Your Mom 'n Me - Part I - sec. 9

Your Mom n' Me
Part I – Startling Discoveries

By John O.

Rating TnT – PG-13 for language and eventual sexual content -
Disclaimer – Paramount owns the characters and everything Star Trek related. Unfortunately.
GenreRomance/Drama/Series/AU

A.N.: Notes are in the previous story. You wanted more TnT! T’Pol continues to explore the world that is the Southern United States in all it’s Trip-glory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part I – Startling Discoveries
Section 9 (Chapters 17 & 18)

Chapter 17:

--------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, T’Pol was treated by her mate to a surprise picnic, venturing out several kilometers into the brush on an extended walk.

In his bliss the boyish smile reappeared as Trip recalled the embarrassment that went along with asking his mom’s help preparing a vegetarian picnic. And not just for T’Pol’s nutritional needs. Kathryn was puzzled, then slightly amused when he told her he would be having a vegetarian meal as well. Many things about T’Pol’s ways didn’t seem arrogant and pretentious to him when they first met, a time that seemed so distant to him now.

What her son didn’t tell Kathryn was that he planned to pack only a sleeping bag. He hoped that when he phoned in through subspace on his handheld comm. unit, she would believe they had really lost track of time before nightfall. He insisted they didn’t have time to get back to the house before dark, and that T’Pol required meditation sooner than the trek back to the house would allow. Kathryn almost told him he needed to work on better excuses if he was going to live the life of a married man.

He was amazed. Lying there in the sleeping bag amongst the music of crickets and cicadas, it was almost as if they were nothing more than high school sweethearts. The political strife that awaited the public knowing of their relationship, the strain on their careers, none of it could bother them now. Even half a dozen stressed out admirals seemed a distant worry, drowned out by the perfection of the moment. He rested an elbow on the slick material of the sleeping bag, the prickly grass scratching at its underside. It afforded him a profile of T’Pol as the scientist burst from within, ever observant of the sights and sounds of alien life around her. She studied the forest’s noises as if his presence was unheeded, but through the bond they cuddled as he watched her and she studied the surroundings. When she crinkled her nose at a passing waft of Chrysanthemum, he couldn’t help but snicker at the expression. Suddenly he caught her interest. Like a predator’s prey lying unheeded in secrecy and now exposed, T’Pol was on him in a voracious attack of his mouth.

Making love under the moonlight, all things were forgotten in the background of one another’s loving embrace. There would be many consequences to this feeling, consequences to charging into the temptation of the mate bond. Up until this moment it was a constant discomfort lurking within T’Pol. She knew that as a Vulcan it was her mandate and trained response to resist temptation, to uphold the strictest psychological constitution.

It was until some fleetingly instantaneous moment that she felt this tinge of guilt. Perhaps when the alien scent of flowers passed her nose… she would never know when. But in one moment T’Pol always felt a secret shame, deep down inside the recesses of her Vulcan mind. Even amidst the comfort of her mate’s embrace all these weeks past, it had gnawed at her. Whether by adoption of human emotion or arriving at a higher plane of understanding the ‘true meaning’ of Surak’s teachings on emotion – it didn’t matter to her. With the passing of the flower’s aroma, so passed her Vulcan shame.

In his home, under the stars of his world, T’Pol felt more at peace than she ever thought possible. Stripped of the cold, calculating disgrace that might have disarmed her of these feelings before her visit to Earth, T’Pol’s eyes rose to the sky as her body arched beneath him. Her mind reeled with anticipation. It was now his calm, controlled passion infusing her and strengthening her. And when her soul ached to give up the last bastion of ‘self’ to him… it fluttered away.

With a cry of finality echoing into the forest, her cares disappeared. Released into his maelstrom totally; completely she was thrown into its chaos like a scarf from his fingertips.

His name rolled off her tongue, swallowed by the night as their passion swallowed every last care. Then falling into his arms with her final release, one last thought crossed her mind before she slipped into an easy rest with her mate. It was neither Vulcan, nor Enterprise where she belonged – it was in his arms that she had found a lasting home.

--------------------------------------

**Next Day – Early Morning**

“Admiral Gardner,” Jon croaked through a stifled yawn. The communication screen lit up with the stern face of Admiral James Gardner. Still wrapped in a blanket, Archer could be seen slumping in his office chair, the product of interrupted sleep. He squinted warily in the plasma lamplight.

“Have I caught you at a bad time Jonathan?”

“Of course not, what can I do for you Jim?”

“There’s just a few more things we didn’t discuss in the briefings,” Jonathan nearly gaped in his weariness at the Admiral’s audacity. He quickly recovered and braced himself to head back to SFC in minutes. But, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to plug the admiral for a little information before he got all the way down to the office.

“I thought the briefing with the Starfleet Security Board concluded the inquiry nearly a week ago?” Archer tried his best to maintain an unbiased tone, but his irritation with the drawn out proceedings betrayed his attempts.

“This one’s off the record Jon, unofficial. Just between us.” Gardner rubbed his chin as he did to command attention. Archer was too tired to be intimidated, glancing at the chronometer and reading barely 0400. Now that “official” correspondence was over, Jon allowed sleep to creep into his features and hunch his posture. At least the Admiral might get the hint and save it for another time, he thought. A wide yawn before the Admiral’s staunch veneer made sure of that. This was supposed to be ‘unofficial’ to begin with anyway, they really need to keep their double standards straight…

“Captain, how much of Commander Tucker and Commander T’Pol’s personal relationship are you aware of?”

He woke me up to ask me that? Archer was floored by his question. Now a little irritated on top of confused, Archer responded with recrimination.

“Why do you ask Admiral?” His eyes were wide awake and clearly full of attention, and eager to end this conversation before he was cornered into revealing too many details. The admiral returned his look with fortitude, finally breaking eye contact. In doing so he rummaged through various PADDs of data on his desk.

“The information we got from the Vulcans and from your officers leaves a few things unexplained, particularly why exactly Commander Tucker’s presence was required on Vulcan,” Archer continued to frown. Blinking, his voice came out level and expectant.

“Yes?”

“Captain, to be perfectly frank,” he rubbed at his forehead in frustration.

“Jon, I expect you to uphold the same rules of non fraternization as any commanding officer,” the admiral barked. He glanced back and forth as if he doubted himself before continuing, losing control of his voice as it peaked.

