Disclaimer: Don't Own, Not Mine
Rating: PG-13ish.
The ProConsul felt Ravel's eyes on him as he read her report. From her body language, he had assumed the report contained good news, and he was right.
"So, she survived somehow and was taken from the planet by her human companions" he asked, "After the explosion?"
"Our sources indicate that. We didn't learn of her survival until Enterprise returned to the Sol System. The ship's captain has been promoted to Admiral, and T'Pol's husband is the new captain."
The ProConsul wasn't surprised by this. He had been impressed by T'Pol's husband, despite the reports he had gotten about humans. He thought Earth would make a fine addition to the Empire, once broken, but he also had come to believe they would not be so easy to break - especially after meeting Captain Tucker. The other members of the High Council had scoffed at his warnings, assuming the upcoming conflict would be over quickly.
"What about my son?" he asked.
"We have no report of him, one way or another," said Ravel, "but if your daughter survived, it's possible that your son may have been with her. If so, it would be reasonable to assume he had been taken prisoner by the people who retrieved her from the planet."
The ProConsul felt an unusual mixture of hope and fear. He hoped his son was alive, but if he was, he feared that Enme was a prisoner of the humans. As such, he might as well be dead.
"We have very few intelligence sources on Earth," she said, "and none have reported anything about a Romulan prisoner, but I'll keep seeking more information."
"Do that," said the ProConsul.
****
Bert and Ian lived in a spacious, garden apartment tucked away on a cobblestoned side street. Paper books lined the walls in wooden shelves, sharing space with Tommy's football trophies and some family photos. T'Pol noticed one of Trip, Bert and Lizzie when they were university age.
"Tell me, Bert," she said, "How is it that you weren't named Charles Tucker III, since you are the oldest boy?"
Bert laughed.
"I get asked that now and then," he said, "My mother's grandfather Albert died the week I was born, so I was named for him. Our dad insisted. Then, when Trip was born, our mom insisted he be Charles Tucker III."
T'Pol examined the photograph.
"That was taken at Lizzie's graduation from Carnegie Mellon," said Bert.
The front door flew open, and a red-headed adolescent boy bounded into the living room. He was dressed in a school uniform, with a long striped scarf. His hair was damp, and his shoes were muddy.
"Heya, Kid," said Trip, hugging the boy briefly as he squirmed but grinned.
"Hi, Uncle Trip," said Tommy.
Bert folded his arms.
"Shoes?"
Tommy nodded, and he leaned over and removed his shoes and took them to the mat by the door. Trip gestured to T'Pol.
"This is your Aunt T'Pol," said Trip.
"Hello," said Tommy, not meeting her eyes, "Is Da home?"
"Not yet," said Bert.
Bert was Dad and Ian was Da.
"I hear you have a game tomorrow," said Trip, "What do you say to having your American Uncle there to cheer you on?"
"I thought you only played American-Style Football." said Tommy.
"I know the rules of your kind of football," said Trip, "I think I'll be able to follow. I hear you're developing into quite a defensive player."
Tommy smiled shyly at this.
"He's the best in his league. The upper division coaches are already sniffing around. So, T'Pol," said Bert, "Would you be up for watching a match tomorrow? I don't know if they have anything like football on Vulcan."
T'Pol turned to Bert.
"Ball sports are common in most humanoid cultures," she said, "and we have several similar sports. But I would be interested in watching the young men play this game that is so popular here on Earth."
"Tommy," said Bert, "go get cleaned up. I'm making a special dinner tonight."
Tommy raced off to his room.
"He appears to be a fine boy," said T'Pol, "You must be proud."
"We are," said Bert, "I sometimes wish he'd spend more time on his studies than on sport, but at least he's interested in something. And very good at it. By the way, did you know Trip played American-Style Football in college?"
T'Pol turned to her husband.
"No," she said.
"Just for one season," he said, "and it was at Starfleet Academy. It was a new school that was hardly a Big Ten. We did cream Stanford one time, though."
"You shall have to tell me the story," said T'Pol.
****
Malcolm and Hoshi dined at a classic French Bistro that had a great view of Europa, with the other moons in the distance. Hoshi was mostly quiet.
"You don't have to tell me," he said, "but how did it go with the doctor?"
"He's not a doctor, he's a psychologist," said Hoshi, "A Phd. I have a Phd."
Malcolm took a sip of his lobster bisque. Her answer didn't sound promising.
"It's not in clinical psychology," he replied.
"True," she said, "It was fine. I told him all about the incident in the airlock, and he said I have PTSD, which you already thought just by looking stuff up in the database."
"Do you think he can help you? We can always find someone else. There are a few more shrinks on the station. . ."
Hoshi had also ordered the lobster bisque, and she sipped on hers.
"No," she said, her voice softening, "It'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" he replied, an edge to his voice.
For months, she had insisted she was fine when she wasn't fine. He wasn't going to let her deflect him. He couldn't live with himself if something happened to her.
"He's a smart guy. He wants to see me everyday until we're redeployed, so that I'll be on my way to recovery by then. He doesn't think I need medication, just some heavy talk-therapy."
She paused, but he sensed she had more to say.
"Sometimes the sessions are designed to have a family member or significant other attend. . .my parents are on Earth and they don't put much stock in psychology anyway. . .could you. . . maybe?"
"I'd be happy to. . .we agreed right. We're both in this. So you need just tell me where and when."
Hoshi smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it seemed genuine.
"So what do you think it's going to be like with Trip in the big chair?" she asked.
