Homecoming - Ch 4

Homecoming

By Ragua

Date: June 2, 2004
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Archive: Sure, why not. Just let me know
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no just havin’ a little fun.
Summary: Tucker family reunion causes less trouble for T’Pol than one would expect. It does stress Trip out, though. No nookie for that boy.
Author's notes: Semi-sequel to “Challenges.”

Homecoming

Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave,
But not our hearts.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Chapter 4

Mama Knows Best

It was late in Enterprise’s evening cycle when T’Pol answered her door comm. To her surprise, it was Charles's mother, holding what appeared to be a pie.

"Mrs. Tucker. Come in." T’Pol stepped back to allow her entry. "Please, sit down." When Mrs. Tucker eyed her meditation cushions hesitantly, T’Pol hastened to push forward the desk chair. She then sat on the edge of her bunk and gazed curiously at her visitor.

Without preamble, Mrs. Tucker began, “I just wanted to thank you for making our stay here so nice. Charlie’s been talking of nothing else but his visits to Engineering and your Science Department." Mrs. Tucker paused. "And I noticed how you kept an eye on him when Malcolm was showing off the Armory. I appreciate that, too."

T’Pol nodded. "Commander Tucker expressed concern over his father’s tour of the armory. He felt that Mr. Tucker displayed excessive interest in Lieutenant Reed’s explosive devices. I merely followed the commander’s suggestion that I accompany his father on the tour."

"He always did have more sense than his daddy," Mrs. Tucker smiled wryly.

The two women sat in silence for a moment.

"I have not yet thanked you for your gift," T’Pol spoke up. "Perhaps you would like to share some tea with me now?"

"That would be nice, Miss T'Pol," Mrs. Tucker responded formally. "Chamomile for me, please."

T’Pol felt the older woman’s eyes on her as she prepared the tea. Obviously, Mrs. Tucker had come to say something, and it did not involve thanking T’Pol for her hospitality. When they finally faced each other again, each with a cup of tea in hand like duelists at dawn, T’Pol decided that a direct approach might have merit.

"You have come to speak with me about a specific subject?" she inquired.

Mrs. Tucker was taken aback, but only for a moment. “I guess I am. More like two or three subjects, although maybe it all boils down to the same thing when all is said and done." She suddenly became oblivious to T'Pol's presence as she pondered this thought.

Her statements made little sense to the Vulcan. Apparently, Charles had inherited his chaotic thought process from his mother. The frown, furrowed brow, and tongue rolling around in the cheek were all disturbingly familiar to T’Pol. As she continued to gaze inquiringly at her guest, Mrs. Tucker abandoned her cogitation, took a deep breath, and refocused on T’Pol.

"First, I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for my son. He was really broken up about Lizzie," her voice fell to a whisper. She stopped for a moment, and T’Pol watched respectfully as Mrs. Tucker visibly extracted her own raw feelings from the message she was attempting to impart. "They were real close. Those neuropressure sessions sure helped him. They meant a lot to him." She looked at T’Pol, unsure what the reaction might be.

"Our time together meant a great deal to me as well," T’Pol admitted. “I enjoyed...I enjoy Charles’s company."

Mrs. Tucker seemed startled at T’Pol’s use of her son’s name, but she continued. “And Doctor Phlox told me what you did for Trip after the accident. He said you didn’t have to do it. That it was dangerous, but you did it anyway. And it saved my son’s life. I can't thank you enough for that."

Mrs. Tucker’s voice was steady, and her words were simple, but her thanks moved T’Pol more than anything she had experienced in all her years of interacting with humans. It was as if a powerful force had reached out from the human woman and touched something inside the Vulcan--in the very core of her being. Not for the first time, T’Pol wondered what it must be like to be a mother--to feel so strongly, so passionately, so primally about another.

"Your thanks are unnecessary. I...hold Charles in very high regard," T’Pol told her. ÒI could never have remained idle when it was within my power to provide assistance."

Mrs. Tucker’s eyes glittered, but no tears fell. She and T’Pol looked at each other in perfect understanding.

“That brings me to the last thing I need to say to you," Mrs. Tucker spoke again. "It's the most important thing. I wanted to apologize to you. For the way I’ve treated you." And with that she handed T’Pol the pie. "Trip told me once that you liked pecan pie."

Now T’Pol was truly confused. She sat up awkwardly, balancing the pie in one hand and her tea in the other. “Mrs. Tucker, you have treated me with nothing but respect. You have already presented me with an extremely thoughtful gift." T’Pol held up her cup of tea, as if to provide evidence. “You have done nothing that requires an apology!"

"Yes, Miss T’Pol, I have," Mrs. Tucker argued stubbornly. “I was polite to you, but that was it. I didn’t make any kind of effort to be friendly with you.”

