Children at Play- Ch. 2

Children at Play

By Samantha Quinn

Rating: PG
Genre: A/U, a teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy bit angsty. But mostly silly fluff.

Chapter 2

~~~~

The minor problem Lieutenant Judge had reported to Trip turned out to be quite substantial and as a result, he was determined to sleep in the next morning. It was not a problem as far as duty shifts were concerned. With his daughter, however, it was an entirely different manner.

“Where is he?” T’Lanna asked immediately as Malcolm sat down across from her and T’Pol, who had had the privilege of waking up the nine year old that morning.

“He had an emergency last night which kept him up quite late,” T’Pol answered. “He is not scheduled for duty again until tomorrow morning and is currently sleeping.”

“Oh,” T’Lanna answered quietly.

Seeing the crestfallen expression that ever so briefly crossed T’Lanna’s face before her Vulcan mask reappeared, T’Pol attempted to console her daughter, “Perhaps while you are in school today, you make something for your father,” she offered.

“Why should I?” the nine-year old retorted. “It’s not as if he’ll pay any attention to it.”

“Perhaps instead you could recite a passage of Surak,” T’Pol answered calmly. “I believe there are three passages in the first chapter alone that deal with selfishness-the very behavior you are exhibiting.”

T’Lanna slumped in her chair and turned her gray eyes pleadingly to Malcolm, who today was her last line of defense. With an equally stern expression across his face, Malcolm chastised her gently, “Your father is understandably quite tired, T’Lanna. You may not understand that right now, but he needs his sleep. He loves you with all his heart-you ought to know that well by now.”

Seeing the equally grim expressions on both of her parents’ faces, struck terror into T’Lanna’s young heart. “Mother,” she said, in an emotionless tone as possible, “Is Daddy going to die?”

Malcolm audibly gasped and T’Pol raised an eyebrow. “No, T’Lanna,” she said gently. “Charles is in no immediate danger of death. But he is, however, in immediate danger of exhaustion.”

“Why would you ask such a thing?” Malcolm questioned the child.

T’Lanna shrugged. “Tereaha says that when her father died, no one told her. They just said he was tired and the next thing she knew they were having a funeral,” T’Lanna said grimly.

T’Pol and Malcolm shared a look, silently warring over who would speak next. Malcolm lost. “ ‘La,” he said, “Your mother cherishes you, I love you, and your daddy adores you. We would do everything in our power to protect you, but we won’t lie to you. Is that clear?”

T’Lanna nodded, and sat up a bit straighter. After all, “Is that clear?” was her father’s way of speaking to subordinate officers. “Yes, Sir,” she said with a slight mocking tone.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “None of that. I’m not my father,” he scolded gently.

“Further, I believe this Tereaha to be a bad influence. Perhaps you should endeavor to stay out of her domain,” T’Pol instructed her child.

“I try, Mother, but she’s . . . nosy,” T’Lanna explained to her mother. “She does not grasp the concept of personal space.”

“Indeed? Perhaps I should ask Mrs. Johnson to explain the concept to her,” T’Pol suggested.

Malcolm hid a grin at the horrified expression that briefly crossed his child’s face. “Oh, no!” T’Lanna exclaimed, forgetting the effort she had put into finding impressive synonyms for nosy only moments before. “Mother, you can’t. . . please?”

“Very well,” T’Pol answered. “But instead of finding ways to misbehave with your friend, perhaps while you are in class today, you can make something for your father during your free period.”

T’Lanna rather liked that idea. “That sounds pleasant,” she agreed. “What do you suggest?”

“I am certain he shall appreciate whatever you make for him,” T’Pol replied. This answer did not suit her daughter, who immediately turned to Malcolm for his advice.

“Well,” Malcolm answered, “why don’t you think of something that always makes you feel better when you are not feeling well, and draw a picture of that?”

T’Lanna nodded. “I will.”

“Finish your plomeek broth, then, so we can go before we’re late,” Malcolm instructed.

