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Commander Tucker found himself with a new habit of pacing through the corridors of the Enterprise at nights. He did it almost mindlessly, mapping a familiar ground with his steps, walking up to sudden but never unknown crossroads. He always thought that one’s morals were something like a working engine – you knew from where the power goes and where it is supposed to end up to make things work properly. Turned out he could push the right button in a wrong time and destroy the engine altogether – a difference in the basics of construction in a painfully simple mechanism. It felt like laws of physics suddenly betrayed him. He was careless with his assumptions about another culture and it led to a tragedy. And as he was trying to figure out again and again how things might go differently, he was also careless with his steps.
“I beg your pardon,” the voice came from outside the veil of the half-dream state Trip was travelling in, ripping it apart slower than it should.
Phlox was looking at him with a mix of amusement and indignance – the most particular and ordinary expression for him.
“I am sorry, doc. Must be too deep in my thoughts, didn’t see you coming,” he apologized clumsily.
The doctor wasn’t surprised or even slightly offended. His suspicion was circling in the air, not quite expressed in looks or gestures.
“Well, one must be very deep in his thoughts, at two in the morning, at a random corridor of the ship. That, or one is trying very hard to escape some thoughts,” he noted.
Tucker fought his natural instinct to cover his face and slide down against the wall. These last days he felt the eyes of the whole crew on himself. He was sure that nobody but senior officers knew, maybe even Phlox knew, but the feeling of being judged by all remained. Trip welcomed it with a bitterness of the rightly accused.
He had an inkling that his late-night pacings were not just a seasonal sleep disorder, but he didn’t want a therapy session from anybody, let alone Phlox.
“And why are you here so late, doc? Some wild spore escaped its tiny paradise and needs a rescue?” he deflected.
“You might be surprised, but I have a few other obligations in my life. Matrimonial, for example.”
Trip could have sworn he heard it wrong. Or his brain was malfunctioning in a very curious way. Somehow, he had missed the arrival of the doctor’s spouse, half of his mind being caught up in the engine and half swallowed by guilt. He bet the captain would at least had given him an update. Or did he lose all of the respect and friendship they had between them?
“Or, don’t worry, I just made sure Feezal was settled comfortably. It was an unexpected visit, a transport arrived just thirty minutes ago,” Phlox found necessary to note. He gave Trip a rather disturbing Denobulan smile of his and added, “she asked about you. I assured her you were still aboard the ship and in good health.”
“Oh,” Trip was at a loss for words for a second. The thought that he might have offended her somehow arose and added to the pangs of guilt at the back of his mind. He tried so hard to act according to his morals then, and that’s there it got him.
“So…is she settled comfortably, then?” he asked.
The most ordinary thing to ask, in Tucker’s mind, if you want to be polite and fill a charged silence. Phlox’s even more creepy smile made him rethink yet one more of his cultural assumptions.
“She is wonderful. And it’s sweet of you, commander. Maybe we should have dinner tonight?”
Tucker swallowed his desire to deflect again. A dinner sounded harmless, and he has been feeling unwelcome at captain’s dinners for God knows how long. He surely missed the atmosphere of a friendly chatter and warm tasty food.
“If you can make something not too Denobulan, then sure, why not.”
Phlox seemed to be delighted with this response. Overly delighted, in Trip’s opinion, but he needed a friend right now more than he thought he did. If this friendship came from another species, he had no problem with that, as long as he didn’t end up pregnant.
He thought about some of his previous experiences and shuddered. Phlox’s face in front of him was amiable, - he could hardly be safer anywhere than in his sickbay, it was a fact based on his own observations. Even if doctor decided to hate him for offending his wife, under his scalpel Tucker would feel just as safe as ever.
“It’s settled, then,” Phlox started and hurried down the corridor, leaving Trip with his own spontaneous agreement.
“I should start sleeping nights, or one day I may wake up as one of Phlox’s wives,” Tucker muttered to himself and checked the time. He had three more hours to sleep this strange encounter away.
