Goodnight Enterprise
Summary: Archer and T'Pol head one of several separate stories about how some of the crew got on with their lives after the final landing back on Earth of the Enterprise NX-01.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own a single soul, idea or general muse that already belonged to the series. Not one of them makes me any money, that I know of…
AN: All I really have to state here is that I live in Scotland, and so have seen none of Season Three. In light of trying to keep it all a lovely surprise for myself when it comes on the telly over here (and failing miserably to do so) what happens in the Expanse is anyone's guess for me and whoever doesn't have Cable, and we have six months to go (September) until we find out. I have no resentment over that fact... So in consequence if some people or events are a little or even horribly out of character or synch from during that time in this story now, well, you know why.
One last note here: If there are any genuine fans glancing over this story at this very moment I suggest you go to www.saveenterprise.com, write down a few addresses from the sight, then pour your hearts out in a letter and pledge to save this show for at least another season. If the original could be saved by the fans this way, then why not 'Enterprise'?
Really, last note: I've also decided to dedicate this to the memory of Kellie Waymire, who played the lovable Ensign Elizabeth Cutler, and who died in November last year. You were most definitely to me the best minor character on that show.
Telaka
. . . . . . .
There is a lot I remember of that night, the night our crew of eighty-three strong returned back to the planet they had left behind for a mission into the void of the Expanse, and then five years of further space exploration after that.
I remember the cheering - full hearted, pride smeared cheering - and an array of paper colours, of glitter and glue and the smell of finely cooked gourmet food, stirred in with much preferred grease-clad takeaways.
When our feet touched on the solid, formidable concrete floor of Starfleet once again I remembered our greeting as being a sea of bright, painfully wide smiles, of eyes smudged with tears and cheeks flushed with a release of taut apprehension that had always worried for our safe return home. Hands grasped at the air, reaching out to touch us even though their fingertips would never make it, unless you were family.
And all around us family gathered. They came with their love, and feelings of loss once again diminished when they wrapped their frighteningly tight embraces around those they thought they would never see again. Words flew out from their excited mouths faster than their dry pink lips could speak them, and speeches that had been prepared for months fell prey to a chocked throat and further warm, precious holds. Faces were lost in chests and the smiles grew painfully wider still.
We were honoured that night, like we never would have dreamed to be. Children with their crisp white dresses and finely tailored suits, ribboned with ivory lace in their fine blonde hair, or strung up at the neck with handsome silk bow ties, teetered towards us, both shy and in wide-eyed awe. They passed us flowers and certificates, and the little boys shook our hands with gap-toothed smiles, and the little girls blushed feverishly when they took a kiss on the cheek. The red carpet was drawn by their eager little hands and we were shown what areas of Starfleet those in charge had decided to name after us.
I remember behind the gold barriers were barriers of speechless or high-pitched admirers. They were our runways as we sauntered through the halls and rooms of Starfleet, with every hall and room hauling back both bitter and sweet memories of the past to us.
They dedicated an entire room to the Captain. It was a small room, and one that had not stood when we had last stood here. It was a room simply to look at, it had no function or base of operation to call its own. Instead the room stood as a symbol. Inside, in the middle of its azure laid carpet and cream dashed walls, was the Enterprise NX-01 scaled down and immobilised in a rich bronze, set sturdy to stand for generation to come. Across its fine oak base was a plaque of the purest gold, engraved in flowing silver with the simple statement:
"Jonathan Archer - Who boldly took us where we had never dream of going before."
It brought tears to his experienced eyes. I don't imagine I had ever seen him shed salty tribute before. I had seen him shed the same salty spills from his dark eyes in grief on a number of accounts, and I had seen him spill the grief over me before, although I never saw myself worthy of those delicate drops of watery silver.
The small room of commemoration led to several others. Each was the same, with no functional purpose, instead only to display and inspire the generations of Starfleet recruits to come. Commander Tucker, Trip's beloved Warp Six engine as he himself had upgraded it to, stood immortalised in the same solid bronze as the Captain's ship. He didn't cry, he only shied and grinned uncontrollably, his sweet Southern twang long for now in his tight throat.
There were Lieutenant Reed's phase canons as well, and as he posed in front of them with his chest swelled and arms firmly crossed his eyes remained trained on his Captain's, never ceasing in saying thank you.