“And these two are not to engage in romantic involvement on your ship,” the admiral jutted a finger at the Captain. “Is that clear?”

Archer stared blankly for a moment then blinked several times in the darkness of his cabin. He was about to take a dive into hot water, but this had gone too far. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes in front of the stone-faced Admiral, who sat, expecting an obedient reply.

“Admiral, with all due respect, I will penalize officers who allow personal issues with one another to interfere with duty; but Jim, I don't know as we have the right to tell them how to spend their private time. Neither is the other’s subordinate.”

Archer knew this was already dancing on the edge. He had been waiting for this moment since Trip came to his quarters and told him about their bond. He knew when he saw his friend’s face light up that this would get to Starfleet, but he was honestly surprised at how adamant Gardner was about being involved. Trip had never said it, but if the young man’s devotion to Natalie was any sign, Archer knew Trip was going to be popping the question soon…In human terms anyway, Archer thought.

Just what would a human-Vulcan hybrid-marriage would be like? Oh Jesus, the Admiral’s gonna love it when Trip asks me to perform the… that is, if he asks me.

He was ripped from thought when he realized he wasn’t lucky enough to wait until they announced engagement for Starfleet to get in a twist about it.

“Jon its bad press right now, a Starfleet Officer and a Vulcan romantically involved! It’s never happened before, you know that, with all the xenophobics we got runnin’ around since the Xindi attack, it’ll create chaos! It’s not something our relationship with Vulcan needs right now,” the Admiral huffed as he glanced around. Archer squinted at the Admiral in disbelief.

“Jim, isn’t it exactly what Earth and Vulcan needs right now? Even if two of my officers chose to pursue a relationship, which would be up to them,” Archer nearly bellowed, emphasizing the latter point.

“…Maybe Vulcans and Humans would start to understand we have more in common than we thought. We’ve held peace with these people for a century but we’ve had almost no cultural exchange. If we’re going to preach for an interplanetary alliance between different cultures, how can we begin by rejecting the very consequence cooperation with the Vulcans has created? Maybe some people won’t like it, but people will begin to see we’re not so different after all. That’s the point of this alliance isn’t it?”

Gardner was silent for several moments and Jon realized he hadn’t even touched on the important issue.

“And it’s none of Starfleet’s damn business,” he snapped.

Archer huffed when Gardner did not respond.

“Dammit Jon! Just don’t let it get to the press!” and the screen went black. Archer started for a moment at the sudden disconnection. Must’ve really riled the old man up this time.

He started to think about what this was going to mean for Trip and T’Pol. He had been taken by surprise by the situation, but now Starfleet was snooping around in the name of politics. Trip’s happiness meant too much to him to let Starfleet interfere, the world’ll survive.

When Trip lost his sister, Jon feared the same man might never return, as Trip emotionally wasted away. When his friend came upon something to bring him back to life in the most unlikely of places, in the most unlikely of people... Archer didn’t want any part of taking his peace away from him. Somehow, when no one would have expected it, T’Pol had been the only thing that could help Trip return to the man he had been. This crew has given so much, nobody can ask them to give that up.

Hell you couldn’t anyway, he thought. If I know Trip that stubborn sonofabitch, he’d just retire and go teach if Starfleet tried to corner ‘em.

With a sigh he realized there were definitely perks to being the first ones out there. There wasn’t an engineer in the fleet with Trip’s experience, and if they came to the table with Starfleet, Trip would be holding all the cards. Not to mention the only Vulcan Officer in Starfleet, and a damn brilliant one.

Now that the Admiral was out of his hair and he still had time to kill before meeting Trip and his parents, he decided to catch a few more hours of sleep. Shore leave sure had its perks, sleeping-in certainly at the top of the list for a Starship captain used to grabbing breakfast at 0500. Collapsing onto his bunk, Jon roused the curious head of Porthos with a powerful thud to the bunk.

Shortly after 0930, Jonathan climbed out of bed and made it into the shower. He couldn’t help keep thinking about his conversation with the admiral that morning. With the water crawling over his body, the full power of his faculties returned and new concern over the issue ate away at him. Something about Gardner’s tone said Starfleet wasn’t finished poking their nose around. A fraternization fiasco could easily lie ahead. Starfleet’s involvement in such a trivial and private matter deeply upset him and was indeed perplexing as well.

He washed and dressed himself in comfortable civilian slacks and a silk shirt, eager to get to the surface during the senior staff relief time. Enterprise would be in dry dock for another week still and for once the captain found he had no problem leaving her in the hands of the pro’s at Starfleet Engineering. Four years and he was finally going to enjoy some extended time off. No missions, no hot n’ heavy mountain climbing, no covert operatives disguised as beautiful women on Risa, Just free time and his friends on Earth.

Before making his way to the shuttlebay, Archer absent-mindedly collided into Malcolm Reed in the corridor on his way to the launch bay.

“Oh, excuse me, sir, terri-”, the tactical officer stopped short, surprised to see the captain finally out of uniform. Even on shore leave Malcolm had observed Archer to adhere to overly strict codes of Captain’s behavior. In fact it had been something for which he began to admire the Captain. Malcolm always was an old fashioned officer – raised on straight gig lines and 0400 PT since birth.

The night watch crew still swears you can set the ship’s chronometer by Malcolm’s punctual arrival for duty every morning.

“Hey Malcolm, finally taking some time off?” Archer teased. Behind him, Malcolm lugged an oversized duffle bag, shouldered against his blue shirt. A commemorative NX-01 ball-cap covered his head as Malcolm sputtered in reply.

“Ac-actuall-, yessir, well-”, Archer held up his hand and nodded with a smile, hoping to stop Malcolm before he strained something.

“You know Malcolm, we’ll be meeting Trip’s family down in San Francisco for dinner, you’re welcome to join us,” a smile crossed the captain’s face.

“Mrs. Tucker would string me up if I didn’t insist you come along after you escaped her hospitality last year,” the snicker returned and Malcolm laughed heartily.

“Actually sir I have plans, you see I-” suddenly the trained voice of an angry linguist stung the two men’s ears like a queen hornet.

“MALCOLM! Are you coming?” Archer craned to find Hoshi lugging two gargantuan duffle bags similar to Malcolm’s. Propped against the doorway to the launch bay, passing crewmen cowered as Hoshi glared down the hallway at Mr. Reed. Erect as a statue, her arms sat folded across her chest and her feet protruding into the hallway like an angry mother.