***
Most of the time Tucker was more than happy to be stuck in engineering. His lucky hours usually started when they met new species, or were trying to help the ones they already establish a contact with. The former was a sore spot for him now, even though he didn’t lose his childish excitement and interest. Since the cogenitor incident he had been questioning himself every time the news about a new inhabited planet came in. He wanted to be sure, wanted his confidence back before he stumbles upon something so universal and yet so alien again.
When he was studying at the university, if some part of the engine made him nervous or unsure his course of action was to learn all he could about it. And then try again and again to make it work. This attitude made him an engineer worth humanity’s first deep space travel.
The Vulcan database became his bedtime read but he was not very successful with it. He complained to T’Pol about the driest language in the whole galaxy, but she only dragged her brow a little bit higher at him.
Last night gave him an idea as well as an opportunity. This dinned at Phlox’s might become his practice ground for minding his own business, and also an educational opportunity.
“Are you busy, commander?” T’Pol emerged from the bottom of the stairs, with her usual look of slight disappointment. It was really hard for Tucker to see through the Vulcan squeamishness of her tightly closed lips at first, but now he saw glimpses of understanding in her eyes, and the burden of foolish mistakes in her stance, not unlike the ones he himself was carrying with him.
Trip thought she would understand, and, maybe she did, but in the character she still chose to act, understanding emotions did not count as anything important.
“Not at the moment,” he said, turning to face her, “what do you have?”
His usual cheerful tone did nothing to ease him into conversation. But with T’Pol it was always like that.
“Some equipment aboard a transport needs to be checked. It’s Denobulan. As I heard you were already aware that one of Phlox’s wives is staying with us for a couple of days. I believe you two met,” she held out a datapad with necessary information. He took it and looked through it quickly. It was mostly scientific equipment, and he should definitely have no problem with that, if Feezal agreed to help him. And the amount of that help depended on how well this evening would go.
“Got it,” he put a tablet on one of the panels, “any news from the front row?”
He tried not to sound strained, but his restlessness gave him out. He secured his hands in a crossfold against his body.
“We are gathering data from the small giant’s plasma bursts. It’s a monotonous but scientifically fruitful process. I’ll let you know if we find something worth mentioning.” T’Pol cut the conversation short. But when she was halfway through the stairs, she turned around.
“And commander,” she waited until he raised his eyes from the controlling panel, “if they serve denobulan “desserts”, better decline.”
Tucker froze for just enough time that T’Pol could escape. His mind was torn between her “helpful” arrogant remark, and the topic on which the remark was made. He was searching for a valid reason to be suspicious, but he found it only natural that Phlox would ask somebody to connect him with a chef. Trip doubted that many Denobulans would correctly anticipate human culinary tastes, even if one of them was a physician.
Overall, he trusted T’Pol judgement, however ridiculous her advice might sound. She didn’t suggest not going, and Vulcans were far more familiar with what such a dinner might entail. He didn’t want to start an interspecies conflict, and he certainly did not want to upset the only doctor on board.
***
The evening came swiftly, as he worked through the day, not thinking much about anything but various parts of the ship and the energy distribution between them. At the end of his shift the thoughts were arising – silly and surprisingly normal, - of what wine should he bring and if Denobulans even drink it. It would be rude to drink it all by himself. He should ask Phlox, he thought, and that gave him a little boost to finish all the slow, last-minute jobs and go to the sickbay.
“Ooh, hello,” Phlox seemed to be in a very cheerful mood, his eyes were glinting as he noticed Trip coming through the door, “ready for our dinner tonight?”
“Eh, er..,” Tucker was unsettled by such enthusiasm, “I wondered, if I should bring some, er, beverage that both our species can drink without throwing up?”
The doctor studied him for a moment, then smiled. Right before he could answer the door opened with a swish. Hoshi walked in, nursing her left wrist.
“You all right?” he asked. His genuine concern seemed to amuse Phlox.
