BEST ENT STORY (3-way tie)
Title: Vulcan Girl
Author: longbeachtrekstar ( longbeachtrekstar@yahoo.com )
Series: ENT
Code: T'Pol
Rating: PG-13
Summary: T'Pol has just gotten over her virus-induced Pon-Farr and is her normal, logical self once again -- almost.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. "Electric Avenue" by Eddy Grant. "Barbie Girl" by Aqua. This is not for profit, just for fun.
Archiving: FFF, ASCEM, others please ask.
Feedback: Yes please, here or by email.
Notes:
This takes place just after the ENT episode "Bounty."
Inspired by news about T'Pol's makeover for Season 3.
This story has been re-edited into a 1000-word so-called "kilofic."
Written for Round XII of the Femme Fuh-q Fest -- http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/
by longbeachtrekstar, October 2003
T'Pol stepped back into her quarters, her brain trying desperately to come to grips with her appalling behavior over the past few hours. How could she ever face her crewmates again? She'd acted abhorrently, had even endangered the ship, because she couldn't control her body -- her emotions. Virus or not, she could not forgive herself. She sat down as she felt an unpleasant sensation welling up inside her. Her muscles convulsed, almost as if she were about to vomit, but as she bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut, she realized it was tears that she was holding back. Her mouth opened and closed once spasmodically, and a single sob escaped before she buried the feelings once again.
She stripped off her Vulcan High Command uniform and stood before the bathroom mirror in her light-blue Starfleet skivvies. She was preparing for a much-needed shower, but first she considered her form in the glass before her. She often reviewed her appearance -- in terms of health, in terms of military bearing -- but now she was struck by her agreeable feminine presence. This awareness, she was sure, was just a remnant of her recent psychological state.
She pulled her short undershirt down snugly and observed her nipples poking through the thin material. The more she observed them -- the more she was aware of them -- the more they protruded. She arched her back and studied the fullness of her entire bosom. She raised her shirt and tapped her taught abdomen. If pride wasn't just a human failing, she could almost be proud of her physical condition. She even twisted before the glass and observed her buttocks. Again she tapped her firm flesh as she inspected them with satisfaction.
She next appraised her hair in the mirror. Human Starfleet women usually wore their hair up while in uniform, but they seemed to enjoy letting it down when off duty -- so much so that the very phrase "letting your hair down" implied carefree abandon. Again, were she not always in control of her emotions, she might be a little bit -- just a very little bit -- jealous. She turned her head quickly left and right and noted her hair's distinct lack of sway. This was mostly due to a layer of sweat and grime that was yet to be washed off, but also because it was cut quite short and unstylish. Style had never been a consideration for her before. Not that Vulcans didn't *have* style. Many Vulcan consorts had long, beautiful hair and elegant clothes. It had just never been a priority for *her*. Perhaps that should change. Maybe some more-colorful clothing. She swished her hair again. Maybe a hairstyle just a bit longer and lighter.
Maybe she should stop thinking so illogically.
She stepped back into the bedroom and turned to her computer terminal -- maybe some music would help her unwind. What was she "in the mood for," she wondered. She scanned past the Vulcan opera section and selected a Vulcan instrumental piece, but after about thirty seconds she switched it off. She wanted something more "light-hearted," if she understood the term correctly. Earth music was good for that. While much of their early work was quite respectable, just about everything from their twentieth century, on, was superfluous and of no intrinsic value -- except occasionally as a mood-enhancer. She selected "Earth," "Late Twentieth Century," and a category called "Pop," short for "Popular," she noted. Finally, she selected "Random" and sat back to see what the database offered.
About twenty minutes later, she'd listened to half a dozen songs and was actually feeling much better. She even had the energy to get up and take that much-needed shower. She twisted and stretched away a few muscle kinks and was heading toward the bathroom when a new selection began playing. It immediately caught her attention when it began with the lead singer shouting out an emphatic "Boy!" backed up by an infectious synthesizer riff which actually seemed to take control of her muscles. The singer was going on about some kind of "Electric Avenue" as the music itself sank its claws deep into her and propelled her around the small room in a semi-robotic fashion. "Out in the street!" he shouted. "Out in the playground!" T'Pol strutted and twirled about her quarters. It was when she suddenly clapped her hands together and shouted "Woo!" that she broke her own hypnotic state. She quickly looked around to assure herself that she was indeed alone, then set off for the shower with a self-conscious smile on her face.
Not much later, she emerged from the bathroom squeaky-clean and feeling refreshed. As she wrapped a fluffy towel around herself, she realized the computer was still playing its randomly selected music. She was about to switch it off when another selection began which piqued her curiosity. She looked at the computer screen. "Selection: Barbie Girl. Artist: Aqua." Under "Notes" it had the curious statement "One-hit-wonder." The lyrics seemed to be a collection of non-sequiturs, but the beat, once again, had a curiously controlling effect on her:
"I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
I'm a blond bimbo girl, in a fantasy world
Come on Barbie, let's go party!"
T'Pol started bouncing around her quarters again, with even more abandon than before. She even sang:
"I'm a Vulcan girl!
In a Starfleet wor-ir-irld!
Your can brush my hair!
Undress me everywhere-eh-ere!"
With that, she whipped off the towel and bounced around naked for a few more moments before collapsing on her bed in a fit of giggles. Her chest heaved from exertion and her body tingled. Perhaps the Pon-Farr wasn't a completely negative experience. Releasing these emotions was like lifting a tremendous weight off her chest. These humans took the whole emotions thing entirely too far. But once in a while, perhaps, it was a good thing.
A good night's sleep, and maybe she could face her friends again after all.
(End)