Chapter 12
AU for "Home"
A/N 1: I know it's been a long time—sorry for the update delays. More on that at the end of the chapter.
A/N 2: Okay, so an interesting (and extremely frustrating) note. Did you know that warp speed is not actually easy to figure out? Turns out that between TOS, TNG, ENT, and VOY, there are inconsistencies all over the place. I did find that it's 16 light years to Vulcan from Earth, but when I tried to calculate how long the trip would actually be at say, Warp 4, I found anything from 3 days to 6 months. For the story, this is kind of a big deal. If Trip and T'Pol have to stay overnight on a Vulcan transport ship, that's a pretty interesting story point. But if it takes a few hours, there's no reason to spend any time there in the story. In the original version of "Home," the magic of television makes it seem like they just hopped on over to Vulcan in a day or two, and when Trip and T'Pol are back on the ship together after her marriage to Koss, Trip mentions that it's been a few weeks since the wedding. He implies he came right back afterward and then had a few weeks to himself before returning to Enterprise. Sooooooo….all that to say that I just gave up. I'm pretending that it's an overnight trip to Vulcan and calling it good. The meticulousness in me is still gritting my teeth, but I'll get over it. Eventually.
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Life felt just about perfect.
Trip leaned back in his seat on the transport to Vulcan, settling into the plush fabric and getting comfortable. It wouldn't be a short trip—16 light years was hardly a walk in the park—but it would be a relaxing one. These Vulcans knew how to travel in style.
Reclining his seat slightly, Trip rested his hands on his abs, linking his fingers together, and closed his eyes. Images from the last 16 hours slipped across the back of his eyelids, and Trip smiled, trying not to blush.
Damn, last night had been good.
Part of him had wondered warily as T'Pol had approached him, heat in her eyes, if their one-night stand so many months ago had been a fluke. Sure, they had chemistry. There was no doubting that. They could light up a city block with the energy between them.
But no couple was perfect every time. Surely this time, there'd be some awkwardness. Some self-consciousness. One of them enjoying it slightly more than the other. A hiccup, a miscommunication, hell, even an awkwardly timed move or an embarrassing noise—something, right?
His smile grew wider. Wrong: they were battin' a thousand, by his count.
It had felt like they'd made up for the last months in one go, cramming so much pleasure into a few hours that he could barely keep up. Still, the bond seemed to give him a stamina he'd never expected, as if she'd given him access to an endless well of strength that was solely focused on maximizing mutual pleasure.
Only time had hindered them.
A huge yawn overcame him, and after Trip covered his mouth in an attempt to smother it, he opened his eyes and looked beside him.
T'Pol was there, sitting calmly reading from her Padd. Studying her profile, Trip was struck again by how beautiful she was. The curve of her neck, the glow of her skin, the pout of her lips. Trip bit his bottom lip and held back a moan as he watched her graceful fingers slide across the screen of the Padd, scrolling as she read. Once—twice—three times, oh damn it—
Closing his eyes, Trip swallowed and turned away, curling his fingers into his palms until his fingernails pressed deep enough for pain. He was becoming pathetic. Taking a deep breath, he got ahold of his base nature and re-centered himself. She wouldn't appreciate him jumping her in the middle of a Vulcan ship, he knew that for certain.
But tonight—he didn't plan to hold back.
Smiling slightly, Trip opened his eyes. He shot a glance back at her, trying to be surreptitious. Unlike him, she seemed unruffled. Calm. As if they hadn't spent the night rocking each other's universe nine ways to Sunday.
But she seemed tired, too.
She'd been pretty quiet this morning, Trip remembered. Awake before him, she'd been in the midst of finishing her packing when he opened his eyes and stretched. He'd pulled his clothes back on before coming to stand behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.
Trip frowned at the memory. Come to think of it, she'd been still as a statue, although she hadn't resisted him. She hadn't reciprocated either. He hadn't thought much of it then—she'd reminded him how little time they had until the transport left, and he'd hurried back to his quarters to throw his clothes in a bag, giddy with excitement and satisfied in a way he hadn't been in a long time, maybe ever.
But that memory—he hadn't been seeing things clearly. She had been stiff—why hadn't he talked to her about it then? He'd been too wrapped up in himself, seeing what only he wanted to see—
But then again, maybe he was imagining things. Then, he'd been biased by joy. Now, he was biased by unease.
He shook it off. Morning after uncertainty—that was all this was.
Trip peeked over at her screen—she was reviewing reports from the retrofit of Enterprise.
