The next day was luxurious -- bliss itself. The two did exactly what they wanted: slept late; talked about old times, the present (including their children), and the future; kissed deeply and soulfully; held hands; played footsie; and snuggled under the covers. Delivering tender love bites to her shoulders, he whispered how much he'd always adored the curve and point of her ear … and she teased him back.
"I've always known about your … infatuation with my ears," she said, curling into him as if he were a warm blanket.
The one thing that astounded them both was how easy it was to fall into a relationship – a romantic one. They'd been such good friends for so long that taking that bond one step further felt completely natural … as if it was always that way. In a way it was.
He showed a side of himself he hadn't bothered to unearth in years – a man who wanted to cradle a woman in his arms, hear her whisper to him small tokens of affection and recline lazily and sleepily … as if caught up in a day dream.
Musing about life, he ruminated on making her happy (strange that Vulcans eschewed those emotions) … actually that had been his goal for as long as he could remember being her friend, even when it was painful – even when it involved watching her marry Trip … even when it meant performing the union.
Something in him made him want to see the bride before the wedding– not the lame excuse he had actually used to see her – to see if she was ready. From the rehearsals and discussions, he knew she was.
As the door to her quarters slid back, it revealed T'Pol staring at her reflection in the mirror.
"You look nice," he said.
A peaked eyebrow answered him as she fastened the belt around her long flowing red robe, knotting it as he imagined traditional Japanese women did in the 19th or 20th century.
"Thank you," she responded.
Staring at herself, she put the finishing touches to her makeup until she noticed his gaze and stopped her primping.
"Captain, what brings you here?" T'Pol asked.
"The wedding's about to start … I just wanted to make sure you were ready."
Phlox, who was giving the bride away, intervened. "Yes, Captain, everything is prepared." The doctor picked up a wooden-square contraption that held hundreds of tiny cymbals and shook it gingerly, as if to prove his readiness.
"Malcolm didn't send you, did he? He has been concerned about these events all week," T'Pol said, suddenly growing wary.
Archer smiled. "No, not Lt. Reed." He straightened for a minute. "You're not nervous are you?"
A hand dodged over her hair with trepidation that any human could pick up on.
"Of course not," she whispered. "Vulcans do not become anxious."
The captain rewarded her with a lopsided grin.
Suddenly a harried tactical officer barged into T'Pol's quarters that now appeared cramped.
"Captain, I didn't see you in the cargo bay. Everything all right?" the Brit asked, near panic.
"Everything's fine Lieutenant, I just wanted to see if T'Pol was ready and … wish her good luck," Archer said.
As the captain was about to turn around, a hand carefully snaked around his and squeezed lightly. Stunned he met her gaze.
"I do not need luck. Though I think you might. Your pronunciation last night at the rehearsal was atrocious," she said, allowing her eyes to smile.
Archer wrapped his hand around hers and held it for a moment as he earnestly replied that his attempt at a Vulcan accent was better than Trip's, which T'Pol could only agree with – allowing her eyes to sparkle at the memory. Their hands fell apart and he sneaked one last look at her before she became T'Pol Tucker.
Malcolm looked down at his wrist with frustration. "It's a half-past!"
There was no doubt that Malcolm Reed took the duties of best man more seriously than anything other than the ship's armory. Phlox jingled his bells at the comment, obviously enjoying them too much, and T'Pol stood gracefully showing she was prepared.
"Is the officiator ready?" she asked.
Archer grabbed at his high collar, wanting to scratch his neck and nodded. Without further ado, he made his way down the hall, swinging his long black coat behind him, while Reed followed at his heel. Both men climbed through the crowd of people in the bay and up the piles of sand strewn across the room that had managed to get into everyone's shoes.
Plodding to the platform that all the guests faced, Malcolm took his place on the structure and Archer bent over to pick up a stick. Formality crept across his face as he heaved it against a gong made of discarded Engineering parts. A hushed silence fell over the room and his hand made the metal clang again -- calling both wedding parties to the stand.
Phlox strolled in, barefoot, shaking cymbals that tinned the ear and leading the Vulcan to the front of the room. Phlox gave an overextended beam, held up his hand in a Vulcan greeting and bowed deeply – serving his part as giving the bride away. T'Pol performed the same custom and watched him walk away, letting her eyes shine at her mentor and friend.
