On the Mend
"I didn't know Hoshi actually brought something to wear," Trip said with a chuckle as he and Malcolm drank their coffee the next morning. They were sitting on the bench in front of the house watching T'Pol and Hoshi walk along the beach in matching summer dresses. The remnants of breakfast were still on the table in front of them.
"I doubt she'd be wearing that if it wasn't for T'Pau's arrival today," came Malcolm's amused reply. "I think that's the most she's worn in off-duty time in weeks."
"I never heard you complaining," Trip needled him.
"And I never will," Malcolm said. "I could think of worse things than coming home after a long shift and finding out that the only outfit my wife could decide on is a pair of panties."
"That's T'Pol's official meditation dress ever since I did that temperature job on the biosensors," Trip said chuckling.
"Best idea you ever had by the way," Malcolm replied. "Life support on my ship has been working fine since you've sent the specs to T'Len. If any of our Andorians fall on their knees before you and start worshiping you, you know why."
Trip snorted and laughed about the image of an Andorian bowing before him.
"Good to hear you laugh again," Malcolm mentioned casually.
"Hoshi helped a lot," Trip admitted. "If she wasn't the best linguist we have, she could just as well work as a counselor."
"That seemed to be working both ways," Malcolm replied. "I don't think I could have helped her like you did."
"Mal, all we did was talking and listening to each other. Of course you can do that."
"It's good to know someone's believing in me, but frankly I need to learn even basic social skills," Malcolm replied and Trip could hear the frustration in his friend's voice. "All I ever learned was to function properly. First that scumbag father of mine and later the section. All they needed was someone, who functions, no matter what. Hell, I would never have married Hoshi if you and T'Pol had not played match-maker."
"Are you sure you're not exaggerating?" Trip asked. "You didn't seem to have any social skill problems at your wedding."
"It was all rehearsed, mate," he heard the frustrated reply. "Hoshi walked me through everything, even when to grin and when not. Do you really think I would've showered myself with that beer boot if it wasn't for Hoshi suggesting I should?"
"Shit, I never knew, buddy," Trip said sincerely.
"You and T'Pol probably thought I'm the shy type or something when you set up Hoshi and me," Malcolm admitted. "But I never asked her out because I never learned how to talk about my feelings. Hell, I was taught all my life not to admit that I even have them."
"There's your teacher," Trip replied deadpan, pointing his coffee mug in the direction of T'Pol. "If anyone knows how to learn that, it's T'Pol."
=/\=
The shuttle landed near the beach and Trip didn't believe his eyes. In the co-pilot seat next to Travis on the pilot's seat sat his father and by the looks of things it was him doing the landing.
"What?" Charles asked, coming out of the hatch a few moments later. "Did you think your old man couldn't land one of them newfangled things? In comparison to our shuttles back then, these things are ridiculously easy to fly."
"I don't doubt that, dad," he said returning his fathers hug. "But your license must have expired somewhat like 20 years ago."
"He's got it back as of one minute ago, together with a passed PPC on a Mark V," Travis said flashing a wide grin, while signing the check ride protocol on a PADD. "May I introduce myself: Lieutenant Travis Maywheather, chief pilot SOLCOM fleet."
"Is there more we've missed in the – uh – three days we've been away?" Trip asked with a grin, congratulating his father and Travis.
"No that's the only major news you've missed," Travis explained. "I got checked out as pilot instructor yesterday and they've put me right to the task doing check rides with some of the civilians on shuttles and runabouts."
"Not quite," Charles butted in and held out his hand to help T'Pau out of the shuttle. "You also missed that this young lady here will have her first day at school next week."
Trip went over and hugged her. "Welcome back, honey. Did all go OK on Vulcan?"
"Soval is now first minister and what little of my possessions did not fit in my bag has been deposited in your home. I became concerned when I heard there have been problems with your health."
"Don't worry, honey. I'm getting better," he said.
"And don't worry about her possessions either," Charles remarked dryly. "Cath and T'Pau hit the mall like a tornado."
"That's hard to miss," Trip said with a chuckle. The dress she was wearing was certainly not of Vulcan origin.
"Maybe you should have accompanied us," T'Pau said and turned to T'Pol pointing at his Hawaiian shirt. "I take it you were not involved in selecting this garment?"
"Hardly," T'Pol replied deadpan and Trip could see Malcolm and Hoshi trying not to laugh. They were not very successful.
"Well son, I'll leave you to deal with the fashion police," Charles said and gave him a pat on the back. "Travis has to check out a few more people today."
=/\=
The shuttle had just left when Malcolm released the laugh he had barely managed to hold back. T'Pau's dry assessment of Trip's fashion sense and his friend's indignant face expression were too hilarious. Hoshi couldn't hold back either. Even T'Pol was risking an eyebrow cramp.
"Everybody done laughing about me?" Trip asked.
"Not as long as you're wearing that," Malcolm cackled.