The four or five small rooms they had built and structured for us carried on in a museum of bronze. Everyone had their say, had their small moment in front of the cameras and the fans, except myself.
I stayed stubbornly in the back. I allowed my fellow crewmembers to absorb the attention and glory and concentrate it far away from me. I was not for celebrating and I was content to go unnoticed and unmentioned in the shadows of their wake. I didn't receive any mention as the Captain and Malcolm and Trip had. I assured myself that it did not matter, but the act of being left out, I remembered, left something strangely akin to hurt inside of me.
After spending seven years with my Captain though, I should have sussed easily enough out that this would not to remain the case.
As they continued to admire a room of plaques, and that was all it was, a room laden solely with plaques of the names and titles of the eight-three past and present that had loyally serves the Captain and the ship, he slipped carefully away from the side of an overwhelmed Hoshi and took up mines instead.
We had both come to the same sorrowful conclusion that night, as we often had in the past with other events and personas. Our eyes had discovered the same crude observation and as I claimed to feel nothing over it, he felt pity and anger.
Not a single member of my kind stood in amongst the humans' swelling masses. Not a sole Vulcan was present to see this triumphant return, to shake my hand and look me in the eye to commemorate a 'job well done'. I had family, but none of them had accumulated in the crowds either, and none of them would have dared left Vulcan just to greet the black sheep of their name back into their midst. It is what I remember most about that night.
I did not show my disappointment, and I didn't register it in myself that that was what I was feeling. Yet somehow the Captain could see that this was how it was inside me, and for the remainder of this tidal wave of love and affection he remained stubbornly at my side. He also wanted to show me something, and it was in the room of plaques, a room blinding to the eye if you stood at the wrong angle from the slim line white lights above.
The rest of the crowd had moved on. They had shifted into a room dedicated to the new life forms and scientific discovers that we had fallen upon in our treks. This room was considerably larger than the others of before. However, we remained in the plaque room, and no one noticed. Trip had begun to speak, and his every golden word they clung onto with gripping fascination and refused to let go. The Captain smiled and shook his head as he watched for a momentary second before he got back to his business with me.
I was frowning. I often did when he acted in this way of his. He would smile, and there would be something dangerous in his eyes, a look that one would hold if they were in on a said surprise party. He had thrown me one of these once. And although I would never on my life admit it, I had enjoyed it. How Trip had seized the date of my birthday I still was to find out, and I had sworn unto myself that I would one day.
Now though I highly doubted that the same bridge crew and doctor were hidden in the mess hall, with a human cake and Vulcan delicacies laid out by the plate load. And I was right. The room remained deserted as the Captain guided me to the other side of where we currently stood.
He didn't have to say anything. He knew he didn't have to say anything as my own plain brown eyes guided me to the golden plaque with its beautiful silvery writing and commemoration that was dedicated solely to me. I read:
"T'Pol. The only Sub Commander I could ever imagine having on my ship, and a friend I hardly deserve most of the time. Jonathan."
I said nothing, and he said nothing. He smiled in that same tearful way he had when reading his own commemoration, only he didn't shed the tears this time, I did.
. . . . . . .
Things had calmed down somewhat considerably after the tour of the commemorations to the NX-01's fine crew. Calmed down in the sense that the unrelated fans had gone home and only beloved families and dear friends remained. Now was the time for the party. Crew and their kin and acquainted ones alike gathered in a colossal affair of a hall brimming with balloons and streamers and sugar and music, swirled dizzily together with vivid colours and dancing lights. It gave out headaches in the best possible sense, was a captor of the partygoer and lassoed even the coyest in nature to the dance floor. After two hours in not a pair of feet dared to sit anymore. Instead the dance floor took a heavy beating from the ecstasy of the reunion. People made joyous fools of themselves and no one cared. Their antics of ungraceful salsa and moves far beyond their years were laughed at and applauded full-heartily. It was a moment in life that every person who was lucky enough to experience and appreciate it never wished for it to end.
Yet still one silent, lonely soul managed to let it all pass over her hung head, and sit willingly in a dark corners without ever allowing herself to witness the fun and envy every single body involved in it. She dutifully reminded herself that envy was one of the most pointless emotions she had ever experienced.
