Fulfilled - Pt 7

Fulfilled

By Samantha Quinn

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek, any of its sequels or its prequel.

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Chapter 7

Bitter Harvest
Trip’s POV

~~

The warmth of the Vulcan wind reminds me, in a lot of ways, of my grandparent’s farm in Alabama. Every summer my parents would pack up Robbie, Lizzie, and me and we’d spend a least a week with Grandma and Grandpa Tucker. The heat in northern Alabama was a much dryer one than we were accustomed to, and we’d complain about it to no end. Especially me. I’ve never much cared for hot places that didn’t have an ocean near by.

~~

“ If it's all the same to you, Cap'n, I'll sit this one out.”
“It’s not like you to pass up an away mission.”

“What about the two weeks we spent in Australia? We had a great time.”
“Survival training in the Outback? Drinking recycled sweat and eating snake meat? That's your idea of a great time?”
“It's not going to be like that. I get the feeling Zobral' s a man who likes to indulge his guests. He's promised to roll out the red carpet for us. It'll be more fun than purging impulse manifolds... Aah, suit yourself. I'll see if Malcolm' s interested...but I was hoping you'd enjoy spending some time with your captain.”

~~

Damn memories. I won’t. . . I *can’t* think about the Admiral right now.

When I was younger, I used to love to follow my grandfather around on the farm. He was the last in a long line of Tucker farmers. He used to worry about that, though at the time I had no idea why he thought it was so important. In those days, I walked with carefree child abandon, enjoying the pure bliss of warm Alabama clay over my naked feet.

~~~

“Trip,” he would say, “the world’s a lot like a garden.”

Chuckling, grandpa nodded. “That’s kinda how it is in life, Trip. If you plant your seeds with care, your harvest will be sweet. But, if you’re careless in how you plant your seeds, you’ll have a bitter harvest.”

~~~

Yep, that about sums it up, grandpa.

How’s the old cliché go? You reap what you sow?

Twenty-five years ago, I walked away from T’Pol when she confessed how she felt for me. I had no idea at the time that the seeds I was sowing.

~~

“T’Pol, I don’t understand. Why didn’t Koval meld with the Admiral?”

“Because he has long known the truth of his parentage.”

~~

But, damn it, I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. Just the opposite of it, in fact. How the hell did everything get so messed up? Why, when all I ever tried to do was protect the people I love most, did those very same people end up either suffering because of me? How is that reaping what I sowed?

Goddammit, I’m sorry! I may have lied to my best friend, but I was only trying to protect him. I was trying to keep him from hurting. Maybe it wasn’t the best method, or hell, maybe it was a crappy thing to do. But it’s not like I was being selfish. If I had wanted to be selfish, I would have told T’Pol that her feelings were very much reciprocated, and she and I would have eloped, moved to San Francisco, raised Koval and Charlie together, and spend the last quarter of a century happy.

Dear God, I tried. I tried to do the right thing. I’m pretty damn certain that everything would have worked out better if I had been a selfish bastard. I would have lost a friend, but that friend wouldn’t be mourning the loss of the man he thought was his son. T’Pol wouldn’t be mourning the loss of her son. If twenty-five years ago, I had simply claimed what was offered, Koval would still be alive, and Maggie wouldn’t have lost her husband. My grandson wouldn’t have lost his father.

Surely all of this can’t be penance for one stupid lie to my friend that I only told in the first place in order to keep from hurting him. When will I have paid enough? I lost the woman I love. I lost my wife. I lost twenty-five years that I could have spent happy. I lost my son. No, scratch that. I lost two sons. One died, and the other is quite likely to never speak to me again. Not that I blame him. He’s living with the knowledge that his father killed his brother. If I were in his shoes, I’d never speak to me again either.

~

“Trip, what are you doing?”

“Because you just shot an innocent Xindi primate child.”

~~

I later found out that the child’s name was Tegar. I’ve grieved more than once for killing him. But now my thoughts center on Tegar’s parents. I left them to mourn the loss of their child, a fate I would wish for no one. Killing them along with Tegar would have been much more humane.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about Tegar, more so than usual. It’s only appropriate, for a couple of reasons. Mainly, because I’ve killed yet another child. Koval may have been twenty-five years old, but he was my youngest son. In my heart, he’ll always be that same blue eyed Vulcan infant wrapped in blankets to protect him from the “cool air” of the San Francisco June wind.

