A Tryst for Two (Chap 4)
By vandiver49
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters associated with Star Trek, I'm just borrowing them for a moment. Please don't sue; people in the Navy don't make that much money.
I promise to never attempt to try and write two stories concurrently again. Being out at sea for a month and trying to remember where you want your story to go has proven to be a difficult undertaking for me. Anyway on to the story. __________________________________________
T'Pol awoke with a start the next morning from a fitful night of sleep. Despite her lengthy meditations, her slumber had been filled with the dreams of how her life had been different if she had chosen to follow her heart instead of her mind. It was an illogical analysis in her estimation and only served to bolster her decision not to accept Trip's invitation. T'Pol turned the covers back and headed to the bathroom to begin her morning routine, determined to abate her mind's wandering thoughts. After a soothing shower, she went to the closet to get dressed for her daughter's momentous day. She donned her heavy ambassadorial robes and proceeded downstairs to the kitchen for a light breakfast. Her keen sense of hearing alerted her to an unintelligible conversation her daughter was having with an unseen person. But as soon as T'Pol crossed the threshold, Miranda's words came to an immediate stop.
"With whom were you speaking?" T'Pol asked of her daughter. Miranda was dressed in robes that were similar to her mother's, but with some modern touches. The robes Miranda wore were not nearly as heavy as her mother's and were woven from a synthetic Terran material that allowed the garment to breathe and flow in the wind. T'Pol quickly deduced that her daughter had just finished a video phone call, evident by the fact that Miranda was in the process of retracting her finger from the now black flat screen.
"No one in particular mother, I was simply making final preparations for today." Miranda replied nonchalantly. In truth though, her mother's sudden presence had slightly startled her.
T'Pol quickly dismissed the matter at her daughter's diligence, a fact that was not surprising at all. She returned her focus back to one of the few appliances in the kitchen, the food slot. She walked over to the machine and ordered breakfast for her daughter and herself. "Mixed fruits, unpeeled." She ordered. Within seconds a large bowl materialized, filled with an array of fruits from apples, oranges, and bananas to grapes and kiwi. T'Pol brought the bowl back to the counter along with two smaller plates for the refuse. T'Pol reached into the bowl, deciding to partake in one of the shiny red apples, long since convinced of the practicality of 'finger foods'. As T'Pol slowly began to devour her piece of fruit, she caught out of the corner of her eye Miranda eyeing the bowl conspicuously, as if unsure of what selection to make. She soon realized though that her daughter's hesitation was in fact due to Miranda's nascent experience with Terran food. Miranda was about to mimic her mother's actions with a banana when T'Pol reached a cautionary arm out to her daughter.
"That is not how you eat it Miranda." Her daughter's answer came in the form of a raised eyebrow. "You must peel off the skin of the banana before consuming it." T'Pol continued. This only confused her daughter further as she turned the banana around in every direction in search of where you were supposed to peel the fruit. T'Pol almost smiled at her daughter's dilemma and how reminiscent it was of herself as she took the fruit from Miranda and peeled it for her. T'Pol's mind would have relished the opportunity to relive that particular memory, but she forced herself to stay anchored in the present, if for no other reason than to prove that she could do so. The two Vulcans finished the rest of their breakfast, washing the meal down with a tall glass of water before heading out the door to the Vulcan Consulate and Miranda's orientation.
. . .
T'Pol and Miranda spent the better part of the day in a series of brief, boring lectures at the Consulate, resulting in both women's attention and patience to wane as the day went on. Most of the information disseminated was repetitive to them as they were both well versed in the Terran customs and cultures, unlike most of the new arrivals. During a brief intermission, the two stepped outside to enjoy the short respite in to afternoon sun.
"It's hard to believe that it's already 5:30," Miranda commented to her mother. Normally T'Pol would have found her daughter's colloquial assessment somewhat grating, but time and experience had eased her nerves.
"Yes, I find it strange that four hours were dedicated to safety for Vulcans on Earth when there have been Vulcan neighborhoods on the planet for at least ten years."
"Well Mother, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Miranda inquired.
"Nothing specific, I will probably visit Starfleet Headquarters after the lectures are complete before returning home."
Considering the lateness of the day, Miranda realized that this would have to be the moment of truth. "That is a shame Mother; I believe Commander Tucker will be most disappointed that you 'stood him up'."
True to Vulcan form, T'Pol gave her daughter a curious glare. "Exactly what are you referring to? I never made any such arrangements."
"Of course not mother, I made them for you."
T'Pol felt a hint of annoyance by her daughter's bold and daring move, but she easily conjured a solution to diffuse the situation. "Very well then, simply give me the number so that I may cancel the rendezvous."
Miranda easily anticipated this move. "I'm afraid that won't be possible Mother, as I have lost the number." For a moment, T'Pol thought she observed the corner of her daughter's mouth turn upward.
"So when and where am I supposed to meet the Commander?" T'Pol asked. She surmised that she would simply have to go and explain to him her daughter's subterfuge and decline his invitation in person.
"The Palace of Fine Arts at 6 p.m. He said that he would meet you at the bench in front of the lagoon."
Through T'Pol's typically placid expression, Miranda could tell that her mother was clearly annoyed as she continued. "Mother, you might as well go on the date with him. What is the worst that can happen?"
"I had a very logical reason for not going Miranda," T'Pol said as she stepped closer to her daughter. "I declined his invitation because it would do nothing more than fulfill a selfish desire."
"Why Mother? You know that you would at the very least enjoy yourself. I don't understand why you would choose to avoid the very thing that you seek?"
Curious, T'Pol decided to play into her daughter's verbal hand. "And what is it that you think I seek, Miranda?"
"Happiness," She replied. "Though I don't know the circumstances, somehow you and this man were 'happy' together. But you sacrificed it for our customs and traditions and consequently have not known a day of happiness ever since."
