Court and Spark - Chapter 7

Court and Spark

By Ragua

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers in Chapter 1.

A/N: Allow me to apologize for the extreme tardiness of this chapter. The cancellation and the travesty that was the f#cknale put me into such a funk that I couldn’t find the happy place necessary to work on this story. Hopefully I’ve found it again, and you all enjoy the continuation!

Thanks to my awesome beta, my MOM! She knows nothing about Star Trek and couldn’t understand why T’Pol was so uptight, but she made sure I knew the difference between a duvet and a settee! Thanks, Ma! Lots of corn for you!

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Chapter 7

T’Pol’s investigation into her tel-sa-mekh’s spying progressed far more easily than her internal debate over what to do about the matter. A simple examination of the parlor provided ample evidence that Mr. Tucker had been spending a good deal of time ensconced in the settee by the window that looked out onto the porch. It did not, however, provide an easy solution to the problem.

T’Pol sighed. She probably should have expected curiosity of this sort from her mate’s family. She was, after all, an alien. An alien intimately involved with their eldest son! To her knowledge, there were few, if any, inter-species relationships involving humans. Of course the family of any human so involved would be concerned and curious. And yet, such behavior certainly could not be overlooked! How long had her mate’s father been spying on them? From the very beginning? And were such intrusive tendencies genetic? It certainly seemed as if this family had a penchant for such behavior. Were her own children doomed to become voyeurs?

Now that she knew of the situation, she was at a loss as to how to proceed. Should she confront Mr. Tucker? The young Vulcan had no doubt that the man would be mortified to discover that T’Pol knew of his questionable behavior. A similar reaction could be expected from her mate, which made informing Trip an even less desirable option. Dropping a hint to Mrs. Tucker was out of the question. T’Pol had no wish to subject Mr. Tucker to whatever punishment his wife felt the transgression merited. It was bound to be severe!

T’Pol’s brow furrowed as she pondered the conundrum. It would require a great deal of thought.

Luckily for T’Pol, preparations for a Tucker family cookout provided a welcome distraction from her dilemma. The fine weather had convinced all and sundry Tuckers that an outdoor meal was a necessity. As Vulcans rarely ate in locations not specifically designated for the consumption of food, T’Pol took considerable interest in the human ritual.

The young Vulcan deduced that the tradition was an ancient one, as the preparation for the ceremony seemed to require a rather archaic division of labor based upon one’s gender. Apparently, the majority of the food was to be cooked outdoors, and this task was the purview of the human male. Every family member of that gender took up stations around a fire pit known as a “barbecue,” despite the fact that only Mr. Tucker seemed to be involved in the actual preparation of the food. To T’Pol’s eyes, the task did not appear to be overly complicated or strenuous: Mr. Tucker did little beyond placing certain comestibles on a rack over the flames. From time to time, he would flip or move an item with a pair of tongs, but for the most part, his attention was taken with discussing various topics with the other men while all of them consumed alcoholic beverages.

Mrs. Tucker marshaled the female family members in the production of non-cooked dishes. T’Pol was given a tiny utensil with a half-circle scoop at each end and instructions to use it on several large fruits that took up the majority of the space on the kitchen table. Honored to have been given a part in the ceremony, T’Pol conscientiously reduced the watermelon, cantaloupes, and honeydews into dozens of perfect spheres before allowing them to co-mingle in the large bowl provided. Meanwhile, her human comrades bustled about creating other dishes: wilted lettuce salad—which, despite its name, consisted primarily of spinach, potato salad, egg salad, and something called Jell-O—a colorful, semi-solid mass that wiggled distastefully when poked.

With the salad preparation finally complete, the women straggled out of the kitchen, each carrying a bowl, tray, or platter. Frankie and Bernie led the way, one carrying a tray of condiments and the other a large container of utensils and napkins. The men had formed a similar procession as they too moved toward the picnic tables with their contributions to the meal—although their efforts were hampered by having to maneuver plates of food while maintaining a hold on their bottles of alcohol.

