"The Seventh" By Alelou Rating: PG Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. Genre: Adventure, Missing Scenes, Angst, Trip/T'Pol Description: Missing scenes from Season Two. Great.  Just great.  He'd just been forced to tell bald-faced lies on behalf of two senior officers who hadn't even trusted him enough to let him know where the hell they were going. Which meant he was really on his own here, goddamn it.  "Hoshi, hail Captain Tavek again for me." Hoshi looked surprised, but complied. "Captain?" the Vulcan on the screen asked. "I take it you are here to rendezvous with Sub-Commander T'Pol when she completes her business in the system?" The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow.  "Yes." "My tactical officer wants to do some routine maintenance.  Since I'm not privileged with more information about my first officer's mission, perhaps you could tell me if taking our warp engines off line might, in your judgment, represent any risk to us or the Sub-Commander?" "None that I am aware of, Captain," Tavek said.  "We will be standing by in any case." "Thank you," Trip said, and signaled Hoshi to close the channel.  He scowled over at Malcolm.  "Go ahead and do your worst, Lieutenant.  I'll be in sickbay."   "What's the worst case with those side-effects, Phlox?  The chief engineer is also the chief plumber.  Are we going to suddenly have a critical shortage of toilets?" "No, no, I fear I may have overstated the issue," Phlox said.  "And I can treat those symptoms in any case." "And the virus itself?" "That can result in a full week's illness, with a much worse case of the symptoms I mentioned, including some respiratory risk." Trip sighed.  "All right, then, go ahead and start the inoculations.  How about staggering them so we don't lose an entire shift to the collywobbles at the same time?" "Collywobbles?" Phlox said, apparently delighted with the term.  "Certainly, I could stagger the administration.  Shall I give you yours now, as long as you're here?" Trip sighed.  "Might as well."   By the time the away team returned, the torpedoes had been re-aligned, the impulse reactors had been purged, and the crew had been fully inoculated against that lymphatic virus. Archer not only remained mum, he didn't sound even the slightest bit repentant about it.  But that was nothing new, was it?   Still, Trip suspected he was at least a little ashamed, because instead of coming down to Engineering himself he'd just called in from the Bridge.  Perhaps he just feared Trip would have a better shot of worming it out of him if they spoke in person.  It was a reasonable fear -- certainly getting the real story was now on Trip's list of things to do, even if it took years and the right bottle of bourbon in the right place to achieve it. Of course, he shouldn't have to resort to such low tactics.  If there was any justice in the universe, Archer would get the nausea and diarrhea when Phlox inoculated him.  Trip had experienced nothing more than a mild stomach ache himself.  He wasn't sure if that was from the inoculation or just from profound irritation. That night he couldn't sleep, so he got up and went to the mess hall for a glass of milk and piece of pie.  He wanted soothing. It just figured that she was there, even in the middle of the night.  Trip almost turned right around and left, but that would look too childish.  Instead he got his milk and his slice of pecan pie and sat down at the nearest table - nowhere near hers - with his back to her.  As always, she had her trusty Padd; he certainly wasn't going to interfere with what might well be a classified report. Damn, but he was angry.  He was so angry he was practically vibrating with it. So much for being soothed.  He'd be lucky to get any sleep at all now.  He stabbed his fork into his pie and took a bite, willing it to provide some comfort, or at least some distraction from that other presence in the room, but it tasted like cardboard. Then she was standing there next to him.  "Commander, you're up late."  "Can I help you, Sub-Commander?"  He offered her his blandest expression. She looked back at him with those soulful eyes that had once made him believe there was something more between them than the simple requirements of their respective posts.  She said, "Did anything occur during my absence that I should know about?" "I'm sure anything of note would be in the log." She blinked.  "You're upset." "Now why on Earth would I be upset?"  He went ahead and let the sarcasm drip.  If she wanted to have it out, that was fine with him.  They could have it out.  Clear the air.  "I don't know," she said.  She appeared to be genuinely puzzled.  But there was nothing to have out, was there?  She didn't have a clue.  This was just so pointless in so many ways that it was pathetic.  "You know, I think I've had enough," he said, and got up.  "Good night, Sub-Commander."  He put away his tray of barely-touched food, conscious of her just standing there and watching him, and stalked out of the mess. He'd been a fool, but he could learn. Next installment: The Communicator.

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