Struggling to keep calm, Trip entered the area and trudged through the sand, past the palm tree and onto the platform. When his foot touched the flat surface, he and T'Pol locked eyes and then looked up at Archer expectantly.
Nervously, Jon began the first part, hoping he didn't butcher the language too badly.
"T'Pol, nam-tor wak vah yut s'vesht na'fa'wak heh pla'rak. Nam pon, kun-ut kal'i'farr il kun-ut kal'i'fee?"
As requested, he then said the words in English, "There is a saying from Surak: Time is a path from the past to the future and back again. Apropos. This time, is it the place of a marriage union or a place of a marriage challenge?"
"Kali-farr," she responded. "A marriage union."
Phlox shook his bells as Trip smiled at his bride.
"Rom," Archer said. (Good.) He already knew that Vulcan word, even though it was off-script. And he fumbled through the rest of his lines, hoping he didn't embarrass T'Pol as he filled the role of pastor (from Trip's religion) and officiator (according to ancient Vulcan ways).
Trip stumbled his way through practiced Vulcan sayings, speaking them with heartfelt joy – a frozen smile planted on his face as if scared and excited. T'Pol was calm and serene as if the ceremony was only a logical event for feelings she'd already allowed to germinate.
Each said a few things for the other, oaths they would carry to the grave.
"I never expected someone like you to enter my life, beloved," she whispered and pushed a band onto his middle finger.
Trip spoke a few words of Vulcan that Hoshi obviously assisted with and then slipped a band onto her finger. True to the engineer, the words were sweet, funny and romantic – amusing and satisfying the throngs of people in the bay and touching the bride.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," Archer whispered.
A few "Awwws" rang out in the crowd as the two touched lips – something they'd never seen T'Pol do before, and something Archer wondered if Vulcans did before practicing for this ceremony.
"Ladies and gentlemen – Mr. and Mrs. Charles Tucker III," Archer announced.
Phlox shook the small contraptions of cymbals, as was the Vulcan custom, and walked in front of them through the sand while the humans clapped. Trip raised two fingers and led his wife out to the Mess Hall.
As the people filed out and to the reception, Archer's shoulders relaxed a little.
'One down, one to go,' he thought to himself.
Marching into the reception, he shook the hand of the groom and drew him into a small hug, clapping him on the back and wondered what the devil to do with the bride.
"Congratulations," he said, deciding to give her a light kiss on the cheek. When his lips left her face, his mind focused on a stiff drink as the two received the next guest.
Champagne had been popped – something Archer had been saving up for a while, but thought would be nice at all the weddings taking place, as well as wine, scotch and bourbon. He crossed over to the self-service bar and poured himself a short glass of scotch. Making his way to a table to sit alone, he stared into the crystal and contemplated life and change. Trip and T'Pol weren't the first couple to get married, but they were one of the first in a long line of couples asking the captain to wed them.
Usually, a captain's greatest duty was to perform weddings. It was ironic that a pleasant duty had become a cumbersome task. Rather than brood and mope in public, which he was prone to do, he decided to just sit quietly and force a small smile onto his face, in case anyone asked questions. Slumping only slightly in his chair, he let the couple enjoy the limelight. Reflecting on his friends, his eyes drifted back to his drink, quickly draining it as he thought about the future.
"You look like you're at a funeral," T'Pol said.
He didn't see her creep up, but was surprised at her comment – after all he had a smile on his face.
"What makes you say that?" he asked, forcing mirth into his voice.
"You're sitting alone," she answered.
"Nah," he responded. "Just pensive. I married two people I care a lot about." Running his fingers along the side of his glass, he twirled the tumbler in his hands and stared at it. Lifting the amber liquid to his lips, he let the alcohol slide down his throat and then shoved the rest down.
"Thank you for performing the ceremony." She paused watching his face become riddled with lines. "I was perhaps unfair earlier – your Vulcan accent has improved."
His smile turned more genuine. "I think your husband's has too."
"Yes," she said. Her fingers cradled a glass of champagne, almost as if wrapped around mug Vulcan tea. "I was … disappointed … you could not be my … what is the name of that position?"
