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"Cry Havoc"
By MissAnnThropic
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of its mine. I’m just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching taped episodes of my favorite shows. :(
Description: The evolution of Trip and T’Pol’s relationship following the events in ‘Harbinger’.
Chapter 11
The faint hum of the electric ground car shifted pitch ever so slightly as the energy-efficient vehicle automatically switched from solar-powered to battery cell-powered as the sun began to dip toward the western horizon. The small requisitioned transportation (provided by the transport company to Starfleet personnel) meandered its way up the road connecting Tallahassee to the small town of Quincy, Florida.
Trip Tucker sat at the driver's console while T'Pol was in the passenger's seat next to him. They had ridden together in almost uninterrupted, comfortable silence since leaving Tallahassee.
T'Pol sat impassively, looking out the window. She had seen very little of Earth beyond San Francisco. From the transport company representative's startled look upon seeing T'Pol accompanying the human Starfleet officer, it would seem that the rest of Earth had seen precious little of Vulcans in turn.
Not that anyone would recognize Trip as a Starfleet officer on sight. He was out of uniform, having changed in Newark, now dressed in khakis and a blue collared short-sleeve shirt. T'Pol moved her eyes away from the scenery outside to consider Trip beside her.
She ended up watching him perhaps a bit too long.
Trip seemed to sense her gaze on him and stole a glance in her direction. He caught her looking directly at him. Rather than take offense Trip merely smiled. T'Pol was comfortable enough not to feel the need to look away.
"I'm glad ya came with me, T'Pol."
"I believe it's appropriate for me to thank you for inviting me."
Trip, eyes back on the road, smiled again. He didn't comment but T'Pol sensed something in him, a warmth and tenderness that did make her avert her eyes almost guiltily.
Trip began to slow the vehicle as he noted aloud, "Here we are," and T'Pol watched as Trip turned the car into a driveway forking off the main road. They pulled up to a home, perfectly inviting and peaceful in the sky's rich backdrop of the reds and violets of dusk. A verdant tree stood in the front yard before the single-story house itself. From what T'Pol could discern, it was an average home for a human middle-class family. Neither uncomfortably small nor lavishly grand. Its outer walls were smooth and uniform beige, perhaps cream colored, with the unbroken rectangle of a modern door looming nearby.
Trip stopped the car in the driveway, next to a very similar ground car already occupying the transport space. He proceeded to turn off the car then sit back in his seat with a sigh.
T'Pol fought a sudden surge of apprehension and trepidation. Her own taunting words at Trip's expense when he'd inadvertently become pregnant by the Xyrillian engineer assaulted her memories. 'She showed you her home', 'in human culture that is considered a precursor to marriage', 'perhaps the next step would have been to meet her holographic parents'. T'Pol stared up at the house as though it might bite. Why had none of that occurred to her before now? This was beginning to seem like an increasingly bad idea.
Trip looked over at her again. Though he was home he seemed to be in no hurry to go inside. A tightness had returned to his features, a discomfited preoccupation that T'Pol knew too well from weathering the chief engineer through such trying times. She didn't have to ask to know he was thinking about Elizabeth.
"Come on," he beckoned softly and moved to vacate the car.
T'Pol took a calming breath to collect herself and reassert her poise before joining Trip outside the vehicle. By that time, he had already retrieved both their small bags from the storage area and carried them as he headed toward the waiting front door, T'Pol a step behind.
Trip lowered the bags to the ground directly before the door and keyed the summon's chime.
Within moments the chime beeped and the door slide aside. T'Pol, positioned behind Trip, could not see who had answered the door, the other person obviously shorter than Trip and so completely blocked by the engineer's body, but the third's identity was revealed soon enough.
"Trip!" a female voice exclaimed happily, then Trip was bending lower to embrace the woman.
"Hi, Mom."
Trip's mother held her son tightly, refusing to let go for a number of seconds, then she reluctantly loosed her grip and stepped back. "We were beginning to wonder when you were getting in, you didn't run into trouble, I hope."
"We had ta hop a couple a times before Tallahassee."
"We?"
Trip stepped to the side. "Yeah, I brought someone with me. Mom, this is T'Pol; T'Pol, my mother Kathleen."
