Author’s Note: Written during S2 of Enterprise…back when I still had some small, unrealistic hope that things might go this direction with Trip and Hoshi…even if I’d already had to give up on Harry/B’Elanna. *g*
Museum of Starfleet History
San Francisco, California, Earth
Stardate 55704.8
The engineer and the ensign. It had been one of his favorite stories as a child. So much so that maybe he’d just wanted it to repeat in his own life. Maybe he’d never really loved her at all, only the idea of her. Only the idea of recreating that beloved story in his own life.
Lieutenant Harry Kim sighed deeply, staring at the photograph on the wall of the exhibit. A real photograph, taken before holo-pictures really caught on. Of Commander Charles “Trip” Tucker and then-civilian Hoshi Sato’s wedding day. Held on the bridge of the Enterprise NX-01, the ship where they’d first met and served together. Before Tucker turned down his own command because he wanted to remain in Engineering, not on a command track. Before Sato resigned from Starfleet at the end of the mission. Before both the engineer and the linguist made perfecting the Universal Translator their life’s work, the marriage of their talents as perfect as the marriage of their souls.
Generations of Starfleet personnel owed their lives to that marriage; he in more ways than one. Because they were his ancestors.
Harry sighed. No matter how long he stared at the photograph, he still couldn’t convince himself that the only thing he’d lost when B’Elanna married his best friend was the chance for history to repeat itself.
Sometimes learning the lessons of history wasn’t what kept you from repeating it.
Almost involuntarily, his hand rose towards the image, before he remembered the force field guarding it. That was something else that had come out of the Enterprise NX-01’s historic mission–Lieutenant Malcolm Reed’s invention of the first energy containment field, or at least the first human one. Ironic that it should be guarding now the wedding picture of his two one-time crewmates.
He wondered if someday Tom and B’Elanna’s wedding picture would join it. The first human/Klingon wedding in the Delta Quadrant.
Standing there, staring at the image, he could almost hear great-great-great-grandpa Trip’s voice scolding him sympathetically:
“You got nobody to blame but yourself, kiddo. If you had feelings for her, you shoulda said somethin’. Never just assume the lady’ll wait for ya.”
In his mind, great-great-great-grandma Hoshi chimed in:
“He’s right, you know. I thought Charlie was in love with T’Pol. Every other man on the ship was. If he hadn’t told me he was interested in me, I would never have known otherwise.”
And then the UT would never have been able to simultaneously translate just about any language in the known universe except Tamarian. At least, not for many more years.
Not that there was any loss so grandiose as that resulting from his failure to win B’Elanna’s heart instead of Tom. To even think so would be both ridiculous and presumptuous. Still…he couldn’t help but wonder what they could have accomplished as a team.
What legacy could they have created together, the engineer and the ensign of this generation?
Harry sighed. If that was one lesson he’d failed to learn from his ancestors, there was another he could still take away–let go of the past and look always to the future. Voyager was home, they were safe, and in spite of everything he really was happy for his two friends, for the family they’d created.
Deliberately turning his back on the photograph and everything unfinished it represented in his life, Lieutenant Kim walked away.
His life, his destiny, was still waiting. There was no place for regrets.
Author’s Note: My friends Deb, Medie and I have a tendency to “cast” guest characters of our own creation that appear in our fanfic. This story was inspired by a challenge between the three of us to create a character using the “face” of one of each other’s characters. So when you picture Seryl in her Tandaran form, picture Eva LaRue, who was also “cast” as Lynn Kennedy in Deb’s unfinished X-Men fic, “Broken Wings.” The other purpose of this story was to give Grat a little more humanity…being a huge Dean Stockwell fan, I found him somewhat sympathetic when probably no one else did, so this was my way of sharing that with the rest of the fandom. 🙂
There was a time when she had slept in this bed wearing her own skin. A time when he had looked at her true face without fear, without hate or suspicion. Of course, there was also a time when she would never have agreed to deceive him like this.
Sighing, Seryl slipped out of bed and padded softly to the window.
Of course she knew if he ever saw her for who she really was, all his worst suspicions about her would be confirmed. Not that she hadn’t already confirmed them the day she had joined the Cabal. She’d done it out of anger–if he was so determined to believe her a traitor, what reason did she have to be loyal to a race that wasn’t even her own? A race–a man–who had rejected her because her skin was green and mottled, not clear and rosy-colored as it seemed now.
Seryl held up one hand before the window, studied it. How ironic that the very thing that had torn them apart now brought them back together, only under a veil of lies.
She shivered every time he ran his hands through the soft brown hair that she had conjured as part of the deception. She trembled when his fingers brushed the second skin, the same fingers that she could almost forget had once touched the first without flinching. His touch still made her melt–the man who had destroyed her, whose destruction she was to facilitate, and she still loved him.
Oh, she hated him too. She hated him for the way he’d looked at her when he told her he was leaving her. Leaving her because she was Suliban. She hated him for the way he’d imprisoned hundreds, thousands of her people without even blinking. Claiming it was for their own “protection.” She hated him for choosing fear over love, prejudice over his own wife.
But she still loved the man she’d married over thirty years ago.
And because she loved him, she would stay here, continuing to deceive him, continuing to spy on him for his enemies, looking for weaknesses she already knew by heart, because she didn’t have the strength to walk away again. And the irony was that in the end he would only hate her more for it.
Behind her, Grat shifted in bed and called the name he thought was hers in his sleep. Her heart constricting, Seryl turned back to him. Crossing to the bed, she caressed his face with her stolen hands.
“In’mhar aja, Grat. I’m here.”
As he had so often, long ago, he relaxed at her touch.
Burying her head in her husband’s chest, Seryl cried herself to sleep.
Author’s Note: This story presumes events from my two previous “Perspective” installments have happened, but it’s only loosely a sequel. Also, for the record, I like T’Pol, but Trip didn’t during S1 and that’s the Trip I wrote here: flaws, prejudices and all.
For a few perfect hours
The world lets me be
You know how to calm down
The panic in me
–Elton John, “The Panic in Me,” Road to El Dorado soundtrack
Last thing I remember was calling Jon’s name and getting no answer. Must’ve passed out after that, because here I am looking up through some sort of film at what looks like an angel.
Then she bends closer and I recognize those blurred features. Oh, thank God. It’s not an angel–it’s my Star. My Hoshi. She looks away, then, and I can only assume she’s checking on the Captain or something, but I still don’t have enough strength to move even my head.
Or does that thing just still have me? Is that why I can’t move?
I can feel myself panicking again even as some little rational part of me tries to point out that if that thing still had me I wouldn’t be conscious right now, let alone frightened.
Hoshi reaches for me and I latch on to the soothing sound of her voice. “Easy, Commander, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
Even though she’s being formal–T’Pol must be around somewhere or something–I can feel myself calming. And when her hand touches my arm, I relax into it. God, that feels good. Real human contact. The kinda contact I want to have, not some sorta artificial psychic whatever between me and Jon.