"Better now?" Trip asked throwing the discarded shirt away after he had pulled it over his head.
"You won't need it in the water anyway," Hoshi said and pulled her dress over her head. She crumpled it into a ball and threw it where Trip's shirt had landed. Then she ran off into the sea.
"Maybe you should go to the mall with your wife, too," T'Pau noted with a look at Malcolm. "Her supply of underwear seems to be exhausted."
Malcolm doubled over. He could see the satisfied look on T'Pau's face, realizing she had hoped to make them laugh.
=/\=
"It's partly our fault, too," Hoshi admitted, lying on the beach next to T'Pau. She had accompanied the young Vulcan when she sampled swimming in Earth's ocean for the first time and she was now being quizzed by the former Vulcan leader about her godfathers health problems.
"I do not understand how you can be responsible for his psychological problems."
"We should have realized that he had never gotten the time to deal with his own problems. He constantly was solving other people's problems. After Corridan, he helped T'Pol, then he was responsible for rebuilding Salem One. As soon as that was done he was made responsible for the new class of star ships and on top of that he let himself be recruited by the Eldest Mother to care for you. When Kaitaama showed up on top of it, it finally became too much. We should have noticed earlier that he needs some fixing, too."
"Is he being 'fixed' now?" T'Pau asked and Hoshi could hear the demanding undertone of someone, who was used to take the lead.
"He's getting better," Hoshi assured her. "We all are actually. I've been listening and talking to him a lot. T'Pol and Malcolm are quite good at helping each other – both being former operatives and all."
"May I contribute to the cause in any way?" T'Pau asked.
"You already do," Hoshi said with a smile. "We all like you and it's great to have you here. And I don't need to bask in the sun alone anymore. The other's are wearing entirely too much clothing."
"Indeed," T'Pau said dryly with an eyebrow planted firmly north. Hoshi followed her look towards the wooden table in front of the house. Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol were sitting around it, engaged in a lively debate over something or other. Since she saw Trip wipe his eyes once in a while, they were most likely sifting through his issues together.
The men wore Bermuda shorts – very colorful ones in Trip's case. They drank their favorite beverage – beer. T'Pol meanwhile seemed compelled to adapt to the local dress code and wore a pair of what looked like yoga pants from the distance and no top. She had preferred orange juice.
Both women laid back again and continued to let the warmth of the sun caress their skin.
=/\=
It was a successful hunt and the brutal killing of the set'leth in a bare-handed fight had sated his rage. Only veruul like Valdore could enrage him like that. Tavrus was tired of being enraged. His life as an operative on Vulcan had been a lot easier. Here on Romulus he was an outcast. His surgically skimmed brow ridges and the resulting smooth forehead were a badge of honor in political and military circles as it marked him as one of the brave few, who had served undercover in enemy territory, but for the rest of the population it was a disfigurement. This made him extremely unattractive for the females.
No military honor and no amount of influence on the Praetor could undo the indignity of having to use the services of prostitutes to sate his sexual desires and they could only provide relief for his arousal. The seed he released into their abused bodies would never result in a heir. For that he needed a loving mate, who would fill the void in his live, who would bring light and joy to the emptiness he returned to whenever he entered his luxurious home in the Capitol.
"It is me, Master Turius," he called out and an elderly Romulan, with the same 'disfigurement' dropped from a tree branch, wielding a long knife.
"It has been a long time, young Tavrus. I now see where you have been all those years."
"I have brought meat for a feast," Tavrus said and dropped the dead animal from his shoulder.
=/\=
Darkness had fallen over the island and the group was now gathered sitting around a camp fire. The decision had been made that the human contingent should try their hands at taking part in a meditation session. Only one was missing – Trip.
He came out of the house a while later carrying two pairs of pants and two robes. He threw one pair of pants to Hoshi and T'Pau each. They put them on, but Hoshi kept looking at him with a questioning face expression.
"I don't feel comfortable looking at the exposed privates of my goddaughter all evening. That meditation pose doesn't exactly lend itself to keeping up a minimum of modesty."
"I apologize," T'Pau said.
"No need to," he said. "If you feel like running around naked, fine. But if you're so close, I'd prefer at least a minimum of clothing to be worn. Besides, it'll get a lot cooler tonight than the last two nights." He handed both T'Pol and T'Pau a bathrobe.
"You're doing it again, Trip," Hoshi said softly and he looked at her.
"Doing what?"
"You think you must take care of everyone. I agree with the pants, that was thoughtless of us. But the bathrobes? Don't you think T'Pol and T'Pau can just stand up and get inside to fetch them themselves if they're cold?"
"You're right, Hoshi, sorry," he sighed.
"It may be something you could try to contemplate during meditation," T'Pau offered.
"I'll try, honey," he promised with a smile and assumed the necessary pose. He closed his eyes and let the crackle of the fire bring calm to his mind.
