Second Serving Sunday: The Greening Up Edition


A weekly peek backwards and a look ahead, from my little corner of the blogosphere

Life Stuff:

My last Second Serving Sunday post: The A-Z CampNaNo Edition

  • Click the link for my recent posting history!

This week was – interesting. Yes. That’s the word I’m going with.

It started with my daughter getting sick shortly after I got home from my write-in last Sunday night. Monday had her on the couch, sleeping on and off all day. I call her the Force of Nature, and not because she’s generally sedentary. The whole vibe shifted, without her kinetic energy bubbling through everything else.

Tuesday was even more interesting. My Accomplice got the stomach bug, just as my daughter was recovering. The aging dog decided that the cat needed chasing – that’s something that happens a couple of times a week. But this time he caught her, and ‘played’ with her. He got a lacerated nose; she hid under the sink for two days before emerging, still stiff and sore, but jumping and climbing. She’s now curled up on my bed, and I’m making a point to wear the dog out more often, to avoid further angst and injury, and promote healthier canine/feline relations (or at least a detente!).

I’m kind of glad the second part of the week was more mellow, you know?

In other news, I’m gearing up to dive into Act Three of my first CampNaNo novel(-la?), Transitions (KIC#1) ; I’ve done the majority of the plotting for Generations (KIC#2). I’m on schedule with my Blogging from A-Z April Challenge,  and I’m planning to finish up and submit my ROW80 sponsor post later today.

And now, last week’s features:

ROW80: The Writing Challenge That Knows You Have A Life.

Eight Sentence Sunday:

  • Introductions” : A young potter named Corinne is introduced to two older men…opening paragraphs of my Kifo Island Chronicles novella-in-progress, Transitions.

Coffee and Conversation:

  • On April hiatus.

WIPpet Wednesday:

  • Until Today? Terrance has suspicions, and what he thought were the unshakable foundations of his marriage might be crumbling. More from Transitions (Kifo Island Chronicles #1).

SoCS (Stream of Consciousness Saturday):

A-Z Challenge: Traveling my Way Through the Alphabet in April!

  • Everglades and Eagles: We travel back to the River of Grass to visit some wildlife; then out west to Yellowstone, for a close encounter of the bald eagle kind.
  • Havasu Falls:  A trip to the place of the blue-green waters, and a new stage in a relationship’s journey…
  • In the Dark: How do you feel about being in the dark – now, how about in a cave or underwater cavern?
  • Joshua Trees:  Music can inspire and transport us to unexpected and wondrous places – sometimes, literally.

What’s Next:

April Focuses:

  • Setting ROW80 goals for Round Two, which starts on April 6.
  • Completing 60,000 words for CampNaNo (roughly two novellas).
  • Draft two Kifo Island Chronicles novellas: Transitions and Generations.
  • Complete the Blogging from A-Z April Challenge.
  • Planning and plotting for Story A Day May, when I will explore more stories for The IDIC Romance.

Sneak Preview:

  • For Coffee and Conversation: C and C is on April hiatus. There will be an A-Z post each week, so feel free to stop by any Monday, and enjoy!
  • For WIPpet Wednesday: New stuff for April – July. I’ll be sharing whatever I’m writing, when I get to Wednesday. This week, one last snippet from Transitions, before I begin drafting Generations.
  • Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS):A post based on the weekly prompt, TBA Friday. Might be fiction, or not, but it’s always surprising!
  • Eight Sentence Sunday: Eight sentences from my Kifo Island Chronicles novellas, Transitions and Generations, throughout April. We’ve got one more from Transitions, and then Generations takes center stage.
  • ROW80 Updates: My progress on my current and/or long term goals for A Round of Words in 80 Days, posted on or near Sunday and Wednesday, beginning April 5, with my Round Two goals post.

In the Wilds of Internet-Land:

May your week ahead exceed your wildest expectations! Spring is finally here, and I’m…


“By All the Nebulae in the Galaxy”: #WeWriWa – #8Sunday

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors’ Eight Sentence Sunday!

It’s simple and fun. Sign the linky list with your name, blog url and email address on Mondays, 8:00 AM EST. Each week, the list remains open until Saturday, 11:59 PM. Then on Sunday, post 8 sentences from a current writing project, published or unpublished. Visit other participants and offer opinions, critiques, support. Writers hanging out with writers, a good time with a great group of people.

