Disclaimer: I do not own Enterprise or its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's notes: Thank you for the reviews, everybody. And thank you, especially and as always to my beta-readers. Especially since this chapter seriously changed from what it was going to be, and they caught all the stuff I forgot to edit. I hope. I'm pretty sure they did.
Chapter 2: Greetings
I'm up in my room, getting ready to go out, when the doorbell rings. I peek out my front window, and see Mother on the front step. The tall blond person with her must be Lorien. Well, I wasn't planning to stick around. It's just a question, now, of when I'll be coming back. I put some finishing touches on my room, then get going.
As I head down the stairs, I hear Jon opening the door and bringing the guests inside. I head straight for the kitchen and the back door, to make my getaway before I have to be polite.
"Hold it right there, young lady." Daddy's waiting for me in the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest.
I stop and adopt the same pose. He can't make me talk to them.
"Just where do you think you're going?"
Jon takes that opportunity to bring them into the kitchen. Both Lorien and Mother look disapproving when they see me. I guess there's some things even Vulcans aren't used to.
"To the beach." The only problem with trying to mimic Daddy is that I can't hold the pose and talk at the same time.
"Not like that you aren't. You go right upstairs and put some clothes on before you even think of leaving the house." Which is stupid, because I am wearing clothes, even if it's a cut-off t-shirt and cut-off jeans. But I am going to the beach.
With his hands Daddy says even more. "And don't tell me that was your only reason for trying to head out the back door. Now, your Mother and Lorien are here…"
"Yeah, I can see that." I refuse to look at them. My summer is ruined, entirely.
"Ivy…" Daddy warns. "You will…"
I turn and storm out to the garage where I do my sculpture and frame-building work. I hear Daddy hurriedly apologising before he comes after me. By the time he gets out here, I have my ear-protectors on, and the welding torch lit, so I can pretend not to notice him.
"Ivy," He knows better though. "Ivy." He's starting to speak through clenched teeth. He reaches around and turns off the welding torch, then snatches my mask and ear protectors off of my head. "Now you know better than to handle this stuff dressed like that, so we're not even going to discuss it."
I turn to face him, but say nothing.
"Now you turn around, and you go back in there, and you apologise, you understand?"
"I've got nothing to apologise for."
Daddy's face hardens. He's really mad. "Ivy, what did we talk about?"
"I don't care."
Daddy gives me that look that says he's past the point of rational. Then he holds up my car keys so I can see them. I watch, horrified, as he clamps one end into a vice and simply twists the other end until the key snaps. Then he holds up the ruined end in his hand, so I can get a good look at what he's done. "I don't think you're responsible enough to have a car."
"You bastard." I don't say anything more, just hit him with both hands on the chest. Before I can hit him again, Jon grabs my elbows.
"I think we've had this discussion, Ivy. Now I might not entirely agree with what your dad just did, but he does have a point. What you just did was excessively rude, and entirely unnecessary."
"Ivy," Daddy stops vocalising – he knows how well Vulcans can hear, and he obviously wants this to be a private discussion. Probably to be 'polite.' "I'd like to think that we've raised you better than that."
"Guess not." It's a bad response, but I don't care. After all, I'm talking to the person who ruined my plans for the entire summer. Just because he has this desire to spend time with people I barely know, doesn't mean I should have to spend time with the same people. Because I know if I try to go anywhere, I'm going to be told to take Lorien with me, which means that none of my friends are going to want to stick around – because a Vulcan brother can simply destroy a party – and worse, I won't be able to really spend some quality time with Kyle, because Lorien would probably rat us out, and then both of us could kiss our butts goodbye.
"Ivy." Jon drops a friendly arm around my shoulders, which only means one thing. I am in big, big trouble. "I realise that this may be difficult for you to comprehend, but despite what this past eight years may have led you to believe, you are not, and never have been an only child. You have a brother. I'd like you to stop treating him as such."
"What?" Usually Jon's capable of making sense.
"I'm saying knock off the sibling rivalry at least until you get to know your sibling. You want to be more human? Fine. Human culture places a premium on family." Jon tightens his grip, and shakes me a bit.
"On their heads, maybe." This whole family is starting to get to me.