“I’am afraid the ensign is not here about the wine, commander.”
Hoshi looked first at Phlox and then at the chief engineer with a puzzled expression. Tucker knew he owed her an explanation, but before he could speak up, the doctor said:
“The wrist is broken, - an easy fix, but you need not to strain it for a day or two, to prevent any complications,” he turned off the scanner and added, still tending to Hoshi: “red wine is good, and Feezal was dying to try something human.”
He glanced up at Trip and continued with his business, leaving Hoshi as puzzled as his soon-to-be dinner guest.
“I was invited to a dinner,” he finally started to explain, “and as I have next to no idea about Denobulan preferences, I thought I’d ask an expert.”
Phlox looked at him from his research table, and for the moment Tucker could swear his eyes lit up with an elusive interest.
“If you wish, commander, we could discuss some of Denobulan preferences at our dinner tonight,” he held out a round package to Hoshi, who seemed to be more confused than she was before. Whatever she thought she kept to herself, even though Trip would have maybe preferred overwise.
While Phlox was giving her instructions about some slimy gel that would quickly take away the pain and swelling from Hoshi’s broken wrist, Tucker slipped away. He planned on visiting the chef for a bottle of red, and then to head out for dinner. His mood improved since last night, - he had more ease in his body and mind than he had guilt and a dull ache of responsibility. Having visited the kitchen, he stepped into a familiar corridor, with a bottle of wine in his hand and an intention to spend his evening in cheers and good company.
As the door opened, he gave out a sigh.
Feezal was not wearing her working overalls this time: a long red dress was there instead. It wasn’t like a human cocktail dress he first thought of, - it was fine cotton with a shimmering thread in it, - a nice mix between a robe and a knee-long gown.
“Er..hello, Mrs Phlox,” under her gaze for a split second he felt like an alien to himself. He held out the wine to break down this intensity.
“My husband will be here any minute. Come in,” she took the bottle effortlessly, like it weighed no more than a feather. Trip forgot how melodically pleasant her voice was. Their last encounter was tense and full of misunderstandings for his part. He was playing it safe this time, Phlox would be in the same room, so he expected no funny business from Feezal.
They walked inside, into her small quarters, wide enough to accommodate three of them at the table perfectly. When he was agreeing to this dinner, he was half-expecting it to be in Phlox’s room, but then, Feezal’s seemed like a perfectly neutral spot.
“I didn’t expect you to agree to the invitation,” he almost jumped at how quickly she was right in front of him, her hand sliding down his arm in an almost too friendly a manner, “my husband was very skeptical about the whole idea, but we scientists can be skeptical and still proceed to the unknown.”
“I guess the timing helped a bit,” Tucker was contemplating taking a step back, but he wasn’t sure. He was here partly to practice communication with alien species, and to accept anything that he might find unnecessary and, well, alien. To learn to live with the knowledge that his morals are not as universal as he would like to think.
Maybe it’s a Denobulan thing – to flirt with everything that moves. He let himself be tugged towards the door of what happened to be a bedroom.
“How do you like your quarters?” He asked looking at the fresh bedsheets and noticing the dimmed lighting of the room. Feezal’s hands was still on his body, holding him with a steady pressure and probably ambiguous motives.
“It’s very nice, especially now when I can have you as a guest here,” it took Trip longer than usual to understand what she was saying. He started to lean back from her, just in time when Phlox came in with a chef tailing behind him with a serving table.
“Oh, hello, chef,” he used this opportunity to untangle himself from Feezal and make some space to gather his rapidly decreasing wits.
Phlox didn’t seem to notice his agitation, and Feezal didn’t look offended, - she smiled and watched with amusement while the dinner table was being served. There was mostly Denobulan food – slugs and mushrooms of many kinds, - and some other stuff made for him, human, but of similar textures.
“Looks delicious,” Phlox said, finding himself a sit at the table. He glanced at the wine and then at his wife who was positively shining in her red gown.
