Disclaimer: I do not own the main characters. This is for entertainment purposes only… I don't make any money this way… which is why I have 40 hour work weeks which do not involve any computer access (sigh).
Author's note: Thank you, all of you, for your patience. I have been house-sitting with no computer for the past week or so… which means all my writing must be done by hand then transcribed into the computer in the short time I have at home... and this is to continue for another couple of weeks. (This is in addition to the 40 hour work weeks described above). As for your question Drogna (given your comment, I'm sure you're reading this one): I think it has something to do with an attention deficit. If I do more than one story at once, I don't get bored… and I can use all the ideas that I come up with that won't work in one story… but might in another. While I can hyper-focus… it's usually only for a short period of time. Then I need something new.
Chapter 12: Intelligence
This is going to be interesting. Never before had Jonathan faced a Visitor's Day with quite this level of complication to it. While every year had one or two no shows, one likely non-appearance this time wasn't liable to spark a flood of tears: Malcolm would probably be more surprised if his parents came. But Jonathan would still have to mollify parents panicked that their child's welfare was in danger – and try to figure out how much to spill to Trip's parents.
After all, how much of it do you already know? It was one thing for Trip to assume that his parents were clueless, and another entirely for Jonathan to do so.
Remarkably, Trip showered, changed and went to breakfast with the rest of them, even taking the time to eat something. And his shirt – unorthodox as it was – certainly could be seen as appropriate.
PARENTAL ADVISORY the words screamed in bold black on white. May contain coarse or explicit language not suitable for younger listeners. Jonathan burst out laughing when he saw it.
"Nice, hotshot, very nice." Jonathan reached over and placed a mug on the table in front of Trip then picked up the carafe he'd brought. "For you, m'sieu." He poured coffee into the mug with a flourish.
Trip picked up the mug, studied it for a moment then sniffed. He took a sip and held it in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing. "It's still that frozen, filtered crap, but at least it hasn't been congealing on a hot-plate for two hours. It'll do."
The other campers stared at Trip in shock, save Malcolm who already knew and Sanchez who held his own cup out. Jonathan blinked for a moment then poured some for him, too. "Anyone else?" A round of headshakes answered him.
"How can you drink that?" Kiprusoff couldn't seem to decide which was more fascinating – Sanchez or Trip.
Trip picked up his mug and pointed to it. He took a deep draught and swallowed. "Like that."
I should have him checked out. He's acting normal. This was an overnight change, and a hundred and eighty degrees at that.
"Well, that explains your stunted growth," Rodriugez snickered.
Trip turned calmly to face him, and inwardly Jonathan groaned. He knew that look – the one that came right before the pointed insult. Don't do it, kid… please don't.
"This," said Trip, slowly, "coming from the person who drinks more colas in a single afternoon than I do coffees in a week. At least I am not consuming enough sugar to support a small nation. In fact… there is probably less health risk in drinking this than in ingesting a substance that will dissolve a nail in twenty-four hours."
Rodriugez turned to Jonathan. "You said…"
"I said I'd give him hell if he called you names. I won't give him hell for stating facts." Especially since he was only responding to your crack, "Provided that they are indeed facts."
"I have personally observed the consumption of no less than fifteen colas in three hours, or roughly one cola every twelve minutes. Further… tests have proven that the acid content of the average cola is sufficient to cause severe corrosion and/or dissolution of metallic objects in as little as twenty-four hours." Jonathan could tell that Trip was deliberately choosing the most complicated words he could think of.
Atta boy. They can't keep calling you stupid if you don't act like it. At the same time…
"Hey." Jonathan blinked in surprise as a spoonful of soggy cereal hit him in the chest.
"Um…" Jonathan looked over at Trip, from whose spoon the cereal had originated.
"Sorry… just checking something." Trip's brow furrowed and his lips moved silently. Straining to hear, Jonathan just caught the words "… wasted energy."
"What the hell is going on here?" Jonathan realised that Trip was no longer paying attention. Instead the kid was using his knife to carve something into the table.
