Missing Scenes from Season Four: Terra Prime

Part III

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm afraid this one just keeps getting longer, but "Terra Prime" necessarily skipped over a great deal for our favorite couple and I just can't help wanting to connect the dots. Language warning on this one. You can expect at least one more part. My sincere thanks as always, reviewers.

It was only when he saw his father's stricken face staring at Elizabeth in her casket that Trip suddenly remembered that this might be particularly difficult for the man who had long battled serious depression over the loss of his own daughter Elizabeth … and who'd also lost an infant daughter a long time ago, along with his first wife.

Damn. Why had he even come? Why had they brought him? Was it fair that he had to worry about his dad at a time like this?

Not that life was fair. Two dead Elizabeths were already proof enough of that.

He watched his mother, gone quite pale, rub her hand up and down his father's back and peer anxiously into his face when she wasn't also staring at her deceased granddaughter. "Oh, the poor dear," she said. "Oh, Trip darling, T'Pol honey, I'm so sorry."

T'Pol stood calmly, just watching. She had handled the influx of Tuckers without any obvious difficulty, but Trip knew that appearances could be deceiving.

He suspected that she had sensed their imminent arrival through their bond, for she had already begun rising to her feet before he went in to warn her.

Actually, his family had been unusually quiet. Cathy and Nate had come without their spouses or their children, which Trip thought was a good thing, and nobody forced a hug on T'Pol, although his mother did grab her hands and hold them in her own for a moment as she said how sorry she was.

Even his grandmother, who was using a cane now, had been restrained. Or perhaps she had just been confused. She stared at Elizabeth. "But she has pointed ears!" she said.

"Yes, Grandma," Trip said. "Elizabeth is half Vulcan, half human. T'Pol was her mother."

"But why didn't you tell us you had a baby?" Grandma wailed.

"We only just found out," Trip said.

Cathy said, "Remember what we told you, Grandma? About that awful man Paxton? How he cloned a baby?"

"Of course I do," Grandma said. "But what is that poor dear doing here?"

Cathy said, "She's their baby, even if they didn't know about her until…?" She looked at Trip.

"Uh… I guess we found out about her four days ago. The first time we saw her was… yesterday," Trip said. "And she died … earlier this afternoon." He looked at T'Pol. He hadn't really had a moment to think about the timeline before now.

It was insane.

How could he feel so much over something that had happened so fast?

"How awful for you," his mother said. "How awful. And such a pretty little girl. Just look at her."

His father kept looking, but said nothing.

Grandma said, "She's got just the same brow line Trip had as a baby. And Lizzie. Those are the Anthony eyebrows. They're a mark of intelligence, if you ask me."

Trip frowned. He had never thought to link intelligence to that particular facial feature, not that it mattered now. "At least she didn't get the Tucker nose," he said, and Cathy and Nate snorted a little at the old family joke.

There was no reaction from his father, whose ski jump was more pronounced than anyone's.

Cathy said, "So what's going to happen next?"

Trip looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Will there be a funeral? A memorial service?"

Trip looked at T'Pol. They'd both just been swept along up to now. Where was Hoshi when you needed her?

"We haven't discussed it," T'Pol said. "What would be customary?"

His mom smiled sadly. "Well, now, you probably should do something at some point … it's usually within four or five days, although some believe in being much faster about it."

"As do Vulcans," T'Pol said, "But we know that will not be possible in this case."

"Elizabeth's body may not be available to us for some time," Trip explained quickly, before T'Pol could use the word 'corpse' again.

"It took us weeks to organize a memorial for Lizzie," Cathy said. Her eyes flickered to their father, who was still just staring at the baby in her casket. "Of course, we kept hoping she'd show up somewhere. Honestly, for something like this, I think you can probably just do whatever you want to do."

Nate said, "Just let us know. We'll be there, assuming you do it on Earth and not on Vulcan."

"It won't be on Vulcan," T'Pol said, and Trip looked at her in some surprise.

"Well, I guess we'll figure it out and let you know," he said. "We just haven't had any time to think at all."

"You poor dears," his mom said. "It's just the most awful feeling, I know. I bet you can't believe it's really happening."

