Two short Star Trek fanfics
For the Trekkies among you, I thought I'd post these two short fan fiction pieces that I wrote for two of the starfleet_hq challenges. None of these were anonymous or subject to voting, so I guess it's fair game to post them here.
==.^.==
Title: Rumarie
Author: TeeJay
Prompt: Thankful (for Thanksgiving week)
Star Trek Series: Enterprise
Summary: Trip gets frustrated at the warp drive when T'Pol turns up with an unexpected offer.
Word Count: 671
Genre: Het
Characters: Trip, T'Pol
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some light swearing and maybe some sexual innuendo, but nothing you wouldn't see on TV.
Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters and settings belong to Paramount Pictures.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!"
Trip was frustrated. The dull ache in his right hand from slapping the warp engine's console bore witness to it. "Can't this damn thing ever do what I want it to do?"
He pushed a few more buttons in rapid succession, the bleeps almost coalescing into a melodic tune. "Come on, baby, just .4 microns."
A green light started flashing and Trip held his breath. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes. There you go."
The green light kept flashing for a few more seconds, then changed to red. The blinking increased in frequency. "Oh no. You don't get to wig out on me now. I said no! Damn!" He slapped the console again. "You stupid piece of-"
"You are talking to yourself," the carefully composed voice from behind startled him.
He spun around, facing the only Vulcan crew member on board.
"I'm talking to the warp engine. But, yeah, I know. Same difference. And it's still a piece of-"
"You should be more thankful," T'Pol interrupted him again.
"Thankful? For what? That I'm losing my hair over the three million times it's refused to cooperate?"
The corners of T'Pol's mouth moved upwards ever so slightly. If Trip didn't know better, you could almost think she was trying to hide a smile. "Thankful for it having been a trustworthy companion that has propelled you as far out into space as this."
"Trustworthy companion my butt," he muttered. "And look at you. What is with the philosophical wisecracking?"
"Today is the day of Rumarie. All Vulcans give thanks for the things we are grateful for in life."
"Really? I've heard it described as a festival full of barely clothed Vulcan men and women, covered in slippery Rillan grease, chasing one another."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting. She stared Trip down for another few, long seconds until he finally relented.
He lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. "All right, all right, I'm gonna be thankful." He turned towards the warp engine. Not making an effort to hide the sarcasm, he said, "Thank you, trusted friend, for transporting us this far." He paused only for a short moment, then added more forcefully, "And now get those damn ejection valves to calibrate themselves!"
He could hear T'Pol drawing in a long, impatient breath behind him. He could practically feel her eyes boring into him, so he turned around again. He raised both his eyebrows in expectancy of further elaboration. Or chastising. Or whatever else was going to be logical in her eyes.
"It is tradition on Vulcan to invite family and companions on the day of Rumarie to celebrate in unison."
Was she inviting him? His mouth curved into a grin. This should be good. "And since you neither have family nor companions on this ship..."
"There are some I would consider companions."
"Am I to assume you're including me in those 'some'?"
"Yes." Straight and to the point.
"Is this gonna be the Vulcan equivalent to Thanksgiving?"
"Vulcans do not roast large fowl to celebrate its consumption."
"Okay, let's assume I'm gonna say yes, what exactly do I have to expect? Hours of cross-legged floor perching, staring at ceremonial candles?"
"1900 hours in my quarters. Wear comfortable clothing and don't be late."
He had another quip on the tip of his tongue, but he let it go. "1900 hours. Got it."
She didn't expect any more pleasantries. Before he could say anything else, she had turned around and walked away.
Trip stood for a moment, lost in thought, then looked for someone from his engineering staff who might have a few minutes to spare. "O'Neal, take over for me, will you? The ejection valves need calibrating. I want the intermix rate to go up by at least .4 microns."
He walked over to one of the computer station wall panels. When the search screen came up, he typed in Rumarie. The computer displayed what was in the Starfleet database on the Vulcan holiday, and Trip's eyes widened.
==.^.==
Title: The Picard Maneuver
Author: TeeJay
Star Trek Series: The Next Generation
Written for: oparu
Summary: Captain Picard doesn't like the new Starfleet uniforms.
Word Count: 100
Genre: Gen
Characters: Jean-Luc Picard
Rating: PG-13
Warning: One swear word, but it's French.
Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters and settings belong to Paramount Pictures.
This didn't feel right.
Seated at his ready room desk, Picard slightly tilted his head and pulled at the blue-purple collar beneath the red and black jumpsuit, trying to widen it just a little. Whoever had designed these new garbs that were now enforced on all Starfleet personnel, obviously hadn't tried wearing them for hours on end during active duty.
"Riker here. Captain, can you come to the bridge?"
"On my way."
