk, did you?"

Trip considered whether he should own up, bare his honorable soul, within reason, of course. True, he liked a good fight, same as any self respecting man. This particular brawl was for the noblest of causes, upholding a lady's honor who'd been slurred--and not just any lady, either, but the one who could be his, one day, if he got up the nerve to call her on her feelings about him. And she was *First Officer,* not some meretricious trick. The trio's biggest mistake had been assuming that although Trip was a senior officer, he was a 'pretty boy.' They could get away with saying anything they wanted and he'd let it go, unwilling to get roughed up. HA! They won't be that dumb again, Trip gloated, mentally clapping himself on the back.

"Okay, Doc, ya got me. I had a fight."

"Hmmm, yes..."

"This is nothin'--you should see what the other fellas look like," Trip crowed, as though waiting for Phlox to stamp his seal of approval on his behavior.

"I can only hope they put in an appearance in here instead of nursing their wounds on their own. Infections in this Expanse, rife with anomalies, could prove considerably more nasty than in normal space." He sighed. "Of, course, it's only medical conjecture on my part, but why take chances? I always say."

In his own little world of 'what if,' Trip was miles away. He could only imagine what his face looked like with the leeches draped all over it. Now, the next thing to happen would be for T'Pol to blithely stroll in and see him like this. She'd given him wonderful advice; too bad it was usually impossible for him to follow.

"Lie back on he table, Commander, and I'll put this last one on that sizeable abdominal contusion of yours." Phlox wore his contemplative face. "Before I do, I think an internal scan wouldn't err on the side of caution. Just to make sure it's nothing more serious."

"C'mon, Doc," Trip nearly whined, "I'm not in the mood for bein' enclosed in your torture chamber. Gets a little claustrophobic."

"Nonsense," the doctor negated, but as tactfully as always. "But, there's no need to subject you to a MRIbaric scan. I'll take a reading with a handheld scanner." He gave one of the leeches a gentle little nudge, encouraging it to adhere better as it was losing its grip. "I'll be right back. Try not to move."

Rolling his eyes as the doctor moved off, Trip said, "Oh, yeah, sure thing. No problem." These multi-legged critters, which reminded him of millipedes (ugh!) were making his face itch something fierce. He willed his thoughts and they drifted back to his shapely neuro-pressure partner in an effort to distract himself from his discomfort. She, the peace-lover...he, that up to a point unless somebody drew a line in the sand, daring him to cross it. Black eyes were red badges of courage and sources of pride, especially when he was in the right. This was most outstandingly so one of those times, and though he didn't think he had a black eye to show off, the other decorations on his face made up for it.

He was holding perfectly still, just as Phlox had told him to, but it made little difference. The leeches apparently weren't cognizant that they had been pressed into service to perform healing, not been given a roomier place to frolic. The itching was making him antsy; he had a better idea of what Hoshi, Jon and Malcolm had gone through during their mutagenic ordeal.

Again, he forced his mind to think about something else, and inevitably he meditated on how difficult it was for him to embrace the cut and dry, don't let anything get to you precept of T'Pol. Sure, he was learning to respect the tenet and T'Pol's patience in trying to inculcate that and several other 'Vulcanisms,' but in his heart of hearts, he knew that becoming a footstep follower of Surak wasn't going to happen. T'Pol needed to wrap her mind around that, and in time, with a little doting coaching from him, she just might.

She just might consent to a lot of things if he handled her just right. The idea of she and he was a wild idea, but one he liked to dwell on whenever he let his mind free associate. Being sweet on her was more than a passing fancy at this stage. Just because she was Vulcan didn't mean he stood no chance, not if he could somehow show her his intentions were sincere.

He was crashed out of his fanciful musings by the silhoutte of a familiar feminine form overshadowing the Caduceus on the right half of Sickbay's doors. T'POL!--her name exploded in his mind as already his feet hit the floor. Now see, he convinced himself, that's what ya get for thinkin' about her so hard--poof--there she is...on the brink of discovering what a disappointment you are. Where to hide! Seeing him like this, she'd know he'd been fighting, and he did not want her to know.

He bolted for the nearest utility closet, concealing himself, but leaving the door open just a sliver, before T'Pol came in. To his nerve-rattling dismay, one of the leeches was wriggling on the floor, left behind in his wake.

"Damn," Trip muttered under his breath. There was no time for him to scoot out of his hiding place to retrieve the unsightly varmint.