T’Pol narrowed her eyes, realizing that her mate was also carrying a bottle of beer, in obvious violation of Dr. Phlox’s orders. Still, this was a sacred occasion. She didn’t wish to disrupt the rites by bringing her mate’s lack of self-control to the attention of the others. The young Vulcan surreptitiously observed the behavior of her human companions. For a ceremony that was so obviously a long-standing and revered tradition, both processions were remarkably haphazard. Perhaps other human families followed stricter protocol when observing the customs. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least to learn that the Tucker family conducted ritual observances with less decorum and attention to detail than others of the species.

As with the other aspects of the ceremony, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the seating arrangements, either. Each individual deposited his or her item in the nearest empty space on the trestle table and his or her bottom into the nearest empty space on the accompanying bench. Bringing up the rear, T’Pol hesitated for a moment, uncertain, but then Trip caught her eye and patted the bench next to him. With a sense of relief, she placed the melon-sphere salad as ceremoniously as she could and moved to join her mate.

Almost as soon as she sat down, Trip grasped her hand firmly. T’Pol was somewhat taken aback by the public nature of the affectionate display. Then she realized that all around the table, family members were taking the hands of those sitting on either side. As she was at the end of the table, Carlos—sitting opposite her, next to his own mate—reached an enormous paw in her direction. The young Vulcan hesitated only a moment, then—not wishing to disrupt the ceremony—gave the human her left hand. Carlos graced her with his slow smile and then turned his attention to the opposite end of the table where Mr. Tucker was preparing for some sort of traditional invocation.

T’Pol bowed her head slightly, respectful of the formalities. Mr. Tucker cleared his throat, grinned, and launched into the speech of welcome. “Can’t tell ya how great it is to have y’all here at home. Nothin’ better than dinner with family. This is what it’s all about!” If possible, the older man’s grin widened. “Now let’s not let all this good food go to waste. Dig in!” And to T’Pol’s surprise, the benediction was over.

Hands were dropped all ‘round the table, and people began serving themselves from whatever dishes were closest at hand. Once a person had partaken of the nearest dish, each bowl, tray, or platter was circulated. There was no organization, no precision, no order. If someone wanted a particular dish, he or she would call to whomever happened to be holding it. If the transfer of the dish required it to pass through several intermediaries, those who were interested took a helping as it went by.

Sitting at the end of the table and somewhat disconcerted by the chaotic nature of the feast, T’Pol’s plate remained empty for several minutes before her mate noticed the discrepancy. He quickly attempted to remedy the situation, filling her plate with a spoonful of everything within arm’s reach. She came to herself and stopped him before he could contaminate the rest of her meal with a scoop of the grotesquely writhing Jell-O.

Her mate wiggled his eyebrows at her, holding the Jell-O up in a manner designed to tempt her. The gelatinous green blob quivered on the serving spoon, as if terrified of its impending doom. “No thank you, Trip,” T’Pol responded firmly, hiding her disgust. “This will suffice for now.”

He grinned in response, chirping, “Your loss, T’Pol!” Then he deposited the Jell-O on his own plate, with a resounding “plurp!”

There was very little talk at first, as the food was enjoyed with obvious relish. T’Pol, simultaneously intrigued and appalled, observed her table mates from the corner of her eye. Now she was certain that the cookout ceremony was an ancient one. The humans were attacking the food with an even greater than normal barbarity. She knew that humans could—and usually did—eat with utensils, but the archaic nature of the cookout ceremony evidently precluded modern manners. Apparently, all the cooked items were supposed to be eaten by hand—possibly a throwback to a prehistoric era when humans killed and ate their prey around a campfire. Undoubtedly there was some explanation why the processed slabs of meat were required to be wedged between two pieces of bread prior to consumption. Perhaps a traditional ballad or folktale at the end of the meal would make it clear.

