Hey, Miss J!

So… I now have a second roster book.

I’m sorry.

I could have sworn that I intentionally decided to not have multiple projects going. Now I have seven fanfictions I’m working on… that are now being set in rotation.

Each Thursday, I start penning down a chapter of… something. Only chapter I’m worried about is NtC, because those average 10K words each.

Without further ado, this is Chapter 1 of “Not For Us,” A ST: ENT fanfic.

—

Disclaimer: I do not personally know nor have I ever worked with Rick Berman or Brannon Braga. I’m just occupying a smidgeon of space they’re in.

Trigger: None

Warnings: What’re those?

Preface: “I am more than what you see me to be and give more than what you deserve of me.”

Not For Us

By Juliette Lyst

Goh Wuh Ahm

“Personal Log. December 7, 2153. I am… Have… Have been experiencing unusual changes to my bod—It… My… Computer, pause log.” A faint series of beeps indicated the computer’s obedience. Blinking wearily, T’Pol began to pace in her quarters. Her forehead was covered with sweat, and as she used the back of her hand to wipe it away, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. Her physiology had held up so far—so she didn’t display the same signs of extreme fatigue.

But…

“Computer, delete log,” she husked, shoulders sagging.

She could feel the exhausting weight of even moving at this point. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned, going into her closet and retrieving her uniform. Staring at the material, she tossed it on her bed and stalked into her personal bathroom. Stripping, she stepped under the spray for a quick shower. Even the act, while cleansing, did nothing for the general sense of unease that was sinking in. Sliding her fingers down the front of her uniform to remove any wrinkles, she then clasped her hands behind her back and left her quarters.

Other crewmembers nodded politely as she passed them. She returned the gesture, maintaining her calm, cool exterior while she walked through the corridors. After entering the turbolift, she lowered her head, breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking as they reached out to the walls to stabilize herself. It was becoming hard.

So very difficult.

To appear fine. To seem normal.

When the turbolift came to a stop, she pushed herself away from the wall, her delicate features contorting in discomfort. Straightening her shoulders, she adopted a placid expression, clasped her hands and stepped back onto the deck plating.

She hastened her steps, jaw tensing as she neared her target.

Upon reaching Cargo Bay 1, she looked left, then right.

Lips pressed into a thin line, she stepped through the doors.

Absolute silence greeted her.

Nothing else.

Just cool, filtered air.

And the privacy she desired.

Twenty minutes later, she activated a scanner, ensuring no one saw when she quietly exited the Cargo Bay.  

Faintly sighing, she returned to her quarters, nodding to a crewman who stepped off the turbolift.

After entering her quarters, she gave a swift glance to the clock.

02:03 – T’Pol’s Quarters

Letting out an exasperated breath, she pulled off her uniform, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. T’Pol then stripped completely bare and threw herself down onto the bed. Her expression was still pained. “Hot…” she whispered, hoping for darkness. She shuddered. “So… hot…” Sweat beaded up on her brow before everything grew dark for her.

06:49

Muscles quivering, she struggled to drag herself out of bed. Slowly, she trudged into the shower. Planting her hands on the wall, she leaned forwards—letting the hot water beat down on her back. Then, she reached for the soap. Quickly, she lathered her face and hair, scrubbing away sticky sweat.

“I need to speak with Phlox,” she murmured, after stepping out of the shower and thoroughly drying her hair. She dressed quickly, then left her quarters.

Walking to the sickbay was more stressful than her earlier ‘stroll,’ and she hesitated near the doorway. Direct communication with their physician was the last thing she wanted but she was miserable.

Sweating was so disgusting… and undignified.

“Phlox,” she raised her voice, addressing the Denobulan. Hearing how strained her voice sounded made her twitch.

He turned to her. “T’Pol! To what may I owe this… Ah…” Both brows rose as one.

T’Pol inhaled deeply, straightening her posture.

Moving from the counter, he approached the Vulcan. “Is there a reason you came here?”

T’Pol swallowed hard. “I’m… I’m hot.”

“Hot?” he asked. Stepping over to a different counter, he picked up a medical scanner, approaching her. Tapping a few commands into the device, a frown began to mar his features as he read the information crossing the small screen.

“What do you see?” she asked, squeezing her eyes shut.

“The last time I read these hormone levels…” he began.

Eyes snapping open, T’Pol moved closer to Phlox. “… What?”

Concerned blue eyes glanced up. “When you were infected with that microbe,” he continued. “I had a treatment for you… but my scans don’t detect that microbe aga—”

“Doctor, are you informing me that I am…” Her voice trailed off, a green flush rising to her cheeks. She would not bring herself to say those words.

“I take it this is not the correct time for you either?” the physician asked.

T’Pol averted her gaze. “No. Not for a few more years.”

Phlox redirected his attention to the scanner again, turning a small dial to recalibrate it. “I see…” he responded.

Shock spread on her face, and T’Pol clapped her left hand to her right side. She let out a tremulous breath, heart pounding.

There was no microbe.

Only hormonal fluctuations.