T'Pol at last got a good look at Trip's mother. She was indeed shorter than her son, by a good margin... T'Pol would have been surprised if she was more than 5'2". She was wearing her light brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, leaving an unobstructed view of her oval face. Her gray eyes looked sharp and alert, quick with intellect and spirit. Logically, T'Pol knew the woman had to be in her fifties, yet her bearing did not suggest a human of such years, despite the streaks of untouched gray in her hair. Kathleen wore the wrinkles of age like an honorary badge but under the crow's feet and laugh lines was a face that seemed much younger than the woman's years. She was neither thin nor large, clearly a woman who took care of herself and refrained from excess. She was not what humans would term a particularly pretty woman, yet there was an approachability to her presence that easily compensated.
T'Pol took in the woman at a glance then waited attentively to see how Trip's mother would react.
Kathleen was obviously surprised by her son's guest, doubly startled that she was a Vulcan, then quite swiftly recovered herself and nodded in acknowledgement, seeming congenial enough.
T'Pol felt secure in taking a step closer.
Kathleen offered a smile, a smile that looked not unlike one of Trip's, and said, "It's nice to meet you, T'Pol." Kathleen extended a hand toward T'Pol for a shake.
T'Pol stiffened uncertainly.
Abruptly, before T'Pol had to say a word, Kathleen withdrew her hand and apologized, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot Vulcans don't like being touched."
T'Pol, silently relieved that she had not been forced into a possible gaff or insult toward Trip's mother, lifted her hand and executed the formal Vulcan salute. "Peace and long life, Kathleen Tucker."
Kathleen looked consternated for a moment, chewed on her lip, then ventured (sans the salute), "Live long and prosper... did I get it right?"
T'Pol lowered her hand and nodded.
"I told T'Pol ya wouldn't mind if she came," Trip interjected.
Kathleen smiled again, gaining confidence after the initial surprise of her son's companion wore off. "You're welcome to stay, although I should apologize up-front for anything we might do that's offensive. I'm afraid neither Charles nor I are well-versed in Vulcan etiquette."
"I'm certain it will be fine," T'Pol answered, after years on Enterprise considerably adapted to human behavior. In truth, Kathleen's was the most amiable, accepting reception T'Pol had gotten from a human since Jupiter Station. As a guest, of course, T'Pol would forgive cultural slips from Trip's parents, suffer them in silence, without fuss. It would not be intentional disrespect if Kathleen's attempts at correct interaction with a Vulcan so far were any indication. T'Pol glanced a second over at Trip and he had a faint 'I told you so' smirk on his face, combating the somber, saddened expression seemingly fixed in place since reaching the house.
Kathleen suddenly said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm standing here like a sentry, please, come in."
Trip picked up their bags again and proceeded T'Pol into the house.
T'Pol followed and once inside looked around in subtle curiosity. The foyer was modestly decorated and plainly furnished. Its muted, functional appearance was agreeable to T'Pol. It was a place where she could imagine feeling comfortable given time to familiarize herself with it.
"How's Jonathan?" Kathleen inquired of her son while T'Pol discreetly continued to examine the Tucker family home.
Trip set the two bags on a low coffee table in front of a sofa as he answered, "He's fine, all things considered."
"Well, you can tell him when you go back to Enterprise that I'm disappointed he didn't stop by for a visit," Kathleen said with a light tone that indicated she was teasing. "Your father's out in the barn working on one of Mister Darby's peach-trucks. Have you two eaten yet?"
Trip answered for them, "We haven't had a bite since before leavin' for Jupiter Station. I'm starvin', and T'Pol is too, not that she'd ever tell ya." Trip threw T'Pol a slightly playful look.
T'Pol merely lifted an eyebrow.
Kathleen said, "Good, I was just about to start dinner," she looked toward her son, "since I knew you were coming I set out catfish."
Trip grinned, despite his dour demeanor.
Suddenly Kathleen looked in concern toward T'Pol. "Oh... I'm not sure what we have that you might like. I've heard Vulcans are vegetarians."
"That's correct," T'Pol thought a moment then amended, "don't inconvenience yourself on my account; you weren't aware that I would be coming. Vulcans can go without eating far longer than humans before feeling discomfort."
It obviously wasn't a viable solution in Kathleen's estimations. "I'm sure we can find something; I'll take a look and see what I can come up with."
T'Pol, because of her superior hearing, heard it first coming from the as-yet unexplored depths of the house. After years aboard Enterprise forced to share space with Porthos T'Pol was familiar enough with the clicking sound to identify it.