"That is untrue Miranda; you have been a joyous part of my life ever since your birth," T'Pol countered.
Miranda was fully aware of just how important she was to her mother. T'Pol had sacrificed her love of the stars and science to become a wife; her independence and freedom to become a mother. She realized that she was the only tangible evidence of her mother's selflessness, one which she had dedicated the last twenty years of her life to. But Miranda also knew her mother was simply being contrary and that she desired much more.
"The kind of happiness you seek Mother, I cannot provide you," Miranda stated matter-of-factly, determined now more than ever to convince her mother to recapture her past joy. "Now, by chance, the man who introduced you to that very state of being is here. It would be illogical to avoid to very the happiness that you have long sought, especially when you are so close."
T'Pol reflected upon Miranda's words, and the truth they held within. She could no longer deny her mind's desires and yearnings. They had become prevailing thoughts ever since she departed Vulcan. And her daughter's assessment was painfully correct, she would enjoy being in Commander Tucker's company, if for but only one night.
"Very well Miranda, I will go on the 'date' that you have arranged for me."
T'Pol was about to turn to leave when her daughter call out to her. "Mother, surely you don't plan on wearing that?"
"I am afraid so. I do not have enough time to go home and change into anything more suitable."
"Then may I suggest you purchase and dress along the way," Miranda said as she handed her mother a small card. "Here is the address of such a store. I believe they have something there that you will find suitable."
T'Pol was somewhat impressed by how brilliantly her daughter had carefully crafted her scheme. "It is quite apparent that you planned this well. When did you conceive it?"
"Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after you discarded his number into the trashcan, though the dress arrangements were made this morning," Miranda answered as she glanced up at the sun and its declining azimuth. "It's getting late Mother, you'd better hurry."
"Thank you for the suggestion Miranda."
"No problem," Miranda said. As T'Pol began to walk away her daughter called to her one final time. "One more thing Mother, have fun."
. . .
T'Pol was a perfectionist by nature, but not until today had that perfection come at a price. She had spent the last twenty minutes in the boutique ensuring that her dress, hair and appearance would be to Commander Tucker's liking. It had caused her to be something that was completely unforgivable to a Vulcan: late. She was four minutes and twelve seconds tardy for her rendezvous as she walked with a quickened pace through the park. She was traipsing barefoot over the grassy fields as it was faster means of transit than wearing the pair of high-heeled shoes that she held in her hand. As T'Pol crested the knoll, she was relieved to discover that the former Chief Engineer was still waiting patiently on the bench. T'Pol descended tenuously down the hill, every step bringing her closer to the man that had meant so much to her. Despite her rigorous training, there was nothing T'Pol could do to abate her swelling anticipation and the associated feeling in her abdomen. 'This must be what butterflies feel like' she silently mused.
Once she was directly behind him, T'Pol reached her arm out and touched his shoulder to garner his attention. "Good evening Charles."
Trip turned and stood up in one fluid motion, but his mind was nearly floored by the ravishing woman that stood before him. "Uh.hi T'Pol. I'm glad you made it," was all his mind could manage, as it was currently overwhelmed by the little black dress that was hugging T'Pol's luscious curves.
T'Pol was slightly distracted as well as she examine the casual khaki slacks and light blue shirt that shrouded his masculine physique. Unlike most humans, it appeared as though Trip's body had avoided most of the ravages of time. "I apologize for being late Charles, but I discovered that my shoes were not made for walking."
Trip looked over at the black stilettos that she was currently holding in her hand and silently chuckled at the thought of T'Pol struggling in them. "I take it they don't have high heeled shoes on Vulcan?"
"No," she replied. "Of all the human peculiarities I have encountered, these have to be the most illogical." Truthfully though, T'Pol bought the shoes for the express purpose of impressing Trip, which was illogical in its own way.
He was right on the verge of making another humorous quip, but seeing as how it was already 6:10, Trip decided it best to table they're current conversation. "Well, do you have a preference of where you would like to eat?"
The simple question proved to be somewhat difficult for T'Pol, for while she enjoyed Terran fruits and desserts, her experience with human cuisine was somewhat limited. "As I do not have a preference, I will leave that decision to you. You are aware of my taste."
"Well, I think I know of a place we can go that'll be to your liking and we won't have to walk." Trip volunteered. He politely escorted T'Pol towards the park's edge, where he hailed a hovertaxi.
As Trip provided the driver directions to their destination, T'Pol eyes were captured by the radiant sun as it began its descent below the horizon. The sky was ablaze with color, from red to orange and yellow, all of which blended seamlessly with the rolling scenery. The Terran sunset reminded T'Pol of her home, of where she was supposed be. Sitting on Earth preparing to go on a date was definitely not in the Vulcan edict and everything that was Vulcan within her screamed of how illogical this was. But the part of T'Pol that was woman, the part that she had denied so long, caused her to silently enjoy the attention. And it was that part of T'Pol that led her to quietly slip back into the high heels.
"Hey T'Pol, we're here," Trip said as the taxi slowed to a stop. Trip got out first and walked around to open her door. He was initially surprised that she actually waited for him, as it was a very antiquated practice. But Trip's diligence was rewarded when T'Pol rose out of the taxi, the heels accentuating the length of her lovely bronze legs.
T'Pol was quite pleased that her efforts hadn't gone unnoticed. "Charles, I thought it was considered impolite to stare on Earth?" she teased, his mouth slightly agape as she walked by.
Trip had chosen a quaint Italian restaurant nestled near the dock where great ships of sail still pulled in. They chose to sit on the patio to enjoy the wonderful evening breeze and the night sky. Trip decided to order for the both of them, recommending the vegetable lasagna for her and the seafood fettuccine for himself.
As the two waited for their respective meals, T'Pol decided to inquire about her old friends. "So Charles, how has the old crew of the Enterprise fared in my absence?"