"Maid of honor," he said. The very idea made him ticklish and he grinned more broadly. He teased, letting his mind wander on playing the typical human maid of honor, "I think it's just as well."
"Still, I would've liked you at my side."
'You have no idea,' he thought. Chef, who was now doubling as bartender, produced a new glass of scotch, which Archer was glad to welcome.
Nearly placing her lips to the alcohol she was unaccustomed to drinking, she said, "Here's to friends."
He countered her toast, "Here's to the bride."
As she was about to drink, he clinked her glass, hovered his own beverage near his mouth and shut his eyes. The warm liquid slid down his esophagus, traveling down to his stomach and rushed around his body in sweet silence. When his eyes opened, he saw her staring at him with curiosity.
"Are you certain nothing's troubling you?" she asked.
"We've been through a lot together. I never thought I'd feel this way about a Vulcan, but you're one of my dearest friends, T'Pol," he said. As she raised an eyebrow at his comment, he added, "Your happiness is important to me."
She remained quiet.
Looking into his empty glass he asked, "Are you happy?"
He saw her working through the question about an emotion, and then heard her deliver an honest answer.
"Yes," she replied with puzzlement.
Nodding at the statement he felt his heart grow dull and heavy.
Gazing into her eyes for a moment, he questioned whether she would ever really know how he felt. Now that she was married, he would keep it that way, especially since she was wed to his friend. In a funny way, Trip entering her life hadn't really changed the nature of their relationship. But, remarkably, he never really expected it to – he never questioned that she'd be there for him in every way she was always there for him.
Trip wandered over to his wife and wrapped his arm around her waist, cozying into her. The three talked about the ceremony, speaking in Vulcan and the ridiculous palm tree Trip had insisted on making, and then the Tuckers said their goodnights to everyone and left the party to enjoy their honeymoon.
When the two walked away, the party drew to an inevitable close and Archer silently made his way back to his room and pulled up a song he hadn't heard in years. Just looking at it on his database reminded him of drinking too much at the 602 Club more than a few times – like after Caroline and Erika left him – and playing a couple of sad songs on the old fashioned juke box.
Sucking down some scotch, he called up the music: Billie Holiday's haunting melody – Stormy Weather. Enjoying a good mope, he lay down on his bed and murmured the lyrics. If anyone deserved to sing the blues today, it was him.
"Tell me why, there's no sun up in the sky – Stormy Weather," he whispered as Porthos cowered his head and furrowed a doggie brow.
Remembering this, he nudged a few buttons on T'Pol's console and music filled her cabin: Billie Holiday. Playing languidly in the background, he enjoyed the simple melody and sang softly in her ear.
"The very thought of you," he sang musically and softly. "And I forget to do those little ordinary things."
She relished the husky voice he used for just her – it was low – both in timbre and volume, and told her she was cherished. That voice wasn't just used in the bedroom, she noticed he always used that voice with her – even on the Bridge. Only now it seemed more seductive, rather than commanding.
There was something so familiar and comfortable about being with him. As if sensing that thought, his nose nuzzled the nape of her neck.
"That everyone ought to do. I'm living in a kind of daydream," he continued to sing, quietly.
His fingers intertwined in her hair and she felt like that's where they belonged. When his lips met her temple, she wondered if they were fated to be placed there. And as his arm fell across her waist, she hypothesized that their bodies were a jigsaw puzzle – easily slipping together as she curled up onto her hip and he draped his leg around her.
Instead of continuing with the song, he sighed with the utmost satisfaction and reverence.
"Your voice is pleasant," she whispered.
"Years of choir practice and special lessons from Miss Barnes," he said with a grin.
"Another crush?" she asked.
He chuckled, "No …. No, I learned this song for Elizabeth Light. Older woman – she was smart and classy, which is why she liked jazz."
T'Pol peaked an eyebrow.
"I must like older, smart, classy women who like jazz."
"Indeed," she said with a bit of amusement touching her voice. "What happened to her?"
"Robert Mendez," he said, insinuating that she left him for another guy.
T'Pol tried to imagine him as a younger man dating – he was probably passionate and serious even then.