Hoshi sets down the gizmo she had in her other hand–some sort of improvisation on the translator from the look of it–and it starts to sink in. Damn, she saved my life. All our lives, if that thing means what I think it means. She talked to the critter, got it to let us go.
I feel a slight tug as she puts her other hand under my arm and starts to pull me to my feet. Aw, Star, you don’t have to do that–little thing like you, even if you could lift me I wouldn’t ask you to–
“Come on, Commander, I need a little help here,” she coaxes.
One hand slips and I realize I’m still covered in the thing’s slime. And here Hoshi is getting herself covered with the stuff trying to help me. I push myself up–if she’s gonna ruin her nice clean uniform to get me back on my feet, the least I can do is give her a hand like she asked.
Between the two of us, somehow we manage to get me standing–or something like it–and I turn to look at the Captain who’s leaning just as heavily on T’Pol. There’s a surprise–I thought Vulcans didn’t like to be touched. He smiles at me as if to say, “told you we’d win,” and I grin back. Yeah, we sure did, thanks to this here All-Star player who’s still got her arm around me.
“Come on,” Hoshi speaks again as if on cue, still smiling. Wonder if she’s half as relieved to be here as I am? “Let’s get you back to your quarters. You look like you could use a shower and a long nap.”
I give the cargo bay one last look around. Looks like T’Pol’s got the Captain, and Reed and a couple of his men are helping the others, so I guess they can spare me. Nodding, I let Hoshi lead me out of there and the two of us start lumbering down the corridor. When we reach my quarters, she presses the button to open the door and helps me in, looking for a place to drop me. I see the dilemma–if I sit down on the bed or one of the chairs, I’d have to steam clean the damn place. As it is I’ve already got slimy footprints on the carpet.
After a moment’s thought, she steers me towards the bathroom, finally easing me down on the toilet. “You’ll probably feel a lot better once you’re clean,” she speculates.
I nod and reach for the hem of my shirt, but my fingers don’t want to cooperate. After I fumble for a minute, she lays a hand on mine and brings it back down to my side. “I can do it…if you don’t mind.”
Geez, now why would I mind having the prettiest girl on the ship undress me? But talking takes too much energy so I just shake my head a little. Her lips curl into a tiny smile and she slips her fingers under the fabric, lightly brushing my stomach as she pulls the ruined thing over my slimy head.
Any other time I would be enjoying this immensely–too bad I’m too damned tired even to think straight.
She casts the shirt aside, leaving me naked from the waist up, then gestures for me to lean on her again. I stand shakily and let her pull down my pants, then she braces me against her while she bends down to tug off first one boot and then the other. When she’s done, she gingerly gathers up my pants and tosses them in a corner.
I look at her, really look at her, for the first time since we got back here. This is Hoshi, the same gal who lost it on one of her first away missions when we found all those bodies, yet here she is half covered in that creature’s slime from touching me and doesn’t even look perturbed. As if I needed any more proof that she’s a lot braver than she thinks she is.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs a shower now,” I slur out apologetically. Wait–that didn’t come out right. It almost sounded like–
“Is that an invitation, Commander?” she teases.
I grin. I like it when she flirts with me. Usually I do most of the flirting and she just fights that cute little blush that makes her cheeks all rosy. But every now and then she hits me with a zinger too, and I’ve started to prize those moments.
“Hell, considering I’m not sure I can stay upright in there it might not be a bad idea,” I retort, only half kidding.
She laughs. “Much as I hate to pass up this golden opportunity, I can’t. We’re on our way to the life form’s homeworld–as soon as I can change into a clean uniform, T’Pol, Malcolm, Phlox and I are taking it down to the surface.”
For some odd reason, I feel a surge of anger when she mentions Malcolm. How is it he ends up working with her so often and I always get stuck with the Ice Vulcan? Okay, so I’m the chief engineer, I know my job doesn’t have much call for a translator, but you sure as hell don’t need one to talk to the weapons’ systems either! About the only time I see her these days is when she has a problem with her console or at our weekly language lessons. Not that I don’t treasure that hour a week, even if she probably despairs of ever making a Spanish speaker of me, but with someone as special as Hoshi Sato, it’s not enough.
“Do you think you can handle the rest yourself?” Hoshi asks, snapping me out of my mental rant. She eyes me critically, her gaze going places I’d be embarrassed to have her see if my body wasn’t too spent to function like it normally would in the presence of an attractive young lady.
“If I must.” Here’s hoping the disappointment in my voice doesn’t sound genuine.
Still smiling, she lays a brief, reassuring hand on my shoulder and leaves.
It’s only as I’m crawling out of the shower, feeling refreshed but still weak, that I start to take stock of everything that happened to me. Thinking back, I feel a wave of humiliation, heightened by the fact that it was Hoshi who got me out of this. Hoshi, who I gave that little lecture almost a year ago about our grand adventure. Yet in the moment I realized that thing was linking us up, I turned into a plucked chicken the likes of which my Star has never been except maybe in her wildest imaginings.
If she’d been there to see me fall apart…I don’t know how I’d ever be able to face her again. It’s bad enough that anyone saw me like that…and, oh God…two of ’em were my people. How the hell am I ever gonna go back down to Engineering and face them now that they know what kind of coward I really am?
I groan, dropping my head into my hands and sinking down on the bed. All my blunderbuss bravado shot to hell by a panic attack.
I can’t go out there again. Here I am, the space cowboy chief engineer, third in command of this ship, and I’m suddenly scared to death to set foot outside this room. How the hell do I know what happened isn’t written plain on my face for anyone to see? In nice, big, block letters, no less: TRIP TUCKER LOST IT.
I can see the smug, superior look on T’Pol’s face now.
But hell, I don’t care about that. Nothing I do is ever gonna be good enough for that damned Vulcan so I’ve just stopped trying. But my team…I let them down. Worse, I let Hoshi down. Here I was trying to be this great example of the intrepid space pioneer and at the first sign of a danger I couldn’t shoot, slice, or reprogram, I wigged out.
And she saved my life. She took all those fears and insecurities of hers, shoved ’em in a corner, and pulled a rabbit out of her hat. Okay, so I don’t know that for sure, but I’m wagering it’s a pretty good guess.
Guess we know now which one of us really doesn’t belong out here, huh Star?
The intercom beeps and Jon’s voice breaks the silence of the room. “Archer to Tucker.”
I drag myself over to respond. “Here, Cap’n.”
“How’re you feeling?” he asks quietly.
“Better,” I admit. Well, physically anyway. “You?”
“Pretty good. Grateful to be back.”
“Yeah. Know what you mean.” Do I ever.