“Thank you, chef,” Tucker sat next to him, hoping to be across from Feezal, but she situated herself to his left. Like an alien sandwich, he thought, finding himself slightly uncomfortable with this arrangement.
If Trip was completely honest with himself, it was more than slightly. It’s been years since he shared a meal with anyone but a Starfleet officer, - his conversational skills were somewhere between “new species we know nothing about” and “plasma ports need venting again”. Beyond that it was a grey zone that he usually navigated by the general standards of human small-talk.
“So, commander, how was your day?” Phlox’s voice abruptly fished him out from the depths of his head.
Trip relaxed a bit, - his main concern being out of the picture thanks to Phlox’s presence. The question seemed to escape him, and Phlox had to asked it again.
“Blissfully uneventful,” he uttered, a discomfort starting to creeped up him again, “you?”
He looked from Phlox to Feezal, expecting them both to answer. He also made a couple gestures with his fork to make it more obvious.
“I hope for your further assistance, commander,” Feezal started, “as you know I need a bit of help with calibrating some of my equipment.”
Tucker brightened up at the familiar theme. He opened his mouth to ask her to elaborate, to start a discussion he might actually contribute without any disasters occurring. But she stopped him, putting her hand on his.
“I…” Trip seemed to lose all the words. He glanced at Phlox, searching for jealousy, for anger, anything that would justify Tucker’s own surprise.
What he found instead was a calm interest.
“My day wasn’t very exciting too, thankfully,” Phlox’s gaze was concentrated on his guest, who had never felt such intensity of it before, not even when he was being treated.“Couple of headaches, an upset stomach and a mild allergic reaction. And you were there for the ensign’s wrist – hardly anything dangerous.”
For a minute Tucker was not sure what to do, his hand being a semi willing hostage of the Denobulan scientist, her husband paying no attention to his wife’s interests escalating into actions. He said he was training to understand and embrace other cultures, but what he was supposed to feel about it?
“You can relax, commander, I know that humans tend to be exclusive…” Phlox decided to save him from any further misunderstandings.
“Wait!” Trip blurted out, interrupting an unnecessary explanation.
Feezal’s hand stopped, not going further up his shoulder.
“I need wine,” he muttered and stood up to reach the bottle. The taste of the red seemed to be the only real thing at the moment. Still, he didn’t want to give up the evening. Somehow Phlox being here, even approving it all in his odd Denobulan way, made it tolerable and almost natural.
Feezal let him go, showing little interest in alcohol her husband and Trip were consuming.
Phlox watched her hands slowly returning to their comfortable position on commander’s arm, now more gentle than teasing. His gaze was unfocused and his thoughts seemed to be far away, but Tucker was sure he didn’t miss even a tiny movement in these quarters.
Trip emptied his glass of wine and already started to fell a bit of a buzz, that blunted his senses but didn't save him from slow realization of possible outcomes of this evening.
Suddenly Feezal grabbed Tucker’s arm tightly enough to take his full attention.
“May I have you now, commander, I see you’ve finished your eating and drinking,” she purred.er smile was charming and Trip almost lost the meaning of the words.“Don’t worry, commander, Feezal watched some movies from Earth we have in ship’s database…” Phlox’s comment slipped at the back of his mind, the end of the sentence drowned in the increasing heat of his blood.
He wasn’t quite ready when he found the woman sitting in his lap. A very impressive move any transporter could learn, - the last thought before he found Feezal’s lips on his own.
In what felt like a habit already Trip glanced back at Phlox, concerned and amazed at the same time. The doctor seemed almost bored, like he was looking right through them, fully collected as nothing worth his attention was actually happening. It was mesmerizing to watch the man not even slightly disturbed by a sight of his wife straddling another person.
Feezal murmured, noticing Tucker’sslip of attention. Her hands were moving on Trip’s body and that made him gasp in a sudden jolt back to reality. He suddenly found himself not minding it much – being kissed, being watched, and at the same time, in some manner being ignored. Or were it them who were ignoring the third party?
