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First Light - Part 1
by HopefulRomantic Rating: PG-13 for now, with a few racier romantic interludes to come. Series Summary: The Reconnecting series is a reinterpretation of certain events of Season 4 that went AU shortly after “Home.” It focuses on the relationships of Trip and T’Pol and their extended family, and features characters introduced in Season 3, as well as original characters. Spoilers: Through “Terra Prime.” Story Summary: Sequel to my story ...Touching and Touched.. Early on the morning after Lorian and Karyn’s wedding, a series of vignettes takes a look at our extended family, and several other characters, some new to the series, to see what is on the horizon. A/N: Good gravy, has it really been six months?! Chalk it up to RL and a mess of Strange New Worlds 10 entries. And thanks for checking back. Your interest is much appreciated. Thanks go to my betas boushh and TJ, and to pookha for inspiring me with her musings. Also, acknowledgments to the Vulcan Language Dictionary, and to the late Carl Sagan for a quote from his magnificent series Cosmos.
Date: 10-25-06 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
July 11, 2154 The beach below the Vulcan compound was just beginning to lighten as Soval padded barefoot onto the sand, wrapped in extra robes to ward off the pre-dawn chill. He knelt before his makeshift meditation table, a flat-topped slab of stone, and lit the solitary candle that was sealed onto the rock by rivulets of dried wax. As he watched the flame dance in the faint breeze, he listened to the waves lapping against the beach, and gradually focused his attention inward. He had been sensing a pattern in recent events...a number of turning points on the horizon, for the individuals whose lives were most closely intertwined with his. In a few hours, Commanders T’Pol and Tucker would challenge Starfleet’s long-held policy that if two of its personnel became romantically involved, they would be incapable of maintaining their objectivity when posted to the same ship. Captain Archer—haunted for months by the war, still grieving for his lost friend Admiral Forrest, and robbed of the chance to return to the Expanse—seemed finally on the verge of something positive. The shy smiles the captain had exchanged with the lady bartender at Callahan’s Jazz Club last night had not escaped Soval’s notice. He hoped Archer had found an understanding soul. Earth, which had chafed for so long under the too-watchful eye of the High Command, would now be making her own way in the galaxy, with Starfleet as her representative. Starfleet and the new Vulcan High Council were already in discussions regarding a formal Earth/Vulcan alliance. It would be interesting to witness the steps Starfleet would take in the coming months to demonstrate her newfound independence—overtures to other species, perhaps—as well as the reactions those steps might engender from isolationist groups such as Terra Prime. Columbia would set out on her maiden voyage, journeying to the Delphic Expanse to make further contact with the descendents of humans long since spirited away from Earth. It was appropriate, Soval thought, considering the ship’s crew included two of the complement of E², who were themselves over a century removed from Earth. Hopefully, Columbia would also locate an Illyrian ship slowly limping homeward, crippled by the ill fortunes of war. Commander Lorian and Lieutenant Archer were setting out on that new starship, in a new marriage, newly bonded. Before they departed, Soval would assist Lorian in determining the extent of his nascent telepathic ability. After a century, Lorian would at last be able to embrace this aspect of his Vulcan heritage...though Soval doubted the commander’s thoughts were consumed with mind-melding at the moment. Soval had been pleased to hear that Lorian was being considered for the captaincy of the NX-03, Intrepid. It was gratifying to know that he and the hybrid members of his former crew had found a place of belonging in Starfleet, where they were judged by their merits, not condemned for their alien heritage. Forrest had rejoiced in their differences. How Vulcan of him. I miss you, old friend. How human of me. It was a consequence of living a span twice as long as these shorter-lived, frailer beings. Acquaintanceships and lives passed away all too soon. One became accustomed to it, after a fashion...but a precious few relationships ran deep. Those losses, Soval knew, would linger, sharp and stinging, before they finally softened to fond remembrance. He would feel Maxwell Forrest’s loss for a long time. There was another, too...one whose absence, despite the logic of her leaving, had left a noticeable void in Soval’s life. He had no right to miss her, of course. She had never been his to begin with; he had made certain of that. A woman of her youth and singular abilities deserved far better than a widower notably past his prime, of notably brittle temperament. He often found himself wishing