A Fine Mess- Ch. 9

A Fine Mess

By Chianna

PG - Action/Adventure/Romance
Disclaimers in part one

Chapter 9

Guitars and Violins

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It had been one hell of a long day. Rook had stayed valiantly at the Commander’s side counting various parts that Trip told him were critical to the proper installation of the machines that they were working on. He took Rook to the mess hall to eat and then they went back to his tent for a short while.

He had convinced the boy to stay in the nursery that night by telling him that he would come by first thing in the morning to pick him up for duty in the engineering tent. The nursery was one of the few shelters that had heat and Trip wanted to make sure that the little guy was warm and safe.

His plans went up in smoke when he saw T’Pol at the entrance to his tent that night. His eyes met hers and he knew the news that she had brought. A moment later Rook saw T’Pol and ran to her. She knelt down to his level and spoke softly to him. Trip couldn’t hear exactly what she said but it didn’t matter. All at once, the boy threw himself into T’Pol’s arms and buried his face. Rook’s voice took on the mournful cry that reminded Trip of the lonely sound of a hawk screeching as it chased the air currents in canyons that he had visited so long ago on earth.

T’Pol lifted the child and sat in the chair next to the camp table holding him tightly as he rocked in her arms. She did not speak tender words as some humans would at a time like this. Trip thought that what she offered might prove even more comforting. He felt less than useless as he looked at both of them from across the table, so he stepped out for a moment to clear his head.

Soon, the mournful sounds from the tent had quieted. As Tucker reentered the tent he noted that his tiny friend clung like a barnacle to T’Pol. And he had fallen soundly asleep, exhausted by his grief.

"Do ya’ want me to carry him to the nursery tent?"

T’Pol shook her head. "I promised Rook that I would stay with him tonight. I would not break that promise. We will not bother you." As Tucker stepped closer he realized how cold the tent was. Even with Rook in her arms, he thought he could see her shivering.

"I have a better idea. Hope you took those nose drops of yours." Tucker left the tent and soon returned with another sleeping bag. He pulled his sleeping bag off the cot and moved the cot out of the way. Then unfolding the sleeping bag, he laid it flat on the ground and opened the other sleeping bag and laid it on top, folding it back.

"Tada." He said softly. "Quite the engineering fete, if you ask me. Warm bed for three."

He could see T’Pol measuring his intentions as she looked, first at him and then at the bed. A moment later she met his eyes again and struggled to get up with Rook still in her arms. Trip took two steps across the tent and deftly picked T’Pol and her tiny burden up into his arms.

T’Pol did not relax into his arms, but she submitted with out protest. Even with the boy, she felt no heavier than a child herself. It had been a long day. Maybe she was too tired to be disagreeable.

"Ya’ know that southern gentlemen live for moments like these,’ he softly quipped as he slipped to one knee.

"Yes, I recall that you often practice being a ‘perfect gentleman’." Trip choose to be amused by the reminder of his past unfortunate dealings with aliens of the female persuasion and smiled benignly at T’Pol.

Rook barely even stirred as T’Pol tucked him into her right side. She almost let a sigh escape her lips as she contemplated that after a day such as this, she regretted not having made time for her nightly meditations. Tucker took off his jacket, dropping it near the head of the bedroll. He settled down next to T’Pol on her other side.

T’Pol noted that his position provided a barrier between her and the cold outer wall of the tent. She leaned forward to check one last time on the child next to her. As she lay back, T’Pol found that her head hit the crook of the commander’s shoulder, under his outstretched arm. She was too tired to contest this arrangement. And she reasoned to herself, Mr. Tucker made a better pillow to recline her head on than the ground.

Tucker held his breath as T’Pol settled into his side. No complaints or snide remarks? The sub commander must really be exhausted. Even knowing this he could not help himself.

"T’Pol?" Tucker asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes, Commander."

"You were good with the tike today. I’m not sure what I would have done without you."

"You would have managed."

"Maybe. But I think he needed a woman’s touch tonight. You kind of surprised me."

There was a pause. And for a moment Trip thought that he had been dismissed.

"Studies show that most humanoids respond to touch in a positive way."

"I guess I just didn’t expect..." Trip trailed off.

Not unkindly T’Pol added, "Vulcan’s have children too. Our instinct to protect is no less developed then that of humans."

"Mmm. I never thought of it that way. It reminds me of somethin’ my Gran’dad used to’ say about guitars &. violins."

Tucker sensed rather than heard the question. "Gramps was a good ole boy, raised in a small town near lake Okeechobee. He had a gift for gab, gears and guitars. With a little luck and a lot of work he managed to get into MIT and got an engineering degree. That’s where he met ma’ Gran’ma Viv. She was a couple years older and a second seat violinist with the Boston Pops. And it was love at first site."

"Gran’dad Charlie said that Vivian was a fine lady, eastern born and bread. He said that they were just like their instruments of their choice. You see when you play a guitar, you hold it close and put your arms around it. You play it with both your hands, in direct contact with the strings. You play a guitar well, and people just tend to come along and join in. Gran’dad’s personality was just like that."

T’Pol thought that the grandson took after his namesake.

"Violins are all about precision. No frets like on a guitar to guide your fingers. You make sound by drawing the bow over the strings. And the only contact you have with the instrument is that hand that holds the neck and the body that it is tucked under your chin.

The music a violin makes goes straight t’ your soul. When I hear a violin played solo, I pause and close ma’ eyes where ever I’m at. If you’re still, you can feel it fill in the empty places inside. It resonates. Gran’dad said his girl was just like that. Quiet and fine. He was fond a’ say’n, in her quiet way, she filled all his lonely places."

"I loved Gran’ma Viv, but never could understand how two people that were so different could be so devoted. Gran’dad would just say for all their differences, guitars and violins shared more than they didn’t. I didn’t get what he was really talk’n about ‘til I was much older"

"I was pretty little when my Gran’ma died, but I still remember a song they’d play together. The guitar and violin would ebb and flow till by the end you didn’t know where one sound began and the other ended. Gran’dad would still play the song on his guitar years later as he sat the porch alone near the lake, but it never sounded quite complete. I can hear them play it when I think ‘bout sitting on that porch by the lake. I have a recording that I listen to and it sends me right back home with them every time." As Trip wound up his story his voice had gotten softer and more faraway, but soon he came back to the present.

"Guess it’s just a ‘round about way of saying that I think that you’ve shown me that Vulcans and Humans have a lot more in common that we can sometimes see on the surface. Maybe one day we’ll each learn to stand our differences and willingly admit to the similarities"

For a long moment there was silence. Trip thought that he had bored T’Pol right into a coma.

"Someday, I would like to hear this song, Commander."

Someday, I hope you will, thought Trip.

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Continued in Chapter 10
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