In the heat of the moment he didn’t notice right away that the number of hands on his body slightly increased. If Trip wasn’t drunk before he felt like he was now. It felt unreal and hot, like somebody made plasma run through all the systems of his body. Maybe it was too long since he had something that resembled human sex with anybody, maybe their touch and the absolute unreality of what was happening affected him so much.
Trip’s confusion surfaced on his face when Phlox’s caresses increased in intensity, and he turned to the doctor’s face that happened to be closer than he expected.
“Is something the matter, commander?” Phlox’s sincere concern made Tucker’s stomach swirl. He didn’t even think things with Feezal would ever go that way, and her husband certainly didn’t cross his mind in this context. Trip felt stupid all of a sudden. Stupid and still very much aroused.
“No,” he answered automatically, “I mean, I didn’t expect..ghm..”
“You need to relax, dear,” Feezal interrupted him gently but firmly. She stood up, and Tucker felt an unfortunate lack of pressure from both sides where his two companions were just now. He took her extended hand and she slowly led him to the bed.
Trip glanced at Phlox over his shoulder, out of the habit trying to conjure up words in his head to make situation less awkward, but felt that it wasn’t actually necessary. As soon as his body reached a surface of the bed, he once again was pleasantly surrounded. Feezal was first on top of him, kissing his neck and petting his chest with long slow strokes, progressing closer and closer to removing his clothes altogether. His shirt went first, unbuttoned long before, and the rest was waiting patiently as the woman’s attention shifted down.
Half-naked and very hot and hard he watched Phlox and Feezal kissing each other lightly in a not-very-human way. Tucker had never been into alien sex per se, and Vulcan database didn’t store such content anyway, but the view was spectacular and left him mesmerized.
Phlox noticed his impatience, - an uncontrollable moving of hips Trip didn’t even register, - and he moved closer to commander’s face. Then took his hand and tugged him to sitting position.
The kiss was light, almost undetectable and didn’t satisfy Trip’s hunger. So he answered fiercely, drugging Phlox in a messy open-mouthed kiss, that made his own head spin. He started to remove the clothes that obstructed their further intimacy, but Phlox prevented it by catching both of his hands.
“This is a very delicate fabric, and it would be a shame to ruin it,” he said and moved to deal with it himself.
Tucker and Feezal found each other’s bodies again, as she was kissing her way down towards the fly of his uniform pants.
“These you can’t ruin if you tried to,” he remarked, letting Feezal take care of it. She was surprisingly gentle and not in a rush to finish the unbuttoning. He kicked them off himself as he led her up to a long and deep kiss that for a moment occupied all his mind and senses. Phlox was there in a second, locking his eyes with Tucker’s while licking his wife’s neck along the peculiar vertebrae, which made her give out funny noises in Tucker’s mouth.
They continued like this, with fluctuating intensity, hands and tongues in positions Trip could neither comprehend fully, nor remember later. His mind cleared a bit when he once again became face to face with Phlox’s disheveled complexion – a rare sight, and definitely a very sexy one. He and Feezal, who was now pressed against Tucker’s spine, appeared busy with their kisses. Trip found a moment to catch Phlox’s lips and drew him in the more substantial kiss, as Feezal decided to have a go at his dick. He could feel Phlox smirking, listening to Tucker’s gasps.
“You sound very sweet, commander,” Feezal’s voice caressed his ear, making him shiver. Her hand was moving painfully slow, making him thrust for more friction and moan desperately. Other feelings and thoughts apart from the immense pleasure had ceased to exist in Trip’s mind and body. He was on fire, but not enough to bring him over the edge. He turned fast and clumsily to face Feezal, leaving a path of white stains on the grey bed sheet. She smiled and tugged him into a kiss, letting herself fall on her back.