"Excuse me, but…" Jonathan reached over and plucked the knife from Trip's hand. "Does coffee have some strange effect on you that I should know about?"
Trip continued his work using a tine of his fork. Jonathan confiscated it, and the spoon as a precaution. Undeterred, Trip dragged his finger across the jam on his toast and set to work with it.
"Ground Control to Tucker. We appear to be having communications problems. Come in, Mr. Tucker." If Trip wanted to be treated as normal, then he certainly needed work on his habits. But the look on his face… Jonathan had only ever heard that look described. According to Henry, Zephram Cochran would get the same one on occasion: so engrossed in an idea that the rest of the universe might as well not exist. Hyper-focused.
"He got kicked out of chemistry class for that." Rodriugez sounded smug. "He started using acid to mark something in the table. Said he ran out of space in his notebook."
And rather than turn the page… oh, yes, Trip had a future in Engineering all right. Even Henry – as down to earth as the guy could be – had a habit of giving impromptu physics lectures over dinner, using whatever materials were at hand.
"Which is weird too… because he's into electronics and all that… but he uses pen and paper in chemistry class. He's just strange."
"Actually… that's smart, too." At least that was a habit Jonathan had background in. "Given the fact that you're working with various chemicals… they're more likely to damage a pad in the event of a spill than they are to damage paper. And paper can be used to stem the tide of a spill, preventing it from causing even more damage."
"Oh." Apparently Rodriugez had never seen it that way.
But this is weird even for you, kid. Trip seemed to be making some sort of sketch on the table, but Jonathan couldn't make out what it was. Grape… possibly.
Trip stopped drawing suddenly and stared out at an unknown distance – possibly beyond the reaches of the universe. His jaw shifted back and forth and his fingers twitched in mid-air. Then, as suddenly as the mood arrived, it passed, and he returned to the land of the camper. "Sorry… did you say something?" He dipped his napkin into a glass of water – Jonathan's glass – and cleaned the jam from his finger and then from the tabletop.
Jonathan pointed to the damp spot on his chest. "What inspired…"
"Efficiency calculations." Trip shrugged with one shoulder. "You were the biggest target and I didn't want to miss."
This sparked a round of laughter from the table, though whom it was directed at, Jonathan couldn't be sure. But I didn't spend my life around engineers and this much time around you without learning something… "Efficiency calculations for what?"
Trip shrugged again, this time on both sides. "A heavy calibre weapon."
Malcolm began to choke on something, distracting Jonathan from his next question. Jonathan smacked him hard between the shoulder blades a couple of times until he began to breathe. "Are you okay, Malcolm?"
Malcolm nodded, still out of breath. Across the table, Trip innocently munched his cereal, tilting the milk-filled bowl to his lips as though it were soup.
I could yell at him for his table manners, but he'd probably just remind me that I took his cutlery away. Plus, Trip was eating, and Jonathan didn't want to jinx it. Still… I wonder what prompted this? It couldn't just be the impending visit from his family – that would be way too simple for Trip. And surely he couldn't really be planning to build a high calibre…
This is Tucker we're talking about. It's possible. Jonathan narrowed his eyes and stared at Trip, looking for some indication that the boy was joking.
"Is there a problem, Jonathan?" Trip lowered his bowl and delicately licked a few stray traces of cereal from his upper lip. "I apologise, but I find it difficult to consume the bulk of the milk neatly if I use a spoon."
Now I know you're pulling something on me. The words and the ultra-polite tone served as dead giveaways as to Trip's ulterior motive. You're back to driving me crazy again, aren't you? "How heavy a calibre are we talking?" He kept his voice casual, playing along.
"Well, that will depend – of course – on the available materials. It's still in the design phase at this moment."
"You'll have to let me know when it's completed." Jonathan relaxed. It was one of those things, then… a long term project… a fantasy.
"Believe me," Trip smiled. "I'm sure you'll be one of the first to know."
"I look forward to it." Oh well, if it kept Trip's mind busy, it couldn't be that bad. And there were other things to worry about in the meantime. Like parents, for instance.
