Author's Note: Sorry the update took so long, had some difficulties with
my dear computer. See first part for disclaimers.
Chapter 2
Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Chief Engineer of the Enterprise NX-01, Ph. D., brother, husband, and friend, had earned a new title: "Dad." At 1430 hours, he could be found in Sickbay beside his sleeping wife, holding his newborn child. T'Lizabeth Marian Tucker had come into the universe five hours ago, weighing approximately 3.514 kilograms (or, as Trip had gushingly proclaimed, seven pounds, eleven ounces in Old English Measure) and having a full head of dark, silk hair. Phlox had satisfied himself with her health, and now she was all Daddy's.
Trip held the soft pink bundle close to his chest, still a bit stunned. Looking down into her tiny face, he was awed by the amount of love he felt. He had prepared himself over the past eight months, listening to stories from his parents and reading articles. But when he first looked down into his daughter's face, the swell of love in him had been almost painful. For all his preparation, he was totally unprepared for the impact one little creature could have on him. Immediately, he became the nervous first time father, anxiously looking over Phlox's shoulder as he examined T'Lizabeth. Jon had teased him the last few months, about turning into a flustered father. He'd brushed it off and laughed along with his friend, thinking there was no way that would ever happen. There was no way some little kid was gonna get him that worked up, not when he could endure Suliban and Xindi attacks in Engineering and stay cool as a cucumber.
Trip laughed inwardly at himself. If he was honest, he had known what his reaction would be all along. How could he react any differently? He was incredibly in love with his wife, and had been thrilled to itty bitty pieces when she'd told him she was pregnant. He'd become her self- appointed servant, refusing to let her do anything beyond what her duties required; even then, there were certain activities he forbade. He'd even gone to the Captain a few times, and had resolutely endured several nights on the couch as punishment. And when he couldn't be found working his duty shifts (and beyond) in Engineering, smothering T'Pol with attention-to the point where she'd kicked him out on occasion-, or working on some piece of baby furniture, he'd been located in front of a computer terminal, or behind a PADD, reading every last bit of information stored in Enterprise's data banks on parenting, babies, or Vulcan traditions. (Well, most of the knowledge he had on the last topic had come from Enterprise's resident Vulcan or Kov-he'd kept in regular contact with the guy, even after Tolaris.)
Figuring he might as well get all the self-mockery out of his system, Trip allowed himself another pot shot: He'd never in his entire life expected-or wanted- to know as much about Vulcan biology as he did now.
So glad it's not only every seven years-
Hey Trip! Cut that out! Not when yer' holdin' the baby, he admonished himself. In all seriousness, it was true. Through intensely boring lessons with Phlox and long hours of dry reading, he knew about digestive functions, respiration, organ systems-including which ones were different-, differences in musculature and skeletal composition, and all about neural nodes-Vulcan and Human. Although, he thought cheekily, that knowledge had nothing to do with reading.
He was pulled out of his musings by a slight sound from T'Lizabeth. She was fussing a bit, so he held her out in front of him in both hands, thinking she might want to move a bit. She gave a few jerks of her hands, which accomplished nothing since she was wrapped up snugger than two peas in a pod. Unable to communicate her discomfort, T'Lizabeth started to fuss. It was only a few weak guttural noises, but with T'Pol's sensitive hearing, he didn't want her waking up yet. She needed her rest. Labor had lasted for nineteen hours, the birth itself another two. She'd endured it like a real trooper (Trip had gotten away with only a few threats of enforced celibacy.) Hell, some of the time, she'd been more in control than him-and if that wasn't irony, Trip didn't know what was.
He could recall attacks and firefights where he'd felt helpless, cooped up in Engineering, unable to do anything but tell his people to hold on as they frantically tried to repair the ship, sometimes, it seemed, with nothing more than scotch tape and chicken wire. But he'd never felt quite as helpless and useless, as he felt for the nineteen hours his beautiful wife was in labor, and the two hours she was giving birth. No matter how solid her control might have been at times, Trip only had to look into her eyes to see her pain and exhaustion. He'd of course done everything within his power to help her, but that hadn't been much. And when he'd held her hand, there had been times when he was sure she was really holding his.