Archer looked back to Malcolm with simultaneous shock and glee. “Going somewhere?” he inquired with an irrepressible grin. Malcolm fidgeted nervously, peering behind him at Hoshi as she waited at the door.

“Uh, Hoshi’s invited to introduce me to some old colleagues while we’re on leave, in Brazil actually,” Malcolm answered.

“A week in Brazil?” Archer tortured Malcolm, slapping him on the shoulder. When the tactical officer just grinned sheepishly, Jon decided he had tortured Mal enough.

“Well have a good time,” Archer snickered as he brushed past Malcolm who soon scampered up to meet Hoshi.

“Now, Malcolm there will be no combat drills, target practice or physical training where we’re going,” she smirked mischievously.

Well, of a sort maybe… she thought.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that, Lieutenant?”

“Would you stop with the Lieutenant already, Ensign?” Reed smirked as he shoved past her playfully. Hoshi smiled as she followed, pondering the tropical paradise awaiting them.

---------------------------------------------

Only a few minutes after Jonathan Archer departed Malcolm’s company in the corridor, Trip and T’Pol made their third and final transport jump to arrive at their destination. Far below the Enterprise, her chief Engineer teased T’Pol to check and make sure all her appendages were still in tact.

“Perhaps it would be more prudent for you to do so, husband,” she replied evenly, her voice dropping to a whisper with the dangerous word. Trip chuckled absently before whipping around at her.

I swear hun you’re getting more of a sense a’ humor every day…

“I can’t wait ‘till transporter technology improves so I don’t hafta go through s’damn many of those,” Trip complained. A short young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes filed past him with a courteous smile as he stepped off the transporter pad.

T’Pol followed at a brisk pace, keeping close to his side. The young woman stood erect beside the pad with hands folded neatly at her back as another transport took place. Two small overnight bags appeared out of the energy pattern. The woman stepped forward to lift the bags, but Trip refused to have it.

“Ah it’s ‘arright, don’t you worry ‘bout carryin’ those,” Trip deftly pulled the bags to his sides as the girl started at his interjection. The young woman was of small build, petite and rigidly shaped face with dark red lips.

“Oh, well, it’s really my job… sir,” she added nervously. She added the formality with conviction, and Trip was confused at first. The woman was clearly non-Starfleet, but she was clearly addressing him out of respect rather than habit. After the Xindi mission, his face along with the whole crew’s had been pasted up all over the place.

It was certainly interesting, he recalled, watching T’Pol’s reaction to his fame. “Every teenage girl’s favorite engineer,” was something of an unwanted nickname around Engineering for weeks. He hadn’t asked to be on the cover of Seventeen the month they got back, but he certainly couldn’t argue with the paycheck either.

The young woman clearly recognized the Commander from all the publicity. Trip looked from one end of the transport station to the other, it was a medium sized room, fairly large but totally unmanned. She must do all ‘the work, Trip thought. Across the right shoulder of her black jumpsuit he then noticed the Transporter Operator pin.

It was an exciting new business for civilians, matter-stream transportation. Not, however, all together popular to the general public just yet. Something about being compressed into a data stream the size of an atom didn’t sit well with the average Joe. The research team at Starfleet Science that Emory Erickson lead to develop the transporter found itself burgeoning into its own department of Starfleet research. When the technology went civvy, it wasn’t long before the Earth government realized a strict and rigorous certification must be required for civilian operators. The silver emblem shone across the black material. It was formed by twin slivers of metal intertwined in a staggered helix, circling about a humanoid form in the center. A tiny pin in the corner of the insignia read “II” in bright gold.

She was qualified second grade, wow, Trip was impressed. And T’Pol knew it. If she had been human she would have quite audibly cleared her throat or jabbed him in the side. But the telepathic equivalent of a sharp elbow to the ribs did the job of jostling Trip from admiring the insignia.

The girl was thoroughly enjoying his courtesy and attention, as typical as it was for Charles Tucker’s southern upbringing. To T’Pol’s heightened senses the tiny girl’s body nearly saturated the room with female pheromones. It was nearly enough to make her scream.

He whipped back to T’Pol with a guilty frown when the snap of the telepathic jab seized his attention.

I’m sorry hun, I just thinkin’ about the Transporter Corps insignia, that’s all.

Wordlessly he approached her with an apologetic smile. She could feel the sincerity in his mind, the innocence that was truly genuine. He dropped the bags to the floor, oblivious of the gawking young operator he had left with a goofy grin on her face. He brought his hands lightly to T’Pol’s silver-clad arms. The room was empty but for the operator, and he took advantage of the privacy to apologize when the young girl slinked away back to her station a dozen meters away. All the while she couldn’t help looking back, every instant it seemed the man was in more intimate proximity of the Vulcan woman.

T’Pol would normally have started and recoiled at such intimacy in front of a complete stranger. But in these circumstances, perhaps allowing Trip to ‘reveal his unavailability’ would be acceptable.

Naomi hadn’t met any Vulcan women before, but the militant haircut and pointy ears were a dead giveaway.

Since when do Vulcans date human men? Gorgeous…human men, she snickered to herself as she recalled the smile he gave her. The poor girl read too much into it, but Trip couldn’t have any idea how easily his courtesy could pass for flirtation. Especially now that he was with T’Pol, she was the woman he was going to marry and he didn’t see anything else. He had become nearly so ignorant of any other woman on the planet he didn’t realize that being kind rattled T’Pol quite unpleasantly. And roused the particular female in quite the opposite fashion.

I’m sorry babe, he begged as he held her face close to his with both hands. Suddenly her determined attempt to remain impassive melted with his evident regret for the behavior. He had been unthinking, but with his thoughts so benignly open to her, she could see why. His love for her was so great that the girl didn’t even exist to him as a woman. And to that explanation, she submitted pleasantly.

The two departed the station and a very shocked young woman, eyeing them the entire length of the time it took to walk out the door. Upon the skirt of the door, T’Pol turned from Trip and shot a warning so sharp it warped the girl’s surprise into captivating fear. If T’Pol’s eyes had been weapons, the girl and the bulkhead behind her would have been dust. As secure as she felt in Trip’s undying love for her, T’Pol would have no woman mentally undressing her bondmate.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In their bags, Trip had packed a day’s clothes and a special activity to teach T’Pol. After escaping the impervious confines of her taut silver bodysuit, she donned a different wardrobe. This one was more befitting the sunshine of Southern Florida, while T’Pol was unsure of it. She uneasily eyed herself in the fitting room as Trip knelt in front of her, fastening the skates about her feet.

