Well, this is what I'm writting. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here, so it would be helpful to know your opinions. It's not finished yet, so sorry for cliffhanger, if there is any.
You could call it "The mother of all the AUs", because this is how I describe it. It's an AU with a lot of AUs inside. Confusing? Yeah
It's the same scenery, but told in different occasions, result of different "what if"s. Still confusing? Yes, I know
But I think you'll understand when you read it. They are just vignettes, so I'm not going to develop them, but the "what if"s are like open code, anybody that finds them interesting can use them and play with them
Warning for
Asso: except the last part, which is not finished, this isn't happy, so... you know...
Oh, yeah, it's not beta-read (didn't want to disturb anybody with this), so expect the worst
The Complex Nature of Time or
Something To Talk AboutThe Exo-Botanical Museum of San Francisco was one of the finest samplers of Nature in all its
grandeur and variety. Species of hundred planets were exhibited there in a marvellous voyage through the miracle of life.
But even with such alien sceneries, Trip always ended breathless on the Tropical Earth Exhibition Hall. There was something indescribably beautiful on the sight of lush foliage. Nothing could compare to the green of Earth. Especially after the war.
He closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the recorded sound of exotic birds. At that hour there was nobody, so he didn’t have to suffer the cries of children or the loud voices of natural scientist wannabes. Trip opened his eyes again.
Oh, he was wrong, there was somebody on the same room. A petite somebody. A woman. A Vulcan female. But not any Vulcan female…
“Sub-Commander T’Pol?” he called out loud, incapable of stopping himself.
He turned her head and looked at him quizzically. After five long seconds she seemed to recall his name. “Commander Tucker?”
Trip approached her while he was pointing at himself. “It’s Captain now.” Why was he explaining that?
T’Pol just nodded. She didn’t change at all. She looked exactly the same as she did before leaving
Enterprise. Perhaps a little less stiff. The Vulcan robes went well with her, though.
“Whoa! It’s been ages since the last time I saw you! Since—” He stopped.
The last time he saw her, just before she went away, when he asked her once more not to leave, not to marry her fiancé
whatshisname. He didn’t think it would still hurt. But it did.
“Almost ten years,” she answered.
T’Pol, always the stoic.
“So…” He scratched the nape of his neck. “What’s you been doing all this time?”
“Two years after leaving Enterprise I was appointed Science Officer of the
Halan and one and half years ago I became an Instructor in the Vulcan Science Academy.”
“Oh… That’s great…” He smiled weakly. “Congratulations.”
She nodded again. Any other person would ask “And you?” But T’Pol was Vulcan. She was making difficult to make a conversation with her. Maybe that was the point. He would be damned if he let her do it.
“And you married, I suppose?”
T’Pol tensed. “Yes.”
“Congratulations for that, too.” He tried to sound casual, almost glad.
She relaxed. “Thank you.”
“What was his name…?” He snapped his fingers repeatedly.
“Koss.”
Yes, that’s it! Trip was about to shout it out loud. “And is everything fine with him?”
Trip swallowed his laughter. T’Pol showed the same face of incomprehension she used to when he tried to explain to her the rules of “strip-poker”.
“I mean… Are you happy?” He redid the question quickly. “Is your family life satisfactory?”
“Quite.”
That was good or bad? He was going to dig a little more when a rush movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and a high-pitched voice interrupted him.
“Mother, mother!”
A miniature version of a Vulcan ran toward T’Pol. Trip noticed (in the middle of his bewilderment) that he slowed down and straightened as he approached her until stopping just in front of T’Pol with the same coolness of a College graduate expounding his doctoral thesis.
T’Pol arched a brow. The boy-Vulcan swallowed.
“What have I said about running?” she asked.
The boy-Vulcan suddenly became very interested in his shoes. Then he raised his head and threw Trip a wary glance. He said something to her in Vulcan. T’Pol put her hand on his head and brought the child closer to her.
“This man is Captain Tucker. I served with him onboard
Enterprise.” T’Pol addressed Trip and, to make his amazement bigger, her features softened to the point of verging on a smile. “Captain, this is my son Sawek.”