Trip leapt in to conversation with great enthusiasm. "Oh, where to begin." he thought aloud. "Well first off Malcolm and Hoshi are happily married." He knew that this revelation would garnish a raised brow from T'Pol. "Yeah, I couldn't believe it either at first, but they are somehow really good for one another," he continued, producing a rectangular metallic object from his pocket. He lightly tapped the corner, causing the electronic photo album to flicker to life. He scrolled through a few photos before settling on a picture of Malcolm, Hoshi and three little girls. "Here, that's Camille, Hue and Sarah," he said as he handed T'Pol the photo.
"They appear to be content," T'Pol commented as she examined the image, the happiness of the family appeared to radiate through the pixels.
"Well it wasn't all sunshine at first, they encountered some going pains," Trip prefaced. "There were several occasions where Malcolm had to stay with me 'cause she'd kicked him out." He smiled. "I mean she always took him back but nothin' was funnier than listening to him being cursed out in about eight different languages."
T'Pol listened to him intently, remembering how Trip's uncanny narrative skills always captivated her. "How is Captain Archer faring?"
"Oh, he's doing great," Trip answered as he reached over to scroll the photo album again. "He of course made it to Admiral before he got out. He also was able to find someone who actually wanted to marry him too," Trip joked, finally stopping on a picture of Jonathan standing next to a redheaded woman. "That's him and his wife, Captain Christine Alexander."
The face appeared somewhat familiar to T'Pol. "Was she not the captain of the Columbia?"
"Yep. When we finally made it back home, they were on their way out. It was a chance meeting really, but I think it was love at first sight. Anyway, since they were both in Starfleet, having a direct relationship was kinda prohibited," Trip elaborated.
"So how did they circumvent that problem?"
"Well, they couldn't very well send letters back and forth through subspace proclaiming their love and affection for one another, so they used a courier," Trip replied, reaching over once again to page through the album to the former helmsman.
"Ensign Mayweather was the courier?"
"Well, then Lieutenant, now Captain Mayweather," Trip answered. "He was stationed on the Columbia after we got back and both of them would send their messages through him. Poor Jon, it was a tough decision for him but he felt that he had to make Travis the best man at his wedding over me. I think he's somewhere gallivanting through the cosmos on the Resolute."
"Does he have a family?" T'Pol asked, as it seemed to be the popular trend amongst the former crew.
"Not to my knowledge, he was never really one to stay in one place for any length of time. He loves space too much I think to consider settling down," Trip said, reaching over to T'Pol one final time to retrieve his album.
As he took the card from her hand, she noticed for the first time the golden band that encircled his ring finger. "And how is your wife?" she inquired, silently chiding herself for even entertaining the idea that this night could be more than an evening with an old acquaintance. But the question seemed to have an adverse effect of Trip's demeanor as he replaced the card into his pocket. She quietly watched as his smiled melted away at the thought of the subject.
"Umm.I'm not really married anymore," Trip replied, idling playing with his ring. "My wife. died almost nineteen years ago."
T'Pol knew what she was supposed to say, but being Vulcan she couldn't sympathize for his loss, at least not openly. "That is unfortunate to hear," was all the apology she could muster as the thought of one of her friend's lives not being the picture of serenity never occurred to her. "May I ask what happened?"
"Yeah, everyone else knows," Trip submitted. "After we returned back to Earth I went home for a couple of days. I ran into an old friend from the Academy, Ellen Richards. She was like my next best friend after Jon. Anyway, we had made this stupid promise that if neither one of us were married by the time we were 34, we'd marry each other. I knew she wasn't serious about it at the time, but when we met back up, she actually asked me about it. We mulled it over for a week and decided that it wasn't such a bad idea."
For some odd reason, T'Pol found it necessary to make one of her classic observations. "That is not a very logical way to choose a mate."
"And having an arranged marriage from the time you're six is?" Trip fired back jokingly. "I will admit that it was kinda awkward it first, but in time we grew to love one another and a year later we had Charlie. Well, we were both career oriented folk but we decided that we would each have one last hurrah and get out of our respective fields. She was on the archaeological dig with Starfleet on Mars that was only supposed to last two weeks. Well I was home with Charlie and one day I get this call from Jon saying that there had been a problem with their mission. Come to find out, there was ion storm that hit right when they were blasting-off to return home. It caused them to lose electrical power and subsequently crash back down on the planet."
Trip chose to pause momentarily, his story no matter how many times he told it, was always a painful memory to recall. "It's funny really; I told her that planet was cursed before she left," he said, more to himself than to T'Pol. "Once I found out, I resigned my commission and went into depression for a couple of months. I don't think I would've made it if not for all my friends. Anyway, I wear the ring as a reminder of her," Trip concluded. He looked up at T'Pol and for a moment thought she that she actually looked sad. "Anyway, how are you and Koss doing?" he asked, desperate to change the mood. Trip had no idea though that for T'Pol, this subject was just as painful.
"Koss and I are no longer together," she said somewhat callously, right as their meals arrived. "His infidelity led to our eventual separation."
Trip was of course stunned by this revelation; who'd ever heard of Vulcans getting a divorce, or even cheating on one another? "I'm sorry to hear that T'Pol, I'm sure it must have been tough raising your daughter by yourself," Trip said, reaching out to her hand.
"I imagine that it was no more challenging than what you had to endure," she replied, glancing down at his hand on hers. She remembered Trip's earlier words, how he had shared his grief and loss with his friends, and how it aided him through his sorrow. Though Vulcans were a habitually introverted people, T'Pol realized how much she would have enjoyed the comforting words and companionship of at least one friend.
Trip continued telling T'Pol the stories of the past over dinner as the dusk turned to night. She hung onto his every word, silently hoping that this night would not end. Fortunately for her, Trip had another destination in store for them, one which T'Pol was intimately familiar with.