In her solitaire corner a grey shadow dropped overhead. She failed to notice its warm presence at first, and her quiet eyes were only commanded to rise to it when the source of the grey shadow emitted a small dry cough and a single strained sentence.
"Having fun then Sub Commander?"
Although Archer smiled he visibly pained to see her draw back from what should have been one of the most treasured days of her life, of all their lives.
"The mission is over Sir, you do not have to call me Sub Commander anymore."
Beside her was an abandoned chair, coated with crumbs of fruitcake and cucumber sandwiches. He wiped it clean and took it.
"Well then, in the same respect you don't have to call me Sir or Captain anymore." He laughed quietly. "We couldn't have been any more than one step back on this planet and already Trip was calling my Jon again."
T'Pol did not see the point in joining in his amusement.
"So, where you going after this?"
Her eyes fell to the banner-clad floor again. "I haven't thought of that yet."
A twang of guilt struck hard in his stomach. "What about the Compound?"
"They no longer recognise me as a member there anymore."
He wondered why he spoke sometimes.
Three hours ago was slowly returning back to him. They had stood in that beautiful plaque room together, silent and motionless for the better part of fifteen long, crisp minutes. Three cold, foreign tears had traced down her olive cheeks in that time, and he had only noticed the last one. His thumb had dutifully wiped it away, and five minutes later Trip had joined them for a brief second to heed them of the party.
In human terms now T'Pol was thoroughly miserable. If a Vulcan were to class her mood they would take one gracefully long stride back, and calmly pronounced her suicidal. But T'Pol was not suicidal. That bleak feeling of hurt lingered annoyingly in her stomach again and she realised grudgingly that she was lonely and had been abandoned, firstly by her people, and then by her family.
"Well Porthos and myself are heading back up to where we call home."
Her distanced mind caught on to the tail end of the remark as it jerked back roughly to the present booming second. The Captain was offering her a wayward smile.
"You're more than welcome to join us."
The concept did not register at first. She nodded but Archer was fully aware that it was an aimless nod. Her eyes were still blank, she was still thinking furiously. As she contracted a conclusion his last statement finally raced towards her and loudly demanded her attention. She gave it that.
"I can't intrude."
He beamed. He was on his way to taking a 'yes' from her.
"T'Pol, you don't know how to intrude. You still apologise for 'intruding' in the mess hall if you find me there at night. And taking up an invitation is not an intrusion, not in humans' books anyway."
The 'yes' teetered dangerously on her pale lips. He leant forward slightly, his mid-arm resting on his thigh.
"And I think Porthos is beginning to like you."
He had clinched it. Not because he had used his dog to tempt her, but because she had come to the logical conclusion that she had nowhere else to go, and so had no right to deny herself such a convenient offer. The idea of a hotel, or even seeking a room in Starfleet never seemed to dare cross her mind. Finally she nodded very slightly. He sat back and nodded with her.
"Give me a couple more hours fraternising and then it'll back to my place." He then paused, frowned and smiled. "Sounds like how all my dates use to end."
Something akin to horror fleeted very briefly past her subdued eyes and he laughed again, only with more empathy this time round.
"I have two bedrooms T'Pol, and I'll be the perfect gentleman, I promise."
Of course she trusted every word he had ever uttered to her, after her first few tense weeks on Enterprise were over. She rarely agreed with them on first hearing, but she knew that every suggestion and decision he had ever declared had always been laced with his best intent. She nodded again very slightly.
"Thank you, Sir."
There was a second of devoted silence between the two. Archer smiled with the hint of bittersweet sadness sat neatly on the corners of his lips.
"Jonathan, T'Pol. My name's Jonathan."
. . . . . . .
The party ran away with the night and its success ran into the early morning. For such a magnificent venture into space to finally end it was there for the most part to soften the blow of its finale, but only succeeded in this task very slightly.
From in the middle of the riveting dance floor, and in amongst the epicentre of reunion and chat stood two very proud men, only now just realising what this gathering triumphantly and solemnly flag posted.
"Did y' notice there weren't any Vulcans hangin' 'bout?"
Malcolm's lost gaze, which had tumbled into his lemonade, came to attention once again with Trip's curious observation. Trip's own keen gaze had followed Jonathan and T'Pol out as they made their quiet exit from the back door of the echoing hall.
Malcolm answered without so much a stumble out of his fixed trance. "I did actually, and quite frankly I'm not surprised."