“How do you do?” he managed to croak.
The boy arched a brow and made a perfect impersonation of her mother’s look of aloofness. With the same eyes. The hair was completely black and his features were rounder, but the eyes… It was like seeing double. T’Pol gave her son a “friendly” tug to his ear. The child groaned and performed the ta’al, the customary Vulcan salute.
“Peace and long life.”
“Live long and prosper,” Trip answered, but avoided to make the hand gesture. His limbs were shaking.
The child actually pouted. And threw him another killing glare. And then… His eyes popped out of his head, his mouth hung and he turned toward T’Pol so quickly that he created a small gust of air. “
Enterprise?” he asked and said a quick string of words in Vulcan.
Her mother interrupted him. Harshly. Showing her palm extended in front of him. The boy recovered the usual Vulcan coolness.
Wow! She is a mother.“Am I famous?” Trip asked, a little cocky.
“Not you, the
Enterprise,” T’Pol contradicted, her voice a bucket of cold water. “My son finds fascinating its voyages.”
“You began it, telling me about—”
T’Pol silenced Sawek with a
kick on his shin. Amazing the Vulcan self-control: he didn’t even cry out.
“If you want, I can tell you more stories about it. I was Commander and Chief Engineer there for about six years.”
“Really?” the boy asked.
Trip was a little taken aback: he never thought he would see an unadulterated stare of admiration from those hazel eyes. “Of course, boy.”
“That is very considerate of you, but we have no time,” T’Pol interrupted.
“But mother—”
T’Pol talked to him in Vulcan. Trip couldn’t understand much. Although it wasn’t necessary, any person who had lived through childhood could understand a mother’s refusal. Even if it wasn’t directed to him, it was still painful. The boy surrendered and bowed his head.
“I convey my apologies, Captain, but we have to go,” T’Pol said. She seemed unaware of her child’s sulking.
“I understand, Sub-Commander,” he lied.
“Instructor,” she corrected.
“Yeah, right.”
T’Pol performed the ta’al. She performed the damn ta’al as if he was a frigging stranger! Sawek imitated her without raising his head
“Peace and long live,” she recited.
“Goodbye, T’Pol.” He didn’t return the salutation.
She looked microscopically stunned, but recovered as quick as she was supposed to. Then she walked away, with her hand on her son’s shoulders.
Trip felt a sudden sadness, but recovered as fast as her. Any kind of regret was totally unnecessary.
They were almost strangers, after all.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Exo-Botanical Museum of San Francisco was one of the finest samplers of Nature in all its
grandeur and variety. Species of hundred planets were exhibited there in a marvellous voyage through the miracle of life.
But even with such alien sceneries, Trip always ended breathless on the Tropical Earth Exhibition Hall. There was something indescribably beautiful on the sight of lush foliage. Nothing could compare to the green of Earth. Especially after the war.
He closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the recorded sound of exotic birds. At that hour there was nobody, so he didn’t have to suffer the cries of children or the loud voices of natural scientist wannabes. Trip opened his eyes again.
Oh, he was wrong, there was somebody on the same room. A petite somebody. A woman. A Vulcan female. But not any Vulcan female…
“Sub-Commander T’Pol?”
She turned her head so quickly that her neck almost snapped and kept staring at him for the longest moment with her eyes very open. “Commander Tucker?”
She threw an immediate glance to another Vulcan, who was standing several meters behind her. They didn’t look like friends.
“I’m Captain now,” he said while he approached her with an unsure smile.
“Congratulations,” she answered in an even voice and a guarded face. It went well with the grey attire she was wearing.
The other Vulcan watched Trip with a familiar manner: the one of a bodyguard protecting his boss. The thing was that he didn’t seem a bodyguard. Most likely a jailer.
“Long time no see, Sub-Commander.”
Again, the same movement of glances: from T’Pol to the “bodyguard”, from him to Trip and from this one to himself.
“It’s been… almost ten years?”
