...Touching and Touched - Part 6-R

...Touching and Touched

by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

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A/N: I received terrific help for this chapter from Ligeia, who knows more about Engineering than I think the designers on the show did, and pookha, who gave me information and speculation and musings to my heart’s content. Thankee, ladies.

A/N: Trip uses a phrase from one of my favorite comic strips ever, Gary Larson’s The Far Side. Because it wouldn’t surprise me at all if folks were still quoting that strip 150 years from now.

~~~~~

Part 6

Chapter 8: Unresolved

~~~~~

As T’Pol led the way across the length of E-Deck toward Trip’s quarters, Catherine brought Chuck up to speed on all she’d learned over the past few hours. “...But even though Trip was hundreds of kilometers away on Enterprise, he could feel T’Pol’s grief over her mother, because of that bond-thingy that was birthing between them.” Catherine glanced at T’Pol, walking a discreet several steps ahead of them, and marveled. “It must be the most remarkable thing, this connection they have...”

She turned to her husband— to find him glaring at her. “Have you lost your fool head?” Chuck hissed, keeping his voice low. “Why are you all bandwagonny over her already? You’ve only known her for three hours!”

Catherine lowered her voice as well. “Trip’s known her for three years, hon,” she replied calmly.

Chuck hmmphed. “I can’t believe he let himself fall for her. And his claim that she loves him back? Doesn’t make any sense.”

She shrugged. “It seems to make perfect sense to Trip.”

Chuck looked pained. “Well, sure! For all we know, she’s brainwashed him. Maybe she’s using that telepathic bond-thingy to put thoughts inside his head without him even knowing it. And suck information out of his brain.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Chuck, you’re talkin’ nonsense.”

“Am I? What else could she be gettin’ out of this... ‘relationship,’ except an easier way to spy for her VHC cronies?”

T’Pol thought it best not to inform the Tuckers that her keen Vulcan ears were picking up their every whispered word, even several meters away. It was unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected, that Trip’s father would be troubled about his son’s new bondmate. She hoped she and Chuck would somehow find common ground.

Catherine tried again. “Maybe they make each other happy.”

“Exactly my point,” Chuck declared. “Whoever heard of a happy Vulcan?”

Catherine sighed. “Chuck, we did not raise an idiot son. He’s a genius. Or have you forgotten?”

“With engines, yes. With warp theory. Not with women.”

Catherine knew better than to argue. Chuck would figure it out when he wanted to, and not before. Until then, she would leave him be. She patted her pockets absently, and groaned. “I swear, I’d lose my head if it weren’t tied on. T’Pol?”

T’Pol stopped, allowing the Tuckers to catch up to her. “I left my sewing kit in your quarters,” Catherine said. “You two go on ahead.” And before her husband could stop her, she was off, scurrying back the way she came.

“Cath?!” The last thing Chuck wanted was to be stuck alone with the Vulcan woman.

His rapidly-retreating wife waved at him, without turning back. “I’ll catch up with you!” Then she rounded a corner and was gone.

Well, that’s just great.

Reluctantly, Chuck turned to T’Pol. She seemed entirely unfazed by Catherine’s sudden desertion. “Shall we?” she said politely.

They continued on, in deafening silence. Chuck wasn’t about to strike up a casual conversation with her. Even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t know what the hell to say to her. So, read any good minds lately?

T’Pol, with that damnably unflappable calm, broke the silence. “Catherine tells me that your new neighbors already consider you the preeminent handyman of your immediate community.”

Chuck was caught completely off guard. T’Pol making casual conversation? What was it about Vulcans and throwing him for a loop today? “Aw, I just have a knack for fixin’ stuff, is all.” And without thinking, he found himself responding to her. “Didn’t take the neighbor kids long to figure out that Cath is the best cook around. They come by and put in requests now. Cocoa fudge, last week.”

T’Pol nodded. “Trip speaks quite fondly of her culinary skills.” After a moment, she went on, “He performed admirably as acting captain of Enterprise during a critical stage of our mission to Vulcan. He was instrumental in defusing an armed conflict between Vulcan and Andorian forces.”

“He stopped another war between those two?” Chuck shook his head in disbelief.

“Indeed. He does seem to have a peculiar talent for finding himself in the position of mediator between them.”

They walked on in silence. Finally Chuck gave it up. He didn’t feel like dancing around it anymore. “T’Pol... what are you intentions toward my son?”

He watched her consider the question with some surprise. “I intend to do my utmost to convince Starfleet to sanction our marriage,” she replied.

“Why do you want to marry him?” Chuck asked bluntly.

He was thunderstruck to see tenderness cross those beautiful, serene features. Finally she spoke, her voice quiet and heartfelt, her words chosen with care. “He has become part of me. I cannot imagine my life without him.”

