A/N: I have to thank all you guys for the reviews, they really help keep my motivated. Also, I'm not entirely sure I like the way this ended, but as usual, please let me know what you think. I've got a lot of ideas for conflict between Trip and his dad, butgetting to that point might be an issue. So please bear with me!


He thought he was being subtle. He thought he could put one past the Chief Tactical Officer of Earth's first warp faring starship. He thought I believed that I was invited on this visit to help me forestall a reunion with my own family. He thought I'm as dim as a low wattage light bulb on its last legs. I know he asked me to come to act as a shield between him and his grieving family. Despite popular belief, I do understand human behaviour rather well. Especially that of Commander Tucker. I know he has great difficulties asking for help, and while under normal circumstances, would never consider manipulation as a means of operation. But desperation has dulled his sense of honour and ethics. I also know that he probably views his invitation as beneficial to all parties involved, and so does not quite see it as strict manipulation. All in all, though, I don't mind. Trip made an effort to get past my own misplaced defenses to become perhaps the best friend I have ever known, and I don't have any qualms about helping him. Even if it has to be done in a clandestine manner.

I waited patiently in his childhood room for him. By peering out the half open bedroom door, I could see him standing in front of a closed door at the head of the stairs, apparently struggling with himself in some fashion. No doubt it was Elizabeth's room. It had surprised me, to say the least, when I put two and two together and realized he hadn't been to see his family since before she had been killed. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, though, given that the only time he spent on the surface after the attack had been with me by his side. The surprise lay in the fact that he had avoided the reunion all together. I had always assumed that Trip was close to his family, probably after witnessing the intensity with which he grieved for his youngest sister. I had wrongly assumed that he would find comfort from being in their presence. But so far, the ony times I had really looked at him since arriving, he seemed wound tighter than he had been on Enterprise.

Instead of giving in to the ridiculous temptation to spy, I set my bag down on the cot Mrs. Tucker had mentioned, and turned my attentions to the room around me. It was hard for me to imagine a fifteen year old Trip inhabiting this bedroom, bent over that desk finishing a school assignment due the next day, or laying back on that single bed, reading what he had called "graphic novels." The walls were covered with authentic, antique movie posters sealed carefully in plastic, giving rise to my belief that his appreciation for cinema hadn't simply come of a need to break up the at times monotonous routine of space life. A few shelves installed over the head of his bed showcased a variety of different trophies for what I believed to be athletic pursuits, but when I stepped closer I was slightly astonished to see medals awarded for intellectual accomplishments as well. Chess tournaments, math contests, things that I never would've associated with Trip the first day we met.

I moved past the trophies to his desk, running my fingertips over the spines of technological manuals stacked there. A lone sketch pad sat in the middle of the surface, looking laughably out of place next to the diagrams and technical readouts. I glanced carefully at the door, then flipped the book open to a random page. My eyebrows immediately rose in shock. I was looking down at a charcoal sketch of a young girl, crouching on the grass in the flexible way only a young child could manage. She was facing a long haired dog, arguably the very same Bedford that I had seen wrestling with Trip earlier. Her chubby fingered hand was stretched out towards the dogs muzzle, and although the child's face was hidden, I was certain she was Elizabeth. The drawing showed emotion and a depth of creative talent that I wouldn't have thought capable of one so technical. If Trip had indeed drawn this, then he had just challenged another one of my misconceptions about engineers in general.

A slight creaking sounded from the doorway, and I whirled around as though I had been caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jaw. Trip stood in the doorway, looking blankly past me to the open sketch book on his desk. "Did you draw this?"I asked, after a long, quite awkward silence. Wordlessly, he nodded. I frowned for a moment, held tilted askance as I studied him. Although for whatever reason I hadn't noticed before, with the sun shining in on him through the window his rather deplorable condition was made quite obvious. Skin that was usually tanned golden brown, despite months spent locked away in engineering, was pale and almost a sickly gray colour. The dark bags under his eyes only added to the overall stressed appearance. I wondered briefly if he had looked this badly on Enterprise, and I simply hadn't noticed, or if this new condition had coincided with our arrival here. I turned back to the sketch, lightly tracing a complicated curling pattern that made up the child's hair.

"Trip, it's fantastic. I had no idea you were an artist."

