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Beta'd by Distracted, to whom all due thanks!
It was over.
The war was over.
Archer stepped out of the shuttle and looked around him as if expecting everything to have changed. The sun shouldn't be shining in a cloudless sky; the sea shouldn't be sparkling and blue. The warm air pushed at his face, so that his short, light-brown hair lifted gently in a way that was a part of being back on Earth that he'd forgotten.
Duty beckoned. There was still an incredible amount of work to be done. An event this colossal had taken its toll of more than the people who'd fought in it. The world it had left behind needed to have adjustments made. Starfleet would still be patching itself up years from now, but at least it seemed likely that they would have the breathing space in which to do so. Those cautious verbal approaches from the Romulans, proposing the establishment of something to which they referred as a Neutral Zone, suited both parties. As long as both the Coalition and the Romulans were willing to respect that zone, peace – with luck – would prevail. Doubtless after being repulsed so bloodily and at such high cost, even the Romulans needed to lick their wounds for a while. For a moment he even felt a dim and weary surprise that after all the death and destruction no one knew even now what the bastards looked like.
He felt as though he was inside a bubble of glass, watching others talk and act outside it as if the things they said and did didn't have anything to do with him. Nothing seemed quite real any more. Perhaps it never would, he thought bleakly. Perhaps he'd left something out there, something he'd never find again. He didn't know whether he hoped or feared that the funerals would be real.
It had been decided that those whose sacrifice had bought Earth's people their continued freedom should be brought home and interred there. The other species had made their own arrangements, and of course a considerable number of the dead had been beyond retrieval. Nevertheless there were ghastly rows of coffins – rows and rows and rows of them, identical right now beneath the Starfleet logo. A huge area of land would have to be given over to the creation of an appropriate cemetery to contain them all.
He knew that quite a considerable number of them contained significantly less than a whole cadaver. Some of his own crew had been reduced to body parts that could only be identified by their DNA. Still, as long as anything at all remained that could be buried, a coffin had been provided. If the grieving relatives derived comfort from imagining that what this contained was a whole body, then they were not disabused.
Only one was completely empty, save for an immaculately folded blue uniform with a lieutenant's rank pips on it.
On that thought he turned away from his original course and walked rapidly towards the medical center.
"Captain Archer!" The elderly doctor stepped backward in momentary surprise and then forward again, beaming. "It's an honor to meet you, sir!"
"Thank you." At least he could still remember his manners; the glass bubble had left him that. "I've come to see Mrs. Sato-Reed. I believe she was brought down here yesterday."
"Yes, indeed." The smile faded. "She's perfectly safe and well. In body, that is."
"I'd like to see her." His voice was gentle, but the edge was not far below the surface. He was too aware of time pressing on him.
"Certainly, certainly. Though you know she already has a visitor?"
"I didn't, but I'm not surprised." He followed through the building, losing himself in the airy, echoing corridors. Hoshi's parents would be flying in from Japan. Maybe they were already here. If it was either of them with her he'd make his excuses and leave – fast.
At last the doc turned and activated a photocell door control panel. "Here we are." Murmuring something about having other patients to check on, he politely took his leave.
The room was sunny, though a considerately drawn curtain shaded the top end of the bed. The cool, conditioned air was perfumed by the riot of flowers that sat in several vases on a cupboard. Maybe she knew they were there, maybe the scent had reached her when they were brought in. There was no knowing.
She was lying in the bed, just as she'd lain on the bed in her quarters, left there perforce because Sickbay was filled and overfilled with those for whom Phlox's skills could make a difference. To all intents and purposes she was awake. The doctor had told him that bio-scans suggested that she was experiencing distinct periods of wakefulness and sleep. But returning to full consciousness would mean being faced with something that she couldn't bear, and so her brain simply wasn't permitting it to happen. At least, that was the best theory they could come up with. Captain Archer, who'd been the one to look into those eyes while he told her, didn't have the luxury of disbelieving this explanation, but nevertheless a nagging doubt persisted. The stare hadn't begun after he told her; it had been waiting for him when he came in…..
She did indeed have a visitor. But it wasn't either of her parents; it was Trip.
Archer hesitated. There was an odd intimacy in the scene; Tucker was seated beside the bed, holding one small, lax hand in his far larger one and talking to her softly. There was an almost caressing note in his voice that suggested what he was saying was private.
"Now here's the cap'n come to see ya, Hosh'," the chief engineer continued, glancing up at the opening of the door. "I know you think you can just deaf me out, but just 'cause you're not on Enterprise any more doesn't mean you can ignore a senior officer, right?" He gave the hand a squeeze, and laid it gently on the bedding, where it lay motionless, a fallen white flower. "Be with you in just a sec."