After another short ride in the taxi, T'Pol found herself standing in front of a jazz club, the same one which she had stolen away to on that distant Terran night. It was still bathed in haze and shadow and the music emanating from within was just as alluring. "How did you know?" she asked as she turned to face him.
"What, which club you went to? Oh I just figured that it couldn't be that far away from the Vulcan Compound," Trip answered, knowing that she would appreciate that little bit of logic.
They chose to sit near the middle of the club, where the wailing of the saxophone and the pounding of the drums were acoustically perfect. Trip turned to look at his companion and how the seductive melodies had captivated her. "So how did you come to like jazz of all things?"
T'Pol managed to break herself from the music in order to answer his query. But she realized that many of her idiosyncrasies had little rhyme or reason. "I do not know Charles, but I do find it to be quite soothing. I have even learned to play."
This immediately piqued Trip's curiosity. "You play? What instrument?"
"The trumpet."
"Ya any good?" Trip asked, knowing that there wasn't an endeavor that T'Pol didn't strive to be her best at.
"I believe my skills are satisfactory," she modestly replied.
"Oh you gotta play something for me."
"I do not think that will be possible. I left my instrument back on Vulcan."
"Hey no problem, you can just use one of theirs," Trip said as he pointed to one of the soloists.
"Charles please." T'Pol said, about to ask him to show a small of discretion.
"C'mon T'Pol, I know your good, I just wanna hear you play a couple of bars. Besides you're Vulcan, you're not embarrassed are you?" he cajoled, knowing exactly what buttons of hers to push.
T'Pol took a painfully long blink as Trip walked up to the stage to negotiate a horn for her. He returned to their table within moments, with a trumpet in hand. She quickly surveyed the crowd and found that many of their eyes were on her as she stood up and accepted the instrument. As she approached the stage, T'Pol carefully pondered exactly what song she could play, unsure if there was any song that could accurately convey her mood.
Trip watched anxiously as she leaned over to converse with the rest of the band before turning back around to the audience. The other musicians began first, the dark tones of the string bass and drums laying the foundation for T'Pol's entrance. She watched the world evaporate into darkness as she closed her eyes, and with a tiny breath squeezed out the first note of her sonata. It was the first of a sorrowful string of chords, each more woeful than the last. Her song put the crowd into a hush, their eyes and hearts seemingly drawn to her pain, including Trip. The other musicians attempted to follow T'Pol's lead, but none could match the raw emotion that was pouring out of the bell of her horn with every note.
T'Pol found herself completely lost in the world of sound as she continued to play, her song straddling the line between jazz and blues. She imagined that the music was her voice, free from the underpinnings of logic that kept her from expressing how she truly felt. And though she had captivated the entire audience, there was only one person she was really playing for. She could only hope he was listening.
Trip was listening, to every note, to every pitch, to every cry, to every plea held within the music; held bottled inside of her for so long. The bell of her horn was pointed directly at him, as if each painful chord she played was for his benefit. Her musical wails reverberated in his heart, jerking a tear from his eye. She was an anachronism as she stood rigidly on stage, the tones of her melody eliciting tears and frowns from everyone in the club except herself. How could a Vulcan feel so much emotion? How could a woman so beautiful know so much pain? Obviously, this particular Vulcan was not as devoid of feeling as she had led him to believe.
T'Pol was relieved as she slowly began to conclude her solo, not because she was tired of playing, but because she had nothing left to give. She had poured herself into the music, liberating her conscience from her emotional burden. She slowly opened her eyes as the final note faded out of the trumpet, partisans and guests still in silent amazement over her performance. She watched as Trip stood up, slowly clapping his as he approached her. Others in the crowd soon followed suit, but it was Trip joining her on stage that captured her rapt attention. He escorted her off the stage and through the standing ovation of the audience back onto the street.
"That was beautiful T'Pol. I had no idea you were that good," Trip said, looking at the woman in front of him in the pale moonlight.
"Thank you Charles, it was a rewarding experience," T'Pol replied. Her mind was no longer filled with the sorrow and regret that had tormented her on so many lonely nights. The two of them stood on the sidewalk, reminded of that fateful day twenty-five years ago when they had said goodbye. Both of them had walked the trail of life alone for so long, and had endured so much. Neither one of them relished the thought to continue that journey again, not after tonight, not without each other.
"T'Pol?" Trip asked hesitantly. "Why were you afraid to come on this date at first?"
Normally, she would have dismissed that accusation, as Vulcans didn't get afraid. But T'Pol was tired of denying the truth, as well as herself. "I was.afraid because I did not trust myself around you," she admitted, looking longingly into his eyes. T'Pol could still sense his confusion as she pressed forward. "Do you remember that night in the Mess Hall when you convinced me to return to Vulcan?"
"Yeah, I told you that Koss needed his wife and that you wouldn't be happy if you stayed," Trip answered, unsure of the correlation between that day and tonight.
"You were incorrect on both accounts," T'Pol said, taking one step closer to her companion. "Happiness as eluded me ever since I left. And in hindsight I have come to discover that Koss did not need his wife.as much as I needed you."
Trip couldn't help but be moved by the petite Vulcan's words as he looked down at her. He had no idea that he was indirectly responsible for her grief or that he could possibly mean that much to her. He found himself willing to do anything to correct both problems. "Just tell me what you want," he said, absently wrapping his arms around her.
Back in that familiar place, T'Pol could feel the answer to his query swelling up inside of her. She rose up on her toes and closed her eyes, her lips searching passionately for his in the darkness.
Trip was awed as their lips met, her intensity threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him deeper into her passionate fury. Trip could feel his body slowly beginning to react to her as he desperately tried to come up for air.
Sensing his struggle, T'Pol mercifully broke the kiss, leaving the former engineer breathless and highly aroused. If there was still any doubt in his mind, it melted away when T'Pol emphatically whispered five little words in his ear. "All I want is you."