Jon grins. It's getting worse. "Ivy, I like to think that despite the generational gap, this family communicates very well. However, let me phrase it as I would to a very good friend of your father's: you will go in, you will apologise, you will be polite. And I hope your room is comfortable, because when these two weeks are up, you will be spending a lot of time there. I am delaying your grounding because Lorien has never been to San Francisco, and I think it would be very nice if you were to show him around."
"And not to any of your usual haunts, either." Daddy warns. "I want him in one piece."
I roll my eyes. It's not like I go anywhere really strange… as far as San Francisco is concerned, anyway.
"So we're agreed then. Ivy starts acting like a human being – difficult as it may be at her age. And we pretend to be a normal, level-headed family." Jon smacks me lightly on the side of the head.
"Even Mother's not dense enough to buy that one." Only Kyle's family qualifies as less normal and level-headed than ours. "Besides, I agreed to nothing."
"Yes, you did. Otherwise…" Jon leans in close and mutters three words in my ear.
"Fine. I'll apologise." I won't be happy about it though.
"Good." He reaches over and uses two fingers to force up the edges of my mouth. "Now let's smile, and be friendly."
I smile, but it's not friendly. Jon doesn't seem to care, but Daddy's staring at him rather intently. He wants to know what Jon told me – and when Daddy really wants something, Jon can be manipulated almost as easily as Daddy can. I am so dead.
We head back into the kitchen where Mother and Lorien are still waiting. Mother is wearing a blank expression, while Lorien just looks confused. When he sees me, he looks worried.
"Are you unwell, sister?"
Unwell? "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why is your hair that colour?"
Even though they're standing behind me, I know that Daddy and Jon are sharing twin looks of amusement. Mother simply raises her eyebrow and I know she doesn't think I'm sick – at least physically – but is wondering about the second query.
"You got a problem with my hair?" I just had it done, and I don't really care if he likes it or not.
"Charles…" There's only one reason for Mother to be that formal with Daddy, and it's because she wants a straight answer, and knows there's only one way to get it.
"Well… um… you remember Malcolm, right?" Daddy edges towards the door again. Now he wants to escape.
"I recall that he had rather normal looking hair." Mother narrows her eyes, still not taking her gaze from my head.
"Well… you, um… know he married Nic, right? Nic Hess, my department second? Nic?" His fingers twitch as he tries to dance around the question. It doesn't come as a surprise to me that Auntie Nic and Mother were hardly close friends. For one thing, Auntie Nic can be even more protective of Daddy than I can, and for another, she would never have settled just for pink streaks.
"And you think that this is an appropriate role model…" I can tell by Mother's tone that she expected Auntie Nic to be the answer all along, but the confirmation doesn't make her happy.
"Hey, she's intelligent. She's well-read… and don't try and tell me that Malcolm isn't a good influence. Hell, there are times I wish Ivy was more like their kids…" Which is to say that none of them would have gotten mad and stormed out like I did. I mean Colin might have ripped the cupboard door off as a warning, but Auntie Nic and Uncle Malcolm are even better at the tag-team lecture than Daddy and Jon are. Not to mention that it's hard to find a display of temper and violence that leaves them very impressed. The first time I pulled something while I was over there, Uncle Malcolm just pointed out all the wrong ways I'd been holding the knife, and Auntie Nic mentioned that if I was planning on using one, it probably wasn't a good idea to dull it by jamming it into the table first. Since the whole point of the exercise had been to make them fear me (I didn't get along with Auntie Nic too well at the time), I quickly came to the conclusion that it hadn't worked. Daddy and Jon just stared at the two of them, while I headed off into the corner to sulk. People who think Vulcans are calm in the face of danger never spent two months living in that household.
"Do you want to see my tattoo?" I don't have a tattoo, but I don't figure they'll take me up on it either. In the reflection from the glass of the cabinet doors, I see Daddy shoot Jon a look, and Jon shake his head.
Mother's eyebrows practically move to opposite ends of her face. "Your…"
"She doesn't have a tattoo." Daddy sounds exasperated now. On the other hand, I still fail to see how he thought that this arrangement would work: they haven't even been here for twenty minutes, and already Mother and Daddy are fighting.