# # # #
How can you just tell him that? Malcolm choked as Trip casually blurted out their plans. Didn't the older boy understand that what they were doing fell into the category of verboten? Sure it had sounded good yesterday, but today Malcolm had some doubts. Jonathan smacked him hard a couple of times, obviously figuring that Malcolm had merely swallowed wrong. And how can you be so clueless? Haven't you already dealt with him enough to know he's not joking? Trip didn't seem concerned in the least, drinking his cereal in an elegant solution to Jonathan's commandeering of his spoon. Even when Trip confirmed the fact that they were indeed designing a weapon, and that it wasn't a joke, Jonathan didn't seem concerned.
I don't believe it! He really isn't going to stop us. Of course, Jonathan didn't sound like he believed in the project at all… He also sounded very distracted.
You are the luckiest person on the planet, Trip. Trip would probably tell him that you make your own luck… then again that was more a Stuart Reed line than a Trip Tucker one.
I hope Jonathan isn't expecting my mother and father to be here. He could tell from the chatter that most of the other campers anticipated the arrival of family gladly. But the only reason Mother and Father would show up would be to take me home. Silently he prayed that they wouldn't come… as he'd written to Aunt Sherry in his last letter home – it was easier than writing to his parents – he was beginning to enjoy himself. Don't have told Father that, Aunt Sherry, please. He will take me out of here if he finds out.
"Hey, Reedy. You wanting to see Mummy and Daddy?" Jonesy's voice echoed from three tables away. And Kendricks will probably say it was a polite question.
"Actually…" Malcolm turned to face him, not believing in the slightest that he was doing it. He felt like he was possessed… and that the possessive spirit had the name Tucker. "…I doubt that they shall be attending." How could he be so calm, staring down the face of death? "However, I fail to see why that should cause me hardship. Perhaps you should address your own issues of dependency." And where did those words come from?
"Wanker." This seemed to be Jonesy's final response, because he returned to shovelling his breakfast into his mouth.
"Whoa, Mal. That was awesome." Trip reached across the table and grabbed Malcolm's hand, shaking it vigorously.
"Um… I only hope I didn't provoke him." Malcolm looked over at Jonathan, wondering if he'd violated the counsellor's rules of avoidance.
"Are you kidding? That was great. He couldn't even get together a comeback," Trip enthused.
"If you have any trouble with him, you come straight to me." Jonathan seemed to have a better grasp of the possibilities than Trip.
"Yes, sir." Malcolm could see the disappointment in Trip's eyes at the answer, but he knew it would be the best course of action. If only because I don't want Jonesy killing you. He's bigger than you are…and he's a good fighter. Malcolm knew – had spent enough time learning how to hide bruises and ignore pain. And he knew that Trip cared so little for his own life at times that he'd gladly sacrifice it for somebody else. And I can't let you do that… especially not for me.
"Don't worry." Trip finally released him and sat back. "I've got enough family… you can share some." Trip obviously didn't even entertain the possibility that his family wouldn't come.
"Well, I hope they show… I mean this is your family after all." Apparently Rodruigez couldn't resist the opportunity for a dig, either.
"Absolutely. Which is why they'll be here." Trip shot back, loftily. "Unlike some of us… who can't remember their own brother's names… my family actually loves me." Rodruigez blinked and looked angry.
"Hey!" Jonathan reached across the table and snapped his fingers under Trip's nose. "I don't want to hear any of that, do you understand me?"
Trip pulled back, staring wide-eyed at Jonathan.
"Now, apologise. Right now."
"No." Trip mumbled it, but it came out clearly enough.
"Right now, Mister."
"No!" Trip shoved backwards, causing the entire bench to tip. There was a dicey moment when it looked like everybody on his side of the table would end up on the floor, then Trip scrambled away from the table. "I won't! 'Cause it's true!"
"Tucker…" Jonathan's voice was heavy with warning.
"No!" This time it came out as a scream, and everybody turned to watch. Trip turned and ran, and by the time Jonathan stood up to give chase was already out the door.
"What is his problem?" Jonathan stared after him, still standing.
"I told you. He's like that." Rodruigez didn't seem to recognise that he'd just caused damage. Or maybe he didn't care.
