"Five Weddings (and a Funeral for My Sanity)" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't make money off 'em. Notes: Phlox tries to mend the rift between himself and his son, while Trip Tucker advises Bernhard on a personal problem. (And where has Trip been for the past four chapters? You’ll find out...he hadn’t locked himself in Engineering.) And who was the one who put Malcolm’s initials on that biobed? It wasn’t Trip. Six Phlox sighed and ran his hand through his youngest son’s short hair. It was strange to look at Mettus; the boy looked exactly like him, minus thirty years of life, give or take. There were bags under Mettus’s eyes, and his mouth twitched. The emotional outburst had drained him into unconsciousness. Azkiel lay on the next bunk, her face turned towards the wall of Phlox’s quarters. Why did he do what he did? Phlox wondered about Mettus’s motivation. Odd that he chose to break the jar in Sickbay, of all places. Phlox made sure the Matriarch’s ashes were purged from Enterprise’s air system; he understood Lieutenant Commander Reed’s and Captain Archer’s unease about Shastia’s physical presence on the ship. There was no precedent for what had happened during the Matriarch’s funeral ceremony. After Mettus’s actions, both Yutis and Opur had been abandoned by their fiancés. Neither girl seemed overly angry or upset by the turn of events. That was enough to make Phlox wonder just what had transpired behind his back. “Mettus?” Phlox whispered. “Mettus? That’s a good boy. Open your eyes.” Mettus’s eyes flickered open, but they gazed at the ceiling. “Matriarch?” he whispered faintly. “She is here and everywhere, Mettus,” Phlox answered softly. His heart broke at the utter desolation in his son’s voice. “You have set her free. She is with the Ancestors now, my son.” He didn’t seem to register his father’s voice. Instead, he whispered again, “Please forgive me for my ignorance and my blind faith. I tried to match the old scripts with the events in my life, but they did not agree. I had a crisis, Matriarch. I did not know where to turn. They all turned their back on me, became impatient. I pushed them all away.” Phlox said nothing as Mettus made his confession of the soul. Every time he’d received word of the family on Denobula, it had been “Mettus is so stubborn...Mettus is so hard-headed, Mettus is so anti-social...” The only positive news he’d ever heard was from Azkiel: “Your son memorized all ninety-three verses of the Denobulan Analects and won the Golden Hawk Scholarship. I think he could be a Judiciary or a Monk Supreme, if he only applied himself. That gave Phlox an idea. He reached over and stroked Mettus’s cranial ridge. “My son, what do you want now? If you had the choice, what do you see yourself doing?” “I want to touch the Ancestors,” Mettus said, his eyes wide and his voice hushed with reverence. “I want to surround myself with their words and their thoughts. There is so much change, so much change, and I am afraid...” “You have nothing to fear, my son,” Phlox told him. “All change from the familiar elicits fear and uncertainty. Nothing remains static in the Universe.” “The Antarans have hurt us; who’s to say that others will not?” Mettus turned his head away as a single tear streaked down his cheek and was lost in his hair. “The Matriarch told of the horror stories about the war, about what they did to the Denobulan people. She told me about the bravery of those who went before us. She wanted me to hold to their example. I tried, but I was not good enough. She told me I would never be good enough and everyone told me I would never be good enough—“ Phlox swallowed a sob. He had to wait until his voice was calm and even again. “You needn’t drown yourself in self-pity, Mettus. You are responsible for your actions and the consequences of those actions. Don’t bother with others’s standards, my son...what do you hold yourself to? I don’t want to hear any more excuses. It stops now.” “I have nothing. I am afraid.” “Don’t believe that.” Even Phlox was beginning to lose his legendary patience, but he forced himself to keep his serene tone. “You still have the ancient words of our people and the talent to forge new words for those who come after us. Will you do that?” Mettus turned his head to look back at his father. “Yes,” he said in a soft voice. Then again, stronger, “Yes, I can do that. I will do that.” Phlox stroked his son’s forehead. “Are you sure this is what you want? The Scribes and Monks Supreme will accept you, my Scholarly Son, if you desire this.” “Yes. I want this.” And Mettus’s eyes began to droop again. “I