T’Pol knew exactly what his words meant. She was undergoing Pon Farr… all over again. And this time… she suspected a cause. And she couldn’t tell Phlox what was happening.

“Your pulse is racing,” the physician noted, spotting the new read from the scanner. “T’Pol, do you need to lay down?”

Panic-stricken eyes with blown pupils were locked on his face.

Holding the scanner in one hand, Phlox held both hands out. “You need to climb up on the table—so I can do a full body scan.”

“No,” she sputtered, immediately refusing. “I just need medication—and to meditate.” She backed away.

Phlox addressed her. “T’Pol, your condition can’t easily be handled with only medication and meditation. You’re sick… You need to allow me to examine you—to find out what caused this.”

“Synthesize the medication,” she snapped, her eyes beginning to narrow.

Keeping his gaze on her, the Denobulan moved over to the wall panel, activating it. “Phlox to the Bridge,”

T’Pol tensed.

“Go ahead, Phlox!” a deep voice came through the speaker.

“Captain…” the physician began. “Commander T’Pol will be off duty, effective now.”

T’Pol’s upper lip peeled back from her teeth, and she let out a low-pitched growl, which alarmed Phlox. She hadn’t been like this before.  

“Doctor, is there a problem?” Jonathan asked.

“There is not!” T’Pol retorted, advancing towards Phlox.

The Denobulan recoiled at her approach, watching as she closed the connection.

A muscle ticked in her jaw. “Doctor,” T’Pol spoke in a deceptively calm voice, straightening up and clasping her hands behind her back. “Synthesize the medication.” Her features tightened. “No one should know of this.” That said, she turned on her heel and approached the doors.

Phlox’s brows furrowed. “You’re still effectively off duty,” he reminded her, watching her visibly stiffen.

T’Pol did not turn back around.

“Until I clear you,” he added, folding his arms.

She glanced at the floor briefly. “Synthesize the medication,” she repeated. “And I… will be in my quarters.” T’Pol left, returning to her room.

07:25 – T’Pol’s Quarters

“I can’t believe this…” she husked. Bare as the day she was born, T’Pol was kneeling on the floor, but sitting back on her heels. She’d plugged in an adjustment to the environmental controls—cool air blowing through the vents in the room. Meditation was out of her reach, no matter how hard she tried.

07:26 – Sickbay

“Phlox,” Jonathan addressed the physician, stepping through the entrance.

“Captain.” The Denobulan greeted him.

“Tell me, what is the reason that my second is unable to report for duty.” Jonathan asked.

“She needs to submit to a full body scan,” Phlox explained. “She… didn’t take the news very well.”

The captain’s eyes became unfocused. “How badly does she need this scan, Doctor?”

“It is… severe.” Phlox replied. “She has a chemical imbalance that needs to be treated. I tried to explain that medication and meditation are no way to handle it.” The Denobulan’s expression was pained. “But she didn’t want to listen.”

“Is it dangerous?” Jonathan pressed. “The imbalance?”

Phlox hesitated, then nodded slowly. “It can be life-threatening.”

Jonathan’s jaw tightened. “How bad was her refusal?”

Phlox lightly tilted his head. “Captain, if you’re planning on confronting her—you’re going to need backup.”

Crossing to the wall panel, Jonathan made two calls—one to Malcolm for a security assist… and one to Trip, because he had become one of T’Pol’s close friends. Maybe she would listen to him.

“I’m coming as well, Captain,” Phlox stated, moving to prepare a hypospray. “I’ll need to sedate her to find out what’s truly going on…” his voice softened. “I really do not want to force this on her.”

“Were I to guess from what you just told me, she’s behaving irrationally,” Jonathan replied. “It’s not like her to make such an… illogical decision.”

The doctor cleared his throat, placing the hypo in a carrying case. He hadn’t revealed the full extent—the sheer animalistic reaction she had to his words. Petrified one moment, then utterly enraged the next.

07:41 – T’Pol’s Quarters

T’Pol’s heavy breathing was the only sound in her quarters. She’d completely abandoned meditation, and was sprawled out on the floor. She heard the chime for her door, but couldn’t bring herself to bother getting up. Her eyes were drifting shut when she heard Jonathan’s voice coming through the communicator on the wall.

“T’Pol, this is Archer. Open the door.”

“No…” she rasped. Her features were twisted in misery.

Jonathan began to pace outside the closed door.  

“She locked the room with an additional security code,” Malcolm informed Jonathan and Phlox. He began inputting commands, using his own authorization codes to override hers.

Trip approached. “If you can’t get in,” he stated, “I can sever the power supply to the locks.”

“T’Pol, this is your first and last warning. Open the door before we open it for you.” Jonathan spoke, his voice dropping into a ‘command’ register.

T’Pol was nearly unconscious, and she barely reacted to the sound of the door opening.

“Oh T’Pol…” Trip whispered, hurrying to her side. His jaw dropped open wide a split second later.

“Trip…” she murmured, dilated pupils focused on him. “You are here.” She exhaled heavily, moving her head.

“Where’s your clothes?!” he asked, his Southern accent thickening so much it could be cut with a knife.  