I can almost hear him smile. “Think you’re up to going back to work?”
Aw, hell…
“Trip?” Jon’s voice fills in the space left by my hesitation.
“Sure,” I lie. “Just let me get into a fresh uniform and I’ll head on out.”
“All right. But make a stop at sickbay on your way down. Phlox wants to look us over just to be sure the symbiosis had no lasting effects.”
“Will do, Cap’n.”
He disconnects and I sigh. Here goes nothing.
It was worse than I expected. I think I could’ve handled people openly staring, ’cause at least then I’d know that the whole ship knew I was chicken, but instead everybody just went about their business like nothing had happened. Except for a few people who took the time to tell me they were glad I was “okay.”
What’d they mean, “okay”? “We’re glad you’re not being integrated into an alien life form anymore” or “we’re glad you’re not falling apart at the seams anymore”?
The doors of the hydroponic garden hiss open and I start looking for a particular leafy plant. Maybe I should’ve just gone back to my quarters after my shift was up, but I figure no one’ll come looking for me here. No “are you okay, Commander” and “shouldn’t you be resting, Commander” to deal with.
There. That’s where I found Hoshi when I fled here after the incident with the Xyrillians. Sitting right behind there where no one could see her from the door. I settle myself into that spot now, noticing with a little amusement that the grass is a bit flat–guess that wasn’t the last time she’d come in here–and just try to relax.
It’s not working. Instead of taking my mind off what happened, it’s all I can think about. Wondering what Jon–my Captain, my friend–thinks of me now that I’ve shown my true colors. Wondering how many people know that the great Trip Tucker has been humbled. Wondering how long it’ll take before T’Pol decides to use that as yet another example of how we humans are so damned inferior. Okay, so I know that’s not fair, but sometimes I really hate her. God only knows what gave me the crazy idea to talk her into staying on board.
I’ve been sitting here wallowing for about an hour when the doors open again. Damn–if I’m lucky, maybe whoever it is won’t see me.
“Well this looks familiar,” an amused voice shatters that hope. “Although I think last time I got here first.”
I look up–sure enough, it’s Hoshi. Should’ve known.
“If you’re here to ask me if I’m ‘okay’ or tell me I should be resting, forget it,” I caution.
She sits down beside me. “Well, those are both probably good ideas, but I’ll refrain if you’d rather.”
An awkward silence follows. Or at least it’s awkward on my part. I don’t know whether to ask her to go away or thank her for finding me.
“Captain Archer told me–” she begins. Oh God, here it comes. “–that you lasted longer than any of them, as far as he knows. That when he passed out, you were still conscious. You never stopped fighting.”
Huh? Well that sure ain’t what I expected to hear.
“You mean he didn’t tell you–” I blurt, then catch myself. Damn, that was close.
“Tell me what?” she looks me straight in the eyes.
Aw, hell…
“That I lost it,” I finally admit with a deep sigh. “When that thing started linkin’ us up, feedin’ me stuff on water polo from the Captain’s head, I panicked. If he hadn’t talked me down, I probably would’ve hyperventilated right there.”
“I know the feeling,” is her droll response.
I shake my head. “Nah, Star, you may think you’re chicken, but you’ve always sucked it up and faced whatever you were afraid of. This is different.”
“How?” she demands. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
That gives me pause. “Whaddya mean?”
“If you’d really given in to your fear, you probably wouldn’t be here. You would’ve hyperventillated, and quite possibly taken everyone else in that cargo bay with you.”
“Only reason I didn’t is ’cause–”
“–the Captain talked you down, I know,” she interrupts. “But remember, if it weren’t for you, I’d have caught the first transport home months ago. Just because you need help to face your fears sometimes doesn’t mean you didn’t face them. And if there’s anything you’ve taught me, it’s that it’s okay to be afraid sometimes. Especially out here.”
I almost laugh as she throws my own words back at me. Still, I’m not convinced. “Try tellin’ that to T’Pol, or my engineering staff.”
“I don’t think I’d have to,” she reflects with a thoughtful frown. “You know what T’Pol told me today? When we were working together on that translation?”
They worked together on it? Now that’s a surprise–I didn’t think T’Pol worked “with” anyone. She follows orders or she gives them. But working as equals, especially with a junior officer…
“She told me,” Hoshi continues, “that she holds me to a high standard because she knows I’m capable of meeting it. I’d be willing to bet that if pressed, she’d say the same thing about you.”
To say I’m taken aback would be an understatement. “But what about my staff?”
“If they let one mistake outweigh all the good you’ve done on this mission, they don’t deserve to be under your command,” is her concise, firm assessment.
I look at her, amazed. “Y’know…sometimes I think you ‘n I have a lot more in common than I thought.”
She grins. “Now if only that similarity extended to your grasp of the future subjunctive.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve made a hell of a lot of progress for a mere mortal, Miss Fluent-in-Everything…” I retort.
She smiles again, and I realize I’m feeling a lot closer to normal. Bless her heart, as my grandma used to say.
She’s sure blessed mine.
Author’s Note: Thanks to feathers for the beta, and Medie and DebC, who almost deserve co-authorship for helping me overcome my writer’s block. 🙂
The beginning of wisdom is learning to call things by their proper names.
–Ancient Chinese Proverb
“So what’s my name mean?”
Hoshi almost dropped her fork at the unexpected voice. Looking up, she stared in surprise at Commander Tucker, who was standing at her table with a tray in his hand. He shrugged. “You’re into languages, I thought maybe you might know about words too. Names ‘n all.”
The linguist blinked. “Don’t you usually eat with the Captain and T’Pol?” she asked.
Trip grimaced. “Yeah, well, a guy can only take so much Vulcan dinner conversation.”
“They make dinner conversation?”
“Oh, sure. If you feel like pullin’ teeth.”
She laughed. “Why waste time talking when you can finish your food faster if you don’t? It’s not logical.”
He just snorted. Pulling out the other chair, he dropped into it with the same casual ease he applied to almost everything and set his tray down on the table. “So, do you?”
“Do I what?” Hoshi tried to look innocently confused.
The commander frowned knowingly at her. “Now yer just avoidin’ the question.”
She ducked her head to hide the color rising slowly in her face. Damn–why couldn’t she seem to have a conversation with him anymore without blushing?
“Well?” When she finally looked up again, she saw him watching her, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “C’mon, Star, I just know you’ve got it locked up in that head of yours somewhere.”
“Okay, yes, I do dabble occasionally in etymology–” she finally confessed.
Trip looked puzzled. “I thought Cutler was the entomologist.”
“Not entomology, etymology–the study of words, their histories and origins.”
“Oh.” She got a smug satisfaction out of the fact that now he was turning slightly red. He speared something on his plate, his ears aflame and his gaze avoiding hers. A second later he looked up sheepishly and gave her an embarrassed grin. “I guess I just made a jackass of myself, didn’t I?”