All of that, and she'd still presented him with a wonderful gift. Trip thought the love he felt wasn't enough. He'd just have to be utterly devoted to her for the rest of his life.
He stood up carefully, walking with his daughter to the other end of sickbay. She continued to fuss, and he took pity on her, laying her on a biobed and loosening her blanket. Free of her constraints, T'Lizabeth gave a few experimental kicks with her tiny legs. Trip smiled.
"Hey baby, you're fussy about tight clothing just like 'yer old man. Guess we're gonna have some battles ta' fight there."
Hearing the voice of her father, T'Lizabeth slowly pulled her eyes open. Tucker grinned. Her eyes were blue. Not the coffee brown of her mother's eyes, but blue, like her daddy, like her aunt-her namesake. At that thought, he felt the familiar pull of grief on his heart, but he pushed it away. Not today. Today was a happy day only, none of that grieving stuff. Focusing on brighter thoughts-not too hard with the little angel in front of him- Trip decided it was high time he met his daughter.
"Hiya darlin'. Ma' names Charles Tucker III, but ma' friends call me Trip. And you can call me 'Dad.' Well, whichever form of the word 'ya like. 'Pa,' 'Dad,' 'Daddy,' the Vulcan form I can't say, whatever 'ya like." T'Lizabeth's only response was to gurgle at him a bit, bringing his smile back. He continued on conversationally.
"And as for you, your name is T'Lizabeth Marian Tucker 'cha somethin' I can't even begin to say. Betcha' think a lot of yer' old dad right now, he can't even pronounce yer' name right." He chuckled to himself "Sorry darlin', ma' vocal cords weren't designed with Vulcan in mind. You'll have t' ask yer' mama ta' say that one." She only stared at his face, wide eyed. "Now, yer' mama might call ya 'T'Lizabeth' all the time, but that's a longer name than my loose lipped mouth can handle. 'S it alright if I just call ya' Lizzie?" Here Trip gave his daughter a very serious expression, as though a five-hour old baby could be offended. She only gurgled again, adding a few blinks for good measure, and continued to stare at her father.
"Alright then, it's settled. Lizzie ya' are." He grinned again. Then, unable to resist the urge any longer, he scooped his daughter up, blanket and all, holding her close. Tenderly, he ran his fingers down her face and arm, still amazed by the tiny scale of her fingers. Closer now, Lizzie more thoroughly inspected her daddy's face. Under the penetrating blue gaze, Trip could only grin wider. She was his. His and T'Pol's. After six years putting his aspirations of fatherhood on hold, here was his reward. And what a perfect little reward she was.
Trip felt himself beginning to get misty-eyed. He drew a calming breath, not wanting T'Pol to be disturbed by his overly emotional state. Then, knowing full well how much he'd hated it as a kid, he cuddled his baby girl. He planted kisses all over her tiny face, and snuggled his nose into the tiny bit of dark hair on her tiny little head. Remembering something his paternal grandfather once said, he dipped his head and smelled her breath. Taking a good deep sniff, he recalled exactly what his granddaddy had said.
"Take a good long smell of a baby's breath when they're first born. They haven't eaten anything yet, stomachs are completely empty. So all you can smell is pure life."
He held his breath in for a minute, savoring the sweet, untainted scent of her breath, and then went right on cuddling. Presently, an old song came to his mind, one his great grandmother had been fond of. In a shy- yet clear- tenor, he began.
"Down in the valley, valley so low. Hang your head over, hear the wind blow..."
Trip continued his song and gentle rocking, until Lizzie fell asleep. Her first dreams were filled with the sound of her father's gentle voice.
