Court and Spark - Chapter 9

Court and Spark

By Ragua

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers in Chapter 1.

A/N: For all the nice, nice people who have stuck it out this long, you have my abject apologies for the tardiness of this chapter, not to mention my undying gratitude for all the really kind things you always write. *sniff* I love you guys! *sniff*

Chapter 9

T’Pol was made aware of yet another advantage of the porch swing on her final evening at the Tucker homestead. Its sheltered location made it possible to enjoy the surroundings and solitude even during inclement weather. In fact, huddling together, warm and dry, on the slowly rocking bench seat seemed even more pleasant with rain falling steadily just a few meters away. Had T’Pol been inclined to the imaginative and fanciful, as were many Earth poets, she might have entertained the symbolic notion that the elements were mourning her imminent departure. However illogical, the thought of such personification met with her satisfaction—strictly in an aesthetic, artistic sense, of course.

Her mate seemed to be harboring similar romantic ideas. Trip’s arm about her shoulders, so casual and offhand on previous evenings, now seemed more purposeful. His insistent nearness, ostensibly for warmth, had a decidedly amorous bent. However much the young Vulcan was tempted to satisfy both their needs, she could not, in good conscience, endanger his health for a brief sexual fling— pleasurable though it would be! She turned her head in order to address the issue, and her mate did not hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity.

Against her own better judgment, T’Pol did not immediately dissuade him from his course of action. The enforced celibacy had not been a burden until this moment, but now the physical pleasure, combined with the mental and emotional stimulation of their acknowledged bond, made their conscious abstention seem a foolish choice indeed. As Trip’s hands slipped under her blouse and caressed the warm, smooth skin in the small of her back, a not-so-distant sound reminded T’Pol that her mate’s health was not the only reason for refraining from sexplay here on the porch swing. Gently, she drew away from the passionate embrace, doing her best to ignore his hopeful, persistent gaze.

“You know it is not in the best interest of your recuperation to continue these actions,” she said, attempting to detach herself from his grip. His skillfully meandering fingers were making it extremely difficult to stand her ground on this issue.

“C’mon, T’Pol,” Trip replied, somewhat breathlessly. “A little cardiovascular exercise would probably be a healthy thing right now!” T’Pol remained silent, trying to decide how to convince him they needed to stop, without having to resort to the embarrassing revelation that they had an audience. Sensing her indecision, but not the reason for it, her mate attempted to press his advantage. “t'hai'la,” he whispered, moving in to nibble along her collarbone.

T’Pol felt her self control slipping, and she realized she had no recourse but the truth. “Your father is watching us,” she gasped, as her mate’s lips moved to the hollow of her throat.

Trip’s explorations came to a sudden halt. “What?!” he yelped, jerking his head up abruptly and looking around in horror. T’Pol grasped his face between her hands to silence him. Even with his face immobilized, her mate’s eyeballs danced around wildly, seeking the location of the spy.

“Bernice mentioned several days ago that your father has been watching us from the parlor,” T’Pol explained quietly, inclining her head ever so slightly in the direction of their audience. “I have been trying to decide how to deal with this situation since that time.”

Her mate was furious. “Several days! Why didn’t you say somethin’?!?! Why that nasty, lecherous old coot! I’m gonna—”

The young Vulcan tightened her grip a bit more than was necessary. Trip’s eyes bulged, and he quieted down. “Your reaction is precisely the reason I did not inform you. I had hoped to avoid just such a confrontation,” she said. “Avoiding the issue was illogical, but there appeared to be no satisfactory solution to the problem.”

Trip scowled unbecomingly, his face still slightly squashed between her hands. “Sure there was. You shoulda told me, and then I’d ‘a gone and pounded him into next week!”

T’Pol raised an eyebrow at her mate. “As trying as this situation is, I do not believe that violence is the appropriate response. Particularly when the culprit is one’s parent,” she said dryly.

Trip harrumphed. “I wouldn’t really have hit him, T’Pol, but still—” He broke off, staring at his mate, who had suddenly cocked her head. “What? What is it?” he hissed.

The young Vulcan relinquished her viselike hold on his face, leaving the imprint of her hands on his cheeks. “I believe the decision about the problem has been taken from our hands.” Trip’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he leaned forward for an explanation.

***

“Charles Aloysius Tucker Jr., what on God’s green earth are you up to!?!?”