that it could have been otherwise. Soval had thought of her often since Forrest’s death, as he contemplated an array of regrets and missed opportunities. Now, with the deep joy of Lorian and Karyn’s marriage bond still resonating in his consciousness, he was again assailed by thoughts of her. He even imagined he could smell her sweet scent, carried by the sea breeze from whatever far world she now called home. It drifted slowly over him, haunting him with memories of her warmth, her voice, her touch— “Kroykah!” He stood in frustration, kicking up a spray of sand. The candle sputtered and died, strangled by a shower of damp granules. Why did he find it so impossible to put her loss behind him? As he stared out at the blue-gray sea, he heard a voice close by. “It appears I have arrived just in time.” Soval turned in astonishment. He had not imagined that wondrously sweet aroma after all. T’Shara had returned. She was wearing a traveling cloak over her robes, with her lustrous ebony hair—worn long, in contrast with Vulcan custom—woven into a single thick braid that extended below her waist. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered. How long had it been...? Five years, eleven months, and three days since his last pon farr. T’Shara had come to him then, as she had every seventh year since she had first quenched his blood fever thirty-four years ago, renewing his passion for his work and his life in the process. While Soval’s resulting affection for T’Shara had been quite unexpected, her affection for him had been wholly unacceptable. After one glorious, maddening year in her company, he had finally compelled her to leave, to seek out a proper bondmate and see to her career. Nevertheless, she had returned each time the pon farr overtook him, despite his insistence that she should stay away. The last time, he even attempted to refuse her, but the fever left him unable to resist her. Afterward, she departed while he slept, without even bidding him farewell. He concluded that she was sufficiently disillusioned to refrain from returning again, and he thought his hopes would finally pass away... “I see that you remain insolent enough to ignore my counsel,” he said stiffly. T’Shara arched one lovely, upswept eyebrow. “And I see that you remain arrogant enough to believe your logic superior to mine.” “I am no younger,” Soval stated flatly. He was finding to his annoyance that it was more difficult to present his argument while of sound mind, far removed from the helpless desperation of the blood fever. How had he let himself remain so attached to her, against all logic? “Your age remains irrelevant to me,” she responded calmly. “For you to bind your life to mine would be an egregious waste of your potential,” he maintained. “Too much time has already been wasted,” T’Shara stated, with that same equanimity. “For thirty years I did as you asked. I nurtured my career, diligently. I have, in fact, attained pre-eminence as a translator of ancient texts. But it has meant little to me, compared to what I lost.” “Why didn’t you marry?” he asked. Why didn’t you put an end to your longing, and mine? “No other man has proven your equal,” she said simply. “I chose to be alone rather than be discontent.” Soval was overwhelmed. He felt his hope sparking to life again...and this time, he did not try to stamp the flame out. “T’Shara, why are you here?” he asked in a hushed voice. “I was in an outlying system when I learned of the embassy bombing, and Admiral Forrest’s death.” T’Shara’s voice softened with compassion. “I grieve with you. I know he was your friend. It was his loss that compelled me here.” She drew nearer. “Soval, I have been with no man, save you, since my husband died. I wish for no other, contemplate no other. We complement one another, you and I, in intellect and interests, in tastes and mutual passion. To be apart from you any longer would be illogical...a true waste of potential, our potential.” She touched her fingers to his in a light ozh’esta, sending a pleasurable flush coursing through him. “Of course, the decision is not mine alone to make,” she said. “Do you still wish me gone?” Soval could hardly believe what was transpiring. Perhaps he was approaching a turning point as well, one he had not anticipated. “I never...wished you gone,” he confessed. T’Shara’s dark eyes warmed in the dawning light. “That pleases me.” She turned to go. “I have taken an apartment in the compound. I shall leave you to your meditation, and we will talk later.” “You have already secured quarters?” Soval blurted in surprise. Looking back at him over her shoulder, T’Shara nodded, her expression serenely innocent. “Before speaking with me?” Soval went on, with a touch of irritation. “What if I had been of the same mind as before?” “Your question is irrelevant, since you are of a different mind,” she said. “I have not made up my mind!” he insisted. “Precisely the reason I have made arrangements to stay,” T’Shara responded smoothly. “Such a decision will take time.” “Quite right,” he