It’s a chance to share a small snippet -exactly eight sentences – of my current writing. I’m sharing an excerpt from my April CampNaNoWriMo  project, Transitions: Kifo Island Chronicles, Volume One.  The Kifo Island  novella series takes place at a resort that’s a little like hospice meets Fantasy Island Transitions chronicles the intersecting and changing lives of Barry, Terrance, and Corinne.

This snippet is three paragraphs after the snippet I shared over at WIPpet Wednesday  last week. Barry and Corinne have returned at the sound of shattering pottery, and Terrance has claimed that he only dropped a handmade bell…

Barry’s face said that he knew it was a lie. He always knew. But he glanced over his shoulder at the young woman who lingered near the door, and then back, and his dancing green eyes had a new shadow – the shadow of guilt, a shadow echoed in the woman-child’s blush.

They were beautiful, by all the nebulae in the galaxy. Desire had set them afire, and it made them glorious, glowing embers, ready to ignite.

The air he tried to breathe was as thick as smoke, and as hard to find oxygen in. But Barry came to him, striding in long paces, and wrapped his hand in his hair to kiss him – chai tea and the taste of the woman layered over the taste of their earlier kisses, adding new seasonings. Maybe, just maybe, he could catch hold of that, claim a vicarious taste of their young passion…

Will Terrance regain his place in Barry’s heart? What exactly was going on between Barry and the young Corinne? Why and how did Terrance break the bell?

No, I’m not telling you, but I’ll have another 8 sentences next week, and maybe you’ll learn something from that…or maybe you’ll end up even more confused.

While you wait, you can go visit other #8Sunday posts, which might just offer more answers!

What does Enterprise have to do with this post? Well, maybe not much, other than the space reference,  but the song is fitting, and the Vulcan lady and her favorite engineer are still whispering in my head, and unwilling to hush up till next month, when it’s their turn. I’m kinda hoping this will appease them…and please you. And, if not, it was an excuse for me to watch, so a win either way. =)

WIPpet Wednesday: “ Until Today”

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date. It’s hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel, maven of bad boys, stock dogs, and flying monkeys! She may be less physically present for a bit, but she’s still our fearless shepherd…or something like that, anymore.

Today’s WIPpet is brought to you by CampNaNoWriMo, and the word ‘too’…as in, it’s CampNaNo, and this is supremely rough, and there are way too many ‘toos’ here, and this is a run-on sentence and this is how I get when my mind is reeling with story and it’s 3am and people here have been sick for the last day and a half, now…

I’m sharing from Transitions; the first novella (or maybe a little longer than that…we’ll see) in my Kifo Island Chronicles series-in-the-making. The Kifo Island stories takes place at a resort that’s a little like hospice meets Fantasy Island

Transitions chronicles the intersecting and changing lives of Barry, Terrance, and Corinne…with unexpected tangles and angles.

But enough about me and the people who live in my head. Let’s talk about you for a minute.

Several of you were a little – well, let’s say put out – by last week’s post . In case you missed your chance to be miffed, here it is in its entirety:

Hey, Corinne – you ready in there?”

I really don’t understand. I mean, that’s six whole words, and it was April Oneth, after all….okay, I’m lying. I understand completely. And, for that reason, I’m going to make a gesture of appeasement. Here are the links to two other snippets – one long enough to pass for a flash story of its own. My suggestion is to read “Introductions”  first, because it closely follows last week’s sentence. Then read the passage below, and, if you still want more, give “Defiled?” a try. It happens somewhat after this week’s WIPpet.

I know it’s a little confusing. But the characters are feisty and rather unique, as is their reality, so, if you’ve got the time or don’t mind jumping around, you might find more satisfa
ction there…

WIPpet Math:

  • Today is April 8, 2015.
  • Math: Going to Scene 4 for the month; giving you eight sentences for the day. That’s it.

It had gotten too quiet in the studio, and the time had started to stretch far too thin for Terrance’s comfort. He was too aware of how quickly an interaction could go from friendship to something deeper and more dangerous; he’d let himself fall into those trysts, again and again. Sometimes, it was only seconds, while he clutched at the object of the animal lust. Sometimes, he told himself it was love. Other times, he knew he was only garbage, a receptacle for anyone who wanted him, for whatever use, just the way it had always been.

