And Having Writ...

FIX the FINALE CHALLENGE

And Having Writ ...

By: T'Leela

Rating: G
Category: Finale Fix
Summary: After the injuries that nearly claimed his life, Trip's future takes a markedly different turn.

Note: This is more sweet 'n' fluffy than my usual...if happy endings are not your thing, look elsewhere! Thanks to TJ and Ludjin for their support and grammar fixes. And persianmouse, the noodle salad is just for you.

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The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

--poet/philosopher Omar Khayyam, on the inevitability of historical
inaccuracy

The beeping of the chrono alarm dragged Trip Tucker from a deep sleep.

Don't wanna get up. He had so much to do today...purge the particulate build-up in the port intake manifold, check the stress tests on the primary warp coil to make sure the microfracture issue had not recurred... plus he was behind on performance reviews as usual. Just ten more minutes, Trip bargained with himself. He was still so damn tired. He slapped at the bedside cube and rolled over, groaning.

The beeping continued, insistent. Trip tried to ignore it, burrowing his head under the pillow to block out the infernal noise. Thankfully it stopped, and he drifted gratefully back into slumber...

"Trip." A gentle hand touched his shoulder. "Trip, wake up."

One bleary eye opened. His voice was a harsh croak. "T'Pol. Tired. Worked through...Delta shift. Go'way." He closed his eyes again. The hand shook him, a bit more firmly this time.

"Trip, you're dreaming. Wake up, please."

Trip groaned and gave up on sleep. He sat up in bed, coughed twice, rubbed his face and opened his eyes fully. A brief moment of confusion hit him as his dream fell fully away. He was not in a narrow, spartan bunk, but rather a large, comfortable bed made for two. Out the bay window of the bedroom, sunrise was just beginning to lighten the horizon. He regarded T'Pol with a bit of a sheepish grin.

"I dreamed I was back on Enterprise."

"Indeed." T'Pol seated herself on the edge of the bed. "That has not occurred for quite a while. It did not, however, seem to be...unpleasant."

"No. It wasn't the bad one." Trip did not need to explain the bad one to her, the dream about thrashing in the hyperbaric chamber as his destroyed lungs filled with fluid and he fought for breath. Those memories--and the nightmares--he'd carry forever, as certainly as he still carried the scars on his neck and chest. But as the years passed they had finally--thankfully--started to fade.

"Just dreamin' about the job, the ordinary stuff I used t’do." He smiled at the memory. "I don't mind those." He looked at the chrono cube on the night table. A small red light blinked. "What the hell was beeping at me, anyway?"

"An urgent message from Earth," T'Pol informed him. "It is your mother. She is very distressed."

"Aw, hell." Trip was pretty certain he knew what this was about. "I'll go call her." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I'm sorry, T'Pol, did she wake you?"

"No, I was already up. T'Mir was fussy. I have been with her since 0300."

"You shoulda woken me."

"You had a difficult day yesterday at therapy. You required additional rest."

"Good thing I've got you watching out for me, darlin’. How ‘bout I get the baby fed while I'm callin' my mom, and you can go back to bed?"

"I do not require sleep," T'Pol informed him. "But if you would tend to the baby I would appreciate the time to meditate. I find tending to her erratic sleep habits to be somewhat...trying.”

"No problem." Trip kissed T'Pol's cheek and she rose to light her meditation candles. Trip jumped out of bed...or rather, he tried to. A fit of hacking doubled him over. As he regained his breath, Trip swore softly. He knew he was luckier than hell to even be alive, let alone able to have a relatively normal life...but sometimes he forgot how much things had really changed. And reality was always right there, ready to remind him.

"Trip, are you all right?" T'Pol was instantly next to him, dark eyes full of concern. Trip waved her off.

"I'm fine, honey. Just overdid a bit is all." Trip coughed again, then slowly made his way to the chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and stepped into them gingerly. Early mornings were always the worst. As the day went on, the motley patchwork of scar tissue and auto-cloned organ that functioned as his lungs would gradually relax, and by mid-afternoon he would feel almost normal again.

I feel like a 90-year old man when I get up, Trip thought. Small price to pay, though, for a second chance at life. He slowly hobbled into the bathroom, where he turned on the hottest water in the shower full-blast. As he used the facilities and brushed his teeth, the steam started to loosen up the tightness in his chest and he was able to breathe deeply again.

The latest round of grafting had been a killer. Denobula's best physicians had been working on Trip for almost three years now, and while they had achieved great success it was still a painful, arduous process. Several times they had recommended to Trip that he receive a full lung transplant from a cloned donor; but despite their assurances that the cloned body would lack a developed brain structure and would never attain sentience, Trip refused adamantly. As long as he was making progress, Trip did not ever want to go down that road again. He would never take another's life, sentient or not, to save his own again.

And I ammakin' progress, he thought as he splashed cold water on his face and regarded himself in the mirror. Though he was still a pale, lanky version of the man he had once been, he was upright, able to walk and talk and breathe and live. Even a year and a half ago, none of that was at all certain.

His wife and daughter were entirely responsible for Trip surviving his ordeal. On his darkest, most frightening days T'Pol had given her strength to him, given him the will to make it for another minute, another hour, another day. When he had pulled through the worst of the physical trauma and the depression had set in, T'Pol had decided for both of them that having a child to live for would pull him out of his despair. She had been right. T'Mir was the other best thing that ever happened to him.

