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Chapter Text

Lieutenant Spock hovered tentatively in the doorway to the lab. Upon Enterprise’s arrival at Starbase 12, he had been told a Doctor Tucker wished to meet with him, but the only person he could seen in the room beyond was a Vulcan woman, bent over a scope on her workbench. She was dressed in civilian clothing - a jacket and trousers cut in the Vulcan style - and appeared to be of average height. Her dark hair, sensibly braided to keep out of her face, was lightly threaded with silver. She did not appear to have noticed him, so Spock lightly cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

The woman straightened, and looked at him. She had blue eyes, he noticed – most unusual for a Vulcan. “You would be Lieutenant Spock,” she said.

“Yes.” He disapproved of the uncertainty he could hear in his own voice. He took a steadying breath, and said. “I was told I would find a Doctor Tucker here.”

“And you have,” she said, and lifted her right hand in salute. He returned the gesture by pure reflex. She then extended the same hand for a human handshake. “I am Doctor T'Mir Tucker, Lieutenant. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Bemused, he accepted the handshake, and the second their hands met, he understood exactly why she had such unusual eyes. “Your father was human,” he said.

“Very human,” she said, her lips moving in a very small smile.

“I…I had no idea,” Spock managed. “I did not know that-”

“That are others like yourself?” she finished for him. She sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Sarek.” She took a moment, seemingly to compose herself, then turned and patted a stool by her workbench. “Have a seat, Lieutenant. I think you and I have a great deal to talk about.”

He sank onto the stool, for want of anything else to do. “I do not understand. You know my father?”

“We were acquainted in our youth. He was a protege of my mother’s.”

Spock felt his confidence begin to buoy, back in territory with landmarks he knew. A female mentor of his father's? Then logic would dictate that… “Ambassador T'Pol is your mother.” T'Mir inclined her head.

“She is. And my father was Captain Charles Anthony Tucker the Third, known to his friends and family as Trip.” She smiled that small smile again. “And to myself and my brothers as Dad.”

“Brothers?”

“Yes, there are three of us. I am the eldest.” She gave him a gentle look. “I wanted to meet you. I had no idea you were unaware, but…here we are now.”

Spock looked at her, a strange sense of kinship welling up inside him, and a curiosity that he could not deny. “Tell me about yourself, Doctor.”

She sat on the stool beside his, and drew herself up, looking thoughtful. “I was born the same year as the Federation,” she began.

Chapter Text

It was a brilliant April day in San Francisco, the sort of day in which the bright blue sky and vivid sun might trick the unwary into thinking it was at least five degrees warmer than it actually was. It had certainly fooled Trip Tucker and Malcolm Reed, whose attempt to enjoy their beers on the patio of the 602 Club had been defeated when the wind picked up off the bay, driving them inside.

“You’re really resigning your commission?” Malcolm asked. Trip held up a finger.

“Just from active duty,” he corrected. “Figured I’d try my hand at bein' a kept man for a bit. I bet I make a real good house husband.”

Malcolm snorted. “Does T’Pol know that’s what you’re calling it?”

“She thinks it’s funny.”

“You keep telling me she finds things amusing, and I’m not sure I should believe you.” Malcolm took a long swig of his beer. “So what happens now, kept man?”

“Dunno exactly,” Trip said. “I think a lot’ll depend on what happens at the conference.” He gestured with his bottle towards the city center visible through the windows. The Romulan War was over, a peace carefully devised, an off-limits Neutral Zone created, and the Coalition of Planets that had won that war was now in deep, secretive discussion about its own future. High level government and Starfleet officials, among them Commodore Jonathan Archer and his loyal executive officer Commander T’Pol, were in attendance, unlike the day drinkers at the 602, who were very much out of the loop.

“Can’t she give you any hints?”

“It’s all top secret, Malcolm! She’s not gonna tell me word one.”

“Well...don’t you know anyway? On account of the…” Malcolm wiggled his fingers vaguely in the general vicinity of his temple.

“That’s not how it works. And even if it did-” Trip stopped short, an awful realization striking him squarely between the eyes. His jaw dropped. “You little weasel. Is that why you asked me to come have a drink? For information?”

“It’s been ages!” Malcolm protested. “If I can’t invite you to have a beer-”

“It is, isn’t it? You wanted to know if I knew anything!” Trip shook his head disapprovingly. “You know, I still outrank you. I oughta have you cashiered out of the service.”

“Now, hang on-”

“Disgraceful.”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask!”

Trip grinned suddenly. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know anything. You know that, right?” Malcolm sighed.

“It was worth a try.” He took a peevish drink from his beer. “And I am actually interested in your life, dammit!”

“Uh-huh. And I woulda believed that five minutes ago.”

They shared a long stare, Trip looking blandly righteous, Malcolm looking persecuted, until Trip won. Malcolm leaned back, shaking his head, before asking quietly, “Will you miss it?”

“Yeah. I will,” Trip admitted. “I can’t have it both ways, though. So…if I have to make a choice, she's gotta win.” He chuckled. “Do I sound whipped or what?”

“Well...yes, you do,” Malcolm said honestly, then added, “But you're honoring your priorities. That’s important.”

They shared a few more drinks before going their separate ways, and on the tram home, Trip reflected on his priorities. He would miss starship duty – he’d miss it deeply. He’d loved serving on Enterprise, and despite the stresses and fears of war, he’d loved commanding Endeavour. But the want that had driven him back to Earth in the first place, before the war, was still there, and more acute than ever. He wanted to take what he’d found with T’Pol, and let it grow. He wanted to be her husband. He wanted to be the father of her children. And he couldn’t be separated from her again. It would be more than he could bear.

To his disappointment, they hadn’t been able to move back into the townhouse they’d lived in their first six months in San Francisco. Starfleet in its wisdom had apparently decided they deserved something a little grander, which was nice, he supposed. But he had gotten awfully fond of that little apartment. There were some very good memories there.

This one had a bigger kitchen, though, and space for a workbench, and an extra bedroom that would hopefully come in handy in the near future. Trip started dinner, a vegetable soup of his own devising with potatoes and carrots, as well as Vulcan varda beans and sivik root. Once he had that simmering, he started tinkering with the Andorian power conversion module on his workbench – it was a newer design, and Karveth had wanted to compare notes.

The sun was setting when he finally felt it; that shivery anticipation that told him T'Pol was on her way home. “Hey, sweetheart,” he called when he heard the door open. A moment later, she entered the room, loosening her uniform collar. Her eyes lit on the half-disassembled module in front of him.

“Any progress?” she asked.

“Actually, yeah.” He tapped the side of the casing. “The heat sink in this thing is amazing. I guess they’re so good at managin’ heat dispersal ‘cause Andoria’s so cold. Buuuut…” He flipped the module over. “See that? Those linking couplers are way too close together. One bad surge away from fusing.” He shot her a smile. “I figure I can modify that, wrap this up, send it to Karveth for his birthday with a card that says ‘You’re Welcome’.”

“He would, of course, be inclined to revenge at that point.”

“Well, that’s half the fun!” he chuckled. “By the way, supper’s ready when you are.” He pushed himself back from the bench, but before he could stand, she stopped him, cradling his cheek in her hand. In the contact, he could feel her thought. It's good to be home.

Good to have you home.

“Long day?” he asked aloud. She gave a small shrug that said both everything and nothing. He reached out, slipping an arm around her waist. “Will soup help?”

“I believe it will.”

“Then you have come to the right place.”

They headed to the kitchen, and he began to ladle up bowls. “I do have news,” she said as he set hers down in front of her.

“Oh yeah?”

“I received a message from Doctor V’Ryn this afternoon. She will arriving here on Earth in two days’ time. She said that she has...positive news for us.”

Trip’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I suppose we shall see.”

He let out a long breath. “You excited?” he asked softly. She took a few bites in silence before looking at him and nodding, eyes shining.

“Very.”

Chapter Text

It was nearly a week before they were able to line up the schedules of all involved for a consultation in V'Ryn's borrowed lab space in the science wing of the Vulcan compound. Though she didn’t say so, Trip had the feeling she had come back to Earth specifically for them, which made him feel both touched, and a little like a lab rat.

“I have had the highly informative experience of working with a team of Rigelian geneticists in the last two years,” V'Ryn said without preamble. “They are, of course, widely, and rightly, renowned for their sophisticated understanding of genetic therapies. It was because of this working relationship that I began to suspect that my previously hypothesized methodology for achieving a successful pregnancy for you might be neither the most effective nor efficient.”

Both T'Pol and Trip were silent. She was obviously building to something.

“Obviously, I have no means to test this beyond computer modeling, but then…the method we had previously discussed would also be highly experimental in its own right.” She tapped something on the PADD she held, then handed it to T'Pol. “According to my models, a modified genetic therapy protocol, administered to both of you, shows a 95.5 percent chance of allowing for the successful fertilization of an ova, and its subsequent implantation.”

T'Pol's head tilted as she looked over the data. “The internal fertilization?”

Trip, who'd felt himself a few steps behind, suddenly caught up. “Are you sayin' we'd be able to do this the old-fashioned way?”

“If by ‘the old-fashioned way', you are referring to penetrative intercourse,” said V'Ryn, unflapped, “then yes, I am.”

T'Pol, whose gaze had remained on the PADD, looked up. “Ninety-five point five percent?” V'Ryn nodded.

“Again, I have no means for any sort of trial, and the only thing to which I could compare my modeled results was your daughter Elizabeth’s genome.” She looked askance, as if she were about to say something embarrassing. “And if I may speculate…it is my considered opinion that this method may result in a lower-risk pregnancy.”

“Lower risk?” Trip's expression was intent. “What risk?”

“No Vulcan has ever been pregnant with a cross-species offspring before,” V'Ryn said.

“And there was, and is, no way to know how my body would respond to such a pregnancy,” T'Pol added. “Not without simply…trying it.” Trip swallowed.

“I guess I hadn’t realized you'd be experimentin' on yourself,” he said softly.

She shrugged a shoulder. “It is the only way to know.” She looked back at V'Ryn. “But you believe this gene therapy method may reduce those risks?”

“I have no evidence to bear that out,” V'Ryn said, looking embarrassed again. “However, it does seem a logical supposition.”

Just then, T'Pol’s comm chirped. Her lips tightened in distaste, but she excused herself to answer it anyway. Trip looked at V'Ryn. “I don't think I’ve said thank you lately, Doc. You've put a lot of effort into this for us.”

“Your thanks are well meant, but unnecessary, Captain. You are an engineer. I am certain you can appreciate the drive to find a solution to a problem.”

“Yeah, but it's our problem. Not yours.”

She gave him a long, measuring look. “I asked Commander T'Pol once about the logic of marrying a member of a species who would predecease her by a significant margin. Her response was, ‘I will have shared his life’.” Trip glanced at the floor. V'Ryn continued, “I respect the difficulty of what you are undertaking, Captain. We are standing at the threshold of a new era. I consider this my small contribution to that future.”

Trip was about to say he wouldn’t consider her work small, but T'Pol reentered, looking apologetic. “Forgive me,” she said.

“Lemme guess,” Trip said. “They’ve added another meeting?” She nodded, irritation visible in the set of her mouth. “I’m goin' steady with the most popular girl in school,” he chuckled. A very faint line of confusion creased V'Ryn's brow; T'Pol gave her a look that said he was being extremely human and V'Ryn would need to be understanding.

“Of course,” V'Ryn murmured. She delicately adjusted her sleeves, and said in a louder tone, “I imagine you will wish time to discuss the matter.” Trip and T'Pol exchanged a look.

“Actually, Doctor,” T'Pol said, “discussion is all we have had. For four years. We are ready.”

“No time like the present,” Trip said.

The average human would not have recognized the change that came over V'Ryn's features, but to T'Pol and Trip, her pleasure and excitement were evident. “Very well,” she said. “The gene therapy will be a three part series that will need to be administered in sequence over the next ten days, at which time it will be…up to you, as it were.”

They returned home in thoughtful silence. Everything had changed, but nothing truly had, not yet. V'Ryn had sent them home with a strict schedule of return visits, a list of side effects to be on the lookout for, and an entire sidebar with T'Pol regarding monitoring and biomarkers.

Trip hung up his jacket, trying to shake the weird sense of unreality that had descended on him. “This is really happening,” he said. T'Pol said nothing, but simply took his hand, pressing her palm against his. Her anxiety and joy knotted together, as did his, and they stood together quietly for a moment, helping each other to untangle the threads.

You're gonna be an amazing mother, he told her silently.

I will have your help.

He released her hand to pull her close. “Well, we do make a hell of a team,” he said, smiling softly.

“We do.”

Her head rested on his shoulder, turned just so her lips could touch his neck right below his earlobe. She could get just about anything she wanted from him with a few well timed kisses there, and he knew that she knew. He let out a slow breath.

“So…seems like the good doctor's about to give us a whole lotta homework.”

“Indeed. I, for one, intend to approach it I would any assignment.”

He felt himself grin. “Thoroughly and with an eye for detail?”

“Precisely.”

He laughed, pulling back so he could look her in the face. “God, I love you.” Her expression, composed and serious, did not change.

“Prove it.”

His smile shifted, its teasing edge growing more intimate, more knowing. She didn’t even have to aim for the spot below his ear to get what she wanted, did she? He leaned close to breathe his reply against her lips.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t happen immediately. They’d known it wouldn’t, but Trip realized, feeling the crush of disappointment at the first negative scans, that some tiny part of him had been hoping against hope that it would. But they were conducting an experiment in real time, and even if the active part of the experiment was extremely enjoyable in the moment, the lack of result was less so.

Time passed. The conference ended, but the diplomats didn’t seem to leave. Now it was T’Pol’s turn to cool her heels, waiting to see where she would be needed next. And Trip found himself back in orbit, overseeing the refit of Enterprise and Challenger's engines.

“Didn’t waste any time callin’ in my reserve, did they?” he sighed over breakfast one morning early in August. “So much for bein’ a kept man.”

“Remind me. For what were you being kept?” T'Pol asked. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Makin’ dinner and servicin' you sexually, mostly.” That didn’t get the gleam of amusement he’d been aiming for, and he had a feeling he knew why.

“Another negative?”

She nodded.

He set down his coffee cup. He really didn’t like the tension he could see around her mouth. “I’ve got some time off next week,” he said casually. “How about we go to Vulcan for a few days? Check in on the house?”

That, it seemed, was a really excellent idea. She nodded again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm.

The next week, they boarded a transport for Vulcan, and within moments of their arrival at the house, Trip was eyeing his surroundings with a critical gaze. “I should probably get up on the roof and check the tiles,” he said thoughtfully.

“And are you well versed in roof repair?” she asked. He gave her a wounded look.

“If I can hull walk a starship, I can check for cracked roof tiles, thank you very much.”

“Gravity does not apply to hull walks,” she reminded him. “Try to be careful. I refuse to be widowed in such a preventable manner.”

He made a face at her, sticking out his tongue; she seized it between her thumb and forefinger, and they stood at an impasse for a moment before he narrowed his eyes to say You win this round. She released him. “I’ll getcha,” he warned.

“I am not afraid of your vengeance.”

In the end, she wound up going up onto the roof with him, where they did find a pair of cracked tiles, though repair seemed as if it would be easy enough. After the weeks of diplomatic talks (that she wished she could tell Trip about), and her current furlough, it felt good to do something physical, something concrete. She wondered if that had been part of his design in suggesting they come here. He could be surprisingly subtle at times.

That evening, after dinner, he pulled the pump assembly out of the courtyard fountain, trying to figure out why it seemed to be stuck at half power. She sat on the steps and watched him. She liked watching him work; there was something about the way he held himself that was always a pleasure to see. “Vulcans appreciate beauty,” she’d told him, in this very courtyard. And she appreciated him.

She remembered the first time it had occurred to her that he was attractive. She had walked into Engineering, and seen him, standing with his back to her. There had been something in the set of his shoulders, in the lines of his back, that struck her as very agreeable to look at. Then his head had turned, profile outlined against the warp core. He'd caught sight of her, and smiled, and somewhere inside her, something seemed to flutter.

Which was likely the result of her pa'nar syndrome, and she'd gone to Doctor Phlox later that afternoon to see about getting her treatment regime adjusted.

But she didn’t have pa'nar syndrome any more, and he was more attractive to her now than he'd been then.

He felt her looking, and glanced at her. “Have I got something on me?” he asked.

“You know perfectly that you do not.”

“Then what are you lookin' at so hard?”

“You know perfectly well what I am looking at.”

His lips twitched as he fought a grin. “Well, maybe I just wanna hear you say it.”

“You are being difficult.”

“And?”

She sighed. “I am looking at you. Because it pleases me to look at you.”

The grin won. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you satisfied, now that I have stated the obvious?”

“Satisfied?” He closed the casing on the pump, wiped his hands on a rag, and turned to face her, his eyes mischievous. “I dunno. Should I be?”