~~~

T’Lanna thought about what to make her father all during the first session of class while they reviewed the basic alphabets of the five founding nations of the United Federation of Planets. Since T’Lanna already knew two of the five, she did not see the purpose in paying close attention to the detail of the lecture.

Deep in thought, the child contemplated the last time she had been sick. She had been infected with chicken pox, of all things-something humans had long since gained an immunity too, but her Vulcan DNA had made her susceptible. The case had been so bad that Dr. Phlox, a friend of her parents from when they had served on the Enterprise, had come to take special care of her. Both of her fathers had taken turns watching her, as T’Pol had to be kept out of her reach until T’Lanna was no longer contagious. They had taken turns rubbing the itching salve on her bumps, and preventing her from scratching. At least, they had attempted to.

One particularly painful memory stood out in T’Lanna’s mind. She’d been carrying a fever, was cold, itchy, sick to her stomach, and felt as though her entire body was in pain-from her head down to her toes-literally. Irritated and impatiently, she’d started to scratch impatiently at the bumps on her ears.

**

“T’Lanna Maryanne Tucker-Reed, just what do ya think you’re doin’?” Trip demanded of his daughter.

With a slight grin, Trip disengaged his body from his daughter’s and aimed for her feet. Her sobs quickly gave way to shrieks of laughter.

*****

T’Lanna smiled at the memory. Dr. Phlox had come in and scolded both of them, saying that it was dangerous to get her worked up in such a condition. Trip had initially chalked Phlox’s concerns up as the doctor being overly cautious, but shortly thereafter T’Lanna had vomited all over her assassin, thereby proving Phlox’s point.

Still, T’Lanna reflected, the experience had made her feel better-however briefly. Deciding that she would depict that incident on her paper, she waited anxiously for free period. When it finally came, she was somewhat dismayed to find Tereaha sitting down beside her.

“Hello, human,” Tereaha greeted T’Lanna cheerfully.

T’Lanna began to chant the first verse of the first chapter of the Complete Teachings of Surak silently to herself as she focused on her artwork.

“Whatcha drawing?” Tereaha pressed.

“I am drawing a pictorial representation of an important event for my daddy,” T’Lanna answered snootily, not realizing that the perfect Vulcan phrasing was marred by the addition of her name for Trip.

“Which one?” Tereaha asked. “After all, you have two of them.”

“I do not see the reason for your obsession with my family unit. It is well known that Andorians marry in groups,” T’Lanna responded. She dearly wished Tereaha would shut up. It was getting difficult to keep reciting Surak phrases in her head while the Andorian insisted on chattering away.

“Yeah, but it’s normal in our families. It’s freakish in yours,” Tereaha retorted. “Are you drawing that one for Commander Tucker?”

“Yes,” T’Lanna replied shortly.

“I heard he wasn’t on duty today. I bet he’s going to die, just like my father did,” the Andorian said solemnly.

