'We're like your exasperating, but ultimately agreeable space-cousins.'
Such was how Commander Tucker once described to me the relationship between Humans and Vulcans.
Exasperating was certainly to be agreed upon. Space-cousins was not to be dignified with a response.
But agreeable? That was to be debated.
Nothing agreeable presented itself within Charles Tucker—or Humanity—on first meeting. Or second.
Within him lied the same shortcomings present in the rest of his species. Impatience. Arrogance. Stubbornness. All these qualities only emphasized in one as brash as Tucker. Always pushing, always prodding. Always discovering new and inventive ways to overstep.
Yet, in the midst of offenses and irritations, even I must acknowledge the root of decency buried deep below the abrasive soil. A heart inclined to benevolence. Even compassion.
And, to the shock of most, the trepidation of some, and the intrigue of fewer still—A single member of our ranks who could keep up with him.
An unwilling member thrust into the undesirable position aboard that ship of Tucker's. The silent shepherd to keep the newborn explorers from the greatest dangers. Always the one to keep pace with him. To keep him in line.
And then, to the collective horror of logic and reason, to join him.
Perhaps Tucker possessed farther-reaching wisdom than his manner suggested, or perhaps I've simply come to recognize what was always there to see. What none of us but that one unwilling Sub-Commander saw.
The foundation of an alliance—a friendship—between our people. A reminder of the infinite diversity so easily forgotten within the rigid lines of logic.
And now, as two kneel before each other, joining together the bond of a husband and wife beneath the setting suns of Vulcan, and the words of the priest ebb to a finish as the new bond-pair connect with a touch, Tucker's mother begins to cry as silently and as happily as tears may come. And I must come to the same conclusion as that brash Human did so long ago.
Exasperating.
But ultimately agreeable.