Emerging from an open doorway nearby, a dog trotted into the room. This animal was much larger than Porthos, white with a liver-colored head and flecks of the same dark brown on its body instead of the beagle's white, black, and honey-colored patterns. The dog came with pendulous ears pricked and tail wagging. When it caught sight of Trip the tail started wagging faster and the dog trotted straight over to the young man.
"Hiya, Buddy," Trip bent down and pet the dog affectionately.
Buddy looked up pleasantly at Trip but his greeting of the former resident was cut short when the dog's attention was drawn to the stranger in their midst. Buddy locked his eyes upon T'Pol and the tail stopped. The animal watched T'Pol closely, warily, like she was little more than an intruder in his eyes.
Trip stepped away from the dog and toward T'Pol. "T'Pol, this is my dad's shorthaired pointer... we call 'im Buddy." Trip, obviously to illustrate a point to the cautious hound, came up beside T'Pol and put his arm around her. His hand rested lightly on T'Pol's waist as he said, "See, Buddy? T'Pol's a friend. She won't hurt ya."
Buddy looked between Trip and T'Pol dubiously a moment but seemed to ultimately trust Trip's judgment. Buddy walked up to the two and proceeded to carefully smell T'Pol's legs and hanging hands. T'Pol stood still and watched the animal, waiting to see if she passed the inspection. She had never been comfortable around the captain's dog, and this one was even larger. Trip's faint squeeze of reassurance made her think he knew her opinion of canines.
Her preoccupation with the dog's actions was enough to prevent T'Pol from making an issue of the fact Trip's arm was blatantly looped around her in plain sight.
Buddy finally stopped sniffing at T'Pol, gave his whole body a shake that made his collar shimmy, then turned and heavily trotted back out of the room the way he'd come, tail once again mobile. Apparently T'Pol met with Buddy's approval.
"Well," Kathleen said as Trip silently stepped away from T'Pol, "if Buddy's in then it means your father's on his way back to the house. Why don't you two freshen up, get settled, and I'll start dinner."
Trip nodded and moved to reclaim their two bags. "Come on," Trip said lowly to T'Pol, "I'll give ya the grand tour, startin' with my room."
T'Pol followed after Trip while casting a last glance in the direction the dog had gone.
They had to pass through the living room (decorated similarly as the foyer and adorned with obvious venues of entertainment) to reach Trip's room, the first door in the hall on the right. In contrast to the front door that had an automated sliding door, Trip's door was an old-fashioned knob-and-hinge variety. Trip entered first and had already set their bags atop his bed when T'Pol got her first look at Trip's room at his family's house. There was a bed with a navy blue comforter and matching pillows, a silver work desk and chest of drawers, and on one wall a framed technical diagram of Zefram Cochrane's Phoenix.
"Feel free ta snoop around," Trip said.
T'Pol gave him a look for the accusation but stepped into the room and looked around. Atop the dresser, she now realized, were three framed photos. She stepped closer and studied them. One, she assumed, was a family portrait, for she recognized a younger Kathleen and there was a teenage boy she had seen before, only he had gone by the name Sim. The photographed duo were joined by an older man and a girl younger than teenage Trip. Charles II and Elizabeth Tucker, T'Pol deduced. The second picture T'Pol could well recognize. It was Trip and Captain Archer, though both men were younger and on their uniforms in the picture Trip was wearing the pips of a lieutenant and Archer the pips of a commander. Both men were standing before the front promenade of Starfleet Academy, arms thrown over each others' shoulders and grinning broadly for the camera. The third picture was of a ship in space dock, if T'Pol was not mistaken the NX Alpha, the warp 2.5 ship where Archer and Trip had met years ago.
She turned away from the collection of images to see Trip sitting on the edge of his bed, shoulders sagging and hands dropped between his knees. He was watching her.
T'Pol looked to her bag, positioned next to Trip's upon the neatly made bed. "Where shall I sleep?"
Trip, still watching her, asked (somewhat rhetorically), "You opposed ta sharin' a bed with me?"
"No."
Trip gestured expansively with one arm toward the bed upon which he sat as his wordless answer. T'Pol lifted an eyebrow; she did not know the proper behavior for one such as herself while in the home of her– whatever Trip was to her–'s parents. She had to question, however, if this would be an appropriate action.