=/\=
Tavrus observed the old man with interest. It was hard to imagine that this hero of so many battles, who had taught him the skills of a warrior, had been living the life of a hermit for over twenty years now. A fierce warrior in his prime, Master Turius had grown disillusioned with the Empire's endless violence after he had lost all five of his sons.
Normally, doubting or even publicly denouncing the Empire's military doctrine was an instant death sentence, but not even the Praetor dared to order the death of one of the most revered heroes of the Empire. Instead the predecessor of Praetor D'deridex had fabricated a cover story that Commander Turius sought a life in solitude and banished him to a small area in the Sen'lanark Mountains. They even declared it a military zone to prevent contact with civilians.
The skilled warrior had soon prepared the animal for roasting and Tavrus found himself under the scrutinizing glance of his former teacher.
"You are troubled, young Tavrus," the old man said.
"Indeed I am, Master," he admitted. "The Empire is rushing into a foolish war and even though I'm now the overseer of the Tal'Shiar, my voice is no longer heard as much as it should be. I have sacrificed my own contentment for the Empire, but that sacrifice looks more and more as if it was in vain."
"The females reject you, do they not?"
"They do," Tavrus admitted bitterly. "And not only they. I am stared at whenever I enter the civilian parts of the city. They consider me a... curiosity."
"One would have thought the Empire would spend some modest resources on finding ways to restore the appearance of their most revered heroes," the old man noted with no little amount of bitterness. "Those terrhassu would never do that to one of their own."
"You encountered them?" Tavrus asked.
"They already had an Embassy on Vulcan when their ships still needed half a year to travel from their home world to Vulcan," Turius recalled, slowly rotating the skinned animal over the fire. "I often visited it in my guise as 'assistant attaché V'Nur'. There once was an accident during the construction of the human Embassy – a dust explosion. One of the humans was disfigured in the accident. They spent months and dozens of surgeries to restore his appearance. The Empire can't even bring back two ridges."
Tavrus sat up. "Did you say your cover name was V'Nur?"
"Yes," the old man answered, sprinkling spices over the roasting meat. "One hundred years ago a foolishly curious young Vulcan called V'Nur died in a sand fire in the Vulcan Forge. The Empire had me surgically altered to resemble him, even though he was thirty years younger. I took his identity. Is it not ironic that they managed that, but they never could reconstruct my ridges?"
"Are you aware that you could be the father of one the Captains who handed defeat to the Empire?"
"Is my dear T'Pol a captain now?" the old man asked and Tavrus could see an errant tear in his Master's eye.
"She is the captain of the most famous Terran ship," Tavrus said. "She serves in the forces of the terrhassuand she is married to one of them."
"Once I had assumed the identity of the deceased Vulcan," Turius recollected. "I lived my life as a Vulcan for two decades, serving the Empire. They considered me unusual as my 'emotions were close to the surface'. When V'Nur's childhood betrothed T'Les became of child bearing age, we were married. I often miss her gentle touch. Nobody knew that I was already over ninety years old at the time. When our daughter was born, I started to wonder if the reunification of our people could not be achieved more swiftly if we adopted the Vulcan lifestyle instead of trying to conquer them. She was a most beautiful child and a true joy."
"She is still very beautiful," Tavrus said, failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I met her when the terrhassu toppled V'Las, our 'top operative' on Vulcan."
"Do you know if my beloved T'Les is still alive?"
Tavrus looked at his feet. "She is dead Master," he admitted with a lowered voice. "She was part of a movement that rejected the Government infiltrated by our operatives. 'V'Las' himself ordered the bombardment of their hideout. The area was blanket bombed with photonic torpedoes."
Tavrus looked away when his old mentor fled into his house. His distressed lamenting could be heard even over his distance. He felt like breathing was an almost impossible task when he realized that he once nearly killed his mentor's daughter, too.
"Bring me to Vulcan, Tavrus," his mentor demanded, returning to the fire place. His determined voice could not hide the fact that his stance was that of a broken man. "I want to visit the grave of my beloved and if life leaves me enough time I want to see the face of my beloved daughter again, even if she throws me into the brig."
"I would like to do that, I would even like to come with you, Master," Tavrus admitted. "But it would mean treason. We would leave the Empire open for conquest by the terrhassu."
"The terrhassu will not conquer us, Tavrus," his mentor disagreed. "They are not conquerors. They only protect what is theirs. They will drive us back to our own territory and stop there. Whatever conflict the Praetor is preparing for, it will end in a stalemate that will claim the lives of hundreds of thousands of warriors."
"Let us feast," Tavrus proclaimed, ripping a chunk of meat off the roasted beast. "Let us feast before we embark on the most dangerous mission we have undertaken yet. You have my word that I will allow you to meet your daughter. She is a fine warrior."
"I am indebted to you Tavrus. I will never forget your help," Turius/V'Nur answered and wrestled a haunch off the animal.