Full notes and disclaimer in Chapter One.

Warning - this chapter contains brief and non-sexual nudity. Just thought you should know.

Remember how I said I had more prompt words than I could use this month?

Well...turns out I can use a lot more than I thought I could! So, those of you who seem to have the words at your fingertips (Bexin? Hello?)...bring 'em on! As always, bonus points if they seem offbeat for a Trek fanfic! If I don't use them this month, I do have other fanfic projects in the works, and I'll be writing another series of drabbles in May.

I'm settling into my post-novel-drafting rhythm. I'm answering comments and reviews, and hope to be caught up with everyone by the end of the weekend.

This drabble happens a few days after my previous Trip story, "Taboo Subject." Trip's getting past the rough patch he was in.

My thanks to today's contributors:

Anonymous Donor:

boardshorts

Stakeout

Perfectionism

Volleyball

Bandsaw

Couch jumping

Aluminium

6ft of garden hose

Viking

Rampart

Spaceboot

Chara 47:

staple gun

coach

flower

general

old


Trip stripped off his sandy boardshorts at the shower he'd rigged from 6 ft. of garden hose.

Someone whistled.

"Is this astakeout?"

"Got your aluminum shield. Here, storm the ramparts, you bloody Viking." Malcolm offered him a staple gun.

"I was the volleyball coach." Dad's old bandsaw allowed a strategic screen while Trip tugged the shorts back on. "Now where'd I put the flower seeds?"

"You've planted, coached, and fixed with general perfectionism. But I've got news that might have you singing and couch jumping instead. T'Pol's joining Starfleet."

"Really?"

"Time to put your spaceboots on, Chief Engineer Tucker."