His father finally turned around. "Try not to think about it too much, that's my advice," he said, and hugged his son. "It won't help. Let's go, people." He nodded politely at T'Pol and began shepherding his mother-in-law to the door. His mom quickly hugged him again, saying, "I'm so, so sorry, honey!" and then hurried after them.

"Will you be all right?" Cathy asked him.

Trip shrugged. "Do I have any choice?"

"No." She turned to T'Pol. "It was nice to meet you at last. I'm sorry it was under these circumstances."

"It was agreeable to meet you as well," T'Pol said.

Nate, as usual, had less to say. He patted Trip on the shoulder and nodded politely to T'Pol and said, "Hang in there," to both of them, then scrambled after his sister.

"You don't wish to escort them?" T'Pol asked him.

"Malcolm said he would take care of it," he said, and sighed. It was the first time they'd been alone in what felt like days. "Did you meditate?"

"A little."

"Then you probably need more," he said.

"Yes."

He turned and looked down at their beautiful girl. Nothing about her had changed in the last three hours. All he could smell was chrysanthemums and T'Pol's candles. It was perhaps a mercy that one seldom had to worry about insects on a starship. Still, he had to assume that the inevitable, obscene march of decomposition was underway. "So what now?"

"I imagine Phlox will want to get started soon."

"Is waiting a little longer going to screw it up?"

"I don't believe so. There appears to be a small stasis field operating in the bottom of the casket. Can you not hear the hum?"

"You have much better hearing than I do." He put his hand out and touched the bottom edge of the casket. Yes, there was just a bit of vibration there. "How practical of Soval."

"Vulcans don't embalm."

Trip frowned and pulled out her mat and placed it where he had before, then moved her meditation candle back to the floor. He was tempted to sit down next to her, but he didn't think he could manage to remain pretzeled there comfortably for very long, so he dragged a chair over. "Go ahead and meditate," he said. "I'm just going to sit here quietly with both of you."

x x x

"Trip?" T'Pol's soft voice had an urgent tone.

"Mmmm?" Trip blinked awake. Damn it. He'd drooled.

The captain's voice said, "Phlox needs to take Elizabeth now."

"Uh?" He scrambled to his feet, disoriented to find himself in the conference room, and felt his heart contract as unpleasant reality flooded back. The candle Hoshi had brought had burnt out, and T'Pol's meditation candle was out, too; the room seemed much darker even though the light of the two candles could hardly have made that much of a difference.

"With your permission, Commander?" Phlox said.

"She'll be in sickbay?"

"Yes," Phlox said. "I'll let you know about any plans to move her."

"Is this for the autopsy?"

"Yes."

Trip resisted the urge to ask if the doctor was going to have to cut her open. He didn't really want to know. He reached out to touch his little girl one last time. Her cheek was so cold. "Goodbye, sweetheart."

T'Pol simply lifted her IDIC out of the casket.

They stepped back, allowing Phlox to move in with the casket lid they had left behind in sickbay. He and one of the MACOs closed it and carried it out with more ceremony than T'Pol had employed in bringing it in.

They left, but Jon stayed. "How are you two holding up?" he asked.

Trip just shrugged. T'Pol didn't answer either. "Thanks for getting my family up here," Trip said.

"It was the least I could do," Jon said.

Trip sighed. "So… I guess this is pretty much it, for now."

Archer frowned. "Not exactly. Starfleet is eager to debrief both of you about what happened with Paxton … and also about your relationship." He sighed. "I've been fighting them since we got back and I'm still not sure how this is going to work out. For that matter, I'm not absolutely sure how you want it to work out. I'd like to keep you both here if at all possible."

"Are they trying to get rid of us?" Trip said.

"No, but there are serious questions about whether you can still serve together on Enterprise, especially given that the whole planet now assumes you're in a relationship."

"We are in a relationship," Trip said.

"I know," Jon said. "Unfortunately, if that's the official story, I don't think I'll be able to keep you both."

Trip growled, "Which would mean you wouldn't get either of us."

"Commander Tucker and I will require time to discuss the matter," T'Pol said.