She stood as he approached her, crossing her arms. “I have never known you to be difficult to satisfy.”

“You callin’ me easy?”

She pretended to think about it. “I believe that I am.”

He laughed, and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Well...you’d know.” He bent his head to brush his cheek against hers. “Shall we take this inside?” he murmured. “I’d say I have to defend my honor, but we both know that’s not true.”

The next morning, T’Pol got up first, and performed the ritual that had been her daily observance for the better part of four months. The scanner beeped softly, and she stared at the readout. Ninety seconds later, she was shaking Trip awake.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking hard. “Everythin’ okay?” She wordlessly thrust the scanner at him. “What am I lookin’ at?”

T’Pol took a deep breath. “Successful implantation.” He stared at her, the words sinking in past the fog of interrupted sleep.

“You’re pregnant?”

“It is only the first step,” she cautioned, trying to keep them both grounded. “There is still-”

“You’re pregnant.”

“Yes.”

They stared at one another, the silence hopeful, and awed, and exultant. “Put that thing down,” Trip said softly.

“I need to transmit this to Doctor V’Ryn as soon as possible.”

“Please...just for a second.”

She set down the scanner, and he grabbed her, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him, gazing up at her with wonder in his eyes. “T’Pol,” he whispered, dragging his hands up her back and over her shoulders to hold her face between them. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

Chapter Text

“And your sleep?” V'Ryn asked, passing her scanner over T'Pol.

“I have been experiencing some insomnia.”

“You had mentioned Captain Tucker is familiar with neuropressure,” V’Ryn said. T'Pol nodded. “You may find the tav'ka posture helpful.”

“I have also been somewhat light-headed.”

“That,” V'Ryn said, consulting her scanner, “is because you are dehydrated.” T’Pol blinked in confusion.

“Dehydrated?”

“It is a common issue during pregnancy. You body is expending more resources than usual, and will continue to. You will need to take care to consume water every day.”

“So often?”

“At a minimum.” V'Ryn sat on the stool by the examination table. “Anything else?”

“I have been craving bitter flavors,” T'Pol confessed, lowering her voice and unsure why. “This morning I drank coffee.”

“Most unusual,” V'Ryn said, looking intrigued. “Perhaps we may attribute that to your child's partially human genetics. Which brings me to the main purpose of this visit.” She looked at her scanner again. “I am extremely encouraged by these readings. I see no evidence of genetic abnormalities. We cannot allow ourselves to become complacent, but as I said – I am most encouraged. The first and most difficult hurdle has been overcome. From this point, our main concern will be supportive care to maintain your good health and that of the fetus.”

T'Pol exhaled, relieved on what felt like a molecular level. “That is very welcome news,” she said.

“I suspected it would be,” V’Ryn said, then added, sounding vaguely self-conscious, “For myself...it is fascinating to see how your and Captain Tucker's genes have combined. Did you know that blue iris coloration is a recessive trait in humans? But it is practically a mutation for us, so the recessive gene has won.” She handed the scanner to T'Pol. “She will have blue eyes. Like her father.”

And like her sister before her. T’Pol looked down at the scanner, the data displayed on the screen, the genome of an entirely new life. How else had their genes combined? How would they be expressed? What surprises awaited them, when gestation was complete, and their child entered the world?

She would have to be patient. It was months yet before she would find out.

It seemed, she reflected as she left the lab, that life in general was conspiring to teach her patience lately. She was still officially attached to Enterprise, but with the ship still undergoing refit, her duties were minimal. A change was coming, a shift of quadrant-spanning proportions, and she could suppose at the shape of it. But there was no logic in conjecture, not at this stage. Much like her slowly growing abdomen, that future would present itself in due time.

So for now, her destination was home, where she had a terminal set up in the spare room near Trip’s workbench. She could go over maintenance reports from here as easily as anywhere else. They were not inspiring reading by any stretch, but necessary – the outline of work done and problems solved, all signed off with a “CT”. A little contented glow warmed her, seeing his initials. He’d grumbled at his orders, but she also knew there was a part of him that couldn’t stand to let anyone else do this.

When he arrived home that evening, he wasted no time pulling a chair up beside hers. “You were real happy about somethin’ today,” he said. “I could feel it, all the way up there. So it’s good news?”

“It is very good news,” she said, and repeated what V’Ryn had told her. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, letting out a long, reassured sigh. He laughed shakily.

“That is amazing. So you’re okay, and the baby’s okay.”

“To put it succinctly, yes.” T’Pol opened her copy of the genetic file V’Ryn had given her. “This is her genetic analysis.”

“’Her’ as in the doc, or as in we’re havin’ a girl?”

“Both.”

His smile softened, delight diffused by a faint clouding of sorrow. “A girl,” he whispered, and laid his hand on her abdomen. Their eyes met. This time, nobody’s takin’ her away from us.

No. Never.

He cleared his throat. “So what does all that tell us? Med diagnostics aren’t exactly my wheelhouse.”

“It tells us that much of her physiology will be...very Vulcan in its expression.”

“Surprise, surprise, she’ll have your ears.”

“That does appear to be a very dominant trait,” she said, and he laughed. “But she will have blue eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked pleased. “Wonder else she'll get from me.”

“Perhaps your nose,” she said, and tapped the end of his nose with a finger. His expression shifted into bewilderment.

“Did you just boop my nose?”

“Is that what it is called?” She did it again. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Why would you wish that on our innocent child?”

“I happen to find your nose distinctive,” she said.

“Yeah, well, when people say features are ‘distinctive' or ‘have character', they usually mean ‘weird lookin''.”

“I had no idea you were sensitive about the appearance of your nose.”

“Kinda,” he admitted.

“That is illogical,” she told him. “I find your face extremely pleasing, and that includes all its features.” She booped his nose again, just to underline her point.

“Well, I guess that settles that, huh?”

“Indeed.”

He shook his head in defeat, but a small, grudging smile was beginning to move his lips. “You win again.” She inclined her head, gracious in victory. “I guess we should probably tell Mama and Dad. They’re gonna be thrilled.”

“I anticipate so.”

“Does that bother you? ‘Cause I can tell ‘em on my own-”

“No,” she said honestly. “I find your parents’ emotional investment to be...comforting. They are under no compulsion to be accepting of a part-Vulcan grandchild.”

“It would never occur to them not to be.”

“I know. That is why it is comforting.”

Later that night, Trip woke for no reason he could discern. One moment he’d been asleep, the next, wakeful. So he lay in bed, thinking about the call earlier. Charles and Elaine had been overjoyed at their news, and despite T’Pol’s protests of being fine with an emotional display, Elaine had excused herself to go cry out of the range of the video screen anyway. Trip smiled to himself in the darkness. It really wouldn’t ever occur to them not to be happy about this. T’Pol found that comforting, and so did he.

He looked at her, laying on her side, and as his eyes adjusted, he could see the growing roundness of her belly. That baby was theirs – blue eyes, green blood, and all. He resisted the urge to touch her; the neuropressure had helped her get to sleep, and he didn’t want to disturb that. He carefully rolled out of bed instead, padding quietly into the office/work room.

There was so much potential, so much promise. They were only at the very beginning of a journey they would, with any luck, not actually see the end of. What would she do? Who would she be? What did her future hold? The possibilities were dizzying.

He tapped a button on the console, and cleared his throat. “I dunno when you’ll hear this,” he began. “But there is so much I wanna say to you, and I’m afraid that if I wait until you’re born, I won’t remember it all. So here goes.”

Chapter Text

It was easy to lose track of time when Trip had a new toy to play with, and this one, courtesy of his former subordinate Michael Rostov, was far more fun than it had any right to be. It was actually an old toy – a late 21^st century rotor-powered drone. The body was in surprisingly good condition, and if he could just convert it to a more efficient power source… He was so engrossed he almost missed the annoyed grunt that issued from the bedroom. He glanced at the chronometer. It was after 2200 – T’Pol was usually meditating around this time, not grousing. Grousing was his department, anyway.

He poked his head into their room. Her meditation mat was spread and a candle lit, but she was up and pacing, her hands resting on her belly, her lips tight. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked, knowing that obviously it was not.

“Your offspring is very active this evening,” she said, grimacing.

“You're damn right that's my offspring,” he retorted. He slid his arms around her, one above the roundness of her belly, one below. “I take full credit.” The baby kicked again, and he let out a low whistle. “She is runnin' a marathon in there.”

“Indeed.” T'Pol's lips compressed again.

“Hey.” Trip poked lightly at her abdomen. “Be nice to your momma.”

“That-” T’Pol paused. “Appears to have helped.”

“Just doin’ my part,” he said, shooting her a smile. She took a deep breath.

“Perhaps she will be so kind as to allow me to meditate now.”

“Hope so. Need me to do some neuropressure after you’re done?”

She carefully sat back before her candle. She wasn’t quite yet far enough along that sitting down on the floor under her own power was an impossibility, but Trip had a feeling it wouldn’t be long. “Yes, please,” she said, fixing her eyes on the flame.

He kicked back on the bed to wait. It was peaceful, watching her – he’d told her more than once it was just as good as actually meditating himself, as far as he was concerned. She looked so tranquil, so complete. She was always beautiful; he couldn’t think of a single instance when she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. But when she meditated, she was a work of art.

A deep exhale, and her eyes opened. He didn’t offer to help her up, because he knew she would wait until the last possible moment before allowing the change in her center of gravity to alter how she went about her meditation, so instead, he carefully moved her candle and sat in the floor opposite her. He pushed the straps of her tank top off her shoulders and began to manipulate the neuropressure points along her collarbone. Her eyes almost immediately closed again.

“Who would’ve thought?” he mused. Her eyebrow raised, but her eyes remained closed. “When you were doing this to help me sleep...that some day I’d able to return the favor.”

“You were an excellent student.”

“I’d say we’ve learned a lot from each other over the years.”

“A great deal,” she agreed, and opened her eyes. “I look forward to continuing to do so.” He smiled slightly.

“You’re such a softy,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry – I won’t tell anybody.” She gave him a slightly piqued look, and his smile spread. “No, really...I like knowin’ things about you nobody else does.” He laid his hands flat on her shoulders, having reached the end of that particular pattern. “I get to have this secret that’s just for me.”

“That is how it should be,” she said. “You are my mate.”

There had been a time when her usage of that term had been...weird. A little too alien, maybe. But he’d come to appreciate it. ‘Husband’ was great – it was his favorite job title – but any jerk could get married and be a husband. ‘Mate’ was something deeper, something primal. It was body and soul. It was the instinct they had for one another. It was the whole of their bond, distilled down to a single word.

“You better believe it,” he said. He gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Feel like you can get some sleep now?” She nodded. “And Lil Missy is behaving herself?”

“She seems to have relaxed as well.”

He drew himself up proudly. “I am really good at this tonight.”

The feeling that change was on the wind had only grown as the calendar year turned from 2160 to 2161. The refits of Enterprise and Challenger were complete, and Trip was back to reserve status. And T’Pol found herself in limbo; she would not be returning to Enterprise when the ship relaunched, but her next position remained unclear. This she could attribute, in part, to being approximately twelve weeks from giving birth, and her subsequent maternity leave, but she could not shake the sense that some yet greater change hung over the future. She suspected clarity might soon present itself, because the following evening, she and Trip would be taking a shuttle up to spacedock and Enterprise, where Jonathan Archer had invited them to dinner.

He was waiting for them at the airlock, where he offered Trip a back-slapping hug, and held T’Pol at arm’s length to give her a warm smile and an appreciative gaze. “You look radiant,” he told her. “How do you feel?”

“I am very well,” she said.

He nodded, looking between the two of them. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

Enterprise was still only manned by a skeleton crew before her relaunch, so they passed no one in the corridors on their way to the captain’s mess, where the table was already set. “Like comin’ back to school in the summertime,” Trip said, taking his seat.

“It is strange to see her so empty,” Archer agreed, producing a small box from his pocket before sitting himself. “That’ll change soon, but...I won’t be here to see it.” He opened the box, and set it on the table. Trip nudged it with a fingertip, head tilted, looking at the admiral’s rank insignia nestled within.

“They finally gotcha,” he said softly. Archer nodded.

“It is well deserved,” T’Pol noted.

“I didn’t want it,” Archer said, closing the box and picking up his fork. “But...I also did. Maybe it’s time. Which...brings me to the real reason I invited you two here tonight. Not just for one last family dinner.” Trip’s smile was both wry and a little melancholy, glancing around the small dining room as if listening for its memories.

But T’Pol’s gaze remained on Archer. She lifted a questioning eyebrow, and he met her eyes.

“Things have been moving since the end of the conference,” he said. “Talks have been continuing, and now I can finally tell both of you what’s happening.” He pushed his food idly around his plate, and took a deep breath. “The Coalition of Planets is going to be changing. It’s going to be replaced.”

Trip’s eyebrows raised. He glanced at T’Pol; that this didn’t seem to surprise her suddenly filled in a lot of blanks.

“A new charter is being written, right now, for a United Federation of Planets,” Archer continued. “I believe the diplomatic jargon is that it will be a ‘supranational union’, a government over the governments. Earth will be a founding member, of course – the Tellarites are on board, so are the Andorians. Even T’Pau’s come around.

“When the charter is finished, and is ratified, the new Federation government is going to need representatives – ambassadors – to serve as envoys to the member worlds.” Archer redoubled his gaze on T’Pol. “The only name that’s come up as a serious candidate for the position of Federation ambassador to Vulcan is yours, T’Pol.”

She dropped her fork.

“That’s huge,” Trip said, looking between his wife and his old friend with a wondering smile.

“It is,” Archer agreed. T’Pol’s stunned expression hadn’t changed. “You have time to think about it,” he said gently. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to say something now. Before the baby’s born, before the charter’s complete.” She nodded, reaching for her water glass.

“May I...may I have some coffee?” she asked weakly. Confusion spread over Archer’s features.

“Coffee?”

“Apparently, it’s a pregnancy thing,” Trip said between bites. “She’s been drinkin’ the stuff like it’s goin’ out of style.”

Archer chuckled. “Then, yes. Absolutely.” He reached for the coffee service, filled her cup, then leaned back in his chair. “Alright, enough business. Trip…how are your parents doing?”

“Other than havin' beat Mama back with a stick to keep her from comin' to San Francisco to wait on T'Pol hand and foot? They're great.”

“Elaine is extremely attentive.” T'Pol's tone indicated she did not object to that. Archer smiled.

“She’s never forgiven me for the NX-Beta incident, has she?”

“No, she still thinks you're a bad influence,” Trip grinned.

“She may be correct,” T'Pol said into her coffee.

Trip looked at Archer dryly. “Why would anyone put up with this kinda sass?”

Archer shrugged. “She's good company.” Trip smiled.

“True.”

T'Pol was thoughtful on the way home, and Trip let her be, knowing that this was something she would only wish to discuss in absolute privacy. So he waited until they were in the sanctuary of their bedroom before asking, “So what're you thinkin'?”

“I did not think leaving Enterprise for a second time would affect me,” she said quietly.

“Yeah…it's kinda bittersweet, isn’t it?”

“It is. But I know that is not truly what you are asking.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Trip. The ambassadorship, I…I do not know.”

“And that’s okay. You don’t have to.” He sat beside her on the bed, pulling her close to his side. “Like the man said, you have time.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “But just between us…I think you'd do great. And this new Federation’ll be lucky to have you.”

“I appreciate your confidence.”

“Any time.” He smiled. “No matter what you decide, though…I’ve got your back, T'Pol. Always.”

“I know.” And she did, absolutely.

He turned to face her, holding her face between his hands. “I love you,” he said, then dropped his hands to rest them on her belly. “I love you too,” he added, “and I’d be real happy if you let your momma get some sleep tonight.” He glanced up at T'Pol. “Think she's listenin’?”

“I believe she knows your voice.”

He smiled broadly, obviously pleased at the thought, and T'Pol did the only sensible thing she could in response – she put a hand to his chest, tipping him back onto the bed so that she could use him as an additional pillow. He laughed. “Comfy?”

“Not yet.” She shifted, rolling as best she could until she had wormed her way into his arms. It was a position that was difficult to manage these days, and would only grow more so over the next twelve weeks. But she wanted to be able to look him in the face. Long before she'd realized she loved him, she had known he was worthy of her trust. No matter what the future held, or what she chose, she could rely on him.

She trailed her fingers over his cheek. “Before you ask,” she said, “I am looking at you.”

“Glad I still please you,” he said, still smiling.

“Always,” she whispered.

It was later, and T'Pol dozed, right at the comfortable edge of sleep, a state enhanced by the warmth of Trip's body close at her back. His arm was crooked over her, his hand resting on her belly. In his sleep, his fingers flexed, and the baby stirred under his touch. Yes, T'Pol said silently, your father is here as well. There was another, smaller movement. You're right. We do love him very much.