My two special girls.He smiled, watching his reflection smile back at him, felt the pull of the shiny pink scar tissue that ran along the side of his neck and along his jawline. He was no longer strictly handsome, he supposed, but after coming within nanometers of death he didn't really care in the least.

Trip... T'Pol's voice drifted into his mind, breaking his reverie. Trip did not need their bond to understand her perfectly; any father would. The baby was fussing and it was his turn to shoulder the responsibility so his mate could rest. On the very edge of his consciousness he could sense T'Mir; his psychic bond with her was not as strong as T'Pol's, but he knew she was awake and bored and her gums hurt her.

"Okay, ladies," he said aloud. His voice was still sandpaper rough, but his breathing had eased greatly. Today would be a good day. "Daddy's comin’.'"

***

T'Mir was not a fan of plomeek broth.

Every time the spoon came near her, she wiggled and twisted and contorted herself as far away as possible. Trip had used every trick in the book to get a spoonful or two in her, but she immediately spit them back out with a grimace.

"I know, I know. But Momma says it's delicious and good for you."

His daughter fixed him with a stubborn, blue-eyed gaze so like his own he couldn't help but laugh. She might only be nine months old, but her expression was unmistakable: You first, bud.

Trip sighed. "Ohhhkay." He spooned up some more broth. "Mmmm, yummy. See?" Gamely he put the spoon in his own mouth. He swallowed and grimaced, setting the spoon down. "You win, baby doll. This reconstituted stuff is even worse than the real thing."

He got up, deposited the bowl and spoon in the kitchen sink and opened the stasis unit. Somewhere in here, unless T'Pol found them and threw them out...he found the bag he had stashed in the back of the unit and pulled out a handful of animal crackers.

"Here's a genuine Earth treat. Refined flour and sugar, nothing healthy to be found." He dropped the crackers on the high table tray, keeping a couple for himself. He gave his daughter a conspiratorial wink. "We're not gonna tell Momma, are we?"

Gumming furiously at a cookie, T'Mir rewarded him with a drooly, single-toothed smile.

"That's my girl." The communication unit in the living area trilled softly. Trip got up, dropping a kiss on his daughter's downy head as he moved toward the vidscreen.

Biting the head off an elephant, Trip hit the key to commence the transmission.

The image of his mother, looking much older and more frail than the last time he had seen her, filled the vidscreen. Her eyes were red and puffy. Trip chewed and swallowed. "Hey, Mom. What's wrong?"

Kathleen Tucker looked positively shocked at her son's appearance. "Trip..."

"Geez, Mom, I'm no cover model, but I don't look that bad."

Kathleen shook her head. "No, honey, you look fine. It's just..." She gave him a questioning look. "Your shirt?"

Trip looked down at the large greenish-brown splotches that decorated his white t-shirt and smiled. "Oh, that. Just T'Mir's breakfast." He looked up again and saw his mother was crying. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing, just...oh, honey, they had one of those awful shows on about Enterprise. About how you--." The tears started to fall in earnest this time. "About how you really died and they covered it up..."

Trip sighed and ran a hand through his already-messy hair. Crap, not this again.

The coverup rumor had returned to haunt him.

It had started almost immediately upon Enterprise's return to Earth. It had begun innocently enough... a simple administrative mix-up. Trip had come back in a stasis unit that Phlox had jury-rigged out of the hyperbaric chamber, and the chamber's contents had been described in the ship’s manifest as "the body of Commander Charles Tucker III." At the same time, he had been left off the official crew log. When he missed both the Federation Charter signing and the Enterprise decommissioning ceremony, the whispers began to spread...and some intrepid reporter had combed through the Enterprise decommissioning logs and discovered the errors. Soon, the "what really happened to Trip Tucker?" story was all over the news, and he was still far too gravely injured to correct the record.

Trip joked that as long as Starfleet kept paying his line-of-duty disability pension, he didn't care. But the fact of the matter was it hurt his family tremendously. They had lost one child for real. Recalling memories of those terrible days when it looked all but certain they would lose him too...it was brutally difficult for his parents.

"Aw, Momma. Stop crying. I'm here, OK? I'm here, I'm fine. Well, I'm mostly fine, and I'm alive.”

She continued to sob, reaching her hand out as if trying to touch him. Trip felt as if his heart would break.

"Momma, why do you watch those trashy shows? You get all upset every time."

She spoke through her tears. "I know, sweetie, I didn't mean to. I just wasn't expecting it..."

"I know, Mom. I know. Oh, please don't cry, I'm so sorry..." Trip felt terrible for the pain his mother was going through. He wished he could reach through the vidscreen and hug her in person.

"No, baby, don't say that. I'm so proud of you, you're so strong." Kathleen grabbed a tissue from an off-screen end table and dabbed at her eyes. "I miss you though, honey. And T'Pol and the baby. I wish you could come visit."

"Mom, you know I can't leave Denobula. I have to stay close to the doctors until at least this next round of grafting is over. Why don't you come visit for a few weeks?"

"Maybe after your father gets his new hip. It's been acting up again, and the humidity isn't helping...Charles! Come say hello to your son."

The worst of his mother's outburst seemed to have subsided, and Trip breathed a sigh of relief that the moment had passed without too much emotional trauma. At least he hadn't started crying this time, too.

T'Mir was getting bored again; Trip heard her begin to whimper and squirm in the high chair. "Wait a sec, Mom. Lemme get the baby."

At the mention of her granddaughter Kathleen brightened. "Oh, I can't wait to see her! Charles, hurry up and see T'Mir!"

