Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek Enterprise. This story is just a labor
of love, with no
intention of providing financial gain to the authoress.
Note: This story takes place the night of the final scene in E2, and is rife with Season 3
Spoilers, so be warned!
When the Morning Light Has Come
Part 1
By Arianwen P.F. Everett
Commander Charles Tucker III shifted in his bed, the ravages of an old dream tearing at his subconscious. This time, however, as the searing wave of the Xindi weapon drew closer to his unawares little sister, he suddenly heard another voice call out from behind him.
"Aunt Elizabeth! Aunt Elizabeth! RUN!!!"
Jerking awake, Trip sat up in bed, sweat pouring down his brow. He hadn't had the dream of his sister's death in four months, but it didn't take a genius to understand Lorian's presence there now. Lorian was just as gone as Lizzie, only according to the sensor data that backed up the captain's hypothesis, the second Enterprise hadn't even entered the vortex, because it had never existed in the first place. In short, his son had never been born, never lived the 113 years that he were supposed to have been allotted to him in the past, and never boarded the very Enterprise where Trip Tucker now sat, trying to make sense of it all.
Odd how the first thing Trip could think of was T'Pol and their neuropressure sessions. Checking the small chronometer by his bed, he considered going to her quarters. It wasn't like she was getting any sleep these days anyways, with whatever her big secret was, and perhaps if he apologized for their fight yesterday, they could talk. Ofcourse their fight really wasn't his fault, but like his Daddy always said "Where women are concerned it's ALWAYS your fault. Get used to it." With T'Pol that was doubly true, but his truth was, Trip no longer cared to be right, so long as T'Pol was happy... although she'd never admit to happiness.
But T'Pol probably wouldn't be open to discussing this, and Trip didn't want to further burden her. Whatever she was going through was obviously hard enough to handle, and if she was feeling anything close to what he was at this moment, keeping herself together through a long conversation might not be possible. And keeping it together was the most important thing to T'Pol, and Vulcans in general, from what Trip had observed of their species.
His next thought was to write a letter to his parents. Even knowing that they would not receive it for months, at Enterprise's current distance from Earth, just writing it would help. It would remind him that he was not alone, that he had people who loved him back home. But then another thought occurred to him and he knew he couldn't write his parents about this. He probably would never tell them, or if he did it would be years from now. They were still in shock and grief over loosing their only daughter. How could he even think of putting on them the loss of their grandson as well? He couldn't.
It was then that Trip realized he hadn't even thought of going to Jonathan, but with his impending meeting with the Xindi council in a few days, Jonathan Archer had far bigger fish to fry, and he was frying them for Trip and the rest of the 18 billion Humans alive in the galaxy. That man was destined for greatness, and sometimes the friends of those destined for greatness had to put destiny above their own needs.
Which left him with one alternative, Phlox. The Denobulan had a decent grasp of human psychiatry and some even more decent sedatives if that didn't work. When Trip had first learned about Lizzie's demise and his nightmares had begun, it was Phlox whose professional help he'd sought out. Despite his unorthodox methods and annoyingly chipper attitude, Trip had to admit that Phlox was a damn good Doc and the crew of Enterprise was lucky to have him onboard. Even T'Pol relied on his council and when T'Pol put faith in you that meant something.
That thought brought with it a sudden, hot, wave of shame, guilt, and frustration. Lorian was his son. Three times his age or not, logic be damned, the primal part of Charles Tucker III felt in his gut that it was supposed to have been his job to protect him and his mother. The former he had lost to a temporal paradox. The latter seemed to be slipping farther and farther away from him every waking moment, and she refused to explain why or even give him a chance to pull her back. She had faith in him, but not enough to tell him what was happening to her, and with his failure to save their son, Trip had to wonder if she would loose that faith. He knew in her place, he would.
Getting out of bed, a look of angry determination molded on his face, Trip dressed quickly and headed to Sickbay at an urgent pace, trying to loose his demons along the way.
It didn't work, in fact they jumped him the minute he entered Sickbay and he saw T'Pol sitting solemnly on a bio-bed, deep in conversation with the Doc. Ofcourse the two stopped talking the moment he had entered, and a wave of anger filled him in regards to T'Pol's recent secrecy. An objective part of his conscious new his rage was irrational and tried to convince him that her talking to the Doctor was better than talking to no one, but that part could only watch from outside himself as the young Engineer approached the Vulcan woman who ruled his heart even if he didn't completely understand it.
"I need to know what is going on with you!!! Why won't you talk to me?! We lost our son! I'm NOT loosing you, Damn it! You should be talking to me, not Phlox! ME!!!" Trip shouted at the top of his lungs, grabbing T'Pol savagely by the shoulders.