Tucker found himself in a more vulnerable position than he was before, but he didn’t have time to think. He was not ready for Phlox’s hand on his dick as Feezal circled her arms around his neck, holding him in current position. She let him grasp for air and moan in her lips, as her husband was working to get Trip on edge. He could feel her trembling, pinned by his own body,rubbing againts him, moving uncontrollably to the rhythm Phlox set for him. Sounds seemed to be everywhere, and nowhere at once, - he was deafened by the rush of the blood and his own pleasure.
Feezal was the first to finish, her body hot and still for a second, taking Trip over the edge, Phlox’s fingers sliding off. A thought flashed in his mind of the doctor bottling up a sample just in case, and that made him chuckle. When he turned to check his silly theory, Phlox was busy cleaning himself. He noticed the stare and held out a clean tissue, acting like what just happened was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Feezal gave him a final peck on the lips and slid from the bed gracefully. On her way to the bathroom she picked up her robe and left the men to their primitive cleaning.
Tucker had never been in such a situation before and couldn’t even imagine he ever would, so his usual social skills and optimism, he felt, were set up for a failure. He was buying time by needlessly scraping the bed sheets but the more he waited the more tension appeared in the air between the two of them. Phlox didn’t seem to mind, - he finished his cleaning and stepped away from the bed.
“I better go, doc,” he decided to say, dreading a frank discussion of what has happened t, “say goodbye to Feezal from me, okay?”
He prayed that Phlox wouldn’t find it rude, and that he wouldn’t have to explain himself right off the bat. His self-reflection could wait at least until morning.
“As you wish, commander,” he heard Phlox saying.
Trip was sure he showed a record time for speed dressing, even though he tried very hard not to look like he was running away.
A big part of him wanted to have a conversation, sit down with them, maybe finish that bottle of wine, but it was not enough to override his body’s reflex to flee. He will meet with Feezal tomorrow, to help with her equipment. And Phlox is always there in the sickbay.
“Thanks… for dinner,” Trip said before taking off. Before the door closed he caught Phlox’s glance, but it bore the meaning the engineer could not understand.
“Hope you’ve enjoyed the dessert,” he heard Phlox say as the door closed behind him.
He looked at the clock as he made a turn at the corridor crossroad. What seemed like an hour was actually four, and if he wanted to get some sleep today, he’d better do it now, or never.
***
Tucker woke up to an annoying beeping. The morning started with a headache, and some memories of last night that were threatening to bore holes in his concentration. It wasn’t too bad until he reached engineering and met T’Pol with her usual look that now seemed a lot more condescending.
“I believe last night was very educational,” she said, giving him engine activity logs for the past ten hours. It took him a few seconds longer to take it from her extended hand.
“Is something the matter?” T’Pol asked, moving her eyebrows slightly up. Part of Trip wanted to put her off with an unusual rebuttal. He wondered for a second how would she reacted if he asked her about Denobulan after-sex etiquette, but decided against it.
“Nothin’. Just the usual,” he started to go through the report, comparing the data to the expected engine output.
“Maybe you should ask doctor Phlox to give you something more substantial for your insomnia,” she prompted, “we found some primitive lifeforms on one of the planets in this system. We may need you on our team two days from now.”
“Grand,” he said and glanced at her marching proudly out of the engineering.
At the middle of the day his headache became unbearable, and he could hardly concentrate on the tasks Feezal was shoving at him. Her soft touches and caresses of his arm as he was trying to scrape his wits together was giving him a nice distraction, but not nice enough to tame the pain. She noticed and asked him if he would like to take a break on one of the empty cargo containers, but he refused. Then she mentioned that he could actually go and see the doctor.
Considering the risks of all his neurons slowly dying in agony, he found himself at the doors of ship’s sickbay. The doors opened with a whoosh, revealing Phlox and a couple of crewmen he saw in cafeteria once or twice. He believed one of them was called Joseph.
“Hi, doc,” he announced his presence, wincing in pain, but trying to remain casual, “how’s it going?”
Phlox nodded off the woman he was treating and turned around. He seemed his usual self with a bit of weariness he sometimes showed after a particularly difficult case.