But, someone did, someone who had no qualms about picking the medicinal leech up with her bare fingers, giving it her most critical eye. She enjoyed the feel of its smooth skin on her fingers; it reminded her of the siltworms she used to collect back home as an inquisitive girl. "Doctor," she hailed with her usual wealth of authoritativeness, "it would appear one of your annelids has escaped. Doctor?"

From his covert, Trip saw T'Pol looking about for the missing physician. Although he repeated the swear word he'd just muttered, he couldn't help thinking how appealing she looked, the way she did now, when something was amiss, as though she were duty bound to get to the bottom of all things 'illogical.' Crossing his fingers, Trip hoped the doctor might be so absorbed that he'd miss out on T'Pol's untimely visit.

"DOCTOR PHLOX..."

*Phew,* Trip thought, that was practically screaming for her.

"Yes, Sub-commander, I'll be right with you," the Denobulan responded with his patented lilt of goodwill.

Subsequently, some high chirping filled the medical facility as another two leeches cascaded from Trip's scowlly face. He barely noticed, gulping when Phlox came into view.

T'Pol's stare was as serious as death as she continued to hold Phlox' avuncular gaze. "A lively specimen..." Thoughtfully, having studied the leech's current condition, she voiced her opinion. "It's oozing much blood. Were you treating someone recently?"

As the butterflies in his somersaulting stomach flapped their wings in frenzied unison, Trip held his breath then fatalistically whispered, "Go on, Doc, g'head...get it over with. Spill it." The eye wedged in the crack serving as lookout widened. Why was he in here, hiding as though he was ashamed of what he'd done? ...After she finishes givin' me the lecture, he proposed, I'll tell her it was my sworn duty as a true gentleman to uphold her honor...as a strict adherent of the code of the South...

"As a matter of fact I was, Sub-commander, but it would appear my patient's no longer here..."

Trip continued to hold his breath, waiting for Phlox to give full disclosure. Again, the chief engineer reproached himself for having second thoughts, but another side of him didn't want T'Pol knowing anything about the fracas; he'd like to have her think he had given some thought to her words.

"Who was your patient?" she asked, sounding matter-of-fact. The T'Pol of her first year aboard Enterprise would have never asked such a thing of the doctor. Continuous human exposure had worked wonders with her sense of idle curiosity.

Phlox coaxed the fattest leech that had been working on the bruise over Trip's abs back into the waiting bell jar. Upon contact with the jar's thick, clear bottom the deep olive-colored annelid, with its bright red stripe, flattened itself like a blotter. "Now, now, Sub-commander, patient confidentiality. Once a crew member passes through those doors, full anonymity dictates I respect such convention. Surely you understand."

T'Pol nodded, realizing that Phlox' request was no mere velleity. Trip breathed a silent, hefty sigh of relief, in his mind's eye seeing himself clap the doctor's back several times in heartfelt appreciation for his Hippocratic obligations. The name of the oath Denobulan physicians were required to take escaped the chief engineer's mind for the moment. He longed for T'Pol to clear out so he could be rid of these itch-producing creepy-crawlies.

"C'mon, Doc," Trip mouthed, "get rid of her b'fore I go outta my mind." The leech nearest his nose rippled with flutter-like precision as though responding to its host's maddening discomfort.

T'Pol was about to say something else when the doors parted, admitting one very disconcerted looking Major Hayes.

"Great," Trip breathed, far below a whisper, "more unwanted company..."

"Ah, Major, how did that happen?" Phlox handed off the bell jar to T'Pol who accommodatingly accepted it.

The major pretended that his oozy, charred swath of skin was a welt, and he wasn't undergoing searing pain. Transfixed, his eyes never left T'Pol's face as he berated himself to, 'be a man!' He rivaled her stoicism. "Servicing a pulse rifle. The recharger discharged and the top of my arm was in the way."
Gruffly, he lied, "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Well, it hardly looks healthy," Phlox rejoined pointedly, reaching for his handheld scanner, the one he had dutifully passed over Trip's superficials. He ran it over the MACO's hectic burn, a deep frown mired in his face. "Nearly third degree, give or take," Phlox pronounced, his frown deepening still. I'll prep the wound with this." His head canted toward the leech.

Hayes' poker face was a lot better than Trip's had been. "What's that thing called?"

"An Altarian leech. Quite effective for versatile uses, topical amelioration being just one," T'Pol expertly informed. "Doctor, where are the rest of them?"

Trip's knees buckled for the third time.

"Oh, somewhere, I suspect, Sub-commander. I'm sure they'll turn up at some point..."

T'Pol was taken aback; it wasn't like Phlox at all, derelict when it came to his exotic charges.