"I know," Jon said. "I imagine you could use some sleep, too. I've managed to hold them off until 0900 tomorrow. But at that point, you can expect plenty of pointed questions. Whatever you decide, I'd like to avoid any inconsistencies in our approach. So, fill me before then, okay? Or if you just want to talk. I'm available. Any time. Wake me up, I won't mind."

"Thank you, Captain," T'Pol said.

Trip just nodded curtly. He knew that Jon just doing his job, and that Starfleet was just doing its job, but that couldn't stop him from being offended by the timing of it.

x x x

"How long was I out?" Trip asked T'Pol as he followed her out of the conference room.

"Thirty-two minutes," she said, and then after a moment added, "You snored."

"Was it so loud you couldn't meditate?"

"It did not interfere significantly," she said. "But you will require more sleep than that."

"And you will require more meditation." He didn't even bother to see if anyone was in the corridor before he followed her into her quarters. He was carrying her mat, after all. He replaced it, then sniffed at a familiar smell and said, "Look."

Trays of food had been left on T'Pol's desk, including more of the cheese squares, a selection of fruit, a jar full of bread sticks, and an entire half of a pecan pie, along with some thermal beverage containers. "Perhaps Chef decided to forgive our lack of enthusiasm for his offerings earlier," T'Pol said.

"I'd put my money on Hoshi," Trip said. "Chef doesn't usually forgive that quickly." He watched T'Pol eye the food. "You should eat."

"Vulcans generally fast for the first day after the loss of a family member."

"Of course they do," Trip said, deflated. Why did Vulcans always have to find the most unpleasant way to get through any crisis? "You'd hate what we do where I come from. I was honestly kind of surprised that Mom didn't show up with a cake and a casserole."

T'Pol sat down on her bunk. "Was it an indication of disapproval that she did not?"

"No!" Trip said. "She probably just didn't have time. Why would you think she might disapprove?"

T'Pol looked very tired suddenly. "No reason. Your mother has always been kind."

He sat down next to her, concerned. "And that surprises you?"

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "The Vulcan who came with Soval and the priest. Did you know him?"

"No."

"His name is Fe'rat. He is a psychiatrist affiliated with the Vulcan consulate. When I went to see Soval before our trip to Vulcan, he was there."

"Oh," Trip said, remembering back to how unsettled T'Pol had been after that meeting. "Maybe they're concerned about how you might be coping with all this."

"I should not have been surprised that Fer'at felt the need to point out the nontraditional nature of the activity. At the time of our last meeting, he asked me why I had not married yet, as a normal Vulcan woman would have. Of course, they both appeared to assume that I wished to join Starfleet so I could stay close to Captain Archer."

Trip smiled, amused. "As if you'd actually do that for a guy."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that why you grabbed my hand? When the priest was saying … whatever he was saying?"

"You are Elizabeth's father. I thought you should participate in the prayer."

"I don't even know Vulcan," Trip said. He was a little disappointed. He supposed he'd hoped that it had been T'Pol's way of showing those Vulcans who she was with. "I know you were very angry. Was it because of Fe'rat?"

T'Pol blinked at him. "Are you not angry about what happened to our daughter?"

"Yes, of course I am." He sighed. "But if I let myself dwell on that I'll go crazy. And that won't help Elizabeth now. Or you."

"I believe it may take me somewhat longer than you to fully dispel my rage," she said, in her usual calm tone. She looked at the food again. "You should eat."

"I had some earlier," he said. "Perhaps I should get rid of all this, since you can't have any."

"There's no need. I see no particular reason to slavishly observe Vulcan custom at this point; at the moment I'm simply not hungry."

"Do you want to meditate?"

"No," she said.

"Sleep?" he said.

"The captain wants to know what we are going to say to Starfleet tomorrow."

Trip blinked tiredly at her. "If I have to think about that right now, all I'm going to be able to come up with is 'Fuck Starfleet'."

She just looked at him.

He grimaced. "Okay, so maybe I am still angry."

"You need sleep."

"I need you," he said, and held out his hand.

She put hers in it – yes, she was still pulsing with anger – and he put it up against his cheek. "I love you," he said.

Her eyes filled, and he could feel a rush of warmth and gratitude back at him through her hand, so strong that he felt only a twinge of disappointment that she hadn't actually said it back.