declared, attempting to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. “And in the interim, I have no wish to leave you again,” she added softly. All thought of control suddenly seemed immaterial to him. “I find your plan acceptable.” “Then we are agreed.” With a nod of farewell, T’Shara crossed the sandy beach to the wooden stairway that led up to the compound. As she climbed the steps, Soval saw that her feet were also bare. He doubted that any other Vulcan in the system would choose to sink barefoot into the damp sand of a Terran beach, other than himself. What a provocative, captivating woman. With an effort, he turned away, kneeling before his meditation candle once more. He lit the taper, focused on the flame...and with a shake of his head, he blew the candle out. It would be impossible to clear his mind now. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Erickson Research Center Dad had slept soundly for a change, after his last treatment. Usually the pain from his twisted spine kept him from experiencing anything resembling restful sleep, but the bliss of knowing he had gotten everything he wanted—that was bound to make any pain bearable. Danica, on the other hand, hadn’t slept a wink. She’d finally given up and gone outside to watch the sky slowly lighten, revealing the silhouettes of Joshua trees scattered like a ragged army across the flat Palmdale desert. A century ago, the Joshua trees had all but disappeared, plowed under by the press of civilization. But the war’s destruction had made great inroads into the population in the American Southwest, and nature had stepped in with her customary efficiency to fill the void. It was almost six: time for Dad’s next injection. Danica went back inside the quiet, shadowy ranch house, passing walls lined with pictures, shelves crowded with knickknacks, mementos, and more pictures. There were homages to Quinn at every turn. Dad took comfort in the jumble of remembrances to the son he refused to let go. Danica had long ago learned to move through the house without looking at the makeshift shrines. Her eyes would automatically pick out the pictures of Jon as she passed; she would rather see reminders of the living, not the dead. But she couldn’t help but see the images of Quinn anyway, hovering at the edge of her peripheral vision, like a ghost haunting her. She had been praying that Enterprise would be too busy, too vital, too famous to be pulled away from its scheduled assignment, whatever it was, to ferry one crippled old scientist and his caregiver daughter to the end of nowhere for a transporter experiment. Then this crazy scheme of her father’s would have no way to be set into motion, and he would finally be forced to face the reality that Quinn was lost. Yesterday morning, though, Admiral Gardner himself had called with the news that Enterprise would be taking them to the Barrens. For Dad, the news couldn’t have been better. For Danica, it couldn’t have been worse. “It’s not right!” she had told her father. “We’re pulling one of only two NX-class starships out of service for months, under false pretenses—” “There’s no other way I can get the resources I need,” Emory had placidly replied. “You know that, Dani. Even if I had proof that Quinn is alive—” “You don’t have proof because there’s a greater probability that he’s gone, Dad.” “No!” her father had declared firmly, as he wheeled his chair away from the comm terminal. “I’ve run the scenario dozens of times in simulation. He’s caught in flux—suspended.” His voice had faltered, as his hands tightened on the sides of his wheelchair. “I can’t even imagine it...being frozen in subspace, with no way of knowing the passage of time, no sense of reality. I can’t leave him there, Dani, in that purgatory of nothingness, not when I’m the one responsible for putting him there.” Then his voice had hardened with resolve. “I will find him and bring him back. I’ll do anything to get him back.” “Including putting eighty-five people at risk?” Danica had asked soberly. “Putting Jon at risk?” Emory’s attitude had shifted like quicksilver, to cocky confidence. His moods changed more quickly with each passing week. “I’ve had months to plan this, to put the proper safeguards in place,” he declared. “You’re worrying needlessly, Dani. There’s no use going over this again. I am going to do this. I have to. This is what has kept me alive all these years.” And off he’d gone, to run more simulations. This is what has kept me in suspended animation all these years, just like my brother, Danica thought as she headed down the hallway toward Emory’s bedroom. Dad has had no thought of me or anyone else. He’s lied to Starfleet, to his investors... All of us have been frozen in time, waiting to break the spell. She peeked in on her dad. Surprise—he was already awake, sitting at the edge of his bed, carefully lowering himself into his wheelchair. “Do I need to adjust the dose?” she asked. Emory smiled. “No. I’m just excited, I guess.” She couldn’t play along, not even to make him