Hayes was impressed with T'Pol's knowledge, realizing that as Science Officer, her knowledgeableness of many disciplines must be extensive. To say she intrigued him was the truest of understatements. "Altarian, eh? I've heard of them, but this is my first experience actually seeing one. Like universal bandaids that accelerate the healing process."

"Wonderful analogy, Major," Phlox awarded.

Trip's eyes crossed, wondering how long the impromptu 'seminar' was going to
drag on.

"I could use your assistance, Sub-commander," Phlox ventured, giving the Vulcan an expectant look along with handing her the tongs. "While I irrigate the affected area, would you please apply the leech." He was already blanketing Hayes' wound with a fine mist of vapor, a humectant blend designed to ward off infectors.

Something akin to a slight alarm went off in Trip's head; he could be wrong, he perceived the stern MACO looking as pleased as a stray dog with a bone over the prospect of T'Pol administering the glorified slug. The closer she got to Hayes, the more appeased, and...and like putty in her hands he looked. On some subconscious level a stirring of jealousy wriggled within the Commander.

...Whoa--where's that comin' from?... Regardless from where, the fact was Trip seeing T'Pol and the major sharing the same air space, and the MACO obviously enjoying the attention she paid him, tweaked a nerve. Instinctively, Trip knew he didn't like seeing Hayes drink his attractive fellow officer in with eyes appreciatively tracking her every move. The man couldn't have been more obvious unless he bore a sign which read, 'take me, I'm yours...'

Forgetting about his present state of looking worse for wear, Trip burst out of the closet with the leeches that had remained on his face hanging on for dear life and sucker. No longer short and stubby, they had since extended themselves and were now long and thin. Surreally enough, it was as though Trip had remnants of a spaghetti in pesto sauce meal clinging to his glowering face.

"As I said, Sub-commander, they were bound to turn up at some point," Phlox gladly obliged. "As has my missing patient..." The twinkle in the doctor's eyes was blatant. "You're coming along quite nicely, Commander, judging by the rate of fade."

"Yeah, Doc, sure. Whatever you say," Trip responded, suddenly shy and sheepish; his twinge of jealousy nipped as quickly has it had flared up. The look of intransigence on T'Pol's face chastened him, saying it all; she knew what he'd been up to. It was no longer a mystery what he looked like with a black eye even though it had lost much of its dark shadings. Having finished tending to a Hayes who seemed enthralled, she bade the doctor a curt goodbye and left Sickbay without so much as a residual glance of follow-up at Trip.

Yet, even she had to admit he was an absolutely comical sight. Safely out of view, she paused long enough against the wall immediately outside of Sickbay, covered her mouth with a hand and gave into her first impulse. She grinned into her palm, but valiantly suppressed the urge to guffaw outright. Composing herself stiffly, she continued on her way to the command center. She would save her consultation with Phlox about a private matter later when there wasn't such a crowd, monopolizing his time.

Facing Phlox and the major, Trip said in disgusted resignation, "Well, Doc, in the immortal words of Ricky Ricardo, 'I got a lot of 'splainin' ta do...'" He peeled off the leeches, three of the more hardy, depositing them back in their jar. Plotting out loud for his benefit Trip said, "Those peaches worked like a charm the last time. I'd better pay Chef a visit 'fore I say my piece." He exchanged noncommittal looks with his two engrossed onlookers, signaling his departure.

Alone with the doctor, Major Hayes spontaneously inquired, "Are they friends?"

The soul of diplomacy, Phlox answered, "I think I'd go as far as saying the best of...although, both tend towards stubbornness, depending on circumstances. It remains one of their major issues, Major..."

Hayes, ambivalent, gradually felt more confident. Just as he had begun to suspect, the sub-commander and the chief engineer were as opposite as night and day, and despite the uncanny phenomenon of opposites attracting, he believed he had a better than average chance of succeeding with the lovely Vulcan...maybe. Giving it the old college try couldn't hurt. The only thing putting a damper on things was just where to begin? What were her views on the military? Would she consider him a suitable suitor if she told him pointblank that violence was habit-forming...like hard drugs of Earth's not too distant past?

And yet, it had been her decision to embark upon this mission which could hardly be called diplomatic. The hard-boiled martinet wasn't privy to knowing where her loyalty to Archer and her Enterprise 'family' began and ancestral complacency ended.

When Phlox informed him that sub-cellular reconstruction with concomitant skin grafting might be in order for his injury, the MACO just nodded absently.

TBC...

Continue to Part 12

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