Title: We Danced Anyway
Author: Lady Starblade -- ladystarblade@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tu/R, as in slash
Category: Romance
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Future-fic, therefore some characters have died.
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.
Feedback: Yes, please. Bambi eyes
Disclaimer: I wish I may, I wish I might, but I don't own Enterprise or its denizens. And while I'm at it, I wish I got paid for this, but I don't.
Author's Note: This song was stuck in my head for the better part of a day, so I decided to use it to write an unabashedly romantic story, albeit with a twist. And I've been toying with writing a future-fic, so here it be.
Summary: "There was nothing like answering a knock on the door to find three of his oldest friends standing on the front step."
**
The sky was awash in a dizzying array of colors: red, pink, yellow, purple, blue....all of them swirled together in a lovely sunset. It was warm, wonderfully warm, with just the right amount of salty breeze whipping off of the ocean. The strange caw of the circling seagulls made the perfect counterpoint to the rolling water striking the sand, reaching up onto the land, then retreating and taking a little bit back with it.
Trip Tucker leaned back in his rocking chair, listening to it softly squeak as it moved. It had been a long, tiring day, and he thought idly that there had to be a rule against putting an eighty-nine year old man through such a day. He grinned anyway at the memory, remembering the impromptu reunion he had taken part in earlier. There was nothing like answering a knock on the door to find three of his oldest friends standing on the front step.
Travis Mayweather had been no surprise...every time his trade runs brought him anywhere near Earth, Trip could expect a grinning Travis to drop by. The man was in his seventies, and after he had retired from Starfleet, he had taken up running freighters again. Only this time, the ships were sleek warp 7 craft carrying any number of things to the farthest frontiers. Travis's hair was iron gray, and somewhere along the line he had acquired a bushy mustache and about thirty pounds. But he had never lost that infectious cheer or that boundless enthusiasm. Trip had no idea how he did it.
Hoshi Sato was a true clan matriarch. She may have had only two children, but they had managed to produce nine grandchildren and, at last count, five great-grandchildren. She now lived in the warmth of Brazil, chief administrator of the Sato Language Institute. Surrounded by the languages she loved so much, she had aged gracefully. Her silver hair and slightly bowed shoulders only lent her a regal dignity. Long gone was the awkward young ensign.
But the biggest surprise awaiting Trip was none other than T'Pol. He had lost track of her after the conclusion of the Enterprise's first mission, although he had heard she had gained command of a Vulcan science vessel. Trip had to blink several times before he saw any signs of age; some strands of gray in the black hair, nets of fine wrinkles around the eyes, how she didn't move quite as fast as he remembered. He still had no inkling as to how old she really was.
Trip had warmly greeted them, for even if they had all been scattered to the four winds after the first mission ended, they all shared that bond. They had had a wonderful day, all talking about their respective families, what they had been up to, and other various sundry topics. Trip had been bursting over his granddaughter Kelly's recent graduation from Starfleet Academy, and had forced them all to view the newest holos of his family, including his two adopted daughters and their families. Hoshi had matched him blow for blow, punctuated by laughter from Travis and an occasional comment from T'Pol. She had remained quiet about her current situation, and the three humans would not pry. Travis brought greetings from Phlox; a recent run to Denobula had brought him in contact with Enterprise's former doctor, happily "puttering in retirement," Travis had said. Phlox sent his regrets, but the journey from Denobula had been a long one. Besides, Phlox had a family so large, it put Hoshi's to shame. If they had had to look at holos of all of his children.....
But Trip noticed how carefully all three of them avoided mentioning the two who weren't there, the two men who had been closest to Trip. The two who were gone.
Jonathan Archer had died where he had most belonged: on the bridge of his starship, his second command after Enterprise. The details were still classified by Starfleet Intelligence, but enough information had been released to show that Jonathan had saved his crew by sacrificing himself. It had been a fitting end, but it had come too soon. Far too soon. Trip still missed his friend terribly.
Yet, if they tiptoed around mentioning Jon, the former Enterprise crewmates were turning handsprings and contorting to keep from touching on the other absence.
Malcolm. Malcolm Reed, Trip's husband of fifty-three years. Today was the date of his death. Nine years since Malcolm had made a journey to visit his sister Madeline in England and had never returned. Passed peacefully in his sleep, she had said. Gone to bed and never woken up. Trip had never really forgiven himself for not being with Malcolm when he died, but was grateful that their last words had been loving ones. Trip looked over at the matching chair, the chair that had been empty for so long.
*Has it been nine years already?* Trip closed his eyes, feeling the ache inside that had been his constant companion for so long. *Still hurts like yesterday.*
He shook his head ruefully as his eyes opened. "And you'd be the first one to tell me how much of an idiot I'm being, wouldn't you?," he said to the air. The other chair suddenly rocked in the breeze, as if in answer. Trip nodded. "Thought so."