He saw her visibly controlling her emotion, tucking it back behind that façade of Vulcan calm, but he had already seen more than he’d ever dreamed was possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Trip answered the door chime. Chuck was standing there, noticeably lacking the wife he’d gone to fetch. “Cath forgot her sewing kit— she’ll be along. But I didn’t come empty-handed.” He stood aside, allowing T’Pol to enter ahead of him.

Trip beamed like sunshine when he saw her. Resisting the urge to hug her, he maintained his decorum, touching his two fingers to hers in the Vulcan way. “Three hours apart from you... it seemed a lot longer today, somehow,” he said.

T’Pol brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek. “We are never apart, t’hai’la.”

He felt her sweet warmth through the bond, and smiled at her. Then, with a flourish, he ushered her over to the main attraction. “Behold the groom.”

Lorian was in front of the full-length mirror propped against the bulkhead, dressed in his wedding robes. He fussed restlessly with his too-long jacket sleeves as Soval settled the ceremonial brocade outer robe on his shoulders. As he caught sight of T’Pol in the mirror, he turned to face her, his expression brightening with a touching combination of expectation and nervousness. A son wanting his mother’s approval.

T’Pol simply stared at him for a long moment, unable to speak. He looked strikingly handsome in the ivory and blue robes, which complemented his fair hair and blue eyes. She was surprised by her strong emotional reaction. Was this maternal pride? If so, it was pleasing, albeit exceedingly difficult to keep under control.

Finally, she found her voice. “Your appearance is most becoming, my son.”

His face lit with a bashful little Lorian-smile. “Thank you, Mother.”

T’Pol was suddenly, poignantly aware of a feeling of envy for her older counterpart, who had known this man when he was a boy. The other T’Pol had nurtured him, played with him, guided him to adulthood, consoled and challenged and cherished him for a century. What had it been like to give birth to him? To see his first smile? To grieve with him over the loss of his father? To teach him to dance?

“I wish...” She hesitated, feeling self-conscious. “I am glad we are together again.”

Lorian took her hand, his smile growing warm and openly affectionate. “I, too.”

His touch and manner put her at ease. “Someday,” she ventured, “I should like to hear what manner of mother I was.”

“You were extraordinary. As you are now.” He glanced at Trip. “As you no doubt will be again, someday.”

The door chimed, and Trip let in Catherine. She took one look at Lorian and whistled appreciatively. “Lordy, but you look fine!”

Lorian blushed. “Thank you, Catherine.”

She bustled over and took a look at his sleeves. “This won’t take but a few minutes. Off with it, now, so I can get to work.”

Lorian slipped off the outer robe and jacket. He was wearing an ivory satin tunic underneath, with wide-cut sleeves and an open front neckline that made him look downright dashing, Catherine thought. He and Karyn were going to look like something out of a fairy tale, at that.

T’Pol turned back to Trip. “I have come to pick out appropriate attire for you to wear to the ceremony.”

Trip threw up his hands. “Now you’re gonna tell me there’s somethin’ wrong with my shirt?”

“The color is not correct,” T’Pol stated. “And I trust you would not wish for your... vivid style... to outshine that of the bride.”

“Oh!” Trip was instantly deferential. “No, o’ course not. Okay then, tell me what color would be more—”

T’Pol was already opening Trip’s closet door, scanning the contents within. “I shall select the proper clothing for you.”

He chewed his lip as he watched her. He was starting to feel a little... henpecked. “Darlin’, it’s been a lotta years since I needed anybody to pick out my clothes. I don’t understand why you can’t just—”

“This.” She pulled out a midnight-blue shirt and matching slacks.

As he looked at the dark blue outfit, Trip felt a wave of sensual pleasure, mixed with a deep, resonant love, echoing through the bond. The last time he’d worn those clothes was three days ago, for their bonding mind-meld. “I wore that when we got married,” he said softly.

T’Pol’s voice was low and intimate. “I remember, t’hai’la.”

Trip felt the bond flare between them. Suddenly his mind’s eye was filled with images and sensations from that night. T’Pol’s lips and tongue caressing his body... cool air on his naked skin... the feel of her pleasure inside his mind as he explored her with his hands and mouth... the bond burning white-hot as they drove each other to ecstasy—

A subtle shiver of desire passed through him, snapping him out of his reverie. He blinked and swallowed. When did his throat get so dry?

T’Pol was watching him, her eyes deep brown pools of memories and promises. “This color is much more pleasing,” she said.

Catherine, sitting at Trip’s desk, working on the jacket, hardly looked up as she addressed him. “Hon, she’s seen Karyn’s wedding gown, and you haven’t. If I were you, I’d take her advice and do what she tells you.”