He caught onto the direction of Trip's stare and watched T'Pol's heal disappear in the next brief second to follow.
"You'd think this was their prom night and they'd just discovered the joys of the abandoned bike shed."
Trip turned on Malcolm, his eyes a pallet painted with shock and hilarity at the obscure picture the Lieutenant offered. "Well good luck to 'em both when Principle Forrest discovers them."
A small laugh escaped Malcolm, but it was far from cast in his usual proud spirit and lacked any genuine volume of amusement. It forced Trip's gaze to work a double take on his friend's pale, set face.
"Somethin' eatin' at you Lieutenant?"
Malcolm sighed as way of a fruitless answer before making his way with Trip at his side back to the watering hole of the hall.
"I thought we were back on first-name terms Commander."
The punch table became their refuge as they stood casually on its corners, casting curious glances over at the two or three hundred odd that had come to gather at the feast of racket and cake. Trip watched his parents who had happened upon Phlox and who looked both bemused and fascinated by the kindly Denobulan who in turn was both bemused and fascinated by the set-up around him. The return of their only remaining offspring had been a painfully bittersweet affair for all three, but gradually became more of the sweet than the bitter as the hours sauntered by.
"They must be awfully proud of you Trip."
Turning he saw Malcolm's gaze was trained as his own was on the devoted couple with the doctor.
"Yeah, yeah they are. Just as much as Lizzie was."
They shared a solemn synchronised sigh. It was during this sigh that Trip latched guiltily onto the prompt of Malcolm's dry mood. Far be it for the Lieutenant to ever make a fuss over his own issues however, and even further be would most people take enough time to heed his issues. But Trip had always made the effort with Malcolm, due to the unlikely but highly treasured friend he had become to him.
"Folk's couldn't make it round then?"
An abrupt cynical laugh left Malcolm's throat in a headshake and a loose shrug. "They probably didn't even know the Enterprise was landing today. Although I thought maybe my sister would have made it." He briefly checked his watch. "Obviously not."
The Southerner wasn't entirely sure at all if it was appropriate to share in the short laugh. Instead he opted to down the remained of his bourbon quietly.
"Where y' headed to after this then?"
The Englishman emitted another shrug. "My little apartment up North maybe. Or even back to England. Cornwall can be nice this time of year, the bits away from the water anyway." He laughed, and Trip was lost on the geography. "I should probably drop by and see my parents though, let them know that we're all trampling along the same planet again."
Trip smiled and only because Malcolm found some level of dry humour in the thought that announced itself on the corners of his curling lips and bright wistful eyes.
"Up North. That's an awfully long way to go."
"Well I tagged along for seven years on the Enterprise and came through that alright I think."
Trip found he couldn't argue, not fairly and not with the admitted truth that on countless occasions the Lieutenant had faired far better than himself during the utmost stressful and difficult of times, and had even claimed a more level head than the Captain on a few accounts and T'Pol once. He had a certain unspoken amount of admiration for Malcolm for this, but had never been able to voice the appraisals to him. Often his stubborn Southern pride blocked it. Malcolm was perfectly well enlightened about this anyway.
"Come back to ma place for the night."
Malcolm hadn't really wagered that one.
"It's one o'clock in the mornin' an' if you go North then you have at least five hours of road on your hands. Ma place is an hour, tops."
Of course, as was often the case with Trip, there was more to it than what he offered on his first proposal. A quiet coyness had settled in his eyes, a secrete blush only just missing his cheeks. Malcolm was carrying out his best to suppress the teasing smile that fought to break his calm face. It disappeared with Trip's next explanation.
"Ah'm gonna visit Lizzie's grave tomorrow. They put up a memorial for her in the cemetery a mile down the road from where ma flat is. It's a coffin filled with her stuff, her work an' some of those stupid stuffed pigs she'd been colletin' since she was a kid, an' some photos, all that sorta junk."
He smiled fondly. "Well, not junk, really, just… silly stuff. Ah sent some of the photos of me an' the crew down for them too put in with it all."
In Malcolm's silence Trip coughed suddenly, the blush finally emerging across his neck as he realised how he had sidetracked slightly.
"Yes I'll come Trip."
He coughed once again and nodded briskly. "Thanks."
. . . . . . .
More later…