Purposefully making his tone lighthearted, he said quietly, "Not takin' a break, huh?"
Her finger paused on the screen before she turned and looked at him long-sufferingly. "I was merely determining if repairs and upgrades were being completed on schedule."
"Sure," Trip said, nodding, but he couldn't help the smirk from twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Efficiency is important."
Her eyes narrowed. She set down the Padd. "You are mocking me."
Trip let his grin break free, eyes twinkling. "No, Darlin'. Just enjoying you bein' you."
"I do not understand."
The tiredness and reservation were still there in her eyes. Maybe if he was honest, if he reassured her how much he valued her—maybe then, it would ease.
He turned slightly to face her. "You please me," he said simply. "Just bein' around you makes me happy. It's satisfying, knowin' you so well. You are predictable, and I love that about you."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Humans find predictability boring."
Trip shrugged. "I suppose we do, most of the time. But not in this case."
"Explain."
She seemed genuinely skeptical, and Trip searched for a way to describe this amorphous feeling.
"It's not boring," he reassured her. "It's—it's comforting."
It seemed so inadequate, but it was true.
He held her gaze, trying to get her to understand. After a moment of staring at each other, him hopeful, her wary, Trip sighed, letting his posture slump a bit.
This was harder than he thought.
T'Pol stared at him a moment longer, then seemed to wilt a bit herself before reaching out and taking his hand. "If you can't tell me," she said, "show me."
Trip gave her a half-smile, a little self-deprecating this time. "Gotta remember that," he muttered. "Keep forgettin'."
He gripped her hand and closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts inward. What should he show her? How could he convey everything she was to him?
And suddenly, it was there. The warm sun on his face. The gentle salt breeze sliding off the gulf, tickling the hair at the back of his neck, the shifting sand beneath his feet—it was her, every good thing about it, was her. That's how she made him feel. Relaxed. At peace.
His home.
Next to him, T'Pol sighed, her hand relaxing in his. Her wariness wasn't gone—he could sense it still—but she was softening some. Easing, just slightly.
Trip wished in that moment they'd reserved a cabin. He would give anything right now to be pressed up against her, skin against skin, the warmth of her warming him. He knew that was the only way—the only real way—to fully pull her back to him. Only through that physical completeness could he wash away her uncertainty.
He rubbed his fingers against hers, and combined with their mental connection, it was almost enough. For now.
How long they sat like that, he couldn't have said. Time passed indeterminately.
When it was enough, he knew. Opening his eyes again, Trip found T'Pol's and in them, the words he couldn't find before.
"Despite what you've been through this year, what we've both been through, there are characteristics of your personality I can count on. I've come to know you pretty well. Our familiarity is comforting." Trip nodded to the Padd in her lap. "Even before I snuck a peek at your screen, I could've predicted what would've been on it."
"And you enjoy that?" She seemed perplexed by his revelation.
Trip looked around—they were nearly alone in this part of the transport ship. Good thing, too. These too-perceptive Vulcans would've likely cottoned-on to what they'd been doing.
He let his mouth tip up at the corner in a smirk and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "I do," he admitted. "I know it's kinda perverse, gettin' a kick out of you bein' so straitlaced and predictable."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I think I have lost my predictability at times."
Trip grinned as he remembered that fateful night in his quarters. "And I'm damn glad you have, on occasion. But mostly, honey, you're predictable. And I'm grateful."
He looked around again, and seeing no one in their general area, he raised her hand and kissed the back of it. Her fingers curled tighter around his.
"So much of our lives is already unpredictable. It's the nature of space exploration. But you are rock steady. Dependable."
He held her gaze, pushing all of his certainty toward her with everything he had, and with it, exposing all of his vulnerability. "You're my anchor, T'Pol. You are everything I could ever want, and everything I never realized I needed, all at once."
She studied him, her eyes unfathomable. The seconds stretched like a countdown ticking, the silence thickening, weighed down by the wariness building within her, erasing all of the progress he'd made in the last few minutes. With growing concern, Trip watched as her emotions vacillated, wavering, right in front of him.
His stomach dropped.
In an instant, her face went blank, her expression enigmatic, and she pulled her hand and her eyes away. "I think you're overstating our connection."
"Overstating?" Trip scoffed in disbelief, trying not to let panic overwhelm him. "It's stronger than ever." He paused. Look, I can even talk to you like this now, without even touchin' you.