Trip nodded obediently to his wife. “I guess it’s decided, then.”

T’Pol gestured toward the bathroom. “I shall assist you.”

He smiled at her, resisting the urge to squirm as she tickled him playfully through the bond. “You’re gonna dress me?”

“I do not intend to leave you until you are properly attired for the ceremony,” T’Pol replied coolly.

“Whatever you say.” He escorted her into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. And quietly locking it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

T’Pol hung the midnight-blue outfit on the back of the door, then began unbuttoning Trip’s electric burgundy shirt. He stood close to her, his face centimeters from hers. As her fingers brushed against his chest, sparks of pleasure shot through him, sensitizing his entire body before settling in his groin.

“Is all this comin’ from me?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.

“No.” She slid his shirt off, letting it drop. “I feel it as well.”

He ran his fingers lightly up and down her arms. “I thought we resolved all this newlywed bond friskiness three days ago. I mean, we worked at it... diligently... that whole night.” God, she smelled wonderful. “And half the next night.”

“Soval could not say how long the bond’s mating urges would remain strong. Apparently, Lorian’s impending marriage and bonding are providing unexpected... stimulation.” T’Pol reached down between them, unbuckling Trip’s belt. “We must, of course, control ourselves. The wedding ceremony begins in less than an hour.”

“I think anybody who’d been through pon farr would understand the need to satisfy uncontrollable urges.” Trip could feel the bond humming between them now, insistently. He took her by the hips, lazily rubbing himself against her, and she drew in a soft breath. “Y’know,” he said, “it might be easier, and quicker, for us to just take care of this right now.”

She unzipped his slacks. “Here? With your parents in the next room?” She pushed them off his hips, and they slid to the floor. “Is that entirely appropriate?”

“Probably not.” He brought his hands up, brushing his knuckles lightly over her breasts. “Kinda wickedly inappropriate, actually.” He smiled. “Ask me if I care.”

She trailed her hands up his sculpted, muscular back. “As you wish. Do you care if—”

He silenced her with a kiss, wet and hungry, his tongue swirling against hers. As she matched the urgency of his kiss, he reached behind her, unzipping her uniform in one smooth motion, all the way down to the swell of her shapely backside.

He could feel his whole body trembling with need for her now, as the bond pulsed urgently. He kicked off shoes and slacks all at once, then slid his hand down inside her uniform, cupping the smooth skin of her ass as he nuzzled his way down her throat.

T’Pol’s breath was quickening in response to his touch. “I remind you that there are two Vulcans with quite sensitive hearing on the other side of that door,” she intoned softly. “If we proceed, it would be advisable to do so in complete silence.”

Trip grinned at her. “I’m game if you are, wife,” he whispered.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Not a minute after Trip and T’Pol disappeared into the bathroom, Soval suggested quietly to Lorian that they practice the ritual phrases for tonight’s bonding, and Lorian readily agreed. Catherine thought it was mighty odd, as she listened to them softly repeating Vulcan phrases back and forth. Seemed like memorization would be the last thing on Lorian’s mind, half an hour before his wedding ceremony.

Then she remembered how acute Vulcan hearing was— and she suddenly wondered if Trip and T’Pol were doing something more in the bathroom than just changing his clothes, and the Vulcans were choosing not to listen.

She almost laughed out loud. It reminded her of those heady summer evenings when she and Chuck had been courting. They would come home late, unable to keep their hands off each other, and indulge in all kinds of romantic hanky-panky in the sitting room, with her folks asleep just down the hall. The possibility of being caught in the act was just part of the thrill.

Ha! Catherine wondered if Mom and Dad had known what their daughter and her beau had been doing out there all along.

She glanced over at Chuck now. He was sitting on Trip’s bunk, examining the gold wedding band Lorian had given him for safekeeping while he changed into his wedding robes. Just as well that Chuck wasn’t tracking on what Trip and T’Pol might be doing in the bathroom. Catherine didn’t think he was ready for that mental image yet.

Personally, she was tickled at the idea that the kids might be fooling around in there. It told her that, no matter her heritage, T’Pol was capable of spontaneity, good old-fashioned naughtiness, and keeping a passionate emotional human male happy. That boded well for their relationship.

She handed the finished jacket back to Lorian, who slipped it on and stood obediently as she eyed her handiwork, then nodded her approval. She noticed his hands moving restively at his sides. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting a little nervous.”

Lorian endeavored to quell his fidgeting. “Perhaps.” Tentatively, he continued, “I know I cannot see Karyn before the ceremony, but... is it permissible for you to tell me anything...?”

