"…and might even end up in the stockade!"
Elizabeth listened to her brother's drunken sleep-muttering get distinctly clear, then fade back into gibberish, wishing to hell she knew some way to ease his torment. If she could just make Starfleet see him the way she did, there would be no problem. Sure, he was a bit rough around the edges and impulsive. Not the buttoned-down type his friend Jon Archer was, by a long shot.
But that was his gift in so many ways.
Who wanted a buttoned-down engineer who always did things by the book, anyway?
But she knew the answer to that question. She'd been getting hints of it in letters and chats with Trip for over ten years now.
Starfleet wanted that kind of engineer, or at least they thought they did. She was damned willing to bet, though, that there was a reason Trip had survived so long even though he wasn't that kind of engineer, or that kind of man.
He got things done.
Once he put his mind to something, it was going to get Tripified. Figured out, fixed, made better. Like the way he'd learned how to help her when she had night terrors –
"No – won't tell anyone it was you. Don't want you getting in trouble to save my sorry ass."
He rolled onto his belly and mashed his face in the arm of the couch where he'd finally passed out. But those words made her wonder.
She had a lifetime of experience none of the Starfleet brass, as he called them, or even Jon Archer, had. She'd been Trip's little sister for as long as she'd been alive, and other than him fixing things, the one thing that had always been constant was that he was her own personal hero – even, when she got to be a teenager, when she didn't always want him to be. It was like it was just part of him he couldn't turn off.
"No use arguin' about it. Not gonna tell."
It was muffled by the upholstery, and that might not be exact, but it was close enough for Elizabeth Tucker. Maybe he was just dreaming, but maybe not. They'd talked about their dreams since they were kids, and she knew that Trip worked things out while he was asleep, the same way she did.
But did that mean he knew who had attacked those five men, and was protecting that person even though it might cost him his career? And, if so, why?
He'd been insistent that he'd never seen the men. "Yes, all right? I stepped outside to call my date, because she was running late and I didn't want to make that call in front of – anyone." That's what he'd said when Jon had questioned him about it, but Lizzie had known by that little pause that there was something or someone else that kept him from calling from inside the club, and that he wasn't going to talk about that, either.
Were the two things connected?
"Look, I never saw any men out there – didn't see anyone out there. It was a Tuesday night, damn it. The whole reason for going on a Tuesday is that it's usually pretty damned quiet, and you can actually have a conversation. Besides, if I'd seen five unconscious men lying in the street, don't you think I'd call someone about that?"
"Not if you're the one who made them unconscious," Jon had said, and Lizzie had had to stick her tongue in her cheek to keep from blurting out that Jonathan Archer sure as hell wasn't a very good friend if he didn't know Trip better than that. The men had claimed their pockets had been picked – but Trip had never been a thief, and he got along with pretty much everybody, except maybe that ex of his and his old neighbor's lover.
"No logic in arguing. Not tellin', and that's that. Damn stubborn Vulcan!"
Well, to be honest, Trip didn't get along well with Vulcans, either. But that wasn't even close to unique.
It wasn't surprising he'd be arguing with one in his sleep – but if he was protecting a Vulcan somehow by not talking, that would be something.
Wait…. There was something. Wasn't there?
She looked sourly at the almost-empty bourbon bottle. She'd poured twice as much for Trip as for herself, figuring he needed relief and sleep, and she needed to be his hero for a change. But she'd still had more than enough to make the impromptu game of Fairy Tale Tropes blurry and indistinct in her mind.
But she was almost sure Trip had said something about Snow White being a Vulcan….
Hadn't he?
She tried thinking back, but it wasn't working very well. She'd mostly been trying to distract him into drinking more than he usually would, to put him to sleep. But then she'd had this idea that maybe they could figure this out by using their ridiculous childhood game to send his engineer's mind in different directions than the circles he seemed to have been going in.
"I don't care how much you glare. I. Am. Not. Telling. Anyone. It. Was. You." Trip sat up suddenly, stared at her without seeing her. "I thought she looked like a rapier, a dancer, and a hunting cat all wrapped up in one person, remember? Damn. I was right. She took out five men without leaving a mark on them or herself. That cowl didn't even slip."
"Who took out five men, Trip? The Vulcan woman? The one with the gorgeous hazel eyes who smelled so good?" She was playing a hunch and her own foggy maybe-memories.
Her brother groaned, blinked a couple of times, then put his head in his hands. "You can't say anything to anyone about her, Elizabeth."