Chapter Text

Later, Trip would wonder at the timing of it all. They were on Vulcan, with approximately three weeks to go until T’Pol’s due date, and they were nesting, because (after several very long conversations with Ambassador Soval) she had decided that if and when a formal offer was made, she would accept the position of Federation ambassador to Vulcan. They wanted to get the house in order now, because it would not be logical to wait.

He walked in on her in the nursery, which had been T'Les's room, standing on a stepladder, reaching to adjust some shelving on the wall. “What the hell are you doin'?”

“I believe it should be evident,” she said, still stretching. Trip ran his hands over his face.

“T’Pol. Sweetheart, baby, love of my life, you are a crazy person. Get down from there.”

“My sanity is not at issue. Only my center of gravity.”

“Which is pretty damn important right now! Will you please let me do that for you?”

Their eyes met for a long, dangerous moment, until finally, she gave a tiny exhale. “Very well.” He raised his hand to help her descend, shaking his head.

“Stubbornest thing in the quadrant,” he muttered.

“I am pregnant, not incapacitated.”

“Well, you're not gonna be pregnant for much longer, and then what’s your excuse gonna be?”

There was another moment of contentious eye contact. She pursed her mouth, and he enjoyed the unexpected thrill of two back-to-back victories. “Love you,” he said, ascending the ladder. She shot him an eyebrow for that, so he smiled. “I do!”

“Hmm.”

He quickly adjusted the shelf and hopped down from the ladder to wrap her in a huge hug, which was what, he suspected, she'd been angling for. Her little sigh of salved pride proved him right. “By the way,” he said, kissing lightly on the edge of her ear, “I got us a better ride back to Earth.” She turned her head to give him a questioning look. “Turns out Endeavour’s in orbit. They were doin' joint maneuvers with the Vulcan fleet, but they’ll be headed home tomorrow. Better accommodation than most transports. And,” he added with a smile, “I know for a fact Mac'd love to see you.”

So the next afternoon found them in a shuttle docking with Endeavour, Captain Alonzo Chen and Commander Prina McAllister waiting for them. “Not here for your old chair, are you, sir?” Chen asked, smiling and shaking Trip’s hand.

“Nah,” Trip grinned. “I am nothin' but cargo on this run. You can stick me in the hold if you want.”

“I could, but I wouldn’t dare do that to Commander T'Pol, so it's probably just easier to let you share quarters.”

“We would never do that to Commander T’Pol,” McAllister chimed in stoutly. She beamed at her old team lead. “Ma'am. It is so good to see you again. You look wonderful.”

T'Pol dipped her head. “Thank you, Ms. McAllister. I am pleased to see you as well.”

“What about me, Mac?” Trip asked, feigning hurt. McAllister laughed.

“I've missed you too, sir. I haven’t gotten to break anything in over a year and I am bereft.”

After getting settled into the guest quarters, they joined Chen and McAllister for dinner at the captain’s table, and afterward, Trip swapped stories over coffee with his former crew in the mess hall. He joined T'Pol in bed a little after 2230. They would be back on Earth the next day.

Except that she woke suddenly around 0200 because something was wrong.

No, she realized on further reflection. Nothing was wrong. But something was about to change.

“Trip.”

He mumbled something, still ninety percent asleep.

“We need to get to Sickbay,” she said. “While I can still go under my own power.”

That woke him up.

“Wait, are you sayin'-”

“Yes.”

“You’re not due for another three weeks!”

“That was only ever an approximation.” She took a very hard, deep breath. “Trip. Sickbay. Now.”

The young medic on overnight duty immediately knew himself to be out of his depth and hastily summoned his superior, Dr. Valeria Jimenez, from her bed. She appeared with remarkable speed, a mug of coffee in one hand, and her heavy braids still covered by a brightly printed headwrap.

“Commander,” she said to T'Pol. “So good to finally meet you. I heard so much about you when the captain here was with us.”

“Have you ever delivered a Vulcan baby before, Doc?” Trip asked nervously.

“No, but I’ve delivered plenty of human babies, and this one's halfway there. And I’ve treated my fair share of Vulcans while I was with the IME.” She took a long drink from her mug, giving him an even look. “If you're going to panic, Captain, I’d advise you to it do it somewhere else.”

“I am NOT panicking,” Trip said stiffly.

“Good.” The doctor consulted her scanner, and turned her attention back to T'Pol. “It appears that was woke you up was the baby turning, Commander. You'll likely be in active labor within the next few hours. I understand Vulcans prefer to use meditative techniques for pain management, but I’m perfectly willing to provide a little extra if you feel you need it.” T'Pol nodded. “For now, we are on her time table. So while we wait, I’m going to get myself another cup of coffee. Can I get you anything?”

“Some chamomile tea, please.”

“Of course.”

“Sorry you’re in for a long night, Doc,” Trip said, rubbing his eyes.

“We’re all in for a long night, Captain,” she said. “Don't worry about it. Besides...I get to deliver your child.” She patted his arm cheerfully. “I’ll have bragging rights on Phlox for the rest of time.”

She smiled to them both and closed the partition behind her. T’Pol reached for Trip’s hand. Through their interlocked fingers, she could feel his anticipation, but the anxiety she had heard in his voice earlier was muted now, and she realized he was trying very hard to manage it for her sake. She squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, “but you don’t-”

“Yes, I do,” he said shortly. “You’re doin’ the hard part here. My job’s to make it easier. So whatever you need from me...”

She clasped the back of his neck with her free hand, leaning his face towards hers. “Your presence,” she said softly. He smiled at her, one of his crooked smiles she loved so much.

“You got it.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Halfway between Earth and Vulcan. Not even born yet and our kid's got a flair for the dramatic.”

Doctor Jimenez returned with her tea and a promise to monitor her and the baby’s vitals until, as she put it, ‘the main event’. So the waiting began.

T’Pol had been having contractions on and off for the last week, a sudden hard clenching in her abdomen that was gone as soon as it came. But what had awoken her had been different. These contractions had begun almost gently, and she moved and talked and breathed through the pain. She meditated, with Trip close by, his proximity a comfort and a focus. Time passed, and the only measurement of it was the slow, progressing build of pain, pressure, and relief, and the shortening window between each cycle.

But then there was no relief, and her legs trembled too greatly for walking. Doctor Jimenez was ready. “You are doing very well, Commander, but it looks like it’s time to start pushing.”

She braced herself in Trip’s arms, letting his body be leverage, and pushed. She'd known there would be pain, and pain she knew how to face. She could focus her mind, and hold the discomfort at a distance. But what surprised her was the work; the sheer bodily effort was astounding. That, she supposed, was why they called it labor. As the contractions quickened and intensified, she could sense the baby's disorientation and distress. It's all right, she said mentally. Don't be afraid. This is just a change. I'll be here when it's done.

“I can see the head!” Jimenez reported. “Another push!”

“You're almost there, sweetheart,” Trip whispered.

We're almost there.

She bore into the next contraction, focusing her mind completely and solely on this singular task. After all this time – the months of gestation, the years of waiting – the moment was finally here, and she would be equal to it.

“I have her!” Jimenez cried. “Another push for the shoulders!”

She pushed with all her remaining strength, and a new voice joined the world.

She slumped back, her energy suddenly and absolutely depleted. Then Doctor Jimenez was handing her a very small form, placed against her chest. The baby whimpered, unaccustomed to this huge new world, and she lifted an exhausted arm to cradle her daughter. It's all right. Everything’s all right. I'm here, just like I said I would be. She looked up at Trip, whose eyes were huge and bright with tears.

“Oh my God, T'Pol,” he murmured, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “She’s here. She’s perfect.”

“She is,” she agreed. She reached up, brushing at the tears on his cheeks. “You should hold her.”

With infinite care, he tentatively took their daughter in his hands, a marveling, awe-struck smile on his face. “Hi,” he whispered. “It’s me. Do you recognize my voice?”

T'Pol looked at them, her mate and their child, and suddenly her entire being was filled with a triumphant, roaring love like a fire in her veins. She would do anything for them, because they were hers. Trip felt her eyes on him, and shot her a tiny, tearful, adoring smile. “You did it,” he said.

“We did,” she replied. “We three.”

The ship's comm whistled. “All hands, this is the Captain speaking,” Alonzo Chen said. “It is my very great pleasure to inform you that as of 1034, our passenger complement has increased by one. I would request that you avoid Sickbay unless medically necessary until further notice to give the Tucker family their privacy.” He paused, then added, a smile evident in his voice, “But I think I speak for all of us when I say: Welcome aboard, little one. We're glad you're here.”

They remained on Endeavour for a few days after the ship reached Earth. V’Ryn transported aboard almost as soon as they came into orbit, her eyes practically alight at the prospect of seeing her patients and comparing notes with Valeria Jimenez. The medical professionals’ verdict was unanimous – mother and child were healthy and flourishing, and with a few precautions, there was no reason they should put off making the descent back down to Earth and San Francisco, where Charles and Elaine were waiting for them.

The elder Tuckers welcomed them home joyfully. T’Pol, still recuperating, was grateful to sit and let her in-laws bustle about. Trip had not quite yet run out of endorphins, and was happily showing their daughter to his parents.

“She’s gorgeous, right?” he asked, beaming as he rocked her in his arms.

“She is,” Charles said, smiling softly and brushing his granddaughter’s cheek with a gentle fingertip. “You two did good. So what’s her name?”

“T'Mir,” Trip said, smiling down at her. “After the first Vulcan on Earth.”

“T'Mir Elaine,” T'Pol clarified quietly. Elaine’s eyes widened, a trembling hand touching her lips. She turned suddenly, and fled the room.

“Oh boy,” Charles said. “Y'all got her good this time.”

“I'll get her,” Trip said, making to hand T'Mir to her mother.

But T'Pol stood and said, “I will.”

She found Elaine outside, standing on the back patio, wiping her eyes. “I came out here so you wouldn’t have to watch me do this,” Elaine said, almost reproachful.

“I have told you before that witnessing your emotions does not offend me.”

“I know, but…” Elaine sniffled, then drew herself up, her smile quivering but delighted. “I can't believe y'all named her after me. You don't know how much that means to me.”

“I do,” T'Pol said. She sat carefully on the little bench at the edge of the paving. “Did Trip ever tell you that Elizabeth’s middle name was T'Les?”

“After your mother?” Elaine asked, sitting beside her.

T’Pol nodded. “That was his idea. Even though my mother had…strong reservations concerning our attachment. She and I were able to make peace about some things before she died, but that was not one of them. I thought it…very generous of him.”

They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment before Elaine said, “Obviously I can't speak for your mother. But for me, one of the hardest things about bein’ a parent was realizing that the things I wanted for my children weren’t necessarily the things they wanted for themselves.

“From the moment Trip could look up at the sky, I knew in my heart I was gonna lose that boy to the stars. And oh, T’Pol, honey, I fought that for years. But you know what? I'm glad I lost.” Very gently, she touched her daughter-in-law's hand. “Because look what he found out there.”

Chapter Text

Hoshi rang the doorbell. She was early, but hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem. Today was going to be a big day, an historic day, but at the moment, what really mattered is she would get to see the baby.

A tall, dark-haired young man of eighteen or nineteen whom she absolutely did not recognize answered the door, and they stared at one another in mute confusion for a moment before he said, “I know you from somewhere…” His face suddenly brightened with recognition. “You’re the translator lady!” He thrust out a hand to shake hers. “Owen Salazar-Tucker.”

“Hoshi Sato.” She accepted the offered hand, bemused. “So you’re Trip’s…?”

“Nephew. My dad’s his brother.”

Which was nice, but it didn’t explain how he seemed to know her. “Have we met before, Owen?”

“Not in person. A few months into Enterprise’s first mission, you and the rest of the crew did a video q&a for my fourth grade class.”

She stared up at him. He had to be at least ten centimeters taller than her. “Fourth grade?” she repeated weakly.

Just then, Trip’s voice issued from the interior of the apartment. “Owen, you gonna let her in or what?” Owen grinned, abashed.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that - come on in.”

Fourth grade, she thought. Oh my God. She followed Owen into the apartment’s living room, where she saw Trip seated on the couch, wrestling a squirming T’Mir into her onesie. “Hey, Hosh! You’re early.”

“You know why.”

He laughed. “Wanna hold the baby?”

It was all she could do not to make grabby hands at him. “Yes.” He smiled, and handed T’Mir into the crook of her arm. “She’s got your nose,” she noted, and Trip sighed.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hello, T'Mir,” she said to the baby in Vulcan. “It is very agreeable to meet you.” She looked up at Trip. “You have been speaking Vulcan to her, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, language acquisition,” he grumbled, looking affronted. “You think T’Pol’s not gonna speak Vulcan to her own kid? And I have been too!”

“She’s gonna speak Vulcan with a Florida accent,” Owen snickered from the doorway. His uncle made a face at him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Speaking of T’Pol,” Hoshi said, “where is she?”

“Oh, she’s already down there,” Trip said. “Probably tryin’ to keep the cap – sorry, the admiral – from climbin' out of his own skin. He’s been here just about every night for the last two weeks workin’ on his speech.”

“Well, today’s a big day.”

Trip shrugged. “The charter’s a done deal. He’s just gotta put a bow on it.” He extended a finger to T’Mir, who grasped it in her tiny fist. He smiled at her. “Maybe I’m just too close after two weeks of watchin’ him wear a hole in my floor with all that pacing. You’re right – it is a big day.”

“It’s this little one’s future,” Hoshi said, giving T’Mir a rock.

“It’s all our futures.” Trip’s gaze lifted from his daughter to Hoshi. “By the way…is it official? About the Academy?”

“It is,” she said, smiling. “It'll be nice to get back to teaching. What about you? I'm sure they made you an offer.”

“They did,” Trip said, moving his still-captured finger in circles. T'Mir babbled at him excitedly. “But after next month, we're gonna be on Vulcan pretty much full time for the foreseeable future. Sixteen light years is a hell of a commute. Besides,” he added, shooting Hoshi a smile, “I’m not much of a teacher. That’s your department.”

“If you say so.”

“I am gonna be helpin’ with curriculum development, though,” he said, gently freeing his finger. He gave his head a small, disbelieving shake. “An actual officer training academy. Starfleet’s all grown up.”

“It's not just Earth's anymore,” Hoshi said. “It's about to belong to the whole Federation.”

Trip puffed out a breath, amazement crossing his face. “Hard to believe. Lot's changed in ten years.” He jerked his chin towards Owen, grinning. “You might have that one in one of your classes.”

“Maybe,” Owen said. “I still haven’t decided yet.” He grinned back. “I think Dad and Papa were scared if I came out here, you'd talk me into it.”

“Hey, we invited you here because you wouldn’t shut up about gettin' to see your baby cousin.” Trip glanced conspiratorially at Hoshi. “Then I got a bunch of free labor out of the deal, because this place wasn’t gonna pack itself.” Owen rolled his eyes, and Trip laughed. “If anybody’s gonna talk you into applying to Starfleet Academy, it's gonna be your own self, and your dads don't get to blame me for that.”

Hoshi smiled, and glanced at the chronometer. “We should probably get going.”

“Damn, you’re right.” Trip reclaimed T'Mir, much to Hoshi's disappointment. “C'mon, Miri Roo. We're gonna go see history get made. Yeah, and your momma's there too!”

Between the three of them, the various baby accouterments were a light load, and as they left the apartment, Hoshi said, “So, Owen…has your uncle ever told you about the time he and I died?” Owen stared at her.

“The time you what?”

“We did not die,” Trip protested.

“I’m pretty sure we did.”

Chapter Text

T’Pol considered her reflection critically. She had wanted her garb this evening to set just the right tone – formal, and very Vulcan, but not too traditional. After all, this was a new era, and tradition was only really valuable if it had utility. This would be her first event as the Federation’s ambassador to Vulcan, and everything about her needed to make the correct impression. She twitched a fold in her skirt and straightened her sleeves. Yes, this would do.

She stepped out of the walk-in closet, and saw Trip subjecting himself to a similarly severe gaze, smoothing his vest. He wouldn’t be attending the reception in uniform, but was instead wearing a Earth-style civilian suit, and if she allowed herself a licentious moment, its cut and color were extremely flattering in highly inspirational ways. He turned at her approach, and whistled softly, his eyes sweeping over her appreciatively. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead tonight.”

“Thank you.” She knew he was biased, but she let herself enjoy the compliment anyway.

“Well?” he asked, shrugging on his suit jacket. “I won’t embarrass you too much, will I?”

“Not at all,” she replied, stepping close to straighten his tie by a micron. “I suspect I will be the subject of some envy, entering with you.”

"Why, Madam Ambassador,” he said, smiling wryly at her, “how’d you know flattery’ll get you anything you want?”

“Anything?”

“Anything. I am a damn cheap date.”

Just then, T’Mir began to fuss in the nursery. They turned as one, and Trip sighed. “Timing.”