"Yeah, well,"he said gruffly, having recovered his speech. "I'm not. As least, not anymore." He brushed past me in two long steps, grabbed the book off the desk, and shoved it unceremoniously into the back of the closet. "They're all waiting for us down there; I'm gonna get changed and head out." He grabbed his duffle from the floor, and after plopping it onto his bed, started rooting around for suitable casual clothes. "The next door over on the right is the bathroom. We gotta share with Todd and Connor, but it's not too bad."

I nodded, and dug into my own bag, pulling out a plain grey t-shirt and loose black pants. With a handful of his own clothes he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I changed in record time, but even so when I opened the door it was to find Trip sitting on the wooden floor in the hall, back against the railing waiting for me. He was wearing a pair of old blue jeans and a white button up shirt. I offered him a hand, and hauled him to his feet.

"Look, Malcolm. They've been a little desperate for information lately. Don't let 'em stronghand you into tellin' 'em anything against regs, okay?"

I favoured Trip with a long, low lidded look. It was hard not to take his words as a doubt to my dedication to Starfleet; instead, I took it as he meant it. Friendly concern. "You have nothing to worry about. I may be a pushover where my own family is concerned, but I have no problem standing up to other people's."

He smiled, the first one I had seen on him since the Captain had ordered us off the ship, and nodded. "Good. And I didn't mean to sound like I was doubtin' you, or anything. But I know firsthand how difficult it can be to turn down my family when they get all pouty."

Despite myself, I grinned. "So that's why Captain Archer always sends you on the good away missions. Perhaps you can give me some pointers on a suitable puppy dog expression."

He smirked, shoved me subtly towards the stairs. "It's a gift, Malcolm. I couldn't teach it to you anymore than you could teach me that impersonal officer routine you do so well."

Still chuckling quietly to myself, I made my way down the wide wooden staircase, with Trip clambering down behind me.

"Well, I suppose I should give you the grand tour,"he offered as soon as the soles of his socked feet touched the tiled floor. Without waiting for my reply, he had taken me by my elbow, and led me into the first room on the left hand side of the front hallway. "This is the living room; as evidenced by the tv, stereo, and children's toys, it's very much lived in."

The wall at the front of the house was largely made up of a giant picture window; the afternoon sun filtered in through pale yellow lace curtains. A line of couches ran along the length of the wall opposite us, and across from that was a sophisticated, highly complex home entertainment centre, no doubt made possible by the man who now looked on the plasma screen with unhidden pride. My eyes narrowed as I noticed a strangley famaliar piece of equipment woven deep in the intricacies of the video player. I pointed to the offending piece of machinery.

"Trip, is that a Starfleet issue-"

"Right through here is the dining room." He took my elbow again, skillfully deflecting my question, leading me back out the way we had come, past the staircase again, and into the other room at the front of the house. A giant twelve seater highly polished dining room table took up the majority of the space, with an equally as well cared for china hatch adjacent to the room's only window.

"This table is incredible." I reached out with a hand to run my fingertips along its smooth surface. Beside me, Trip mirrored my action.

"Yeah, it is pretty neat, innit? Had it as long as I can remember."

"Why don't you tell him about the time you ruined Christmas with this table?"

We both looked up suddenly at the unexpected voice, and whirled at the intrusion. I knew my eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath my hairline in surprise, but for the life of me I couldn't wipe the expression from my face. Were it not for the rounded ears, and a slight discepency about the mouth and jaw, I could've sworn I was facing Lorien, Trip and T'Pol's son of a different...I lost my train of thought when I glanced up at Trip, standing rod iron straight next to me. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles grinding set in stark relief against his pale skin. His hands opened and closed uselessly at his sides, as though he could imagine someone's throat being enclosed in his fingers. Now suitably troubled by my friend's rather intense reaction to this visitor, I turned back to the unknown man, sub-consciously taking a defensive stance before him.

"Hello, Father,"Trip ground out, with a voice that would've made more sense in the body of a Klingon warrior. The visitor inclined his head slightly in greeting, and Trip- Wait a minute. Father? But... that reception would've fit better at a Reed family reunion, not in this house with this man next to me. If someone before that moment had told me that Charles "Trip" Tucker the Third was capable of that kind of obvious cold rage, I would've told them it was more likely of me to take up playing the banjo and record my first country-western album.

