Lullaby

That's a story that, somehow, I promised to Silverbullet. At the beginning it should have been a simple lullaby, which Trip could sing to his little girl, his and of T'Pol, but it grew up in my hands, so...

This little story can be read without you having knowledge of any other of my stories, but I wanted to put in it some allusions to my previous fics, without saying which fics they are. You know, my well-known narcissism. Maybe someone could be pushed to read the other stories I wrote and, who knows, those who have been so kind to read them could have fun by trying to guess which stories I am alluding to.

Anyway, I hope you can enjoy it.

But before you go to read this little piece, I must say something else.

First. I must thank two women, who wanted to help me, two marvellous writers. Ginamr as first traced my road and gave me some suggestions; then Opal took me by my hand and led me safely and gently.

Eh, I think I have already told you how much I am lucky with women. You should see my personal T'Pol, how beautiful she is.

Second. This is the ultimate story that I post here. My journey on this site started on July 13, 2007; I published at that time my first story, Ulysses, and, somehow, it's significant that I end my permanence here with this story, which is clearly connected with that one.

That doesn't mean that I don't want to write other stories; I will do it, if there will be someone so kind to help me: I am too much enamoured of Trip and T'Pol. But, as well as the continuation of "Human Mood" and of "In the Hall of the Mountain King", you will be able to find them elsewhere, at FanFiction.Net.

So, if you want, this... http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1191134/... it's me.

"Ahem... Hon?"

T'Pol made no sign that she had heard.

Trip gave a slight sigh; it was bad, very bad. T'Pol's hearing was exceptional and she noticed everything too. It was not good that she pretended not to have heard and continued to act as if he didn't exist.

Angry Vulcans equalled Humans in trouble. Angry wife meant husband in big trouble. Angry T'Pol, Vulcan and wife meant poor, poor Trip, Human and husband; very, lamentably, triply poor Trip.

(*Come on, chin up, man! What the heck do you think she might do? That she might get you with one of her Vulcan nerve pinches?*)

Mh, well, after all... Eh sure. Maybe, well, maybe this fear might not be so unreal. There was another Vulcan female, by chance, who had ever had to deal with a cute, little half-Vulcan, half-Human baby girl, who cried and shouted and sobbed without stopping for even a moment? Without sleeping, not even a moment? Without showing the minimal pity for her poor Vulcan mother? All day and all night? What the hell could she do, an exhausted and frustrated Vulcan woman? Who was unable to find any logical way to treat such an illogical daughter? A Vulcan woman who was so tired, so mightily, terribly, awfully tired and one who was also stubborn, so mightily, terribly, awfully stubborn.

(*Oh well, these are all good reasons to do something. You are her husband, aren't you? You are the father, aren't you? So, calm the daughter and give your wife some relief at the same time...only try not to fail, and therefore enhance your wife's anger.*)

Eh sure, because Vulcan night could be very unpleasant for a poor Human husband compelled to pass it out in the open.

(*Oh come on, man! After all, weren't you the one who dared go into the core of the Romulan Empire as a masked spy? A little of courage, for Pete's sake.*)

Trip took another breath, a little deeper this time, and then repeated himself, only this time in a slightly louder voice, "Hey, Hon."

The stern and tense face of the most disgruntled and powerless of Vulcan mothers turned towards him. "Yesss?"

The prolonged and sibilant pronunciation of that Yes didn't go unnoticed by Trip. Mh, the Romulans had been lucky that they had to deal with him, and not his wife.

He cleared his throat. "Oh... Ehm... Hon. Don't you think... don't you think I could help you?"

A severe eyebrow was raised to accompany her response. "Do you have any reason to believe I am not able to deal with the situation?"

(*Oh oh. Softly, man, softly, with caution. When she in this mood, she can be capable of being even worse than you.*). "Darlin', there's nothing you can't face up to, but... well..." - Trip looked meaningfully at the ruffled hair of his wife - "... maybe it's hard for a Vulcan to have to deal with a baby who has a little of the Human illogical genes in her brain cells."

The raised eyebrow went up a little more, and in a dangerously glacial voice the sweet, darling wife of Trip replied to him; the sweet, darling words passing between her sweet, darling lips. "I had no problems with the twins; I don't see why I should have problems with T'Mir."

(*Ah, you don't see, do you?*) Trip sighed again, watching the evident effort his wife required both to control herself and to prevent the little bundle fiercely wriggling in her arms from falling. Then an idea flashed through his mind. There was only one person capable of reducing T'Pol in this way, and that person was him, Trip. If their little T'Mir was able to reach the same outcome that meant... 