will think more upon this, Gheru.” His fingers paused for the briefest of moments. Gheru. The formal word for “father”. No one ever called Phlox that, no one, except for Mettus. In years past, Mettus used the word like an epithet. Now, he used it in grateful wonder. “Think of it and take all the time you need, Sefru. The Universe is open to you now. Whatever you decide, know that I and your mother will support whatever you do.” “Yes, Gheru.” Mettus’s eyes drifted closed and he sank back into slumber. Phlox sat at his son’s bedside, unwilling to let go of Mettus’s hand. Would Mettus remember this conversation? Perhaps, perhaps not, but even if Mettus didn’t, Phlox vowed to himself that he would never forget it. “It seems like I missed a whole lot,” Trip Tucker commented, as he sipped from his beer stein. Captain Archer had invited him to dinner after Trip had returned from his visit to Vulcan with T’Pol. He was eager to get back to the engine refit, but wanted to touch base with Jon and the others. “Yeah. Phlox and Hoshi explained to me what the significance of Mettus’s actions were. I think their family’ll be talking about it for years to come.” “Poor kid.” Trip shook his head. “Phlox mentioned he’s kinda sheltered and closed-minded, so no wonder what he did was so unexpected. You think that maybe there’s a chance of some kinda reconciliation ‘tween the two?” “I hope so. I know this estrangement’s been eating at Phlox ever since we shipped out of Spacedock.” Jon sighed and rubbed his temples. “It’ll be up to Mettus whether or not to accept Phlox’s truce. And to top it off, two of the weddings were abruptly canceled right after the funeral ceremony. The grooms of Azkiel’s daughters just walked out.” Trip choked on his beer. He burst out, “They just walked out ? And Phlox’s family just let ‘em?” “Apparently, they can break an engagement right there, if they witness something about the clan that they find...scandalous. Funny thing is, neither of the dumpees were upset by it, which makes me wonder why they were engaged in the first place. Azkiel only told me that both young men were highly placed in Denobulan society, so I bet that had a lot to do with it.” Trip snorted, took another swig, then commented, “Social-climbers. Gotta love ‘em. So, that means the ones gettin’ married now are—lemme get this straight—one of Zariel’s sons and Zariel’s daughter, and the Doc’s second cousin, Floos. Who’s doin’ the ceremony?” “A Denobulan Judiciary, who’s coming in tonight. It’s a joint wedding, which saves time. Means he’ll only do the ceremony once and not three times.” “And to think he could’ve ended up doing it five times. Ouch. And the site’s still Sickbay, right? The air’s all cleaned up by now?” “Sickbay’s and E Deck’s clear now, if that’s what you’re asking.” Jon was still massaging his temples. “Malcolm’s paranoid about the ‘Matriarch’s metaphysical presence’, as Feezal calls it. I think it’s given him more motivation to avoid Sickbay.” “Don’t blame him. I would too.” Trip rolled his eyes. “And damn, I left Malcolm’s biobed untouched. Rostov chiseled in Mal’s initials to mark it.” Jon laughed. “Rostov did that? I was wondering.” “Don’t tell Malcolm. I still need Mike in Engineerin’.” “I promise I won’t tell Malcolm.” Jon’s chuckle was interrupted by the whistle of the comm. He pushed the button and said, “Archer.” “Captain, this is Ensign Birkenwald. May I talk with you? It’s rather urgent.” Jon’s brow furrowed. “Is there a problem with the Denobulans?” Birkenwald hesitated a moment, then answered, “It might become one.” Archer’s scowl deepened. “Should I page Lieutenant Commander Reed, Ensign?” “That might be prudent in this case, sir.” “I’ll meet you in my Ready Room on the Bridge in five minutes.” Johannes sounded relieved that the captain was taking him seriously. “Thank you, sir.” “See you then. Archer, out.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then said, “Duty calls, Trip. You going to Engineering?” “Actually, not directly. Ensign Mueller asked me to look at some stuff in the Armory, so I’ll poke my head in there first. I’m still running on Vulcan time, so I’ll be up for a bit yet.” “All right. I’ll see you later, Trip.” “Later, Cap’n.” Archer grinned, then got up and headed out of the Captain’s Mess. As he made his way to the corridor leading to the lift, that grin turned into a frown. First Johannes, then Bernhard. I wonder if there’s something else going on. Bernhard usually tells Malcolm first about any problems in the Armory, not Trip. He sighed in resignation, for he knew he’d find out soon enough. “Hey, Bernhard? You in