To T’Pol’s relief, all the salads were designed to be eaten via fork or spoon. As a vegetarian, she would not be required to eat with her hands. Her relief, however, was short-lived. Once she had eaten enough salad to clear a space on her plate, Trip filled the empty spot with an ear of corn. Even had she not been familiar with the vegetable, T’Pol’s nose would have confirmed that it met her dietary requirements. It smelled delicious! But there was still the problem of the method of its consumption. The young Vulcan had never experienced corn in its pristine form, which was not conducive to being eaten with utensils. A covert glance about the table revealed that the human custom was to smother the cob with butter and salt, and then gnaw along a horizontal plane from left to right, rotating the cob once the end of a row was reached.

T’Pol hesitated. She certainly could eat it straight from the cob, if required. She might even coat the kernels with butter, even though that was an animal product. Still, an image of herself with juices dribbling down her chin and nibblets wedged between her teeth held her back. Surely there was a more enlightened way to enjoy the delicacy!

As she wavered on the border of indecision, the cob was removed from her plate. Startled, she looked up into the understanding eyes of her mate. Hiding a smile, he gently but thoroughly cut the kernels off the cob and onto her plate. T’Pol looked down at the luscious golden pile, suddenly embarrassed at having her food cut up for her, as though she were a child. She had adapted to numerous cultural differences during her short stay with the Tuckers. Why should this one create such a problem for her? She felt her cheeks flush in mortified confusion.

“Don’t worry about it.” Trip’s low voice cut through her thoughts. She glanced up into his twinkling eyes. “It’s no big deal.” He gestured at her plate as he went on. “Enjoy the corn!” With that, he casually moved the butter dish and salt shaker within her reach, giving her the option of using them or not.

T’Pol suppressed her feelings as she added a generous dollop of butter to the mound of corn. They were bonded, after all. It shouldn’t surprise her that he had felt her distress and responded as if she had spoken aloud. But it still amazed her. Such a small thing, a trivial thing. Yet he had come to her rescue as nobly as if it had been a matter of taking a phaser blast for her. One taste of the butter-drenched corn led T’Pol to muse—in a humanly hyperbolic manner—that perhaps it was as serious as a phaser blast! On impulse, she reached for his hand. He gave her a warm smile, squeezing her fingers, and moved their joined hands under the table, so they could maintain the affectionate contact in private.

As she savored the remainder of her corn left-handed, T’Pol monitored the conversation of her human companions. For the most part, it was all innocuous small talk and chitchat. After several minutes of observation, she became aware of an increasing tension from the couple opposite her. Carlos and Daniel were definitely experiencing some sort of heightened emotion. She noticed several glances and pointed nudges pass between the two men. Whether alerted by his mate’s interest or noticing the situation on his own, Trip was moved to comment on the odd behavior.

“You two are obviously burstin’ with somethin’,” he observed. “Why dontcha spit it out?”

Daniel and Carlos exchanged one more knowing look before Daniel cleared his throat, much as his father had prior to his brief pre-meal blessing. This was enough to grab the attention of everyone else at the table. Heads turned, food was set down, and mouths were wiped on napkins as the Tucker family came to attention.

Daniel awkwardly half-rose from the bench. “Carlos and I have a big announcement,” he began.

“You’re finally getting married!” Jean burst out, clapping her hands, unable to contain her joyful speculation.

“’Bout time!” Mrs. Tucker chimed in.

Danny began to laugh. “I told you!” he crowed to his mate. “I told you Jean would say it before Mom!”

Carlos shook his head and smiled ruefully. “I didn’t think anyone could beat your Mom to the punch, querido,” the big man responded. “I owe you ten bucks!”

Daniel grinned triumphantly. “We knew one of you would assume we were gettin’ married right off the bat,” he explained. “We just weren’t sure who would get it out first!”

Both Jean and Mrs. Tucker huffed indignantly, but before they could say anything, Daniel went on. “And for your information, No! We aren’t getting married.”

This revelation resulted in no small amount of grumbling from everyone around the table. Danny held up his hands in a soothing gesture, halting the inevitable questions and complaints.

“This news is better!” he assured his family.