Perhaps when T’Lanna had years to accompany her, she would have recognized the pain in Tereaha’s voice. Right now, she recognized only rage, however. And it was that rage that brought an angry PADD down across Tereaha’s cheek.

~~~

“But it wasn’t my fault!” T’Lanna protested in vain to her mother and father. Only two hours had passed since breakfast; thus, Commander Tucker still had not been awoken. “I told you what she said-"

“And we assured you this morning that your fears were unfounded,” Malcolm interjected.

“You must learn discipline and control of yourself,” T’Pol added.

Malcolm handed her ten sheets of regular white paper and a pencil. The child looked up at both of them in confusion. “This is real paper. Hardly anybody uses it anymore,” the child noted.

“You are going to,” Malcolm answered smoothly.

“You have ten sheets. You will fill those sheets with the first sentence from chapter four of Surak’s teachings followed by your definition of what it means. That particular chapter deals with controlling aggressive tendencies,” T’Pol informed her wayward child.

“Make sure you use both the front and back of the pages,” Malcolm added. “And fill each side from top to bottom.”

T’Pol laid two additional pencils on the desk beside her. “You may find it necessary to use these additional writing implements,” she added.

Without another word, Malcolm and T’Pol turned and walked swiftly out the door, leaving T’Lanna to mourn her fate in private. Resignedly, T’Lanna opened to page one of chapter four.

“Cast out aggression and society shall be prosperous and fruitful; retain aggression and society shall stagnate and decay into a land of barbarianism where logic shall have no dominion.”

T’Lanna groaned and threw her pencil across the room in agitation. Her mother had purposely picked the longest sentence in the entire book of Surak’s teachings on purpose-she was certain of it.

After a moment of stubbornness, T’Lanna attempted to decipher the text but found herself continually distracted by Tereaha’s words. What if they were true?

With very little thought to the ramifications of her actions, T’Lanna hoisted herself into the Jeffries tubes that connected her room to the rest of the ship and went in search of the truth.

~~

Perhaps later in life T’Lanna would claim that it was her innate engineering skills that guided her through the Jeffries tubes. For now, her nine year old self blamed the ease with which her navigation came as a sign that she had finally been validated for all the times she had ignored her mother and fathers’ advice and traversed the veins of the station.

She found Trip's bedroom with little difficulty. To her imminent horror, she discovered that he appeared to be having a bad dream. T’Lanna decided he must not be feeling well after all. His job was to comfort her when she had nightmares-how could he do that if he was going to start having the bad dreams? Deciding this deemed extreme action, she carefully reached forward and pulled off the vent covering and jumped to the floor below.

The brief thud didn’t awaken Trip and T’Lanna noticed that he was still shaking his head and muttering in his sleep-clear indicators he was having difficulty sleeping. Walking quietly to where her father slept, she carefully surveyed the situation to determine the best method in order to wake him. He was lying flat on his back and his feet dangled lazily over the edge of the bed, as though he’d fallen asleep haphazardly. An observer may have noticed T’Lanna’s brows come together in a definite crease and her upper lip tremble slightly as she watched Trip deal with his nightmare. She wanted to wake him but if even when she did, she’d have nothing to help make him feel better. That fight with stupid Tereaha had caused T’Lanna to lose her picture when Mrs. Johnson had hustled her out of the school towards the command center. As T’Lanna dwelled upon the lost artwork, a slow smile began tugging at her lips as she realized the perfect way to wake her father up. It would not only be fun-but it would also be a return of the gesture he’d given her when she had been sick.

Considering her method of attack, T’Lanna decided ears were definitely out. Her daddy was human, after all, and therefore probably not ticklish behind the ears. T’Lanna was also ticklish under her arms, but she didn’t think she could reach her daddy’s armpits. That left potentially the belly, sides, or feet. T’Lanna quickly dismissed the feet option. Having Malcolm as one of her parents had taught her a thing or two about defense. Rule one? Keep as far away from the opponent’s feet as possible.