“I prefer to be less… exposed,” Trip chuckled as T’Pol eyed her long, revealed legs in the full body mirror in front of her.

“I know hun but it’s too hot out’there to be skatin’ in that jumpsuit.” T’Pol immediately reminded him of her home planet. She was about as far as “…mean temperature at least thirty percent higher than…” before he interrupted.

“ ‘Sides there’s no way you could move around in that suit the way you’ll need ‘ta to keep from fallin’ over every couple of steps,” he looked up from her feet at the frustrated eyebrow as it gazed upon him. He tied the final lace and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her knees. Her eyes became deeper but softer as the liquid brown in them turned for Trip’s delight.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he whispered across the hairless skin on the inside edge as it played just around her knee. The breeze knocked her eyelids wider, prompting the Vulcan to steel her appearance to defeat her jesting lover’s invitation. With an eyebrow she coyly denied his effectiveness.

“I do not believe this would be an appropriate venue for such an encounter,” the sharpness of her tone almost betrayed the affection embedded before she could finish. She met his face, her lips a hair’s breadth from his “…my t’hy’la,” she finished in a hoarse whisper against his cheek.

It was all his restraint could sustain, holding in the growl that begged to escape his throat find its way into her ears. He playfully slapped the sides of her skates and rose to his own feet as she sat on the bench in front of him. As she had complained, the tight silver biker shorts they picked up on the Bay hardly covered much below her mid thigh. A plain white shirt with cutoff sleeves adequately covered her upper body, but there was a strange device Trip insisted that she wear. T’Pol found it terribly uncomfortable, and wholly unnecessary.

I do not understand the purpose of this garment, husband. I do not believe I require …support.

Trip couldn’t resist the snicker that escaped him, drawing a sharp look from her. “It’s just uh… white t-shirts can be a little… transparent,” he managed with a smirk as she groped for his meaning.

And you do not wish other males to see…

Do you wish other females to “see” me?

As he pulled her to her feet he couldn’t help but admire the powerful muscles in those thighs of hers, stretching the nanopolymer material to accommodate her powerful but slender muscles.

Pulling her to an uneasy standing position, Trip deftly rolled himself backwards until she was erect.

“Now, let’s see that superior Vulcan balance and strength you’re always talkin’ about,” Trip goaded.

“Vulcan balance is superior, husband, however I believe you have me at an unfair advantage. It is clear you are quite experienced with… ‘rollerblades’,” he smiled and watched her uncertain steps wobble forward precariously. On several occasions she would lurch forward or back, the Vulcan mask replaced with a mix of shock and panic. Each time Trip could sense the loss of balance before she slipped and held her up in safety. It was an unusual frame of mind for T’Pol, to depend on a human’s superior experience to keep her safe.

In a few moments she was off the bench, supported by his arms as he pulled her towards him.

“See hun, no sweat, you’re a natural,” he proclaimed proudly. Fixed on her precarious steps, T’Pol watched his eyes with hidden amusement as he carefully pulled her further from the safety of the seat. Soon she was far from the safety of its confines, watching Trip as his smile beamed sweeter with every step.

“Arright hun, let’s see how you do on the sidewalks outside,” he grinned as her amusement disappeared.

Outside? Around others…

His playful smile faded and he slowly pulled her closer. When his arms could circle her, he relished the soft skin of her back as his hands roamed about. She too, found comfort in his closeness, drawing his neck to her lips softly and deeply inhaling his scent. His breath exploded in a sigh across her cheek and neck, sending a vibrant shiver down her spine.

We gotta be out in front’a people eventually T’Pol. He released her taut body from the embrace to meet her eyes.

I know you’re afraid of what people might say that see us together but we haven’t done much to hide it this far and… everything’s turned out all right, ‘sides a few strange looks.

He took several locks of her hair between his fingers, the tips of them skating from eyebrow to the back of her ear. A soft purr escaped her throat without notice as she leaned into his touch.

“Humans aren’t so bad,” he whispered. “I don’t think anyone will hurt us just for bein’ together.”

Yes, husband, you are correct. It would be illogical to attempt to hide our relationship forever. We must… Trip felt her shiver inside.

“I,” she spoke. “…must learn to accept the consequences of our mating bond and how humans will react to it. After all it is illogical to believe we could keep it a secret indefinitely on Enterprise. Even if it may affect our safety or our careers, we must adapt to it.” Trip frowned unconsciously, searching his thoughts.

“You’re not the only one hun, Starfleet’s gonna come down on my ass like Pop used ta’,” he chuckled, wrapping her in his warm embrace.

“But I’m never gonna let anything happen to you,” he whispered into her lips as they met in a soft and patient caress. “Our careers,” Trip nodded teasingly, “Could be another story.”

He shot her a sarcastic smile as he chuckled amiably, hopeful he could brighten her mood.

“Come’on hun, time to unleash you onto the pavement,” he pulled her towards the door, a wicked grin crossing his lips. She bumped through the doorway, still clutching his fingers as the beaming sunlight erupted through the door. Unaware of what awaited them, she knew that trial and difficulty may line every step. But she also knew, he would never let go.

Chapter 18:

As Jonathan’s aircar landed, the sparkling lights about San Francisco Bay seemed to relax every fiber straining against his dress shirt. He leaned forward to instruct the pilot, but paused there as the Bay unfolded through the front viewer of the pod. There was a full moon out, and Tycho City could be seen nearly ablaze with activity as the Dome Festival practically shook the foundations of the lunar colony. As he departed the shuttle car he remembered the first night he and Erika spent at Lunar 1 at the annual Dome Festival. He wished for a moment, with a wry smile, that he could be there with Erika as they had met so many years ago.

It was as if the simple absence of a dress uniform lifted a monumental weight from his stride. The strain that damn lightweight material brought onto Jon’s shoulders rivaled the Starfleet training regimen on Titan. In the past several days, putting it on and being ground away at Starfleet HQ had become a habit. Tonight he was free of the scrutinizing veneer of a row of Admirals, Starfleet diplomats and Vulcan ambassadors; and he couldn’t be happier about it.

He stepped from the craft, precariously smoothing rough folds out of his tailored black jacket as the landing thrusters fired a gust through his hair. He wore matching slacks, a tiny commemorative “WARP 5” pin hiding in the corner of his belt. Few outside of his close friends such as A.G., Trip and Forrest knew of the pendant, a gift from his father shortly before the man passed away.