T’Pol made it to the crib first, lifting the baby up and holding a soothing hand to the back of her head. Trip paused in the doorway. “Now you’re even prettier,” he said, smiling slightly. He approached them, and batted gently at T’Mir’s feet with his fingers. “You’d think I’d be happy to have the night off from her. And yet.”

“And yet,” T’Pol agreed. “However, I have the highest confidence in V’Ryn as a caregiver while we are gone.”

“You know she’s just babysitting as a trial run.”

“A perfectly logical course of action.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The bell at the front of the house sounded. “And that would be her,” T’Pol said.

She handed him T’Mir to resettle in her crib, and before she exited the room, she heard him say softly, “Look at how pretty your momma is tonight.”

Flattery would get him anything, too, even if it would have to wait for later.

Trip had not expected the night to be exciting. After all, this was a Vulcan party, even if the crowd in attendance was pretty diverse, species-wise. So he managed his expectations – he was going be bored, and that was just going to have to okay. Besides, this was T'Pol's show, and he was not going to screw it up for her.

He did enjoy the soft rustling stir that rose from the room as they entered, his fingertips against hers. She looked like some magnificent, primeval priestess-queen, and he could clean up pretty well when he felt like it. All in all, they made an impression, and he knew the value of that.

He hung back after the first round of introductions, making a circuit around the outer edge of reception hall. The repetitious small talk seemed to come in two flavors – Vulcans quietly incredulous that he was voluntarily living on their planet, and humans cagily angling to find out what it was really like being married to a Vulcan. Finally, he made his way through the wide doors out onto a terraced balcony that looked down onto the glowing evening cityscape.

“What a dreadful planet,” said a voice behind him. “What are we even doing here, pinkskin?”

Trip turned, smiling, and accepted the glass of some iced beverage Thy'lek Shran handed him. “Well, I know what I’m doin' here. Didn’t know Andoria was so hard up for diplomats, though.” Shran scoffed.

“I happen to excel at diplomacy.”

“Since when?”

“Don't press your luck, Tucker. I still haven’t forgiven you for stealing Karveth.”

“I didn’t steal squat. Karveth's a big boy; he volunteered all on his own.” Trip shot Shran a narrow little smile. “Last I talked to him, he was thinkin' about acceptin' a permanent Starfleet commission.”

“You humans do seem to have that effect on people,” Shran said, giving him an appraising look. “But you're not here on Starfleet’s behalf tonight.”

“Nope. Tonight, I am the Ambassador’s armcandy. Just here to make her look good. Not that she really needs any help on that front.”

“She does look lovely this evening,” Shran admitted, then looked at him sternly. “Don’t you dare tell her I said that.” Trip grinned.

“My lips are sealed.”

They stared quietly over the city for a moment, nursing their drinks, before Shran said quietly, “Parenthood suits you both.”

Trip smiled. “I could say the same to you. Heard about you and Jhamel.” Shran smiled back, extending his glass.

“To our daughters,” he said. Trip clinked his glass to the other.

“I will definitely drink to that.”

They drank, and Shran said, “Perhaps, when your child is older, we might introduce them. They may find they have much in common.”

“They might just.” Trip glanced back over his shoulder. “Guess I should head back in and check on the guest of honor. And shouldn’t you be makin’ snide remarks at somebody official?”

“Actually, the only person I’ve yet to make any snide remarks to is your wife.”

“Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of diplomacy.”

T’Pol was growing fatigued. The main theme of the evening’s conversation was, of course, how the Federation could best serve the interests of its member worlds. But the secondary point of interest (at least for her Vulcan counterparts) seemed to be searching out delicate ways to ask what it was really like being married to a human, all while casting subtle, confused glances at her wedding ring.

Moreover, the food was middling at best, her left shoe was pinching, and she missed T'Mir.

She felt Trip's approach before she saw him, and when she turned, it was with pleasure at what she beheld. He both knew that he looked good in that suit while somehow simultaneously having no idea how good, which was an extremely pleasing contradiction. In her opinion, no one else in the room could claim such an attractive escort. But he wasn’t alone.

“Madam Ambassador,” Shran said. His head and antennae bowed with a faintly sarcastic reverence. “It has been too long.”

"It has, Shran,” she agreed. “And who in your government did you upset to find yourself on Vulcan?”

“Only the finest class of political imbecile, I assure you.”

Trip laughed, and T'Pol gave herself a moment to appreciate how far they had all come. First impressions were important, yes, but time could alter much anyway.

“So…” Trip asked on the way home. “How was it on your end?”

“Dull,” she admitted. “But I believe such gatherings are intended to test the endurance of their participants.” He snorted.

“I think you may be onto somethin’ there.” He smiled at her. “Probably why you're so good at this.” He loosened his tie. “How do you think V'Ryn’s night's been?”

“I am not concerned. As I said, I have the highest confidence in her.”

“When's she due, anyway?” She gave him a look, left eyebrow slightly lifted. “Need to know only. Gotcha.”

V'Ryn was waiting for them in the courtyard when they arrived at home. “She is asleep,” she reported. “Our time together was both uneventful and most instructive.”

“I’m gonna go look in on her,” Trip said. V'Ryn watched him go into the house.

“The reality of fatherhood has not dimmed his enthusiasm,” she noted.

“No,” T'Pol said, letting her fondness color her voice. “If anything, it has increased it.” She inclined her head. “My thanks once again.”

“Think nothing of it,” V'Ryn replied. “It is nothing less than what friendship requires.” She rested her hand lightly on her abdomen. “It is my hope that our children will call one another friend as we do.”

“A hope I share.”

They made their farewells and T'Pol entered the house and made for the nursery, where she found Trip standing over the crib, looking down at T'Mir.

“I just wanna giftwrap the universe for her,” he whispered. “That's silly, right?”

“Not at all. Isn't that our purpose, as her parents?”

He gave her a sidelong look, smiling. “I guess so, yeah.” He let out a deep breath. “We should probably get to bed too. She may be asleep now, but she’s an early riser.”

“She is indeed. But first…” T’Pol reached for his lapel, turning him to face her. “I was told by a reliable source that my earlier flattery could get me anything I wanted.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“I did say something like that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“And I wouldn’t wanna be a liar.”

“You would not.”

“Well, then...I guess that just leaves one question.” He rested his hands on her hips. “How easy is it gonna be to get you out of this dress?”

“Extremely.” She gave his lapels a meaningful tug. “And this suit?”

“Oh, it’s complicated. You’re gonna have to work at it.”

“I am not afraid of a challenge.”

Chapter Text

T'Pol stood in the doorway and marveled at the passage of time. T'Mir was beginning to pull herself up on every available object; she would be walking soon, and hadn’t she only been born mere moments ago? At the moment, she was using her father for leverage – Trip was sitting in the floor with her, wincing and laughing simultaneously as she bounced and tugged at him, babbling syllables that would all too soon become actual words. One particularly enthusiastic bounce, and Trip grabbed her, holding her close to his chest as he tipped himself over onto his back. “You got me!” he cried, and T'Mir's babble took on a distinctly victorious tone.

She lifted her head (she could do that now!), and saw T'Pol in the doorway. One small hand extended, tiny fingers grasping. “Mamamamama!” she exclaimed. Trip tilted his head back, looking towards the door upside down.

“That is your momma!” he agreed. “You know what that means.” He rolled them both into a sitting position. “Nineteen thirty already?” he asked T'Pol. She nodded, and he sighed. “Between the time difference and the subspace delay…”

She bent to collect T'Mir from him. “Perhaps you should be worse at your vocation, so others will stop seeking your expertise.” He stuck his tongue out at her; T'Mir leaned in T'Pol's arms to grab at it.

“And you should play tennis with a backhand like that,” he said, pushing himself to his feet with a faint smile. He cupped the back of T'Mir's head and kissed her hair. “Sleep tight, Miri Roo.” He touched T’Pol’s hand. “Hopefully this won't take too long.”

He headed for his workroom and his subspace call with Starfleet Engineering, leaving T'Pol and T'Mir to the bedtime ritual on their own. A bath, and then a short feeding - but T'Mir was almost weaned now, and soon that part would be changed, or replaced, or simply be done. T'Pol looked down at her daughter, little fingers curling as she suckled, and knew she would miss this.

When Trip was with them, he would sing to her. Not well, but T'Pol could hardly find it in herself to be critical. When an action was born of such abiding love, that love could cover a host of flaws far greater than questionable pitch. And even though she had known that he would adore their child, that he would pour himself into parenthood with the same fervor he did everything he loved, sometimes she was still caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his desire to nurture. But she shouldn’t be, she thought as she re-covered herself and brought T'Mir to her shoulder. He had always taken care of those around him, and she had always admired him for it.

She lit the candle in the lamp opposite her chair, and settled back in it, T'Mir in her lap. The child watched it flicker, and T'Pol took her daughter’s hands in her own as she too focused on the flame. “It won't be long before you understand the purpose of this,” she murmured. “You're growing so fast.” She was already months older than Elizabeth had been, and someday, when she was old enough, T'Pol would tell her about her sister, about the child whose brief life had taught her something profound about herself. Much as Trip had shown her she could need her mate with so much more than the lukewarm indifference she had expected, so Elizabeth had shown her she could desire motherhood with the same zeal. “Our emotions are powerful,” she said softly. “We must always be on guard that they do not overwhelm us and our reason. But they are also a great gift.”

“Amamama,” T'Mir said, seriously. T'Pol gently squeezed her hands.

“Precisely. You're very wise.”

Chapter Text

“Daddy,” T'Mir proclaimed, stabbing her fingers hard at Trip's chest. He chuckled helplessly, rubbing at his new wound.

“Yep, that’s me. And Daddy loves you. Even if you are tryin’ to break his sternum.” He poked back, far more gently, which provoked a giggle. She bonelessly wiggled out of her father's arms, and toddled a few steps away, testing her still newly acquired sense of balance. “I’m gonna getcha!” he warned, and she giggled again. He let her evade him for about ten minutes before scooping her up and carrying her into the living room under one arm, to her extreme amusement.

That where T’Pol found them when she arrived home a half hour later. Trip was on the couch with a PADD, and the mild exasperation in his expression meant it was probably Academy correspondence. T'Mir was playing with a wooden puzzle, though her play seemed to consist largely of tapping the pieces together to hear the different sounds they made. She pushed herself to her feet and charged her mother’s shins; T'Pol lifted her easily, resting her on one hip. T’Mir, her little face suddenly curious, stretched out a hand and tapped at the tip of T'Pol's left ear.

“I think she's startin' to notice my ears are different,” Trip said, setting the PADD aside.

“Ah.” T'Pol sat beside him, with T'Mir in her lap. But the child seemed to almost instantaneously decide she wanted to get back to her puzzle and slid into the floor. “Does that concern you?”

“No,” he said. Then he held up his forefinger and thumb, a millimeter’s space between them. “Okay, maybe a little bit. But mostly, it's just…she's a year old! She's turnin' into such a little person now, and…she looks Vulcan but she's not. And I guess it's finally started to hit me that…” He sighed. “That that could be hard for her.”

“She is both Vulcan and human,” T'Pol said. “As she grows, she will take what she needs from both. And you and I will help her do that.”

He nodded, and smiled slightly. “Guess that’s why you’re the smart one, sweetheart.” She could not stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Do not denigrate your intelligence in my presence, please.”

His smile grew impish. “Yes, ma'am.” It faded slightly as he looked first at T'Mir, and then back at T'Pol. “So it doesn’t worry you, or bother you? Seein' her smile and laugh?”

“Many Vulcan children smile and laugh when they are small, before they attain greater mastery of their emotions. For T'Mir, the question will be…what degree of emotional mastery will she require?” She returned his gaze. “And does it bother you that I do not? Smile and laugh?”

“Of course not. You know that.” He gave her a small, teasing smile. “Remember, I know how to read you. I can tell when you’re happy, or when you think somethin's funny. I like you the way you are. Always have.”

“Always?” she challenged.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Don't you start.” Amusement sparkled in her gaze, and he draped his arm over her shoulders. “See? You laughed.”

They watched their daughter play, merrily clapping together her puzzle pieces. “How has it already been a year?” Trip murmured. T’Pol shrugged slightly.

“The forward progression of time?”

“God, you’re a smartass sometimes.” He tightened his arm around her, giving her a look that approved and disapproved in equal measure. She returned it calmly. “I was thinkin’," he said, "maybe tonight we could pack a picnic, go up to that spot in the hills, watch the stars come out. All three of us.” He grinned. “Catch ourselves a sehlat.”

“She is too young for a sehlat.”

“I’m not!” He got a severe eyebrowing for that, but it failed to diminish his smile. “I’m kidding! Mostly. Are you at least on board for a picnic?”

“Yes. But if we are going to keep T’Mir out past dusk, she should take a nap now.”

“So practical.”

“Someone needs to be.”

That evening, they packed their supper, and set out up the low ridge behind the house, trading T’Mir back and forth between them as they ascended. She was quite positive she could manage the trek on her own, but her parents disagreed.

They reached the long, level midpoint of the ridge and set out the picnic near a stand of wild pomkot. The sky was darkening to rust and umber, a dusting of stars already beginning to appear as they ate, and after a little while, Trip beckoned T’Mir close. “C’mere, Miri Roo. I wanna show you something.” She plopped down beside him, and watched as he pointed up at a faint star. “That’s Sol,” he said. “That’s where Daddy’s from. And halfway between here and there is where you were born.” He kissed the top of her head, smiling. “My little explorer who couldn’t wait long enough to get born on dirt.”

T’Pol watched them, looking up at the sky together, identical expressions of wonder on their faces. Look what he found out there. Trip felt her gaze, and looked back at her inquiringly. She shook her head slightly, and moved to sit closer to them. “And out there is where your father and I first met,” she said.

“Sorta,” Trip said.

“Sort of,” she agreed. “Who knows who you will meet?”

“Yeah, all those stars...plenty of new folks to say hi to.”

“Hiiiiii!” T’Mir clapped her hands towards the sky, and her parents looked at one another, both struck by the immediate and overwhelming sense that this was exactly what they had always wanted. Trip laughed softly.

“Yep. Just like that.”

Chapter Text

They’d been on Earth three weeks when Elaine made the suggestion. A family get-together, she said, three generations of Tuckers enjoying some time at the beach together. And after days of diplomatic meetings for T’Pol and a week long engineering conference for Trip, the idea was very appealing.

Charles and Elaine had found a little trio of beach cabins for themselves, their sons, and their families. And that afternoon, they sat out on the sand – the elder Tuckers, Albert and Miguel, and Trip and T’Pol. Michael and Tomas, tasked with keeping an eye on their baby cousin, were constructing an impressive sandcastle near the waterline, while T’Mir watched them in turn, offering them small handfuls of sand every so often.

“Feels like she was just born last week,” Albert said, shaking his head.

“She is nearly sixteen months old,” T’Pol replied.

“They get away from you at that age.”

“They get away from you at every age,” Elaine remarked. “You two,” she pointed at her sons, “should only be about twelve.”

“Thirteen, tops,” Charles said. “And here y'all are with spouses and kids like you're grown men or somethin’.”

The collected adults watched T’Mir, who had apparently bored with helping her cousins and was now digging in the sand herself. She uncovered something, turned it over in her hands, then toddled sturdily towards their chairs, her treasure outstretched. She reached Albert first. “Whatcha got, honey?” he asked.

“This,” she said firmly, extending a sandy nautilus shell. Her uncle smiled.

“That’s real pretty, T’Mir. Why don’t you show it to your Tio Miguel, huh?”

Dutifully, she presented her shell, and Miguel exclaimed over it appropriately, holding out his hands to offer her a seat on his lap if she was willing. Her small face drew in consideration, and then she accepted. Miguel looked over her head towards his husband, his expression soft.

“We’re not havin’ another one,” Albert said firmly. “Any more grandkids, that’s on Trip and T’Pol.” A chuckle rose from the non-Vulcan members of the group, though Charles did notice Trip and T’Pol exchanging a glance.

“I didn’t say anything!” Miguel protested.

“You didn’t have to.”

T'Pol sat back, watching her human family. They had expanded their circle for her, making a place in their midst for the most unlikely of additions, and they had opened their arms joyfully to T’Mir as well. It didn’t matter to them that her ears were pointed, that her blood was copper-based, that her heart was in a different location than theirs. She was still their kin. She was a Tucker. And they would dote on her, and watch over her, and call her honey and sweetie and baby girl, and T’Pol could not help but treasure it. The part of T’Mir that was human needed this, would always need it, just as the part of her that was Vulcan would need logic and mental discipline. Finding that balance would likely take her entire life.

At the moment, she was enjoying the attention of being the baby, climbing into every available lap and showing off her shell. But her eyes kept being drawn to the waves. Trip noticed, and smiled. “You wanna go get wet, Miri Roo?” She nodded, her eyes bright, and he took her from Elaine (her current lap), and waded out into the surf, holding her close to his chest. T’Pol watched as he sank down into a seated position, letting the waves break against his back while T’Mir splashed excitedly.