Catherine smiled. “She’ll take your breath away, darlin’.”

Lorian looked down, but Catherine caught the pleased little smile he was trying to hide. It was charming, seeing how much he loved the girl.

Trip and T’Pol emerged from the bathroom, every hair in place, Trip looking positively debonair in his midnight-blue ensemble. But Catherine noticed they both had that... glow about them. She hid a smile behind her hand. They were fast, she gave ‘em that.

Chuck did a double-take at Trip’s suave appearance. “Damn. If I didn’t know it was you, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

Trip smirked at him. “Har har.”

“Thank goodness you finally found a woman with good taste in your clothes,” Catherine added.

“Okay, get it all out o’ your system, both of ya,” Trip said with an exaggerated sigh.

Catherine giggled. The comm signaled, and Trip made a face at his mother as he crossed the room to answer the call. “Tucker here.”

“It’s Hendley again, sir. We’ve got a delivery here for Lieutenant Archer, but we’re getting short-handed, with all the guests arriving. Would you have someone to spare who could drop by Cargo Bay Two and pick it up?”

“That would be me,” Catherine volunteered.

“Sure, Hendley,” Trip replied into the comm. “She’ll be right over. Tucker out.” He turned to Catherine. “Okay, Mom, the cargo bay is all the way aft—”

“I will escort her there,” T’Pol said. “We can return to my quarters together. I, too, must dress for the ceremony.”

Trip walked both his ladies to the door. “What are you wearing?” he asked T’Pol, with an intrigued half-smile.

She touched her two fingers to his as she slipped out. “Something blue.”

“See y’all at the wedding,” Catherine said cheerily, before following T’Pol out.

Trip took a seat beside Chuck on the bunk. “How’re you holdin’ up, Dad?”

“You’re the one to be hangin’ onto this.” Chuck held the ring out. “There’s an inscription inside, but I can’t read it. It’s Vulcan, I think.”

Trip took the ring and studied the Vulcan script etched inside the band. He smiled. “It says ‘t’hai’la’.”

“What’s that, some pet name?”

Trip chuckled. “Vulcans don’t go for nicknames, Dad. It means ‘friend.’ But when it’s used for a friend you love, it means ‘beloved’.”

Chuck frowned faintly. “Why not just use the word for ‘beloved’? Oh— lemme guess. Vulcans don’t have one.”

“Sure they do,” Trip said patiently. “It’s ‘ashaya.’ But we use ‘t’hai’la’ because making friends with each other was a big deal. It took a lot of work. The love wouldn’t have happened without the friendship.”

Chuck shook his head. “I’m still gettin’ used to the idea that she has feelings at all. How can what they feel be the same as what we feel?” He pointed to the ring in Trip’s hand. “I mean, what did she feel, really, when he died? The other Trip?”

Trip looked pensively at the wedding band. “She was sad. She missed him every day after he died.”

“C’mon. How could you know?”

“Because she told me,” Trip replied quietly.

Chuck was confused. “Come again?”

Trip paused. “When Lorian’s ship first got here... he had his mother with him. His birth mother, the other T’Pol.”

Chuck listened, stunned speechless, as Trip continued. “She’d been hurt in the battle. She was dying. Lorian and I sat with her. She was delirious... she thought I was her Trip come back to her. And I let her go on thinking I was him. I let them be together one last time.” He smiled faintly, though his eyes were sad. “The way she looked at me... she loved him so much. For the first time, I knew it was possible, because they had it. The real thing.”

Chuck studied the wedding ring Trip held. Maybe it was possible— for that T’Pol, anyway. No VHC to punish her, no Vulcan cultural watchdogs to declare her an abomination. Just the other-Trip, who wanted to share his life with her, have a family with her. If she really did love him, she would have been free to act on her feelings. She would have been a good wife to him.

Which made his premature death all the more unfair.

There were still too many unanswered questions, gnawing at Chuck’s gut, refusing to go away. “How did he die?”

Trip drew back. “Dad, that’s morbid.”

“No, it isn’t,” Chuck retorted. “I have a right to know. He was my son, as much as you are. He went off to fight a war, and he was killed— taken from his family. I need to know what happened.” He realized his voice was rising. With an effort, he pulled back. “I just want to know if it was a good death.”

“What do you mean?” Trip asked.

“Honorable. Heroic. I dunno— just not pointless, not stupid.” Chuck replied. “I’m hoping he died for a reason.”

Trip hesitated. “I don’t know how he died.”

Chuck was incredulous. “You never asked?”

“I asked. Lorian didn’t want me to know. I respected that.”

“It’s your life!”

“No,” Trip said. “It was his life— Lorian’s life. His memories. After his ship disappeared, and I thought we’d lost him...” He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t see much point in digging up the records.”