Beneath the fitted jacket, a royal blue collar crowned the top of his chest as the dress undershirt peeked around his collar line. Straightening his collar with frustration, he turned to the pilot and nodded a smile, turning down the street. The pilot had promised to drop him off no closer than half a kilometer to the restaurant, attracting piles of attention was the last thing he wanted on such an occasion.

Franklin’s Front. He considered the name of the establishment he peacefully strode towards, something about it stuck out in his memory. His brow furrowed in thought… something about that name. It seemed as if he may have been there once before, the feeling danced on the edge of memory, refusing to be identified.

When the care melted away against a crisp ocean breeze, Jonathan began to relax again. He looked forward to getting reacquainted with Trip’s parents and especially Tucker junior. His father and Charles worked together, his father as a warp scientist and Charles as particularly skilled assistant engineer. Somehow, the thought of seeing the old man reminded him of the dream that took him into space in the first place. It abruptly pushed the horrible Xindi memories a little further away. As if on cue, he was immediately reminded that a Starfleet Captain is never quite off duty.

“Captaaain! ARCHER!” called an unfamiliar voice from an adjacent alley. The voice’s identity was wholly unrecognizable, but the similarity to someone he knew was undeniable. There was a commotion through the darkness, Jonathan squinted and froze in alarm. A moment later they sprung from the direction of the distressed call echoed in the alleyway. He looked on in total surprise as a trio of Andorians rounded the corner, each barely supported by the faltering steps of his comrade-in-arms (literally). A nearly empty bottle of something other than the famous Ale swayed from the fingers of each of the three. It looked to Jon’s discerning eye like old Earth liquor once called ‘Crown’.

The group made their way toward him, somehow retaining shaky grips on their beloved flagons as they miraculously stayed afoot. The largest one, looking somewhat familiar to Archer stepped forward, attempting to throw his bottle behind his back. Instead he nearly assaulted his Andorian compatriot whose split second decision to duck turned into an uncontrolled ‘sit’ onto the cobblestone beneath him. The maneuver, while sloppily executed, Archer thought probably saved him a dozen stitches. It must be evidence of trained Andorian reflexes, even at their most indigent, Archer mused.

“Captain,” the Andorian strode forward with a swagger, his arm dramatically outstretched, a broad Andorian version of a smirk sticking to his face.

“Have we met?” Archer asked carefully, doing his best to sound amiable as he met the handshake. The three of them didn’t appear to have an aggressive intent, but the Captain had learned never to let his guard down around these blue boys. Particularly, a trio of them indulging in the fruits of interstellar… refreshment.

“Oh come now, of course! Perhaps you don’t recall, Captain,” it was true. Archer hardly recognized any Andorian besides Shran.

“I am Subcommander Gavel, I was under Shran’s command at P’Jem,” his antennae flicking back and forth as he bowed dramatically, nearly toppling his quiet compatriots. He howled in laughter when Archer squinted, unable to recall the man’s face from the encounter four years earlier.

“I must say you took quite a beating very admirably, Captain,” the Andorian jested. Archer chuckled nervously.

“Jon! You have nothing to fear from us, I wanted to congratulate you, this is a time for celebration!” The Andorian turned to his swaggering comrades, tearing a bottle from one of them with a sneer and hoisting it unsteadily into the air. Stripped of the only possession his narrowed attention could grasp, the Andorian protested as Gavel commandeered the bottle. Archer returned their jeers and laughter with a confused expression.

“Celebrating what?”

“Haven’t you heard, the non aggression pact between my people and yours!” Archer frowned, he must really have been out of the loop on leave. The admirals had been keeping him under such lock and key during the investigation of T’Pol and Trip’s incident on Vulcan, he hadn’t heard any news from the diplomatic corps in weeks.

“It’s a new era for our people Captain! And we are celebrating, as you should! You enjoyed our fine spirits, and in return we are sampling your own!” he shot the empty bottle to the sky, nearly toppling the trio with his grandiose invigoration.

“Are others involved, the Vulcans, Tellarites?”

“Oh those pointy-eared party poopers, they kept pointing out all the problems with the treaty! You see,” he began with uncharacteristic lucidity.

“I commanded the Andorian Guard’s defense contingent for the negotiations. Those damn Vulcans, couldn’t make em’ happy about anything!” his words becoming increasingly irregular and slurred. With a disgusted grimace evidencing his contention of the Vulcans, Gavel turned to drain the bottle, forgetting its contents were absent.

“Well,” Archer huffed, glancing at his watch, “That’s great news, but I better be going, I’m late for a dinner engagement,” he smiled and turned to leave.

“Give Shran my regards,” Archer replied behind his back. A torrent of laughter erupted, “You do that yourself, Captain!” The Andorian turned, throwing the nonexistent contents of the bottle down his throat. Angrily he tossed the bottle into the wall as the three stumbled away.

A slurred ensemble of Andorian voices exploded into song, slowly fading into the side streets of San Francisco’s bay area as Archer chuckled up to the front of the restaurant.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The front of the building opened to an expansive lobby where at least four men in tuxedos performed a variety of services from valet to guest hosting. A large oak banister revealed a wide stair on the left as one entered, leading the eyes from velvet carpeted stepping to the tip of a glorious chandelier. Overwhelmed with the pompous pageantry, Archer took aimless steps towards the stair, oblivious to disapproving glances from the ostentatious concierge.

“Name?” an aggravated voice asked. The man at the desk met Jonathan’s eyes as he turned around to find the voice.

“Uh, Tucker,” he replied only half-consciously as he looked about the room’s décor. The concierge glared up at Archer who was oblivious to his offending manner, as he thumbed for Tucker’s reservation. Moments later another man approached them and nodded for Archer to follow.

The stout and compressed looking man with large round glasses and hair slicked into a pony tail led Jonathan along a meandering path through Franklin’s. The main hall was gargantuan, its main stair broken in the center by its banister, three or four meters wide on each side by Archer’s estimation. Above his head dangled a huge ornate chandelier, constructed entirely of Vulcan silver, crafted by the finest artisans of the century. It had been a gift to the city of San Francisco shortly after First Contact when the Vulcan delegates visited the center of government for the first time. Swinging in the ancient hall these past ninety years, it was an impressive sight to say the least.