“You’re finally gonna have that operation to remove your head from your ass?” Trip asked skeptically.

His younger brother stood with hands on hips scowling ferociously, while the rest of the family laughed at his expense.

“No, smartass,” countered the redhead. “Carlos and I are gonna be dads!” Daniel smirked at the silence that greeted his statement, but when it went on for several moments, his smugness turned to apprehension. He looked to his partner for support.

“We applied to adopt one of the orphans from the Xindi attack,” Carlos explained gently. “Our little girl is from Cuba. No one ever came to pick her up from the daycare center.” The big man then took a photograph from his pocket and handed it down the table. “Her name is Esperanza.”

The silence continued as everyone leaned over or craned their necks to see the picture. Then, suddenly, the table exploded with joyous delight. Hugs, cheers, tears—all appeared to be appropriate responses to the happy news. T’Pol, last in line for the picture, rose and shook the hands of the prospective parents, formally congratulating them.

The hubbub had been going on for quite a while before the young Vulcan realized that Mr. Tucker had not joined in. Carlos and Daniel, in the midst of enthusiastic backslapping and hugging, were among the last to notice. Mrs. Tucker, unwilling to allow anything to ruin the happy moment, scowled at her husband.

“What’s your problem, you old crepehanger?” she hissed, the sibilants unintentionally drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

Mr. Tucker frowned and shifted uncomfortably, looking back and forth between the parents of his newest grandchild. It was patently obvious that he had something on his mind, but it was equally as evident that he didn’t want to spoil the celebration. Finally, he could hold it in no longer.

“You’re gonna have a baby without gettin’ married first?!?” he demanded, his outrage at the idea palpable.

There was a brief silence, and then the humans at the table burst out laughing. T’Pol, though she found Mr. Tucker’s quaint notions amusing, refrained from an emotional display.

Daniel Tucker found his voice first. “Geez, Dad, what century are you living in?” he asked between wheezes of laughter.

“Dad, for probably the first time ever, I gotta agree with Danny,” Jean piped up. “Do you have any idea how old-fashioned that sounded?”

Mr. Tucker was turning an unhealthy shade of purple as he searched for the words to explain his ire. His wife moved to his side, patting his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. Daniel also made a conciliatory gesture.

“Ya don’t have to be married to have kids anymore, Dad,” he explained soothingly. “I understand why some people want to go through all that hassle, but when you get right down to it, it’s just a bunch of paperwork.”

“Are you sayin’ that what your mother and I have had for the last 47 years was just a bunch of paperwork!?” his father demanded.

Danny backpedaled quickly. “No no, Dad! It’s just that...well, it’s a formality. You and Mom didn’t need to jump through any of those hoops to prove that you cared for each other. I mean, you did, and that’s great, but it was just a formality, don’t you think? You don’t need a document to prove that you’re meant to be together.”

“Of course we don’t need it. That’s the whole point!” Mr. Tucker glared at his son, who blinked in confusion. The older man sighed. “Son, I know you’re intelligent. Hell, I’ve got documents that say so!” he continued sarcastically. “But sometimes, I swear, your mother and I raised a half-wit.”

T’Pol could not fathom the reasoning behind Mr. Tucker’s statements, and from the puzzled looks being exchanged around the table, she was not alone. Her mate’s head was cocked to one side, and she sensed that he had an inkling of his father’s thought process, but their link did not make it any clearer to her.
Conveniently, Mr.
Tucker seemed disposed to explain his position. “Son, no one gets married because they have to or because they need to. You get married because you want to! You want to stand up in front of God and everybody and tell the world, ‘This is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with!’” He grabbed his startled wife’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “And if folks like the idea, well, Hell, they can come and join the party. And if they don’t like the idea, well...they can go fu--”

“Charlie Tucker!” his wife snapped, cutting off the swear word before it escaped her husband’s mouth.

“Oh, sorry, hon. Sorry, kids!” Mr. Tucker called down the table to the Monaghan children. He turned back to his son. “The point is, Dan, that saying you’ve made a commitment to someone you love is all well and good, but if you’re not willing to holler about it from the tallest mountain top, how the Hell good can it be?”

