Ocean Front Property
Rated: G
Category: FutureFic, T'Pol focus. Gen, but with a touch of humor, angst, and TnT if you wish.
Season: Takes place just before TOS.
Spoilers: Demons and Terra Prime.
Summary: Vulcans are usually so very good at fooling people about their emotions - especially themselves. Right? Yeah. Right. Sure they are.
Disclaimer: Why bicker about who owns what? Can't we all just live long and prosper?
Note: Barring an early death, T'Pol would be 178 years old when TOS started. Also, Vulcans can cry (as seen in TNG's "Sarek"). And finally, I blame George Strait for this one (mostly), though it's no song fic.
xxx
She tried to ignore him, but that was impossible.
No matter how she strived to deny his existence, she simply couldn't.
His fame would not allow it any more than her treacherous heart would.
So she kept tabs on him. It was hard not to, with the attention he naturally garnered. At least that's what she told herself as she explored the newsfeeds and jumped at the mention of his name.
She became very good at telling herself what she liked to hear through the years.
That was a good thing, too. For as T'Pol of Vulcan wiped a solitary tear from her cheek as she sat stooped in front of her viewscreen, she told herself that she had a speck of dust under her third eyelid. It had been bothering her all morning, actually, and she just couldn't manage to dislodge it.
Yes, that was it.
The moisture on her face had nothing at all to do with a ship named Enterprise publicly announcing its command crew. It had nothing to do with seeing his name there. Nothing to do with his status as a Vulcan-Human hybrid. Nothing to do with him serving as first officer.
Nothing at all.
And when a voice in her mind answered her rationalization with, "Yeah, and I've got some ocean front property on the Fire Plains, too," the upward tug of the right corner of her mouth had nothing to do with the fact that the voice had a soft Southern accent.
No, nothing at all.
"Alright, fine," said that same soft Southern drawl. "I'll throw the Golden Gate in, too."
That did it. T'Pol allowed the almost-smile that graced her face to blossom into an actual smirk. It was gone before she took her next breath, but like the Vulcan-Human hybrid child who had been hers and who was responsible for her fascination with Spock, the grin had been real.
Later, T'Pol would meditate, and her white space would be replaced by images of San Francisco, another ship called Enterprise, and the reason her inner voice sometimes sounded like it hailed from Florida. When she returned to consciousness, she would smile again. This time, her expression would be bittersweet, and this time, her aide would see it. The younger Vulcan would equate the grin to an old woman's slipping emotional control. T'Pol would know this to be false… but she'd smile anyway.