"That's right," I agree. "Auntie Nic says I should definitely wait until I'm at least twenty-one. Then almost everything that's going to grow will have grown." Mother's face gets colder, and Daddy's turns red.
"Ivy…" Jon's voice sounds friendly, but there's a definite warning in it. However, since he's got the only remaining keys to my car, it's probably best to listen.
I turn to Lorien. "Well, you're supposed to be staying in my room. It's this way." I sigh a little as I lead the way. It was such a nice car, too.
Lorien stops dead at the door to my room, and just stares.
"Thank you. I put a lot of time and thought into it." In the back of the group, Daddy's twisting his hands around like he's breaking my neck. The sheets I'd put up over the walls while Daddy was looking are now back in the closet, and so is the rug he got for the sole purpose of covering most of my floor.
"It is… interesting," Lorien manages. He's staring at my graffiti wall, and hasn't even noticed that the floorboards are inlaid with horror movie posters, or that my bed has a large replica of the one for 'Fight Club' on it. Lorien better get used to pink soap.
"Actually, the entire thing has been painted by hand." Jon makes his way in and taps the graffiti wall. "Ivy did it herself."
"Indeed." Mother actually sounds semi-impressed. She should be, actually. I've spent years on that wall and haven't got it finished yet. It took me two years just to get all the bricks painted in, to give me a background surface. I add to it when the mood strikes – a tag here, a thought there. I've got an entire Robert Frost poem written on one single brick, so that it looks like the letters are just part of the construction. Some of it's symbology from different religions – and not just Earth ones either. Some of it is designs that were creeping around in my head; some of it's just stuff I was feeling at the time. There's no logic or pattern to the layout: graffiti isn't about logic; it's about rebellion and anarchy. But when Jon said I could have the attic for my room, he also said I could decorate it any way I liked, provided that I did the work. Daddy put up some walls so I could have my own bathroom and a small studio/workroom too. But it's always been my space, which is why sharing it with Lorien feels so wrong.
They look around slowly, trying to absorb it all, which is impossible on the first try. The wall beside my bed has a giant wave curling on it, getting ready to make the perfect pipe. Lorien looks slightly uneasy when he sees it – there aren't a lot of oceans on Vulcan, and this one looks like it could come crashing into the room. I've covered the small round window at the top with yellow cellophane, so it looks like the sun over water. My animals take up most of another wall – shelves and open faced cabinets fence them in.
I'm more watching Mother's reaction (which will probably influence Daddy's overall one), so I don't see Lorien ignoring the sign until he screams.
"Ivy!" Daddy screams just about as loud, running to Lorien's side. He takes Lorien's hand which is now bleeding from several small puncture marks.
"Oh, so I'm to blame because he can't read." I pick up my bear from the floor and check him for damage while heading to get Lorien a cloth for his hand. After all, the notice clearly states that the animals are dangerous and not to tease them. Buddy recognises me though, so he doesn't bite.
"I'm sorry," Daddy says. "Ivy's toys are a little vicious."
"Micro-robotics," Jon clarifies, not looking worried at all. "That would be Trip's influence. I'm not sure where the twisted obsession with camouflaged weapons comes from, but we can probably guess."
I shrug and put Buddy back in his place and smooth his fur. Then I turn around to where Daddy is fussing over a minor wound. "Buddy is hardly a camouflaged weapon. For one thing, I posted the fact that they are dangerous. And for another, everybody with half a brain knows that bears bite."
"Not pink stuffed ones," Daddy answers.
"Look at the bright side. His teeth are sharp." Of course, they're also narrow and pointed like cat teeth. Which means that they go in deep and germs can get trapped inside.
"Ivy… your toy just seriously attacked your brother. There is no bright side."
There is for me. After all, eight years ago, he used to attack me. Now he might think twice about that. They're right. Revenge is kind of sweet.
"I'm taking him to Emergency." Daddy clamps Lorien's other hand over the cloth. "T'Pol, you'd better come with me." He shakes a finger in my direction. "You and I are going to have a talk when we get back." The look he gives Jon says that Jon's liable to be included in one of those, too.