here?” Trip looked around the Armory and spotted Crewman Meyer. “Hey, Dave, is Mueller around?” Meyer glanced over his shoulder, his hand frozen in the action of snapping a phase pistol back together. “He’s on the upper deck, sir, in the control room.” “Thanks.” Trip climbed the ladder, then spotted Bernhard in the duraglass enclosed room. He wondered why the Bavarian was here, as opposed to protecting Phlox’s wife and daughters. Then again, he considered that any man guarding Feezal might think of the Armory as a haven. “Bernhard? You wanted to see me?” Bernhard glanced up like a scared rabbit. “Yes, Commander. I need to talk to you about a...sensitive subject.” “Lemme guess. Feezal?” “Not directly. Feezal has been cordial and respectful to me and Johannes, Commander. I find her pleasant company.” Trip gave him a “you-gotta-be-kiddin’-me” expression. Bernhard shrugged and clarified, “She has not made any untoward advances toward me.” “That’s a relief. When she was last here, I felt like I was bein’ hunted.” Trip raised his eyebrows and continued, “Problems within the clan? The Cap’n told me about what happened during the funeral ceremony. I’m sure there’ll be some friction ‘tween the members.” “Actually, that’s not it, either, sir. No one seems to be at each other’s throats, yet.” “Then what’s the problem, Bernhard?” Trip realized that the Bavarian was dancing around the subject, which was not like him at all. “Ya said Feezal wasn’t botherin’ ya.” “It isn’t Feezal, sir. It’s one of her daughters. Lailah.” Trip frowned; he could never keep Phlox’s relatives straight. “Which one’s her?” “The surgeon, sir. Phlox’s eldest daughter.” “Oh, hell,” Trip groaned. “Have you told Feezal and Phlox?” “Feezal doesn’t seem to disapprove. Doctor Phlox has been concerned with his youngest son, Mettus—“ Trip nodded. “The one who broke the urn in Sickbay and scattered the ashes all over the place.” “Yes, sir.” “What has Lailah been doin’ that’s got you so uncomfortable?” Bernhard glanced at the door, as if reassuring himself that it was securely closed. “She’s been asking me about my family back in Rosenheim, about Starfleet Medical’s branch in Berlin, about Bavarian cuisine—“ “Bratwurst and beer?” “Commander.” He rolled his eyes. “She told me about her childhood, her friends and colleagues on Denobula, her various siblings. In fact, her half-brothers are quite humorous; both of them are Zariel’s sons. Lailah seems companionable enough, but the looks that pass between her and her mother make me nervous.” “So Lailah’s not quite as blatant as Feezal was with me. I mean, the woman was checking out my assets when she thought I wasn’t lookin’!” “Um—“ Bernhard turned a deep scarlet and suddenly he found his boots interesting. “Okay, so Lailah’s interested in ya, but ya don’t share the sentiment. Why don’t ya let her know now, as opposed to when she decides to drag ya bodily to the altar?” “I really don’t want to upset her, Commander. She’s a kind-hearted woman, with a good temperament and she really is a joy to be around. I do like her, sir, but...not in that way.” “Then tell her, Bernhard.” Trip reached over and clapped the tall man on the shoulder. “Look at it this way: it’s better that ya let her down gently, then get her—or Feezal’s—hopes up. Make it clear that ya value her as a friend, first and foremost, and what that friendship means to ya.” Bernhard sighed. “I take it that you’ve got this speech down pat, sir?” “More than ya know. I was singin’ that tune with T’Pol for the longest time, believe it or not.” Trip smiled and added, “If she’s what you say, she’ll understand.” Bernhard gave a great sigh of relief and said, “Thank you, sir. You’ve eased my mind considerably. I’d considered hiding, shooting myself out a torpedo tube, commandeering a shuttlepod, or asking Crewman Cutler to pose as my wife—“ Trip burst out laughing and the tension in the control room evaporated. “Good God, man! I’m not sure if Liz Cutler would’ve gone along with it, but—“ “I can’t ask Hoshi or T’Pol, sir,” Bernhard pointed out. “Yeah, good point.” Trip’s face softened as he added, “Feel better?” “Much. Thank you, Commander.” Then Captain Archer’s voice echoed from the comm. “Archer to Mueller.” Bernhard touched the comm. “Mueller here, Captain.” “Will you and Commander Tucker come to Sickbay, please?” Trip gave Bernhard a look of concern and asked, “Is there something wrong with Johannes?” “Not exactly, but I need both of you here.” They glanced at each other, then they both chorused, “On our way, Captain.” Back to Part 5 Continue to Part 7

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