"It's good to see you, son,"the man who I now assumed was Charles Tucker the Second replied. Suitable proof then, that I was not simply hallucinating this whole exchange. Hallucinations rarely answer back in conversation with people other than the hallucinator. Still, this suitable proof did nothing but flip my stomach end over end.

Trip snorted sarcastic laughter. His stance had relaxed somewhat; I realized that the first sign of hostility had been a knee-jerk reaction, then. I, however, was uncomfortable letting down my guard just yet. This man might have been Trip's father, with evidence supplied by both parties, but I didn't trust this man farther than I could throw him. Uphill. Into gale force winds. With a boulder tied to his back. "Yeah, I'm sure you're feeling nothing but fatherly relief right now."

Heavy concern flooded the other man's features, and he clicked his throat in disappointment. "Surely you believe me when I say I'm relieved beyond words to see you alive and well. And with a friend."

His gaze turned to me suddenly, as though I hadn't been there during the previous exchange, and had only just transported in. "Malcolm Reed, sir,"I stated, offering the man my hand. I might hate him based solely on my perception of Trip's reaction to him, but I had been raised a gentleman. A half a day in the company of no one but Trip Tucker was not going to change that.

"Pleased to meet you, Malcolm,"he answered, with another inclination of his head. "I'm Trip's father. Charles Tucker the Second. Charlie."

I nodded in understanding, and without realizing it stepped back into a military 'at ease' posture; feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind the small of my back.

"So how did you two meet?"Charlie asked, sending an askance glance at his son. I waited a brief moment for Trip to reply, but when no words came from his side, I said quickly, "we serve together on Enterprise."

Charlie smiled, as wide and disarming as Trip himself was capable of. It was alarming, how a gesture could seem so friendly and unassuming from one man, and just plain nasty from another. "That's very interesting, Malcolm. I have many questions I'd like to ask you about that, but before I do, I believe a shower and change of clothes are in order. It was a long day at the office. If you two will excuse me..."

He turned slowly, and headed away from us, up the stairs, as it occurred to me to wonder how early his day had started if he considered ending at two o'clock in the afternoon long hours.

I waited until the footsteps had faded into silence above us, and twisted around to look with concern on Trip's face. I had expected to see...well, I'm not entirely sure what it was I expected to see on his face. But it certainly wasn't what was there in actuality. Trip's chin had dropped to his chest, he was staring at his toes with a look of almost -despair? -worriment? terror?- written across his features. As close as I was, I could see his body trembling slightly. I laid my hand carefully on his arm, but he jumped nonetheless.

"Trip?"

When he didn't respond immediately, I dragged a chair over from the table and gently pushed him down into it. Kneeling in front of him, I made sure I had his attention before attempting again.

"Trip? What was all that about?"

Heretofore, his gaze had been unfocused, largely unseeing, but now I could see his focus solidifying on my face. "That was..."he trailed off, chin drooping to his chest once more. "That was horrible." He stood suddenly, shook himself as though he were a long haired dog dislodging water from his folicles. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. That was hardly the tour you deserved."

I watched with slight astonishment as he tucked the chair back in under the table and continued on through the dining room to the kitchen. I followed him dutifully, but removing the frown from my face would've required non-recommended use of a phase pistol. Something wasn't quite right here, and being the good tactical officer that I was, I was determined to find out what.

It turns out neither Charles Tucker the Second, or Charles Tucker the Third gave me much to work with after that inital confrontation. If you could've called it that. After the dining room incident, Trip and I returned to the patio, whereupon we sat with the remainder of his family and feasted on a wild assortment of peeled sliced fruits. Whatever poor attitude he had adopted while around me was dropped the minute he stepped out onto that cedar deck. Trip was nothing but a charming gentleman to the rest of his family, saying all the right things at all the right times, and doing just about everything in his power to cause my disquiet to grow.

And ten minutes later, when Charlie entered the picture, it was with a big smile, and a kiss on the cheek to all those in attendance. Well, save for myself, Todd, Trip and Connor, of course. He pulled a spare lawn chair over, and reclined next to his wife. I watched Trip carefully but covertly as his father popped a piece of pineapple in his mouth, but Charles the Third gave no indication that there had ever been a problem. This meant either one of two things; I had read the situation entirely wrong (which came to be exceedingly more unlikely the more I thought about it) or Trip was a far better actor than I gave him credit for(as unlikely as this option was in itself, when compared with its company, it was definitely the more plausible of the two).