By vandiver49
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters associated with Star Trek, I'm just borrowing them for a moment. Please don't sue; people in the Navy don't make that much money.
I promise to never attempt to try and write two stories concurrently again. Being out at sea for a month and trying to remember where you want your story to go has proven to be a difficult undertaking for me. Anyway on to the story. __________________________________________
T'Pol awoke with a start the next morning from a fitful night of sleep. Despite her lengthy meditations, her slumber had been filled with the dreams of how her life had been different if she had chosen to follow her heart instead of her mind. It was an illogical analysis in her estimation and only served to bolster her decision not to accept Trip's invitation. T'Pol turned the covers back and headed to the bathroom to begin her morning routine, determined to abate her mind's wandering thoughts. After a soothing shower, she went to the closet to get dressed for her daughter's momentous day. She donned her heavy ambassadorial robes and proceeded downstairs to the kitchen for a light breakfast. Her keen sense of hearing alerted her to an unintelligible conversation her daughter was having with an unseen person. But as soon as T'Pol crossed the threshold, Miranda's words came to an immediate stop.
"With whom were you speaking?" T'Pol asked of her daughter. Miranda was dressed in robes that were similar to her mother's, but with some modern touches. The robes Miranda wore were not nearly as heavy as her mother's and were woven from a synthetic Terran material that allowed the garment to breathe and flow in the wind. T'Pol quickly deduced that her daughter had just finished a video phone call, evident by the fact that Miranda was in the process of retracting her finger from the now black flat screen.
"No one in particular mother, I was simply making final preparations for today." Miranda replied nonchalantly. In truth though, her mother's sudden presence had slightly startled her.
T'Pol quickly dismissed the matter at her daughter's diligence, a fact that was not surprising at all. She returned her focus back to one of the few appliances in the kitchen, the food slot. She walked over to the machine and ordered breakfast for her daughter and herself. "Mixed fruits, unpeeled." She ordered. Within seconds a large bowl materialized, filled with an array of fruits from apples, oranges, and bananas to grapes and kiwi. T'Pol brought the bowl back to the counter along with two smaller plates for the refuse. T'Pol reached into the bowl, deciding to partake in one of the shiny red apples, long since convinced of the practicality of 'finger foods'. As T'Pol slowly began to devour her piece of fruit, she caught out of the corner of her eye Miranda eyeing the bowl conspicuously, as if unsure of what selection to make. She soon realized though that her daughter's hesitation was in fact due to Miranda's nascent experience with Terran food. Miranda was about to mimic her mother's actions with a banana when T'Pol reached a cautionary arm out to her daughter.
"That is not how you eat it Miranda." Her daughter's answer came in the form of a raised eyebrow. "You must peel off the skin of the banana before consuming it." T'Pol continued. This only confused her daughter further as she turned the banana around in every direction in search of where you were supposed to peel the fruit. T'Pol almost smiled at her daughter's dilemma and how reminiscent it was of herself as she took the fruit from Miranda and peeled it for her. T'Pol's mind would have relished the opportunity to relive that particular memory, but she forced herself to stay anchored in the present, if for no other reason than to prove that she could do so. The two Vulcans finished the rest of their breakfast, washing the meal down with a tall glass of water before heading out the door to the Vulcan Consulate and Miranda's orientation.
. . .
T'Pol and Miranda spent the better part of the day in a series of brief, boring lectures at the Consulate, resulting in both women's attention and patience to wane as the day went on. Most of the information disseminated was repetitive to them as they were both well versed in the Terran customs and cultures, unlike most of the new arrivals. During a brief intermission, the two stepped outside to enjoy the short respite in to afternoon sun.
"It's hard to believe that it's already 5:30," Miranda commented to her mother. Normally T'Pol would have found her daughter's colloquial assessment somewhat grating, but time and experience had eased her nerves.
"Yes, I find it strange that four hours were dedicated to safety for Vulcans on Earth when there have been Vulcan neighborhoods on the planet for at least ten years."
"Well Mother, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Miranda inquired.
"Nothing specific, I will probably visit Starfleet Headquarters after the lectures are complete before returning home."
Considering the lateness of the day, Miranda realized that this would have to be the moment of truth. "That is a shame Mother; I believe Commander Tucker will be most disappointed that you 'stood him up'."
True to Vulcan form, T'Pol gave her daughter a curious glare. "Exactly what are you referring to? I never made any such arrangements."
"Of course not mother, I made them for you."
T'Pol felt a hint of annoyance by her daughter's bold and daring move, but she easily conjured a solution to diffuse the situation. "Very well then, simply give me the number so that I may cancel the rendezvous."
Miranda easily anticipated this move. "I'm afraid that won't be possible Mother, as I have lost the number." For a moment, T'Pol thought she observed the corner of her daughter's mouth turn upward.
"So when and where am I supposed to meet the Commander?" T'Pol asked. She surmised that she would simply have to go and explain to him her daughter's subterfuge and decline his invitation in person.
"The Palace of Fine Arts at 6 p.m. He said that he would meet you at the bench in front of the lagoon."
Through T'Pol's typically placid expression, Miranda could tell that her mother was clearly annoyed as she continued. "Mother, you might as well go on the date with him. What is the worst that can happen?"
"I had a very logical reason for not going Miranda," T'Pol said as she stepped closer to her daughter. "I declined his invitation because it would do nothing more than fulfill a selfish desire."
"Why Mother? You know that you would at the very least enjoy yourself. I don't understand why you would choose to avoid the very thing that you seek?"
Curious, T'Pol decided to play into her daughter's verbal hand. "And what is it that you think I seek, Miranda?"
"Happiness," She replied. "Though I don't know the circumstances, somehow you and this man were 'happy' together. But you sacrificed it for our customs and traditions and consequently have not known a day of happiness ever since."