But, until today, he’d had two unshakable certainties.

Barry would always be faithful.

Barry would always forgive him, and take care of him, no matter what he did.

Until today? What’s so different about today? What’s Barry up to, and is Terrance right to be suspicious? And how the heck is Corinne involved in all this?

Now, after all the kerfluffle last week, I’m hoping that no one takes it personally that I’m not going to answer those questions here! I might not answer them for quite some time. There will be another snippet at #8sunday this weekend, and possibly another next WIPpet, but I also might have moved on to the next novella by then…in which case I’ll be offering that.

Whichever way things go, may your week be less frustrating than one sentence WIPpets! And you’ll find more delightful WIPpet Snippets by following the little blue froggy guy; assorted genres, styles AND LENGTHS to choose from! =D

SoCs: Logic and Discord

Rowing down the Stream of Consciousness. Badge by Doobster at Mindful Digressions.

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: “naught/knot/not. This flash fiction story inspired by Star Trek: Enterprise is also the opening scene of a short story-in-progress, Slow Jazz Awakening, as a young woman considers the nature of logic and humanity on an alien world called Earth.

Disclaimer: T’Pol, Soval, Koss, and the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended, and no money is being made.

T’Pol walked through the muffling fog, her sensitive ears, evolved for the desert, catching up sounds. Staccato footprints, their force and swiftness betraying tension in the legs that made them. Bits of conversation, in several alien languages.

And laughter. Strange expulsions of breath, accompanied with percussive sound that caused sharp pains in her head; kept her always poised, ready to face danger – danger that did not come.

Humans don’t laugh when frightened,” she told herself silently – but, in truth, she did not know if this was so, and there was a certain illogic in making any such assumption.

There was a certain and undeniable illogic in being here at all.

T’Pol thought of her small and comfortable room at the Consulate. It was a Vulcan space, quiet and contemplative. The air, conditioned to Vulcan-normative heat and dryness, carried neither unexpected outbursts of sound, nor the profusion of scent that assailed her senses here, where they lay heavy on San Francisco’s humid ocean breeze. Her meditation candles waited, offering the calm of deep reflection. She would be alone, there, and there would be no need for her current state of alert.

There is a danger in breaking protocol.” This she couldn’t dispute. She was not intended to be out of the compound alone; Soval considered her still too young and unpracticed in diplomatic matters, and, perhaps more importantly, she was Promised, but not yet bonded. She was still a year from her marriage to Koss, and she risked both the termination of the contract her parents had arranged with the young man’s when they were seven years old, and the loss of her posting here on Terra – a posting that, however illogically, was of far greater importance to her than the bonding that would define the rest of her life, once formalized.

Comfort, safety, and security awaited her at the compound. All were at risk, with her current activity. Logic dictated that she should return immediately to the compound, and her life as it had been.

And yet, she didn’t turn, didn’t return to the safety of her room at the Consulate. As she had once ingested the rarest of Vulcan nectars, knowing the act would change her forever. As she had, as an infant, touched the flame of her mother’s meditation candle, even after the warning that it would bring pain…

Now, she simply kept walking, as though there was no danger, as though her muscles weren’t tightening into what a human might refer to, in the particularly imprecise manner of the prevalent human language, as ‘knotted’ – as though muscles were lengths of rope. She walked as though the sounds didn’t pain her head, as though the odors that overwhelmed her olfactory senses were not also ‘tying her guts up in knots’, as she heard a passing human male say.

An imprecise language, this English, and very different than that taught to her by her first foremother, T’Mir. And yet, very apt. Her digestive tract did indeed feel as though it was twisting and tightening, threatening to expel the plomik broth she had eaten at the evening meal, when she had too agitated by the breach of protocol she had so meticulously planned to consume anything more substantial.

T’Pol stopped walking. Her senses were being assaulted, and she was risking her position, not only in the Ministry of Diplomacy, but also as regarded her marital status, and her duty to Vulcan culture.