The man leading Archer through the restaurant was unpleasantly short in speech and manner. His attention, however, attention fell on the glamorous décor and patronage of the establishment as he walked. Finally the man slowed as they approached a far corner of the restaurant and Archer heard a familiar belly-aching howl.

The man bowed and retreated as Archer approached the table. The son of an engineer chuckled and wiped a blissful tear as he turned to the woman next to him.

“Jon!” a gruff, old voice called out. Nearest him, Tucker junior rose and embraced him in a bear hug as Trip turned his attention on Captain Archer. For only a moment was Archer aware of Trip and a companion by his side. But before he could turn his full attention, it was quickly drawn back to his father’s old friend as he circled around the table for his seat.

“How are ya’, Charlie?” Charles slapped him on the shoulder as Jon and Trip exchanged a happy nod. Archer gazed across the gable and gave Charles a look of feigned shock, a smirk curling his lips. He looked at Kathryn, then back at Charlie in mock disbelief.

“Charlie, does your wife know you’re takin’ gorgeous young models out to dinner,” he nodded and threw a hand out indicating Kathryn, complimenting her elegant appearance. Kathryn drowned in a beat red flush as she laughed beside her husband.

Trip echoed his father’s amusement, drawing Archer’s idle glance as he took his seat between the generational engineers. However, the subtle glance erupted into Archer’s shocked double take in Trip’s direction. The engineer was similarly dressed, a rough stubble lending a delicate flair to the crimson red tunic under his black jacket, his hair gelled to perfection as he flashed a bright smile. But it wasn’t Tucker that Archer awkwardly gawked at.

“T’Pol?” he asked, completely earnest in his inquiry. He couldn’t believe that his eyes told him this was his Vulcan science officer. Blinking several times, he looked to Trip open-mouthed and impressed.

Beside her mate the Vulcan drew every red blooded glance in the room. Even Trip had no idea she was going to wear something so ravishing. Kathryn had evaded him during their shopping adventure a few days prior, finding T’Pol a slinky black dress for the impending occasion. It had been difficult to convince her to wear it, but the stolid Vulcan’s astonishing appearance was evidence of Kathryn’s victory.

T’Pol swallowed imperceptibly, her mate’s gentle telepathic touch soothing her discomfort. Jon looked on from Trip to T’Pol, his shock turning to an amused smile. He turned back to T’Pol and nodded.

“You look incredible Commander,” Archer nodded kindly. He couldn’t help feeling jealous of his friend as T’Pol’s cheeks tinged a shade of green.

“Thank you, Captain,” T’Pol returned.

“I am still… adapting to the attire. Initially I did not believe this garment would be appropriate in public, however,” she glanced approvingly at Kathryn.

“Trip and Mrs. Tucker insisted otherwise.” Archer blinked in thought, then realized it was the first time he had heard T’Pol use Tucker’s nickname.

“You can stop calling me Captain, T’Pol, I don’t see a uniform,” he smiled as he looked at Trip. T’Pol silently looked to her mate, eliciting a snicker and a nod from her him.

It was amazing to Jon, she hardly looked like the same person yet, upon closer inspection one could spy the same expressionless T’Pol. The duality was nearly incomprehensible.

Her fingers fidgeted as they sought a position along her legs beneath the table that would somehow relieve the slight discomfort that still remained. Since the day they picked out the dress she attempted to mentally prepare herself for the shock of being so-dressed in public.

During one of the frequent errands Trip and Kathryn found themselves on (much to Charles’ suspicion), Trip finally confessed that he had proposed to T’Pol. Trip chuckled knowingly when his mother, wide eyed and bushy-tailed, slammed him with the immediate “Well what did she say?!”

Little could she have understood the arrangement which existed in the nature the Bond between Trip and T’Pol. It was, without exception, the very most intimately unguarded relationship a human could know. Consequently, try as she might, Kathryn would never quite grasp how absolutely Trip meant it when he insisted that the Bond was marriage.

In T’Pol, formation of the bond was a natural Vulcan method of seeking out one’s chosen. As a Vulcan, the bond would force T’Pol to accept emotions from her human mate more than any other Vulcan had before. But it would also bring her joy on a level unimagined by Vulcans who would scorn her choice.

For Trip, such a telepathic courtship packaged his loving confession, betrothal and marriage within the blink of an eye like no human had ever experienced. In an instant, both Trip and T’Pol’s feelings were known in each other’s minds, thus allowing the Bond to form in the first place. But for Kathryn, she still badgered him for her answer. Once Kathryn heard the news, she insisted on a family dinner to announce it. An instant after “announce” passed Kathryn’s lips, a telepathic knee jerk from T’Pol sent Trip nearly reeling. After discussion, disagreement and finally a resolution (only after “making up” for several hours), T’Pol had accepted the arrangement. Little did she realize at first, he intended on such a public setting.

After a great deal of meditation, with her mate and in solitude – T’Pol resolved to accept the consequences of being bound to a human. She had chosen him, and he in return accepted her in his own tradition. A level of public attention was unavoidable to such a precedent. T’Pol told herself there must always be a first, and her chosen made her realize she would not be the first of her kind to join with one of his kind. It would certainly be foolish and illogical to avoid the inevitable.

Thus, she sat, her fingers fidgeting as Jon and Charles made idle conversation and her mate’s fingers knowingly slid atop her own. He watched her for several moments, a soft smile crossing his features while he admired her unobtrusively. While the uncertainty in her eyes compelled him to calm her through the bond, the silky material clinging to her Vulcan curves couldn’t exactly be ignored either. The dress modestly covered more of her upper body than her Starfleet uniform. Covered by the silky red material, much was left to the imagination but little to the critic. The dress fell over her shoulders, dropping only slightly into a broad but none-too-revealing V-neck. It fell fully to her heels, which she borrowed from Kathryn. T’Pol had agreed upon the dress despite the feature that made discomforted her the most, and simultaneously excited Trip to no end. Along the upper thigh began a long slit, gradual at first, then falling wide near her ankles. The material rode down her thighs as if it would reveal more olive-bronze flesh to the admiring eye, only to deny it. She was still a Vulcan, after all.