T'Pol felt such overwhelming emotions at that moment. She remained rooted to the bio-bed, like a deer caught in headlights. Seeing T'Pol's shocked expression, Trip was brought back to reality and allowed Phlox to pry him away from the Vulcan woman.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry T'Pol, truly sorry. I just..." Bedraggled with guilt, Trip backed away towards the exit. He'd just crossed a line and he feared the repercussions. T'Pol was just getting to trust humans and he attacks her like one of those marauding beasts most Vulcans think humans really are. He'd be lucky if he didn't spend some time in the brig.
T'Pol took a deep breath before speaking. "It is alright, Commander. I am uninjured. You have obviously been deeply affected by Lorian's disappearance from our timeline, and..."
"Lorian's death, T'Pol. His DEATH. He didn't just disappear, he died! OUR SON IS DEAD! Don't you get it, T'Pol? DEAD... And you're so bound up tight these days you'd rather talk to the Doc about it instead of me! Forget it, I'm out of here!" Trip shouted, this time, storming out of Sickbay.
To Trip it didn't matter how Lorian had ceased to exist, the end result was that he had and Trip deeply mourned his passing. He had just started getting over Lizzie's death, getting to the point where he could see beauty and purpose in life once more, and now he felt back at square one. Everything seemed wrong.
He couldn't remember when exactly he'd realized he was hyperventilating, but before he could reach the lift to take him back to his deck, he was propping himself up against a bulk head, half bent over, trying to catch his breath. He prayed no one would find him here, in this humiliating position, and at this time of night he might have been safe, if a certain Denobulan hadn't been chasing after him.
"Calm down, Commander. Slowly breath. That's it. Slow down your breathing," Phlox instructed calmly. As his patient's breathing began to return to normal, Phlox helped Trip to a standing position. The Engineer tried to continue his journey to the turbolift, but the Denobulan physician gently pushed him back towards Sickbay.
"No, T'Pol..."
"Left Sickbay soon after you stormed out, Commander. She's probably already back in her quarters by now." The Doctor informed, cutting Trip off before he could protest further.
Figuring that he had been going to Sickbay in the first place to talk to Phlox, perhaps following him now was indeed the right idea. He needed that sedative more than ever, and a non-pointed ear to air out his troubles wouldn't hurt either.
intention of providing financial gain to the authoress.
Note: This story takes place the night of the final scene in E2, and is rife with Season 3
Spoilers, so be warned!
When the Morning Light Has Come
Part 1
By Arianwen P.F. Everett
Commander Charles Tucker III shifted in his bed, the ravages of an old dream tearing at his subconscious. This time, however, as the searing wave of the Xindi weapon drew closer to his unawares little sister, he suddenly heard another voice call out from behind him.
"Aunt Elizabeth! Aunt Elizabeth! RUN!!!"
Jerking awake, Trip sat up in bed, sweat pouring down his brow. He hadn't had the dream of his sister's death in four months, but it didn't take a genius to understand Lorian's presence there now. Lorian was just as gone as Lizzie, only according to the sensor data that backed up the captain's hypothesis, the second Enterprise hadn't even entered the vortex, because it had never existed in the first place. In short, his son had never been born, never lived the 113 years that he were supposed to have been allotted to him in the past, and never boarded the very Enterprise where Trip Tucker now sat, trying to make sense of it all.
Odd how the first thing Trip could think of was T'Pol and their neuropressure sessions. Checking the small chronometer by his bed, he considered going to her quarters. It wasn't like she was getting any sleep these days anyways, with whatever her big secret was, and perhaps if he apologized for their fight yesterday, they could talk. Ofcourse their fight really wasn't his fault, but like his Daddy always said "Where women are concerned it's ALWAYS your fault. Get used to it." With T'Pol that was doubly true, but his truth was, Trip no longer cared to be right, so long as T'Pol was happy... although she'd never admit to happiness.
But T'Pol probably wouldn't be open to discussing this, and Trip didn't want to further burden her. Whatever she was going through was obviously hard enough to handle, and if she was feeling anything close to what he was at this moment, keeping herself together through a long conversation might not be possible. And keeping it together was the most important thing to T'Pol, and Vulcans in general, from what Trip had observed of their species.
His next thought was to write a letter to his parents. Even knowing that they would not receive it for months, at Enterprise's current distance from Earth, just writing it would help. It would remind him that he was not alone, that he had people who loved him back home. But then another thought occurred to him and he knew he couldn't write his parents about this. He probably would never tell them, or if he did it would be years from now. They were still in shock and grief over loosing their only daughter. How could he even think of putting on them the loss of their grandson as well? He couldn't.