A carved wooden box, about as wide as a handspan and twice as long, sat on the small round porch table. It had been a gift from the usual suspects on Trip and Malcolm's forty-fifth anniversary. Cherry wood inlaid with mahogany, it had become their special keepsake box. Several important items resided inside, reminders of a long and wonderful marriage. When Trip lifted the lid, an antique copper wheel turned, and soft music floated out. Neither Malcolm nor Trip had never learned exactly what tune it was.
They had first heard it on Risa, on their thirtieth anniversary, or, as Trip referred to it, their thirtieth honeymoon. Wandering up and down the wide streets, they had found themselves in a large square courtyard flanked by open gardens. A band of some kind had been playing, their music closely resembling Earth woodwinds and guitars. Trip had suddenly been struck by the impulse to dance.
Malcolm had protested vigorously, saying something about sixty year old men making public fools of themselves, but Trip had ignored him and continued to spin his partner around until Malcolm gave in, laughing helplessly. They had twirled around the square, singing along tunelessly in nonsense words....."A la la la la la la la la-la-la....."
Trip really had no clue as to how his friends had managed to find the tune and put it into the box. But he cherished it, the sound capturing a moment in time that eased the loneliness. Never completely, of course, but enough. He felt his lips moving, "la's" floating away on the breeze.
As the music wound down to an end, Trip slowly stood up, feeling the bones of his spine creak and pop in protest as he stretched. He reached over and carefully shut the box lid.
"Well," he said softly, "I better head back in....promised Kel I'd comm her, and ya know how she is....." Trip remained on the porch for another moment, looking out into the rapidly-deepening twilight. "I love you, Malcolm, and I miss ya every single day, no matter how stupid you think it is." He smiled as his voice became wistful. "Hope you're still waitin' for me, darlin'." He gazed into the darkness for a handful of breaths, then gently picked the box up and disappeared into the house.
And riding the wind, hardly more than a whisper, came two accented words.
"Always, love."
**
"I remember, you were laughing
We were so in love, we were so in love
And the band played
Songs that we had never heard
But we danced anyway
We never understood the words
We just sang oh, a la la la la la la la la-la-la
And we danced anyway....." --Deana Carter
**
END
Author: Lady Starblade -- ladystarblade@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tu/R, as in slash
Category: Romance
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Future-fic, therefore some characters have died.
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.
Feedback: Yes, please. Bambi eyes
Disclaimer: I wish I may, I wish I might, but I don't own Enterprise or its denizens. And while I'm at it, I wish I got paid for this, but I don't.
Author's Note: This song was stuck in my head for the better part of a day, so I decided to use it to write an unabashedly romantic story, albeit with a twist. And I've been toying with writing a future-fic, so here it be.
Summary: "There was nothing like answering a knock on the door to find three of his oldest friends standing on the front step."
**
The sky was awash in a dizzying array of colors: red, pink, yellow, purple, blue....all of them swirled together in a lovely sunset. It was warm, wonderfully warm, with just the right amount of salty breeze whipping off of the ocean. The strange caw of the circling seagulls made the perfect counterpoint to the rolling water striking the sand, reaching up onto the land, then retreating and taking a little bit back with it.
Trip Tucker leaned back in his rocking chair, listening to it softly squeak as it moved. It had been a long, tiring day, and he thought idly that there had to be a rule against putting an eighty-nine year old man through such a day. He grinned anyway at the memory, remembering the impromptu reunion he had taken part in earlier. There was nothing like answering a knock on the door to find three of his oldest friends standing on the front step.
Travis Mayweather had been no surprise...every time his trade runs brought him anywhere near Earth, Trip could expect a grinning Travis to drop by. The man was in his seventies, and after he had retired from Starfleet, he had taken up running freighters again. Only this time, the ships were sleek warp 7 craft carrying any number of things to the farthest frontiers. Travis's hair was iron gray, and somewhere along the line he had acquired a bushy mustache and about thirty pounds. But he had never lost that infectious cheer or that boundless enthusiasm. Trip had no idea how he did it.
Hoshi Sato was a true clan matriarch. She may have had only two children, but they had managed to produce nine grandchildren and, at last count, five great-grandchildren. She now lived in the warmth of Brazil, chief administrator of the Sato Language Institute. Surrounded by the languages she loved so much, she had aged gracefully. Her silver hair and slightly bowed shoulders only lent her a regal dignity. Long gone was the awkward young ensign.