“Not really. It’s not something I would expect an engineer to know.”
The chief engineer laughed. “Now that’s what I call a backhanded insult. And you’re still dodgin’ my question.”
She was, and she knew it, but how could she tell him that Charles meant–?
“So are you gonna tell me or aren’t ya?”
Still blushing furiously, she finally blurted out: “‘Manly.’ If you must know, Charles is French for ‘manly.’ The name is Teutonic in origin, but it comes to us through the French,” she stumbled on lamely, trying to distance herself from that embarrassing piece of information.
Trip’s grin quadrupled in size. “No kiddin’? Guess Mom and Dad really knew what they were about then, when they pinned it on me, huh?”
His voice was teasing, and Hoshi found herself turning an even deeper shade of scarlet. She wanted to shoot back a biting retort, but couldn’t truthfully say she thought the name didn’t apply. Of course it didn’t help that he was practically flirting with her.
“So what about Tucker? Y’know anything ’bout what it means?”
The linguist opened her mouth, shut it again, and glanced back down at her plate. Frustration blossomed into the perfect opportunity for revenge at the sight of her half-eaten meal.
Looking up at him, she smirked, let her eyes drop to his own heavily-laden plate, then lifted them again to meet his triumphantly.
“Tucker. Australian for food.”
Trip glared at her. “Now that’s just mean.”
“And pestering me until I gave you what you wanted wasn’t, Commander Manly Food the Third?” she retorted.
The commander roared with laughter, drawing the curious attention of everyone else in the mess hall to their table. At least, everyone who hadn’t already been sneaking furtive glances in their direction.
“You got me there,” he admitted, still amused. “I’m like one of those whaddya call ’em that you learn about in twentieth-century history and culture…Televee dinners.”
“Hungry Man,” she chimed in, remembering a unit they’d studied in one of her own classes, on twentieth-century advertising.
“Yeah.” He grinned again, and even though her cheeks warmed once more under his friendly eyes, this time she didn’t seem to mind. “Hungry Man.”
They both chuckled for a few minutes before Hoshi admitted, “You take some getting used to, Commander.”
“And you don’t?” he shot back. His eyes sobered then. “On the one hand, you give yourself ’bout a tenth of the credit you deserve for helpin’ make this mission a success, like you’re afraid to believe in yourself, but on the other you’ve got the guts to argue with the Cap’n himself if you disagree with him. Half the time, I dunno what to make of you.”
She dropped her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey. That was a compliment.”
Her mouth formed a small, surprised ‘o.’ “It was?”
Trip nodded. “Sometimes I wish we got to work together more, y’know?”
The ensign nodded slowly. She did know, but she was surprised to find he felt that way too.
“I like watchin’ that mind of yours in action, and I like even more when you get that look on your face…like for a second y’got it through your skull that y’done good.” His smile was warm and affectionate. “One of the things I’m proudest of that I’ve done since gettin’ this assignment was convincin’ you to stick it out.”
“Really?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as much like a squeak to him as it had to her.
“‘Course, I admit, part of the reason for that’s selfish–I figure that way I can take partial credit for any time you keep us from completely trippin’ over our own feet with some new culture.” He winked conspiratorially at her.
“So then you admit you’re just using me,” she teased back.
“Shamelessly.”
“Like right now–you’re using me to get out of having to eat with T’Pol.” Hoshi knew it was unkind to have a laugh at the Vulcan’s expense, particularly when she wasn’t even present to defend herself, but something about Trip’s reaction seemed to overrule that instinct.
“Damn right. Didn’t wanna lose my appetite.”
“And we can’t have that, can we, Hungry Man?”
The engineer grinned again. “Speakin’ of T’Pol, what’s her name mean?”
The linguist shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He frowned. “I thought you were fluent in Vulcan.”
“I am. Or at least as fluent as a human can be. But you know how they are–not exactly forthcoming about private things like that.”
The commander scowled. “Yeah, I know.”
Hoshi felt a twinge of guilt. A little light-hearted teasing was one thing, but she didn’t want to actively contribute to Trip’s dislike of the Vulcans. “And they’re not the only ones. A lot of Earth cultures have similar customs.”
He looked at her, surprised. “No kiddin’?”
She nodded. “In Korea, you never address someone who is your elder by their given name. Instead you would call them by a title–‘grandfather,’ ‘uncle,’ ‘aunt’ or something like that. Other cultures believe that names have power, and if you give someone your true name it gives them a certain degree of metaphysical control over you. In a way they’re right–names do have power. I mean, you can tell a lot about the relationship between two people just based on how they address each other.”
Trip nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, guess you can.”
“I could probably tell you what the names of most of the rest of the crew mean, though,” she admitted with a grin. “Except for Phlox–my Denobulan is still a little shaky.” Her face colored with that statement, remembering the faux pas she’d committed the last time she’d tried to address the doctor in his native language.
“Oh yeah?” His lips quirked upwards and his blue eyes flooded with mischief. “What about the Cap’n?”
She pursed her lips, searching her memory for the information. “Jonathan’s from the Hebrew ‘Yochanan.’ It means ‘gift of God.'”
“Yer kiddin’–you mean if Jon ever gets it in his head that he’s God’s gift to women I’m gonna have to agree with him?” Trip sounded both incredulous and amused.
Hoshi almost choked on the bite she’d just stuck in her mouth. “I never thought of it that way,” she admitted once she’d finally managed to stop shaking with laughter long enough to swallow.
“What about Archer?”
“Archer just means ‘archer,'” she shrugged.
“So he’s not God’s gift to women, he’s God’s gift to the bow and arrow,” the chief engineer corrected, his eyes gleaming even more mischievously now.
“It makes sense,” she argued. “He is a straight shooter.”
Trip laughed again. “So he is. So, we’ve got you, Star, me, Hungry Man, and Captain Straight Shooter. Who else?”
“Well, Malcolm is either a servant or follower of St. Columba or Colum, depending on what translation route you follow…”
“Malcolm, a servant? Guess we know now whose mama and daddy didn’t read the baby books…” He let his drawl thicken with humor.
She suppressed a smile. “It gets better. Reed is Old English for ‘red-haired.'”
He blinked. “Okay, now that’s just way off-base. My hair’s redder’n Malcolm’s and that’s not sayin’ much.”
Still laughing, she pointed out several other crew members, naming them and defining the names. Trip had caustic comments for each of them, but when she got to Ensign Elizabeth Cutler he looked incredulously amused all over again. “‘Devoted to God’ and ‘maker of knives,'” he repeated what she had just said. “So we’ve got a Captain who’s God’s gift to archery and an entomologist who’s a knife-maker’s gift to God…and neither one of ’em’s the armory officer. Gawd.”