"You were mean to him first." Malcolm didn't even realise he'd spoken until everybody turned to look at him. "You must know that he's very close to his family… yet you implied that they wouldn't come." He turned to Jonathan. "Then you demanded that Trip apologise, but you didn't ask the same thing of Chester. He's very sensitive to double standards – I thought you knew that."
"And I knew it was too good to be true," Jonathan muttered. "That kid's got more spikes than a porcupine."
Suddenly Malcolm had enough, too. "Well, maybe he's right." He stood up, ignoring Jonathan's shocked look. "I don't believe I'll be able to finish my breakfast, sir. I'm not feeling well myself." With that, he turned to follow Trip.
He found Trip out at the log, curled up in his 'thinking position.' Trip appeared agitated, rocking back and forth despite the insecurity of his chosen seating. He looked up at Malcolm's approach, his eyes full of panic. "They are coming, right? I mean, they have to. They wouldn't just abandon me for the whole summer… would they?"
"I'm sure they wouldn't. Abandon you, I mean." Malcolm realised he'd better identify which question he was answering. "From what you've said, your family doesn't seem the type to do that… I'm sure they'll be here." He paused for a moment, then added, "I told Jonathan off. He could have been more even-handed about things."
"Really?" Trip stopped rocking for a moment. "Good. 'bout time somebody did that. And to think I started to believe the guy, too. Good ol' Jonny Fairplay and all his speeches… but he's just like everybody else. As soon as the cards are on the table, it's 'Blame Trip.'" He resumed his rocking, agitated again. "Sometimes… sometimes I worry that something will happen to them… and I'll never see them again. Until I met you… my family's pretty much all I got, Mal. And even then… sometimes….sometimes it's just Lizzie on my side. And she's too little for people to listen to. Hell, sometimes I don't even bother saying I didn't do it, even… even when I didn't do it because no one'll believe me. And it is true about Chester – he's got brothers and sisters he doesn't even know because his family didn't stay together." Trip wiped away a tear. "Maybe… maybe I should address my own issues of dependency."
"You're not dependent, Trip. You… you look after your brother and sister, so you care about them." Malcolm hoped it was a good answer, even if it wasn't the right one.
"If they don't come…" Trip looked at him, oddly. "What does it feel like, Mal? Being dead and all."
"Horrible." Malcolm lied. He couldn't remember any of it – the doctors assured him that was normal, but he didn't want Trip to know that. I don't want you thinking it's an option.
"You know, I've never really considered drowning. Maybe because I'm such a good swimmer and all, I've never thought it would work."
"Trip…"
Trip didn't seem to hear. "I mean… you gotta… you gotta make sure you do it right, 'cause you might not get a second chance."
"Do you think about it a lot?" Malcolm realised that his best chance might be to keep Trip talking. I can't take it to Jonathan now –, his credibility is gone. And I can't ignore it, either, because he clearly needs to talk.
"Enough. I'm twelve years old, Mal, and I've got this reputation I'll never be able to shake. Hell, breakfast proved that. I was tryin', Mal, I really was… and the second it goes where he doesn't want… bang! And what is the average lifespan now? One, one-ten? I'm twelve, I can't hold out that long. And no matter how hard I try…there's always gonna be guys like Chess around to hang on my feet while my head's in the noose. Didja know that in Japan suicide is considered a way to regain lost honour? That if you shame your family it's considered the right thing to do? I've sure done that…"
"Trip…"
"Imagine your least favourite person in the whole wide world." Okay, that was easy: Jonesy.
"Now… imagine that you gotta live with this person all the time, 24-7. You absolutely hate him, Mal… you can't stand being around him for a second. Now imagine that person is you."
Malcolm started to cry. He couldn't imagine it… no matter how bad things were… he could never imagine wanting to die. "But you're not that bad a person, Trip… you're a good person. Really."
"No I'm not." Trip was crying now too. "I'm not a good person. You heard Chess back there, talking about my family. People see me – they see my family… they expect Lizzie and James to be like me. I've screwed up their lives before they even have had a chance."