Thus, with skill and cunning that would have made the elder Reed proud, the youngest Reed began her attack. Happily, her father’s hands, like his feet, were languishing off the bed-leaving the area of attack defenseless. T’Lanna had recently written a report about horses for her science class and had learned that if one patted a horse too lightly, it would annoy the creature-in effect being ticklish. The nine year old decided her father and horses probably had that in common. Thus, her method began on Trip’s side. Curling her hand as though she were going to hold a ball, T’Lanna ran her fingers slowly up and down Trip’s left side. After repeating this motion, she noticed that Trip had ceased to yell in his sleep. The smile still tugging at her lips, T’Lanna held her hand still and motioned as though she were gathering dust off of Trip’s side. T’Lanna pressed her lips tightly together to prevent laughter from escaping her mouth while she placed her other hand on Trip’s stomach and repeated the motion. Again Trip shivered and again, T’Lanna had to keep herself from laughing. Deciding to move her assault into high gear, T’Lanna synchronized the timing of her right and left hand, alternating between the back and forth feathery swishes with phantom dust gathering moments. So engrossed was T’Lanna in her task that she forgot the second rule Malcolm had taught her: keep an eye on the opponent’s hands and face. Had she remembered this rule, she would have seen the blue eyes pop open. She also would have seen Trip’s firm hands before they reached her waist and hoisted her in the air above him.

“Hey!” T’Lanna shouted indignantly and then, as realization sat in, she exclaimed, “Daddy! You’re awake!”

Trip laughed. “Well, ‘course I’m awake, my little elf. Some demon was attacking me in my sleep. I had to wake up and defend myself.”

T’Lanna gave him her best eyebrow arch. “I was not attacking you!” she protested. “I was trying to wake you up!”

“Well, you succeeded,” Trip told her, “Congratulations, ‘Lanna. But couldn’t you have just shaken me a bit? That tickling stuff is torture.”
“Oh, Daddy,” T’Lanna scoffed, “It’s not that bad at all.”

This time, T’Lanna was watching her father’s face and she clearly saw the pseudo-wicked gleam that crossed his face. “Oh really?” he asked with mock innocence. T’Lanna didn’t buy it for a moment.

“Daddy, NO,” she said firmly. “I am a VULCAN. Vulcan’s are not ticklish.”

“Is that so?” he asked, still holding her firmly above his head.

“YES, it is!” T’Lanna asserted.

“Well. . . “ Trip said as he simultaneously sat up and plopped his daughter down on the bed, “then I guess this won’t bother you at all, will it?” And with that, Trip targeted those adorable pointed ears that so closely matched her mother’s.

T’Lanna momentarily forgot she was a Vulcanoid and allowed shrieks of laughter to emanate in Trip’s quarters. Unfortunately for Trip, however, even at nine years old, the child had inherited a substantial amount of Vulcan strength. As a result, the Trip offensive tickle attack soon found itself combined with a defensive strategy to ward off more of T’Lanna’s battle tactics.

“Oomph!” Trip exclaimed after finding himself on the floor. “Malcolm sure taught you well, kiddo.”

“Apparently, I didn’t teach her well enough to know to stay in her quarters when she is being punished,” came a familiar British accent from the doorway. T’Lanna’s face fell briefly, after remembering that she was supposed to still be in trouble.

“ Elf, what did you do?” Trip asked, gasping a bit for breath and wondering when he’d gotten so old.

T’Lanna glanced at Malcolm, who only folded his arms in reply. Beside him stood her mother, whose facial expression betrayed nothing but who was clearly not pleased at any rate. Knowing she wasn’t going to get out of telling the story, T’Lanna gave a very un-Vulcan sigh and admitted, “I slapped Tereaha with my PADD during school today.”

Trip frowned. “Whatever possessed ya to do somethin’ like that?” he demanded.

As she remembered, T’Lanna again could feel her lower lip trembling. Determined to regain some of her Vulcan composure that she’d so easily lost moments ago, T’Lanna straightened her back, lifted her chin, pushed her unruly blond locks behind her pointed ears, and met Trip’s eyes. “She insisted on teasing me that you might be dying-or worse, already dead,” T’Lanna informed him.

Trip stared at her in confusion. “Now, Elf, that’s crazy. Ya couldn’t have believed her.”

T’Lanna nodded her head solemnly. “She said that right before he died, everyone told her that her daddy was tired and sick too. And then he died.” T’Lanna’s resolve was beginning to crumble, but she held on to it stubbornly. “And you’ve been tired and sick for two days. So tired and sick that you didn’t come tuck me in with father last night, so I only received one bedtime story, and I always get two-one from each of you. King Arthur’s such a tragic story, Daddy. I really needed a nursery rhyme to go with it.”

Malcolm bit the insides of his jaws tightly to keep from laughing. Not only was the tone of T’Lanna’s voice pitiful, but so too was the look on Trip’s face. T’Pol meanwhile watched for signs that Trip was over the depression he had so clearly felt the night before.