happy. “You shouldn’t be, considering how many people we’ve snowballed with this phantom ‘sub-quantum transporter’ of yours.” She glanced over at him as she readied his injection. “And I don’t know how you expect me to look Jon in the eye and lie to him. I’ve never lied to him.” Emory waved a hand dismissively at her as he settled himself in his chair. “If you don’t think you can handle this, Dani, then I won’t put you through it. Stay home. I’ll hire a nurse.” Danica looked away, feeling the hot, sharp edge of his words as they cut through her. Her dad was just like he had always been. He loved her when she was useful, but if he ever had to choose between her and Quinn, it was as if she didn’t even exist. With impersonal efficiency, she pulled up his pajama top, felt for the injection point between his metal-reinforced vertebrae, and drove the needle home, more roughly than usual. “I didn’t realize I was so expendable.” He sucked in a hiss of breath as she yanked the shot out. “I don’t have time for your sulking, Dani. I’m going to get Quinn.” He looked over his shoulder at her as he pulled his top back into place. “You can help me, or you can stay out of my way. There aren’t any other choices.” Biting back an acid retort, Danica stalked out of his room. It took all her self-control not to slam the door behind her. She kept going, out of the house, away from the compound. She knew exactly how far she needed to go to be able to cry and scream and bellow out her pent-up frustration and hurt and anger, without her father being able to hear her. Even during these moments when she hated him, she loved him too much to hurt him the way he was hurting her. Dammit, she should let him go off without her. Let him see just how long he’d last with some rent-a-nurse who wouldn’t put up for one day with his ego, or his quirks, or his demands. Let him tell Danica how expendable she was then. Only problem was, he wouldn’t come home all aglow with renewed appreciation for her. He’d disown her and never speak to her again. Even that was tempting, to the part of her that had given the prime of her life to him. When her throat was raw and she was too tired to yell any more, Danica started back. She would go with her father on Enterprise to the Barrens. She would find a way to lie to Jon, though she would hate herself for it. And when Emory’s elaborate scheme failed and they were exposed as frauds, she would stand by her father as Jon turned his back on them for betraying him...as they were banned from all Starfleet research facilities in perpetuity...as they lost everything. The worst would be Jon. Danica didn’t know how she would survive losing another brother, but she would get through it somehow. Her father wouldn’t care about any of it, of course. He wouldn’t be aware of anything except his failure to retrieve Quinn. But he would no longer have the resources to put together another plan to get his son back. It would finally be over. Then maybe, just maybe, he would remember that he had another child who needed him. Danica didn’t have the courage to hope that Quinn was dead. But she hoped with all her heart that he was at peace. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mess Hall Nick stared out the viewport at Earth, wondering what the fallout would be from his meeting with John Frederick Paxton...wondering whom to believe. The world below seemed colorless to him. Gray, dull, lifeless. He blinked as a warm plate of pastry and a steaming mug of coffee were placed on the table before him. Janette Fuller, one of the quartermasters, was smiling down at him. “Almond croissant,” she said. “Fresh from the oven. One of the few perks of being up at this ungodly hour.” “Thanks.” Nick sipped at the hot coffee. Janette sat beside him, setting down her own mug. “Mind?” He shook his head. They both gazed in silence at the slowly turning world below. Nick turned to study Janette. She always seemed to be smiling when he saw her, as she was now. But she had lost a sibling on Enterprise too, during the war. “Do you think about Christophe?” he asked. “Every day,” she answered. “Do you think about Angelica?” Nick nodded. “How do you...” He hesitated. “How do I put one foot in front of the other?” Janette’s face was gentle with understanding. “Get out of bed every morning?” Nick picked at his croissant. “Yeah.” She took a sip of her coffee as she sat back in her chair. “Chris and I had a talk before the Xindi mission. First he tried to tell me I wasn’t going. I said he was full of shit, and Earth was my homeworld too. After we got that straightened out, we made a deal with each other: If something happened to one of us, whoever was left would try to live a life that would make the other proud.” She smiled faintly at Nick. “That’s what gets me out of bed every morning. I want to make my brother proud of me. Does that help?” ...Try to live a life that would make the other proud. Slowly, Nick nodded. Janette raised an eyebrow. “So? You doing that? Making Angie proud?” Nick thought back to last night on the Moon...speaking from his heart, and getting yelled at by Paxton...weighing the great man’s theories about T’Pol against his own gut instincts...feeling in fear for his life. “Sometimes I don’t know.” “When you don’t know, just listen.” Janette touched a hand to Nick’s gut. “Here.” Then his forehead. “Here. And here.” His heart. “Works for me every time.” Nick had done that last night. He smiled at her. “Thanks, Janette.” “Any time.