It was then that Trip realized he hadn't even thought of going to Jonathan, but with his impending meeting with the Xindi council in a few days, Jonathan Archer had far bigger fish to fry, and he was frying them for Trip and the rest of the 18 billion Humans alive in the galaxy. That man was destined for greatness, and sometimes the friends of those destined for greatness had to put destiny above their own needs.
Which left him with one alternative, Phlox. The Denobulan had a decent grasp of human psychiatry and some even more decent sedatives if that didn't work. When Trip had first learned about Lizzie's demise and his nightmares had begun, it was Phlox whose professional help he'd sought out. Despite his unorthodox methods and annoyingly chipper attitude, Trip had to admit that Phlox was a damn good Doc and the crew of Enterprise was lucky to have him onboard. Even T'Pol relied on his council and when T'Pol put faith in you that meant something.
That thought brought with it a sudden, hot, wave of shame, guilt, and frustration. Lorian was his son. Three times his age or not, logic be damned, the primal part of Charles Tucker III felt in his gut that it was supposed to have been his job to protect him and his mother. The former he had lost to a temporal paradox. The latter seemed to be slipping farther and farther away from him every waking moment, and she refused to explain why or even give him a chance to pull her back. She had faith in him, but not enough to tell him what was happening to her, and with his failure to save their son, Trip had to wonder if she would loose that faith. He knew in her place, he would.
Getting out of bed, a look of angry determination molded on his face, Trip dressed quickly and headed to Sickbay at an urgent pace, trying to loose his demons along the way.
It didn't work, in fact they jumped him the minute he entered Sickbay and he saw T'Pol sitting solemnly on a bio-bed, deep in conversation with the Doc. Ofcourse the two stopped talking the moment he had entered, and a wave of anger filled him in regards to T'Pol's recent secrecy. An objective part of his conscious new his rage was irrational and tried to convince him that her talking to the Doctor was better than talking to no one, but that part could only watch from outside himself as the young Engineer approached the Vulcan woman who ruled his heart even if he didn't completely understand it.
"I need to know what is going on with you!!! Why won't you talk to me?! We lost our son! I'm NOT loosing you, Damn it! You should be talking to me, not Phlox! ME!!!" Trip shouted at the top of his lungs, grabbing T'Pol savagely by the shoulders.
T'Pol felt such overwhelming emotions at that moment. She remained rooted to the bio-bed, like a deer caught in headlights. Seeing T'Pol's shocked expression, Trip was brought back to reality and allowed Phlox to pry him away from the Vulcan woman.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry T'Pol, truly sorry. I just..." Bedraggled with guilt, Trip backed away towards the exit. He'd just crossed a line and he feared the repercussions. T'Pol was just getting to trust humans and he attacks her like one of those marauding beasts most Vulcans think humans really are. He'd be lucky if he didn't spend some time in the brig.
T'Pol took a deep breath before speaking. "It is alright, Commander. I am uninjured. You have obviously been deeply affected by Lorian's disappearance from our timeline, and..."
"Lorian's death, T'Pol. His DEATH. He didn't just disappear, he died! OUR SON IS DEAD! Don't you get it, T'Pol? DEAD... And you're so bound up tight these days you'd rather talk to the Doc about it instead of me! Forget it, I'm out of here!" Trip shouted, this time, storming out of Sickbay.
To Trip it didn't matter how Lorian had ceased to exist, the end result was that he had and Trip deeply mourned his passing. He had just started getting over Lizzie's death, getting to the point where he could see beauty and purpose in life once more, and now he felt back at square one. Everything seemed wrong.
He couldn't remember when exactly he'd realized he was hyperventilating, but before he could reach the lift to take him back to his deck, he was propping himself up against a bulk head, half bent over, trying to catch his breath. He prayed no one would find him here, in this humiliating position, and at this time of night he might have been safe, if a certain Denobulan hadn't been chasing after him.
"Calm down, Commander. Slowly breath. That's it. Slow down your breathing," Phlox instructed calmly. As his patient's breathing began to return to normal, Phlox helped Trip to a standing position. The Engineer tried to continue his journey to the turbolift, but the Denobulan physician gently pushed him back towards Sickbay.
"No, T'Pol..."
"Left Sickbay soon after you stormed out, Commander. She's probably already back in her quarters by now." The Doctor informed, cutting Trip off before he could protest further.
Figuring that he had been going to Sickbay in the first place to talk to Phlox, perhaps following him now was indeed the right idea. He needed that sedative more than ever, and a non-pointed ear to air out his troubles wouldn't hurt either.