Author's Note II: I love reviews, let me know what you think. Anything you'd like to see? Thanks for reading!
Chapter 2
Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Chief Engineer of the Enterprise NX-01, Ph. D., brother, husband, and friend, had earned a new title: "Dad." At 1430 hours, he could be found in Sickbay beside his sleeping wife, holding his newborn child. T'Lizabeth Marian Tucker had come into the universe five hours ago, weighing approximately 3.514 kilograms (or, as Trip had gushingly proclaimed, seven pounds, eleven ounces in Old English Measure) and having a full head of dark, silk hair. Phlox had satisfied himself with her health, and now she was all Daddy's.
Trip held the soft pink bundle close to his chest, still a bit stunned. Looking down into her tiny face, he was awed by the amount of love he felt. He had prepared himself over the past eight months, listening to stories from his parents and reading articles. But when he first looked down into his daughter's face, the swell of love in him had been almost painful. For all his preparation, he was totally unprepared for the impact one little creature could have on him. Immediately, he became the nervous first time father, anxiously looking over Phlox's shoulder as he examined T'Lizabeth. Jon had teased him the last few months, about turning into a flustered father. He'd brushed it off and laughed along with his friend, thinking there was no way that would ever happen. There was no way some little kid was gonna get him that worked up, not when he could endure Suliban and Xindi attacks in Engineering and stay cool as a cucumber.
Trip laughed inwardly at himself. If he was honest, he had known what his reaction would be all along. How could he react any differently? He was incredibly in love with his wife, and had been thrilled to itty bitty pieces when she'd told him she was pregnant. He'd become her self- appointed servant, refusing to let her do anything beyond what her duties required; even then, there were certain activities he forbade. He'd even gone to the Captain a few times, and had resolutely endured several nights on the couch as punishment. And when he couldn't be found working his duty shifts (and beyond) in Engineering, smothering T'Pol with attention-to the point where she'd kicked him out on occasion-, or working on some piece of baby furniture, he'd been located in front of a computer terminal, or behind a PADD, reading every last bit of information stored in Enterprise's data banks on parenting, babies, or Vulcan traditions. (Well, most of the knowledge he had on the last topic had come from Enterprise's resident Vulcan or Kov-he'd kept in regular contact with the guy, even after Tolaris.)
Figuring he might as well get all the self-mockery out of his system, Trip allowed himself another pot shot: He'd never in his entire life expected-or wanted- to know as much about Vulcan biology as he did now.
So glad it's not only every seven years-
Hey Trip! Cut that out! Not when yer' holdin' the baby, he admonished himself. In all seriousness, it was true. Through intensely boring lessons with Phlox and long hours of dry reading, he knew about digestive functions, respiration, organ systems-including which ones were different-, differences in musculature and skeletal composition, and all about neural nodes-Vulcan and Human. Although, he thought cheekily, that knowledge had nothing to do with reading.
He was pulled out of his musings by a slight sound from T'Lizabeth. She was fussing a bit, so he held her out in front of him in both hands, thinking she might want to move a bit. She gave a few jerks of her hands, which accomplished nothing since she was wrapped up snugger than two peas in a pod. Unable to communicate her discomfort, T'Lizabeth started to fuss. It was only a few weak guttural noises, but with T'Pol's sensitive hearing, he didn't want her waking up yet. She needed her rest. Labor had lasted for nineteen hours, the birth itself another two. She'd endured it like a real trooper (Trip had gotten away with only a few threats of enforced celibacy.) Hell, some of the time, she'd been more in control than him-and if that wasn't irony, Trip didn't know what was.
He could recall attacks and firefights where he'd felt helpless, cooped up in Engineering, unable to do anything but tell his people to hold on as they frantically tried to repair the ship, sometimes, it seemed, with nothing more than scotch tape and chicken wire. But he'd never felt quite as helpless and useless, as he felt for the nineteen hours his beautiful wife was in labor, and the two hours she was giving birth. No matter how solid her control might have been at times, Trip only had to look into her eyes to see her pain and exhaustion. He'd of course done everything within his power to help her, but that hadn't been much. And when he'd held her hand, there had been times when he was sure she was really holding his.