By this time Hoshi’s stomach muscles were starting to hurt from laughing so hard. Trust Trip to put a whole new perspective on knowledge she’d had for years but never really applied to anything.
“At least our helmsman is ‘from the crossroads,'” he continued with a sigh of mock-weariness. “So somebody on this ship knows what the hell he’s doin.'”
“You realize,” she giggled, “that you and I could now discuss just about anyone on this ship in front of their faces without them having a clue.”
The notion seemed to appeal, as both the chief engineer’s eyes and his grin widened. “Hey, you’re right. We could. Cap’n Straight Shooter, Lieutenant Red-haired Servant, Ensign Crossroads, Ensign Pious Knife-Maker…” He chuckled. “I kinda like that idea.”
She shrugged. “There are advantages to knowing more than one language.”
“I’m startin’ to get that,” Trip agreed. “No wonder you’re so keyed up about it. It’s pretty interestin’ stuff.”
Hoshi tried to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. “You mean that?”
“I’m not just humorin’ you, if that’s what you mean,” he shook his head. “I mean it. Kinda makes me wish I’d paid more attention in Spanish class back home.”
“Spanish?” she snorted. He already knew what she thought about Spanish.
The chief engineer glared at her. “It may be easy as pie for you, Star, but I’m a manual labor kinda guy. Unless you think you could teach me.”
“I’d be willing to try,” she suggested tentatively.
“You would?” This time it was his turn to look surprised.
The linguist nodded. “Not many people on board would want to learn. If you do…”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “I’d like that.”
Bibliography:
Kenyon, Sherrilyn and others. The Writer’s Digest Character Naming Sourcebook. 1994: Writer’s Digest Books, Cincinnatti, Ohio.
Author’s Note: Thanks to Captain Average for the beta, DebC and Medie for convincing me to give the show a second chance, encouraging me to take a chance on this fic when I first typed it up late one night…and for making sure I restored Trip to his proper rank. (Oops.) 😉 And to the Mad HaTters’ website–before I visited your page, I couldn’t see myself supporting any pairings on this show or writing fic for it…and then I discovered Trip/Hoshi. Written and set during season 1 of Enterprise.
Every now and then, she needed the illusion. The escape.
It was strange, Hoshi reflected, as she stepped into the hydroponic garden. At home, on Earth, she’d always been a city girl. Sure, she loved the out-of-doors, but there were certain things she could never stand to be too far away from. Regular facilities, for one. Or even more important, a library–preferably one stocked with lots of books in a variety of languages. Plus, she didn’t do well with dirt–there were too many creepy-crawly things that lived in dirt and not all of them were as benign as her much-missed Sluggo had been.
But in spite of all that, out here, surrounded by technology and modern convenience, the height of human achievement…sometimes she needed to be here among the earth-born plants and dirt to forget that the solid ground beneath her feet was hurtling through space at warp speed.
Maybe it wasn’t modern conveniences or the lack thereof at all. Maybe it all boiled down to the same thing–she was just chicken.
Taking a deep breath, Hoshi sighed and found her usual seat. Closing her eyes as she sank down, she took a deep breath of the naturally-recycled air. Going planet-side on an away mission just wasn’t the same–the plants and the air didn’t smell right.
She’d only been sitting for a few minutes when she was surprised by the sound of the doors parting. She opened her eyes just in time to see Commander Tucker come around the edge of the leafy plant that served as her favorite hiding place. He fell back a step when he saw her.
“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here,” he muttered, embarrassed. “I’ll just…”
“No, it’s okay!” Hoshi interrupted quickly. “I always come here when I need a place to hide. It’s good for that.”
One eyebrow shot up. “And what exactly makes you think I’m lookin’ to hide?”
I know I would if I’d been forced to humiliate myself in front of the entire ship, she thought sympathetically, but said nothing. Instead she just looked at him.
The blush started at his ears and spread inward. “Okay, yer right. I’m hidin’.”
Hoshi smiled, tipping her head to indicate that he should have a seat beside her. “This one’s tall enough that if you sit down nobody can see you from the doorway.”
“So I noticed,” was the amused reply. He plopped down beside her and ran one pensive hand through his hair. “So…what are you hidin’ from?”
She hesitated. Commander Tucker was the one who’d persuaded her to stay on-board because of the “grand adventure” they were on–she wasn’t sure how he’d take it that she still wasn’t “adjusted.”
A sideways glance at him, though, made her reconsider. He’d been forced to reveal what could’ve been the most embarrassing secret of his life to the entire crew. If anyone could be trusted with such a secret right now, it was him.
“Reality,” she admitted. “I’m hiding from reality.”
“Meanin’ what exactly?” Trip frowned.
“Meaning, in here I can forget where I am for a little while. I’m getting used to being out here,” she hurried to add, “but sometimes I still need…”
“…a break?” He nodded. “Understandable. Though if you ask me, you’re doin’ damned well, considerin’ how much you didn’t want to come in the first place. Lotta people in your position woulda turned tail and run by now.”
“If it makes you feel any better, so would most men in yours.”
The chief engineer looked over at her. “I did turn tail and run. Soon as I could, I did.”
“You had to do what you did,” she argued. “A starship is no place for a child, especially a child of a species we barely understand. How would you have known what to feed it? Or how quickly it would grow, when it would hit puberty? Or what to do when it did?”
“She. What to do when she did,” he corrected. A look of unexpected loss came over his face. He sighed. “I still feel like a deadbeat dad.”
Hoshi frowned. For someone who was supposed to be gifted at communicating, her attempts at comfort were sure falling flat. Maybe she should just stop trying, before she shoved her foot any further into her mouth.
Unfortunately, said mouth didn’t seem to get the message from her brain, because suddenly she heard herself saying: “Well, look on the bright side. You now have an insight into the female psyche that most men would give anything for.”
“Not if they knew what it involved,” he retorted. Blue eyes turned to fasten on her. “How do you do it? When Cap’n Archer and the Doc started talkin’ about delivery and post-natal responsibilities, I freaked out. I can’t even imagine goin’ through my whole life knowin’ all that was somethin’ I might have to deal with one day.”
Hoshi shrugged. “Well, I’ve never had a baby so I can’t say for sure, but…I guess it’s like what you told me about this mission. It’s an adventure, an adventure unlike anything else you can ever experience. And there may be some parts of the adventure that will be painful, maybe even scary, but it’s worth it.”
The Commander’s eyes were thoughtful and a little sad as he nodded. “I’ll have to remember that.”
A pensive silence fell between them as Trip let his eyes drift to the opposite wall. He turned back a few minutes later.
“You didn’t laugh.”
She frowned. “Huh?”
“On the bridge. Everyone else was just bustin’ up–I think even the Cap’n was holdin’ back a smile even though he already knew, but you didn’t laugh. So, unless you’re part Vulcan, I figure there’s gotta be a reason for that.”
