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.We're led by the capable fingers and nimble mind of Emily Witt.
It all started with this line, at the beginning of the month:
“No. Honestly, I’m more interested in the guy in the bathroom.”
Since then, I’ve been sllloooowwwllllyyyyy revealing bits and pieces of the story, hoppig around to build the picture gradually, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. And last week, we filled in the face of the interesting guy in the bathroom, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, who, as fate would have it, shares a September 2 birthday with my son, who is about to be 15.
Maybe it’s fitting that, this week, we finally get to peek inside the head of a certain very British Tactical Office as he considers the romantic entanglement of the ship’s second and third in command, who seem consumed by a passion that could easily become dangerous for everyone aboard…
Let’s say that Malcolm has a good instinct for threats...
Here’s the standard disclaimer. I don’t own them; I don’t make money on them; I just love them!
Today is August 31, 2016
Thirty-two sentences, plus one to reset the moment. Why thirty-two? Because it fits, and because the two birthday boys – the fictional and the very real teen at my house – get one to share for birthday luck. =)
Here’s where we’re starting from, picking up from the last line in "With Alacrity":
“Do not come between me and my t’hy’la, kiral.”
And away we go…
Beyond All Control
“Understood.” Although T’Pol had long ago asked her to speak English, there were times when only one’s native language would do. This was one of them.
Hoshi was rewarded by a slight relaxation in the other woman’s manner, as though she was settling into the new realities of her situation -
Or maybe it had nothing at all to do with her, and everything to do with the fact that Trip and Malcolm had just come out the door. T’Pol took a step toward him, then another.
Afraid that she might just bolt straight back to the engineer, Hoshi spoke a single word, very quietly.
Malcolm Reed didn’t know a single word of Vulcan. Until tonight, he’d been fine with that gap in his knowledge base. T’Pol spoke English so well, it was sometimes difficult to remember that it wasn’t her language.
They were barely out the door when T’Pol started for them. She got one step before Trip said something in Vulcan – and she stopped, holding herself perfectly still except for her mouth, which seemed to be testing out whatever that word was. Malcolm almost asked Trip, but then he looked at his friend and decided to let well enough be well enough. He could almost certainly overpower the engineer if need be, but it looked like, at the moment, that would be considerably less pleasant, and potentially a far more damaging prospect, than he wanted to entertain.
After a moment more, with the four of them standing somewhat conspicuously in the corridor, Hoshi reached to touch T’Pol’s arm – more a brush of the other woman’s sleeve, near her elbow. The Comm Officer started to walk, not hurrying, and T’Pol backed away beside her, as though to take her focus off Trip was more than she could manage.
“How’n hell are we gonna manage the turbolift?” Trip sounded anguished, and he was moving a bit faster than was normal. “You were there, Mal – you know what happened before….how much longer?”
“A mere 75 minutes. An hour and a quarter. Less time than the length of one of your movies.”
“A damned eternity. You have no idea what I’m goin’ through, here - but I know that what she’s going through – no. Not gonna speak to that.”
T’Pol was still backing away, and Malcolm almost thought he could feel the energy crackling between the two of them. He personally thought they were both fools not to tell the Captain that this thing between them got started before she was Starfleet, and that she was commissioned while she was married, but now she wasn’t, and nothing they’d tried to stay away worked, because this thing had swelled beyond all control. Captain Archer wasn’t a stickler for discipline, by any means Malcolm defined it, and, surely, if he could see the effort the two of them were making just to keep from touching -
Or maybe not. It was impossible to miss the risks inherent in a passion as unbounded as this; as distracting as this. A passion that could reduce T’Pol, of all people, to walking backward up the corridor.