Warming up to his point, the older man jabbed a finger at his son. “It’s not about making the commitment, it’s about celebrating that commitment and wanting to share it with everyone! If you’re not willing to do that for each other, what’s our little Espy s’posed to think? She’ll always be wonderin’ why. She’ll be wonderin’ if you really love each other, and then she’ll be wonderin’ if you really love her!” Mr. Tucker placed his hands on his hips and glared at Daniel and Carlos.

“And that’s no way for a child to live!” he finished with an emphatic sweep of his arm.

The crowd around the table was dead silent, all amusement gone, dispersed by Mr. Tucker’s simple yet touching eloquence. When he realized that everyone was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head, he shifted from one foot to the other, scratching his neck in embarrassment. “Well, that’s it,” he mumbled, suddenly interested in the ground between his feet. “Probably didn’t make any sense at all.”

Mrs. Tucker put her arm around her husband and pecked his cheek lovingly. “Actually, honey, it made a lot of sense.” She gave him a solid squeeze before turning to gather up empty plates. “Who wants dessert?” she asked as she headed back towards the house. The party suddenly came alive again as others followed her example and began to clear the table.

Carlos and Danny stood staring at each other, perplexed.

***

Although T’Pol was most eager to discuss the day’s happenings with her mate, she waited patiently for him to speak first on the matter. It wasn’t difficult—it took him only 47 seconds to bring up the subject once they had made themselves comfortable in the porch swing that evening. “Lots of excitement today,” he mused casually.

T’Pol matched his seeming indifference. “Indeed. How do you think Carlos and Daniel will respond to your father’s...advice?”

Trip grinned. “I bet Carlos would have no problem with it at all. If it were up to him, they probably woulda got married a long time ago.” A frown took over his face. “Danny’s always gotta be contrary, though. It’s like he gets a thrill outta doin’ whatever he’s told not to.” He cast a hopeful look at T’Pol. “The old man made a lotta sense, though. Maybe Danny’ll do the smart thing for once.”

T’Pol digested his words. “So you believe that your brother and his mate should get married?”

Her t’hy’la looked back at her in surprise. “Well, yeah! But not just because they’re gonna be raising a kid together. They make each other happy. They’re perfect together!”

“Even though they are so...different?”

“I think it’s because they’re so different that they make a great team,” he answered after giving her question a moment’s thought. He raised his eyes to hers and went on pointedly. “Humans have a saying: ‘Opposites attract.’ When it comes to relationships, I think it makes a whole lotta sense.”

T’Pol knew he suspected that her question had a dual meaning, and had worded his answer accordingly. She experienced a burst of gratitude for the existence of the bond between them. It enabled her to respond in kind, knowing that no emotional risk was involved.

“Perhaps it also helps to explain our own...relationship.”

She felt his smile as he pressed his lips to her temple. “I think you’re right,” he murmured into her hair. She leaned against him, comfortable with the physical and emotional closeness in a way that would have seemed alien to her less than a month ago.

“Do
you think we should get married?”

She raised her head to look at him, startled. Despite their intimacy, he was still capable of surprising her. Her mind raced furiously as she searched for an acceptable response to his question.

Unfortunately, Trip misinterpreted her hesitation. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t mean...I wasn’t implying...Of course, we’ll take it slow. I know you don’t want to rush into anything—”

T’Pol sat up straight and took his face between her hands, kissing him gently on the lips to quiet him. Once she had his attention, she corrected his error.

“T’hy’la, it is somewhat ironic that you should ask that question,” she began, realizing that he had provided her the perfect opportunity to discuss a very necessary topic! Trip shifted uneasily at her words, although she sensed that her use of the Vulcan term of endearment soothed his fears. “And that you should speak of ‘taking it slow’ and ‘not rushing anything.’” She eyed him speculatively, suddenly worried how he would take her news. It would not do for him to sense her fear and become more alarmed, however. She must continue.