“I guess a beach is a good place for her,” Elaine said. “Sand and water together.”

“Indeed,” said T’Pol softly, feeling the by-now familiar rush of ferocious joy at the sight of them, her mate and their child. A wave crested high on Trip’s shoulders, and he and T’Mir laughed. They were beautiful, and they were hers. She felt Elaine’s eyes on her, and saw her gentle smile. She understood. Of that T'Pol was certain.

“It’s a shame Owen couldn’t join us,” Charles was saying. “But I guess he’s busy gettin’ ready for school to start.” Albert and Miguel sighed in unison.

“I told y’all - you can’t blame me for that,” Trip said, trudging back up the beach with a soaked and gleeful T’Mir in his arms.

“Well, who else should we blame?” Albert demanded, disgruntled.

“Me,” T’Pol said calmly, accepting her drenched offspring and wrapping her in a towel. “I believe his decision to enroll in Starfleet Academy to be largely the result of several conversations he and I have had over the last year.”

“Of course,” Miguel said, looking betrayed.

“T’Pol, how could you?” Albert asked plaintively.

“He is an intelligent and highly motivated young man.” T’Pol replied. “Starfleet would be fortunate to have him as an officer candidate, and the training will serve him well.”

Trip leaned back in his chair, head resting on his interlocked fingers, looking smug. “Y’all forgot your boy’s president of the Aunt T’Pol fan club.”

Miguel sighed heavily. “I guess we’re Starfleet dads now.”

“It’s not so bad,” Charles said. “Once you get used to it.”

Charles and Elaine had offered to host a grandkids sleepover that night, and after dinner, Trip mounted the steps to their cabin with a dozing T’Mir in his arms. “She’ll probably get a second wind in a hour or so,” he warned Charles. “She’s crafty like that.”

His father chuckled. “You were the same way.” He gravely and happily accepted the burden of his sleepy granddaughter. “So what was that look about earlier?”

“What look?”

“Don't play dumb, son – when Albie was talkin' about extra grandkids, you and T'Pol looked at each other. Is she pregnant again?”

Trip gaped briefly at him, then said, “No.” He cleared his throat, and added, honestly, “Not yet.” He delicately flicked a strand of dark hair behind T'Mir's ear. “We're thinkin' three, maybe. Eventually.”

“Three's a good number,” Charles said softly.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway…night, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, son.”

Trip returned to his cabin to find T'Pol standing on the shoreside porch, watching the moonlit waves. “Albert and Miguel are not truly upset with me, are they?” she asked, a tiny note of anxiety in her voice.

“They’re fine,” Trip chuckled. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his cheek against her hair. “They've just gotta get it out of their systems. Besides, you can get away with it. I’m pretty sure the whole family likes you better than me anyway.”

She turned her head slightly, a faint line of concern in her brow. “Oh. I-” Trip laughed.

“It's not a bad thing, sweetheart.” He kissed her worried forehead. “I’m glad. You deserve it. You deserve to be surrounded by people who love you and think you’re amazing. Cuz you are.”

She didn’t respond, but leaned back into his embrace gratefully. He kissed her again. “This kinda reminds me of Mexico,” he said, looking out at the water.

“Indeed. I enjoyed our time there.”

“That was a pretty good honeymoon.” He smiled slightly. “That last night, especially, when you broke the bed.” She turned sharply.

“That was an accident.”

“I know it was! And I fixed it, didn’t I?” He pulled her close again. “We had an awful lot of fun that night, though.”

“We did,” she admitted.

He nuzzled at her ear. “We got the place to ourselves tonight, and that bed in there looks pretty sturdy. Feel like givin' it a workout?”

She gave him a thoughtful, sidelong look. “I could be persuaded.”

Trip grinned, tightening his arms, and aiming a kiss for her neck. “That’s my girl.”

Chapter Text

“One,” T’Mir announced, pointing to herself. Trip nodded.

“Right…”

“Two.” She pointed at him.

“Uh-huh.”

She pointed at T’Pol. “Three!”

“Well, technically three and a half right now…”

“Let’s not confuse the issue,” T’Pol said mildly.

“Okay, yeah. Momma’s three. Now when your little brother gets here, how many is that gonna be?” Her face screwed up in intense calculation. He held up his hand, extending a finger with each number. “One...two...three...and…?”

“Four!”

“Yes! You’re so smart!” Trip kissed the top of her head, and looked at T’Pol, grinning. “Our kid’s a genius.”

“She does appear to have an affinity for numbers.” T’Pol said, looking quietly pleased, then tilted her head at him. “You have another subspace call this evening.”

“Yeah, I’m in high demand this week.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I swear I’m gonna be talkin’ to half the admiralty tonight.”

“That is unusual.”

“Guess what we’ll see what they want.” He smiled at her. “Supper first, though.”

It was a quiet evening – they ate together, and Trip helped her put T’Mir to bed. Before he went back to the workroom, he slipped his arms around her, cradling her swollen belly, smiling as their son stirred under his hands. He kissed her, and went in to take his call; she went out in the courtyard to meditate and enjoy the evening air.

But that enjoyment soon curdled. Tiny flashes of anger, like heated needles, stabbed at her mind, and she knew it was not her own. Something was going very wrong with that call from Starfleet Engineering, and very quickly. She gave up trying to meditate, and simply focused on shaping her breath, waiting.

Trip stormed out of the house, his expression hard and wrathful. T’Pol held out a hand to him, but he raised his, holding them palms up. “Not yet,” he said. “I gotta cool down, I can’t-” He tightened a fist, made to strike the railing, and stopped himself, breathing hard. He covered his face with his hands, and she could hear him counting.

“Trip...what happened?”

He laughed humorlessly behind his hands. “Those sons of bitches,” he hissed, swinging one arm to point vaguely in the direction of both the workroom and Earth, “wanna send me to Mars!”

“For what purpose?”

He sat heavily on the steps. “You know they moved the shipyards to above Utopia colony.”

“Yes.”

"And they’ve been working on taking the modifications we made on Endeavour for a new class of warp 7 ships.”

“Yes.”

“And they want me to build those ships.”

Which was, she thought, the only logical choice. “But you don’t want to.”

“That’s the thing – I do! It'll be amazing! A whole new class of starships? That’s…” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “But the assignment’s a minimum of fifty weeks. I’d have to leave you, because your work's here.” He gestured at her pregnant form. “And you're due in fourteen weeks – that’s assumin’ he doesn’t show up early like T'Mir did – and there is no way in hell I’m leavin' you with a two year old and a newborn, and -” His voice caught. “I can’t miss the first year of his life, T'Pol.”

He stood, and began to pace, shaking his head. “They gotta find somebody else,” he said. “I can't. I won't.”

T'Pol watched him, and realized that she was angry too, but not just at Starfleet. She drew herself up and prepared to deploy her most devastating weapon.

“Charles Anthony Tucker.”

He stopped short so hard he almost tripped over his own feet, staring at her with blank, stunned incomprehension. “Did you just-? Wait…are you mad at me?”

“Yes, I am.” She advanced on him, her skirt billowing like a sail. “You are the finest engineering mind in Starfleet. You are quite possibly the finest engineering mind Earth has ever produced.”

“Well, I’m no Zephram Cochrane-”

“Shut up.”

He did.

She reached for his hand, and this time, he didn’t withhold it. “Trip,” she said softly, “I don't want you to go either. But we here are not the only ones who need you.”

“When the war ended,” he whispered, “I promised myself I was never gonna be separated from you again. That I was gonna wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life.”

“That may not have been a promise within your power to fulfill.” T'Pol touched his face, brushing at his damp eyelashes. “Trip, our children can’t be your only legacy. You have a responsibility to Starfleet, and to the Federation, that other people's children will be able to take up what we started. A new generation of ships for a new generation. This is an obligation larger than our one, small family.”

She let his fingertips drift over his cheekbones, holding his gaze with her own. You and I are joined, remember? Parted from me and never parted.

“Never and always. I know.” He touched his forehead to hers, and dropped a hand to her belly. “Not until after he's born. And I’m takin' full paternity leave. If they really want me, they'll wait.” She nodded.

“It will not be like the war. We will make a plan. We will see each other. You will come to us, we will come to you.”

“We'll make it work.”

“Yes. We will.”

They stood together for a long, quiet moment, then he said, “Finest engineerin' mind Earth's ever produced? You don’t have to lay it on that thick, sweetheart.”

“I believe it to be true.”

“I think you’re biased.”

“Think what you like.”

“I will.” He smiled at her, a fragile half-smile, resting his forearms on her shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder where I’d be if you'd never come aboard Enterprise. I never like the answers. I like where I am, and who I am, with you.”

“I have had similar thoughts. I've found they do not bear considering.”

“Yeah.” He looked at her, dark eyes reflecting the soft light of the courtyard lamps, and suddenly had to swallow a lump in his throat.

“We should get some rest,” she said quietly. He nodded, and she took his hand, leading him to their bedroom, and once they were under the covers, she held him close. She had meant what she said – he had a duty to Starfleet, and the Federation, and he could not be hers alone. But for a little while in the dark, his head pillowed on her shoulder, she allowed herself to be selfish.

Chapter Text

They had known what his name would be almost immediately. When V'Ryn's back was turned, T’Pol’s hand stole momentarily into Trip's and their eyes had met.

Lorian.

“Just feels right,” Trip said later that night. She nodded.

“It does.”

The pregnancy proceeded with few difficulties, other than T’Pol experiencing even more acute dehydration than she had with T'Mir. But V’Ryn kept close watch of her condition, particularly as her due date approached. Trip had a feeling she wasn’t about to let T'Pol slip through her fingers and have this baby delivered by some human doctor too.

But he was not. Unlike his sister, Lorian was punctual, born within a day of V'Ryn's original projection, and it was her hands that received him when he entered the world.

In an inconspicuous corner of the medical center, Merek, secretary to Minister Pelek of the High Council and husband to Doctor V’Ryn of the Science Directorate, caught up on his correspondence while watching his daughter T'Lara play with T'Mir Tucker. They were both yet too young to truly call their interactions friendship, but they seemed to find one another’s company agreeable, which was a good beginning. Merek knew that fostering a positive relationship between them was important to their mothers. His comm chirped, a message from his wife, and he knew what that meant. “T'Mir,” he said, “your parents request your presence.”

In the recovery room, Trip was marveling over their son when the door chimed. “How do we keep havin' such beautiful babies?” he asked T'Pol, whose mouth quirked slightly at the question. “Come in,” he called, and the door opened, revealing T'Mir standing solemnly beside Merek.

“Would you like to meet your brother, T'Mir?” T'Pol asked. T'Mir nodded, and Merek withdrew, leaving the family to themselves. Trip very carefully knelt down to T'Mir's level, the baby in his arms.

“His name's Lorian,” he said softly.

She looked at the newcomer with dubious interest. “Orian,” she repeated. Trip smiled.

“We'll work on that L sound.”

She patted at the baby's face, downy hair and round cheeks and upturned Tucker nose. “Careful,” Trip cautioned gently. “He's brand new.”

He straightened, handing Lorian to T'Pol, then lifting T'Mir up to sit on the edge of her bed. T'Pol held the baby against her chest in one arm, and reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair. “Now there are four of us,” she said.

The clock that had been ticking down to Lorian's birth was reset, now marking time to the end of Trip's paternity leave and his departure for Mars. And it was the sound of that clock that drove them, turning their respective leaves into a bubble of time for the four of them, a reserve of joy that they could draw on in the days to come. T'Pol knew it was not necessarily logical – after all, neither of the children would remember it – but she knew herself well enough to know she could set logic to the side if need be.

They began to plan how they would manage the separation. The great benefit of working the shipyard was a predictable schedule, so he would be able to return to Vulcan with reasonable regularity. And she and the children would be able to come to him on Mars, or at least Earth, just as regularly. She was not concerned about childcare – the Federation Embassy employed a staff of caregivers for the use of its personnel. But care was not the same as the daily presence of their father, and that did concern her, particularly for T'Mir. She said as much on a comm call to Elaine.

“I had a thought about that. If you're comfortable with it,” Elaine said. “Charles and I could come pay y'all a visit, before Trip leaves, and then we could stick around for a while after, make the transition a little easier. Especially for T'Mir. She'll notice it more.” She chuckled softly. “And she's a real daddy’s girl.”

T'Pol considered that, and nodded. “That may be the best course of action.” She gave Elaine a curious look. “Have you been to Vulcan before?” Elaine laughed.

“Lord, honey, I’ve never been off-world! But I’d spend winter on Andoria for you and those babies.”

T'Pol swallowed, unsure of how to respond; Elaine noticed and added, “I can't take credit for the idea myself – my own in-laws did it for me, a long time ago. Back when Trip wasn't much older than T'Mir is now. Charles took a fifteen month contract in New Berlin, and there I was with two little boys and about to have a husband on Luna! And the shuttle service wasn’t nearly as good back then. So his parents came and stayed with us, and it helped. And if it'll help you…” T’Pol nodded again, and Elaine smiled gently. “We'll work out the details, then. You take care, T'Pol.”

“I will. Thank you, Elaine.”

She disconnected the call, and realized that the house was quiet. Very quiet. And empty. Every room was devoid of husband and offspring. But that, she discovered, was because they were outside in the courtyard.

They were in the hammock, the three of them, T'Mir curled under Trip's arm, Lorian lying on his chest. They were asleep, or at least appeared to be. Lorian stirred, inhaling to cry, but Trip's hand, resting on the baby's back, moved to gently stroke his son's head. “It's okay, baby boy,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. “Daddy’s got you.”

T'Pol stood at the railing, transfixed by the sight of them. Every time she thought it was impossible to love them more, she was proved wrong. She took the moment, and held it close in her mind. In the days, months, and years to come, it would sustain her.

It would have to.

Two weeks before Trip’s departure, Charles and Elaine arrived on Vulcan, wide-eyed and overwhelmed, but gamely determined to enjoy and appreciate their daughter-in-law’s homeworld, even if they did have to be on oxygen treatments while there. (When Charles asked Trip why he didn’t, he simply shrugged, and said, smiling, “Married into it.”) They finally got to meet their newest grandson, and T’Mir was happy to show them all her favorite spots around the house and grounds. It was a pleasant interval, even if all the adults involved could hear the clock.

On the day itself, Trip made his exit quietly, without fanfare, because there was no way to make this easy, only less hard. T’Pol alone accompanied him to the Federation Embassy, where he would be transported to the waiting Republic, in orbit above, to make his way to Utopia Planitia, and his new assignment. He swallowed hard. “Not gonna cry,” he said.

“If you must, you must.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Thanks, sweetheart. Anyway, I guess I-” She took his hand, to his surprise, and placed a pendant and its chain there – her IDIC pedant, the red stone glinting in the morning sun. This time his chuckle did have a breath of humor in it. “Hey, my old good luck charm,” he said softly. She gave him a disapproving look.

“It is a token,” she said, and he smiled at her.

“It is. And it means a lot.” He nodded to her tightly. “Two weeks.”

“We will be waiting.”

He held out his fingertips, and she touched them. I’m gonna miss you.

Like a part of myself gone.

His throat worked in another difficult swallow. “But it’ll be okay,” he whispered. She nodded.

“Safe journey.” Beloved.

“You take care.” Love of my life.

When he arrived on Mars, and was shown to his housing, the first thing he did was hang the IDIC up on the wall of his bedroom, next to a picture of the four of them Charles had taken just days before. “I know it’ll be hard, son,” he’d said, “but try to enjoy your work while you’re there, at least.”

“I know I’ll enjoy the work,” Trip had replied. “The problem’s gonna be all the other hours in the day.” Charles had nodded.

“Yeah, that is the hard part.”

Chapter Text

Word passed down the line at the Utopia Planitia shipyard - post shift drinks at the Olympiad, 1930 til question mark. Crewman Parrish glanced at Chief Michael Rostov. “Do you think Captain Tucker’ll join us?” he asked. The way he'd heard other people talking about the captain, it seemed like he made an appearance at yard get-togethers on a pretty regular basis. ‘He takes care of his people' was the common refrain. But Rostov shook his head.

“It's Friday,” the Chief said.

Parrish gave him a quizzical look. “Wouldn’t that be the best time?”

“Not with the transport from Vulcan getting here at 1820.”

Parrish blinked dumbly at his superior, uncertain of how these pieces of information related to each other.

“Be nice to him, Chief,” said a voice from the railing above. Parrish looked up, saw Lieutenant Commander Rosa Nguyen, and immediately straightened. Rostov didn’t, but such were the perks of seniority.

“He just rotated in a couple of weeks ago,” she continued as she came down the stairs. “He doesn’t know the rules yet.”

“Rules, ma'am?” Parrish squeaked, suddenly terrified there were regs he was violating.