She just nodded. Apparently she had been practicing the art of avoiding conversation. That aroused Trip’s malicious streak. “Do you remember the last time we see each other?”
T’Pol gulped.
Gulped! “Yes, October 27th, 2151.”
“Just before Captain… What was his name? The Vulcan one…”
“Captain Sopek.”
“Yes, just before Sopek took you out of
Enterprise.”
The “bodyguard” stepped closer. T’Pol showed a not so subdued face of worry.
What was happening there? Trip decided to risk it. “Did you resolve the conflict you had with the High Command regarding… What was the name of that Sanctuary?”
The “bodyguard” took some steps more. TPol’s alarm rose.
Oh, Holy shit! She is a prisoner.
“It happened long ago, I have forgotten it,” she said, with the serenity only achievable from deep uneasiness.
Trip hardly heard her. His blood was boiling, his fists clenched, his teeth gritted. OK, T’Pol wasn’t his favorite person in the galaxy, but nobody deserved to be under the constant threat of a gun, hoping not to piss of its carrier. Especially if all that was consequence of discovering an illegal listening post. She probably saved her superiors’ asses. He had to do something!
It was then when he saw her subtle head movement. A light shake to indicate no. He could read her eyes: “No, don’t save me. Don’t try it. You will bring more problems than solutions.”
He wanted to refute that, but a part of him agreed with her already. Alone, without allies, without a plan to rescue her and hide her, without any clue of the implications of his actions, he couldn’t do anything. It killed him, but he couldn’t move a finger to save her. He swallowed his bile.
“So… everything is all right?” he managed to ask. He could feel the sour taste of each word.
“Yes…
thank you.”
Trip nodded, so so disgusted with himself. “Will you stay on Earth much longer?”
“No, I…” Another fast look at the jailer. “We will return to Vulcan this afternoon.”
“A pity. I would have liked to chat with you about the old times, what happened to the crew, the last news…”
“That sounds appealing.” She lowered her head, genuinely melancholic. “Is your life satisfactory?” she mumbled to her chest.
“Oh, yes. Being a Captain is a lot of work, but I’m happy with my crew and my ship.” He smiled against his will. “You should see her coils.”
“I doubt that a Human ship could surprise me. Remember how archaic is your technology.”
He realized she was doing her best to mock her usual Vulcan aloofness. She couldn’t know that it hurt Trip even more.
The jailer shifted and rested his hand where he surely hid the pistol.
“I must go,” T’Pol declared.
“Of course, I wouldn’t like to interrupt your excursion.” He kept silent, moving his weight from one foot to the other and his tongue inside his mouth. He tried to swallow his words, but he was unable to. “It’s been nice to see you again. I hope we do it in a near future.”
“Yes, I…
hope so.”
She did a small salute with her head and turned to leave. Trip felt as if his life was leaving him.
“T’Pol!”
She stopped, but didn’t turn around. The jailer glared.
“If your need me
anytime, you know you can call me.”
He expected some kind of signal, some type of assent; T’Pol didn’t even nod. She went away with her jailer at her heels and a trail of unspoken words after her.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Exo-Botanical Museum of San Francisco was one of the finest samplers of Nature in all its
grandeur and variety. Species of hundred planets were exhibited there in a marvellous voyage through the miracle of life.
But even with such alien sceneries, Trip always ended breathless on the Tropical Earth Exhibition Hall. There was something indescribably beautiful on the sight of lush foliage. Nothing could compare to the green of Earth.
Especially now, with the war in its height. Who knew if he would be able to come back there? He had a small time off because of his injuries, but it wouldn’t last long.
He closed his eyes and let the recorded sound of exotic birds erase the sound of explosions and cries. At that hour there was nobody, so he didn’t have to suffer the cries of children or the loud voices of natural scientist wannabes. It was so peaceful… Trip clenched the hand of his bandaged arm and flinched, just to remember he was alive. Then, he opened his eyes again.