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and went on her way. Nick looked out the viewport again. The oceans of Earth seemed a little bluer now, the land masses browner, more vivid. He liked what Janette suggested...doing something every day that would make Angie proud. Perhaps it would put some color back into the dull gray of his life, too. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Captain’s Quarters It was nearly 0600 hours when Archer said his goodnights—or rather, his good mornings—to Trip and T’Pol and entered his quarters. He knew he should feel exhausted; he’d been going for twenty-six hours straight now, on an emotional roller-coaster ride practically every step of the way. Instead, he felt invigorated, renewed...and for the first time in months, more reconciled with the ghosts that had been haunting him. -- -- -- Six Hours Earlier Archer took Trip and T’Pol to a café he used to frequent, situated on a hilltop with an enviable view overlooking San Francisco. Though he had put on his overcoat to cover his dress uniform, Archer’s face was still unmistakable, and Trip and T’Pol in their matching midnight blue wedding attire were an arresting sight; the trio attracted a lot of attention. Before the evening could degenerate into another celebrity sighting, the maître d’ swiftly came to their rescue, employing a phalanx of waiters to keep the looky-loos and autograph seekers at bay as he seated the three at his best table. He presented his distinguished guests with drinks—a rich Glenfiddich 40-year-old Scotch whisky for the gentlemen, imported Vulcan tea for the lady—and quietly made himself scarce. The three friends began their conversation casually, talking about Lorian and Karyn’s wedding, the reception, and the bonding ceremony. Gradually, Trip steered the discussion toward the ship, the Expanse, the war...and the cost of war. For the first time, Archer found himself opening up and talking freely, about everything that had been eating away at his conscience and keeping his wounded sense of moral correctness from healing. Bit by bit, the ghosts began to reveal themselves. He recalled his surprise and revulsion at how easily his frustration had led to torture when he tossed that Osaarian pirate in the airlock and nearly asphyxiated him. Archer remembered looking in his mirror that night, wondering who the man was staring back at him. If the Osaarian hadn’t broken, would you have let him die? he had asked his reflection. The answer came at once: Yes. That realization had sent him retching into the sink. His determination to hold onto his humanity became more tenuous as Enterprise moved closer to the superweapon, and the stakes rose. With each hard choice, each costly decision, each heartbreaking consequence, each wrong that couldn’t be righted, he hated himself a little more, and died a bit more inside. I must complete this mission. It became his mantra, his justification, his own personal torture. He became adept at compartmentalizing, but the dreams got worse each night. When he looked in his mirror, he began to see faces looking back at him. The Osaarian pirate, his eyes wide and terrified, framed in the window of the airlock. The Vulcans on the Seleya, looking like living-dead zombies, their brilliant minds destroyed. The Xindi of the monitoring facility on Azati Prime’s moon, killed to ensure their silence...faceless and indistinct, but still somehow accusing. The captain of the Illyrian ship, staring in horrified disbelief as Archer beamed away with the stolen warp coil, condemning the man and his crew to a three-year journey home. Over two dozen lost crewmen and MACOs—Hawkins, Forbes, Major Hayes, Fuller, Kumada, Taylor, Masaro... Too many good people dead. And Sim, his guileless blue eyes full of hurt, the same way he looked back in Trip’s quarters when he realized Archer couldn’t afford to care about him the way he cared about Trip...Sim haunted Archer most of all. The faces plagued Archer, waking and sleeping, for months. It hadn’t mattered to him that the bloody, broken trail of battle had led to a safe, Sphere-Builder-free universe. His conscience wasn’t magically salved by the cheering crowds at Starfleet that gave Enterprise’s crew a heroes’ welcome. The dead were still dead. The Illyrian ship was still crippled and far from home. Lines had still been crossed. Archer couldn’t act as if none of it had happened. He had changed. He was changed. “There is no refuge from change, Captain,” T’Pol told him. “It is an inevitability of the cosmos.” “It’s how you react that matters,” Trip said. “In crisis, a