T'Pol's eyes shot to his. He had done it easily this time. The physical intimacies they'd shared last night had made their bond stronger. He barely even had to concentrate now to speak into her mind, into that shared mental space he was coming to crave.
Telepathic communication is the most rudimentary of thresholds.
Meaning?
She searched his face. "I'm not sure it's possible to explain," she finally said aloud. "I have not experienced it myself. But I have read that a full and vibrant connection between mates is something that can only be achieved over time. One additional night of physical intimacy is not sufficient to create such a strong bond. Our connection is nascent at best."
Trip tried to suppress his apprehension. He leaned more into her space. So we'll keep gettin' closer. We both want that anyway, right?
T'Pol stiffened and leaned back, widening the distance between them. She searched his face before looking away, taking a while to answer. When she did, she spoke aloud again.
The refusal to speak in his mind felt like a door being slammed in his face.
Trip leaned back too.
"There is much left uncertain," T'Pol finally answered. "Further physical intimacies are best left for our return to Enterprise."
He badly wanted to throw a retort back at her, but he refrained. So much for his plans for tonight.
"It seems like things are pretty certain to me." Irritation bubbled up inside him, churning. "I wouldn't have come on this trip otherwise."
Taking time to shut off her Padd with deliberate slowness, T'Pol stowed it in the seat in front of her and folded her hands in her lap. She studied them, rubbing her thumb over her cuticles.
Trip took in her profile, and realized after the silence stretched that she wasn't just delaying—she was refusing to continue the conversation. He turned his thoughts to their bond, and what he sensed there made that froth of irritation begin to churn, his palms going damp.
She was pushing him away, her energy now separated from his. There was no wall in his mind, no barrier between them, but the separation was clear and deliberate.
Why? What had last night been if it wasn't a step toward a committed relationship?
A flutter of fear began beating inside him.
After a moment of consideration, Trip took a deep breath and shoved the fear away. If she was feeling vulnerable enough to pull away, she needed his patience, his strength. Not his anxiety.
"It's fine if you don't want to talk," Trip said, his voice seeming loud in the fraught silence between them. "Just know, though—you don't need to shut me out."
She nodded once, but wouldn't look at him.
Trip turned, looking out the window at the vast field of stars beyond. The stiffness of her shoulders and the evasion of her eyes spoke volumes: this conversation was over, at least for now.
Carefully, he turned inward again, studying her. She was a tight ball of energy, flickering. It struck him that she seemed to be coiled in as if protecting herself. The question remained: why? Why couldn't she trust him with this? With every part of herself, as he'd tried to do with her?
And if she couldn't trust him, why the hell had she slept with him again?
The inky blackness of space held no answers. An hour passed in silence as Trip turned the problem over and over in his mind like a cube puzzle, searching for a solution. But apparently, he was missing some key knowledge. All that was certain was that last night suddenly seemed akin to illusion.
Was she hiding something from him? If she was, it had to be something that threatened to rock the very core of her.
Beside him, T'Pol stood. "I am in need of some exercise," she declared quietly. "I will return later."
Trip grabbed her hand and she stiffened, turning in his direction but still refusing to meet his eyes. "Don't be gone too long," he said, and squeezed her hand before letting her go.
She nodded, not looking at him before striding away, her shoulders steel-straight.
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They were on Vulcan, walking toward the transport area to T'Pol's family home, when she finally opened up.
When her hand gripped his, Trip nearly gasped in surprise. She'd been so distant since that puzzling conversation, speaking barely a handful of times and only perfunctorily, so any connection was welcome. Trip gripped her hand tightly.
T'Pol met his eyes, her expression enigmatic.
"Come with me," she said, squeezing his hand once before dropping it and striding away.
She led him through a set of sliding doors and into a small courtyard, desert plants surrounding a stone seating area and fountain.
Turning to face him, T'Pol set down her bag and straightened her spine.
"I wish to speak with you about something."
"I'm listenin'."
"You will not approve."
Trip smiled wryly. "If you've been waitin' to tell me for ten hours, barely sayin' a word, I think that's a given."
Her mouth pursed, and Trip sighed. "Just tell me, darlin'. I can handle it."
Her shoulders stiffened. "I think we should keep our relationship a secret from my mother."
Trip couldn't help it; his mouth dropped open in astonishment. This wasn't what he'd expected, and he couldn't deny that it hurt.
"A secret? Why?"
"Our personal business is none of hers."
He studied her stone-faced expression. That was about 10% of the truth, but he knew he couldn't get any more out of her.