She never would say it back, would she? Apparently Vulcans just didn't. Or at least this Vulcan didn't. "So what do you need now?" he said briskly. "A shower? Sleep? Neuro-pressure? Or do you want me to leave you alone for awhile?"

"Please stay."

"Okay." At least she was willing to say that.

"What do you need, Trip?"

I need you to tell me that you love me too, he thought, but that was too much like saying I need you to not be Vulcan for awhile and so he did not say it. "Neuro-pressure would be nice," he said, instead. T'Pol's hands had always done her sweet talking for her.

"Very well," she said, and leaned forward to lift his sling from around his neck.

He sat more passively than usual and let her undress him.

This too, he told himself, was love.

x x x

T'Pol pressed the neural nodes on her mate's back, releasing knots as she went, and felt his muscles relaxing under her touch – relaxing in some measure, at least, but not entirely, because that constraining, tangled net of rage, fear, anxiety, guilt, disbelief, and loneliness that she had learned to associate with a grieving Trip after his sister died was back again.

Still, he was not as bad now as he had been then. Then, he had also simmered with a nihilistic desire for revenge at any cost. Now, he was angry, but not angry to the point of murderousness. Not angry to the point that it blocked out everything good in his life.

Not as angry as she was.

Of course, it was also possible he simply hadn't fully realized his loss yet. Or perhaps, not having had an opportunity to bond with their daughter, her loss necessarily had less of an impact on him.

Or perhaps he was being usefully distracted by his need to care for her and look for a way forward for both of them.

She was grateful that he could do that, for she was truly struggling with rage. She thought losing her mother had been difficult, but losing this child felt like having flesh ripped from her own body, leaving behind a hole that would never heal. She wanted to kill Paxton. Slowly. She wanted to watch him seize with fever and weaken and struggle to draw breath, and if he fell into a coma, she wanted to wake him up and make him go through that terrible struggle all over again.

Except that none of that would be enough revenge, not really, unless she could also somehow also subtract from him all his memories of being held in a mother's safe embrace, of his entire childhood, of home, of growing up, of becoming a man.

"T'Pol?" Trip had no doubt noticed her hands going still on his back.

"I apologize," she said, and resumed.

"You know, we don't have to do this now," he said. He was looking out for her once again, but she had felt his disappointment earlier, when he'd told her he loved her and she hadn't responded in kind, and she could sense him steeling himself for this disappointment, too.

"You need this," she said, and tried once again to focus on him. Surely it was the least she could do.

Why couldn't she say it? Didn't she love him? And wouldn't it comfort him to hear it?

But we don't say that. Vulcans don't speak of their emotions. Emotions are shameful.

Yet she'd spoken of her rage. Revenge wasn't Vulcan either, yet she was letting fantasies of that consume her.

Besides, her mate was not Vulcan. Her child was not fully Vulcan. Her child's wake had not been Vulcan. Why was she trying to force her bond with this Human into the Vulcan mold when it had never fit into the Vulcan mold and never would?

Maybe there was a more fundamental reason she was avoiding this. Over and over again, when she'd been faced with the need to tell this man how much he meant to her, she had resorted to some other way of getting the message across – sex, usually.

Perhaps, by asking for neuro-pressure, he had been essentially settling for that. Neuro-pressure for them usually led to sex.

But she didn't want to have sex. She was too angry to have sex. She was too sad to have sex. Sex was how normal people got pregnant and had babies that they gave birth to and raised. For her and Trip, sex would only ever be a pleasant exercise in physical fitness and mutual affection, and while she considered herself fortunate to get to experience this with this man she loved far more often and more pleasantly than most Vulcan women did (or so she assumed), there was also a terrible futility about it.

Trip twisted around again. She'd let her hands still yet again. "T'Pol," he said, "Maybe we should just try to sleep. Do you think we could just sleep? I think we're both too tired for this. I know I am."

He was so sad. She was failing him.

"I love you," she said. "I have always loved you."

He smiled and raised a hand to her cheek. "I know. But thank you for saying it. Let's just try to get some sleep, okay?"

TO BE CONTINUED