man’s true nature is revealed—not just who he thinks he is, or who others think he is, but who he really is.” Archer stared pensively into his whisky glass. “So who am I?” “You are Henry Archer’s son,” T’Pol replied. “A man of honor and integrity.” Archer looked doubtfully at her. “I wasn’t feeling very honorable a few months ago.” Trip leaned forward, his blue eyes intent on his friend. “A captain with compassion and a conscience doesn’t have an easy time of it. You’re forced to make impossible decisions at times, like any commander. But then you spend a good chunk of forever mulling over what you should’ve done, could’ve done, and didn’t do. The fallout from the job is a little rougher for you.” He raised an eyebrow, pointedly. “Especially if you don’t have anybody to talk to.” Archer squinted at him. “As I recall, you had your own problems last year.” “Okay, so we were both idiots who weren’t talking to anybody.” Trip nodded to T’Pol. “At least I wised up.” “With considerable reluctance,” T’Pol remarked. “That’s right.” Trip began chuckling. “I had my heart set on staying stupid, but...” Archer was laughing softly too now. T’Pol watched them both, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Trip refilled the whisky glasses as T’Pol poured herself more tea. They sat in comfortable silence for a time, looking out at the night-lit city. Archer could feel the deepest wound he carried from the war still flaring and festering inside him. “How often do you think of Sim?” he asked at last. Neither Trip nor T’Pol seemed surprised by the question. “A lot,” Trip said. “As do I,” echoed T’Pol. “I wish I’d spent more time with him,” Archer murmured. “Part of me—the part who wasn’t the captain, who was just Jon—wanted to spend every second with him. Time was so short...” He looked at Trip, and he could see young Sim’s eager, curious face, and that same lopsided smile. “It was like a gift, seeing you when you were young...seeing the man I knew, in that boy’s eyes.” Trip smiled faintly, and Archer looked away. “It would have been so easy for the friendship to happen all over again,” he said. “But I couldn’t let it...I couldn’t. I had to pull out that captain I’d been refining since we reached the Expanse—the selfish, single-minded bastard.” Regret and self-loathing rose in his throat like bile, tasting sharp and bitter in his mouth. “To him, Sim was just a walking corpse with a head full of valuable neural tissue waiting to be harvested. I wanted to figure out how to be Jon too, but I couldn’t do it...” “Cap’n.” Trip laid a hand lightly on Archer’s arm. “You’re mulling again.” Archer shook his head, feeling both disbelief and envy as he searched Trip’s calm face. “How can you joke about this?” “Because I’ve been where you are now,” Trip replied. “I woke up one day and found out that the only reason I was alive was because a man I never even met was dead. I had to figure out how to be at peace with that before I could do anything else.” Archer remembered how Trip had been almost paralyzed by guilt, after he’d found out about Sim. He had finally gone to Archer, who was having his own problems dealing with Sim’s sacrifice... “You asked me about him,” he recalled. Trip nodded. “When you told me Sim did it to help save Earth, it made sense. When you said he did it because of Lizzie, I understood him a lot better. But in the end, it really came down to me accepting that Sim considered my life worth dying for.” Archer could still see Sim’s face...so like Trip’s, and yet with a uniqueness all its own. The image was seared into his memory. “He believed it was his destiny to save you,” he said quietly. “Yeah, Phlox told me.” Trip looked thoughtful. “It’s pretty overwhelming, being somebody’s destiny. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. But the best way to honor Sim, I think, is to respect what he did, rather than regret it or feel guilty about it.” He clinked Archer’s whisky glass with his own. “That goes for you too, Pappy.” Archer tried to scowl at him, but then Trip flashed a tiny, mischievous smile, and Archer found himself smiling too. He was again reminded of young Sim, sporting that same impish expression as he spoke of a prank he pulled on his little sister Lizzie...and this time, the memory didn’t hurt as much. “Surak tells us that a life for which no one grieves is a life wasted,” T’Pol said. “Sim’s life was not wasted.” “Hell no,” Trip agreed fervently. “He saved me, and he helped save the universe, same as the rest of us.” He smiled slyly at Archer. “He even told T’Pol I was in love with her, when I didn’t even know myself.” “What...?” A slow smile spread on Archer’s face as he looked from Trip to T’Pol. “You never told me that.” T’Pol took a sip of her tea. “Sim’s statement was less blatantly declarative.” Her expression was beautifully enigmatic, but Archer saw something there that seemed to light her from within. Whatever Sim told her, it must have been breathtaking. Trip snickered. “He got his point across.” Archer eyed Trip over the rim of his