Trip returned to the kitchen area, grabbed a dish towel, and briefly scrubbed cookie and soup from T'Mir's face and hands before removing her from the high chair. Balancing her on his hip, he threw the towel over his other shoulder and returned to the living room. His father's craggy face, topped with a shock of white hair, peered out at him.

"Hey, son..." he began gruffly; then he spied T'Mir and his demeanor changed entirely. "Hi sweetheart," he cooed, grinning like an idiot and waving at the baby.

Trip couldn't help but smile himself. T'Mir's chubby hands gripped the shoulder of his T-shirt; he gently picked up one tiny wrist and waved her hand at the vidscreen. "Say hi to PawPaw," he cooed at his daughter; while her eyes were wide and terrified, she was a credit to her Vulcan heritage and did not cry or scream at the sight of the wild-haired old man mugging crazily for her.

"Stop that, Charlie, you're scarin' the baby," Kathleen told her husband.

"It's all right," Trip said. "Best for her to know now that her PawPaw's a lunatic."

"You look good, son," his father said. "Bein' a daddy suits you."

"It does," Trip agreed. "Keeps me puttin’ one foot in front of another at least." Kathleen's face clouded at that, and she looked like she might cry again. Trip hurriedly changed the subject. "Why don't y'all come out and visit in person? They've got great docs out here on Denobula; you could get yer hip fixed up good as new."

"We wouldn't want to impose like that, honey. You know your dad's a bear when he's laid up..."

"Guess that's where ya got it from," added his dad with a quirk of his expressive brows.

"Okay, I guess you're right," said Trip. "But promise me you'll come out when Daddy's recovered, okay?"

"I promise, honey." Kathleen brightened and clapped her hands together. "Oh, Trip, speaking of visiting, you must be so excited that Jonathan's--" her husband harrumphed and nudged his wife gently. Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, honey, that's a surprise. I almost spoiled it."

"Forget it, Mom. I didn't hear a thing." Trip smiled fondly. A soft trill sounded from the panel. "We gotta end the transmission. The subspace window is about to shift out of phase."

"Okay, Trip," his mother said fondly. "We love you. Tell T'Pol we love her too. And send lots of pictures of that beautiful baby."

"Will do. We love you, too. Tell everyone we miss 'em. And stop watchin' those stupid programs."

Kathleen and Charles both waved at the screen. Trip waved back. "Bye Momma. Bye, Daddy." The trilling became a louder beep. With his free hand Trip hit the key to end the transmission.

"How 'bout that, baby doll? Sounds like your Uncle Jon is coming to visit. Let's go tell Momma." Trip paused and checked to see if T'Pol would mind being interrupted...and realized he did not hear the serene hum of her meditation in the back of his mind. Trip readjusted T'Mir on his hip and made his way to the partially open bedroom door.

T'Pol was seated in her meditation position on her floor. Her head was bowed, her chin resting on her chest. She snored softly.

"Your poor mom is just about done in," Trip whispered to T'Mir. He crept as quietly as possible into the bedroom. Depositing T'Mir onto the carpet, he pulled the coverlet and a pillow off the bed and gently eased T'Pol onto a more comfortable position. She did not wake. Trip tucked the coverlet in around his wife and scooped up his daughter. He managed to pick her up easily and without coughing. For a moment, he almost felt like his old self again. He and T'Mir exited the bedroom, Trip making sure the door was closed so they wouldn't disturb T'Pol's nap.

T'Pol napping? Guess kids really do change everything.

"Come on, sweetpea," Trip said to his daughter. "I'll teach you all about repairing climate controls on a Denobulan ground transport."

***

It was late morning when Trip sensed his wife awakening.

He shoved the last of the animal crackers in his mouth and stowed the bag in a desk drawer. He was poring over a technical manual on his console, T'Mir sleeping in his lap, when T'Pol appeared in the doorway of the workshop.

"Nice nap, darlin'?"

Vulcans do not nap. Her voice in her mind was still tinged with sleep. I was merely meditating...intensely. To your human eye, it may have appeared that I was sleeping.

Trip smiled as he studied the diagrams on the screen. "M-hmm. Never heard a Vulcan snore durin' meditation before."

The silvery ripple of her amusement tickled his mind.You are clearly unaware that the Vulcan Science Academy has determined that Vulcans do not snore.

Trip couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Call it what you want, but it did you good."

T'Pol crossed the room and stood behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders. "I never realized caring for a child would be so exhausting."

"Ah, soon you'll forget all about the rough parts and you'll want another one."

Trip could feel her eyebrow raise. "Another one? Please allow me to survive the infancy of the first before we even discuss the possibility of a second."

Trip chuckled. "Yes, dear." He closed the repair manual and leaned his head back against her belly with a sigh. For a moment they were silent, enjoying the closeness and the mutual good mood.

Is your mother all right?

She's fine. "She watched one of those tabloid programs about...you know...and she got herself all upset."

"Knowing the reaction she has, why does she continue to watch those programs?"

"That's exactly what I asked her. Didn't get a good answer, though." Trip remembered the secret his mother had let slip. "My mom told me the Cap'n's comin' to visit. It was suppposed to be a surprise..." He felt T'Pol scramble for a response. "You knew!"

"As your mother said, it was meant to be a surprise."

"When's he comin'?"

"If I keep that information confidential, technically I am keeping my promise to the Captain."

"Okay, then. I'll be surprised." Trip smiled. "It'll be great to see him again."