We spoke of nothing of great importance, skillfully answered questions about life aboard Enterprise without revealing too much, and deflected those that would be considered 'breaches of security.' I found it a great deal easier to deny these people answers to their more invasive questions than Trip gave me reason to believe possible. Apparently the Tucker pout doesn't work on Brits.

I managed to keep up my end of the conversation, dutifully responding to any remarks directed to me, and even piping in a few of my own. Even still, it was difficult not to feel overwhelmed. If I had gone home, I would be sitting down to afternoon tea with my mother and father, listening to their long winded discussion of how I've managed to bollox up my life. I would certainly not be surrounded by laughing people, with a delightful young child hanging on to the sleeve of my shirt, asking me how it felt to "blow up the bad men."

An hour after we sat down to this rather informal lunch, the aforementioned but previously absent Aunt and Uncle whose name I had long since forgotten arrived, carrying with them at least a dozen boutique style bags. The reunion was started afresh, and after the Tucker family hug had broken apart, I was introduced to Uncle Frank and Aunt Sheila.

"You're British?" I could tell right then that Uncle Frank and I weren't going to get along.

I nodded politely though, and said, "Yes, that's right."

He grinnded, nodded himself as though he was sharing a great secret with me. "I did business with one of you Brits a few years ago. Good bunch of people."

My eyebrows raised fractionally, and I glanced across the deck to Trip, fuming at the vague twinkle of amusement I saw in his eyes. I looked back to Uncle Frank, who was studying the selection of lunch meats and vegetables as though he had grown disinterested in our conversation. If it could be called that.

"Yes, I like to think we are."

He nodded again, then patted me on the shoulder on his way over to the table. I watched him go with a look of mild astonishment.

"He's quite a character, isn't he?"

I turned to the source of the sudden voice, and smiled at Trip's oldest sister Margerat. The baby that was usually in her arms was missing; in her place was a plate full of fruits and turkey. She must've noticed my reluctance to respond, because her smile broadened. "It's all right, Malcolm. You can say it, we all know it." Her voice dropped to a conspiritorially whisper. "He's not the most popular person here."

I looked on as the people closest to Frank slowly drifted away to join in on different conversations. "I can see that."

She plucked a wedge of orange off her plate, and popped it into her mouth. "So exactly how close are you and Trip?"

The question was voiced casually, but I could detect undercurrents of concern that she seemed unwilling to express.

I shrugged. "Pretty close, I suppose. He's my closest friend onboard Enterprise. Why do you ask?"

"I'm worried about him,"she began without preamble, a trait I knew she had to have picked up from Trip himself. "He doesn't seem himself. Almost...subdued, y'know?"

As reluctant as I was to speak about my friend behind his back, I recognized this for the sisterly worry it was, and nodded. "I've noticed that as well. I've never suffered a loss as painful as your family has, though. I don't know what to do to help."

She reached out with a hand and laid it gently on my arm. "I'm sure what you've been doing so far has already helped." Her gaze shifted to something past my shoulder; she seemed lost in thought. "As silly as it sounds, when I found out what happened, the first thing I thought of was how Trip was doing. He and Lizzie were so close, and he was so far away when it happened...I can't imagine how awful that must've been."

I looked across the deck to where Trip had his young niece in his arms, cooing at her as if they were the only two people out there. He hadn't exactly let me in on his thought processes after the attack. Actually, it was more accurate that he had intentionally pushed me away. But one didn't have to be close to the Commander to see how deeply affected he was by the attack.

"It was a difficult time for all of us, but especially for him. He was the only one on board who lost someone in the attack."

Margerat nodded thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in thought. "Malcolm, I want to help my brother. I know he had some issues he needs to work through, but I also know he won't accept help from me."

She looked up at me, blue eyes widening slightly. I smiled my agreement and understanding. She was looking for a partner in crime, then. Trip would most likely be too stubborn for the usual approach, but I doubted he'd be able to stand up to the two pronged assault. The fact that Margerat was sympathetic to my cause was a great relief.

"I'll do what I can."

...tbc...