I flop back onto my bed as they walk out the door, and stare at the ceiling. I really have to get to work on those rafters at some point – it's the one area of the room I haven't changed yet.
"You know, Ivy, your Dad's right. You really should be a little more careful with those. Most people wouldn't be aware of the risk. They do just look like regular stuffed animals." Jon waits until they're gone before turning back to me.
"So? This is supposed to be my room. Nobody should be playing with them anyway." This is so frustrating. Even when it's not my fault, I'm getting in trouble for it. "If he'd asked for permission before touching them…" Vulcans are supposed to be the masters of polite. I had absolutely no reason to expect Lorien to go reaching for any of my animals.
"That's why I'm not mad at you." Jon sits down on the foot of my bed. "At least not for that… and I'll have a word with your Dad when he comes home. He's just a little on edge right now."
"Speaking of Daddy… you didn't play fair."
Jon raises his eyebrows. "Fair?"
"'Water-polo scam?'" That's what he said to me downstairs. "You know if Daddy finds out about Kyle it'll probably give him a heart-attack. Then he'll tell Auntie Nic, and she'll kill Kyle." Kyle goes to Stanford – he's going to do Law school like his mother did – and he worked his way onto the water-polo team so he can pretend to come over to talk to Jon about the game. Jon knows about Kyle and me, but he also knows that Daddy's overprotective.
"Ah, but I knew you'd protect the both of them." He taps my foot. "And legally – while we're speaking of Kyle and his mother – I am your father. I don't have to play fair." That's one thing Auntie Nic warned me about Jon. He always wins. She swears he was a lawyer in another life – or maybe this one and won't admit it.
I stick my tongue out at him – I have no other comeback.
"On the other hand, you're still grounded. This is not a nice thing of yours…" He waves his hand around the room.
"I've worked hard on this. I'm supposed to suppress my personality for someone who's going to be here for two weeks?"
"You could have left the rug down, Ivy. Vulcans don't tend to enjoy scenes of blood-spatter and decaying flesh. And you could have flipped over the quilt."
"There is nothing wrong with this quilt… he probably won't understand the reference, anyway." If he was human, he probably wouldn't understand the reference. Most humans aren't that knowledgeable about classic movies. Which is why I'm sure he really wouldn't understand the 'Frank-the-Rabbit' ears on top of the headboard.
"Ivy, you're pushing it. Speaking of this room: where is Lorien's bed?"
I point towards my studio. "This is my room, Jon. I'm not sharing. Especially not if he snores, or grinds his teeth, or talks in his sleep, or any other number of bad habits he might have inherited." Daddy and I shared a room when we first got here, and he is not a quiet sleeper.
"I'll admit, that can be annoying." Jon looks like he's trying not to laugh.
"And I would have no way of shutting him up that wouldn't upset Daddy." Somehow I think Daddy'd interpret me holding a pillow over Lorien's face as a sign I'm trying to kill my brother. It wouldn't be of course – if I was going to commit murder, I'd be a lot cleverer about it.
"Show me the studio, Ivy." I think Jon wants to make sure I haven't booby-trapped it or something. I haven't. The way I see it, if Lorien gets badly hurt, he might need medical attention, and they'll have to stick around longer. Since what I would prefer would be if they left quickly – there's a fine line I've got to walk here.
When Jon is done with his inspection, he seems satisfied. The decorations in here lend themselves more to 'blank canvas.' I don't want to over-influence myself and get locked into a pattern. In fact, he seems impressed. "This is a very good compromise, Ivy. Very thoughtful."
I can't help it. It's just not fair: eight years ago it was always Lorien who was the perfect child, and if there were problems it was my fault. He beat up on me and nobody said anything, but if I even tried to fight back it was 'Ivy, stop picking on your brother.' Now, it's the same thing all over again. Lorien messes with my things, and it's my fault he gets hurt – it wouldn't have happened if he had asked. He comes in, and it's my life that has to change. He's the one who's not supposed to be worried about feelings, but nobody seems to give a damn about mine.
I wait until he's gone before heading back into my studio. I'm thinking the last thing I want is thoughtful. It doesn't matter much, really. Walls can be repainted. I'm sure they'll all figure out something. Without me.