Chuck still didn’t understand. “You didn’t want to know? Or you were afraid to find out?”

Trip looked away. “Dad, you’re pickin’ at wounds that haven’t healed.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do? You drop a Vulcan girlfriend and a middle-aged grandson in my lap, you tell me you got yourself killed a hundred years ago— you think I don’t feel pretty torn up myself right now?—”

“It was a good death.”

The two Tuckers looked up. Lorian was regarding them both calmly, though Chuck could see that same faint shadow of sorrow in his eyes.

“Lorian, you don’t have to talk about this,” Trip said.

“I came to terms long ago with my father’s death,” Lorian replied. “And Chuck is correct. He does have a right to know how his son met his death.” His voice was gentle. “It is not your future, Father. But you need not listen, if you do not wish to.”

Trip looked vaguely apprehensive, but he took a deep breath, visibly composing himself. “I’ll stay.”

Lorian pulled over the chair from Trip’s desk and sat, his brocade robe draped in careless majesty around him. Chuck had an image of a high priest imparting a grave secret from the Holy of Holies.

“Enterprise was near a sphere that had gone undetected by my mother’s scans,” Lorian began. “Its gravimetric signature was insignificant, for it had fallen into disrepair. It lay invisible behind its cloaking field. That day, evidently by some sort of self-maintenance program, it returned to full function. Commander Reed likened it to being struck by a gravimetric shockwave. Systems were knocked offline throughout the ship— weapons, sensors, electrical and communications.”

Lorian paused for a moment. Chuck could tell he was recalling still-painful memories, seeing the event through the eyes of the fourteen-year-old boy he’d been back then.

“In Engineering, the spatial distortions created microfractures all along the reactor coolant conduits,” Lorian went on. “My father evacuated Engineering and stayed behind, alone, to shut down the coolant flow and prevent a catastrophic leak.”

“The reactor would have started to overheat,” Trip said.

Lorian nodded. “He attempted to shut down the reactor by conventional means, to no effect.”

“The intermix ratio had destabilized?”

“Particles had flooded the reactor,” Lorian confirmed.

Chuck listened to the exchange in growing disbelief. He felt like he was careening toward a disaster— his son’s imminent death— and yet these two engineers were discussing it with all the emotion of a sensor diagnostic test. He couldn’t understand why they were being so unfeeling... until he realized they must be more profoundly affected than he was. They were hiding behind professional masks to protect themselves.

“What does all this mean?” he asked.

“Antimatter containment was in danger of failing,” Trip answered. “If he didn’t get the warp reactor shut down, the ship would go up like a supernova.”

Lorian continued. “As he was initiating a manual shutdown of the reactor, another spatial anomaly passed through Engineering. It breached the physical shielding around the warp core housing.”

“Oh, God,” Trip breathed. He looked away.

Chuck knew enough to understand what it meant. The ruptured shielding must have released a massive, mortal burst of ionizing radiation. He glanced from his stricken son to his somber grandson.

When Lorian spoke again, his voice was soft. “In the few minutes of life he had left, my father shut down the reactor, then lowered the emergency bulkheads to prevent the radiation leak from spreading beyond the confines of Engineering.” He turned to Chuck. “His quick actions saved his crew, and the entire ship.”

A good death, then. A hero’s death. But it gave Chuck little comfort. All he could see was his son suffering and dying alone. The devastating image burned pitilessly into his brain.

“Where was T’Pol?” Trip asked. His voice was almost plaintive.

“On the bridge, with Captain Archer.”

“She wouldn’t have been able to get to him in time.” Trip’s face filled with pain as he looked up at his son. “Then... they were separated.”

Lorian laid a gentle hand on Trip’s arm. “They were together, Father. They were bonded.”

Trip swallowed hard and nodded, reassured, as he gripped Lorian’s hand.

As Chuck watched them, the ghastly image in his head shifted, becoming a picture of T’Pol comforting her dying husband... and Chuck realized that he’d finally found a reason to be glad about the bond.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Karyn settled the silver circlet in her upswept ebony hair. Behind her, T’Pol, now dressed in a sleek, elegant floor-length sheath of midnight blue, adjusted the fall of the gossamer wedding veil.

Catherine handed over the two wedding bouquets that Lt. Hendley had given her in the cargo bay. She gave the two women a final once-over. “Pretty as a picture, ladies.”

Karyn ran her hand over the blue irises and delicate baby’s breath in her bouquet. “I wasn’t even thinking about flowers.”

“From the look of that cargo bay, darlin’, plenty of other people had it covered,” Catherine said with a smile.