Highly illogical. She would return. To the Consulate, and her small, safe life. A progression of increasing age and responsibility that might, in time, allow her the freedom to move amongst the fascinating, chaotic species which named itself ‘homo sapiens’ – ‘rational man’.

She was turning to leave when she heard the strains of Terran music – discordant, and yet stirring something to life within her, something that had stirred when she touched the flame, and drank the tikkin nectars.

In time, she might earn the right to explore Earth and her people. After her marriage, and the traditional year lived with Koss, on Vulcan. If she were not pregnant; she had once postponed the marriage, and Koss might expect her to conceive their offspring at once. It had seemed an acceptable risk at the time, but now, the possibility seemed far too restrictive.

The notes of the chaotic music drifted freely to her, and something within T’Pol was compelled by them. She turned back, tipping her head to better catch its direction, and began to follow…

She reminded herself of logic, and risk, and protocol. “Kroykah,” she told herself, a word learned before all others, a command to desist that must be obeyed, even in plak tow, the blood fever of mating-

And yet, T’Pol walked on, her guts in knots, not heeding logic. The human language English had another term, one she’d always felt was completely illogical, a mathematical impossibility. “All was for naught.”

Now, as the young Vulcan woman commanded herself to return home, and continued to follow the strange human music, she thought perhaps that she was beginning to understand. 

The video below is just a bit spoilery, if you haven’t seen the series, and don’t know T’Pol’s story…

Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Come play – there’s just a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

Get more SoCS right here!

SoCS : “I, Eye, Aye, Sir?”

Row down the stream-of-consciousness with us!

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme.

The idea is simple – post an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt –this week’s is I/eye/aye, which yielded a flash fiction story inspired by Star Trek: Enterprise, and the vagaries of my native tongue…

Disclaimer: Hoshi, T’Pol, Trip, and the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended. I just love to play with them!

Hoshi Sato frowned at the display on her datapad as she entered the Mess Hall, wondering whether it would make more sense to address this problem to the Chief Engineer, or the Science Officer.

As luck would have it, they were both here, and bickering.

All you ever eat is that broth and salads. How can you survive just on that?”

Commander Tucker, I have ‘survived’ my entire life on a plant-based diet. My metabolism and nutritional requirements differ from yours, and my physical dimensions are appropriate for my age and species.”

Your age, huh? Now, what would that be?”

T’Pol raised one elegantly groomed brow the width of two hairs. “Classified.”

Trip groaned. “I swear every Vulcan should have that word tattooed across your foreheads at birth -”

You propose to disfigure my entire species, Commander?”

Trip spluttered, “Maybe not, but it would save time.”

Excuse me, Commander, Subcommander,” Hoshi said, before Trip could get himself in any deeper. “I’m having a problem with transmissions from the Science station, and I was wondering if either of you could tell me where the glitch is, and how to fix it.”

A problem?” T’Pol set her spoon carefully into the bowl of plomik broth before folding her hands in front of her.

Have a seat, Hoshi, and tell us about it.”

Hoshi pulled up a chair. “Well, for the past three days, I’ve been getting random strings of Vulcan characters in the Sciences readouts, or else gibberish – not English, and not Vulcan either, but a hybrid of the two.”

With you so far,” Trip said, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes nearly drowning in gravy. “T’Pol?”

Is that a representative sample?” The Vulcan tipped her head slightly toward the pad Hoshi held.

This is the complete rundown.” She handed over the pad, and tried not to smile as the two heads, one fair and one dark, leaned in toward one another as they studied the readout together.

Looks like a glitch in the translation matrix – but why’s it coming up in Vulcan?”

I’ve programmed the station to accept written commands in my native tongue, and translate output to English,” T’Pol said.

Why? Doesn’t seem very efficient to me.”

T’Pol actually looked uncomfortable. She reached for her tea, and sipped, studying Hoshi rather than Trip. “I learned to speak English in childhood, but I couldn’t read or write it when I was assigned to Enterprise. It is – a most perplexing and inexact language, and poorly suited to reporting of a scientific nature.”

Trip nearly sprayed mashed potatoes on the pad, and T’Pol’s hand as she held it between them. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

T’Pol looked directly at him and said, “I. I. I.”

You what?”

Precisely.” T’Pol sipped at her tea. Trip sat there with his fork dangling in his hand, staring at her.