whisky glass. “So how long were you clueless?” Trip’s jaw dropped. “Waitaminute, I wasn’t that clueless about bein’ clueless.” “But she knew,” Archer said, straight-faced. “And you didn’t know. And she knew you didn’t know.” Trip groaned. “How long are you planning on teasin’ me about this?” Archer smiled, Cheshire-cat-like. “It depends. How long are you planning on calling me ‘Pappy’?” -- -- -- As Archer brought the shuttlepod in on final approach to Enterprise, Trip asked, “So when are you gonna see her again?” Archer had most of his attention on the pod bay doors. “Trip, she’s on her honeymoon.” “I don’t mean Karyn,” Trip said. “I mean that bartender from Callahan’s.” Startled, Archer twisted around to stare at his friend. “How do you know about her? I hardly even know about her!” Trip sat back with a chuckle. “Relax. I didn’t notice a thing. It was my better half.” Archer spared T’Pol a single mortified glance before turning back to the controls. “This is damn embarrassing, being outed by a Vulcan.” “It is highly unlikely that anyone but a Vulcan would take note of the small nuances such as pupil dilation, skin tone change, and quickening respiration that took place when you and she said your farewells last night,” T’Pol said. Archer smiled sheepishly. “Did we do all that?” Trip leaned in. “As a matter of fact,” he said in a low voice, “you’re doin’ that skin tone change thing right now.” “Would you two knock it off?” But Archer had to admit to being pleased that they knew. “We’re shipping out in a few days,” Trip reminded him. “I wouldn’t waste any time if I were you.” “On the contrary, Captain, I commend your discretion,” T’Pol countered. “It is a pragmatic tactic for such a prominent figure.” Archer shrugged self-consciously. “I just don’t want to mess it up.” Trip smiled. “So she is special.” Archer nodded, feeling himself beaming like a schoolboy. “Yes. She’s special.” “So when are you gonna see her again?...” -- -- -- Alone in his quarters, Archer washed his hands and face, then finally ventured a look in his mirror. For the first time since he could remember, no ghosts looked back at him. He gripped the edge of the sink, swallowing hard, feeling more emotional than he had expected. The man in the mirror’s reflection had changed. He had long ago ceased looking like the eager, youthful explorer of four years ago. In fact, he appeared to have aged far more than a year since the war’s beginning. His eyes would always reflect the price he had paid for the lines crossed and the lives lost. He would never forget. In the cosmos, there is no refuge from change. It’s how you react that matters. You are Henry Archer’s son. He would follow Columbia’s missions to find the Illyrians and repatriate the Skagarans. If he couldn’t see to the matters personally, at least he would make certain that they were resolved, and reparations were made. He still wanted to explore; that love hadn’t died. He would embrace humanity’s new independence from the defunct VHC, and help further Starfleet’s mandate of establishing relations with other species. Be willing to pursue the possibilities. Thanks to the advice of his endlessly optimistic great-granddaughter, he would see what became of the intriguing new connection he’d made with Kyle. What was it that he’d always said about Karyn and Lorian...? Stranger fairy tales had happy endings. The man in the mirror looked down at his beagle, whose expectant face and wagging tail were insistently announcing the end of introspection, and the arrival of breakfast. He scooped Porthos up in his arms, receiving an affectionately slurpy kiss on the chin. Happily, some things never changed. ~~tbc~~ There are both PG-13 and NC-17 versions of Part II. Please go to the First Light menu separation page to access the version appropriate for you. Return to The Reconnecting Series menu page
Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS! A whole mess of folks have made commentsHR Its about God dern time! I nearly forgot how much suger you lace your storys with. LOL! I think I got a cavity from readin atleast half this fic, between the Soval part, an the Archer part. Good Start hon. Im wondering. Do you have a person to picture in mind when your writin this T’Shara lady? Cause she sounds Hot! ;) LOL! I did get a wake up call. readin this fic.(guess Ive spent to much time readin War fics) Archer going over an over again beeting himself up over what he did durig the very brief War. Reminded me that he isnt a Military Commander. He's an explorer. He obviously still has trouble accepting the whole concept of "The needs of many, out weigh the needs of the few." Im gona be interested to see how you handle Archer's "bleeding heart" considering what will happen in this fic based on the events that happend in "Daedalus". It should be interesting to hear his strugle then when he risks his ship, an crew to save one person IMO who has been dead for 15 years. Should be interesting, cause Id love to hear his internal reasoning for the risk he takes in allowing the experiment to continue.