"I know he is looking forward to it also. I am sure he will be pleased at how well you are doing."

T'Pol paused, and bent her head close to Trip's jaw. For a split second he thought she was going to kiss him.

Instead, she sniffed.

"You have been eating cookies."

"They're not cookies. They're animal crackers."

"You thought I would be displeased?"

Trip mentally shrugged. Well, yeah. "They're not exactly healthy."

"On the contrary, I am pleased to see your appetite returning. Dr. Phlox has told me repeatedly you are still much too thin. I only hope you are not ruining your appetite for more nutritious foods."

On a bad day T'Pol's concern would have sent him into a tirade about how he wasn't an invalid and he didn't need a nursemaid...but he was feeling more like himself than he had in weeks, he had an intransigent ground transport to fix for Dr. Nazeen, and he was in fact starving. So instead of railing against his wife for her concern, he decided to milk it. He turned to her and gave her his patented, never-fail Tucker puppy-dog gaze. "I haven't, darlin'. I'm really, really hungry, as a matter of fact. Do you think...?"

T'Pol scooped up the sleeping T'Mir. "I have time before I must leave for afternoon classes. There is leftover Den'lau karhosh from last night. Or if you prefer I could make you a peanut butter sandwich. There might even be some fresh bananas left in the stasis unit."

"Peanut butter sounds great, babe. Thanks." As T'Pol left, Trip reopened the manual on his console. He couldn't help but smile to himself. Things had been so difficult for so long...but now his daughter was sleeping soundly, his gorgeous Vulcan wife was making him a sandwich, and his best friend was coming for a long-overdue visit.

This was turning out to be one fine day indeed.

***

Three days later, T'Pol shooed Trip out of the house, claiming he was in the way of her "household duties." She had already sent T'Mir to the park with Phlox's daughter Forlan and her three small children. Trip realized that T'Pol was preparing for Jon's visit and wisely decided to make himself scarce for the time being.

He was elbow-deep in the undercarriage of Dr. Nazeen's car when he heard the unmistakable rumble of a ground transport pull up to the house. The flicker of anxiety and excitement he felt from T'Pol made him smile. Patiently feigning ignorance, he busied himself with searching for a fried power coupling as he heard the approaching crunch of boots on gravel.

A warm, familiar voice came from the open doorway. "Aren't you a regular grease monkey."

Trip slid out from under the vehicle. The man was a bit craggier and grayer around the temples than Trip remembered, but the twinkle in the warm hazel eyes was unchanged . "Cap'n!"

He sat up as Archer crossed the workshop and offered him a hand. Trip took his hand and let Archer pull him to a standing position. When he was on his feet, Archer pulled him into a bear hug.

"Goddamn, Trip, I've missed you."

"Missed you too, Cap'n. How long you here for?"

"Eighteen hours. I'm playing limousine driver for Federation diplomatic talks on Denobula. Excelsior breaks orbit at oh-nine hundred. "

Archer stepped back and appraised Trip frankly. Trip resisted the schoolboy-like impulse to fidget.

"You look good, Trip."

Trip snorted. "Bullshit. But thanks for tryin'."

"Yes you do, at least compared to the last time I saw you. T'Pol's right, though. You're too thin."

"So I've been told. I'm off the immunosuppressives now, my appetite's gettin' better. Anyway, doesn't the captain of the Excelsior have anything better to do than concern himself with my eatin' habits?"

Archer smiled. "Not at the moment. I've been ferrying diplomats back and forth for the past six months. Boring as hell. I've got plenty of time to worry about you."

"Wish you wouldn't, Cap’n. I'm doin' just fine."

"You're retired now, Trip. You can call me Jon, you know."

Trip chuckled. "After thirteen years, I think you're always gonna be Cap'n to me...even when they finally make you an Admiral."

Archer grimaced. "They keep trying, and I'm not interested. No paper-pushing for me, thanks. I plan on staying on the bridge until they carry me out feet-first."

Trip grinned. The man hadn't changed a bit. "If I were in your boots, I guess I'd feel the same way."

Archer's face grew serious and a bit sad. "It's not the same out there without you, Trip."

Trip looked at his best friend for a long moment, thinking of all the adventures they had shared. A feeling of melancholy swept over him at the thought that his days of interstellar adventure were behind rather than ahead of him. He smiled a bit wistfully. "Everything's different now, isn't it?"

The chatter of Denobulan children and the excited babblings of T'Mir reached Trip's ears. His daughter was home from her excursion.

His daughter. Trip's moment of sadness disappeared as quickly as it had came. He had plenty of adventure to keep him occupied right here.

The smile he gave Archer was genuine, full of pride and devotion. "Hell, Cap'n, we got all night for this old-man bitching and moaning. Come see the baby. You won't believe how big she's gettin'."

***

Having last known her as a tiny, sleeping bundle only hours old, Jonathan was visibly shocked to see how T'Mir had grown into a strapping, sandy-haired nine-month old who was determined to investigate, pull apart or chew every single object within her reach. Though initially shy around the uncle she did not remember, with some gentle coaxing from her parents--and the stuffed toy sehlat Jonathan bribed her with--she soon overcame her trepidation. By the time they sat down for the evening meal, the two were happily reunited and T'Mir was rooting in the pockets of the captain's jacket, hoping that she would find candy hidden in one of them as she sometimes did in her father's.