"Sure." He was unable to help the sarcasm from lacing his tone. "A mother doesn't need to know who her daughter is sleepin' with, huh?"
"Precisely."
Trip huffed in exasperation when she ignored his sarcasm completely.
"Then what the hell'd you bring me for?"
She blinked at him in confusion.
Shaking his head, Trip tried to explain without sounding hurt. "I don't get it. Why did you bring me here if you don't want me to meet your mom?"
"I do want you to meet her. And I want her to meet you. But I don't think the nature of our relationship is any of her concern."
He raised both eyebrows in disbelief. "And you don't think she'll figure it out?"
T'Pol shrugged. "She will likely deduce our relationship is more than professional."
A laugh escaped him before he could help it. "And you think she'll just ignore it?"
"I cannot predict the future."
"Yeah, okay." Bitterness laced his tone and Trip did nothing to minimize it. "So how would you introduce me?"
"As my colleague. Commander Charles Tucker III."
He stared at her, almost lost for words. "And that's it."
"Yes."
Well, damn it. Emotion rose up within him, a furious whirl of frustration tangled with hurt, and fueling it all was a fiery possessiveness, a need to claim her and remind her of one truth: she was his.
That swell of emotion must have been strong through their bond, because T'Pol inched back, warily.
With a thunk, he dropped his bag onto the stone floor, closing the distance between them in a single stride, yanking her against him, his mouth colliding with hers.
She resisted for a nanosecond, then wilted, returning his kiss in equal measure. After last night onboard Enterprise, he thought he'd found an endless well of her. But if that well had been capped, if she was going to cut him off—damn it, he was going to drown in her first.
As if drawn of their own accord, their hands found each other's touchpoints, and the connection between them lit up, an instantaneous closed loop of sensual energy weaving between them. As the kiss grew deeper, he pushed her across the courtyard space and up against the wall.
Through that electric conduit he poured all of his emotion—love, lust, frustration, even anger—funneling it toward her in an onslaught she couldn't resist, couldn't ignore. And in return, he received a wave of emotion so powerful he couldn't analyze it. All he could do was feel.
Endless moments later, when they were both reeling and dizzy, one small movement jerked him back to reality. T'Pol's hands had been mindlessly gripping the hem of his shirt and sliding upward, lost fully in her need, when her fingernails scraped his stomach.
Awareness flooded him, and Trip jerked back and away, letting her go so fast she swayed on her feet. Trip shook his head to clear the haze. She sagged against the wall, panting, eyes glazed.
Point made, voice rough, Trip said, "It's a stupid plan, T'Pol."
She stiffened instantly.
He didn't give her time to respond.
"This?" He gestured between them, the energy almost sparkling, it was so powerful. "It's going to be impossible to hide. We won't be fooling anyone."
Chin raised, T'Pol stared him down. "Nevertheless, it is necessary."
Trip took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He closed his eyes, turning his thoughts inward, and knew that all the fear and panic he was feeling was only half his own.
His emotions calmed. As much as she was his, he was also hers.
And T'Pol needed him, yet again.
He was struggling not to let her down. For now, although all of his instincts were screaming that he push back, Trip knew, he couldn't. Not this time.
Not if he hoped to move forward together. She wasn't ready, not for everything. Not yet.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"This is your planet. Your culture. Your home." He stepped closer to her again. "Your mother." He reached for her hands, this time, gently. "But this is our relationship. Yours and mine."
She dropped her eyes but didn't pull her hands away.
"I don't like it," he stated firmly. "But I will trust you."
God, he hoped he was telling the truth.
Her eyes became shiny, and she squeezed his hand. "Thank you."
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They stepped off the transport near T'Pol's family home and walked the short distance to the gate.
Trip's emotions were all over the map. In the last hour, he'd been angry, worried, sad, and regretful by turns until he didn't know which way was up. Thankfully, the intensity of the emotions had faded as the hour and the trip wore on, and as they landed and he stood to gather his bag from the storage compartment, he took a deep breath and pushed the last of it down.
The decision was made. They were here for a few weeks; he had to make the best of it.
The memory of last night together? He shoved that deep, far away, along with his hurt.
They were walking the last few meters up the path to her childhood home when Trip decided he needed to offer an olive branch.
"So, what are we going to do while we're here?"
T'Pol shot a glance at him, and he realized as her face relaxed that she was grateful he was ignoring the awkwardness between them. "What do you wish to do?"