“Yard rules, Crewman,” she said, clapping a friendly hand on Parrish's shoulder. “Here's the thing about Captain Tucker - when he is on duty, he will bust his ass. Nobody here works harder than him. He will get here early, he will stay late, he will personally rewire a whole EPS conduit if he has to. And when he's off duty, he'll swing by the Olympiad, he'll come to game night…he's a lot of fun. BUT-” She held up a finger. “When his wife and kids are here, or when he goes back to Vulcan to see them – as far as we're concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

“And the transport from Vulcan puts in at 1820,” Rostov said. “Vulcans are punctual.”

“Why is his family coming from Vulcan?” Parrish asked. “I thought he was from Florida.”

“His wife’s the Federation ambassador to Vulcan,” Nguyen said. “She's kind of a big deal.”

Parrish’s forehead creased in thought. “Then…” He found himself lowering his voice. “So he's really married to a Vulcan? I'd heard rumors-”

“We don’t talk about rumors here,” Rostov said shortly.

“And we don’t speculate about the captain's marriage either,” Nguyen added. Her rank pips were suddenly, threateningly prominent. Parrish cleared his throat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Just then, there was a clanging on the ladder to their left. Captain Tucker himself leapt down from the last two rungs. “There you are, Nguyen. Everything alright?"

“Just straightening out some SOP, sir.”

“I’m sure you’ve got it handled.” He nodded to the enlisted men. “Rostov. ...Parrish, right?” Parrish nodded, and he smiled before returning his attention to Nguyen. “Walk with me – I wanna hear what’s goin’ on with 6.”

She shrugged, falling into step with him. “Gremlins. At this point that’s all I’ve got. We cannot get it to hold steady power output.”

He sighed, scratching his bearded cheek. “I’d take a look at it tonight, but…”

“It’s fine, sir. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.” Nguyen shot him a smile. “Think she's going to give you grief about the beard?” He grinned back.

“Ya know, I kinda hope she does. Have a good weekend, Nguyen.”

“You too, sir.”

Trip hustled to the shuttle dock – he had forty minutes to get dirtside. It had been three weeks since he'd seen them last, longer than he liked to go, but T'Pol had been forced to put out some diplomatic fire just before their previously scheduled visit and they'd had to postpone.

He arrived at the Utopia Colony transit hub with seven minutes to spare, and made small talk with some of the staff, all the while keeping an eye out the dome for the descending shuttle. He could feel her approach, that glissando down his spine that said she was near, and where she was-

He spotted them, passing through the airlock, T'Pol holding T’Mir’s hand and carrying Lorian on her hip. She was wearing a dark, hooded traveling dress, and she looked so cool and regal that a part of him questioned if there hadn’t been some mix-up, because how could she possibly be here for him? Then T'Mir saw him, freed herself from her mother’s hand, and charged him.

He dropped to one knee to meet her, but she pulled up short less than a meter away, suddenly aware of the change in his appearance. “It's still me, Miri Roo,” he said, smiling. She eyed him skeptically, then reached out, touching his cheek. The touch became a stroke, and she smiled hugely.

“Daddy's fuzzy!” she proclaimed, deeply amused. Trip laughed, and scooped her up, rubbing his bearded cheek against hers, provoking a giggle.

An outside, human, observer would read T'Pol's expression through this interaction as impassive and unamused, but Trip knew better. She extended her fingertips to him, which he reciprocated. “It is agreeable to see you again,” she said.

“It's agreeable to see you too.”

“You have grown out your beard.”

He squared his shoulders, ready for whatever she had lined up next. “Yep.”

“It suits you,” she said serenely. “I approve.”

He had not been ready for that. “You do?” She nodded.

“Yes.” She inclined her head towards the hub exit. “Shall we?”

When he'd accepted the shipyard assignment, Trip had gone in with a list of demands, and the fact that Starfleet had acquiesced to all of them was either very flattering or extremely worrying. Chief among them had been the expectation that he would be given family housing – wherever they stuck him on Mars, there would be room for T'Pol and the kids. And Starfleet had come through. His apartment certainly had nothing on the square meters of their house on Vulcan, but it was big enough that it could feel very empty when it was just him on his own. But for the next fifty-two hours, he wasn’t, and the place actually felt like home.

After dinner, Trip took to the floor with T’Mir and Lorian, and she, having apparently felt deprived of opportunities to express her affection for her father, immediately aimed her full weight at his chest to knock him over. He obligingly went down, and Lorian, who wasn’t quite walking yet and greatly admired his sister’s mobility, babbled approvingly, clapping his small hands. “What, you're just a spectator, bud?” Trip asked. In response, Lorian crawled over and heaved himself bodily at Trip's midsection, knocking the breath from his body. “Ow,” he managed.

“Be nice, Orry!” T'Mir ordered.

“That's rich comin' from you, missy,” Trip said, trying to push himself into a seated position. It wasn’t working; the pint-sized dogpile was proving hard to shift. He looked at T’Pol, who was seated on the couch, watching with that tiny twist to her lips that said she was enjoying the show. “No help from the peanut gallery, I see,” he said.

“I see no reason to save you from the consequences of your choices,” she said calmly, then directed her eyes to the children. “T'Mir. Lorian. Do not injure your father. We will need him later.”

“You hear that, squirts?” Trip said triumphantly. “I’m useful.” This was apparently the funniest thing either of them had ever heard, but they did relent in their pile-on, allowing him to sit up, kissing each of them in turn before removing to the relative safety of the couch. “Dangerous little so-and-sos,” he said, shaking his head.

“They have missed you,” T'Pol said. He shot her a sly grin.

“They the only ones?”

She did not deign to reply to such an obvious question, reaching out instead to brush her thumb along his jaw.

“You really don't mind the beard?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

“Huh.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Am I to infer that you stopped shaving solely to provoke me?”

“No!”

The eyebrow did not lower.

“…maybe a little.”

“Why?”

He glanced about shiftily. “Cuz it’s fun to get you riled up.”

“And not being ‘riled up’ has deprived you of fun? You desired an argument regarding your facial hair.” It was his turn not to answer an obvious question, so she shrugged slightly. “Very well. After we have put the children to bed, we will argue about it, and I will win.”

A slow, understanding smile crossed his face. “I bet you will.”

Much later, in the quietest part of the night, they were awakened by Lorian, babbling in the next room. It wasn’t a cry – more of a request for interaction that could become a cry if left unacknowledged. “I’ll get him,” Trip murmured, kissing T'Pol’s shoulder as he slid out of bed.

He poked his head into the children’s room. T'Mir, blessedly, was still asleep (her two modes these days were waking at the slightest change in air pressure or sleeping so soundly she could ignore a warp core breach), but Lorian stood in his crib, trying out different combinations of syllables. He pointed at Trip as he opened the door. “Dadada!” Trip smiled.

“Hey, baby boy,” he said softly. “How ‘bout we let the girls sleep, huh?”

He lifted Lorian from the crib, going through the ‘awake baby’ checklist. He changed him just to err on the side of caution, but his talk hadn’t been cries of hunger or discomfort or the aftermath of a bad dream. “Just awake and bored and lonely, buddy? I get it. That’s me most nights y'all aren’t here.”

He carried Lorian into the living room, taking a few laps around the room before settling into the overstuffed recliner in the corner. “Not as good as the rockin' chair at home, but it'll do.” Shifting his son low in his arms, he gazed down at him. “You’re already lookin' like your granddaddy,” he said quietly. “I know I’ve said this before, but someday I’ll tell you the whole story of how you got your name. I dunno if he'd be...your brother, or if…you’re a different version of him. Time travel's a hell of a thing.” Lorian returned his gaze, his eyes enormous and trusting, and Trip stroked his sandy hair. “But he had a hard life, and he had to make some tough choices. I think he'd be happy to know things'll be different for you.” He leaned close to kiss Lorian’s forehead, whispering, “And they will be different for you. I promise.”

When T’Pol rose a few hours later, she found them asleep, still in the chair. She let them be.

Chapter Text

Admiral Jonathan Archer approached the apartment door, and pressed the bell. “It's open!” came the voice from within, so he let himself in. Trip Tucker poked his head out of one of the bedrooms, eyebrows lifted at the sight of his unexpected guest. “Well. Admiral. I don't usually get such esteemed visitors.”

“That’s a lie,” Archer said lightly. “I know for a fact the ambassador to Vulcan is here at least once every couple of weeks.”

Trip grinned conspiratorially. “Heard about that, huh?” He gestured vaguely at the living room furniture. “Have a seat. I’ll grab ya a beer.”

Archer sat on the couch, taking in the room. It was furnished in the bland, prefab style of provided housing, but there was a basket of soft children’s toys beside the couch, and through a half open door, he could see the outline of a crib. “I was actually on Vulcan last week,” he said. “Saw T'Pol and the kids.”

“She mentioned that,” Trip said from the kitchen. He reappeared in the door, an open bottle of beer in each hand. He extended one to Archer. “So…to what do I owe the honor? We’ve practically been next door neighbors for the past ten months and I’ve barely seen you. Seen Malcolm more than you, and he's been runnin' all over creation for Tactical. Finally foldin' in the MACOs, I hear.” He leaned against the doorjamb, taking a swig of his beer. “What’s the story?”

Archer took a long drink. “Turns out taking Starfleet from an Earth-only service to the exploration and defense force for the whole Federation is…an involved process.” He leaned back onto the couch cushions. “But being on Vulcan, seeing T'Pol…made me realize how long it’s been since I’d seen you. I’d hardly managed to make it up here in an official capacity, let alone just a friendly visit.” He chuckled softly, nudging the basket of toys with his foot. “T'Mir and Lorian are pretty great.” Trip grinned proudly.

“They’re the best.”

“I like the beard, by the way,” Archer added. “Very fatherly.” Trip laughed. “What does T'Pol think?”

“She likes it! I may have to shave just to spite her.”

Archer shook his head. “You two have always had a…unique relationship.” Trip laughed again, more gently this time.

“You know, if somebody'd told me, when she first came on board Enterprise, ‘You're gonna marry that woman. You're gonna marry her, and have kids with her, and you’re gonna be stupid crazy about her,’…I'd've asked ‘em what they were on.”

“Which would have been a fair question at the time.” Archer extended his bottle. “But we all know better now.”

Trip leaned forward, and clinked his bottle against the one offered. “Damn right we do.” He sipped his beer, his eyes shrewd. “So that's what this is? Just a friendly visit?”

“Well…”

“Uh huh.” Trip shook his head slightly. “Listen, you wanna get somethin' to eat? There's a decent burger joint not far from here. I don't cook much unless T'Pol and the kids are here. No good at cookin’ for one.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Archer said.

They finished their beers, and Trip led him to exactly the sort of place he would have expected, a little hole in the wall restaurant that didn’t bother with a sign. Taking their seats, they were approached by a server, a young woman who flashed a sunny smile at the sight of her customers. “Hi, Trip!” she said brightly.

“Hey, Monica,” he said, returning the smile. “How ya been?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” She cast a glance at Archer. “Your usual guests are cuter.” Trip laughed.

“But not nearly as distinguished! Monica, meet my old CO, Admiral Jonathan Archer.”

Her eyes widened. “Jonathan Archer? They renamed my high school after you!” Archer gave Trip a slightly dirty look, and Monica cleared her throat. “Sorry, you probably get that a lot.”

“Well, there must still be high schools named after somebody else,” Trip said, enjoying himself.

“May we have a moment, Monica?” Archer asked.

“Sure! I'll be back in a minute.”

Archer directed a mild glare at Trip's grinning face. “Very funny.”

“What? I didn’t know about her high school!”

“Sure you didn't.” He shook his head. “What did she mean about ‘your usual guests’?” Trip shrugged.

“I've brought the kids here a couple times. The waitstaff love ‘em. They're a big hit.”

“You've brought them here?”

Trip shrugged. “Yeah? They don't just serve meat. T'Mir'll demolish one of their black bean burgers. She may only be three and a half, but that girl can eat.”

Monica returned, bringing drinks and taking orders, and when she had gone, Trip leaned back, fixing Archer once more with that shrewd look. “So what’s the professional part of this visit?"

“Well…Starfleet Command's really impressed with the progress you've made here. You're going to have the first of the new Federation class ready for warp trials in what, nine weeks?”

“Yep. And after she passes – which she will, with flying colors - I’m goin' home,” Trip said. “That was the deal.”

“So you'd probably turn down an offer to run Starfleet Engineering.”

Trip nearly choked on his drink. “WHAT.”

“Not immediately, of course, but...in the next few years. The idea was floated. I told them you'd shoot that down.”

“Damn right I would!”

“I know you and T'Pol are a package deal, and that’s what I told them. As long as the Federation Council wants her on Vulcan, they’re going to have a very hard time convincing you to be anywhere else.”

Trip took another drink, his temper receding. “Yep. Called that.”

“So here's an alternative. After she passes warp trials, USS Federation will be going on a shakedown cruise, and she’ll need monitoring...preferably by someone who’s already extremely familiar with her systems. And so will her sister ships, as they're launched. But that’s not something that necessarily has to be done on Mars, or on Earth. Command was already wanting to expand Starfleet’s installation at the embassy on Vulcan, so I pointed out that that seemed like a classic two birds, one stone situation.”

Trip blinked.

“Would you be willing to resume full active duty, with an assignment like that?”

Trip gave him a long, measuring look. “You’re getting’ sly in your age, Jon.” Archer smiled.

“I like to think I’ve become a more competent problem-solver.”

Monica appeared with their food; she withdrew a bottle from her apron and set it by Trip’s plate. Archer watched curiously as Trip poured out some of its contents near his fries. “P’ket sauce,” he said. “Kinda developed a taste for the stuff. They picked some up for me here after I told ‘em about it. Way better than ketchup.”

Archer chuckled. “You can get all the p’ket sauce you could ever want staying on Vulcan.”

“I could. Among other things.”

“Does that mean the answer’s yes?”

“Yeah,” Trip said, nodding slowly. “I think it is.”

Chapter Text

On a bright, chilly day in February, Cadet Owen Salazar-Tucker sat on a park bench in San Francisco, nursing a cup of coffee with his little cousin Lorian in his lap. Together, they were watching Lorian’s older sister T'Mir stalk a family of ducks, her blue eyes glittering with curiosity.

“You staying warm, little guy?” Owen asked, but for Lorian, bundled up in multiple layers of sweaters and coat by his doting grandmother, temperature was not currently a problem. Seeing his sister apparently getting to have all the fun was. He wiggled vigorously, and Owen, getting the message, set him down.

Two weeks before, they had all been guests of honor at the launch of USS Federation, bringing an end to Uncle Trip's time at Utopia Planitia. Owen had a feeling that was why he and Aunt T'Pol had decided to take a few days to themselves down in Mexico, though he had heard Uncle Trip say something about ‘seven years' that he didn’t have any context for. Whatever the reason, T'Mir and Lorian had remained in San Francisco, in the care of their grandparents and eldest cousin.

Owen watched them, finishing off his coffee. She would be four in just a few months, and Lorian would be two later that summer. In their coats and knit hats (Lorian's was striped blue and green, T'Mir's had bear ears on it), the casual observer would likely think them a pair of human children. Except that their cheeks were beginning to flush olive in the cold, and T'Mir would occasionally switch to Vulcan in the middle of a sentence. Which was enough to remind Owen that when they left the park, they absolutely would not be getting hot chocolate, as he would have suggested when his brothers were younger. “It'd be like givin' ‘em a shot of whiskey,” Uncle Trip had said, and Owen did not feel like having that on his conscience. No, they'd stop at the Punjabi place on the way home and get some chai instead.

Internally they may have been mostly Vulcan, but he could see the human in them too, and not just in their blue eyes. It was easier with Lorian, with his blond hair and marked resemblance to his grandfather. But it was there with T'Mir too – even though she had inherited T'Pol's narrow chin and high cheekbones, she too had the Tucker nose, and there was something in her expressions, something in the way she narrowed her eyes, that marked her so thoroughly as her father's daughter it filled Owen with a warm sense of recognition.

He remembered being thirteen, watching John Frederick Paxton hijack all planetary transmissions to show all of Earth a horrifying visage – that of a baby girl (his cousin Elizabeth, though he hadn’t known that at the time). She was a warning, Paxton had said, a terrible portent of things to come. But Owen had wondered then what was really so bad about humans and Vulcans having children together, and the intervening years had failed to demonstrate how his uncle and aunt's happy marriage would destroy humanity, nor what sort of threat T’Mir and Lorian Tucker could possibly pose to anybody.

Except maybe to those ducks.

He stood. “Okay, you two, we need to head home!”

T'Mir gave him a look straight out of the T'Pol playbook. “Why?”

“Because if we leave now, we can get a treat.”

“Treat?” Lorian trotted towards him, immediately invested in this turn of events. Owen picked him up, letting him perch on his arm.