Trip's expression grew distracted as his arm flopped back into his lap. "The only other bedroom we have in the house is... was Elizabeth's." Trip finally looked away from T'Pol to lower his eyes. His presence, the sense of him, darkened.
T'Pol nodded in understanding and, to demonstrate her acceptance of the sleeping arrangements, walked across the room to the bed and sat down next to Trip, an inch of space separating their bodies. Trip sighed almost inaudibly, introspective, but T'Pol got the feeling that Trip was glad for her proximity.
"Do your parents have titles?"
Trip looked up at her at the strange question, face twisted in confusion.
T'Pol explained, "I don't know how I should address them."
"You could just call 'em Kathleen and Charles, it's what most people call 'em."
T'Pol made a faint face of displeasure at the suggestion. "I would not feel comfortable calling them by their first names."
"Ya call me by my first name... well, ya call me 'Trip'," he pointed out, 'sometimes', he mentally added.
T'Pol's eyes moved away briefly, almost anxiously, before she said, "The use of personal names to Vulcans is considered an act of intimacy." She looked back to Trip and, rather than appearing surprised at the confession, Trip was smiling gently. T'Pol found herself meeting his eyes, locked on him.
"Well," he said after a moment of silence, "my mother's a teacher, so you could call her 'professor', and Dad's got his PhD in advanced engineerin', which technically makes him a doctor."
T'Pol nodded. 'Professor' and 'Doctor' she could do.
Trip stood from the bed and turned to face her. He offered her a hand. "Come on, I'll show ya the rest of the house."
T'Pol looked up at Trip's offered hand a second before placing her own in his. Once he'd helped her to her feet they stood before one another, hands interlocked and attention riveted intensely on the other, before Trip started for his bedroom door and T'Pol quietly extracted her hand from his.
*****
The smell of fried catfish had begun to permeate the kitchen as Kathleen Tucker went about the task of preparing dinner. While she had never been overly domestic she had discovered a strange serenity in the act of cooking for her family. It was a job she tended to on her own, alone with her thoughts in a way she'd grown to treasure from the days when her two children had been small and frequently underfoot save for when their mother was cooking.
Buddy was her sole companion. The dog sat waiting and watching the back door that led from the kitchen to the back patio deck. The doggy-door set into the back door was a solid panel that responded to a specific frequency emitted by the dog's collar to allow the animal to come and go as he pleased. That Buddy was inside rather than outdoors with his master meant that Charles had in all likelihood ordered the dog back inside in anticipation of his own return once he'd put away his tools.
Almost on cue, the back door beeped with an accepted access code and slid open.
Charles Tucker II stepped into the house. Buddy's tail began brushing side to side on the floor as Kathleen looked over at her husband.
While Elizabeth had taken more after her mother, Trip took strongly after his father. Charles was much taller than Kathleen, taller than Trip by a couple of inches, with a head of silver and blonde hair. Kathleen often imagined Trip would look very much like Charles when her son grew older; the same blue eyes, trim body shape, and a nearly identical nose and mouth.
"Wash your hands," Kathleen habitually chided before her husband had made it even a foot into the house.
Charles moved toward the sink and looked over at Kathleen's preparations. "Guess than means Trip's home," he noted of the fried catfish.
"He got in not too long ago," she paused then said, "he brought a woman with him."
Charles wiped his hands on a dishtowel, expression pensive. "Hmmm."
"She's a Vulcan."
Charles dropped the towel on the counter and gave another thoughtful, "hmmm". Charles cocked his head as he considered his wife a moment. His thoughts did not seem to be on the Vulcan female their son had dragged home. After a second Charles began to smile, amused, and stepped closer to rest his hand upon his wife's shoulder and kiss her quickly on the temple.
"Is that all you have to say is 'hmmm'?" she asked in a slightly peevish tone.
Charles chuckled. "Kathy, I haven't met her yet."
Kathleen curbed her irritation because, of course, Charles was right. She looked down at the food she was preparing, thinking. It would be the first time she'd entertained a Vulcan in her home, shared a meal with one, sadly the first time it ever fell upon her to wonder how one properly did either. By now, too late to research the topic and find out. She hoped everything went well, because Trip would not have brought this T'Pol home if he wasn't very fond of her. And she would hate to inadvertently incite a galactic incident over a simple dinner.
Back to Chapter 10
Continue to Chapter 12
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