"You going to show me the sights?"
"If you would like. Vulcan is home to many interesting natural and cultural sites."
"We saw that volcano on the way here—what's it called? Mount Tarana?"
"Mount Tarhana," she corrected,
"Is it active? I thought I saw some steam—or smoke, maybe."
"It erupts frequently, but the danger is negligible. Tours of the crater are available—we can schedule one if you like."
"By a volcanologist?"
"Excuse me?"
Trip bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. "Are there any volcanologists there. At the site, I mean—to give the tour and offer their expertise." He paused, letting his mouth curl up at one corner. "I've got a hankerin' to hear a lecture from a Vulcan volcanologist."
She stopped in front of the gate and gave him a sardonic stare, but she couldn't suppress the slight twinkle in her eye. "You, Mr. Tucker, have a peculiar sense of humor."
Trip laughed, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
T'Pol moved forward, opening the gate in front of them and striding inside, her bag bumping against her hip.
"Still," Trip continued as he followed her inside, "There's gotta be a lot to see. I've heard you mention ancient ruins, caverns, fire plains. It's going to be difficult to choose."
He stopped suddenly, looking around the courtyard with interest. A large fountain bubbled in the center, low desert foliage and stone pavers surrounding it. The wall encircling the yard could have felt confining, but it didn't. Somehow it felt protective. A dampener against the harsh desert beyond it. The horizontal view was obstructed, but the vertical one—Trip looked up. The sky was a vast swath of red, blue, and purple. An ocean above instead of below.
In an instant, he felt at peace. It felt—serene.
"So this is where you grew up?" he said softly, coming to stand at her side. "I hadn't expected this."
"What do you mean?"
He met her eyes. "It's so serene. It's beautiful."
"Humans do not have a monopoly on beauty."
He smiled again, taking in the whole of her face.
"You've got that right," he said, his voice husky. "I'm lookin' at the proof right now."
Instantly, T'Pol froze, and he could see the war with herself waging in here eyes. Propriety won, and she dropped her bag to the ground, standing formally.
"Mr. Tucker, please remember—"
Her sentence was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She turned, and her eyes widened.
Trip felt a sliver of panic slide across their connection before it disappeared.
The woman striding purposefully toward them could only be T'Pol's mother. She was stately. Beautiful, certainly, like her daughter, but colder somehow. Certainly more reserved.
She wasted no time addressing T'Pol. "I did not prepare for a guest. Why did you not inform me?"
"Mother," T'Pol said stiffly. "You are home."
T'Les's eyebrow quirked up in an extremely familiar way. "Obviously," she said imperiously. "It is agreeable to see you. You appear well."
T'Pol didn't answer, only blinking at her mother. A few fraught seconds passed before Trip took pity on her and stepped forward, reaching out his hand.
"I'm Charles Tucker, ma'am. Nice to meet you."
His proffered hand was not taken. Of course it wasn't, Trip realized, lowering it again. A human gesture. Reflex for him, with his manners-laden upbringing. He raised his hand again, this time in a Vulcan greeting.
T'Les stiffly returned the gesture before turning away, summarily dismissing him. It couldn't have been more obvious when she switched to Vulcan and addressed T'Pol.
Trip watched T'Pol's face as she spoke with her mother in their native language. The conversation was short, but it was obvious from their tone of voice that T'Pol and her mother were not in agreement.
He waited until their clipped responses waned and a fraught silence descended.
T'Les broke it by turning back to include him.
"You have had a long journey. You must be tired." She turned back toward the house, leading them inside.
It was subdued décor, but not stark. The room was decorated in warm tones and clean lines.
T'Les gestured toward a hallway. "The guest room is at the end of this corridor. You may secure your belongings there."
Trip nodded, trying to catch T'Pol's eyes as he turned that direction. Her gaze met his, and Trip wished their connection was stronger. He would give anything to be able to fully reassure her right now.
I am well, she said through their bond.
Trip gave her a small smile and a nod, but he knew: she was trying to convince herself as much as she was him.
This was not off to a good start.
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A/N 3: Sorry for the horribly slow updates. Despite having the end of the story plotted out, I've had intense writer's block on the draft itself and an unexpectedly busy work life for the last several months. I'm determined to finish this story, but I can't say how quickly. THANK YOU everyone who has continued re-reading and posting reviews. I can definitely say that they have pushed me to continue and not abandon this completely.
A/N 4: Someone has to have made the Vulcan volcanologist joke before, right?