"That is untrue Miranda; you have been a joyous part of my life ever since your birth," T'Pol countered.
Miranda was fully aware of just how important she was to her mother. T'Pol had sacrificed her love of the stars and science to become a wife; her independence and freedom to become a mother. She realized that she was the only tangible evidence of her mother's selflessness, one which she had dedicated the last twenty years of her life to. But Miranda also knew her mother was simply being contrary and that she desired much more.
"The kind of happiness you seek Mother, I cannot provide you," Miranda stated matter-of-factly, determined now more than ever to convince her mother to recapture her past joy. "Now, by chance, the man who introduced you to that very state of being is here. It would be illogical to avoid to very the happiness that you have long sought, especially when you are so close."
T'Pol reflected upon Miranda's words, and the truth they held within. She could no longer deny her mind's desires and yearnings. They had become prevailing thoughts ever since she departed Vulcan. And her daughter's assessment was painfully correct, she would enjoy being in Commander Tucker's company, if for but only one night.
"Very well Miranda, I will go on the 'date' that you have arranged for me."
T'Pol was about to turn to leave when her daughter call out to her. "Mother, surely you don't plan on wearing that?"
"I am afraid so. I do not have enough time to go home and change into anything more suitable."
"Then may I suggest you purchase and dress along the way," Miranda said as she handed her mother a small card. "Here is the address of such a store. I believe they have something there that you will find suitable."
T'Pol was somewhat impressed by how brilliantly her daughter had carefully crafted her scheme. "It is quite apparent that you planned this well. When did you conceive it?"
"Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after you discarded his number into the trashcan, though the dress arrangements were made this morning," Miranda answered as she glanced up at the sun and its declining azimuth. "It's getting late Mother, you'd better hurry."
"Thank you for the suggestion Miranda."
"No problem," Miranda said. As T'Pol began to walk away her daughter called to her one final time. "One more thing Mother, have fun."
. . .
T'Pol was a perfectionist by nature, but not until today had that perfection come at a price. She had spent the last twenty minutes in the boutique ensuring that her dress, hair and appearance would be to Commander Tucker's liking. It had caused her to be something that was completely unforgivable to a Vulcan: late. She was four minutes and twelve seconds tardy for her rendezvous as she walked with a quickened pace through the park. She was traipsing barefoot over the grassy fields as it was faster means of transit than wearing the pair of high-heeled shoes that she held in her hand. As T'Pol crested the knoll, she was relieved to discover that the former Chief Engineer was still waiting patiently on the bench. T'Pol descended tenuously down the hill, every step bringing her closer to the man that had meant so much to her. Despite her rigorous training, there was nothing T'Pol could do to abate her swelling anticipation and the associated feeling in her abdomen. 'This must be what butterflies feel like' she silently mused.
Once she was directly behind him, T'Pol reached her arm out and touched his shoulder to garner his attention. "Good evening Charles."
Trip turned and stood up in one fluid motion, but his mind was nearly floored by the ravishing woman that stood before him. "Uh.hi T'Pol. I'm glad you made it," was all his mind could manage, as it was currently overwhelmed by the little black dress that was hugging T'Pol's luscious curves.
T'Pol was slightly distracted as well as she examine the casual khaki slacks and light blue shirt that shrouded his masculine physique. Unlike most humans, it appeared as though Trip's body had avoided most of the ravages of time. "I apologize for being late Charles, but I discovered that my shoes were not made for walking."
Trip looked over at the black stilettos that she was currently holding in her hand and silently chuckled at the thought of T'Pol struggling in them. "I take it they don't have high heeled shoes on Vulcan?"
"No," she replied. "Of all the human peculiarities I have encountered, these have to be the most illogical." Truthfully though, T'Pol bought the shoes for the express purpose of impressing Trip, which was illogical in its own way.
He was right on the verge of making another humorous quip, but seeing as how it was already 6:10, Trip decided it best to table they're current conversation. "Well, do you have a preference of where you would like to eat?"
The simple question proved to be somewhat difficult for T'Pol, for while she enjoyed Terran fruits and desserts, her experience with human cuisine was somewhat limited. "As I do not have a preference, I will leave that decision to you. You are aware of my taste."
"Well, I think I know of a place we can go that'll be to your liking and we won't have to walk." Trip volunteered. He politely escorted T'Pol towards the park's edge, where he hailed a hovertaxi.
As Trip provided the driver directions to their destination, T'Pol eyes were captured by the radiant sun as it began its descent below the horizon. The sky was ablaze with color, from red to orange and yellow, all of which blended seamlessly with the rolling scenery. The Terran sunset reminded T'Pol of her home, of where she was supposed be. Sitting on Earth preparing to go on a date was definitely not in the Vulcan edict and everything that was Vulcan within her screamed of how illogical this was. But the part of T'Pol that was woman, the part that she had denied so long, caused her to silently enjoy the attention. And it was that part of T'Pol that led her to quietly slip back into the high heels.
"Hey T'Pol, we're here," Trip said as the taxi slowed to a stop. Trip got out first and walked around to open her door. He was initially surprised that she actually waited for him, as it was a very antiquated practice. But Trip's diligence was rewarded when T'Pol rose out of the taxi, the heels accentuating the length of her lovely bronze legs.
T'Pol was quite pleased that her efforts hadn't gone unnoticed. "Charles, I thought it was considered impolite to stare on Earth?" she teased, his mouth slightly agape as she walked by.
Trip had chosen a quaint Italian restaurant nestled near the dock where great ships of sail still pulled in. They chose to sit on the patio to enjoy the wonderful evening breeze and the night sky. Trip decided to order for the both of them, recommending the vegetable lasagna for her and the seafood fettuccine for himself.
As the two waited for their respective meals, T'Pol decided to inquire about her old friends. "So Charles, how has the old crew of the Enterprise fared in my absence?"