Hoshi grimaced. “When I was in high school…I had a friend who got pregnant our junior year. It changed her life. The baby’s father didn’t want anything to do with her after that, so she had to drop out of school, get her GED, and start working to support them both. She never even got to attend our senior prom, because she didn’t have a senior year.”
“Gawd.”
“So I guess you could say I didn’t laugh because I knew it wasn’t funny.”
“So why didn’t she–?”
“Have an abortion?” The linguist smiled. “She fell in love with the baby. She couldn’t give him up. And she never once regretted having her son, but I could see the other regrets in her eyes. Things she knew she’d lost forever.”
“Forever…” he echoed, his own voice uncertain.
Another silence followed, again broken by Trip.
“I didn’t just come here ’cause of them,” he confessed, nodding towards the exit. “Part of it…well, part of me kinda wonders ‘what if,’ y’know? What would it’ve been like?”
“To have the baby?”
“To be a father…mother…whatever the hell I woulda been to her.”
“You’ll have another chance someday,” she offered.
He snorted. “Not like that.”
Hoshi fought a smile. “No…probably not.”
“I think I miss her. Hell, I don’t even know what her name is gonna be. I could run into her years from now and never even know she was…almost my daughter.”
The young woman shook her head. “You’ll know.”
“You think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
The Commander sighed again. “I woulda called her Estella. Latin for–”
“–Star.”
“Yeah.” He grinned at her. “Guess you would know that, wouldn’t you?”
Hoshi smiled. “Especially since that’s what my name means. In Japanese.”
“It does?”
She nodded.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Trip smiled again. “Maybe I woulda named her after you, then.”
The Ensign dropped her head, feeling her own face begin to warm in the beginnings of a blush. “Thank you.”
“You’re a brave woman, Star. I know you probably don’t believe that, but you are. Courage ain’t about not bein’ scared, it’s about bein’ scared and facin’ whatever you’re scared of anyway. And you’ve done that just ’bout every day since we got out here.”
The color in her face deepened, both at the compliment and the nickname.
“And you’re a brave man, Commander. Some men can’t handle a girlfriend’s pregnancy–their own would probably cause a complete mental breakdown.”
He laughed. “Well, if it’s all the same, I think next time I’ll be happy to do things the human way.”
“Just so long as you promise to remember,” she told him. “Remember what it’s like to be in that position and make allowances accordingly. Trust me, the mother of your child will be eternally grateful for it.”
“I promise.”
Hoshi mentally kicked her imagination, which had suddenly decided to wonder if it meant anything that he looked straight into her eyes when he said that. Just because most women would give anything to have a man who understood pregnancy didn’t mean she should suddenly start fantasizing about this one.
Who’s starting? a smug little corner of her mind piped up.
Standing abruptly, she gave the chief engineer an awkward smile. “Well…I probably ought to go. I want to take another look at the Universal Translator, make sure it recorded the Xyrillian language properly.”
It was a weak excuse, but it was the best she could come up with when she was having a mild panic attack over the direction her thoughts were taking.
Trip looked confused, but nodded. “Okay. Think I’ll stay here for a while, see if I can’t clear my head a little more.”
You’re not the only one who needs to clear your head, Hoshi thought wryly. “It was good talking to you, Commander.”
“Trip. If we’re gonna be confidantes, call me Trip.”
“Okay…Trip.”
He smiled again and she smiled back. She couldn’t help it. “Thanks, Star. Thanks for helpin’ me put a few things in perspective.”
Author’s Note: This is what happens when you watch “Enterprise” and “Galaxy Quest” too close together and notice the parallels are even stronger than they are with GQ and TOS. *g* ‘Ships left open to interpretation (although some of my biases did creep in a little).
It wasn’t unusual to see the chief engineer pop onto the bridge, so the rest of the crew looked up at his appearance with only mild interest. By the time he’d crossed to Hoshi’s station, most of them had gone back to whatever they were doing and almost forgotten that he was even there. Only the comm officer herself noticed when he reached her and leaned into her personal space to stare at her console.
“Didja get it?” Trip asked hopefully.
That got everyone’s attention, and the enigmatic smile that appeared on Hoshi’s lips riveted it. Her hand disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a handful of message chips.
“Hot dog!” the chief engineer exclaimed, beaming.
“What do you say–think we can get the movie lounge for an all-day marathon on Saturday?” the linguist asked, her own smile broadening.
“Hell, yeah. I’ll pull rank if I hafta.”
“I don’t know about that, Trip,” the Captain interrupted. “I had considered booking the lounge myself to watch the game.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
Trip looked crestfallen. “Aw, Cap’n…”
Archer nodded at the handful of chips. “What’ve you got there?”
The chief engineer exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Hoshi, then decided to confess. “Galaxy Quest. Original and ‘The Journey Continues,’ all 250 episodes.”
“You had Galaxy Quest and you weren’t going to share it?” Travis blurted out in amazement.
Trip looked at him, surprised. “You know Galaxy Quest?”
“Of course I do,” Mayweather grinned. “I was practically raised on it. I mean, honestly, do you know any series even from this century that’s nearly as appropriate for a kid growing up on a spaceship?”
Hoshi laughed. “You must’ve loved Laredo.”
“Oh yeah, he was my hero! A kid just about my age steering a starship?” He grinned. “You wouldn’t believe how disappointed I was to find out the Academy didn’t admit ten year olds.”
Laughter rippled around the bridge and Trip turned his eyes back to the Captain. “Well?”
Archer grinned. “All right. Galaxy Quest marathon on Saturday.” He wagged a finger in the engineer’s direction. “I’m counting on you to pick the best episodes of the series.”
Still grinning, Trip saluted. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”
Saturday
Several (Galaxy Quest) episodes later…
“I’ve never understood why Laliari fell for Chen,” Malcolm complained as the mysterious female alien’s first episode concluded. “Ingersol is much more interesting.”
“‘More interesting’?” Trip echoed incredulously over the rim of his glass of iced tea. “He’s ’bout as much of a pessimist as you, though I admit he’s funnier about it.”
The armory officer glared. “Very funny, Commander.”
Commander Tucker grinned. “‘Sides, what kind of a name is ‘Roc’ anyway?”
“I dunno, what kind of a name is ‘Trip’?” Archer interceded on Reed’s behalf, grinning as he tossed a piece of popcorn in his mouth.
“You tell me, you’re the one that pinned it on me,” the chief engineer retorted.
“Ooh, now that sounds like an interesting story.” Hoshi smirked.
The Captain cocked an eyebrow at his friend and Trip looked embarrassed.
“Y’know, now that I think about it,” he changed the subject. “There’s an awful lot of similarities ‘tween them and us.” He gestured towards the screen.