"But it'll be worse for them, if you die. Then… they might think it was their fault." He'd thought that himself, when his grandfather died… and that had been natural causes.
"I know… what do you think's stopped me so far? I never want to hurt them. But I keep looking down this forever that's in front of me… I don't know how much strength I've got left." Trip took a deep breath. "I… I shouldn't even be bothering you with this, Mal. It's not your problem… and you're no older than James is. That's how good a person I am… I mix little kids up in things that grownups won't even talk about."
"I don't mind, Trip. I'm not a normal kid, anyway. I… I read a lot of things that even grownups don't try to… and I know what it's like to be alone… which most people don't." He tensed his jaw, so his teeth wouldn't chatter and give away his fear. "So you can talk to me about it all you want. I'll listen… I won't ignore you."
Trip lowered his head to his knees. "I've thought about all sorts of different ways… hangin's tricky because you gotta get the drop just right… too much and you'll take your head right off… which would be a son-of-a-bitch for someone to clean up… too little and you slowly strangle… and someone might find you and stop you. It's not easy for a kid my age to get pills… at least not enough to be able to do myself in with. I could use a knife… but that's easy to get wrong too. I mean if you miss the veins but destroy the tendons… you can't use that hand to try on the other wrist… and the femoral's not that easy to find with all that muscle and all. I don't think I could jump off a high building… I'm too scared of heights. I think the easiest would be something like… carbon monoxide or something… but you don't find that much anymore these days. I've considered rigging something up for smoke inhalation… but it takes time and someone might stop me again. I suppose I could try dodging the cops and put myself in front of a mono-rail. But the stupid truth is that I just don't have the guts to do it in public. I'm pretty much down to electrocution, or something like that." He looked up, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Or maybe I could mix some chemicals… like chlorine and ammonia or something and breathe in that. It'll hurt… but sometimes I wonder if you're just being cheap if you pick something painless. I mean the whole point of capital punishment is punishment, right? It shouldn't be easy."
"I don't believe in capital punishment." Malcolm stated firmly. He'd never really thought about it before, actually, but if Trip thought it applied to him, then Malcolm was definitely against it.
"Neither do I, really, but sometimes… sometimes it really makes sense… like if a person is helplessly incorrigible…"
"But you're not, Trip. Like you said, you tried. It's not your fault that Chester is an idiot and Jonathan is a hypocrite. Just because they can't make the effort, doesn't mean that you're the bad guy. You saved me… I don't think Chester would do that… but you did." Which means that I owe you the same. No matter what it takes – you wouldn't let me die… so I can't let you die either.
# # # #
Ouch. Jonathan watched Malcolm walk away, feeling his own stomach beginning to tie in knots. Trip's outburst was somewhat expected and familiar… but the cold anger radiating from Malcolm was something else. That was not the same kid that walked into the camp afraid to question anything. This new Malcolm went straight for the deadly targets, shooting to kill. And he's right… isn't he, Jon? You give Trip a whole lecture about fairness… then jump on only him when the fight starts. He'd been trying to counter the image that he favoured Trip over the others… and now I've alienated the one person who had my back.
"Do you guys think he's right? Do you think I was too harsh?" Jonathan dropped back down to the bench, feeling defeated.
"No…" Rodriguez was drowned out by the others.
"It wasn't entirely fair… I mean, some of what Chester said was unfair." Kiprusoff laid his hands on the table, palms up. "I mean, Trip did overreact, but you might have told both of them…"
"But what Trip said was worse…" Arishamu argued. "He said that Chester's family didn't…"
"…and Chester implied the same thing about Trip's family… and he did it first." Like Kiprusoff, Lemaitre seemed to have taken Jonathan's lecture to heart. "You did say that it's everybody's responsibility.
And now for the class in advanced ethics… Jonathan listened to them, realising how much he had to learn. These may be kids… but they're smarter than most people give them credit for. "Well… what do you think I should do about it? Because, I'm lost here, guys."
"Why did you do it that way?" Kiprusoff asked.