Trip met her eyes as they broke a momentary stare, watching her hands beneath the tablecloth accept his touch. Searching his face, she instantly found solace from any shred of insecurity. So easily it seemed to come now, without any hesitation the touch of his hand and his mind could bring tranquility to her in any storm of restlessness.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is it done?” the calm voice echoed. His even tone betrayed no emotions, reinforcing the façade of indifference playing across his face. In truth, he was very emotionally attached to this objective. The very future of his people, as he judged it, hung in the balance of this threat being neutralized.

“Not yet, Counc-”

“How many times must I remind you, Simpek, that no channel is secure enough to use identities or titles,” the man growled into the viewscreen.

“Yes – however, logic would dictate that you must not then use my name in return,” the Vulcan face nodded from the other side of the screen. A smirk, slight as it might have been, stuck out on the otherwise impassive face on the screen.

His employer did not respond, merely tightened his jaw in disapproval and disgust.

“When you are finished mocking my people, you would find it most advisable to complete the task correctly this time. I have entrusted a great deal to you, if you were caught this entire operation could be compromised.” The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed as he looked into the monitor.

“How shall we neutralize the offspring without raising suspicion, our sources inside Starfleet tell us they may suspect our involvement.”

The employer nearly snorted as a bout of arrogance took his composure for a moment.

“Impossible,” but as the man’s face remained unchanged, the employer folded his hands and leaned closer to the image.

“Do what is necessary, Simpek, time is no longer a luxury we possess. It is no longer prudent to maintain covert methods, destroy the entire vessel if you must, but ensure Commander T’Pol does not leave orbit alive,” the Vulcan’s voice lashed out with calm venom.

The man on the other side nodded with a scowl. Raising his hand, the smirk returned, more vibrant and obvious this time.

“Live Long and-”

His employer abruptly punched the keypad, terminating the uplink.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jonathan was just preparing to break the news to Charles and Kathryn after the meal. Their son had once carried the unborn child of an alien race. At first mention of the Xyrillian ship hiding in their impulse wake Trip began stammering across the table, doing a fair imitation of a sun ripened tomato when the guffaws were interrupted.

“Captain Archer,” a familiar voice broke out amongst the surrounding tables. Archer turned and winced with surprise and uncertainty. Charlie wasn’t exactly as open-armed towards alien cultures as they come. Jon thought it had been a miracle he accepted T’Pol.

The faces of the group were alight with varied reactions. Trip’s was of surprise, T’Pol’s of indifference, Kathryn’s of wide-eyed interest and Charles’ of guarded attentiveness. He looked as though at a moment’s notice he would shed forty years of age and leap over the table if need be. Jon turned back to the party as Shran approached, nodding a ‘stand down’ in Charlie’s direction.

As he came to their side, exchanging welcomes and introductions with Trip’s parents, Archer suddenly became away he hardly recognized him. The stern, stoic military uniform of the Andorian Imperial Guard was absent, in its place an Andorian suit of some invention. It was a dark navy garment, the Andorians apparently fiercely fond of their native color in all its hues. A tie-like appendage hung taut from the neckline but split and fell into the chest of the jacket.

“How wonderful it is to see you out this evening,” the affable Andorian smiled graciously around the table. At his side he carried a generously sized but elegant glass of blue liquid Jon recognized all too readily. Trip as well, the pair had spent at least half a dozen nights of nachos and water polo expending the extensive collection Shran had furnished the Captain. Trip winced as he extended a handshake to their enemy-turned-ally-turned-enemy-turned-ally as he recalled the excruciating ‘morning after’ Andorian alcohol entailed. That must have been the real gift, he chuckled, drawing an inquisitive gaze from T’Pol.

“Please, have a seat Comm-” Archer stopped, his arm held out wide for the available seat between himself and Trip.

“Shran I don’t know just what to call you when you’re out doing… what are you doing here anyway?” Archer laughed. Shran returned his joviality, taking the seat and turning towards the Captain.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard,” T’Pol and Trip shared a mystified glance and many telepathic questions while Kathryn and Charlie looked on with interest. Archer just nodded as he lightly tipped a drought of his champagne back.

”I heard,” he remarked, recalling the drunken trio.

“I thought I’d celebrate, spend a few nights on your planet now that we’re much closer allies. I must say it’s quite nice, a little warm for my tastes. I was enjoying dinner with my comrades when they… got a little out of hand for the restaurant staff,” he smiled at Kathryn and Charles.

“I asked them to leave, I didn’t want to give all humans such a bad first impression of Andorians, we’re really quite good natured people once you get to know us,” he smirked at Archer.

“It’s much colder up north, you might enjoy ah…Alaska or Siberia this time of year,” Jon replied as he sipped his champagne.

Shran shook his head at the champagne, ignoring the comment.

“You can’t tell me that stuff even compares to a good Andorian ale,” Shran cackled as he looked to both Archer and Trip.

“At least it leaves your head on straight the next mornin’,” Trip chimed in, tipping his glass to the Captain as he took a swig. The trio chuckled and Shran’s attention was suddenly on the engineer.

“Why, Mr. Tucker that wouldn’t be your lovely science officer beside you,” Shran gawked in shock for an instant before removing his unwelcome eyes.

“Commander,” he nodded. She acknowledged his welcome and returned it blandly.

It was hardly born of perversion, but Shran could hardly believe the stunning creature at the table’s end was indeed a Vulcan. He had idly noticed in the past that she moved with a certain animalistic sensuality that Andorian males admired, and she did possess cunning and strength in battle. However, the Vulcan female would forever lack the obstinate intractable nature of an Andorian woman. Regardless, he couldn’t help but admire if but for an instant.

It passed however; as Shran’s unintentional intrusion was soon forgotten to the tides of conversation. Archer and Shran discussed details of the non aggression treaty the United Earth Government had signed with Andor and its long reaching ramifications.

“I can’t believe Samuels went ahead with agreement without Vulcan and Tellar,” Archer mused as his fingers played the edge of his glass.

Shran took in the Captain’s expression before speaking, his well known disdain for T’Pol’s people he consciously held in check.

“I believe it is a… temporary exclusion only, Captain. Our sources tell us that Vulcan will not standby to be excluded while our two peoples enjoy the fruits and mutual strategic security of this agreement,” his eyes lifted surreptitiously to T’Pol. Her superior ears easily absorbed the peculiar remark but she was consumed in telepathic exchange with her mate, thus it passed. But not by Jonathan.

“Sources?” the Captain shot the Andorian a coy smile.

“Are you suggesting the Imprerial Guard would employ intelligence agents in a neighboring system?”

Shran returned the smirk as he downed another gulp of ale.

