Before Days {Star Trek Enterprise Prime/Mirror Universe fan fiction}

More, More, More!

It all began with a bad meatball.

Jonathan just had to laugh about that, every time he thought about it, after he’d gotten better and the incident had become a memory. But it was true, it really had started with a bad meatball and, if Porthos had gotten his way and had half of it, things would have turned out quite differently.

He had been eating his lunch, maybe an hour after telling Hoshi that yes, it would be all right to go ahead and program the replicators for something special –and alcoholic – for the upcoming party, when he ate the actual meatball. It was good, Chef was always, it seemed, at the top of his game, and the meatball had just the right amount of basil with only a hint of oregano. Oh, yeah. It was good. And little bits of pleasure were – still were – a good thing. After all, it had been so long, so very, very long, since he’d had more than perfunctory contact with a woman of any species. Food didn’t take the place of sex, of course, but hey, it couldn’t hurt.

He stood up after eating, after an eager young crewman had cleared his plate and Porthos had scampered away in search of leftovers, and he suddenly felt light-headed. Then everything went a tiny bit grey, then black, and the next thing he was aware of was the eager young crewman shaking him and they were for some reason on the floor, “Wha?” was all that Jonathan could muster.

“Sir, I think you collapsed. Er, fainted. Er, collapsed,” blustered the crewman. Jonathan received the distinct impression that the crewman was changing verbs in the hopes that one or the other would be better for his career.

“Yes, yes, I guess I did. I’m all right now, thank you. Uh, Jennings, is it?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I accompany you to Sick Bay?”

“No, uh, that’s all right. I’ll go later,” Jonathan lied. Like any other captain, on any ship, any date and any time, the last thing he wanted to do was go through a battery of somewhat useless tests because of some tiny physical malfunction. It was overkill, that was all, a sop to everyone afraid of their own shadow. He had fainted. Big honkin’ deal. He felt fine. There was no need to make a big production out of it.

He left Jennings behind and walked down the corridor. A little music was playing, some sort of test before the upcoming party.

Me and you and a dog named Boo

travelin’ and uh-livin’ off the land

More eager young crewmen – and crewwomen, hey there, what’s your name? – greeted him briefly, smiling and calling him sir or by name or by title and it was all very gratifying to the ole ego. He stopped in front of Crewman Ayers’s quarters. He pressed a button. “Just a second!” came a female voice inside. The door opened.

“Oh, sorry, I was looking for something else,” said Jonathan. This wasn’t the mess hall. Or Sick Bay. Or the Bridge. Or Engineering. Or wherever the heck it was he was supposed to be.

“That’s all right, sir,” said Crewman Ayers, who was standing in uniform, holding a hair brush, “And I won’t be late today, I promise!”

“Oh, that’s all right, Miss, uh, Crewman,” Jonathan stammered. He turned away, ignoring her calling after him.

The floor suddenly got very near again and the next thing that happened was a lovely female voice was saying something loud and urgent into a nearby intercom. There was a large object on the floor nearby, with spikes. What a strange thing, thought Jonathan, and then he noticed a few stray strands of strawberry blonde hair in the spikes. Hair brush. Yes, one of those, uh, things.

Moments later, help arrived, and Jonathan was half-walked, half-carried to Sick Bay. Phlox looked concerned, “And you say the captain appeared disoriented?” he said. Eager young Jennings and hair brush-clutching Ayers nodded. They also looked rather concerned, “Very well,” The crewmen left. Phlox called on an intercom, “T’Pol, you’d best come down here. And bring Ensign Sato with you.”