“Mrs. Tucker, please do not reproach yourself," T’Pol attempted to comfort her. "As I suspect you are aware, Vulcans are not inclined to 'friendliness,' as humans define it. Your behavior to me was perfectly correct at all times.":

"Oh, honey," the older woman shook her head in disagreement. T’Pol would never have imagined how pleasing an illogical nickname could be. "It may have been 'perfectly correct,' but it certainly wasn’t right! After all you’ve done for my son, for my family, I treated you like a passing acquaintance." Mrs. Tucker obviously felt she was guilty of a heinous crime.

"You're a Vulcan, so you wouldn’t have noticed the difference," she went on, shaking her head again. "That's what makes it worse. I took advantage of that, but all the time, I knew what I was doing was wrong."

Now T’Pol understood somewhat. Mrs. Tucker felt that she had behaved shamefully. As a Vulcan, T’Pol had noticed nothing untoward in the human’s behavior. She would never have known, had not Charles’s mother felt honor-bound to confess.

T’Pol felt a strong sense of déjà vu. Three years ago, Charles had felt similarly honor-bound to admit that he had read one of her private messages. He need not have done so--she would never have known--but his sense of honesty, his basic decency, prevented him from accepting the easy solution. Like his engineering skills, his integrity had apparently not materialized from thin air, either.

Mrs. Tucker had not ceased her self-recrimination. “I never went out of my way for you, the way you did for us...the way you did for my boy. I didn’t even make you something homemade as a gift!" This last offense seemed truly galling to her.

“You did not present Ensign Sato with a homemade gift," T’Pol reminded her.

"My son’s not in love with Hoshi," Mrs. Tucker countered, eyeing T’Pol shrewdly.

T’Pol blinked. "How do you--What makes you think that Commander Tucker is in love with me?" She felt disingenuous. She knew how Charles felt. He had told her himself. Yet somehow, an illogical part of her wanted to hear more evidence from his mother. How had she known?

Mrs. Tucker shook her head again, but this time her face was lit by an engaging and somewhat sly grin. “Oh, honey...”

#####

"Geez, T’Pol, I can’t believe ya ratted me out!"

"I beg your pardon?" This was not the greeting that T’Pol had expected, particularly after having had such promising interaction with his mother. Mrs. Tucker had visited for nearly two hours the night before, and T’Pol was forced to admit that she had enjoyed their conversation. It had been most illuminating.

"Ya told my mom about the swearin'!" Charles accused.

“I did not, as you claim, 'rat you out,' Commander," T’Pol corrected him. "I was merely curious as to why your mother takes offense when your father uses profanity." She noticed a glass with a straw on the tray table in front of him. She considered moving it to prevent a recurrence of the incidents of their previous meeting, but decided against it.

"She told me that it is improper for a male--or at least, one who is considered a 'gentleman'--to use profanity in the presence of a female," T’Pol continued. "When I expressed ignorance of this taboo, she correctly deduced that the human males of my acquaintance do not keep to it." Now she eyed him blandly. “It was only natural for her to follow the deduction to its logical conclusion: That, as one of the human males of my acquaintance, you yourself were guilty of violating this taboo."

"Use as much scientific language as ya want ta justify it, ya stool-pigeon. She was still in here at the butt-crack a' dawn, lecturing me about what a disgrace I am, cussin' in front of ladies!" He scowled furiously, first at the nutrient drink, then at T’Pol.

T’Pol raised an eyebrow at him. "I suspect, Commander, that it is also improper for a 'gentleman' to make baseless accusations against a 'lady.' I will, however, confer with your mother to verify my suspicions."

And with that, she turned and left.

"T'Pol!" Trip squawked in indignation. Too late. She was gone.

Without a sentient target to vent on, Trip turned his scowl back on the nutrient drink. Sonofabitch! He loved his parents dearly, but since they’d arrived, he’d gotten very little hand-holding action. He felt like a dumb horny teenager again. And that period of his life had been bad enough the first time around. Why was he being forced to experience it again?!?

If things didn’t change soon, he was going to run screaming out the nearest airlock.

#####

In what was--he admitted to himself--a rather pathetic attempt to garner some comfort and commiseration, Trip recounted the tale of T’Pol’s abrupt exit to his mother later that day. (It was a bit difficult. He had to contend with a mental image of T’Pol, telling him how illogical it was to discuss their conflict with the person who had been its catalyst.)

As he spoke, he couldn’t prevent a rising sense of frustration over their relationship--if it could really be called such a thing. “I really love her, Mom, but it seems like we spend half our time fighting. Or at least arguing about something."

"That's good," his mother replied serenely.

Trip was left speechless for a moment, when the expected maternal sympathy did not materialize. "What the--? Good?!? How’s that good?"

"People in love should never get along too well. Takes all the spice out of the relationship. Plus, it keeps 'em on their toes. They’re less likely to take their sweetie for granted." She grinned wickedly and patted his knee.