Trip leapt in to conversation with great enthusiasm. "Oh, where to begin." he thought aloud. "Well first off Malcolm and Hoshi are happily married." He knew that this revelation would garnish a raised brow from T'Pol. "Yeah, I couldn't believe it either at first, but they are somehow really good for one another," he continued, producing a rectangular metallic object from his pocket. He lightly tapped the corner, causing the electronic photo album to flicker to life. He scrolled through a few photos before settling on a picture of Malcolm, Hoshi and three little girls. "Here, that's Camille, Hue and Sarah," he said as he handed T'Pol the photo.
"They appear to be content," T'Pol commented as she examined the image, the happiness of the family appeared to radiate through the pixels.
"Well it wasn't all sunshine at first, they encountered some going pains," Trip prefaced. "There were several occasions where Malcolm had to stay with me 'cause she'd kicked him out." He smiled. "I mean she always took him back but nothin' was funnier than listening to him being cursed out in about eight different languages."
T'Pol listened to him intently, remembering how Trip's uncanny narrative skills always captivated her. "How is Captain Archer faring?"
"Oh, he's doing great," Trip answered as he reached over to scroll the photo album again. "He of course made it to Admiral before he got out. He also was able to find someone who actually wanted to marry him too," Trip joked, finally stopping on a picture of Jonathan standing next to a redheaded woman. "That's him and his wife, Captain Christine Alexander."
The face appeared somewhat familiar to T'Pol. "Was she not the captain of the Columbia?"
"Yep. When we finally made it back home, they were on their way out. It was a chance meeting really, but I think it was love at first sight. Anyway, since they were both in Starfleet, having a direct relationship was kinda prohibited," Trip elaborated.
"So how did they circumvent that problem?"
"Well, they couldn't very well send letters back and forth through subspace proclaiming their love and affection for one another, so they used a courier," Trip replied, reaching over once again to page through the album to the former helmsman.
"Ensign Mayweather was the courier?"
"Well, then Lieutenant, now Captain Mayweather," Trip answered. "He was stationed on the Columbia after we got back and both of them would send their messages through him. Poor Jon, it was a tough decision for him but he felt that he had to make Travis the best man at his wedding over me. I think he's somewhere gallivanting through the cosmos on the Resolute."
"Does he have a family?" T'Pol asked, as it seemed to be the popular trend amongst the former crew.
"Not to my knowledge, he was never really one to stay in one place for any length of time. He loves space too much I think to consider settling down," Trip said, reaching over to T'Pol one final time to retrieve his album.
As he took the card from her hand, she noticed for the first time the golden band that encircled his ring finger. "And how is your wife?" she inquired, silently chiding herself for even entertaining the idea that this night could be more than an evening with an old acquaintance. But the question seemed to have an adverse effect of Trip's demeanor as he replaced the card into his pocket. She quietly watched as his smiled melted away at the thought of the subject.
"Umm.I'm not really married anymore," Trip replied, idling playing with his ring. "My wife. died almost nineteen years ago."
T'Pol knew what she was supposed to say, but being Vulcan she couldn't sympathize for his loss, at least not openly. "That is unfortunate to hear," was all the apology she could muster as the thought of one of her friend's lives not being the picture of serenity never occurred to her. "May I ask what happened?"
"Yeah, everyone else knows," Trip submitted. "After we returned back to Earth I went home for a couple of days. I ran into an old friend from the Academy, Ellen Richards. She was like my next best friend after Jon. Anyway, we had made this stupid promise that if neither one of us were married by the time we were 34, we'd marry each other. I knew she wasn't serious about it at the time, but when we met back up, she actually asked me about it. We mulled it over for a week and decided that it wasn't such a bad idea."
For some odd reason, T'Pol found it necessary to make one of her classic observations. "That is not a very logical way to choose a mate."
"And having an arranged marriage from the time you're six is?" Trip fired back jokingly. "I will admit that it was kinda awkward it first, but in time we grew to love one another and a year later we had Charlie. Well, we were both career oriented folk but we decided that we would each have one last hurrah and get out of our respective fields. She was on the archaeological dig with Starfleet on Mars that was only supposed to last two weeks. Well I was home with Charlie and one day I get this call from Jon saying that there had been a problem with their mission. Come to find out, there was ion storm that hit right when they were blasting-off to return home. It caused them to lose electrical power and subsequently crash back down on the planet."
Trip chose to pause momentarily, his story no matter how many times he told it, was always a painful memory to recall. "It's funny really; I told her that planet was cursed before she left," he said, more to himself than to T'Pol. "Once I found out, I resigned my commission and went into depression for a couple of months. I don't think I would've made it if not for all my friends. Anyway, I wear the ring as a reminder of her," Trip concluded. He looked up at T'Pol and for a moment thought she that she actually looked sad. "Anyway, how are you and Koss doing?" he asked, desperate to change the mood. Trip had no idea though that for T'Pol, this subject was just as painful.
"Koss and I are no longer together," she said somewhat callously, right as their meals arrived. "His infidelity led to our eventual separation."
Trip was of course stunned by this revelation; who'd ever heard of Vulcans getting a divorce, or even cheating on one another? "I'm sorry to hear that T'Pol, I'm sure it must have been tough raising your daughter by yourself," Trip said, reaching out to her hand.
"I imagine that it was no more challenging than what you had to endure," she replied, glancing down at his hand on hers. She remembered Trip's earlier words, how he had shared his grief and loss with his friends, and how it aided him through his sorrow. Though Vulcans were a habitually introverted people, T'Pol realized how much she would have enjoyed the comforting words and companionship of at least one friend.
Trip continued telling T'Pol the stories of the past over dinner as the dusk turned to night. She hung onto his every word, silently hoping that this night would not end. Fortunately for her, Trip had another destination in store for them, one which T'Pol was intimately familiar with.