“Come on, T'Mir. You can't have a duck – you wouldn’t be able to take it back to Vulcan.”

Apparently that was a good enough reason; she came and took his free hand. “Daddy says we're going to get a sehlat.”

“Oh yeah? What're you gonna name it?”

“Princess,” she said confidently.

They got their chai to go, and took the tram home. “Your mom and dad are supposed to get home this afternoon,” Owen said. Lorian, back in his lap, wriggled happily at the thought.

“Good,” said T'Mir, drinking her tea with all the dignity of a Vulcan matron. “Daddy's coming home with us,” she added softly, and suddenly she was only almost four again. Owen smiled.

“I bet you're happy about that.”

“Uh-huh. Momma feels better when he's there too.”

Perceptive little stinker, Owen thought. Aloud he said, “I have a feeling you're right.”

Trip and T'Pol were already in the living room with Charles and Elaine when they arrived back at the apartment. “There they are!” Trip exclaimed as T'Mir and Lorian mobbed them. “How’s my little bear cub?” he asked, flicking the ears on T'Mir's hat. She faux-snarled at him, giggling. Lorian, looking to prove his own bear bona fides, grabbed at his father's leg, attempting to climb him. Trip bent to pick him up, wincing as he twisted.

“You alright, honey?” Elaine asked. Trip shrugged as best he could with his arms full.

“Just tweaked my back a little,” he said lightly, though it seemed to Owen that his ears were turning red.

Later that evening, the children and guests in bed, Trip and T'Pol unpacked and prepared to retire for the night. He pulled off his shirt, wincing again. “How is your back?” T'Pol asked.

“Still a little sore,” he replied, then added, because he couldn't help himself, “since somebody about put me through the plaster because she was mad at my pants.”

“Because you chose to wear that belt,” she retorted, also unable to help herself.

“Maybe I wanted you to have to work for it a little.”

“While in the midst of pon farr?”

“Well, I didn’t say it was a GOOD idea!” He heaved an affectionate, exasperated sigh, and asked, “What about your shoulder?”

She removed her own shirt, and glanced at the bite mark on the round of her left shoulder. “It is healing.”

“Still feel a little guilty about that.”

“As I told you, there is no need.”

“I know, I know. It's one thing to nibble on ya a little bit, but that-”

“It was only fair.” Her eyes traveled down his bruised torso to the distinct, crescent wound on his hip, just visible above the waistband of his underwear. He grinned.

“Okay, I guess it was.”

He climbed into bed, and she settled beside him. “I’m glad we're goin' home,” he said.

“It is still strange to hear you say that of Vulcan.”

“You know why.”

“I do.” Her hand rested on his chest, over his heart. “And I prefer our home when you are there.”

He smiled. “That mean you're gonna be extra nice to me when we get back?” She tilted her head towards him to give him an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “Cuz if you're not…I may have to bite ya again.”

“You say that as if it be would a deterrent.”

Chapter Text

Trip liked days like this. His duties at Starfleet’s Vulcan installation kept him busy, and unsurprisingly did not merely revolve around monitoring and troubleshooting Federation’s shakedown, or simply prepping her sister ships for their own impeding launches. He had a rotating cycle of calls to Earth and Mars (the Academy and the shipyard, respectively), as well as an ongoing reactor matrix project he was consulting on for the brain trust at Starfleet Engineering. And then there was the nacelle redesign thing he and Karveth were knocking back and forth, just for the hell of it, which he could tinker with not only in his workspace at the Embassy, but at home as well, which was honestly his preference. He chuckled to himself. How had he turned into such a homebody? He glanced up and through the big window opposite his workbench, out into the atrium where T'Mir and T'Lara were playing, and smiled.

Yeah. That was how.

T'Lara was a sweet kid, Trip judged, utterly enthralled by her older, more extroverted friend. She was a small, slim child with delicate features that made Trip think of a bird, her face dominated by her large, dark eyes. Right now, the girls sat on the edge of the deck while Princess the sehlat dozed in the sun and T'Mir scratched out the English alphabet in the dirt at their feet; she'd recently taught herself to read and was now committed to spreading the good news of literacy. Lorian, being barely two and a half, was not quite ready for her message, but T'Lara was shaping up to be a good convert.

Trip smiled proudly, watching them. At the rate T'Mir was going, she'd have written Vulcan under her belt soon, and she hadn’t even officially started school yet.

After a little while, he summoned them in for a snack, followed by an afternoon nap in T'Mir's room. She'd recently moved into a bedroom of her own, partly because she was A Big Girl now, and partly because Trip and T'Pol had begun discussing the possibility of adding a new occupant to the nursery. When all was quiet, he headed back to his workroom again.

The bell rang at the front of the house, and Trip squinted in confusion. Was it already 1530? He thought he had the girls until at least then. A glance at the chronometer proved that wrong, so who could it-?

He opened the door. “Merek,” he said, blinking at the figure before him. “Is something wrong? Do I need to go get T'Lara?”

“Not at all,” the other man said. “I had in fact come here for the purpose of seeing you, Captain.”

Trip felt his brow furrow. “Me?”

“Yes. Our wives enjoy a deeply meaningful friendship, and our daughters have developed an affinity for one another’s company. It seemed illogical to me that you and I should be so…meagerly acquainted.”

“Oh.” A smile slowly worked its way across Trip's face. “Guess we can’t let the girls have all the fun, right?” He watched Merek parse the question.

“No,” Merek said finally. “We cannot.”

So this was happening. Trip stepped aside, gesturing his guest inside. “Well, come on in.”

Merek followed him into the living room, and took a seat when it was offered. Trip eyed his unexpected company. “Ya know, this is the point in a human interaction where I’d offer you a beer,” he said. Merek cocked his head.

“Ah. And that is a sign of positive intent?”

Trip fought the laugh with everything he had. “It is.”

“Then I would be honored.”

“You say that now.”

He grabbed a pair of bottles from the kitchen, opened them, and offered one to Merek, who took an intrigued sniff of the open longneck, and then a minute sip. “A most unusual flavor,” he reported. Trip grinned.

“T'Pol hates the stuff. But she puts up with it. Probably on account of my sparkling personality.”

“A successful marriage requires a certain level of…accommodation on the part of both spouses.”

Trip took a pull from his bottle, smiling. “That it does.”

“But it seems to me that you have done a great deal of accommodating yourself,” Merek said. “You have chosen to live on an alien world, with very few others of your species near at hand.” Trip shrugged.

“I live here because this is where T'Pol's work is,” he said. “If the Federation Council wanted her on Andoria, I’d buy a parka and me and the kids would take up skiin'.” He took another sip. “But I know she'd rather be here, even if…even if some folks don’t appreciate her the way she deserves.”

“For many, the Ambassador is…a symbol,” Merek said. “I am aware that is not a status she has ever sought for herself, but it is true nonetheless.” He took another, somewhat longer drink. “We had allowed ourselves to become quite comfortable with our place on the galaxy. She is representative of a different, more cooperative path.”

“And not everybody likes that,” Trip said, with a soft chuckle. “Vulcans really aren’t that different from humans after all.”

“So it would seem.” Merek examined the bottle in his hand. “This is a…curious beverage, Captain.”

Trip smiled. “If it's any consolation, it can an acquired taste for humans too.”

“What the purpose of consuming a drink that requires one to a develop an appreciation for its flavor after the fact?”

“An age-old question,” Trip allowed. “One that can basically be answered by, ‘Humans like to get buzzed’.” He watched Merek mentally diagram the sentence.

“I see,” Merek said at length. “It is a form of social lubricant.”

Trip tipped the neck of his bottle towards the other man to acknowledge the point, then took another drink. “So what is it you wanna know, Merek? I'm an open book.”

Merek's brow drew thoughtfully, then he said, “I have found fatherhood to be a…rewarding endeavor. Do you find it so?” Trip felt a smile cross his face.

“It's amazin’. Watching ‘em grow, figure stuff out…I knew I’d love it, that I’d love them, but I wasn’t ready for just how much.”

“Do you find it a worthwhile exchange for the starship service you have given up?” At Trip's slightly piqued expression, he elaborated. “My own career has required little in the way of sacrifice in order to become a parent. But I understand that yours has.”

“If you’re askin' if I regret it…absolutely not. Not for a second. I miss servin' on a starship, but those are two different things.”

“Indeed they are.” Merek straightened slightly, with an almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders that most humans wouldn’t have even noticed. But Trip could read Vulcan body language better than most. “Captain…may I ask a personal question?”

“That’s what the beer's for.”

Merek decided to take that statement in the spirit it was meant and plunged ahead. “Do you find marriage to a Vulcan…limiting in any way?”

“You mean emotionally?”

Merek nodded.

“Nope.” Trip took a long drink, then smiled. “I could go into more detail, but it'd probably make you uncomfortable, and T'Pol'd get mad at me.” He gave Marek a curious look. “Alright, my turn. Level with me, Merek, man to man…does V’Ryn wanna dissect me?”

Merek’s right eyebrow rose to an impressive height. “Dissect you?”

“She's been wantin' to figure me out for years.”

“I assure you, Captain – I am not here to engage in espionage on my wife's behalf.”

“And I believe you. But does she?”

“She… has expressed an interest in studying the chemical composition of your brain,” Merek said honestly.

“I KNEW it!”

“But such a study would hardly require dissection.”

“Oh, that's reassuring. What's so interestin’ about me anyway?”

“You have chosen a highly unorthodox life for yourself.”

“Yeah, well…” Trip rubbed his neck, self-conscious for the first time. “I don't know how much of it was a choice. When it comes to T’Pol, my options were basically marry her or spend the rest of my life wishin' I had, so…”

There was a mix of gentle curiosity and equally gentle understanding in Merek's expression. He tipped back his beer, draining the bottle. “Perhaps not so unorthodox after all, then.”

“You gave him a beer,” T’Pol said, later that evening. It was not a question. Trip shrugged.

“Just bein’ neighborly. And he didn’t seem to mind.” She simply looked at him steadily, and he grinned. “I know that look. You're wonderin' why you put up with me.”

It was her turn to shrug. “There is the sunk cost of time. And I have allowed you to father my children.”

“Allowed me? I seem to recall you bein’ a pretty enthusiastic participant.”

The cool Vulcan mask slipped; her lips twitched with amusement. “Only because you have been a bad influence.”

“The worst,” he agreed, smiling back. “But it’s real noble of you, takin’ the hit like that, and protectin’ the rest of the quadrant from me.”

“It is an arrangement that has its benefits. The aforementioned children, for one.” She reached out, touching his face, running her fingers through his beard. “And I get to have you to myself.”

“All yours, sweetheart.” He turned his head slightly to kiss her palm. “And since the aforementioned children are in bed, you feel like a nightcap? I know you’ve still got a couple bars of the good stuff in the pantry where the rugrats can’t get to it.”

“An excellent suggestion. And afterward, perhaps we can continue our discussion regarding an additional...rugrat.”

“Madam Ambassador, are you askin’ me to knock you up again?”

“I would welcome the attempt.”

Chapter Text

They had been on Earth for a week, and the length of their stay was, as Trip would put it, a question mark. The Federation Council was in the midst of a long series of meetings and hearings as it prepared to observe its fifth anniversary as a governing body, and as the Federation’s foremost representative to one of the founding worlds, T’Pol could hardly help but be deeply involved in the proceedings. Though being halfway through this latest pregnancy, all she really wanted to do was curl up with a large cup of coffee and a larger cup of water and ignore everyone she hadn’t either married or given birth to.

But she could not, so she sat on the couch, going over her correspondence. As least she could do this from home. From the corner of her eye, she could see movement, and when she turned her head, she saw T’Mir, hovering a few meters away, clasping her hands anxiously.

She had been withdrawn and reticent the past few days, which was unlike her. Trip had speculated that she was unhappy at having to leave behind her sehlat, which was currently in the care of V'Ryn and Merek, but he had been unable to confirm that theory.

“Do you need something, T’Mir?” she asked, welcoming the chance to perhaps solve the mystery.

“Momma, I...have a question.”

“Then ask.”

“Do you...do you still like us?” At her mother’s curious head tilt, she said, “Do you and Daddy still like me and Orry?”

This was not about the sehlat at all.

For an instant, the question both stung and bewildered. But then T'Pol understood. T'Mir had been too young to understand the full implications of a new sibling when Lorian was born, but now she was old enough to recognize that a change was coming. “Sit with me,” she said softly. Hesitantly, T'Mir obliged. “T'Mir. Your father and I love you and your brother deeply, and there is nothing that will ever change that. In fact, it is because we love you so much, and take such enjoyment in being your parents that we wished to add to our family.” She brushed her fingertips over T'Mir's temple, sharing her love for just a moment, and only in part – T’Mir’s mind was not yet mature enough for more than that. Her daughter’s eyes, blue-gray and variable as Earth's seas, met hers, suddenly bright with understanding. “This is a love that can never be diminished,” T'Pol said. “Only increased.”

T'Mir nodded and reached out, carefully touching her mother’s abdomen; T'Pol covered the small hand with one of her own. “You have been an exemplary older sister to Lorian, and I am certain you will be to this little one as well.”

“What's his name?” T’Mir asked.

“We have not yet decided.”

“Can I name him?”

“You may not.”

T’Mir’s mouth pursed in an expression that so closely resembled her father’s ill humor that T'Pol had to struggle briefly not to let her amusement show. “It is one thing to name a sehlat,” she said. “It is quite another to name a child.” T'Mir sighed, making it clear she would abide by her mother’s wisdom, but only under protest. This time, the amusement won; T'Pol felt her lips twitch. Suspicion clouded T'Mir's features.

“What is it?”

“There are times you remind me very much of your father,” T'Pol said.

“Is that good?”

“It is very good. Now I believe you should get the new book your uncles gave you and come read with me. I would welcome the company.”

T'Mir did, clambering back up onto the couch a moment later and settling beside her mother. T'Pol found the dry diplomatic messages rather more palatable now.

The quiet was dispelled an hour later with Trip and Lorian's return. Simultaneously, mother and daughter set aside their reading material. “And how did you find the Academy?” T'Pol asked Lorian.

“There's a big fountain!” he reported. “And the water goes waaaaay up high!” He stretched onto his toes, arms raised, as a visual aid. Trip laughed and ruffled his hair.

“And who'd we see there, bud?”

“Aunt Hoshi. She had cookies.”

T'Mir looked momentarily stricken, but Lorian reached into his coat pocket and produced a crumpled napkin that contained a trio of gently crushed cookies. “He was thinkin' about you, Miri Roo,” Trip said, smiling softly. She climbed down from the couch to give her brother a hug, and Trip claimed her vacated spot.

He nodded his chin towards T'Pol's PADD. “Anything interestin'?”

“Not at all,” she said, then added, “With one exception. Ambassador Soval has asked me to meet with him tomorrow.”

“Been a while since you two’ve gotten to see each other off the clock, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” She looked towards the children, sitting together with their cookies. “I have learned the cause of T'Mir's uneasiness.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded, and told him. He stared at her as if she'd stabbed him in the heart.

“Oh my God. She was upset about the baby?”

“About our motivations for having another child. But I have assuaged her concerns.”

A rueful smile crossed his face. “I’m glad, but…I still kinda feel like an ass.”

“There is no need. It was a miscommunication of intent that has been resolved.”

“Daddy.” T'Mir approached, her expression serious. “I’m going to read to you and Orry now.” She held out her hand, and Trip smiled, glancing at T'Pol.

“Duty calls,” he said. She gave him a look that said, ‘see?’, and he chuckled, letting T’Mir lead him to the nest of cushions she'd arranged as a story nook. Lorian was already waiting.

“When the baby comes, I will read to him too,” T'Mir said. Trip leaned over to kiss her hair.

“That sounds like a real good idea.”

The next morning, T’Pol left early to make the trip across the Bay to the Vulcan compound. After years as a subject of contention, the outer wall was gone now, and she could not say that she missed it. When she was younger, she, like most of her fellows, had viewed the fortifications of the compound as necessary, boundaries of logic and propriety that were an essential part of maintaining the proper relationship between Vulcans and humans. But fortifications could outlive their usefulness, and she, entering the gates pregnant with her third half-human child, could hardly be considered a paragon of maintained boundaries.

Once that thought would have been mildly horrifying. Now it amused her.

She was shown into Ambassador Soval’s office, a room she could have found her way into blindfolded, even after all these years. He stood at her entry, saluting her. “Ambassador,” he said, no little irony in his tone. She inclined her head and returned the salute.

“Ambassador.”

“It is extremely agreeable to see you again,” he said. “Please. Be seated. May I offer you some tea?”

“Of course.” She sat. “It is agreeable to see you as well. I regret that so much time as elapsed since our last meeting.”

“You have your duties,” he said, handing her a tea cup. “I have mine.” He returned to his seat behind his desk. “And your family continues to grow.”

“It does.”