“Oh, hello, commander,” he held his familiar cheery tone well, “these unfortunate souls opened a cargo container that apparently contained an airborne chemical that did a number on their lungs. But you are not here to actually hear the details about my day. How can I help?”
Trip was startled by the fact that he actually wanted to chat, just not when his head was trying to kill him.
“Headache, started in the morning and by now I want my head removed to prevent further damage,” he sat on the end of the nearest bed, tricorder facing at him, but not Phlox.
“Let’s see. Hm. Here, I can give you this,” in a moment a syringecold on Trip’s neck, “nothing serious, just a lot of tension in the nearby muscles, plus irregular sleep hours.”
“Eh, okay, doc,” he watched Phlox just went to his station, not knowing if the annoyance that was growing instead of the decreasing pain in his head was justified.
“You can go, the medication must be already working,” with these words Phlox retreated behind the curtains, where most of his various pet lifeforms resided.
Trip knew that there were two ways to handle this he either drops the matter altogether, or he confronts it now. He hopped on his feet and stormed into the area of private extraterrestrial life.
“I think we need to talk, doc,” he said, startling a couple of animals that began to click and make other indescribable noises. Phlox turned around and looked straight at him.
“If you insist,” he positioned himself at the table, almost leaning on it’s surface, “I assumed that the matter was sensitive…for both of us.”
Tucker decided to take a pause, while realizing he might overstepped some boundaries here.
“I didn’t mean..” he was trying to find the words, so that his lesson of communicating with other species didn’t end up like the thing that led to it in a first place, “I can drop it, it’s just..”
He buried his face in his hands, accepting the fact that he didn’t want to drop it, more than that, he wanted to know if he could pick it up again. Now when the headache that clouded his mind was lifting, and he could see Phlox clearly in front of him, desire moved sleepily in his stomach, and along with it some kind of friendly affection he never felt towards the doctor stirred at the back of his mind.
“I just wanted to say that it was nice, last night,” Trip cleared his throat, “I know your wife is leaving today, but you are staying, so..”
He was really glad he could not hear or see himself from outside. Phlox looked at him hard, lost somewhere between their conversation and the insides of his own head.
“We can make arrangements,” he finally said, “if that is suitable for you?”
Trip didn’t think he understood, and he certainly wasn’t ready for any practical suggestions.
“What kind of arrangement?” better be safe than sorry, he decided. Whatever was coming his way right now didn’t seem like a result of a terrible negligence and disrespect of other species’ customs.
“The one, my dear commander, where you and me are having occasional dinners, according to that newfound liking of yours,” Phlox didn’t stumble but it felt like he did, - he didn’t look terribly sure of what he himself was proposing.
“And you are okay with this?” Trip couldn’t help but asking.
“I am the one offering it,” he said like it was obvious, but commander still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he wasn’t sent to the open space through the nearest airlock for the very suggestion.
“So?” Phlox left his place at the table and started to check on his animals again. He seemed really busy and impatient with him now.
Tucker considered his position for the moment, cons and pros of that, and found the obvious answer quicker than he thought.
“Agreed,” he said, “but I need more details on the matter.”
Phlox glanced at him for a second, burring the question and a smile.
“I believe you have all the pertinent details, commander,” he finally said, “but I think we can found some more in the future.”
If Tucker was a specialist of denobulan emotions, he probably could have told if Phlox was pleased or being extra polite. Both would indicate good spirits and friendliness between them, thought. For now it was more than enough for Trip.
“Well,” he started, “I better get back to Mrs Phlox and her equipment.” It felt strange, like a nice little secret between the three of them, and unexpected alliance, and now this new arrangement between him and Phlox, - a secret he had yet to enjoy.
“Tell her I said hello,” Phlox smiled at one of his subjects and lowered a piece of something green into the cage.
“See you, doc,” Trip turned around and left, with a light heart and what seemed to be a promise of many a pleasant evening.