After another short ride in the taxi, T'Pol found herself standing in front of a jazz club, the same one which she had stolen away to on that distant Terran night. It was still bathed in haze and shadow and the music emanating from within was just as alluring. "How did you know?" she asked as she turned to face him.
"What, which club you went to? Oh I just figured that it couldn't be that far away from the Vulcan Compound," Trip answered, knowing that she would appreciate that little bit of logic.
They chose to sit near the middle of the club, where the wailing of the saxophone and the pounding of the drums were acoustically perfect. Trip turned to look at his companion and how the seductive melodies had captivated her. "So how did you come to like jazz of all things?"
T'Pol managed to break herself from the music in order to answer his query. But she realized that many of her idiosyncrasies had little rhyme or reason. "I do not know Charles, but I do find it to be quite soothing. I have even learned to play."
This immediately piqued Trip's curiosity. "You play? What instrument?"
"The trumpet."
"Ya any good?" Trip asked, knowing that there wasn't an endeavor that T'Pol didn't strive to be her best at.
"I believe my skills are satisfactory," she modestly replied.
"Oh you gotta play something for me."
"I do not think that will be possible. I left my instrument back on Vulcan."
"Hey no problem, you can just use one of theirs," Trip said as he pointed to one of the soloists.
"Charles please." T'Pol said, about to ask him to show a small of discretion.
"C'mon T'Pol, I know your good, I just wanna hear you play a couple of bars. Besides you're Vulcan, you're not embarrassed are you?" he cajoled, knowing exactly what buttons of hers to push.
T'Pol took a painfully long blink as Trip walked up to the stage to negotiate a horn for her. He returned to their table within moments, with a trumpet in hand. She quickly surveyed the crowd and found that many of their eyes were on her as she stood up and accepted the instrument. As she approached the stage, T'Pol carefully pondered exactly what song she could play, unsure if there was any song that could accurately convey her mood.
Trip watched anxiously as she leaned over to converse with the rest of the band before turning back around to the audience. The other musicians began first, the dark tones of the string bass and drums laying the foundation for T'Pol's entrance. She watched the world evaporate into darkness as she closed her eyes, and with a tiny breath squeezed out the first note of her sonata. It was the first of a sorrowful string of chords, each more woeful than the last. Her song put the crowd into a hush, their eyes and hearts seemingly drawn to her pain, including Trip. The other musicians attempted to follow T'Pol's lead, but none could match the raw emotion that was pouring out of the bell of her horn with every note.
T'Pol found herself completely lost in the world of sound as she continued to play, her song straddling the line between jazz and blues. She imagined that the music was her voice, free from the underpinnings of logic that kept her from expressing how she truly felt. And though she had captivated the entire audience, there was only one person she was really playing for. She could only hope he was listening.
Trip was listening, to every note, to every pitch, to every cry, to every plea held within the music; held bottled inside of her for so long. The bell of her horn was pointed directly at him, as if each painful chord she played was for his benefit. Her musical wails reverberated in his heart, jerking a tear from his eye. She was an anachronism as she stood rigidly on stage, the tones of her melody eliciting tears and frowns from everyone in the club except herself. How could a Vulcan feel so much emotion? How could a woman so beautiful know so much pain? Obviously, this particular Vulcan was not as devoid of feeling as she had led him to believe.
T'Pol was relieved as she slowly began to conclude her solo, not because she was tired of playing, but because she had nothing left to give. She had poured herself into the music, liberating her conscience from her emotional burden. She slowly opened her eyes as the final note faded out of the trumpet, partisans and guests still in silent amazement over her performance. She watched as Trip stood up, slowly clapping his as he approached her. Others in the crowd soon followed suit, but it was Trip joining her on stage that captured her rapt attention. He escorted her off the stage and through the standing ovation of the audience back onto the street.
"That was beautiful T'Pol. I had no idea you were that good," Trip said, looking at the woman in front of him in the pale moonlight.
"Thank you Charles, it was a rewarding experience," T'Pol replied. Her mind was no longer filled with the sorrow and regret that had tormented her on so many lonely nights. The two of them stood on the sidewalk, reminded of that fateful day twenty-five years ago when they had said goodbye. Both of them had walked the trail of life alone for so long, and had endured so much. Neither one of them relished the thought to continue that journey again, not after tonight, not without each other.
"T'Pol?" Trip asked hesitantly. "Why were you afraid to come on this date at first?"
Normally, she would have dismissed that accusation, as Vulcans didn't get afraid. But T'Pol was tired of denying the truth, as well as herself. "I was.afraid because I did not trust myself around you," she admitted, looking longingly into his eyes. T'Pol could still sense his confusion as she pressed forward. "Do you remember that night in the Mess Hall when you convinced me to return to Vulcan?"
"Yeah, I told you that Koss needed his wife and that you wouldn't be happy if you stayed," Trip answered, unsure of the correlation between that day and tonight.
"You were incorrect on both accounts," T'Pol said, taking one step closer to her companion. "Happiness as eluded me ever since I left. And in hindsight I have come to discover that Koss did not need his wife.as much as I needed you."
Trip couldn't help but be moved by the petite Vulcan's words as he looked down at her. He had no idea that he was indirectly responsible for her grief or that he could possibly mean that much to her. He found himself willing to do anything to correct both problems. "Just tell me what you want," he said, absently wrapping his arms around her.
Back in that familiar place, T'Pol could feel the answer to his query swelling up inside of her. She rose up on her toes and closed her eyes, her lips searching passionately for his in the darkness.
Trip was awed as their lips met, her intensity threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him deeper into her passionate fury. Trip could feel his body slowly beginning to react to her as he desperately tried to come up for air.
Sensing his struggle, T'Pol mercifully broke the kiss, leaving the former engineer breathless and highly aroused. If there was still any doubt in his mind, it melted away when T'Pol emphatically whispered five little words in his ear. "All I want is you."