The accusation, sounding directly behind him with no warning whatsoever, so surprised the man that he fell off the settee where he had been crouched. The sheer draperies he had been peeping through rustled softly at the sudden movement in the room. From his new location, flat on his back on the floor of the parlor, Charlie Tucker gazed up into the face of his beloved wife, who looked, at this moment, as if she were seriously considering disemboweling him.

“Lovey!” he squeaked, hoping the room was dark enough to hide his flaming red face. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from spying on those poor kids, it seems,” Mrs. Tucker snarled. “What in the blazes of Hell do you think you’re doing, invading their privacy that way?”

“I wasn’t invading,” Mr. Tucker denied. “There was no invading. I was just sitting here, minding my own business.”

“Your own business? How is your son’s private time with his sweetie any of your business, you dirty old man?”

***

“What’s happening now?” Trip whispered, his anger entirely gone, replaced instead by curiosity.

“Your mother has accused your father of poor hygiene,” T’Pol responded in a puzzled tone. “As questionable as your father’s actions are, I fail to see how his cleanliness applies to the situation.”

Trip blinked for a second, confused. Then, as the wheels turned in his head, he chuckled slightly. “Did she call him a ‘dirty, old man’?” he asked. His mate’s eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. “’Dirty’ is a human slang term. It’s often used to describe someone with an...um...inappropriate or excessive interest in sex.”

His mate nodded in understanding. “I expect this idiom is used quite often on Earth, then.” For a second, Trip thought he had seen T’Pol smirk, but on closer inspection, her face was as serene and expressionless as always. Shaking his head, he grinned and leaned in again as she continued to monitor the confrontation between his parents.

***

Charlie Tucker knew he was in the wrong, but he was not about to allow his motives to be so misinterpreted. He drew his tattered dignity together and sat up cautiously, eyeing his wife’s hands for wooden spoons, spatulas, or other instruments of retribution. “I’d say grandkids are my business,” he said, casting a sullen eye in the direction of the curtains. “And we won’t be getting ‘em any time soon, at the rate those two are going.”

“Grandkids? Charlie Tucker, you already have three, no, four grandkids!” his wife exclaimed in exasperation.

“Yeah,” Mr. Tucker admitted reluctantly, “but the only way we can get a Charles Tucker IV is if Trip gets up off his butt and gets busy.” The old man couldn’t help leaning over to peep out the curtain once again. “And it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen any time soon. It’s like the boy doesn’t know how babies are made.” He turned back to his wife with his hands on his hips and snorted in disgust.

Mrs. Tucker eyed her husband suspiciously. “It sounds to me like a lot of excuse-making from someone who got caught bein’ a Peeping Tom,” she snapped.

Her husband narrowed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Instead of continuing to defend his own actions, he went on the offensive. “Well, it seems to me like a lot of judging someone else based on what your own mind’s thinking.”

Now it was his wife’s turn to cast a steely glare. “What are you trying to say, you old fart?”

“I’m not to say anything,” her husband retorted. “What are you doin’ down here in the parlor so late? And how do you know what Trip and T’Pol are up to out on the porch?” As his wife gaped at his counteraccusation, Mr. Tucker crossed his arms over his chest in a self-righteous huff. “Looks to me like there’s a question of who the dirty old fart really is!” he added triumphantly.

But Mr. Tucker’s victory was short-lived. After a deathly silence, his wife hissed venomously, “Charles Tucker, Jr., did you just call me old?”

***

“Your father is attempting to escape by leveling a countercharge against your mother,” T’Pol announced in a low voice. Even as a Vulcan and a newcomer to the family, she suspected that her tel-sa-mekh had made a very foolish mistake.

Her mate’s reaction confirmed her assessment of the situation. “Uh-oh,” Trip muttered, his brow furrowing in consternation. “What did he say?”

“I believe the phrase he used was ‘dirty old fart,’” T’Pol replied. Trip’s eyes widened in horror. “I can see that being compared, even metaphorically, to flatulence would be insulting, but is it truly grounds for such concern?” she asked, worried by her mate’s alarming reaction.

“Well, the fart thing isn’t good,” Trip agreed absently. “But...he called her old! Mom’s kinda touchy about her age.” He shook his head. “He’s a dead man.”

***

“Now, hon,” Mr. Tucker said nervously, “you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He raised his hands placatingly, fully cognizant that such posture could also be helpful should a defensive position be warranted. If nothing else, he had diverted her attention from his spying. But it seemed to be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire!

Mrs. Tucker advanced on her husband menacingly. “So you think I’m old, do you?” she said. “Probably eyeballing all those sweet young things at the grocery store and wishing you were with one of them, instead of this wrinkled, old woman?”