Oh, he was wrong, there was somebody on the same room. A tall Vulcan female. And beside her, somebody in a wheelchair. Another Vulcan woman, but smaller, somehow younger, with a face emaciated for what it seemed illness. Her hazel eyes were clouded.
Trip knew those eyes, even if they were looking without seeing at her front.
“T’Pol?” he asked out loud.
She didn’t turn her head. The tall woman behind her did.
“Do we know you?” she asked, wariness making her accent thick.
“She does.” He pointed at himself rather aimlessly. “I’m Captain Tucker. B-but she knew me as Commander Tucker.” He wondered why he was addressing that woman instead of T’Pol.
Recognition and melancholy softened her features. “Oh, yes, the Human of exhausting chatter, poor taste on clothing and annoying passion for some musical instrument called harmonica.”
“It isn’t like that,” he mumbled and took a look at T’Pol. The Vulcan had her head and gaze directed to her front, apparently unaware of him.
“The brilliant Human Engineer,” the woman added. “She respected you.”
Something broke inside his chest. “
Respected.”
“It is logical to assume that she still does. However, it is pointless in her actual state.”
Trip’s stomach clenched. “What… What do you mean?” A sudden dizziness made difficult to think. “What happens with her?” He felt strange for talking about T’Pol in front of her, as if she wasn’t there.
“She suffers an uncommon Vulcan disease.” She didn’t mention the name, which surprised Trip.
“Is it serious?” Against all odds, he prayed inward. “Will she recover?”
“It is a deadly illness.”
Trip suppressed a retching. He had various vivid memories of T’Pol: her puzzled look when she didn’t understand something but was too proud to ask, her straight posture, her way to arch a brow and threw The Stare, her calm voice, her precise vocabulary, the way her eyes shone when she was telling that story about Carbon Creek, how she smelled on those occasions when the two of them joined over a padd with their shoulders touching and their faces so very near…
He put his uninjured hand on his mouth to prevent a sob. It was ridiculous. He should be used to death by then. Thousands of people were dying because of the war, some of them his friends, some of them his own family. Yes, but those died or were going to die as a consequence of a real enemy, somebody who could be repelled or defeated. Something palpable, not a strange disease that destroyed young people in the prime of life. Well, he didn’t know her age…
An inappropriate laughter erupted from his mouth, high-pitched and uncontrolled for the desperation it carried. The woman stared at him with the same severe gaze he used to see in T’Pol.
“I’m… I’m sorry, it’s just…” Sadness put a lump in his throat again and he was forced to swallow. “I… I remembered something, I’m sorry.” He sighed, preparing himself for the next question. He didn’t want to say it, but he had to. “How much… How much time she had?”
“Two months, at the most.” As if it had been too harsh even for a Vulcan, she added: “Thanks to her strength and new medicines,” the woman grimaces, as if she was blocking out a bad memory, “she has been able to live four years longer than what she should, but that is all what we could achieve…”
The woman pursed her lips together and looked away. She breathed profoundly, like somebody practicing yoga. When she seemed more controlled, she put a hand on T’Pol’s hair and caressed it. Lovingly. Trip noticed the familiar way in which the woman tilted her head.
“You are her mother…”
She nodded. “I am T’Les.”
It was a little silly for a formal introduction at that point, but he did it anyway. “I’m Charles Tucker III, but—”
“Everybody calls you Trip.”
“She
did talk about me.” He knew it, for what TLes said before, but only then he really believed it.
“She founds you fascinating.”
Trip felt his face burning, he didn’t exactly know why, though. Maybe it was her tone, or her look, or that she had used the present tense.
“Can I talk with her?” he asked, because he had to do
something to prevent the maddening hurricane of thoughts inside his head.
“You may, but I can’t promise you that she will answer or acknowledge your presence.” Just when Trip was going to turn, she extended a hand, almost touching his sleeve. “I ask you to be careful, don’t pressure her. She could become… violent.”