He surveyed her calmly for a moment. “You have come into your own, T’Pol,” he said quietly. “When you first joined my staff, there was a restlessness about you.”

“I was very young,” she replied. “I thought myself very certain of my path, but I was mistaken.”

“But you have found certainty now?”

“I have found a home.”

“A sense of belonging is highly desirable.”

“It is.” She sipped her tea, and smoothed her robe over her abdomen. “You are correct – I do have my duties. In my role as Federation Ambassador, I feel that I...belong to the future. And that is a source of immense fulfillment.” She took another drink. “In a way, it is the larger reflection of the home I have with my husband and children. In both cases, I work for the building of things I may not live to see. And that does not lessen the necessity of the work.”

“It increases it,” Soval said.

“Yes.”

Soval set down his tea. “You were wasted here,” he said. T’Pol shook her head.

“I do not believe th-”

“We all were,” he continued. “Because we did not work to build something that could last. Forrest, Archer...they were right. We were trying to keep humanity in a place that we found comfortable, not necessarily the one in which they needed to be. And when I look at you, I see someone who has found abandoning that narrow position to be liberating. Though in your case,” he added, amusement flickering in his gaze, “it is somewhat more obvious than with most.”

She returned the look, letting her eyebrow lift by a fraction. “Currently, yes.”

They shared their mutual good humor for a moment, then he said, “I take a certain...ancillary pride in your accomplishments. That is why I asked you here today, to tell you something that will shortly become public knowledge. But it seemed appropriate that you, of all people, should know first.” She tilted her head curiously, and he folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “At the end of this Earth calendar year, I will be retiring from my position. It is one that I have held for over forty-five years – I believe it to be time.”

“That is entirely understandable,” T’Pol said. “I cannot fault you. But it...will be the end of an era, nonetheless.”

“Is that not the purpose of eras?” he asked, a wry glint in his eyes. She couldn’t argue with that.

“Indeed.”

“And yours has still only barely begun, I think.”

They finished their tea, and went out onto his balcony, which now had an unobstructed view of the Bay, since the removal of the outer wall. “When will you return to Vulcan?” he asked.

“I am uncertain,” she replied. “There is much to be done here on behalf of the Council, and whenever we are on Earth for any period of time, Starfleet Engineering becomes extremely covetous of Captain Tucker’s attention.”

“He is a great asset to them.”

“As I have told him repeatedly. His self-deprecation can be tiresome.”

“How fortunate that he possesses other qualities, then.”

“He does,” she admitted fondly. “But if I did not point out to him that he was being tiresome, he would be concerned. Even after all these years, our dynamic relies on a certain…combativeness.”

“It is obviously a successful dynamic,” Soval said, generously refraining from giving overmuch attention to her pregnant form. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and when she lifted it, she found his eyes on her, an ember of affectionate pride glowing in them. “You have come into your own,” he said again, gently.

She took a deep breath, and nodded. “I believe that I have.”

Chapter Text

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to able to take part in this,” Phlox said heartily.

“Admit it, Doc,” Trip said. “You're just happy you can steal back some braggin' rights from Doctor Jimenez.”

“Valeria Jimenez is a fine doctor and a valued colleague,” Phlox replied. “And she’s been absolutely insufferable for the last six years.”

T'Pol, pacing the room in between contractions, could not help but roll her eyes. Trip noticed, and grinned at her. “Still the most popular girl in school,” he said.

Phlox chuckled, consulting his scanner. “I'm afraid he's right. The opportunity to be your attending physician at such a momentous time is simply too good not to boast about.”

They hadn’t intended to still be on Earth when T'Pol's due date arrived. But two new worlds had requested Federation membership, and Trip and Karveth's nacelle project had caused such a stir when they were finally ready to field test it that they had ended up spending six weeks at Utopia Planitia with the ship designers going over their specs. There had been Ambassador Soval's retirement celebration, and the winter holidays spent with the extended Tucker clan, and time had escaped them at such a clip that suddenly it seemed unwise to leave.

At least, T'Pol consoled herself, they would be back on Vulcan in time for T'Mir to begin the new academic term at the Embassy school. And even though it felt foolish and illogical to admit, being on Earth meant that the head of Starfleet Medical himself could be her physician for this delivery, and there was something meaningful in having Phlox attend her. To his sorrow, he had been unable to save their first daughter. Now, he would ensure their second son's safe arrival.

She had been in labor for several hours at this point, alternating between movement and meditation as the contractions slowly increased, and Phlox was considerate enough to keep his scans and conversation to the periods of the former. “And how do your elder two feel about a new addition?” he asked. Trip chuckled.

“They've warmed up to the idea. They're with their uncles right now…probably gettin' spoiled rotten.”

“Albert at least knows better,” T'Pol said. Trip laughed again.

“Yeah, T'Mir really does have Miguel well trained, doesn’t she?”

“Well, we won't have to wait much longer to make introductions,” Phlox said, checking the scanner again. T'Pol inhaled deeply.

“Indeed.”

Phlox excused himself, and Trip reached for her hands, pride and encouragement in his eyes. “You make this look easy, but I know it ain't.”

She took a very deep breath, easing herself through the next contraction. He breathed with her, squeezing her hands and smiling wryly. “So…still love me after doin' this three times?” Her eyes met his, her gaze steady.

“More than ever.”

“You are a very forgiving woman.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “Remember that.”

He grinned. “I don't think you’d let me forget.”

The next contraction was the strongest yet, and his smile stilled. “How we doin'?”

“Not long,” she said through gritted teeth. He put his palm to her cheek.

I'm here.

She nodded, and found herself reaching out to the baby. Do you hear him? Your father is here. He is very eager to meet you. She felt the tiny returned contact – he heard. He didn’t understand, but he heard.

She threw herself into the work of labor. At some point, Phlox returned, and she was grateful for his calm, steady presence, but she was set on the task at hand. There were four of them, in the little sanctuary that was their family – she and Trip, T'Mir and Lorian. And very soon, there would be five.

And then there were.

Phlox’s eyes shone as he handed her the baby. “He's beautiful,” he said, voice catching.

“He is,” T'Pol said softly, her attention fixed on the child in her arms. The doctor wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll leave you three to get acquainted.”

When he was gone, Trip sat on the side of the bed, then pulled his legs up to recline next to them, sliding his arm behind her shoulders and leaning his head against hers. For a little while, they sat together quietly, gazing at their new son. “We really do make some gorgeous babies,” Trip murmured. T'Pol nodded.

“Agreed. But I do not think we are entirely objective on that score.”

“Eh, maybe not.” Trip smiled and gently trailed a fingertip around the curve of the newborn’s cheek. “Jonathan Soval,” he said softly, “welcome to the family.”

They were silent again, drinking in the moment. “Guess I should give Albie a call…let T'Mir and Lorian meet their baby brother.” She nodded again, and he turned his head to kiss her temple. I love you so much.

She didn’t respond with words, only a warm sense of reciprocity and gratitude. He kissed her again. “Be right back.”

Half an hour later, Albert and Miguel brought their niece and nephew, who were shown into the room by Phlox. He lingered in the doorway for a moment watching the children, his eyes soft.

Trip gently collected the baby from T'Pol's arms, kneeling so his siblings could look at him. “His name is Jonathan,” T’Pol said.

“Like Uncle Jonathan?” Lorian asked. Trip nodded.

“Yep. All three of you are named after somebody important.”

T'Mir and Lorian looked at each other, and then at the baby, then back at each other. She said sternly, “We have to take care of him, Orry.”

“Your momma and I take care of y'all,” Trip corrected, then fluffed the end of her ponytail, smiling. “But if you two wanna help out with this one…that's allowed.”

“He's asleep,” Lorian noted.

“Well, he's already had a long day!” Trip said. “Bein' born’s hard work.” The siblings exchanged a dubious look before resuming their inspection.

T'Mir cocked her head. “He's so little.”

“Would you believe you were even littler?” Trip asked. Her expression made it clear that she would not, in fact, believe that, and he laughed.

T'Pol lay back, watching them. It had absolutely been a long day, and she was exhausted, but it was a good sort of exhaustion, the sort that came with worthwhile physical effort. And there was nothing more worthwhile than this, nothing that mattered more. Her mate, and their children. They were beautiful, and they were hers, and her love for them burned brighter than any sun. Trip felt her eyes on him, and looked at her, and in their shared gaze was the joy and amazement at a seemingly impossible desire now made manifest.

“I should probably get you two home,” he said. Lorian's face clouded.

“Already?”

“Yeah, the excitin' part's over. And your momma and Jonathan need their rest.”

“Aren’t they coming home too?” T'Mir asked

“We will stay here tonight,” T'Pol said. T'Mir's eyes widened in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“They're fine,” Trip soothed, handing Jonathan back to T'Pol. “It's just so they can have some peace and quiet and not have to worry about y'all bein' stinkers.”

“Daddy,” T'Mir said, in a tone that strove to set the record straight. “We are not stinkers.”

“Since when?”

She gave him a scathing look, which just made him grin and kiss the top of her head noisily. “C’mere, trouble,” he said, hefting her into his arms. “God, you're gettin' big.” He held out a hand to Lorian. “You too, bud.” He looked back at T'Pol, his eyes warm. “I’ll be back after I get these two sorted out.”

“Sorted out?” Lorian echoed, protesting.

“Are y'all just determined to take offense to everything I say today?”

“Maybe.” T'Mir said in solidarity. Trip planted another aggressive kiss on her cheek.

“You and me are fixin' to have a problem, missy.”

She didn’t appear overly concerned by that; Trip directed a smile and a little eye roll at T'Pol and they departed.

In the quiet hours that followed, she and Jonathan rested as the sun sank over San Francisco, the sky fading to violet. When Trip returned, he entered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “Hey,” he said softly.

“How are they?” she asked, sitting up.

“Ready to have you and the baby home. But Miguel distracted ‘em with snickerdoodles, so we're safe for now.” He sat on the bed beside her, casting a gentle eye towards the bassinet. Jonathan stirred in his sleep, tiny fingers curling. Trip smiled at the sight of him. “You know…we're officially outnumbered now. Think we can still take ‘em?”

“I believe so. At least until T'Mir devises a way to marshal her brothers against us.”

He laughed, rubbing his face. “God, she's gonna be terrifyin’ in a few years. I'm kinda lookin' forward to it. And dreading it.” He shot her a sardonic smile. “I blame you, by the way.”

“Me?”

“That scary smart little sassmouth? She's all you, sweetheart. I just showed up for that one.”

She leveled a reproving eyebrow at him. “She is very much your child and you are well aware of it.” He grinned.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll claim her. And I guess I’ll claim you too.” His smile softened, gazing at her. “There are times when I look at you and I think… ‘This is it. I cannot possibly love her more than I do right now’. But I always can.” He gave a small, laughing, wondering shake of his head. “And I’m pretty sure at this point I always will.”

She touched his cheek, the backs of her fingers drifting over his beard. “I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without you.”

“Boring,” he supposed. “But probably a lot more logical.”

“I prefer it this way.”

“Good. Cuz there's no gettin' rid of me now.” He chuckled suddenly, and she gave him a questioning look. “It's just… This works. We work, you and me. Who woulda thought? We work.”

“We do,” she agreed. “But as you yourself have said, you and I make a hell of a team.”

He smiled. “Always have. Always will.”

Chapter Text

T’Mir and Spock stood together at the window on the viewing deck, each with their hands clasped at their backs, looking out at the docked ships. But their mutual gaze fell on one in particular.

“She is a thing of beauty,” T’Mir said. “I know my mother would claim that partiality is illogical, but when this Enterprise launched, she was...muted in her praise. But I understand why. The NX-01 formed such a meaningful part of her life. No other ship could fill that space.”

“I believe I understand that sensibility,” Spock said.

“I am sure that you do,” she replied. “Ships are mechanisms, but they take on something like life when they are in use, and I do not think it is anthropomorphizing them to say so. Simply a recognition of their function as both transport and home.”

Spock nodded, his eyes fixed on the ship that was his transport and his home. “Was your father involved in the design of the Constitution class?” he asked.

“He was, as a matter of fact. He didn’t live to see the line launched, but his fingerprints are there.”

His brow was drawn in thought, a question hovering in his throat. When he swallowed and it did not go away, he asked it. “Do you miss him?”

T'Mir's blue eyes cut towards him. “Yes,” she said simply.

“And…your mother. Does she…?”

“They were married sixty-eight years, and it was a very…well matched marriage. Of course she does. Grief and love are very close companions. But I also know she does not regret it. She has been extremely definite on that point.” She gave him a wry look. “And it would be very unwise to suggest that she should regret it.”

“Do you?”

“Regret the union that I am a product of? Lieutenant, where is the logic in a question like that?”

He looked askance. “My apologies, Doctor, I-”

“The apology is mine, Spock,” she said gently. “I understand your meaning. Have there been times in my life when I had considered it might have been easier if both my parents were of the same species? Of course. But show me the person who claims to have faced no difficulty in life and I will show you a liar. I have faced struggle and frustration, but I have learned a great truth, and I believe I wanted to meet you so that I might know if you needed me to share it with you. And I think that you do.”

He looked back at her, eyes searching her face. He nodded very minutely. “I believe you are correct.”

“Then it is this: we are not halves, Spock. We are not part -Vulcan and part-human. We are both, always, at once, and we take from each what we need when we need it. It is not painless, but it is rewarding.”

He nodded again, more forcefully, and was about to speak when his communicator chirped. “Forgive me, Doctor.”

“Of course. Your duties await.”

“I hope that we may speak again,” he said.

“As do I. I would like for you to meet my brothers.”

“I would as well.” He raised his hand in salute. “Live long and prosper, T’Mir Tucker.”

She returned it. “Peace and long life, Spock.”

T’Mir returned to her quarters that evening in a thoughtful frame of mind. From her window, she could still see Enterprise at dock, her swept nacelles based on the design work her father and Commander Karveth had done decades before. The NX-01 may have held pride of place in her parents’ hearts, but NCC-1701 was, as her dad would say, nothing to sneeze at. “I hope she shows you what you’re looking for, Spock,” she said quietly.

Perhaps it was thoughts of that serious, searching young man that drove her to sit at her desk terminal and initiate a comm call to Vulcan. Her mother responded promptly. “T’Mir. I trust you are well?”

“I am, Mother. I had an...enlightening encounter today, and I thought of you.”

“Oh?”

“The Enterprise arrived today, and I met Sarek's son. He serves as her science officer.” She sighed. “He had no idea, Mother – no idea that Jon and Lorian and I even existed. The poor boy was so shocked.” She shook her head. “Honestly, I could walk to Vulcan and throttle Sarek myself.” T'Pol delicately lifted an eyebrow, which T’Mir returned. “What?”

“There are times you speak and I hear the echoes of your father’s voice.”

T'Mir's lips compressed with rueful humor. “That was a particularly Dad thing to say, wasn't it?”

“It was. But how Sarek and Amanda have chosen to raise their child is their own affair.”

“I know. You're right. I can't help but feel for him, though.”

“Would he want you to?”

“I doubt it.” T’Mir tilted her head, taking in her mother's image. “It's late there, isn’t it? Am I keeping you up?”

“Not at all. And I receive quite enough hectoring about my sleep from your brothers.”

“Good. Then they’re staying on task.”

Mother and daughter shared a long, contentious look, until T’Pol straightened her shoulders a degree and said, “But it is late. It was most agreeable to speak with you, if only for a short time. I hope we shall see one another face to face soon.”

“I intend to come to Vulcan when my research concludes. Another two weeks, perhaps.”

“Then I will anticipate you. Rest well, daughter.”

T'Mir inclined her head respectfully. “Good night, Momma.”

She stared at the blank screen for a moment, then stood. It was late here as well, by station time, and she should meditate and prepare for bed. She changed, and washed her face before unrolling her meditation mat and preparing to light her candle, following the ritual she had learned in her earliest childhood. But something stopped her, and she returned to her terminal. The day’s events had put her in mind of a very old file, one she took with her wherever she went, a recording she’d had her entire life. She’d heard it for the first time when she was just a child, and every so often in adulthood, she felt compelled to return to it. Tonight was one of those times.

She opened it, and pressed play. A familiar voice filled the room.

I dunno when you’ll hear this, but there is so much I wanna say to you, and I’m afraid that if I wait until you’re born, I won’t remember it all. So here goes.

I want you to always feel safe, and I want you to know how much your momma and I love you, because we do. So much. But most of all...I wanna show you the stars. I want you to see just how amazing this universe can be.

I haven’t even met you yet, and I already know you’re the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, you and any siblings that come after you. We wanted you so bad…and when you finally get here, I know I’m gonna feel like the luckiest man in the galaxy, because…I already am.

I hope…I, uh, I hope I’m as good a father to you as I wanna be. You deserve it.

The recording ended, and in the silence, T’Mir smiled softly. “You were, Daddy,” she said, and lit her candle.