Precisely, what?”

Were I speaking in Vulcan, you would have known that I was speaking three separate words – ”

Come again?”

I think I get it,” Hoshi said. “Not I, I, I, but -” she tapped her chest. “I.” Next, she pointed to her face, and blinked. “Eye.” Then she pulled a mock salute, and said, “Aye, sir.”

Precisely,” T’Pol said again. “It’s the same word, when spoken, but each meaning is written differently.”

But you speak English as well as any of us- ”

Better than some,” Hoshi chuckled, and Trip gave her a dirty look.

I can infer spoken context, but I find it prohibitively difficult to discern which spelling is accurate for many words I wish to use. English doesn’t follow even its own convoluted rules. This poses considerably difficulty where precision and alacrity are necessary.”

So you input everything in Vulcan, and the station computer translates for you?”

Apparently not as consistently as it should.”

Trip took the pad from her, scrolling through the display. “Shouldn’t be a problem – looks like there’s a faulty circuit in the translation matrix – not all of your signal’s getting through. I’ll come up and fix it for you at the start of shift tomorrow, and, now that I know your little secret, I’ll keep an eye on it for you. Hoshi, will that solve the problem?”

Aye, sir.”

Trip groaned. “You know, I just heard it. Sorry I teased you, T’Pol. I’m guessing that I wouldn’t do half as well even just trying to speak Vulcan.”

Most members of your species lack the muscular control needed to produce many of the vocal forms.” T’Pol picked up her spoon, and sipped daintily at her broth.

Guess I deserved that,” Trip muttered, digging back into his potatoes.

She’s telling you the truth, Commander. I could understand Vulcan years before I could speak it.” She looked at T’Pol. “If you’d like, Subcommander, I could help you improve your written skills.”

That would be most generous, Ensign, although I would find it a simpler matter if Starfleet had elected to make a more logical choice regarding the operating language on its starships.”

Like what?” This time, Trip took the time to swallow the potatoes before speaking.

I’m competent in written and spoken Latin. Since it lends itself well to scientific discussion, it would be a more logical choice.”

Only a Vulcan would make a suggestion like that. I flunked Latin – twice.”

T’Pol reclaimed the pad, and, in flawless Latin, looked at Hoshi and said, “If you’re free, I will assist you in translating these data streams.”

Hoshi smiled. “Tempis fugit.”

An illogical statement, in any language.”

She and T’Pol rose together. Hoshi didn’t need the translation matrix to read the touch of humor and enjoyment in the Vulcan woman’s eyes as they walked away, leaving a scowling Chief Engineer to chew on mashed potatoes and Latin.

Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Come play – there’s just a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

Get more SoCS right here!

SoCS : Communications Issues

Come roll down the stream with us!

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme.

The idea is simple – post an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt -this week’s is “pat/pet/pit/pot/put.”

This week, I’m offering a twofer – a paragraph about my dog, and a snippet inspired by my Star Trek: TOS/Enterprise crossover fan fiction NaNo novel-in-progress, The Earth Doth Move.

Disclaimer: Spock, his family, and the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended. I just love to play with them!

Okay, this prompt, right off the bat, is making me think of a previous prompt: “bat/bet/bit/bot/but.” For that one, I wrote a nifty story snippet for Sarek, where the nonsense syllables were the crystallization of all the things he didn’t understand about his toddler son, and all the things that separated their philosophies regarding the commencement of Spock’s adult life.

So, I’m going to do both!


We have a companion dog. He is not a pet, although he loves to BE petted, patted, scratched, and thumped lovingly. His name is Corki, because, although, he seems to be a pit bull/Vizsla by dubious pedigree, he has a little corkscrew of a tail more suited to a bulldog. One of his favorite things is when he sees the pasta pot come out for mac and cheese, since he knows he’s going to get something to finish up or lick clean before long, and cheese is his favorite treat. As soon as the leftovers are put down for him, he wiggles his entire backside and goes to work – a one-dog cleanup machine!

Happy Corki-dog! Did he just get mac and cheese?