Oh damn! He was only a poor engineer after all, he wasn't an 'I-know-maths-astrophysics-genetics-biology-heredity laws-etc-etc-etc' unlike the wiseacre with the chassis of a pin-up that was his wife, but maybe he was not entirely off the track. And in this case...

The childlike and traitorous smile he was in the habit of using to soft-soap his sweet other half and to smooth her chagrin started to appear captivatingly on his face, accompanied by the best puppy-eyes he could display. The expression was well known by T'Pol but she had always fallen for this trap and Trip covertly crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping it might work this time also.

The eyebrow was lowered, giving way to the one which could almost be described as a resigned expression. (*Okay, man. Go ahead.*) "Sure T'Pol, but who knows, maybe the twins are more similar to you, whereas T'Mir..."

"...could have a little more of your genetic material?" T'Pol cast a quick glance at the little girl, only to turn her eyes elsewhere in an attempt to avoid the small fingers of her quiet baby from reaching them. Her voice was raised in order to surmount the shrill screeches of her daughter. "I have no difficulty in accepting this fact as something decidedly beyond a mere possibility."

Trip was unable to restrain himself. "Hey Hon, did my mom tell you anything apropos of my infancy when you met her, by chance?"

T'Pol's arched eyebrow was raised again; only this time it underlined a slight sparkle of clear amusement in the eyes of the tired Vulcan mom.

(*Okay, man. If nothing else you've managed to improve her mood. Now you can sail through calmer waters.*) "Forget it, Darlin'. Better not to go to deep into the matter at present, I think. Anyway, if it's possible that our baby is a little more human than her siblings, it's also possible that I will stand a better chance of calming her than you. You know, between companions of the same genetic arsenal..."

T'Pol remained firm for an instant, still fighting against the writhing little pest as she fixedly watched her husband, then her voice sprang out and she reached out her arms with the small living package dangling in her hands. "Over to you, my dear Human husband. Good luck."

And so, Trip found himself with a desperately sobbing little girl, wriggling in his arms, and with another slightly older girl, expectantly looking at him, her hands placidly crossed behind her back.

His worried eyes darted between the two girls.

(*And now, what the heck am I going to do?*)

Just then, God knows by what devil of a miracle, the cries and the sobs lessened, little by little, until they stopped.

The incredulous father found himself watching, unbelieving, as the two large eyes of his child, still plentifully wet with tears, looked up at his with a puzzled expression. Then those large child-eyes seemed to smile, before they closed and finally the little girl laid her head on the chest of her father and rested peacefully.

There was a long moment of bated silence, until Trip managed to rouse himself. He turned to his wife and saw that she was looking at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, her arms hanging limply at her sides. 

At last the biggest of smiles, so large that it could have aroused Phlox's envy, was plastered on Trip's visage. His voice rose glad and proud. "Well, Hon, I told you..."

A wrenching yell suddenly scratched the air. The war hadn't ended, the little warrior had regrouped her forces and a poor Human father had to face the situation that his Vulcan wife had been dealing with before him.

With her arms crossed again, her eyebrow raised again with clear purpose, the corners of the lips unequivocally bending upward in what, quite clearly, could be interpreted as a veritable malicious smile, the quoted wife spoke in a fluty voice. "You told me what, my dear talented Human husband?"

Trip stared intensely at T'Pol while holding on tightly to that hurricane in the shape of a little girl. And, in the end, the anger rose up within him. "Okay Hon, Okay."

He then turned his gaze to the crying child, "Okay, little girl, okay. Now, if it's true that you mostly inherited my genetic material, the best you should do is surrender to it."

"Trip! What are you going to do?" 

Trip didn't answer to his wife's worried question. He lowered his head to his still crying child and spoke sweetly to her. "Little girl, I don't know if Vulcans do this and if Vulcan babies respond to this, but Humans do, and their babies respond. I did respond, and you are my little girl."

Trip began to cradle the small bundle in his arms. Then he began to sing.

T'Pol stopped still and she listened to her husband's chant. She knew he had a nice singing voice; she had known that since the start of her time on Enterprise. Now it was her daughter's turn to be entrapped by the entrancing singing... of their man.

A sweet melody spread through the air. It was a lullaby. The first Human lullaby to reach the pointed ears of a tiny, more or less, Vulcan child.

Do not cry, my little girl,

Cease your sobs, listen to me.

You must rest; you need sleep,

And this song will aid you.

It's a lullaby, a berceuse,

That my mother sang to me

When I was a faddy brat

Very little and very bad,

Bawling and crying without rest, 

Night and day, day and night.

You're a girl, I was a boy,

I'm your dad, not your mom,

So the words are not the same,

But equal, or even more,

It's a song which has inside

All the love we have for you.