Malcolm smiled at that.
"There was a time when I never thought I'd say this, but I am going to miss Archer. But Trip has always done well in the big chair. I trust him."
Hoshi nodded.
"It's not like we won't see Admiral Archer, we'll be in his fleet."
"I do wonder how it will be to have the first officer and captain married to each other. Starfleet must trust them a whole lot," said Malcolm.
"I don't think they'd ever let two humans be in those positions. But T'Pol being a Vulcan, they trust her to not let her emotions interfere with their work."
"You think so?" said Malcolm, "I suppose that could be true."
The conversation gradually turned to the war, their colleagues and what lay ahead. It felt very normal, and that felt like a first step of many that were yet to come.
****
The next morning, T'Pol rose early and began meditating in the sun-bathed garden. Trip and Bert had stayed up very late talking, and she and Ian had both retired early to give them a chance to catch up. Consequently, Trip was still sleeping when made her way into the garden.
She had been there a good while when she opened her eyes. She heard someone behind her.
"Tommy?" she asked without turning around.
"How'd you know it was me?"
"I have a strong sense or hearing," she said, "and your footsteps are lighter than the adults in the house."
She was seated on a garden bench, and he came and sat next to her.
"You're the first alien I've ever met. I've seen a couple in the streets," he said, "but I've never met one."
"It can be gratifying to meet other species," she said, "It helps open your mind to new possibilities."
Tommy looked over his shoulder.
"You shouldn't come to the game," he said in a whisper.
"Why not?"
Tommy took a deep breath.
"Last year, when the thing happened to you and Uncle Trip. The thing with Terra Prime. Some of the boys on my team said Uncle Trip deserved it because shagging an alien is sick and wrong. . .and that it was better that your baby had died because she was. . .a freak."
T'Pol said nothing.
"I'm not telling you to upset you," continued Tommy.
"I'm not capable of feeling upset, Tommy," she said, "I'm a Vulcan."
"But Uncle Trip is capable of being upset. Some of the other boys on my team are real wankers. . .and if one of them said anything to you, it would upset him and then Dad would get involved and it would. . .turn into a bloody interplanetary incident."
"You are thoughtful to worry about your Uncle Trip's feelings."
Tommy didn't respond, he just kicked the ground with his shoe.
"May I ask if you are upset he married a Vulcan?"
Tommy wrinkled his brow, and he spoke very slowly.
"No. . .it's just that people . . .people can be wankers, that's all. I don't want Uncle Trip to have to be dealing with them all the time. Or you for that matter. You seem nice. Dad said he was sure that you must be the prettiest Vulcan ever or Trip wouldn't have married you."
"I hope Trip married me for reasons beyond my appearance. You should also know our crewmates have been very accepting of our marriage, as have many of my people. Not all of them. But we have been gratified by those who have. "
Tommy said nothing. T'Pol reached over to a bag she had with her and pulled out her PADD.
"This morning I received a report from Ambassador Soval. I should very much like some quiet time to review the document, which is 10,728 Vulcan words long. I believe I will read it while your uncle and fathers attend your football match."
Tommy looked at her skeptically.
"You really don't want to go?"
"I do wish to attend, but I'm afraid my work takes priority."
Tommy's face softened, and he appeared to relax. They sat in quiet for a long while.
"Uncle Trip says you're really good at organic chemistry."
T'Pol nodded.
"Maybe after the game you could help me study. I've got an exam next week . . . "
"I would be happy to Tommy," she said.
****
That night as Trip and T'Pol prepared for bed in the small, cozy guest room, she spoke to him in a whisper.
"Vulcan Intelligence and Starfleet Intelligence have been given clearance to attempt background negotiations with the Romulans."
Trip leaned forward.
"That was what was in your report?"
She nodded.
"They wish for us to return to Jupiter Station by Monday. They intend to use my brother as a conduit to the Romulan government. I have been asked to help facilitate the contact."
She showed him the PADD, which contained the Vulcan text. He had acquired a basic familiarity of the language and could read the pertinent passages.
"I think it's a waste of time. Romulans seem more stubborn than Vulcans. I don't think he'll cooperate," he said.
"An incident occurred recently," she said, "My brother escaped and apparently planned to commit suicide. Romulan culture dictates this of prisoners, but he did not complete the act."
Trip took a deep breath.
"They think he's softening?"
"We shall see. No one believes the chances for negotiation are good, but given the possible consequences of this war, all of the allies believe we must try."
Trip hated the idea of cutting their vacation short, but he saw the need. He also found himself a little nervous to be returning to the ship as its captain.
"I guess the whole crew knows I'm the new captain," he said, "Malcolm sent me a congratulatory text."
"They trust you, and they will follow you as they did Archer," she said soothingly.
Trip slid under the big, white comforter, and he beckoned her to join him.
"I hope so. . .this cool Irish air isn't bothering you?"
"No," she said, snuggling next to him.
"It's bothering me. I don't know how Bert adjusted to this having grown up in Florida."
"It is unusual for me, but I have visited many environments and have learned to adjust."
"Well," he said, "Reason number #122 that I love you. Your high body temperature. You make an excellent bedwarmer, in addition to being a great wife."
She blinked at him, and he sensed her puzzlement at being compared to an inanimate object. He assuaged this by kissing her on the cheek and taking her into his arms under the big, fluffy comforter.
"Sorry you missed the game," he said as he drifted off to sleep, "Tommy's team is really something."
"Hopefully next time we visit," she whispered, "It will be possible for me to attend."