Trip Tucker is the worst bloody gossip in Starfleet.

I know this, because as soon as Travis comes onto the Bridge next morning he gawks at me like he's never seen a Tactical Officer before. If we weren't on duty I suspect he'd give me a great big grin and a thumbs-up, but in the circumstances he restrains himself to a flash of an admiring smile and a waggle of the eyebrows, and I can hardly put him on report for smiling at me.

That said, even the manifestation of several more muscles I never knew I possessed has not succeeded in damping down my happiness. Putting ensigns on report for being cheerfully envious would be a little harsh. So I let it pass, along with the reproachful look I presently receive from the direction of the Comms Station. I mean, I'd have invited her along too, if I thought she was interested in literature.

Fortunately for me, Commandah Tuckah clearly has not seen fit to update T'Pol's concept of my literary activities. She settles herself at the Science Station with her usual calm and comments that the captain is pleased that I was able to be of so much assistance the previous evening.

"I'm always glad to be of service, Sub-Commander," I reply, hoping she will think Travis has hiccups.

"Yes, you sure made a hit there, Malcolm!" The captain in question strides onto the Bridge and beams at me.

I could say 'Considerably more than one, sir', but I'd better not.

Travis's hiccups are getting worse. If he doesn't stop I'm going to send him to get a drink of water and his resignation letter from Starfleet.

"It's a pleasure to encounter people who are interested in studying the classics, sir," I respond, giving him my most limpidly innocent look. "I was introduced to several of Oreymakfa's fellow students, and they were kind enough to take an interest as well."

"You never did say, what book they were interested in?"

Fortunately, I'm ready for this. "Oh, there was a variety, sir. We went through all sorts. They were extremely fast learners."

"You don't say. Well, I guess we can say this was definitely one of our better First Contacts. I'll put in a word about you in my report to Admiral Forrest." And with another genial smile, he retires to his Ready Room and the safety of his gentle delusions.

Travis retires to get a drink of water. It's not safe to have the ship piloted by a helmsman who can't stop giggling.

Hoshi puts her earphone in, switches on the translator matrix and declines to remember I exist.

T'Pol becomes absorbed in the latest scientific reports from the planet's surface.

Presumably Commander Tucker is sulking in his domain and trying to convince himself that I didn't really.

And I sit back, cross my arms, smirk at the world in general and think that for once – just for once – my reckless foray into optimism actually paid off.

Still.

Just don't think I'm going to make a habit of it.

The End.