Well, that was easier than I thought it might be! Nifty! Now, on to the other idea…one which may not go as quickly, or as smoothly…kind of like life with a toddler who can claim two diverse species as his heritage, and who must also learn to find some balance between them…


The difficulty with the child began, predictably, with a whining that would have caused Sarek to wince, if he had not repressed the impulse.

He’s teething, and feverish,” Amanda said, as the whine turned into a wail that was even more distressing to Sarek’s sensitive hearing.

Were he Vulcan, he would find adequate soothing in his current activity.”

The boy lifted his head from his nursing, but did not unlatch. He stared at Sarek; he knew just where to look, and the dark eyes were vivid with intelligence, despite the alien human tears that leaked from them. “Aah Ehh Ihh Ohh Uhh!” His small face wrinkled into a scowl, and his fist knotted into the amber necklace Amanda wore, which she had explained was intended to offer the boy some comfort as his teeth erupted. It did not appear to be so; but Amanda did wince at the force of the child’s grip.

There is no logic in attempting to communicate while your mouth is full, Spock.” Sarek stated the obvious.

Perhaps there was also illogic in continuing to expect that the child would respond well to such statements, despite his obvious ability to do so if he so chose. He clamped his mouth down on Amanda’s breast with enough force to elicit a short exclamation, and repeated himself, pounding that fist, which still clenched at the necklace, with each mangled syllable.

Kroykah,” said Sarek, but the child did not desist.

Be kind, Spock,” Amanda said, softly, gently taking the boy’s hand in her own. She made no attempt to disentangle him from the strand of amber, but she did tap the matching band around the child’s wrist. “You can chew on this, or nurse. It’ll help with the pain.”

Spock’s tears still fell, but his face smoothed as he looked at his mother. He released the nipple, and said, “Bat bet bit bot but?”

I wish I understood,” she sighed. “Or that you could show me what you want.”

He has command of seventeen words, in Standard, and thirty-two, in Vulcan. Additionally, he is sufficiently skilled at two hundred forty eight hand gestures to assure we will understand his intent. I find it difficult to accept that, among them, he has no means by which to express his need or desires.”

The boy shifted focus again, and released the necklace to slide from his mother’s lap. He came to stand before Sarek, tears wetting his face and milk dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Batbetbitbotbut.”

Enunciate.” If the child would insist on the syllables that had no apparent meaning, at least Sarek could encourage that he do so with precision.

The child’s face contorted again, then smoothed into something more like a Vulcan demeanor – except that his eyes were as fierce as any Burning male at Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. “Bat. Bet. Bit. Bot. But.” He waited, only staring, as he lifted his wrist to begin gnawing at the amber bracelet he wore.

Sarek nodded. “That is satisfactory.”

But the child would, apparently, be contentious. “ “Bat. Bet. Bit. Bot. But. Pat. Pet. Pit. Pot. Put. Dat. Det. Dit. Dot. Dut. Mat. Met. Mit. Mot. Mut. Fat. Fet. Fit. Fot. Fut…” He went on, from one beginning sound to another, stopping only to worry at the amber, then beginning again.

It’s how human children learn to talk,” Amanda said, coming to stand beside him, and smiling indulgently at their son.

Perhaps it was so, and this a normal part of Spock’s unique path to language. However, Sarek was certain that the boy was challenging him. The syllables went on and on, and the child’s focus never faltered.

Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Come play – there’ just a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

Get more SoCS right here!

SoCS and #LoISInDaBl Day 21:”A Helluva Team”

Float down the Stream With Us!

Float down the Stream With Us!

For today, Bee‘s prompt is “you/me.  Linda‘s is “relative/relativity”And, yup – the Vulcan in my head, and the human who loves her, decided to hijack this post, too – rather delightfully, I think. I hope you agree!

Disclaimer: Although I believe T’Pol and Trip have their own ideas about it, Paramount claims ownership.

“Who’s that for?” Jon jabbed a finger at the tea.

“T’Pol.” I knew he wasn’t going to take it well, but the best option seemed to be brazening through. “And, if you’ll excuse me, Cap’n, I want to get it to her while it’s still hot.” I turned, and he barely got out of my way in time. I figured the hot liquids might be all that stopped him from decking me. Did I look and act this stupid, when my testosterone was up?