Trip nodded, more than a little unsure, and places himself in front of T’Pol, lending against the rail, and bending toward her. She didn’t look any better from a shorter distance. What used to be a very attractive face of smooth skin, bright eyes and full lips, it was now a skull covered of a yellowish layer of flesh, with a pair of sad eyes that protrude from the clear bags under them and a successive row of wounds that used to be her lips. He noticed her arms were hold to the chair by straps. Her nails were all broken. A bag of serum was beside her, and he could see a catheter coming out from her behind.
Trip stopped his urge to cry.
“Hey, T’Pol…” She didn’t react. He put a hand on her forearm, being careful not to touch her skin. “I’m Captain— Commander Tucker, Trip. Do you remember me?”
Slowly, as if she awakened from a deep dream, her eyes moved and focused on him. “Commander… Tucker?” Her voice, like everything in her, was broken.
“Yeah… it’s me. Hi, T’Pol.” Relief made him smile.
“Commander? What are you doing here?” She looked at her surroundings, clearly disoriented. “What…? Does Captain Archer need something?”
“Oh? No, no, it’s nothing like that—”
“If it’s about the star charts he requested…” T’Pol shook her head several times. “I told him it’s going to take time…” She pulled her arms. When she noticed the straps, she looked angry and frustrated. “This wasn’t necessary, I can do my work.”
“I know, I know, it’s nothing of that,” Trip tried to calm her down.
T’Pol pulled even harder, she had her teeth gritted. “I work as hard I can. But I can’t do a hundred things at the same time, especially if my work is rejected
as a routine.” She threw herself forward. The straps didn’t allow her to move, but the chair quivered.
“No, T’Pol, you are wrong—”
“I’m a good Officer!”
It was the first time he had heard her yell. “I know it—”
“Captain Archer doesn’t respect me! Nobody respects me in that damn ship!”
She was shaking, almost in convulsion. Trip was too shocked to react. A part of him wanted to hug her, another part wanted to run away. Before he could choose, however, T’Les moved behind her daughter, she took a hypo-spray out, grabbed T’Pol’s head with a hand and injected her on the neck. T’Pol clenched her eyes and teeth. T’Les didn’t let her go, she patiently waited until T’Pol’s spasms diminished. She changed the purpose of her hand, from a grabbing grip, to soothing caresses. She bent toward T’Pol and whispered into her daughter’s ear Vulcan words that resonated inside Trip with the universal meaning of love.
Trip should have been happy to confirm that Vulcans had the same feelings as Humans, but the only thing he could feel was a dull sadness.
“You should go,” T’Les said. Her voice was calm, but her stare was full of resentment.
Trip nodded. Arguing was useless.
“Commander Tucker?” came the soft voice of T’Pol.
Trip glanced at T’Les. Fear, worry, frustration and sorrow passed between them. In the end, T’Les lowered her eyes as acquiescence.
“Yes, T’Pol, I’m here,” he murmured.
“What are you doing here?”
Trip felt his heart definitively sinking. The recorded birds seemed to mock him. He had to shut his eyes. Happiness was a distant star that he would never reach.
“Commander?”
He gathered all his courage and stared back at her. What he saw left him speechless: there wasn’t the excruciating emptiness or the scary rage inside her eyes, only the bright curiosity tinted with light amusement that had been her trademark stare once. That look changed all her face. But not only that —Trip noticed, shocked and marvelled at once—, the tips of her mouth were curled upwards. She was
smiling. In the Human scale of smiles it was nothing more than subtle, hardly perceptible; in the Vulcan scale was a gigantic beam.
“Yes, T’Pol?” he asked, afraid of breaking the enchantment.
“What are you doing here,” she repeated, with the same teasing tone she used when she was trying to make him look like a fool.
“I’m paying you a visit.” He smiled and noticed the positive effect it had on T’Pol. “It’s been too long since the last time I saw you.”
“Indeed.” She blinked and looked almost embarrassed. “It’s not as if I’ve missed you.”
“No, of course.”
“Vulcans don’t miss people.”
“Uh-hu.”
The Stare! She threw him The Stare. Trip giggled.
T’Pol frowned. “I’m too tired to put up with your silly sense of humor, Commander.”