“No, no! There’s no one on the planet but you!” Mr. Tucker assured her, backing hastily away. “You’re the only woman in my life! As beautiful now as the day I married you!” But she went on as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“Well, how do you think I got this way? Keeping your house. Having your babies. Raising your children—”

“Now stop right there, woman!” Mr. Tucker spoke sharply. “Don’t you talk about our babies as if they were some kind of horrible burden! You’re mad at me, sure, but that’s just not right!”

His words reached her, and the two combatants stood in silence and glared across the room at each other.

***

Trip waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. The porch swing had stilled, and the only sound the human could hear was the rain pattering on the ground and the roof. He was dependent on T’Pol for the next update in the family drama unfolding a short distance away. The Vulcan sat with her head cocked, listening intently, just as intrigued as her mate. Finally, Trip could stand the suspense no longer. He poked his companion in the ribs. “What’s happening?”

“They seem to have reached an impasse,” T’Pol responded. “Your mother’s words indicate that she believes marriage to your father and the inevitable procreation that followed, is at fault for growing old. Your father, in turn, took exception to what he viewed as an attempt to blame the children for the natural aging process.” T’Pol shook her head. “Your parents do not seem quite rational at the moment.”

Trip shook his head in resignation. “This moment or any other moment, T’Pol,” he said wryly. “Still, it gives us an opening.” He grinned mischievously and cleared his throat.

“You know, we can hear you out here!” Trip called out toward the parlor in a raised voice, not quite a shout. He gave T’Pol a querying look, but she shook her head after listening for a moment. Trip went on. “And kids really, really hate it when their mom and dad fight!” He locked eyes with T’Pol, smiling as they waited for some sort of reaction.

***

The Tuckers’ mutual glares turned to looks of shared horror as their eldest son’s words carried to them from the far end of the porch. They continued to stare at each other, mortified, neither knowing what to do at having been caught in such a compromising position. Their frozen posture lasted for a several seconds, as Trip’s words about fighting hung in the air. Then Mr. Tucker took one long stride toward his wife, reaching out a hand. She grabbed the proffered lifeline willingly, and together they scurried from the parlor hand in hand.

***

Now that their discovery had negated the need for stealth, Trip did not need his mate’s acute Vulcan hearing to know that his parents had beaten a hasty retreat. The squeaking of the floorboards in the parlor was quickly followed by muffled thumping up the stairs to second floor of the house. Once the sounds had died away, he refocused on T’Pol. Shaking his head in chagrin, he finally leaned away from his mate. He allowed his head to hang over the back of the porch swing as he scrubbed his face roughly with his hands. Then his fingers slid up into his hair, and he pulled at it in frustration, letting out an enormous sigh.

T’Pol leaned back as well. They sat quietly for a moment, shoulders barely touching, hands laying next to each other on the bench seat. Finally, Trip returned his attention to his mate. “Geez, T’Pol, how can you put up with us? I mean, that woulda been a bad scene even if you had been human! I can’t even imagine what a Vulcan must be thinking about that...that...farce!”

The Vulcan in question gazed up at her mate. She sensed a modicum of personal embarrassment, but most of his reaction was outrage for her sake. “While I admit that it is certainly a...strange situation, I do not find it offensive or insulting.” Trip threw her a thankful smile that said he appreciated her words, even if he didn’t believe them. T’Pol went on, attempting to convince him. “Your father’s actions were motivated by concern for you, and by a desire for grandchildren. Most species share a similar interest in matters that affect their family.”

Trip sighed. “Do most species demonstrate their concern in such a whacked out manner?”

T’Pol shook her head. “No. In that, your family is—even among humans, I suspect—unique.” She hid a smile, but knew that her mate had again sensed its presence. She felt his body relax slightly.

“Do you think you can stand it, t'hai'la?” Trip asked earnestly, rolling his head over on the swingback to catch her eyes.

She returned his look of utter seriousness and answered without any levity whatsoever. “Now that I have experienced it, ashayam, I could not stand to be without it. Kashkau dah, katra wuh.” She covered her hand with his.

Trip released a breath he had not been aware that he was holding. Then he turned his hand over so that their fingers might entwine. “Two minds, one soul,” he repeated, smiling at her in perfect understanding.

They sat peacefully, holding hands and looking out into the rain.

Epilogue to come

Chapter 10 Epilogue

Return to Chapter 8

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!