“From my observations, it seems to be endemic to your species.” But there was teasing acceptance behind her thought-message. “However, your possessiveness troubles me considerably less; perhaps it’s a relative matter, or that I am yours…”

“We talkin’ in our heads, now, pepperpot?”

“Yes. I would appreciate receiving my tea while its still hot.”

“Trip?” Jon was peering at me, now, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be mad or concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, Cap’n. Just an aftereffect of the meld, I guess. Didn’t know she could still talk to me.”

“What did she say?” There was a little too much emphasis on the ‘she’. I hoped like hell he was going to get over this possessive streak when he recovered from those Orion pheremones, because this wasn’t making adjusting to the bond, or that second bombshell she’d dropped, about needing to mate so she wouldn’t die, any easier.

“Said she likes her tea hot, and that I should get a move on.”

“T’Pol said that?”

“I could be paraphrasing.” I smiled. “She’s a helluva lot more formal than I am, after all.”

I got to the door, and Jon pushed the button, then followed me through. Any hope I had that he’d let it drop evaporated when he said, “Trip, what’s going on between you and T’Pol?”

I was at a loss – but then, words and ideas came into my head – a way to reveal just enough, without actually lying – or really answering the question. I surrendered to the master, and let myself be her conduit, lending her my own voice and tone. “Well, Cap’n, she’s too polite to say anything -“

“T’Pol’s not that polite, Trip. And I’ve never known her to hold back when she’s got something to say – any more than you do.”

“You and me, pepperpot – the loudmouths of the ship.” I found that more amusing than she did. To Jon, I said, “You’ve never been seduced by an Orion slave girl before, either, sir. But you have been now – and so have the rest of the men aboard – even, I’ve heard, the ones that don’t usually think of women as potential partners.” I had to admit, I felt sorriest for those guys – bad enough to be overwhelmed, but to be attracted to someone who would never normally turn your head – there was something cruel in that…

“Except you.” That was an accusation, pure and simple. “Why, Trip? T’Pol’s immune. You’re immune. Nobody else.”

“I’m not a doctor. If Phlox doesn’t know, how the hell am I supposed to? Maybe it’s that we work together a lot. Maybe it’s the neuropressure, or the melding – or even the dance lessons – I just don’t know.” We had our suspicions, but it was true that we didn’t know for certain that the bond was the reason. “Anyway – there’s been a lot of sexual frustration around lately, and a lot of fighting. And a lot of excess, angsty emotional energy floating around. She couldn’t hide from it while you weren’t able to do your duty, but she can now that you’re – more or less- functional again.”

“But she can tolerate you? Trip, when she first got here, I was damned near positive you were going to kill her. After I saw her fight a time or two, I was damned near positive she was going to kill you.” Finally, Jon cracked a smile.

“And now look at us. I’m bringin’ her tea, like I’m all civilized.” I felt T’Pol’s awareness sharpening – she could feel the punch line coming, even if she didn’t use those words. And she knew I was getting closer…I could feel her quiver of arousal humming back to life. “Lusty little pepperpot,” I thought to her, and something sinuous and swift passed through my mind, catlike and tempting. “But I’ll tell you a secret, Cap’n, if you promise not to tell her.”

“I promise.”

I grinned at him as we neared her door. “I’m just waiting till her back’s turned. I was the fastest short-sheeter in summer camp, and I’ll just bet Vulcan kids don’t pull pranks – hell, maybe they don’t even have summer camp – I mean, it’s a desert world, and all that…what would the counselors say -‘OK, kids, go jump in the sand dunes?'”

“Trip, I order you not to short-sheet Commander T’Pol’s bed.” Jon chuckled. We were at her door, now, and he pressed the button. He peered in; thankfully, T’Pol was sitting facing us, eyes open, but still in meditative pose. “Watch him, T’Pol – he’s got designs on your bedding. Dinner, nineteen hundred. Both of you. Enjoy your tea.”

T’Pol sighed deeply as she accepted her mug, her fingers lingering on mine, seductive in a way I’d never known, before her. “You handled that well, Trip.”

Me? Not all by myself. It was you and me, pepperpot.” It was tempting fate, but I couldn’t resist. I took those fingers, very carefully, and brushed my lips over the backs of her fingers. She moaned softly, trembling.

Like you said, Trip, we make a helluva team.”

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

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