“How so, Commander?” Phlox interjected curiously. He’d been invited to join them after expressing an interest in “early human views of space travel.”
“Well, for one thing, Dr. Lazarus is like a cross ‘tween you and Malcolm with a dash of Klingon,” Trip pointed out. “And there’s a lot of you, Cap’n–” He turned to Archer. “–in Taggart. That whole ‘never give up, never surrender’ thing for one.” The smile on his face widened into a grin. “Not to mention as Malcolm pointed out, the chief engineer is an alien babe magnet.”
Several of the people in the room suppressed sniggers. “Though I don’t recall any of them getting him pregnant,” Reed interjected, amused.
Now it was Trip’s turn to glare. “I’m serious–hell, even their uniforms were kinda like ours.”
“So who am I–Tawny or Laliari?” Hoshi asked.
“Depends–you want me or the Cap’n?” Trip’s eyes danced with mischief.
“I think I’ll decline to answer that on the grounds that I may incriminate myself,” the linguist shot back.
The chief engineer grinned again. “If we go strictly by who does what, the Cap’s Taggart, Phlox is Lazarus, Hoshi’s Tawny–‘cept she does a lot more’n just repeat the computer–I’m Chen, Malcolm here’s Ingersol, Travis is Laredo–”
“–and T’Pol is Laliari.” Mayweather concluded with a smirk of his own.
Trip’s face fell. “On second thought–”
“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’ve never entertained a fantasy about the Subcommander,” Travis demanded. Fortunately for him, T’Pol had declined to join them.
“May I remind you, Ensign, that we’re in mixed company?” The chief engineer nodded in the direction of Hoshi and Cutler.
The helmsman looked abashed. “Sorry, ladies.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” was Elizabeth’s breezy reply. “Hoshi and I were just about to start discussing the finer points of Commander Tucker’s ass.”
Trip choked on the sip of tea he’d just taken and Hoshi turned bright red. “Look–” Now it was her turn to divert the conversation. “–wasn’t Lieutenant Madison the one all the men on the Protector were drooling over?”
The Captain, Commander, Lieutenant and Ensign all looked at each other. Still looking slightly embarrassed, they nodded.
“Right. So T’Pol is Tawny,” Malcolm conceded.
Trip slapped Archer on the back. “Looks like you’re stuck with her, Cap’n.”
The Captain chuckled. “Is that relief or jealousy I hear in your voice, Commander?”
They all laughed.
“It is interesting, though,” Hoshi admitted. “The parallels. It makes you wonder–how did they know? How is it that almost two hundred years ago, they knew what kind of crew it would take for this type of mission?”
“It has been my observation that your species can be quite perceptive at times.” Phlox smiled.
Archer smiled. “We try, anyway.”
“It is pretty amazin’,” Trip agreed. “Not so much that they sorta predicted this, but their vision of the future came true. You gotta admit, back then Earth unitin’ and venturin’ out into deep space musta seemed like a pipe dream.”
“Perhaps Galaxy Quest itself is part of the reason that vision became a reality,” Reed suggested. “It gave people something to strive for. Possibly it made this sort of future seem less unattainable.”
“Could something designed for entertainment really have such a profound influence?” the doctor asked curiously.
The Captain smiled. “Sometimes anything that gives us reason to hope can have an influence.”
Phlox nodded. “In that case, my compliments to the creator of this endeavor.”
The human members of the crew nodded. “He was an amazing man,” Hoshi stated.
A thoughtful silence fell, broken a few minutes later by Captain Archer. “So. What’s the next episode, Trip?”
Tucker grinned. “The one where the digital conveyor goes all wiggy and turns that pig-thing Taggert’s fightin’ inside out.”
The Captain raised an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of T’Pol. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, as leery as half the people on this ship are of the transporter?”
“Why do you think I’m showin’ it?” he retorted. “I may be chief engineer, but I don’t trust that thing further’n I can throw it…”
Author’s Note: Thanks again to Meg, both for beta-reading this and for just being so enthusiastic about the series. 🙂 Title is from the same Crystal Lewis song as the first one.
Teyla remembers the game from her own childhood. There were always two or three of them, never many more. There were never many children her age at all. The strongest child would wear the mask of the Wraith and count, and the others would hide as cleverly as they could in the meantime, hoping not to be found. Then, if they were found, they ran as fast as they could towards shelter, as if the Wraith truly pursued them.
None of the elders ever scolded her or her friends for playing the game, just as she and Halling had never spoken against it to Jinto or his friends. As morbid as it would probably seem to the Earth folk, the game had the potential to keep them alive, which was why each generation of Athosian children had taught it to each other. Better to learn to conceal yourself from a playmate, when it was indeed just a game, than when your very life might depend upon that ability to hide.
But this is not the game that she played as a girl. Halling asks Wex where Jinto hid, assuming that because he has the Wraith mask in his hand that Jinto finally granted him the upper hand in the game.
“He didn’t hide. I had to hide again,” Wex reveals in a bitter voice. “Jinto got to be Major Sheppard. I was just the stupid Wraith.”
Those simple words remind Teyla vividly why she is here. Why she chose to trust these strangers even against the wise words of some of her own people, and why she would do everything in her power to help them make the best of what they have found here. This is why she accepted Major Sheppard’s invitation to become a member of his team, and why she accepted on behalf of her people the invitation to stay in Atlantis.
The Atlanteans have given them hope.
Somehow it is not strange at all that this should manifest in a child’s game. For generations, her people have believed and seen that there was nothing more powerful in the galaxy than the Wraith. They have lived in fear, the prayers to the Ancestors for nothing greater than one more year, a little more time before the Wraith come again. Or–if one was truly daring–for the chance to die of old age or sickness or even an accident, rather than at the hands of the Wraith.
Suddenly, in the eyes of these two children, there is someone in the universe stronger than the Wraith. And he is human, which means he is something that they can aspire to become.
Teyla is a warrior. She has trained as one as long as she can remember, trained to use her gifts both of the mind and body to protect her people. She would die for them, as her father did. For most of her life, it has been an inevitable fact of her existence that one day she will make that sacrifice. It is the fate and duty of a leader, to sacrifice herself for her people.
Now, for the first time, she too sees an alternative. She no longer sees herself fighting a losing battle for one more life and living each day on what the Earth people call “borrowed time.” For the first time, she can allow herself to dream of a day when the Wraith’s tyranny over this galaxy will be no more.
Can a handful of strangers from a distant world truly make such a difference? Teyla doesn’t know. But what she does see is that they have not accepted their lot. They would rather fight until every single one of them is wiped out and then destroy the city behind them to protect the gateway back to their world, than ever accept that fate that her people take for granted. They also have technologies and gifts her people only whisper about in distant memories and stories.
There is much that the Earth people lack as well, things as essential to Teyla as liberty is to them, but which they take for granted.