The hypnotic rhythm of the cradle song propagated in the air. It spread all around, permeating through the room. It reached down into the ears of the listening child and worked on her little mouth, which stopped its cry and closed shut. It alighted on the little girl's eyelids, which became heavy and bit by bit went down, until her eyes were closed; until sleep took hold of her.

Under the attentive eyes of his wife, Trip began to walk toward the cradle, slowly, holding the baby girl to his chest and still dandling her, now humming the rigmarole's tune. He reached the cot and placed the child in it, slowly and with caution, careful not to wake her. He covered her with the blanket and made as if to get up and go away. Then his child suddenly opened her eyes, as if she knew her father was going to leave her.

Trip reacted immediately. He kneeled down at the cot's side and tenderly began to caress with his big fingertips the minuscule pointed tips of his little daughter's ears while at the same time resuming his singing in the softest of the voices.

No, no, no, my little girl, 

Don't awaken, don't cry again,

You must be in need of sleep.

And your dad will explain why.

The tiny eyelids of the baby girl became heavy again; they waved a little and then closed once more, while her breath became regular and slight at the sound of her father's chanson.

T'Pol hadn't missed any part of the scene. She was gazing at them with such attention she almost ached and could swear that her daughter's breath seemed to resound as if she was purring, happy with the soft caresses of her father, with the mesmerizing cadence of his lullaby. Somehow, she sensed that something new and unknown was happening, as if, between her man and their daughter, a connection, a Bond, like the one which tied her to Trip was being established. Their Bond was telling her that she must not fail to listen attentively to her husband's chant, that she must pay the greatest attention to every word.

And she wasn't mistaken.

As the mellow melody unfolded, she avidly drank it in, charmed by the chant's beauty on its own, but even more by what its rhymes meant. Trip was expressing with his sweet rigmarole why their child should sleep and the words of his song penetrated T'Pol's soul.

You must sleep, my dear little girl,

If you want your eyes to shine 

Like the eyes that your mommy has.

You must sleep, my dear little girl,

If you want your hair to be shiny

Like the hair that your mommy has.

You must sleep, my dear little girl,

If you want your nose to be cute

Like the nose that your mommy has.

You must sleep, my dear little girl,

If you want your lips to be soft

Like the lips that your mommy has.

You must sleep, my dear little girl

If you want your beauty to grow

To equal the beauty of your mom.

Now the baby seemed to sleep profoundly. Trip ceased his caresses and got up very slowly, again quietly humming his tune. 

He stood at the side of the cradle, looking down at his sleeping treasure, and started to sing once more, in a very low voice.

Rest my child and have good dreams,

Dream of me and of your mom,

Dream of your joyous future,

When you will savour the bliss

Given you by the sweet force

Of a love such as the one

Which binds us, my little girl,

Trip, your dad, and T'Pol, your mom.

Now all was quiet. The baby was sleeping, placidly and serenely.

Trip was still standing at the side of the cot, and he was staring at the sleeping child.

There was a strange and pensive expression on his face; he was so intent and engrossed that T'Pol didn't dare to speak or even move.

Then, finally, Trip spoke. He talked gravely, with a voice so low that it was practically inaudible. He seemed to speak to himself.

"Yeah, I am sure you will be happy one day, my little girl. You will find your bliss, the love that will bring it to you."

He paused for an instant, as if he was gathering his thoughts. Then he spoke again, more quietly, if that was possible.

"But I'm not sure you will find a man who can love you more than how I love your mom."

He stopped again and then murmured some more words.

"There can't be a love greater than the love I have for my T'Pol."

Trip remained silent for some moments, before shaking himself free from his reverie.

He smiled, brightly and joyously and then turned around. "See, Hon? I think..."

He wasn't able to finish what he was going to say.

Two well-known arms were embracing him in a hug which risked breaking his ribs, and an equally well-known mouth was making his own mouth dumb by powerfully pressing her lips against his.

Oh well, you know. Vulcans have very keen hearing; they are able to hear the quietest of sounds, even the softest of sighed words. So, try to think of how keen the hearing of a Vulcan woman in love can be when she is listening to her Ashayam's words.

Words of love.

But don't forget, Vulcans are logical too. Add T'Pol's scientific education, her training and job as a scientist and a scientific officer; add consequently her being totally entrenched not only in logic but also in the Scientific Method. Ultimately, therefore there is nothing strange, rather it is perfectly logical, that she would want to scientifically demonstrate to her T'hai'la that he was absolutely right when he had sung to their little girl that the lips of her mom were really soft. 

The End

What do you think? If Trip had sung a lullaby to T'Pol would she fall asleep at this point?