Thinking of his past inevitably led her to ponder the differences between Trip and Jonathan. When Trip would talk about himself, it seemed he was shy with women in general. Her late husband would admit he lacked confidence, which spawned few dates. She never understood the remark – he exuded confidence with women and had more than a few females at his beck and call during her first two years on the Enterprise. Before dating her, he had certainly sought their attention.
On the other end of the spectrum was Jonathan. She'd witnessed him with few women; the captain was possibly smitten with only a couple of females they'd encountered, but nothing untoward seemed to come of either relationship. The man appeared chaste. In fact, the first real romance she'd seen him entangled in was with Esilia … nearly seven years after leaving space dock. And, when she'd seen them together, he seemed loving and affectionate, but timidly so. Esilia would look to touch lips with her husband, and he would glance one way and then the other – meeting her lips with mild trepidation and embarrassment.
T'Pol reflected on her late husband. After they were married and up until his death, he would nab her lips, gently inserting his tongue and even pat her behind in public. It didn't matter who was around and what the circumstances were – he always treated her the same. Rather than continue a life of shunning that behavior, she accepted it. After all, it's what made Trip … Trip: boyishly sweet and eager to show affection and care.
Archer had almost two distinct personalities – one that everyone was able to see and another that very few people ever witnessed. Even when he was her friend, she knew him to be intensely private. It was blatantly obvious after becoming intimate with him. Although serious, he'd given her plenty of kisses and showed her the utmost tenderness. Except for two risky kisses in the hall, she doubted she'd get much more in public from him.
As she mused, Jonathan's fingers intertwined with hers and he snuggled into her again. His foot lightly stroked hers as his voice kept its sultry timbre and his eyes remained merry.
"I don't suppose you sing?" he kidded.
"No," she said. "At least, not well."
He chuckled soft and low.
When the song finished, she decided to logically grab a robe and prepare for the day. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his – assuring him he was important to her. Although Trip never needed such platitudes, she sensed Jonathan did. By the gleam in his eye, she could tell she'd made the right decision.
"I'm going to take a shower," she whispered.
Giving a dawdled nod, he leaned back in bed and played the song again thinking about T'Pol and making love to her. Although he'd seen her display emotions, it was on rare occasions. But in his bed, she'd panted and moaned just as sensually as any human woman he'd ever been with – maybe more so – and knowing she kept these emotions bottled up made him realize what she had allowed him to see was special. Her soft mews and whimpers were only for him … and God help him if he hadn't desperately longed for them.
During their first night together, it was less romantic and more frantic. She cried out quietly to him, but not as if she belonged to him. Last night and even this morning, every word she uttered made him assume she was his. And that thought seemed to plant a permanent smile in the man's heart.
He'd been in love with her for so long -- admiring her spirit, intelligence, friendship, serenity and appearance – he never thought about what it would feel like to hear her whisper his name in the heat of the moment or nearly beg for an impassioned embrace. She'd always seemed reserved when it came to expressing affection – Trip would pester her for some, which she delivered with a hint of apprehension. He could appreciate her need for discretion.
Archer wondered about his late wife. The woman loved affection, feeding off of it and letting it ruminate. She was just as expressive as Trip was with T'Pol; in fact, Esilia and Trip seemed to have a lot in common – probably why they got along so well.
'Then again, Trip seemed to get along well with everyone,' he thought, smiling about his dead friend.
Trip.
They'd had a lot to drink that night – much more than usual. The poker game in Malcolm's quarters, scheduled on the night of Lizzie's death, had lasted longer than expected. Reed had been concerned about the ten-year anniversary of Trip's sister's death and had wanted to make sure the engineer had plenty of friends around him to help him through the night.
For the occasion, Archer'd dusted off a bottle of bourbon he kept in the very back of his closet – the one he thought he'd drink from when they finally made it back into their own time, stopped the Xindi weapon and returned triumphantly home. He'd decided maybe this was a good excuse to open it.
After the card game, and Travis's success and riches, Archer poured a glass for Trip, Malcolm, Travis and himself.
"To Lizzie," he whispered.
"I'll drink to that," Trip called back.