While his wife maintained her usual calm, placid demeanor, Trip could both see and sense the extra sparkle of animation in her eyes at Jon's presence. T'Pol was being positively permissive; she did not remonstrate T'Mir for climbing all over the captain or prevent her from eating the candy she had finally discovered in a right chest pocket. She even agreed to sample a half glass of the excellent pinot grigio Archer brought out.

Dinner was more extravagant than usual. T'Pol had made the only Vulcan recipe Trip truly enjoyed--yarmok saizhel, a cold dish made of starchy tubes reminiscent of slightly undercooked macaroni, combined with an assortment of chopped fresh vegetables in a tangy dressing. Forlan had also brought over some dishes--there was also a breaded and fried freshwater eel, which was delicious, and a Denobulan fungus casserole topped with something that looked for all the world like grubs, which nobody at the table was brave enough to sample.

T'Mir, finally secured in her high chair, waved a fistful of the noodles which also decorated her face and hair.

"Not like the usual state dinners, huh, Cap'n?"

Archer smiled. "Honestly, I'm reminded of the time Governor Klag drank too much blood wine and started flinging gagh at all the assembled dignitaries."

Trip laughed. His laughter caused T'Mir to giggle and squirm even more.

"Ya heard that, sweetpea? Uncle Jon's comparing you to a Klingon."

"Not at all, Trip. For starters, I'm pretty sure T'Mir won't execute me for laughing at her. Wish I could've said the same for Klag."

"T'Mir's behavior is not acceptable for a young Vulcan," T'Pol intoned. "I intend to see that she is more respectful at future mealtimes." Her dry statement might have been more convincing if she hadn't followed it by draining the last of the wine from her glass and setting it down rather heavily on the table. Archer picked up the bottle and refilled her glass; T'Pol responded with a twitch of an eyebrow but did not refuse.

Archer grinned at his former First Officer. "T'Pol, I'd forgotten how much I enjoy meals with you. You've ruined me for all future Vulcan science officers...You should meet the one I've got now. His name's Taarik." He grimaced at the name. "He's driving me insane."

"Is he remiss in his duties?" T'Pol asked, taking a sip from her refilled glass.

"Not at all," Archer answered. "He does exactly what I order him to, down to the letter. But that's the problem. He shows no initiative, no spark, no curiosity. I can't talk to him about anything. And he's no fun whatsoever." He sighed. "Guess it's a good thing that I've learned that Vulcans are as individual as fingerprints, and this guy's just a dud regardless of species." He regarded T'Pol fondly. "But I sure do miss you at that station, T'Pol. You saw things, anticipated things that no one else did. I took your brilliance for granted, Commander. And your sense of adventure."

T'Pol retained her composure, but Trip could see the greenish flush of embarrassed pride rise in her cheeks. Caught off-guard, T'Pol engaged in the human practice of changing the subject. "Tell us about latest news regarding the Federation, Captain."

Archer chewed and swallowed his bite of eel thoughtfully. He took a long swallow of wine before he spoke. "Things are...complicated, T'Pol. Grand ventures such as the Federation are always begun with the best of intentions, I guess...but then all too soon it's business as usual, with shady dealings and the ends justifying the means." He sighed as he set his glass down on the table. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so negative. It's just a time of real growing pains. The Federation seems overly intent on promoting an image, a legacy, rather than dealing with matters of importance. That's why I hope these diplomatic talks with Denobula go well. The Denobulans are a no-nonsense, commonsense people. They would be a real asset to the Federation right now."

"Are you sure you don't wish to accept an admiralty, Captain?" asked T'Pol. “It sounds as if you may be just what the Federation needs right now."

"You're probably right, T'Pol. But the sitting around, and the speeches...if I never give another speech again it will be too damn soon."

"Finally," interjected Trip. "Something we can all agree on!"

Archer attempted to mock-glower at him and failed, breaking into laughter. "Okay, Mister Tucker, I concede your point. Speeches aren't my strong suit." He drained the last of his own wine glass and accepted the refill that Trip offered him. "Oh, here's some interesting news I picked up last time I talked to Erika. Seems Malcolm and Hoshi are finally gonna make it legal."

Trip's eyes widened in surprise; even T'Pol looked mildly intrigued.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Trip. "Only took 'em what, six years?"

"Commander Reed is nothing if not meticulous," countered T'Pol dryly.

"Apparently, Hoshi finally sat him down and gave him the 'I'm not getting any younger' speech."

"She is correct," observed T'Pol. "Lieutenant Commander Sato is thirty-eight years old and will soon be past her reproductive peak."

"T'Pol, darlin'," said Trip, "the next time you talk to Hoshi you might want to skip over that little fact..."

Jonathan chuckled. "Anyway, after a great deal of poking and prodding, Malcolm somehow produced a three-carat diamond ring on Christmas Eve while they were orbiting around Talos IV, twenty light years from the nearest jewelry shop. Apparently he's been carrying it around since the decommissioning of Enterprise, but could never find the right moment until Hoshi forced the issue."

"That's pretty romantic," said Trip. "Kinda odd, and very Malcolm, but still romantic."

"Have they decided who will remain on board Columbia and who will depart?" T'Pol asked.

"Erika is petitioning Starfleet to let them both remain. Neither reports directly to the other, and the powers that be are starting to realize...slowly...that non-fraternization rules and five-year deep space missions aren't really that compatible."

Trip contemplated the bottom of his own wine glass. "Might've been nice if they'd figured that out eight years ago," he muttered, mostly to himself.

T'Pol looked at him intently, sensing his sudden change of mood. She said nothing aloud, instead sending him unspoken love and support through the bond they shared.