That’s also when everything starting going down hill. That’s when the friendship that had grown for two and a half years between T’Pol and me stopped its forward progression. I suppose it’s also when I stopped being a potential mate for her. It’s easy enough for me to understand why. Vulcans spend their life trying to suppress their emotions. They’d never want to spend their life with someone who indulged in the worst of them.

I remember grieving after Lizzie, though, and it was an entirely different type of grief. That pain cut to the very core. Every step I took, every breath I breathed, every gesture I made, only served to reinforce the pain of loosing Lizzie. This time around, it’s a duller ache. Not less painful – oh, of course not. But whereas Lizzie’s death felt like I was having a knife stabbed in my heart every day, since Koval died, it feels like I’m being smothered to death.

What’s left to lose? I’m not suicidal, but I don’t know if I have enough strength in me left to care whether death comes. I’m tired. I’m hurt. I’m lonely. God, I’m just so tired. At this point, I’d welcome almost anything to end it. I really don’t have the energy to talk, but seeing the approaching Vulcan, I suppose I’m going to have to find some.

“Commissioner Tucker?”

“Yes?”

“I am Tovel and I have come to alert you to the fact that Ambassador T’Pol has been adequately prepped for the ceremony. I will escort you to the ceremonial temple.”

I nod and rise to follow him.

“May I ask you a question, Commissioner?”

“Call me Trip, Tovel, and you can ask me anything you wish.”

Tovel glances at me sharply. It’s a look of Vulcan reprove, and one I’ve seen many times on both Koval and T’Pol’s faces.

“It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything other than by your title, Commissioner.”

~~

“Trip. I’m called Trip.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

~~

Shaking the memory away as violently as I can, I try to focus on the present. “Go ahead, Tovel.”

“What was your relationship with Lieutenant Koval?”

Well, it appears I spoke too soon. There are those sharp knives, just in time to stab me in the heart. “I was kind of like an uncle to him,” I respond, wondering vaguely if the term uncle has a Vulcan equivalent.

Apparently, it does. “You are Admiral Archer’s brother?”

Did I mention they were very large knives? Butcher knives, in fact. “In a figurative sense, more than a literal one, Tovel.”

The ensuing cock of the head is so achingly familiar that it physically hurts. “I see. May I ask another question?”

“Sure thing.”

“I was under the impression that Starfleet needed you for diplomatic relations with the Coridians. I can see why they relented in the case of the Admiral and Ambassador, but not why they would have relented in the case of a . . . non-relative. Regardless of how affectionate you may have been with Koval.”

“I guess that doesn’t seem very logical to you, does it, Tovel?”

“What does not seem logical to me is an attempt to negotiate with a species that is clearly not in compliance with the Federation charter. However, given Starfleet’s apparent illogic involved in the handling of the Coridians, I would assume that they would be difficult to persuade.”

Calling the conversation with Williams ‘difficult’ has to be the understatement of the year. “You could say that, Tovel. Let’s just say I made it clear that they’d have to find someone else to monitor the Kowl colony if they tried to keep me away from Koval’s ceremony.”

The height of Tovel’s eyebrows is surely one for the record books. Never mind knives. Cleavers. “You blackmailed Starfleet with your resignation?”

“Blackmail’s a strong word, Tovel. Let’s just say I made their options and mine very apparent.”

“I see.”

We have arrived at a large stone structure carefully guarded by six very large Vulcans with very large muscles. I don’t know what they call the weapons they have, but for some reason, they make me instantly think of the stories Kov has told me about Vulcan’s violent past.

Kov. Koval.

Walking past the hooded Vulcans, Tovel and I enter the structure and despite my pain, I can’t help but marvel at the pure beauty of the interior. The combination of paintings and carvings puts any artist that Earth has ever known to shame.

As I take my place beside the Admiral and Maggie, I turn to see T’Pol lying with her eyes closed on a stone table approximately a half a kilometer in front of us. She’s surrounded by eight female Vulcans dressed entirely in white robes. T’Pol’s wearing one as well, which makes her look even more regal and beautiful than ever.

The oldest of the Vulcans steps forward and carefully surveys Maggie, the Admiral, and me before she speaks. “What is your relationship to thee owner of the katra?”

Dammit, why this question again?

“I am his telsu and mother of his child.”