All of that, and she'd still presented him with a wonderful gift. Trip thought the love he felt wasn't enough. He'd just have to be utterly devoted to her for the rest of his life.
He stood up carefully, walking with his daughter to the other end of sickbay. She continued to fuss, and he took pity on her, laying her on a biobed and loosening her blanket. Free of her constraints, T'Lizabeth gave a few experimental kicks with her tiny legs. Trip smiled.
"Hey baby, you're fussy about tight clothing just like 'yer old man. Guess we're gonna have some battles ta' fight there."
Hearing the voice of her father, T'Lizabeth slowly pulled her eyes open. Tucker grinned. Her eyes were blue. Not the coffee brown of her mother's eyes, but blue, like her daddy, like her aunt-her namesake. At that thought, he felt the familiar pull of grief on his heart, but he pushed it away. Not today. Today was a happy day only, none of that grieving stuff. Focusing on brighter thoughts-not too hard with the little angel in front of him- Trip decided it was high time he met his daughter.
"Hiya darlin'. Ma' names Charles Tucker III, but ma' friends call me Trip. And you can call me 'Dad.' Well, whichever form of the word 'ya like. 'Pa,' 'Dad,' 'Daddy,' the Vulcan form I can't say, whatever 'ya like." T'Lizabeth's only response was to gurgle at him a bit, bringing his smile back. He continued on conversationally.
"And as for you, your name is T'Lizabeth Marian Tucker 'cha somethin' I can't even begin to say. Betcha' think a lot of yer' old dad right now, he can't even pronounce yer' name right." He chuckled to himself "Sorry darlin', ma' vocal cords weren't designed with Vulcan in mind. You'll have t' ask yer' mama ta' say that one." She only stared at his face, wide eyed. "Now, yer' mama might call ya 'T'Lizabeth' all the time, but that's a longer name than my loose lipped mouth can handle. 'S it alright if I just call ya' Lizzie?" Here Trip gave his daughter a very serious expression, as though a five-hour old baby could be offended. She only gurgled again, adding a few blinks for good measure, and continued to stare at her father.
"Alright then, it's settled. Lizzie ya' are." He grinned again. Then, unable to resist the urge any longer, he scooped his daughter up, blanket and all, holding her close. Tenderly, he ran his fingers down her face and arm, still amazed by the tiny scale of her fingers. Closer now, Lizzie more thoroughly inspected her daddy's face. Under the penetrating blue gaze, Trip could only grin wider. She was his. His and T'Pol's. After six years putting his aspirations of fatherhood on hold, here was his reward. And what a perfect little reward she was.
Trip felt himself beginning to get misty-eyed. He drew a calming breath, not wanting T'Pol to be disturbed by his overly emotional state. Then, knowing full well how much he'd hated it as a kid, he cuddled his baby girl. He planted kisses all over her tiny face, and snuggled his nose into the tiny bit of dark hair on her tiny little head. Remembering something his paternal grandfather once said, he dipped his head and smelled her breath. Taking a good deep sniff, he recalled exactly what his granddaddy had said.
"Take a good long smell of a baby's breath when they're first born. They haven't eaten anything yet, stomachs are completely empty. So all you can smell is pure life."
He held his breath in for a minute, savoring the sweet, untainted scent of her breath, and then went right on cuddling. Presently, an old song came to his mind, one his great grandmother had been fond of. In a shy- yet clear- tenor, he began.
"Down in the valley, valley so low. Hang your head over, hear the wind blow..."
Trip continued his song and gentle rocking, until Lizzie fell asleep. Her first dreams were filled with the sound of her father's gentle voice.
Author's Note II: I love reviews, let me know what you think. Anything you'd like to see? Thanks for reading!