There is much here to celebrate without ruminating over what we cannot change in the past. Trip met her eyes.

You're right, darlin'. I'm sorry.

Trip smiled again as he turned his attention to T'Mir, who was growing restless and bored. She waved her arms and gurgled, hoping for release from her imprisonment

T'Pol rose. "I believe T'Mir and I have had enough excitement for one evening. If you will excuse us, Captain, we will retire."

"You sure you don't want dessert, T'Pol?" asked Archer. "Chef sent something special along just for Trip."

"You got Chef on board Excelsior?" exclaimed Trip. "If I'd known that, I would have saved some room."

"I wouldn't leave dry dock without the best cook in Starfleet," replied Archer, "though some of the newer ships are going with an all-replicator galley." He made a face that made plain his opinion of replicator cuisine. "Chef will always have a job on my ship...and I know your wife will agree with me that you should find a little extra room for dessert."

"I concur. Dessert would be advisable for Trip. Phlox wants him to gain at least two kilos before his next visit."

"If I start eatin' Chef's desserts, two kilos shouldn't be a problem. 'Specially if he sent a pecan pie..." Trip cocked a questioning eyebrow at Jonathan.

Archer smiled. "Of course he did. Said no one in Starfleet appreciates his cooking as much as Commander Tucker."

***

After T'Pol and the baby went to bed, the two men cleaned up the kitchen in companionable silence. As Archer closed the door of the dishwasher and Trip put the wrapped leftovers in the stasis unit, the captain chuckled to himself.

"What's on yer mind, Cap'n?"

"Just thinking about how long it's been since we worked together like this."

Trip chuckled. "Just like Engineering...'Cept nothin' in here is likely to explode if you look at it cross-eyed."

"Considering this is your kitchen, Commander, I plan on proceeding with caution anyway. Find us a couple of plates, will you?"

The promised pecan pie was on the counter, along with a huge tin of chocolate-chip cookies and a pan of frosted brownies. Trip produced plates and forks, and Archer cut a gigantic slice of pie for each of them.

Trip raised a wary eyebrow. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Cap'n, but there is no way I am gonna be able to eat all that."

"Yes you will, Trip. And by the way, that's an order." Archer smiled. "Where do you keep the glasses? I brought a little something else, too."

"Jeez, it's like Santa coming to Denobula Triax." Trip rummaged around a cupboard and produced two juice glasses. "Let's take this in the living room."

The main living area was large and comfortable, with exposed beams giving it a rustic, open feel. In the open hearth of the stone fireplace, T'Pol had lit an assortment of fat cylindrical candles which gave the room with a warm, relaxing glow. Archer set the plates and silverware on the low table in front of the couch and moved toward the large black duffle that sat near the front door. Trip placed the glasses alongside their dessert and sank into a comfortable armchair with a sigh that turned into a dry, hacking, cough.

Archer straightened up, a bottle of something in his hand, concern written all over his face. "Trip?"

Trip waved him away with a hand as the spasm subsided. "It's...nothin', Cap'n..." He recovered and sat up straighter. "It happens sometimes when I've been pushing a little too hard. Nothin' to worry about."

Archer sat on the couch next to his friend. “It doesn't sound like nothing, Trip."

Trip sighed in obvious exasperation. "Cap'n, you know what my insides look like now. And I know you remember where I was at a couple years ago, and this is a walk in the park compared to that. So let's just agree that it's nothin', and how ‘bout you show me what's in that bottle you're holdin'."

Archer gave Trip a look that plainly said he wasn't quite sure whether to believe him, and then he relented and held out the bottle for inspection. Trip studied the label and grinned.

"Maker's Mark. Excellent choice, Cap'n."

"That is...if you think it's okay for you to have a drink..."

Trip's eyes flashed dangerously. "Jon, it's fine. I'm off the heavy-duty meds, I don't have to go to work in the morning, and my wife is practically expecting me to wake up with a hangover."

"If you're certain..."

"Cap'n, there's nothin’ wrong with my liver, thank God.... so just pour the damn drinks already."

***

Trip returned his cleaned dessert plate to the table and leaned back in his chair. "I survived flash-fryin' myself, only to face death by pie." He groaned appreciatively. "I gotta say I believe this way is preferable." He still held his glass in his hand; as he drained the last of the amber liquid, Jon raised the bottle in question. Trip started to wave him off, but then changed his mind.

"Aw, hell. Might as well overindulge in all fronts." He extended his glass and let Jon pour him a refill.

For several minutes the two friends were silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

Archer spoke first. "You and T'Pol have really got something special here." It wasn't a question.

Trip smiled, a look of contentment on his features. "Yeah, we do. Still seems unbelievable to me. Sometimes I think..."

"Think what, Trip?"

Trip took a long pull at his bourbon before answering. "Right after it happened. Those first six months, everyone thought I was gonna die....hell, I thought I was gonna die, too. T'Pol never did, though. Not for one minute. And when things were so bad that I couldn't stand another minute, so bad that I wanted to die more than anything...T'Pol let me stay with her. She let me escape into her mind to get away from the pain...and she showed me everything we were gonna have if I just held on for a little while longer.

"I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes...sometimes I think I'm still there, in her mind, and I'm still hooked up to all those goddamned machines, and none of this is real."

Trip saw Archer's eyes glisten with tears. "Trip, I'm sitting right here, and I know I'm real. So are you. Believe me, you are very, very much alive."