“From the perspective of Vulcan culture, we are already married,” T’Pol stated in a clear, firm voice. She intended to go on, explaining the process in detail, but her mate’s evident shock gave her pause. The young Vulcan observed him closely, attempting to gauge his reaction from visual cues and emotional sensation. Trip simply stared at her, dumbfounded, his mouth open and his eyes slightly glazed. His emotions were such a jumble that T’Pol made no attempt to sort through them.

Finally, he found his voice, leaning close to ask in a scandalized whisper, “Just because we had sex that one time?”

T’Pol was about to correct his misconception, when she realized that she herself did not understand exactly how they had become bonded. She suspected that the initial link had been forged well before they had engaged in sexual intercourse, but she had to admit that she had no idea how large a role carnal relations played in the formation of the bond.

Once again her silence alarmed her mate and led him to misinterpret the hesitation. “Damn, you Vulcans really are old-fashioned! If I’d known it was so serious, I’d never have... Not that I’m complaining... I mean, I’m totally happy to—”

T’Pol sighed, leaning in to silence him with another kiss. She would have to explain quickly and thoroughly, before his imagination ran away with him. “Trip,” she began sternly, “if you will listen, and I will explain.”

He sat back in the swing, hands folded carefully in his lap, eyes as round as saucers. He looked like a young child fearing punishment. She reached to take one of his hands, hoping to reassure him.

“Trip,” she said again, more gently this time. “Traditionally, when Vulcan couples mate, they spend the first year of married life together. It is during this period that a psychic bond is often formed.” Trip blinked and opened his mouth, but T’Pol continued determinedly, forestalling any questions. “I believe that—due to the physical closeness required by neuropressure—you and I formed such a bond during our time in the Expanse. I suspect that our sexual intimacy merely reinforced this connection. And the mind meld most likely served to strengthen and solidify our bond.”

He gaped at her a moment, blinked, and looked away. After a moment of watching him stare into the darkness, she continued. “As a bonded couple, we are married, by Vulcan standards.”

She thought she had explained it fairly well, all things considered, so his reaction caught her off guard. Trip refused to look at her, focusing instead on the floor of the porch. Through the bond, she felt a wave of disappointment and despair so strong it nearly took her breath away. Before she had recovered from the assault, he spoke.

“So, this...this...” He gestured back
and forth between the two of them, still without meeting her eyes.
“Whatever this is between us is just a Vulcan biological thing? Our brains
got hooked up because you were tryin’ to help me sleep by pokin’ me in
the back three times a week?”

It was T’Pol’s turn to be shocked. Trip believed her feelings for him were manufactured—a product, as he had said, of Vulcan biology and nothing more. He believed her feelings for him were not “real.” He believed that she did not truly love him, had never loved him.

That was unacceptable.

T’Pol reached for him with her free hand, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. “Trip,” she implored. “There can be no bond if the feelings between the two individuals do not already exist.” Her eyes bored into his, willing him to understand. “Many Vulcan couples endure decades of marriage without ever forming a bond. My people refer to marriage as a bonding, but only those couples who have true feelings for one another experience a bond such as ours.”

He wanted to believe her. She felt it. But he was unsure, insecure, afraid. Afraid of her. It pained her to think that he should fear her. They were bonded! If nothing else in life was certain, their link was. How could he fear it would be lost?

Guided by instinct rather than logic, T’Pol moved her hand up the side of his face to the contact points. She opened her mind and he fell in, as if gravity had pulled him into the chasm of emotions she so feared. It was all there for him to see, feel, touch, taste.

And hear.

Do you hear me? she asked him.

Yes! he responded in wonder. She felt his breath on her face as he answered with both mind and voice.

Do you see? she queried further. Do you feel?

Yes! he said again, lips and brain whispering the word.

Do you understand? she posed her final question
softly.

I do. His response, though not verbalized, was an almost tangible cord between them.

Show me, she insisted.