Because I was tired of the fighting… because I was frustrated that we couldn't even get through breakfast with out it. Because my arm hurts like hell, and that makes me irritated. "Maybe because I saw things… I saw the words only, not what was beneath them. And with everything you guys said to me about treating Trip specially… I didn't want to add to that. Because you're right… fair is fair."
Sanchez shook his head.
Jonathan sighed. "What? 'Fair is a sunny day?' Or you think I wasn't being fair?"
Sanchez nodded.
Okay, but to which question?
"Well… you could try explaining it. It sometimes helps to know why someone does something. My parents never just say I can't do things… they tell me why it's not good. Then I know that they're being reasonable… not just stopping me from having fun." Kiprusoff finished his breakfast and laid his knife and fork neatly side by side across the plate. Of all of them, he had the most impeccable table manners, and was challenged only by Malcolm for supremacy on the neat bunk front.
And you're reasonable as hell, too. This kid's future probably lay somewhere in the arbitration or diplomatic fields. Or maybe he'll be a psychiatrist, God forbid.
Jonathan nodded, soberly. "I can only give it a shot. You know… I do appreciate your honesty, guys. I know I've hardly been the ideal counsellor… you've actually all been very patient." He did appreciate it, and realised that he couldn't take it for granted that they understood that. Communication, Jon… isn't that the major problem here? They had classes at the Academy devoted to the art of communication… and he'd been dreading them as a major potential bore, but suddenly he realised how much he had to learn. After all… dealing with aliens could be even trickier…you might want to avoid some of these pitfalls.
Most of them nodded in response, and a couple of them smiled.
"Right… now, your parents should be here soon… so you're going to want to get washed up… and get the food out of your teeth."
"You want us to scare them?" Lemaitre grinned suddenly, a near Tuckerish gleam in his eyes.
"If a neat child is scary… then yes. And since we've already established that I'm less than fair… no arguments on the point, 'kay?" The table cracked up, drawing stares again. Even Sanchez smiled slightly… a near miracle for him. Now if only I can get back the other two.
…………………
Surprisingly most of the parents had few concerns. They asked a couple of questions about the incident… most were simply relieved that their own children hadn't been involved on either side. Mrs. Rodriugez had been concerned about the fact that her son had to bunk with that 'unholy child,' but didn't seem inclined to make too much fuss. There were no Reeds in the pack, but that had been expected too. What wasn't…
I hope they're coming… Jonathan stared at Mr. and Mrs. Lemaitre's backs as they headed off in search of their child, feeling ice trickle down his spine. What would happen if they didn't? Would he…
"Jonathan Archer?" A woman's light voice distracted him, her accent sounding like that of an angel.
"Yes, that's me. Jonathan." He turned to see a late-arriving couple walking up the lane, a small blond boy hanging onto his father's hand. The boy stared around in calm wonder… but had none of the overload of energy that Jonathan associated with Trip. A tiny pink T-shirt dangled from the woman's hand – while the man appeared worried, her face was the picture of calm. "Are you Mr. and Mrs. Tucker?"
The man smiled wryly. "Is it that obvious? I apologise for being late, but we've had an incident…" as he spoke, he scanned the area, obviously looking for something.
The woman extended her hand. "Call me Fiona. And this is my husband Charlie, and our son, James. You've already met our eldest, Trip, and the 'incident' my husband refers to belongs inside this." She raised the T-shirt, her eyes sparkling.
"No longer a squirrel?" He couldn't help it… the image of a little girl in a tree came back unbidden.
"No… thank goodness. You heard, then."
Jonathan nodded. "Do you think we should…"
"Is it really that dangerous around here? Elizabeth has an uncanny ability to locate her brother." Her eyes lit on something in the distance. "Which, it would appear, that she's managed to do even now."
Jonathan turned to see Trip and Malcolm coming towards them, Trip carrying a small, shirtless, blond little girl. "I take it…"
"I believe I mentioned that you should grasp something a little more solid than her clothing, Charlie," Fiona said, with a hint of amusement.