"Nothing?" The low voiced question was virtually rhetorical as Trip joined him by the door.
A shake of the head was the only answer. He noticed irrelevantly that there were one or two silver hairs among the fair. It ought to have been shocking, but he was too tired to feel shock about anything, and the bubble wouldn't let him care. He had a number of his own by now, but then he was pushing fifty.
"Phlox said he'd come by later, when he's done supervisin' the last casualties off the ship." Trip rubbed wearily at shoulder muscles that must still be stiff. "I know I shouldn't be here, with everything there is to do. The docs say she most likely doesn't hear a word I'm sayin' anyway. But I just get the feelin'…."
Yes. As if he hadn't enough responsibilities already, Trip had taken the armory department under his wing too, probably out of some sentimental feeling that his pal would want him to look after them for him. And that meant without saying that that 'duty of care' would extend to Hoshi as well. Malcolm would have been at her bedside in every moment off duty, making himself ill with worry and grief. But then Malcolm was the reason she was here, under the ceaseless and passionless supervision of the machines that monitored her every breath. He'd taken her away with him.
Catatonic shock.
On top of everything else that had happened, Archer just couldn't handle it. He was terrified that if he let it be real the glass would shatter. If it did, he'd never be able to cope. He'd shatter too, into a million bleeding fragments.
The baby was fine. Phlox had assured him of that. The pregnancy only had a few weeks left to run. Maybe the birth would bring her back if nothing else would. If not, a foster family was standing by.
Bloody hell, NO! He could hear the anguished bellow as clearly as if Malcolm had still been alive to voice it.
He found himself standing by the bed. Hoshi was awake, or at least she looked as if she was. He knew that if he moved to intercept her steady gaze, fixed lifelessly on the opposite wall, she'd stare straight through him.
"Tell Hoshi –"
In a more deliberate echo of his experience with Trip in Shuttlepod One, the tactical officer had left a small packet of recordings to be passed on to his wife if he died. The dates showed that they'd been done after the outbreak of the war, and the latest had entries from the last couple of weeks. The captain hadn't even been tempted to listen to any of them. He'd discussed with Phlox what might be the outcome of playing them to Hoshi – assuming she could hear – and the doctor had been doubtful. The gist of such messages would doubtless reinforce what had driven ex-Ensign Sato into catatonia in the first place.
He sat down in the chair Trip had just vacated and took up the still hand. The gold band on the third finger was engraved with lettering. Carefully he turned her hand so he could read what it said.
'Semper fidelis.'
"'Always faithful.'" Trip was leaning against the wall by the door, his eyes red-rimmed. "Kinda sums him up, doesn't it?"
Archer said nothing. It wasn't the moment to recall Malcolm in the brig, guilty and faithless. He shouldn't be remembering it himself. It was the bubble that was making him do such a terrible thing.
"Oh, and one more thing." It was said without any change of inflection. "I want to go public about me and T'Pol."
The glass quivered ever so slightly. "Is there any particular reason?"
"Just that I'm tired of hidin' and lyin'. That I'm sick to the teeth of hidin' my marriage like it's somethin' I'm ashamed of. I want to be able to go out in public wearin' my weddin' ring without givin' a damn what Starfleet and the High Command think. I want to be able to call T'Pol 'Mrs. Tucker' without havin' to look around to make sure nobody's listenin' first."
The chief engineer pushed forward off the wall and continued. "I know what you're gonna say. I know Terra Prime hasn't gone away. I know with the war and everything a lot of people are gonna be more scared than ever of 'aliens.' But on the other hand, if the Vulcans hadn't come in on our side, Earth'd be a Romulan outpost by now. An' if that's not enough to change people's perceptions then I don't think anything will – and frankly, I'm not prepared to wait anymore."
"This isn't a good time."
"No, very likely it's not. But as far as I can see, there's never gonna be a good time as far as the High Command is concerned. An' I don't care if they think I'm just takin' advantage of the chaos either, 'cause that hasn't got a damned thing to do with it. I'm just tired of it all, Jon. We played ball, we kept it secret, and where did it get us? It suits everybody but us just fine. Well, that's over. If we have to leave the ship, that's a price I'm prepared to pay. I just thought I'd tell you that so you're not surprised when it happens. Now I'm gonna get back to the ship and see how they're gettin' on with the repairs." He walked back to the bed, bent over and kissed Hoshi on the forehead. "I'll be back to talk to ya soon, sweetheart." Then he nodded at his captain and left the room.
Behind him, Archer stared blankly at Hoshi, who stared blankly at the wall.
The glass had just gotten a little more brittle.
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