He answered her challenge with the ancient words of her people—words that seemed so comfortable, so at home in his mind, that she wondered if they had always been there.

Our minds, one and together. Always and never touching and touched. Apart, yet never apart. Two bodies, one soul.

T’Pol reveled as the troth echoed through their minds. She knew she was speaking in concert with him, but she wasn’t sure if the words were in his language or her own. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

It really didn’t matter. At this moment, in
this time, nothing else existed. For their joined katras, no
one else would ever exist.

Which was just as it should be.

They broke apart with a gasp. T’Pol was alarmed to find her mate sweaty and trembling. She reached out to steady him and found herself suddenly in his arms. Perhaps there was something to be said for overt display of emotion after all, she decided. From the way he was crushing her to his chest, there could be no doubt that he understood her feelings and that he reciprocated.

T’Pol returned the embrace with equal fervor—until she heard him make a noise between a squeak and a grunt. She released him in alarm.

“Forgive me, ashaya!” she began, appalled at the thought that she might have broken his ribs. But Trip followed her earlier example and silenced her with a kiss.

“Shush,” he scolded, scooping her back into his arms. T’Pol relented, but was content to nestle against his chest, rather than risk his health by hugging him back.

After a long, serene moment, he finally spoke. “So, when do you think we should start hollering from the mountaintop?”

T’Pol gave it some thought. “We should certainly wait until Daniel and Carlos have made a decision about their own future marital status,” she reasoned. “If we act too precipitously, our actions may have an adverse affect on their current situation.”

Trip chuckled. “I love it when you get all logical, t’hy’la!” he teased, attempting to nibble his way down her neck.

The young Vulcan pushed him away, glaring at him sternly. “Please desist!” she scolded her mate. “We agreed to wait until Dr. Phlox has determined that you have recuperated enough for sex play.”

“Spoilsport!” her mate accused, hiding a smile.

T’Pol raised an eyebrow at him, responding in kind. “I have no wish to become a widow at this early stage of our bonding.”

Trip sighed theatrically, leaning back into the swing. “The things I do for you, woman!”

T’Pol hid a smile and primly situated herself in the curve of his arm. “They are much appreciated, t’hy’la,” she responded.

A creak from the direction of the parlor almost distracted T’Pol from the peace she shared with her mate.

Almost.

She would worry about that problem tomorrow.

Chapter 8

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Tardiness entirely forgiven (and understood . . *grumble* 'bomination *grumble*), and I can't wipe the grin off my face. Superb chapter! The Tucker family is absolutely hilarious. T'Pol's POV makes it even funnier; poor girl, trying to understand chaos. And so sweet . . .

Really looking forward to more, whenever you get around to it. :)

Yay! What a great surprise to get another chapter!

Thanks!

I do love the way you write T'Pol! Another great update. Keep them coming!

What a great thing to come home to. :-) Thanks for the chapter!

Thanks for the wonderful story. This is what I needed to put the fun back in T/T. Looking forward to more. I enjoy all of your stories. Your work is really appreciated. Thanks.

God I love that sweet, logical, and caring mind.
Trips Ol man sure is a smart fellor. Great Chapie,, Now just dont keep us all waitin so long for the next one.

Darn, I can't get this grin off my face. Not that I'm really trying...

T'Pol the anthropologist, that's so funny!

Keep it coming, don't make us wait so long for the next one!

Thank you. I really enjoy this series.

I was so happy, so thrilled to see another chapter of this story posted. Really very funny about how a cookout was an ancient tradition. Please, keep writing this arc.

Jell-O: 1
T'pol: 0

Ah! The deadly battle between Vulcan and dessert which shall go down in Earth history...

THANK YOU!!! T`Pol´s barbecue-observations are spot-on wonderful! And I´m happy, we´ve got some more T/T in this chapter! ;-)))

Please: Write more!

i loved it another great chapter cant wait for the next one

Great chapter. Can't wait for the next. The Jello made me laugh - nobody makes Jello salads anymore, do they?