Still…they have strength. Strength that she can only hope her people will learn to claim for their own.
If they do…perhaps there is a chance of actually winning the war.
Author’s Note: Thanks to the two people who helped give me the confidence to post this: the Teyla fan and beta reader, Meg, and the non-Teyla fan (at the time–HUGE fan now) who enjoyed it anyway, Medie. *g* Oh yeah, and the title comes from a song by Crystal Lewis.
The Earth people fascinate Teyla; perhaps more than they should, as Halling is wont to point out. But she can’t help but be drawn to them–they came from so far away, and now they are trapped here in the shadow of the Wraith. And what is more, not only have they taken possession of the city of the Ancestors, but some of them–like John Sheppard–even have the blood of the Ancestors flowing through their veins.
Even her people, despite the name they have given to the ancient inhabitants of this city, cannot say the same.
Still…she is troubled by the lack of beauty in their lives.
Among her people, each garment is unique, its design a reflection of the emotion its tailor was feeling as he or she sewed it. But the Earth people wear matching clothes–uniforms, they even call them–when they are working. And even when they are not, when they are “off duty” as she’s heard them say…she’s seen Dr. Weir’s other clothes, and still finds them dull. Simple and elegant in their own way, but so linear and plain. Only the shoes the leader of Atlantis sometimes wears–with the strange spikes on the heels–show any sign of creativity as she is used to it.
Well, that and her necklace. She wonders sometimes, about the necklace the Earth woman always wears, thinks she might ask someday about its significance. Is it, like her own, a keepsake of a loved one? A symbol of something from Earth? Or just something pretty to remind her that she is still Elizabeth even when she must be Dr. Weir, governor of Atlantis?
There is one thing beautiful on their “uniforms”–the patch that says Atlantis in the Earth tongue, with a winged animal of some kind seeming to leap out of one of the chevrons of the stargate towards her. She asked, once, what manner of creature it was. She was told it was a mythical beast called a pegasus, and that it was on the patch because the people of Earth call her home the “Pegasus” galaxy.
But when she asked whose time and minute detail had gone into sewing the patches, she was told they had been created by a machine.
A machine. She can’t imagine spending her entire life in garments made by a machine, instead of her own hand or the hand of a loving friend. For now, she wears them because they insist she must “match” the rest of her team, but she is glad that Dr. Weir allowed her to keep her own shirt. She doesn’t feel like she’s been swallowed up in sameness as long as she can cling to that one piece of who she is.
Maybe it’s because the people of Earth never lived with the Wraith before now. They never learned to find beauty wherever it hides because life is fleeting and worthless without it. That there is beauty even in death, if you have time to prepare and accept your fate instead of having your life torn from you.
She cannot remember the last time one of her people died of old age.
To Teyla, to her people, every sunrise is a treasure. Having the time and care to put into making clothing, or candles, or anything, is something to be celebrated. The people of Earth are in such a hurry to get to tomorrow that she wonders if they even see the sunrise. Maybe that is why they have machines sew for them, and bring food wrapped in shiny metal wrappers with them instead of planting and harvesting their own.
Maybe it’s not beauty they truly fail to appreciate…maybe it’s time.
Either way…it is something about them she will never understand, even if one day they teach her everything there is to know about Football and Hockey and Ferris Wheels.
The Earth people have much that they could teach her, this she knows…but maybe she has something to teach them too.
Author’s Note: Written after “The Siege” Part II aired and before it could be Jossed by Part III. Not that the show ever would’ve gone this way anyway, but I can fantasize.
Letting him go is the hardest thing they’ve ever done. Watching Rodney learn this after the fact, hearing John’s voice on the radio, is the second hardest thing she’s ever done. When he meets her eyes, for one terrifying moment she’s afraid he won’t ever forgive her for being the one to make that decision for all of them. For having the chance to say goodbye that he was denied. But then she sees understanding slip into his eyes, supplementing if not supplanting the devastation, and she knows somehow they’ll survive.
Theirs has been a strange relationship from the beginning. They’ve never said anything, not aloud, never acted on the strange connection that hums between the three of them, but if not physically then emotionally they’ve been together almost since the day Sumner died. The day that the three of them became the triad of power that Atlantis depended on as much as it had once depended on its trio of ZPMs. She is the apex of it, she knows, and not just because they are technically still her subordinates, but also because both men have always identified themselves as too stubbornly straight to be quite comfortable with how important they are to each other. But the truth is, both in governing Atlantis and each other’s hearts, they are far more equal than any of them would ever admit.
Only looking into Rodney’s eyes now, she thinks maybe for the first time he’s admitted to himself how lost they will both be if John does not return. They’ll survive; they’ll go on because they still have each other, but they’ll never be the same. The endless knot will be broken, the threefold cord unraveled, and every moment of laughter will be marred by unshed tears, by the memory of his smile or the snappy retort that would’ve been on the tip of his tongue.
She still loves Simon, but what she has with these two men is different. In some ways, it’s almost more than love. It’s a perfect synchronization of three disparate souls united by a common goal and a common burden unknowable to all those below or outside of them. They don’t always agree, or even always reach a detente, but any outside threat to the fragile balance of power they’ve erected is always met with a unified front. They are her right and left hands, and losing them would cripple her as badly as losing a limb.
She can feel the knife at her wrist even now, and by the weary, broken look in Rodney’s eyes she can tell he feels it too. Feels the hand wrapped around their hearts, just waiting to rip them out.
If by some miracle John does survive, she’ll let them hold her. She’ll need both of their strength to warm her bed and soothe her grief when she finally lets go and lets herself mourn for Peter, for the Athosians, for their City.
If that miracle does come to pass, or even if it doesn’t, a part of her almost pities Everett. He may have stepped aside for her, in a moment of surprising graciousness, but he won’t step aside for John. And she knows he’ll never be part of the heart of the city like they’ve become, but rather the grudgingly accepted leader of a foreign occupation. He’ll never be the first one she looks to for military guidance as long as even John’s memory remains to advise her. Even though she knows that Everett is the better military man.
Everett will never be part of her soul. He would not give his life in a heartbeat, even defy her to try to save her, like John or Rodney would. And if he did, she wouldn’t hesitate to let him. She wouldn’t be gripped by this fear. Her grief for Peter wouldn’t be tempered by gratitude that it was him aboard the station and not the man who is, despite his sometimes abrasive nature, one of the better thirds of her heart.
She can’t even imagine how she would cope if she lost them both.
Hesitantly, Rodney’s hand creeps out to cover hers where they stand side by side, neither of them caring for once that someone might see and draw the right conclusion. I’m going in, John’s last words still ring in her mind, and she closes her eyes and lets her fingers twine with that lifeline. All that exists in that moment is that voice and that touch. Her anchors.
Holding her breath, she waits to be cut adrift and prays for a miracle.