Here we are, already, on the cusp of a new year! I hope your 2015 was filled with love, laughter, sharing, and so much joy that it flowed out from you and embraced others.
To help with that, I’ve created a special Advent calendar. It’s non-denominational and didn’t stop on December 25. Instead it goes on giving for the rest of the month. It also espouses the concept of IDIC – Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.
Each day, you can open a new flash fan fiction story. These are freewritings – rough and imperfect; I only correct for spelling and grammar. Read one, read some, read them all – suit yourself!
At the end of today’s story, you’ll find a post- and pre – holiday bonus – a link to four more paragraphs of Family, courtesy of Fallon Brown and Erin Zarro, our resident supernovae of comments and encouragement – these ladies love TnT with a fervor I find – well, highly logical and most agreeable.
OK, briefing time:
Spoiler zone ahead! Don’t read these posts if you don’t want series spoilers, or even spoilers for other parts of The IDIC Romance, because things will be revealed, and I don’t like spoiling…I’d much rather delight.
The base art for the calendar elements of this post was created by Annalise S. Burton, and is used with permission and compensation.
I don’t own Trip, T’Pol, or the franchise that conceived them. These stories are offered as a gift, without expectation for any compensation. Of course, comments, rhapsodizing ramblings, and honest feedback of all kinds are always welcome!
And now, to the calendar…..we lift the tab… and find…a vomiting Vulcan, and her worried human husband.
“It’s serious, isn’t it, Doc?” T’Pol wondered if Trip knew how well his voice carried into the imaging chamber, and how clearly she could feel his panic, twisting into her nausea….she tried to withhold the retching, which he seemed able to feel, but couldn’t. Her throat was raw, and still she vomited a thin stream of bile. How was it possible that there was anything left to be expelled?
“Get her the hell outta there – don’t want her choking, and she needs me!”
“Indeed she does, Commander Tucker. But might I suggest that she needs you a good deal calmer than you are, at the moment?”
“You want me calmer? Then get my wife the hell out of that damned tube of yours, and tell us what the hell’s wrong with her, and how to fix it.”
Perhaps she should suggest that Trip be given a sedative, before Phlox shared any diagnosis that he may have made. She was prepared for whatever news might come, but Trip – Trip was human, and had a tendency to volatility under stress -particularly that which involved her.
“The unit has finished its analysis. Once Commander T’Pol is feeling well enough -” The biobed rolled out, and T’Pol closed her eyes as vertigo took hold, churning the acids that, however impossibly, still seemed to exist in her digestive system. She bit back a moan as Trip leaned in close, and helped her to sit up, leaning her against him as he rested one hip on the biobed.
“I’m well enough. Trip – t’hy’la – breathe.” Her voice emerged as a hoarse sound little more than a whisper.
“Oh, pepperpot – please don’t die on me – ”
“Commander T’Pol is quite likely to outlive you by nearly a century, Commander Tucker.”
“You sure? She’s so sick – ”
“Yes, I know. Also slightly malnourished, moderately dehydrated, and registering high on the stress indices. You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself, T’Pol.”
“What did I tell you?” Trip stroked her face; the cool of his hand felt extremely pleasant, and she sighed.
“I apologize. I have had no appetite, nor thirst, and meditation – every time I try, Elizabeth is there.”
“And when you don’t meditate, you have night terrors.” He shrugged, and looked at Phlox. “I know you didn’t want me to tell him, pepperpot, but -”
“I no longer object.”
“I’m afraid that vivid dreaming and distraction may be unavoidable, T’Pol – for some time to come. However, there are steps we can take to remedy the results of your loss of appetite, and also to quell the nausea brought on by this most unique case of hyperemesis gravidas -”
“Hyperemesis gravidas?” She and Trip asked the question together, but only she emphasized the relevant word – Trip didn’t speak Latin.
He did, however, pick up on her understanding of the diagnosis. “Tell me,” he said, his face vulnerable and frightened.
T’Pol reached up to his face with paired fingers. It would be most pleasant to share this news through the bond, to have it privately. But Trip couldn’t sense her nearly as well when he was feeling strong emotion, and she knew him well enough to know that he would only calm once he knew what the problem was, so that he could start thinking of ways to solve it.
“Hyperemesis gravidas is an excessive form of vomiting induced by pregnancy, Trip.”
“You mean – you’re going to have a baby?! That’s what’s been making you so sick? Because my baby’s – I mean our baby’s – growing inside you?”
“If I might interject, Commanders -”
“Oh. Phlox. Forgot you were here.” Trip looked around Sickbay as if it had appeared around them while he absorbed the news. Fascinating, the manner in which humans processed information. “The baby’s OK, isn’t it – I mean, she, or he -?”
“In this case, both pronouns apply. T’Pol is carrying twins.”
How will Trip take this news?
What about T’Pol?
Can Phlox help her stop vomiting?
Drop me a comment, and I’ll add a paragraph. The more comments, the more paragraphs I add. So go ahead – give me something to keep me busy!