The door chimed, and T’Pol admitted the Captain, resplendent in his dress uniform. “Commander, you look wonderful,” he greeted her.

“As do you, Captain.” T’Pol stepped aside, giving Archer an unimpeded view of the bride.

Karyn was a breathtaking vision in ice-blue, holding a lovely bouquet, her veil shimmering down her shoulders like an iridescent waterfall. For an instant, Archer imagined Esilia wearing that wedding dress for another Jonathan a century ago... and he realized how much he longed to be a husband and father, a real father, to a daughter like Karyn.

He came closer. Frowned at her, shaking his head. “No... there’s something missing.”

Karyn looked down at herself, anxiously. “What?”

He tipped her chin back up. “Your Something New.”

She tried to glare at him, but she couldn’t, instead perking up like a little girl on Christmas morning. “What is it?”

“Something from my vast and crazy travels.” He produced a small envelope. “A couple of years ago, I found myself stranded in a post-apocalyptic 31st century, on a scavenger hunt for copper. I came across a few things made of brass and bronze, but the order was for pure copper, so I had to keep looking.”

Karyn accepted his account of time-travel without batting an eye. “Did you find it?”

Archer nodded. “Found it, got the job done. When I got back to the here and now, I discovered that I’d brought back one of the rejected items— it was still in my pocket.”

He presented her with the envelope. Intrigued, Karyn opened it. Inside was a bronze medallion, about an inch in diameter, attached to a serpentine chain. “I found it in a high-rise apartment complex,” Archer said. “The bedroom looked like it belonged to a teenaged girl.”

Karyn examined the raised image on the front of the medal. “Is that some kind of flower?”

“It’s a Scottish thistle,” Archer supplied. “I looked it up.”

She read the words etched around the border of the medallion. “981st Highland Gathering and Games, Santa Rosa, 2945... 3rd Place, Shean Truibhais.” She stumbled over the last two words.

He chuckled. “I had to look that up, too. It’s Gaelic— pronounced ‘shawn truce.’ It’s a traditional Scottish dance, done in a kilt, to the skirl of bagpipes. There are competitions all over the place.” He tapped the medal. “There were a lot of medals in that bedroom, most of them gold. She must have been quite a dancer.” He smiled. “If you were to quantum-date this, the reading would come back at about minus nine hundred years. That’s as new as a Something New can be, I figure.”

Karyn laughed. “I like it.”

He fastened it around her neck. She touched the little bronze medallion at her throat, and smiled at him. “How does it look?”

“You look beautiful,” he replied.

She blushed. “Papa...”

“I didn’t get to dote on you when you were a child, so bear with me.” Archer held the medal lightly between his fingers. “I can’t be with you all the time, but this is the closest thing. Every time you look at it, know that I’m thinking of you, no matter where— or when— I am.” He laughed at himself as he felt tears coming to his eyes. “I know it’s ridiculously sentimental, and so sweet that my teeth are rotting as I say it, but I don’t care.”

He looked up at her, and saw that she was just as teary-eyed as he was, even though she was laughing along with him. “I don’t care, either.” She threw her arms around him, and they hugged each other tight. “Thank you, Papa.”

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you, too.” They dabbed at their eyes, still chuckling over their mutual mushiness. “Are all Archers this shmoopy?” Karyn asked. “I know my dad could get pretty soppy over romantic movies.”

“My dad, too.” Archer leaned conspiratorially close. “Don’t tell anyone, but the Archer men have pretty much all been closet romantics.”

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” she giggled.

He adjusted the veil around her shoulders. “Soval will be here soon to escort you to the cargo bay.”

“Traditionally, the last one with the bride is her mother,” Catherine remarked. “I think T’Pol is the de facto mother of the bride here.” She gave Karyn’s hand a fond squeeze, then took Archer’s arm. “Shall we, Captain?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Archer escorted her out.

T’Pol turned to Karyn, somewhat self-consciously. “Regarding me as a mother is not required. I have no intention of displacing your own mother in your memories...”

Karyn smiled at her. “Don’t worry about that.” Then, lightly, she went on, “But seeing Lorian regard you as a mother, I think I like the idea of having a mom again. What do you think about having a daughter?”

T’Pol was deeply honored. “I find the idea agreeable.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chuck was MIA.

Archer found out when he and Catherine dropped by Trip’s quarters for a final check-in with Lorian. Trip would say only that “Dad’s brain was full,” and he needed some time by himself. Trip had pointed his father in the direction of the Observation Lounge.

Archer found him there, staring out the viewport at the majestic view of Earth below.

“Am I disturbing you?”

Chuck glanced up at him. “I suppose they sent you to fetch me.”

Archer shrugged faintly. “We have a few minutes.”