Trip rolled his tongue around in his cheek, eyeing his mother skeptically. It sounded like a load of crap to him, but that wasn’t something you just blurted out to your mom. Especially when she might smack you for it. Still... “You and Dad seem to be getting along pretty well lately. Need me to throw a wrench in the works, so you could get a little--"

"Don't you sass me, boy!" She went from serene to stern at Warp 10, narrowing her eyes and giving him the lips-pursed parrot-mouth of disapproval.

"No ma'am." Trip smirked. It wasn’t often that he successfully yanked his mom’s chain. He should have known from years of experience that the victory would be a hollow one.

Just as quickly as it had come, his mother’s stern look disappeared. "I'll throw my own wrenches, thank you very much, honey," she rebuked mildly. A nostalgic look came over her face. "Why, some of the best canoodling your father and I ever had came from making up after a fight," she reminisced. “I remember that summer at Diamond Lake. We’d had a tremendous dust-up. You remember, sweetie? You kids couldn’t figure out why we wouldn’t come out of the water. I swear, your father--"

"Doc!" Trip’s high-pitched shriek of panic brought Phlox to his bedside at a run. Once his savior arrived, Trip spluttered, “I...I think I need some more of that stuff! My throat...” An unsettled Phlox hurried to comply, and soon Trip was sipping the foul nutrient solution as his mother watched in silent concern. However pukey the stuff tasted, anything had to be better than hearing the details of his parents' sex life!

Trip glanced at his mother sideways, fearful that she might use his silence to continue the story. Noticing a glint in her eye, he paused, mid-sip. When he turned his head to look her full in the face, however, she gave him a wide-eyed innocent stare. "Drink your medicine, baby," she said tenderly. “It’s good for you.”

“Yes, ma'am," he obeyed, with no trace of a smirk this time.

Damn these women. They were conspiring against him.

#####

"So have you made it up with that son of mine yet?" Mrs. Tucker asked T’Pol. They sat together in the Vulcan’s quarters sharing another cup of tea--mint this time.

"Not yet," T’Pol answered. “I wanted to consult with you first, on the length of time I should allow him to...'stew?'" T’Pol looked to the human to see if she had correctly used the colloquialism. Mrs. Tucker nodded encouragingly. "I was uncertain as to the appropriate duration required for optimal 'stewing.'"

Mrs. Tucker raised her eyes to the ceiling of T’Pol’s quarters, tapping her forefinger on her mouth as she made a few calculations in her head. "I'd say you can go see him tomorrow morning. I gave him quite a turn today, so he should be more than happy to see you so soon."

The two women sipped their tea quietly, contentedly.

"I have been meaning to tell you, Mrs. Tucker," T’Pol eventually felt obligated to say, "that I do not believe the commander means any disrespect by using profanity in my presence."

“I know, honey,” Charles’s mother replied with a grin. "But it never hurts to remind your man that you deserve respect, and that you will always expect it from him.”

T’Pol opened her mouth to deny that Charles was 'her man,' but stopped when confronted by Mrs. Tucker’s knowing stare. "Charles has always been most respectful to me," she affirmed instead.

“He damn well better be!" his mother growled. When T’Pol raised an eyebrow at the profanity, Mrs. Tucker explained mildly, “A little colorful language between us girls is fine, honey. What the men don’t know won’t hurt them." Her eyes twinkled with that familiar combination of wiliness and innocence as she turned her attention back to her cup of tea.

Chapter 5 (EPILOGUE)

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

My mouth hurts from all the grinning. Love Mrs. Tucker. Poor Trip can't catch a break.

Lovely story -- my favourite of the series so far! You can see where Trip gets his charm.

i like the 'stew' bit, very cool!!

Poor Trip! No way is our boy ever going to win an argument again. And to say that T'Pol is a fast learner is an understatement of biblical proportions. Can't wait for the next part, will Trip *ever* finish that damn nutrient drink and get back onto solids? The mind boggles. Ali D :~)

I cheated! I looked for the rest of the story on fanfic.net. I couldn't wait. But, my question is, are you planning a sequel of the semisequel?

"Commander Tucker expressed concern over his father’s tour of the armory. He felt that Mr. Tucker displayed excessive interest in Lieutenant Reed’s explosive devices."

Can't... stop... laughing...

Moooooooore. *rfreshes the main page* Dammit, more I say!

why are we just getting chapter four when chapter five was posted on ff.net shortly before chapter three was posted here?

To the Field Marshall: The FF.net version is the "quick & dirty." This is the final (and hopefully) polished version. I usually take a few days to read comments and make edits before submitting the final version to T/T
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Love it, just love it. I especially liked how you had Mrs. Tucker and T'Pol sizing one another up ... like duelists at dawn. That image was perfect. Alas, poor Trip he'll never have the upper hand. Can't wait for the next part.