Trip reached them and extended his hand. "If I may…"
Fiona handed him the T-shirt and Trip quickly re-dressed his sister. "Mom, Dad, this is Malcolm. I know you probably thought he didn't really exist… but he does. Malcolm, this is Mom and Dad."
"I'm pleased to meet you." Malcolm shook hands with both Trip's parents.
"Hey, Jamesy. You want to come with us? I bet you need to use the bathroom, right? Come on, I'll take you." Trip reached out his hand to James, who took it eagerly.
"Just a moment, young man." Trip's mother pulled a pad out of her purse. "One of your fellow campers met us earlier… he said he found this lying around. She turned it on, displaying images that Jonathan would have had trouble believing were it not for previous experience around engineers. 'Comic book' was an appropriate term, given the layout, but it was not a child's comic. "Would you care to explain this…"
"Well… Dream has been captured and is being held prisoner… which is having some seriously bad effects on the rest of the world… but that particular sequence is about a convention of serial killers…"
"Charles Tucker…" Charlie sounded both shocked and angry.
"Oh, grow up, Charlie." Suddenly Jonathan discovered where Trip learned his look of disdain. "Your son hasn't been reading Superman for several years now." Fiona turned back to Trip. "What discussion did we have about these?"
"You requested that I leave them at home for the summer." Trip recited in a flat voice.
"And…"
"And I said that I would do so."
Fiona switched the pad off, but didn't put it away. "So… can you explain to me how it came to be at this location, when you specifically said that you would not bring it?"
"I lied." Trip kept his blue eyes fixed on his mother's.
"And…"
"And I would best have no major plans on my return, because my future will be largely comprised of chores." Again, this came across as a litany – overly familiar.
"And…"
"And any time I spend time away from the house I will have to provide an exact itinerary of my whereabouts, for it is fairly obvious that my word cannot be trusted." Trip's face remained blank. "May we go, now?"
"Where are you intending to go?" Apparently Fiona wasn't going to wait until Trip got home.
"I am intending to take James to the bathroom… and then Malcolm and I were going to take Elizabeth and James and show them our Arts and Crafts project."
"Which is?"
"It's a surprise."
Fiona's eyes narrowed. "Try again, Mister."
Trip straightened up. "We're building a trey-bu-shay." He frowned. "Malcolm knows how to say it."
"A what?" Jonathan stared at them. A trebuchet? I don't think so. So that was what Trip had meant by a heavy calibre weapon. "Not on my time…"
"I don't think so." Fiona echoed Jonathan's thoughts. "I have enough trouble with your projects without you moving onto heavy weaponry."
"It's a scale model." Trip moved into defensive mode.
"Well, if it's a scale…" Jonathan let himself have a small sigh of relief. "By the way, Trip…"
"So, if I may, Mom…" Trip didn't even look in Jonathan's direction.
"Trip… your counsellor was speaking to you."
"He was?" Trip's voice became brittle again. "Really. Well, I don't really care to listen to anything he has to say… I prefer honesty in my conversations."
Didn't you just admit you lied to your mother? Jonathan pulled back a little… hurt.
"Trip…" Fiona's voice carried more warning than Jonathan's had at breakfast. "Don't be rude. Now apologise to him, right now."
"I have nothing to apologise for. And if that requires me to be Confined To My Room upon my return… well then I suppose I will have to accept that. So if you will excuse us…" This time Trip did leave, taking his brother and sister with him. Malcolm walked alongside them, talking with James.
"I'm sorry." Jonathan shook his head. "We've had a few communications problems. It really is my fault."
"Jonathan…" Fiona placed a hand on his shoulder. "I believe I know my own son. It could hardly be all your fault… Trip is very difficult to deal with sometimes. Frankly, I'm surprised that you've managed to go this long without calling us with a complaint. This past year has been particularly difficult…"
"It's a difficult age," Jonathan agreed. "On both sides. I know I was no picnic for my father, either. I can survive. He seems very close to his siblings."
Fiona nodded. "He is very devoted to them… it's one of the reasons we were grateful for this opportunity. He's been so much of an adult when it comes to them, we were hoping he'd be able to act like a child."