Chuck turned his attention back to the glowing blue-white world below. “You can see it so clearly from here. I didn’t realize.”

Archer joined him at the viewport. Enterprise was in synchronous orbit over North America. The Florida trench stood out like an ugly scar.

“You been there?” Chuck asked.

Archer nodded. “After we got back from the Expanse.”

“It was cold by then. For months, it was a smoking hellfire of a thing. Took a long time to die.” Chuck’s eyes focused on the past, rather than the trench, as he continued. “We stayed near Ground Zero, doing volunteer work, listening to people, just keeping busy. I built temporary housing, and Catherine made the rounds of all the shelters. She cooked a lot. Her chicken spaghetti was a real favorite among the refugees...”

He fell silent. Archer didn’t rush him.

Finally Chuck spoke again, with conviction. “I am not a bigoted jerk.”

Archer was a little surprised, but the statement explained a lot. “I never said you were.”

“Trip did, this morning. He was joking, but not really. You know.”

Archer made no comment. He sensed a dam about to break.

Chuck turned to him, his expression almost challenging. “Look, I may be just a carpenter, but I’m not stupid. I don’t harbor blind, ignorant hatred of aliens. I have very specific reasons for disliking Vulcans, for example. The VHC, and Soval, and T’Pol have driven you and Trip batty for years. Vulcans rained all over our warp program for decades. And watching the Vulcans bail on us during the war didn’t help, either. Nothing I have seen or heard ever contradicted my point of view. Until today.”

“Been a lot to adjust to, hasn’t it?” Archer remarked mildly.

Chuck chuffed out an ironic chuckle. “Some yahoos outside Starfleet called me a traitor to my species today, because they saw me walking with Soval and Lorian. A while later, I watched a bunch of Vulcans look at Lorian like he was some kind of mutant throwback, simply because he was half-human. None of ‘em knew us from Adam, but that didn’t stop them.” His voice quieted. “A year and a half ago, we didn’t know the Xindi existed. They’d never even laid eyes on us, but that didn’t stop them from trying to wipe us out. It didn’t stop them from killing my baby girl.”

He looked down at Earth again. “The xenophobes made it sound so simple. ‘We can’t trust any of ‘em! We were better off when we kept to ourselves!’ I bought into it— we all did to some extent, I guess. But it’s not that simple, is it?”

“No,” Archer replied. “The genie’s out of the bottle. It was loosed as soon as Cochrane fired up his warp engines and got noticed. There will always be someone who needs to know if there’s something more... beyond that hill, beyond that sea, beyond that sky. And there will always be the risk that what he finds isn’t friendly. That doesn’t automatically make every alien evil, any more than it makes every human good.”

Chuck heaved an exasperated sigh. “Catherine’s certainly not having any problems with all this. ‘Guess what— your son’s in love with a Vulcan, and kinda married to her, and telepathically glued to her. And here’s your hundred-year-old grandson from another timeline. And by the way, Soval’s a good guy, and a sentimental softy to boot.’ She’s just rolling right with it. Maybe she’s just not thinking.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I’m thinking too much. I dunno. I just need to make some kind of sense of all of this.”

“Soval was saying yesterday that we all have room for enlightenment, but we have fears and prejudices to overcome first,” Archer said.

Chuck eyed him doubtfully. “Vulcans have fears?”

“Not any that they would admit to,” Archer smiled. “But I learned a few things from Soval on our way home. For instance: the Vulcans weren’t holding our warp program back for the last hundred years because they thought we were morons with no potential. They thought we had more potential than they did! We’d come so far so fast, after the last war, that they were afraid we’d sail into deep space and leave ‘em in the dust.”

“Vulcans... afraid of us.” Chuck shook his head in quiet disbelief. “I’ll be damned. Is that why they sat out the war? Did they want the Xindi to get rid of us?”

“They sent two ships into the Expanse right after Earth was attacked,” Archer said. Chuck’s eyes widened in surprise. “It wasn’t made public,” Archer confirmed. “Both ships were lost, with all hands. There’s a substance in the Expanse called Trellium— it’s used for shielding ships against space anomalies. And it’s deadly to Vulcans. That’s why they didn’t send their fleet there.”

Chuck looked heavenward, in perplexed frustration. “Damn fools. If they’d told us, it might’ve changed the way we thought about them.”

“Fear, Chuck. They were afraid to admit to a weakness.” Archer leaned against the viewport. “But there have been a few Vulcans who weren’t afraid of us, who saw our potential as a benefit for both our species. Because of the Reformation, those Vulcans are helping us to make the shift from mentor and student to partners. They’re taking off the jesses, letting us spread our wings. Wiser minds like Soval are leading the way now.”