"I know, Cap'n, and I appreciate you sayin' that." The sad, faraway look in Trip's eyes faded away. "An' I tripped over one of T'Mir's dolls last night and damn near broke my toe. I'm pretty sure I didn't dream that detail." Trip took another sip of his drink. "Ya gotta understand I had a long time kinda stuck between dead and not-dead, and it takes some time to get over that. That's why I'm so damn moody. Least that's what the doctors say."

"Trip, since we're talking about it...I have to tell you about something important."

Trip raised an eyebrow, unconsciously mimicking T'Pol. "What is it, Cap'n?"

"The coverup conspiracy theory is starting to make the rounds again."

"I know. My mom called a couple days ago, all upset." Trip shook his head. "Don't know how they're gettin' so much mileage out of one lousy engineer."

"I do. I have some sources, I hear things...I think maybe Starfleet's behind the rumors this time."

Trip took another thoughtful sip of bourbon and regarded the near-empty galls. When he looked at Jonathan there was little surprise in his eyes. "Now why would they do something like that, Cap'n?"

"Because it fits into the bullshit legend they're trying to make Enterprise into. Because if you're dead, that reduces the number of difficult questions about what Shran was really doing onboard Enterprise, and increases the chance of the public not finding out about the Romulan operatives who tried to kidnap him off the ship."

Trip smiled thinly. "You forgot the part where I embarrassed them by running off with the disgraced Vulcan and raising a half-breed kid."

"I wouldn't put it like that, Trip."

"But you know that factors into it. A lot."

Archer shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. A lot."

"It's much more convenient for me to be dead, at least in public perception, than alive," Trip mused. "Well, that's an ironic turn of events for ya. I spend three years fighting for my life, and they'd prefer I remain politely deceased."

Archer leaned forward, focusing intently on his best friend. "I'm not going to let them get away with this. I'll find out who's behind it, see if the Vulcans are involved. I'm not going to let them put you through this, Trip. You deserve your place in history, not some kind of premature burial in the media--"

Trip had been idly swirling the last mouthful of bourbon in his glass. Now he spoke, so softly Archer did not hear him at first. "Let me go, Jon."

"What?"

"I said, let me go, Jon."

Archer's mouth opened in shock. "Trip, this isn't right! How can I let--"

"I'm happy here. I'm happy with my life." Trip finished his drink and looked his friend in the eye. "I wish it didn't hurt my parents, but maybe I can talk them into moving to Denobula, 'specially now that they're gettin' to the age where they need a lot of new parts..."

"Trip, you can't be serious. After all of these years, you're content to let history push you aside like this?"

"Jon, you're like a brother to me, you know that. But I'm not like you. History needs you, and you need to be remembered. It's part of who you are. I'm not like that.

"T'Pol and I have a good life here. The Denobulans treat us like family. They literally saved my life; they let us get legally married without batting an eyelash. They gave us T'Mir.

"I don't want to live on Earth or Vulcan, Jon...I don't have the energy to fight that fight. Maybe if things had gone differently, I'd be itchin' for a battle. But the Federation isn't ready for me and T'Pol and T'Mir. Some day they will be...some day there will be a human and Vulcan couple who get married and have a kid, and that kid is gonna set Starfleet on its ear. But not yet."

"No," said Archer regretfully. "Not yet. Maybe not for a long while."

"I've done a lot more than my share, Jon. We spent ten years saving the galaxy. That's enough for me. If Starfleet wants me to gracefully go away...well, honestly, I'm pretty much happy to oblige 'em."

Archer searched his oldest friend's face. "Trip...are you sure?"

Trip thought for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I'm absolutely positive, Jon. My place is here."

"You've created something amazing, Trip, you know that?" A flicker of something like regret passed across the legendary captain's craggy features. "Something I don't know I'll ever be able to achieve. A family. The whole wife-kid-house, package, complete with macaroni salad."

Trip laughed. "Are you sayin' I've been domesticated, Cap'n?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. And don't deny it, you had it in you all along." Archer opened the bottle of bourbon and refilled both the glasses. He handed one to Trip and raised the other in a toast. "To family. And macaroni salad."

Trip clinked his glass. "I'll drink to that." He tossed back the bourbon in one gulp, savoring the warm glow as it hit his stomach.

He was being written out of the history books. And he didn't care. Trip had found exactly where he was meant to be.

And he was happy.

***

Trip was only slightly unsteady on his feet as he took off his shoes and pants and slid into bed next to T'Pol. He heard Archer bump into something and curse under his breath in the hallway; the captain would undoubtedly be the worse for wear when he picked up the diplomats tomorrow morning.

T'Mir must have woken at some point; she was sleeping soundly in her parents' bed, with her mother's arms wrapped around her protectively. Trip pulled his shirt off and spooned into the warmth of T'Pol's back. She reached an arm behind her, pulling him close. He ran a gentle hand over T'Mir's soft warm head, then draped a leg over T'Pol’s hip and kissed her cheek.

"You smell like a distillery," she murmured sleepily. "I take it you and the captain had a pleasant evening."

"Very pleasant. Go to sleep, darlin'."

T'Pol returned to slumber, her breathing becoming deep and even. Trip burrowed his nose close to the nape of her neck, breathing in her delicious spicy scent as he began to drift off.

He never thought this was the path his life would take. But right now, curled up safe with his family, he felt certain this was exactly where he was meant to be.

I'm the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the galaxy, he thought. History books be damned.

