Welcome to Day Fifteen of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “mercy,” used any way we wish. Today, I offer you yet another peek into my fan fiction playground, with the first installment to my A Beagle’s Bedside Manner sequel story.
And, as always, standard disclaimer applies. I write these stories for love, not profit. I don’t own the characters or their world. It’s not my fault that they keep whispering stories in my head, and that they demand I write them, is it?
“What’s Up, Doc?”
Trip waited as long as he was able, but when his pacing damned near ran him into T’Pol’s window for the third time, he realized he needed to go check on her.
He hadn’t wanted her to go alone in the first place, but she out-logicked him, arguing that if the Acting Captain couldn’t manage to walk to Sickbay independently, it was conclusive proof that she needed to relinquish command. There was an undercurrent that said that, if she had to, she would order him to wait for her return. Trip didn’t press his luck; he wanted to be able to do just what he was doing now – going after her, because she’d been gone too long with no word, so that had to mean that something was up.
He was rounding the last bend to Sickbay when Phlox’s voice sounded from all the comm panels. He broke into a run, his stomach lurching first into his throat, and then down to his feet, as he heard, “Commander Tucker, please report to Sickbay at once.”
Oh, damn. Was there no mercy? Jon was dead, and T’Pol was in deep trouble –
He slammed his hand on the door release, and didn’t stop moving until he was inside. Phlox was still at the panel, staring at him. He didn’t see T’Pol anywhere –
“T’hy’la!” The half-yell was followed by thumping and the distinctive echoing bay of a beagle. “T’hy’la!” It sounded like she and Porthos were competing to make the biggest racket.
Trip didn’t wait for Phlox to tell him what the hell was going on here. He went to the imaging chamber, and pressed the button that would slide the biobed, and his frantic Vulcan lover, out of the tube.
She was wriggling down the bed almost before the toes of her boots emerged, and Trip braced himself. He’d had more than a few examples of how relentless she could be; he knew the signs.
Sure enough, by the time Porthos hopped off the bed, she was coming for him, and the impact was almost enough to bowl him over, even though he’d prepared. “T’hyla!” she whispered, and latched herself to his lips, smothering her repeated little cries. Trip gave himself to her, gathering her in close and maneuvering them onto the biobed with her straddling him. If Phlox had still had any doubts about what they’d been up to in her quarters during the last few hours, this was probably going to put an end to them.
She finally let him up for air, and Trip opened his eyes to see that Phlox was a few steps away, watching them. T’Pol didn’t seem to care; her body was hot and making demands he didn’t think she had any control over. He looked at the doctor over her head, and said, a little breathlessly, “Commander Tucker, reporting to Sickbay as ordered. What’s up, Doc?”