Swallowing hard, Jonathan rushed to her bed, pulling off the top sheet and bringing it over to cover her. “We’re here to get you help,” he gently informed her.

T’Pol remained solely focused on Trip.

Phlox got closer. “And so am I.” Kneeling, he began to unlatch the medical kit.

“You brought him to me?” she breathed, nostrils flaring.

Brows furrowed, Phlox leaned in. “I beg your pardon?”

“Trip…” she choked out. “… He can fix me.”

The engineer frowned. “Fix you?” He glanced to Phlox. “What is she saying?”

The physician frowned, the hypo in his hand. “It’s… a possibility.” He hedged. He turned his attention to Jonathan and Malcolm. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind. Trip, T’Pol and I have something to discuss.”

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the captain nodded. He looked at Malcolm, making eye contact—and both men quietly left the room.

Once they were gone, Phlox placed the hypo back in its case. “Are you sure about this?” He gestured to Trip. “He’ll have to know if that’s the case.”

“Know ‘bout what?” the engineer questioned.

Shoulders sagging, Phlox looked to T’Pol and asked. “May I inform him?”

The Vulcan swallowed hard, briefly dipping her head.

09:04 – Mess Hall

After gathering his lunch, Phlox hurried back to sickbay. He knew it was only a matter of time before the captain sought him out.

After he left T’Pol’s quarters—alone—Jonathan and Malcolm had been understandably concerned. Both asked Phlox where Trip was… only for the Denobulan to plainly state that Trip was helping T’Pol manage her symptoms.

His mention of needing to fill Trip’s abandoned post had both men scrambling in different directions before they could voice more questions. Now… with him able to relax a bit, the doctor glanced at the clock. He’d explicitly told Trip to bring T’Pol to the sickbay as soon as possible.

“I hope they don’t make me regret this.” He muttered, biting into his sandwich.

09:16 – T’Pol’s Quarters

“… shouldn’t change things,” T’Pol murmured. She was sitting on the side of her bed, donning the top half of her uniform.

While zipping up his jumpsuit, one of Trip’s brows arched in response to her words, and he spoke.  “No chance of that, darlin.”

She stared up at him. “This is something private—and it doesn’t need to change our regular dynamic.”

“This isn’t the same as getting a bandage on your knee when you fall and skin it,” he replied. “Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but there are several steps that we just skipped over.”

A wrinkle formed between her brows. “Such as?”

Instead of saying more, Trip examined his appearance in the mirror. “C’mon,” he said, turning towards the door, “Phlox needs us to check in with him.”

She voiced her displeasure. “I do not wish to visit him.”

Trip snorted. “You might not want to, but if you wanna be able to sit at your console again, you’ll get in gear and move.”  That said, he stepped out of the room.

Acknowledging his obvious logic, T’Pol stood and followed him, hands clasped behind her back and the cool façade back in place.

The two officers proceeded through corridors, looking none the worse for wear.

But…

They held an intensely intimate secret between themselves and Phlox.

T’Pol’s thoughts drifted. She’d picked Trip in the midst of one of the most difficult—and humiliating events in her life. While he’d voluntarily stepped in and saved her life, she had to admit that something between them had shifted. As she politely acknowledged a member of the scientist division and two NCOs, she tried to get her mind to focus on what she planned to do after Phlox allowed her to return to active duty.

To Be Continued…

Author’s Note: I’m back from what now feels like a self-imposed exile. It was a rest in some respects—yet not when considering the connotations. This particular gem came to mind while watching episodes of ST:Enterprise. And since, I wanna challenge something, this story will be updated—intermittently.

I’m still stuck on “O,” as in “Open Arms,” in my rotating roster. I’m three pages into chapter 2.

Currently, I have:

• A Good Day
• Before the Bend
• Catch & Release (Which needs part 3 penned, then will be complete unless I want to go further.)
• Emerald & Crimson
• Navigating the Curve
• Open Arms

Now, I’ll probably have NFU (Not For Us) slip in between them. Which… is gonna be interesting. It’ll also need its own folder and notebook.

… Which means I need to dig through my supply boxes again.

Ugh.

Didn’t I say something about sticking to just ONE project? As it is, I’ll need to build a brand-new roster book for the additional stories.

Oh well!

XXO

~J. Lyst

Additional: And yes, researching for ST:ENT is definitely an experience.

Additional Note: Chapter One of “Not For Us” took two days to write and was completed on June 19, 2026. I immediately began editing line-by-line (by hand). It’s now 4:41AM on June 22^nd, and I’m 103 labeled paragraphs in… After the red inked edits, I put the corrections into a duplicate word document—with red font.

Then, I print a copy of that and review it quickly. After doing what I can, I put everything in black and get it ready for upload.

Which is why I might end up with 3-4 documents for 1 chapter in my folder.

Each chapter takes me hours to write and even more time to edit.

Yes, I have worked on two different stories at one time in two different document windows.

Additional to the Additional: It’s now 9:27PM. Still June 22, 2026. All 118 paragraphs are done.