“Do you trust him? Really?” Chuck was asking the question genuinely.

“During our last mission, Soval threw away his career with the High Command to help finger the Embassy bombers,” Archer replied. “He endured being kidnapped and tortured to help overthrow his corrupt government and avert an unjust war. Yes, I trust him.”

Chuck mulled over Archer’s words, still looking unsure. “And... T’Pol? Do I trust her with my son?”

Archer looked squarely at him. “Chuck, when the VHC put Subcommander T’Pol on my ship four years ago, they didn’t do it as a goodwill gesture because I needed a science officer. We all knew why she was there. But no one— not me, and certainly not the High Command— counted on her loyalty to her Captain and crew, on her rare affinity for humans, on her unseemly curiosity...” He smiled. “She surprised everybody. I think she even surprised herself.”

He gazed out the viewport, into the distant infinity of stars. “When Enterprise was getting ready to leave for the Expanse, she was ordered back to Vulcan— but she resigned her commission to stay with us. We learned about the lethal effects of Trellium only after T’Pol was exposed to it and nearly died. At that point she asked me to dump her on the nearest habitable planet and continue our mission without her, so we could shield the ship with Trellium.”

Archer remembered the final frenetic days of the mission, as Trip and T’Pol feverishly worked until they determined the function of the sphere network, and its vulnerability. Everything sprang from that— the cooperation of the Xindi Aquatics, the Xindi anti-war alliance, the solution to disabling the spheres, the defeat of the Sphere Builders. It changed everything. T’Pol’s presence changed everything.

“If I had followed her advice,” he went on, “we would probably have lost the war. T’Pol was instrumental in providing information and solutions that not only helped us destroy the Xindi superweapon, but sabotaged the plan to reconfigure space, which would have destroyed all life in the universe.”

He turned back to Chuck. “But long before that, we would certainly have lost Trip. His grief and anger over Elizabeth would have destroyed him, if not for T’Pol. Her compassion for him, and her desire to help him, was the beginning of something neither of them expected, but something that was building since the first moment they met. Where it’s brought them is where they belong. Together.”

In Archer’s quiet certainty, Chuck seemed to find what he’d been seeking. Slowly, he nodded, accepting. “A Vulcan daughter-in-law,” he mused, trying it on for size. Then he shrugged. “At least she’s not Xindi.”

Archer felt like strangling him. With an effort, he kept his voice calm. “Chuck, you can’t put an entire species in a box and label them all good or bad.”

“Xindi, you can,” Chuck said flatly.

Time for more enlightenment. “The ship that found Lorian’s Enterprise, and rescued them, was Xindi.”

Chuck stared at him. Archer added, “The man who convinced the majority of the Xindi Council to help us stop the superweapon— he was Xindi, too. We wouldn’t have succeeded without his help.”

Chuck was dumbfounded. “Why did he help you?”

“He found out he’d been lied to, and used. And he wanted to make amends for the seven million.” Archer paused. “He was the same Xindi who designed the probe that killed Elizabeth.”

Chuck looked away, his face hardening. “He didn’t do enough.”

“He did what he could,” Archer said. “He would have done more, but he was murdered. One of his fellow Xindi found out he was helping us, and killed him.”

Chuck’s expression didn’t change. “Sounds like justice to me, not murder.”

“I’m not sure Degra would disagree with you.” Archer took a deep breath. “I suppose we’re all capable of committing great wrongs, for the most noble of reasons. I know I’m guilty of that.”

Chuck looked up, sharply. “You were fighting a war, Jon. You did what you had to do.” He eyed Archer knowingly. “And from the look I’ve seen in your eyes today, you still have trouble sleeping at night over it. That means whatever you did out there, you didn’t lose your humanity, or your conscience.” He put a hand on Archer’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jon. You’re still a good man. What you’re working through... it’s not gonna happen overnight. It’ll take time.”

Archer nodded, grateful for Chuck’s reassurance. Then he gave the elder Tucker a mock frown. “Hey, don’t get me off-topic. I’m supposed to be saying that to you.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Like the wise old Vulcan softy said— we all have room for enlightenment.”

Archer laughed, and Chuck gave him a grudging smile, before shooing him toward the door. “What’re you doin’ standing around here? Don’t you have a wedding to perform?”

“Just came by to round up a stubborn stick-in-the-mud,” Archer replied.

The two men headed out. “You shouldn’t speak to your elders that way,” Chuck admonished. “Do you talk to Lorian like that? He’s Vulcan, y’know. He could put you down.”

“You don’t understand,” Archer explained patiently. “Technically, yes, he’s older. But see, I’m the patriarch...”

Part 7, Chapter 9, can be found on the ...Touching and Touched MENU page.




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