After the bottle was depleted, Travis had wandered home – drunk, and Reed located another cheaper and less tasty bottle, the three men began to reveal much more than they'd intended. During the course of the evening, Malcolm had confessed he'd never wanted to be a bachelor and got drunk the night the last crew women got married – even though he was really never attracted to Crewman Phyllis Moore. Though it was eight years ago, the tactical officer recounted the information just as painfully as if it were yesterday while Archer and Trip had listened.
Bringing the conversation to a close, Trip slurred, "It's too bad. I always wanted to see you with kids."
Malcolm nodded. The Reed family line had apparently come to an unceremonious end.
"Well, you certainly made out well," Malcolm said, trying to pick up the conversation. He shot the engineer an evil grin.
Trip smiled. "Sure did."
Archer laughed and sent a playful punch to his buddy's arm, possibly delivered with a little more force than required thanks to the alcohol.
"Jon," Tucker said, growing a little more serious.
Archer, thinking the man was joking around, beamed back. "What?"
"You never loved her, did you?" he asked, his blue eyes leveling on his friend.
"Who?" he asked, furrowing his brow slightly, while keeping an inebriated smile on his face.
"T'Pol."
"I think you've had too much to drink," Archer jested.
"I don't think so. I don't mean now. There was a time …. For a while, I thought I'd really hurt you. You stopped talking to me after T'Pol and I started dating … Hell, you weren't even there for the engagement party. Everyone was there for the party."
"Trip …."
"I'm serious, Jon …. I'm not jealous or anything – well … not now anyway. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
Trip had always been a nice guy. It was apparent when T'Pol and he first started dating – he was in love with her. Entering in a relationship with her had never been about showing up the captain (although the two had a friendly competitiveness). His marriage, Lorian – it'd been because he loved her. And Archer would never be able to fault him for that. Sweeter still – the discussion Trip initiated was because he cared about him as a friend. It was just like the guy to dig deep into his soul and spill out emotions so easily and with such innocence.
It made sense to deny it, especially since Trip was so earnest. "No …."
"Yes," Trip insisted. "Just accept my apology will ya?"
"There's nothing to apologize about," Jon said, taking another drink.
"We're good?" he asked.
"Trip, we've always been good," he said.
"Not always," he reminded Jon.
Archer shook his head. "Always. Look, T'Pol is a beautiful woman … smart. Hell of a first officer, but she's always been my first officer. I couldn't fall in love with her, even if I wanted to. Besides, you've made her very happy."
Trip grinned. "Nothing in the rule books against loving first officers, but … I guess you're telling me to drop it."
Archer rolled his eyes, but continued to keep his thoughts stoically to himself.
"Just think, if something ever happens to me, you might get a second shot," Trip teased.
Archer guffawed, "Esilia may not like that." Then he gave Trip a wink.
"Well, I'm just saying I wouldn't care," he pontificated. "Hell, I'd be dead!"
Malcolm joined in the laughter as Archer shook his head again and chuckled at his friend's insistence, trying to keep the conversation light – which was Tucker's intent.
"Anyhow, Esilia is one damned fine woman. Friendly, gorgeous …," Trip said, a smile spreading over his face.
A little dreamily, Jon agreed. "Yeah, she is."
"I'm glad you met her. Hold on, maybe that should be – I'm glad I convinced you to marry her. I sure do like her – tall, affectionate …."
Furrowing his brows, he somewhat jokingly said, "Stop, or I'll start to get jealous."
Trip wrapped his arm around his shoulder and goofed, "I have a habit of doing that to you."
"I always assumed it was the other way around," Archer said, grinning.
Malcolm poured another round, the three listened to Trip's incoherent ramblings about his crazy uncle Bud and then Archer stumbled home to an irritated and pregnant wife. After he put some effort into working off his clothes, clumsily fell into bed and wrapped his arms around her, her irritation slipped away.
"I'm glad you had a nice time with the boys," she whispered.
Hearing the shower start seemed to snap him to his senses. It was ironic how right Trip was – he did get a second shot. He'd been right really about everything – the jealousy, his feelings … Trip had a way of being right.
With a lopsided smile, he thought about Trip … and the Tuckers, including Lorian, and made his way into the bathroom. Wandering into the shower, he was pleased at T'Pol's reception. Grinning, he held her in his arms and felt the song play over his mind.
The very thought of you ….