Picard stood, his hands automatically reaching for the jacket's waistband. He had to swallow down an exclamation of 'merde' when they found nothing to hold and tug at.
==.^.==
==.^.==
Title: Rumarie
Author: TeeJay
Prompt: Thankful (for Thanksgiving week)
Star Trek Series: Enterprise
Summary: Trip gets frustrated at the warp drive when T'Pol turns up with an unexpected offer.
Word Count: 671
Genre: Het
Characters: Trip, T'Pol
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some light swearing and maybe some sexual innuendo, but nothing you wouldn't see on TV.
Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters and settings belong to Paramount Pictures.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!"
Trip was frustrated. The dull ache in his right hand from slapping the warp engine's console bore witness to it. "Can't this damn thing ever do what I want it to do?"
He pushed a few more buttons in rapid succession, the bleeps almost coalescing into a melodic tune. "Come on, baby, just .4 microns."
A green light started flashing and Trip held his breath. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes. There you go."
The green light kept flashing for a few more seconds, then changed to red. The blinking increased in frequency. "Oh no. You don't get to wig out on me now. I said no! Damn!" He slapped the console again. "You stupid piece of-"
"You are talking to yourself," the carefully composed voice from behind startled him.
He spun around, facing the only Vulcan crew member on board.
"I'm talking to the warp engine. But, yeah, I know. Same difference. And it's still a piece of-"
"You should be more thankful," T'Pol interrupted him again.
"Thankful? For what? That I'm losing my hair over the three million times it's refused to cooperate?"
The corners of T'Pol's mouth moved upwards ever so slightly. If Trip didn't know better, you could almost think she was trying to hide a smile. "Thankful for it having been a trustworthy companion that has propelled you as far out into space as this."
"Trustworthy companion my butt," he muttered. "And look at you. What is with the philosophical wisecracking?"
"Today is the day of Rumarie. All Vulcans give thanks for the things we are grateful for in life."
"Really? I've heard it described as a festival full of barely clothed Vulcan men and women, covered in slippery Rillan grease, chasing one another."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting. She stared Trip down for another few, long seconds until he finally relented.
He lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. "All right, all right, I'm gonna be thankful." He turned towards the warp engine. Not making an effort to hide the sarcasm, he said, "Thank you, trusted friend, for transporting us this far." He paused only for a short moment, then added more forcefully, "And now get those damn ejection valves to calibrate themselves!"
He could hear T'Pol drawing in a long, impatient breath behind him. He could practically feel her eyes boring into him, so he turned around again. He raised both his eyebrows in expectancy of further elaboration. Or chastising. Or whatever else was going to be logical in her eyes.
"It is tradition on Vulcan to invite family and companions on the day of Rumarie to celebrate in unison."
Was she inviting him? His mouth curved into a grin. This should be good. "And since you neither have family nor companions on this ship..."
"There are some I would consider companions."
"Am I to assume you're including me in those 'some'?"
"Yes." Straight and to the point.
"Is this gonna be the Vulcan equivalent to Thanksgiving?"
"Vulcans do not roast large fowl to celebrate its consumption."
"Okay, let's assume I'm gonna say yes, what exactly do I have to expect? Hours of cross-legged floor perching, staring at ceremonial candles?"
"1900 hours in my quarters. Wear comfortable clothing and don't be late."
He had another quip on the tip of his tongue, but he let it go. "1900 hours. Got it."
She didn't expect any more pleasantries. Before he could say anything else, she had turned around and walked away.
Trip stood for a moment, lost in thought, then looked for someone from his engineering staff who might have a few minutes to spare. "O'Neal, take over for me, will you? The ejection valves need calibrating. I want the intermix rate to go up by at least .4 microns."
He walked over to one of the computer station wall panels. When the search screen came up, he typed in Rumarie. The computer displayed what was in the Starfleet database on the Vulcan holiday, and Trip's eyes widened.
==.^.==
Title: The Picard Maneuver
Author: TeeJay
Star Trek Series: The Next Generation
Written for: oparu
Summary: Captain Picard doesn't like the new Starfleet uniforms.
Word Count: 100
Genre: Gen
Characters: Jean-Luc Picard
Rating: PG-13
Warning: One swear word, but it's French.
Disclaimer: Star Trek, its characters and settings belong to Paramount Pictures.
This didn't feel right.
Seated at his ready room desk, Picard slightly tilted his head and pulled at the blue-purple collar beneath the red and black jumpsuit, trying to widen it just a little. Whoever had designed these new garbs that were now enforced on all Starfleet personnel, obviously hadn't tried wearing them for hours on end during active duty.
"Riker here. Captain, can you come to the bridge?"
"On my way."
Picard stood, his hands automatically reaching for the jacket's waistband. He had to swallow down an exclamation of 'merde' when they found nothing to hold and tug at.
==.^.==