But the biggest surprise awaiting Trip was none other than T'Pol. He had lost track of her after the conclusion of the Enterprise's first mission, although he had heard she had gained command of a Vulcan science vessel. Trip had to blink several times before he saw any signs of age; some strands of gray in the black hair, nets of fine wrinkles around the eyes, how she didn't move quite as fast as he remembered. He still had no inkling as to how old she really was.
Trip had warmly greeted them, for even if they had all been scattered to the four winds after the first mission ended, they all shared that bond. They had had a wonderful day, all talking about their respective families, what they had been up to, and other various sundry topics. Trip had been bursting over his granddaughter Kelly's recent graduation from Starfleet Academy, and had forced them all to view the newest holos of his family, including his two adopted daughters and their families. Hoshi had matched him blow for blow, punctuated by laughter from Travis and an occasional comment from T'Pol. She had remained quiet about her current situation, and the three humans would not pry. Travis brought greetings from Phlox; a recent run to Denobula had brought him in contact with Enterprise's former doctor, happily "puttering in retirement," Travis had said. Phlox sent his regrets, but the journey from Denobula had been a long one. Besides, Phlox had a family so large, it put Hoshi's to shame. If they had had to look at holos of all of his children.....
But Trip noticed how carefully all three of them avoided mentioning the two who weren't there, the two men who had been closest to Trip. The two who were gone.
Jonathan Archer had died where he had most belonged: on the bridge of his starship, his second command after Enterprise. The details were still classified by Starfleet Intelligence, but enough information had been released to show that Jonathan had saved his crew by sacrificing himself. It had been a fitting end, but it had come too soon. Far too soon. Trip still missed his friend terribly.
Yet, if they tiptoed around mentioning Jon, the former Enterprise crewmates were turning handsprings and contorting to keep from touching on the other absence.
Malcolm. Malcolm Reed, Trip's husband of fifty-three years. Today was the date of his death. Nine years since Malcolm had made a journey to visit his sister Madeline in England and had never returned. Passed peacefully in his sleep, she had said. Gone to bed and never woken up. Trip had never really forgiven himself for not being with Malcolm when he died, but was grateful that their last words had been loving ones. Trip looked over at the matching chair, the chair that had been empty for so long.
*Has it been nine years already?* Trip closed his eyes, feeling the ache inside that had been his constant companion for so long. *Still hurts like yesterday.*
He shook his head ruefully as his eyes opened. "And you'd be the first one to tell me how much of an idiot I'm being, wouldn't you?," he said to the air. The other chair suddenly rocked in the breeze, as if in answer. Trip nodded. "Thought so."
A carved wooden box, about as wide as a handspan and twice as long, sat on the small round porch table. It had been a gift from the usual suspects on Trip and Malcolm's forty-fifth anniversary. Cherry wood inlaid with mahogany, it had become their special keepsake box. Several important items resided inside, reminders of a long and wonderful marriage. When Trip lifted the lid, an antique copper wheel turned, and soft music floated out. Neither Malcolm nor Trip had never learned exactly what tune it was.
They had first heard it on Risa, on their thirtieth anniversary, or, as Trip referred to it, their thirtieth honeymoon. Wandering up and down the wide streets, they had found themselves in a large square courtyard flanked by open gardens. A band of some kind had been playing, their music closely resembling Earth woodwinds and guitars. Trip had suddenly been struck by the impulse to dance.
Malcolm had protested vigorously, saying something about sixty year old men making public fools of themselves, but Trip had ignored him and continued to spin his partner around until Malcolm gave in, laughing helplessly. They had twirled around the square, singing along tunelessly in nonsense words....."A la la la la la la la la-la-la....."
Trip really had no clue as to how his friends had managed to find the tune and put it into the box. But he cherished it, the sound capturing a moment in time that eased the loneliness. Never completely, of course, but enough. He felt his lips moving, "la's" floating away on the breeze.
As the music wound down to an end, Trip slowly stood up, feeling the bones of his spine creak and pop in protest as he stretched. He reached over and carefully shut the box lid.
"Well," he said softly, "I better head back in....promised Kel I'd comm her, and ya know how she is....." Trip remained on the porch for another moment, looking out into the rapidly-deepening twilight. "I love you, Malcolm, and I miss ya every single day, no matter how stupid you think it is." He smiled as his voice became wistful. "Hope you're still waitin' for me, darlin'." He gazed into the darkness for a handful of breaths, then gently picked the box up and disappeared into the house.
And riding the wind, hardly more than a whisper, came two accented words.
"Always, love."
**
"I remember, you were laughing
We were so in love, we were so in love
And the band played
Songs that we had never heard
But we danced anyway
We never understood the words
We just sang oh, a la la la la la la la la-la-la
And we danced anyway....." --Deana Carter
**
END