"Trip, if she did it and it can save you with Starfl –"
"It was a damned dream, Elizabeth." He put his hands down, and stared at her with his eyes somehow at full intensity even though they were only half open. "Probably had more to do with all that bourbon you thought you were tricking me into pouring into myself than with reality." He waved toward the bottle vaguely. "But damn, was she a sight in that dream. It was like a dance, and she didn't even hurt them – not a one. She just touched their shoulders and they dropped. Five of them, Lizzie. They didn't even have time to react." His voice had gone admiring; he was definitely the kind of man who liked strong women.
"How could she – how could anyone – do that?"
"It was a dream. That's how."
"But – if there was a Vulcan woman in the club that night…"
He smiled ridiculously. "There definitely was. Most amazing Vulcan Surprise Package I've ever seen. Wouldn't mind unwrapping her to see what's inside, either."
"Trip!"
"Not that way. Well, okay. Not just that way. Something happened with her, Lizzie. I – I can't even begin to explain. Not even gonna try. But she's the kind of woman I'd love to take a lifetime to figure out."
Maybe he couldn't see it, but Elizabeth could. Trip had it bad for this Mystery Vulcan of his – in a way she'd only seen him fall a couple of times.
So she didn't bother to ask him how on Earth he thought he was going to get a Vulcan woman to feel anything remotely like he did. Wouldn't matter, anyway – if he was this far gone, his mind was already working the problem, and she'd only get in his way. Anybody else, and she'd think it was a lost cause from the outset. But Lizzie Tucker knew her brother almost as well as she knew herself, and, if anyone could make an impression on this woman who walked into jazz clubs on Tuesday nights, it was -
"Wait! That's it!" Her brother jumped and winced. "Oh. Sorry, Trip. But I've got an idea, and a question. They might help you figure all this out."
"I'm all for that."
"Okay. You say you dreamed her taking out those five men. But when did she come into the club? Is there any chance she saw something, even if she isn't the superheroine of your dreams? Could we get ahold of her somehow and ask her? Did you find out anything we could use to track her down?"
She could almost feel Trip slam on his inner brakes. "She went into the Consulate, Lizzie. And I got the distinct feeling that maybe being out alone at night is something that might get the lady in trouble. I'm not going to rat her out to save my own skin – even if I could. Especially since she probably doesn't know thing one about any five men knocked out in the street to begin with."
"Maybe not when they were knocked out. But five men, together – that might be memorable. If she saw them, or anyone else that you didn't see, that might be it, Trip. The answer to who did knock them out, which would exonerate you."
"Thanks, Elizabeth. And no thanks, too."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means thanks for believing it wasn't me. I'm not sure anyone else on this whole damned planet is sure about that one, even Jon, who's seen me in a scuffle or two and ought to know better. But no thanks on trying to track the lady down. She was covering her ears, and she was in regular street clothes, not Vulcan robes. Now, might be she just wanted to blend in with us – or it might be she didn't want anyone from the Consulate to catch wind of the fact she left in the first place. I'm not taking the chance it was that." He stopped and frowned, with that remembering look of his. "It was dark, and I can't be sure, but I don't think she went in the front door, either. Seems like maybe she skirted around the side, which really might mean she didn't want to get caught."
"But if you shared – something – like you say, wouldn't she want to help you? Would it be logical to let you pay a price for something you didn't do?"
"Doesn't matter. I'm not going to say a word to anyone about her, Lizzie. And I need you to promise me you aren't going to, either." His jaw was set, but he wasn't the only one who was stubborn. It was a Tucker trait.
"I can't promise you that, Trip. Not if she could get you out of this and back to your life."
"Elizabeth Katherine Tucker, I kept the secret about that boy – what was his name? Do you think Mom and Dad would have let you go to your prom with him if they had any idea what the two of you were getting up to right here in this apartment three weekends in a row?"
He had a point. Even if it wouldn't matter now, Trip had given her the key and covered for her so she could "get it out of the way" before the prom.
"I don't understand why you're doing this, Trip." All he'd ever talked about, from the time they were kids, was that sweet Warp Five engine, and how he was going to be the one to take care of that engine.
"Want to know the truth?" Trip rolled his head back on the back of the couch. "I don't really know, either. Except – what I felt with that Vulcan woman… even though we never talked, never touched, and I don't really know anything about her, there's something that makes me feel like I'm closer to her than any other woman I've ever been interested in. Like I'm going to see her again, someday, and it's all going to click right into place. And Lizzie?"
"Yeah, Trip?"
"I'd rather wreck my Starfleet career than take any chance of ruining that."
There was nothing left for Elizabeth to do. She hated it, but she promised. Trip sighed, slumped against the arm of the couch, and was asleep almost immediately.
She sat for a long time watching him, wondering if he was throwing it all away for a woman he was never going to see again – and if she'd just made the promise that would help him do it.