With that thought in mind, Trip slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-FIN-

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

God Bless You, T'Leela. This is by far the sweetest finale fix I've ever read. I'm gonna go to bed now and dream sweet TnTnT'mir dreams. 'Nite! - : ) - D

Awww that was great...no, Trip never needed the history book (although he DID get into the history books as the first pregnant male, remember?)...he was more the family man type...

:)

this was really sweet.

I love this story. It's sweet and fluffy and absolutely delightful. Thank you!

Very, very nice! I dunno how comfortable T'Pol would be on Denobula, tho... I don't think she'd want to share Trip. :) Great story!

Beautiful life that ya got goin on there for TnT.
; ) But you need to find a way to get Trip back to 110%,,, so they can work harder on makin that family bigger,,, and maybe piss off a few people back home to. Just perfect sweet story ya got here,, just needs a sequal. :)

That was a sweet story. I especially like that your story had a completely different scenario--living on Denobula.

Thank you for writing this.

nicely done. solved all the oddities that that TNG episode brought up.

lovely lovely story.

nicely done. solved all the oddities that that TNG episode brought up.

lovely lovely story.

Sweet! Nice to see TnT alive and happy. I guess one good thing to come out of that finale abomination are all these great fics!! So are you gonna write a sequel? :)

Awww...how beautiful! Why couldn't we have had a nice ending like this? So sweet...Thank you.

I'm with you, I love happy endings... Thank you

Loved this. Sweet story with a happy ending, and tying up all the TATV issues into a neat, plausible package. What a great way to put TATV to rest! But I wouldn't mind a sequel!

Thank you.

Great story! Sequel?

THIS is how it will continue in my mind; Trip giving up his place in history to live the life he never knew he wanted, with the woman who drove him crazy and the children he never thought he could have. You're wonderful. Thank you for this.

Excellent. What a fantastic fix to TATV. I really hope you do a sequel where Trips health improves a little. Thanks for a great read.

Great fix!

What a perfect ending! Thank you so much!! Of course we really don't want it to end. We want to know what happens next, does Trip get his health back? Are there more children? Please....

T'Leela, you can do no wrong! You righted a big one with this inventive and totally plausible finale fix. Bravo!!! Thanks for putting many of our minds at peace. Thinking about this alternative is MUCH more pleasant.

Oh! What a sweetheart of a story. You captured everyone so beautifully (I really like your Captain Archer!) and made everything so...logical that I can see the storyline playing out just as you described. Thanks so much for sharing this with us.

That was possibly the sweetest thing I've read in quite on a while! Thank you, and well done! :)

Very well done!

Absolutely excellent! Living in England I have only just seen TATV and what a gut-punch that was. Not only to lose Trip right at the end but also the part about Trip and T'Pol not having been together for the last six years... oh yeah, their bond be damned. This story however, is priceless for seamlessly putting right a terrible wrong. I loved it! Loved how T'Pol stood by Trip for the three years of operations and therapy to come to this point in their lives where a life on Denobula with their daughter and no pressure from Starfleet could become their very own piece of pecan pie-shaped Heaven. Lovely, thanks a million! Ali D :~)

Alison,

To begin with, I am very sorry. I know how you feel right now. :(

Second, in the little world in my mind...Trip and T'Pol have been together since Elizabeth's death, (this story is essentially set in the same universe as my earlier fic "The Gift") and the holocrap Riker saw only reflected the 'sanitized' official record. It's not like TnT would have been real public about their relationship.

I like the world in my mind a LOT better than what B&B "valentined" us with. Geez, I saw it almost 3 months ago and it still hurts.... Hence the HAPPY HAPPY endings!

I love happy endings and this is a lovely one! Not sappy or sugary, just right. T'Leela, I like your world much better than the one B&B tried to foist on us; this shows some caring and thoughtfulness to the characters. Something that was completely lacking in TATV (which I still haven't seen, thank god); I wonder just how well B & B knew their characters if they could write that crap.

I also wrote a "fix" to the last episode, "Are these the Voyages?" posted to Trek Writer's Guild. But now I see I was wrong and concede defeat. This is the way it really happened! Thank you so much. Absolutely perfect.
Ann Norman

Well I liked it. I can so see Trip telling Archer to let Starfleet have him officially listed as KIA.

Does T'Pol get his survivor's benefits? heh.

Great work and looking forward to more stuff from you!

It was a beautiful story and a wonderful characterization of T'Pol IMO. Trip was great, the banter was creative and hilarious - but my fav. was the accuracy of T'Pol.

I've long considered that leaving Trip out of history and letting him live a wonderful life with a wonderful wife is the true path the character would have led. No starcrossed diplomat, maybe even not some 'warp-8-complex-designing' eningineer. If one thing had to remain in Trip's life, it's the love of the one and only. Brilliant story,

John

Just re-read this again and, 'Leela, this story is just wonderful. I adore it in a ridiculous way. I know you've got Action-genius!Trip being written in Tempus Fugit, but I love the gentle husband and father you painted here. Trip's contentedness is practically tangible.

Archer was fantastic, as well. He finally becomes "Jon" and not "Cap'n", and I believe that, along with the revelation that their working relationship is no more, they also conciously realize their friendship is different. Not big brother and little brother ... just brothers.

And T'Pol? Spot-on. A woman who has found her balance, and has not traded it in for a life well lived and well lived for others.

Thank you so much, hon.

Thoughtfully delightful!

Did I mention here that I loved this? I did. :)

awsome goodnight story thanx