His bonded. I’m so sorry, Maggie, and my dear grandson, I’d give my very life to make this right.

“I am his father.”

And I’m sorry, Admiral, for screwing everything up.

“I’m his . . . uncle.”

At least, that’s as close as I can get to telling you the truth.

The Vulcan woman leans forward on her cane to stare at me closer. My heart skips a beat as I remember that Vulcans are telepaths. I’m also pretty sure that the Vulcans in this place have to be the best telepaths of the bunch.

“Indeed. You share eye pigmentation with your nephew.”

I can only stare at the woman, wondering how the hell she knew that, but she ignores me as she starts turns back to Maggie and asks, “What is your relationship to the holder of the katra?”

Oh, an even better question.

“She is the ko-mek t’ sa-telsu.”

The old Vulcan nods her head in approval of Maggie’s Vulcan.

“She is my wife.”

Which you have no idea how to say in Vulcan.

“She is my friend.”

It’s probably my imagination, but I could swear the woman looks right through me at that point. Fortunately, she finally decides I’m not that interesting and begins to speak.

“The actual ceremony must be conducted in Vulcan, but as you are all outworlders, I will explain what we are about to do in Federation Standard. The katra of Koval, son of Jonathan Archer, son of Henry Archer –“

~~

Trip. . . Father . . . I was glad to be your son.
~~

The only thing getting me through this ceremony is the fact that I deserve every amount of pain it’s bringing me.

“-has been brought by his mother T’Pol, daughter of T’Mel, daughter of Savona, to Mount Seleya so that it may achieve final rest.”

The woman takes her place by T’Pol’s head and places her fingers along the side of T’Pol’s face. As she begins speaking in Vulcan, I sneak a glance at Maggie, whose fingers trail her slightly bulging stomach as she follows along, and the Admiral, who can only look grieved.

The full impact of what has happened – what I helped to cause – hits me in that moment.

My thoughts shift to my grandmother. Grandma used to staunchly refuse to invest in new technologies, because she liked the old way better. Especially sewing – she loved to sew. I used to sit at her feet after dinner, listening to the stories she would tell as she did her sewing.

~~
“Grandma, whatcha doin’?”

“I’m putting a patch on your summer pants, Trip. There’s no reason you can’t still use these.”

“Because life doesn’t work that way, Trip. Keep this in mind – in life you’re gonna have tears, and when you do, you can’t just start from scratch. The tear will always be there until you do something to fix it. You’ll have to find a way to patch it up.”

~~

How the hell am I ever going to patch this up?

~~

Part 8

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Nine of you have made comments

Oh no!!! Please don't wait long to post the next part!

This story is just such a great tear jerker. Where's the next part!!!!

Why am I always depressed after reading this story? Every single time! Every time! Where's my remote? I'm watching a comedy!

Oh by the way great story! If you don't get the next chapter soon I don't know what I'll do! Depressing or not I just like reading this story.

Great chapter. Can't wait to see how everything wraps up!

The Vulcan woman saw through Trip. Good, at least someone did. Hopefully she knows not only the truth, but why he did it. Hearing Trip's side, I can'thold much against him. He should have followed his heart in the first place, he should have soved the problem early on. But he WAS only trying to protect those he loved.
Trip seems insistent on having all the blame in this situation. T'Pol shares the responsibility, as does Koval. They were all trying so hard to protect eachother, that they smothered eachothers' lives.
Great chapter, even if I haven't forgiven you for killing Koval. Please update soon?

*sniffle*

Oh this is so sad. Hasn't Trip suffered enough. The poor guy. Who would have thought that one decision made with the best intentions would cause so much heartache! Tpol and Koval made their own choices also and Trip should not be blamed for that. I hope the truth comes out soon and maybe they will all find some peace of mind.

Brilliant, poignant and so desperately sad. I just wish there were a way to turn back the clock for Trip and T'Pol so that none of this heartbreak had ever happened. Would have loved Trip to have been able to declare his love for T'Pol and have the family life that should have been. But then that isn't real life but oh what a wonderful fantasy! This is terrific, can't wait for the next part - hankies notwithstanding. Ali D :~)

Cheer up, guys. In about two chapters, I've written something that made me literally laugh out loud. Of course, it was an evil laugh, (very evil) but it didn't require hankies.

The aftermath might, though.