"Are he and this Malcolm boy really friends?" Charlie asked his first question of the visit.
"Yes. They've actually become quite good friends."
"Thank God." Charlie exhaled loudly. "We've been concerned about that, too. Trip doesn't have many friends… he had a few a couple of years ago, but they've grown apart. Trip doesn't bond well… not closely. Most people wouldn't believe he's shy… but he is. He actually didn't speak until he was two… not a single word, and then he had his speech problem."
"His stammer." Jonathan remembered the look on Trip's face as he'd fought to get the words out. "That must have been difficult for him."
Fiona sighed. "He was such a sweet child… a lot like James, actually. Much more naturally curious… then these past couple of years – this year especially – he's been moody."
"Adolescence, Fiona. I'm sure Jonathan remembers what it was like." Charlie proved that there were some things he did pay attention to. "In case you didn't see… our son has started to notice the existence of girls. This tends to come as a shock, discovering that you've been sharing the planet with a whole other species for all this time."
Jonathan laughed. "Yeah, I remember that. I figured that might be part of his problem… it might be an explanation for his headaches, too."
"Headaches?" Charlie was lost again.
"You mean the migraines?" Fiona asked. "Don't look so shocked, I've been aware of them for a while. But Trip is stubborn, and he won't admit that there's anything wrong. He didn't cooperate the last time I took him to the doctor… he lied about the whole thing. Had the doctor convinced that I was an overprotective mother. He's very charming when he wants to be."
It didn't seem like they were aware of the extent of Trip's depression. How do I tell them? Do I tell them? He might just lie about it to them… and to any doctor they take him to. All he has to do is convince them I'm over-reacting… and he could probably pull that off. Instead, he changed the subject. "Do you know what Trip wants to be when he grows up?"
"You mean if he grows up." Charlie shrugged. "Sometimes I think that boy is never going to mature. He's got a natural talent for Engineering, though… but I doubt he's inclined to listen to me."
"Maybe with the right mentor…" Jonathan rubbed his hands together nervously. "I'd like to get your permission… set up a meeting if I may."
"A meeting?" Fiona looked at him, oddly.
"With my father. Henry Archer? He's with the Warp Five program. I've spoken to him about Trip… and I'm sure he'd love to meet him."
"You're Henry Archer's son?" Charlie grinned. "Well, isn't that gonna be a kick in the teeth. I've heard about your father… Trip talks about him and Zephram Cochran like they were second only to God. Are you sure you want to do that to your father, though?"
Jonathan laughed again. "I'm sure Dad can handle him… he's used to engineers… I swear he can handle pretty much anything. But I'd like to make it a surprise, if I could."
"Why are you doing this?" Suspicion crept into Fiona's voice. "Why do you want to help Trip like this… most people wouldn't."
"Trip didn't tell you, then?" Jonathan scanned their faces, but they clearly had no clue. "He saved Malcolm's life… Malcolm nearly drowned and Trip saved him. He's a good kid… even more than that. I know a lot of people don't think so… he has a rough time with that. And the communication… it was my fault. I should have been clearer about my meaning… and I wasn't. It led to a misunderstanding… but I'm hoping to be able to fix that."
They seemed surprised... but not overly so. Charlie looked as though Trip's not mentioning his participation in an act of heroism was almost something to be expected.
"Let him calm down," Fiona advised. "He's got my temper… we clash quite a bit. He's easily offended… I think he gets that from his father…" Charlie's look of affront confirmed that statement, "but he won't listen when his temper gets going. Our family doctor explained it as an 'emotional hijacking.' That doesn't make it any easier to deal with… but some time with James and Elizabeth should help. Oh, and when you do talk to him? Sit him down in a room with no distractions, and make sure you look him in the eye. That way at least one word in ten might get through."
"Thank you. I'm sorry…" Jonathan stepped back. "Would you care for something to eat or drink? There's a buffet set up in the mess hall… I've been standing here with you and haven't bothered to offer." As they headed towards the mess hall, Jonathan found himself planning his apology to Trip. And I'm taking your mother's advice… I don't care if you consider it Siding With the Enemy.