Yay, I'd thought you'd forgotten us! :D Forgotten you?! I'm taking this baby all the way through Terra Prime! ...Just not at Ludicrous Speed. I WILL get there. I have all these story notes, see? *rustling notes* And Mitchell, for T'Shara... think Catherine Zeta-Jones. :) Oh, I love Catherine! Good choice!!! :-))) And I´m so glad that you´ve finally continued! **Just** yesterday I´ve re-read “...Touching and Touched”, wondering when there´ll be a sequel. Woohoo, here it is! I enjoyed the Soval-parts very much, need to remember this great comeback: “And I see that you remain arrogant enough to believe your logic superior to mine.” LOL! Soval chapter and the cafe table scene were quite interesting. I, personally, didn't care about the rest and mostly skipped it. In fact, I consider all Original Characters (in almost every story) a nuisance - they're mostly bad written, bland or simply don't bring anything to the story. They're not worth wasting whole chapters on them. YAY! I say again: YAY! I'm so glad you're continuing with this, HR, and I love the incorporation of T'Shara into this universe. Very nice... Looking forward to the officialdom battles over the TnT relationship, some good Soval beach sex (yay!), and some word on Lorian & Karyn. You might even be able to make the bland Danica (one of the series worst characters) likeable... THANK YOU!! I thought you'd forgotten us, but your back with such brilliance! Please keep it up, and T'Shara rocks! Wonderful beginning of your next chapter in your Reconnecting series. I really liked T'Shara and Soval nice to see her character added to your series. And also nice to see Soval and Archer missing Admiral Forres nice touch to your story.I liked Archer facing his demons at last with Trip and T'Pol looking forward to your next part as always wonsderfully written HR. More Soval, please. More Lorian and Karyn. Epic! I don't quite know how to put this, but while it was a quibble in the previous fic that it seemed like EVERYONE was hooking up and pairing off, I must admit I was hoping that that trend would be tapering off. I must admit though that I find T’Shara somewhat interesting, but I still gringe a bit at Soval being added to the long list of romantic pairings. Oh, and when will Archer stop kicking himself in the ass? It's getting kind of pathetic. He just did a lot of good in both the Augment incident and in the whole Kir'Sharra deal. You'd think he'd have most of his confidence back now to where he wouldn't be constantly second guessing himself. Plus, since he's had Surak's katra, a part of Surak would still be with him, and always will be (referencing what happened with Spock and McCoy in the movies and Picard and Sarek in TNG), so one would think that he could draw some strength from that. ^^ Actually, I liked the Archer chapter quite a bit. I liked that he was openning up to his two friends, and bringing up Sim as well. I also loved the banter between them. And I big stuff happened in the Expanse... I can see there being lingering effects and stuff that would stay with someone for a long time. I also love T'Shara. I think she's a very good original character and the situation between her and Soval was well written. I don't take to OC's easily and I really felt drawn in by her. Well done. Sure, the banter was pretty good, be he's still got a lot of self confidence issues that are kind of dragging on and on. I can only hope that they're worked through PDQ because he's getting rather pathetic. Catherine Zeta-Jones?!?!?!?!?!?!? :O Great choice HR. Im already picturing Catherine in cute pointy ears. :D
He just hasnt, or cant learn to accept this yet. He's not a life time solider who has to eventualy program himself inorder to survive with this sacrifice. Thats my impression any whos, as to why he keeps beeting himself up. He hasnt accept the Needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few. An feels like he is the scum of the Earth instead of the hero that everyone claims he is.[cough] which he isnt. [/cough] oh yeah this an HR fic so i had better shut up. LOL Even still, what kind of a Captain can he really be if he's constantly kicking himself in the ass and generally feeling sorry for himself? And that's even if you're one of those people who tries to pretend that Starfleet isn't military. ;) He's got people who care about him, I can only hope that he opens up to them, and SOON. Well it seems like he's starting to here. Also, I think I would feel poorly about his character if he wasn't affected by what went on in the Expanse. Here we have a scene in the POV of Archer... I'm glad things still weigh heavily on his mind. If he put away what he did so easily, even within his own thoughts, I'm not sure it would be within his character and I'm not sure that I would think very highly of him. With all due respect to Captain Archer's journey into self-actualization, the qestion that is burning a hoel in my psyche is WHEN IS THE NEXT INSTALLMENT COMING OUT? Excuse me for shouting. Got carried away. |