She did look exhausted and Trip remembered how ill she was. His happiness banished. Pretending that everything was OK was cruel and childish. But, oh, it felt so good…
“Commander?”
“If you’re that tired, I can go away,” he offered. He didn’t know if it was an act of generosity or cowardice.
“No… No, stay, please.” She tried to extend her hand, but she couldn’t. Instead a new attack or rage, she simply sighed. “I want you to stay. We had much to get up to date.” She glanced backward, to her mother. T’Les should have seen something in her daughter’s eyes, because she nodded and stepped back. T’Pol addressed Trip again. She seemed to glow from inside. “Tell me how many accidents you’ve had on away missions.”
So he stayed and talked. And talked, and talked, and talked, although he knew all his words would slip from her mind like sand grains.
He did it anyway, because as long as he talked, that moment would last.
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The Exo-Botanical Museum of San Francisco was one of the finest samplers of Nature in all its
grandeur and variety. Species of hundred planets were exhibited there in a marvellous voyage through the miracle of life.
But even with such alien sceneries, Trip always ended breathless on the Tropical Earth Exhibition Hall. There was something indescribably beautiful on the sight of lush foliage. Nothing could compare to the green of Earth. Especially then, in the middle of the war, and about six months since he awakened from his coma.
He closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the recorded sound of exotic birds. He felt that sudden fear that wrapped him since his awakening: the thought of not being able to open his eyes again, of staying in an unconscious dream forever. He controlled the panic as Phlox taught him: with profound inhalations, letting the feeling pass through him like a ghost.
It was ironic that that precise technique was one of T’Pol’s teachings. She didn’t show after his recovery, she didn’t pay any visit, she didn’t send him a miserable letter or even a word, but she taught Phlox some Vulcan meditation techniques to help him.
What was that? How was he supposed to feel? Angry, sad, happy, relieved? What
the heck was she thinking? It was so frustrating…
He needed two complete weeks to gather enough courage to ask about her, and when he did, Phlox just dodged the issue. Jon, of course, didn’t, and told him the entire situation down to the last detail. Apparently, when Trip fell into a coma, Phlox brought up some type of larva that could, if he imprinted Trip’s DNA in it, create a short lived clone of Trip. It sounded a little wacky to him, but most of Phlox’s procedures sounded like that anyway. Jon, as far as he was concerned, was willing to accept the idea and said so. And it is then when T’Pol showed up. She refused. She refused
strongly. She talked about ethics, about instrumentalising independent lives, about Surak and about some obscure Conclave. Jon argued back using Trip’s importance to the ship: for him Trip was a key factor for the mission’s success. Then T’Pol promised she would make it up for Trip’s miss; she would work for him, for her, for the entire crew if it was necessary, to guarantee the achievement of the Xindi mission.
And
she did. While Jon was busy deciding what to do, she took Hess, Rostov and a quarter of the Engineering crew, she overstepped Kelby and resolved their primary concern, that was getting out from a cloud made up of highly charged particles.
She drove most of the crew crazy, but she saved their skin and she made possible to defeat the Xindi (although Trip wasn’t sure if they were defeated or what). After that… she left
Enterprise. Jon wasn’t sure why. Trip suspected Phlox knew the reason. The doctor kept his mouth shut.
So Trip didn’t know what to think: T’Pol prevented the creation of a clone to save him, but she assured the success of the mission, and with it, his life; she said that he wasn’t irreplaceable, but she replaced Trip using him as a model, apparently saying things like “Commander Tucker would do this” or “The Commander would never allow that”; she never visited him after he recovered from the coma, but she taught Phlox meditation techniques to help him.
She was so… so… so…
“Impossible woman!”
He felt instantly embarrassed. What would think anybody that passed by? Fortunately, at that hour nobody was there. Trip sighed and opened his eyes again.
Oh, he was wrong, a petit Vulcan woman was looking at him from several meters away as if he was some kind of apparition.
Shit! That. Was.
Impossible!“Commander?” she managed to say out loud.
“T’Pol?”
To Be Continued 
)
.