“Oh, Elf, kiddo, I’m sorry,” Trip apologized sincerely. “I was just so beat last night and your momma and I-we needed to have a talk-and-"

T’Lanna ignored him. “So even though mother and father punished me, I wanted to come make certain you were okay.” Her voice was getting progressively shakier. “But you WEREN’T, Daddy. You were having some awful nightmare and I thought you must really be sick, because parents do not have nightmares, children do. So I knew I had to wake you up. And I wanted something nice to help wake you up, but that dumb Tereaha caused me to lose my picture this morning that I drew of you taking care of me when I had chicken pox.”

Trip grew more and more pitiful looking by the moment. T’Lanna’s gray eyes finally overflowed with tears as she confessed, “I wanted you to be happy, Daddy, so you wouldn’t be sad and sick anymore.” The weight of the day’s events came crashing down upon T’Lanna’s shoulders and it was more than she could bear. She began to sob in earnest. “I d-d-d-didn’t want t-t-to l-l-lose you, Daddy,” she sobbed.

“Oh, Elf,” Trip said softly, gathering his daughter in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry. I’d gotten so wrapped up in worrying about what I lost in the past that I’d forgotten everything great that I had in the present.” Trip gently cradled her head and rocked the little girl in his arms as she sobbed out the rest of her fear. He’d been such a fool. Sure Elizabeth had been special, but her birthday hadn’t been reason enough to abandon his responsibilities as a father to the child that needed him so much.

After a moment, T’Pol spoke. “T’Lanna, given the circumstances, you may stay with your father for another thirty minutes. During that time, perhaps he can tell you a ‘nursery rhyme’ to make up for the missed opportunity last night. In exactly thirty minutes, however, I expect you to do a double set of meditation exercises before you return to Surak’s text-which you will finish before dinner. Is that understood?”

“Yes, mother,” T’Lanna nodded happily.

“And after dinner you still have a substantial amount of homework. Mrs. Johnson was none too happy with your recitation of the Andorian alphabet today,” Malcolm piqued up.

Privately, T’Lanna decided that she hated the only Andorian she had ever known, so she saw no need to master the language, but she nodded and gave her promise. Satisfied, Malcolm and T’Pol left Trip and T’Lanna alone.

“Well, Elf, what nursery rhyme do you want to hear?” Trip asked, using his thumb to wipe the tears away from her cheeks.

“We have twenty-nine point five minutes,” the child informed him. “That’s time for lots of nursery rhymes.”

“Hey, I only owe you one, kiddo,” Trip reminded her.

T’Lanna cocked her head thoughtfully before replying. “Yes, technically one. However, in most market economies, there is a something called an interest rate. I believe the country you are from used to be a market economy.”

Trip groaned and held up his hands. “All right, all right. I admit defeat. We’ll start simple,” he told her. “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.”

“Why did Jill fall? Did she not see Jack’s error and take steps to avoid falling herself?” T’Lanna asked.

Trip frowned. “Well, I think that’s the point. She fell down well, after Jack-to follow him.”

T’Lanna’s brows furrowed in confusion and she locked her gray eyes with Trip’s blue ones. “She fell down because Jack fell down?” she asked slowly.

Trip nodded.

T’Lanna crossed her arms. “Where is the logic in that?” she demanded. Laughing, Trip pulled her close and hugged her tightly. He realized in that moment how selfish and foolish he had been over the past two days. This was where he belonged-right here on Space Station Two, being a father to this little girl. Neither hell nor high water, Xindi fleet nor Romulan bird of prey would ever drag him away.

~~

The End.

A/N: Yeah, it’s sloppy and fluffy, but think what the tickling scene *could* have inspired the muse to write. I apologize if T’Lanna was a Mary Sue-but she’s nine, so can she be one yet?

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Three people have made comments

I loved this to bits! Okay, so it's sloppy and fluffy but had magic T'Lanna and Trip moments in it that I wouldn't have missed for all the Plomeek soup on Vulcan. Thanks for a great story, Ali D :~)

Oh, so cute! What a precious story. Very nice Trip and T'Lanna moments. Very touching.

Jeez, she's only nine and she breaking out of her room and into another one? Lord help Malcolm, Trip, and T'Pol when she gets to be a teenager. And the way her character seems right now, she ought to be a handful.

Thanks for a great story!

Awwwwwwwwwwwwww! I loved it! That was so cute! Thank you! :)