“Not with an ally, Captain, of course not. That is why the Vulcans would find it mutually beneficial to accede to the wisdom of the treaty and forfeit some of their…” Shran scowled into the table.

“…Less reasonable demands, and join the treaty. I believe the Tellarites will soon follow,” he finished with a smile, lifting his glass to join the Captain’s in a high pitched ring.

“Vulcans do not make unreasonable demands,” T’Pol replied evenly, breaking contact with Tucker mid-thought to banter the Andorian.

Shran lurched close to the table instantly to open his mouth, then stopped. He glanced about the table and decided discretion in this setting might be more appropriate. He took a breath and looked down at the table, then up to T’Pol.

“We agree to disagree,” he raised his hands peacefully with a broad smile.

Archer uneasily glanced to the Tuckers who conversed quietly between them, suddenly aware of his excluding manner. He launched into a harrowing tale of young, brash Starfleet engineer who once kept the Vulcans and Andorians from gunning each other out of the sky over the deserts of Vulcan. This had Kathryn visibly intrigued, while Charlie feigned disinterest despite his very open ears. This he had to hear.

Meanwhile, Trip and T’Pol conversed silently on an issue which had stubbornly irked T’Pol all night. About as much as a Vulcan can be irked, anyhow.

I am sure of it, husband, you are shielding something in your mind from me. I do not understand…

You are suffering, t’hy’la, but from what… I do not understand, her mind gushed with despair at the sign that her mate might be in pain.

No hun, not one bit. But I’m…I mean I’ve- dammit sweetheart you are one stubborn, pointy eared lil’ thing you know that!. I’m hidin’ a secret, but it’s a special secret, between me an’ you. It’s nothin’ bad I swear, you’ll see it’s a good secret, darling!

T’Pol was sufficiently frustrated by his evasions, but accepted his motives and knew her mate would not betray his feelings for her. So she waited, working her way into a stubborn frenzy. Trip felt it building, and began to sweat as he looked about the restaurant expectantly.

Suddenly, a suited quartet of gentlemen approached, each lugging an instrument at his back except the man who led the ensemble. The party made its way towards Trip’s table, but veered left as they neared its head. Along a wide opening they continued to a closed door that opened along a wide tile floor that met with the carpeted dining hall a few meters from their table. A few patrons glanced about as the group made its way through the tables, tailed by half a dozen restaurant hands in tow, including the pony-tailed doorman.

As the cavalcade stopped before the wide glass door, tuxedos under the employ of Franklin’s flanked them on each side, pulling various levers and locks to allow the doors to fall aside. A set of metal tracks revealed themselves as the previously hidden wrought iron balcony gates slid open, splitting several meters wide and sending the sounds of the ocean across the dining hall. Excited patrons prepared to follow as the musical accompaniment filed through the doors. Uneven cobblestone formed the veranda floor as it formed a dining area littered with torches on ornate posts and dozens of candlelit tables for two. A stone railing slithered it’s away about the balcony’s edge, the edge of the outcropped dance floor extending only twenty meters from the gate. The night had long since set in, affording a view of stars all around the balcony wall as it shone itself between the darkness and the light. The ocean waves wracked again as T’Pol continued to observe the excited migration. As did the rest of her dinner party, save one.

Charles Tucker, the young blonde engineer stared only at T’Pol with a calm but secretly nervous smile, as her eyes obliviously held only the bustling crowd about them.

Mrs. Tucker admired the elegant environ, the romantic view and the amazing speed with which the suited men prepared the area for guests. Started from her reverie she suddenly tapped Charles on the thigh in panic, drawing a shocked start from the old man as well. He cleared his throat and bolted out of his chair, slowing his panicked hustle to a calm stride. He had almost forgotten the plan. He cleared his throat again as he walked, telling himself he was doing the right thing, that his son’s happiness was the most important thing. That he wasn’t helping a wily Vulcan trickster to obstruct his boy’s humanity, to make him some Vulcan-esque human thing.

Shut up Tucker, you old coot, you know that ain’t nothing but hogwash, they’re happy together Vulcan’r not!

He approached the head of the small orchestra, shaking the man’s hand and speaking lightly into his ear as he motioned in the family’s general direction.

When she realized his secretive guard came down, Trip met his wife’s gaze when she finally drew her eyes to him. With his mind’s secretive contents revealed, he rose from his seat, one hand graciously extended. Archer started at first, opening his mouth to ask before it hung wordlessly for a moment.

T’Pol watched only her mate’s eyes, calmly twinkling down at her as his hand remained in the air. Her eyes widened slightly, accepting his heart’s intentions and his hand’s invitation. To others it appeared the Vulcan dutifully weighed his unspoken request, but behind doors of the mind her vows echoed as a whisper. She rose silently without words, taking his hand. She was lead by her mate to the moonlit floor of the balcony, followed by a room full of enchanted expressions as they looked on without prejudice.

Part I, section 10 (Chapters 19 & 20)

Return to Part 1, section 8 (Chapters 15 & 16)

Return to Your Mom ‘n Me Menu

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!

A handful of people have made comments

Awww! They're gonna dance! How sweet! Wouldn't that be a prime moment for an assassination attempt? Just how evil ARE you, John? Will they get through this very public display of affection without someone taking offense?

Loved the dress! Loved her obvious discomfort with it even more! She really loves that man a lot to go through all that embarrassment. The roller blading was TOO cute.

Shran is pretty slimy in this one. Is he gonna be a bad guy again?

Did you make up "Franklin's"? If you did, you certainly have a gift for descriptions because I could literally see it in my head.

Great installment. Can't wait for more. - D

Outstanding! I'm very glad that you're continuing this and am looking forward to the next chapters with much anticipation.

Great job!

I didn't mean to make Shran seem TOO bad, but I wanted T'Pol to be realistic...And I don't think she will ever be rid of a certain distaste for Andorians, even if she can work professionally with them and gets along with Shran. I described the way he looked at her as "unwelcome" because T'Pol is very observant and I think she would notice if he "leered" at her even for an instant.

But no, he's not going to be a bad guy, I just wanted some realism to the moment.

So far I have remained on the side of optimism for the human spirit and the tolerance of mankind...San Francisco would logically be more tolerant to aliens anyway, I mean starfleet command is there... But there could be problems in the future, don't worry, they're on break from attacks.....For now :P

loved it i hope the next part dosent take so long