"...something called Jell-O—a colorful, semi-solid mass that wiggled distastefully when poked...a scoop of the grotesquely writhing Jell-O...The gelatinous green blob quivered on the serving spoon, as if terrified of its impending doom..." -hehehe
Well when you put it like that it doesn't sound very good to me either!
Yay another chapter - when I saw it I had to read it despite not having any time to do so...

I enjoyed this one muchly. Can't wait for the Papa Tucker and T'Pol discussion.

The picnic was hilarious! Loved T'Pol's POV on the ritual. Your descriptions were right on target, I could see it unfold. Thank you! And enjoyed Trip rescuing T'Pol from the corn on the cob eating with her hand dilemma and their holding hands under the table!

The Trip / T'Pol bonding discussion was very sweet, loved their interaction.

I like it very much, please continue soon.

(*does happy dance*) Another chapter! Huzzah! BTW, when exactly will we get to read about "tomorrow"? Wink wink, hint hint, nudge nudge! :)

I was so happy to see an update to this story! Loved it! I can't get the 'plurp' out of my mind. LOL

Love the whole chapter,from the "ceremony of the barbeque" to the explanation of the bonding between Trip and Tpol. Anxiously awaiting the next update.

I loved this chapter. I really did. The JELL-O bit was priceless... PRICELESS. :) I also loved the corn on the cob sweetness and the marriage conversation.

I also love the way you describe the big family BBQ. I know what those are like and I really sense the feel of one of those gatherings while reading. :)

And really, you're T'Pol POV is simply brilliant. :)

Yay!! I was so very happy to see this posted. T'pol's understanding of the barbeque was hysterical. I loved her explaining to Trip the nature of their bond. If I had one criticism to make, it would be very, very slight--more Trip please! This chapter felt a little light when it came to him. Your T'pol, however, continues to be second to none. Thanks.

I so love this story, can't wait to read more. I understand what you mean though, since Enterprise got bumped it's been so hard for me to write fan fic about Enterprise! It's like my muse got cancelled along with Enterprise! Grrrrrr! But you did make up for the long wait. Great chapter, looking forward to more, and you do T'Pol VERY well! I really like her in this story! Keep going!

Great story. It's been a real treat to read since Chapter 1. Be encouraged and keep going.

I am so happy to see an update! I have absolutely loved this series from the get go. And I am very happy you are ignoring the 4th season. Thanks for the update, looking forward to more.

You're so good at T'pol's POV! The southern barbeque as a traditional human ritual through her eyes was priceless!

WOnderful stories!!! The barbeque was hilarious!! ;-)))) Love the Tucker family!

Ragua... I've been thinking. (Dangerous pasttime... I know!) I think I know what you're trying to do with the David/Carlos relationship...to point out to us old-fashioned people that same gender relationships will be completely unremarkable and commonplace in the 22nd century... and I respect that. It seems strange to me, though, that T'pol, being a member of an entire race whose mating practices hinge entirely on biological reproductive imperatives and not on emotion, and therefore someone who has never seen a same gender couple within her own race, or indeed probably ever thought it possible for one to exist before she met humans, would not at least be curious about it. I'm not saying she'd be uncomfortable with it... I mean, she's in a relationship with someone who's not even a member of her own SPECIES, for Pete's sake... but with all of her anthropological commentary in your stories, it seems to me that she'd have something to say. I'd like to see her have a conversation with Carlos about it. What do you think?

Puh-lease updated...pretty please?

i love this story pleaaaaaaaaase update!!!

Everytime I read this story I laugh out loud! More please.

We needs an update here!!! I'm dying without knowing how it will all end!

i love this fic pleasssssssse update soon.

I'm reviewing again. Because this story is just too awesome.

You know, as per what Distracted was talking about above, I seem to recall a Star Trek novel that had a gay Vulcan in it. I kid you not! Although I also seem to recall he was shunned by his parents because of it. That part was less good. I believe it was in the New Frontier series. Somewhere. Anyway.

Amazing series, and I reeeeeeeeeeeally can't wait for another chappie! :)