Chapter 18: Sledgehammer In A Velvet Glove

It was good to have had something that almost resembled a normal day. The ship was under way to visit the monastery of T'Pol's clan at a place called P'Jem, where priests would try to help T'Lara cope with the memories of her ordeal. As far as he could tell from Soval's vague descriptions, it involved some 'Vulcan magic' that he wouldn't get to see. T'Pol would go down to the planet with her.

Now that they were in space again, he could finally return to being Trip the chief engineer again, and at every corner he had been reminded that Anna's pep talk had more than just a little truth to it. If he'd earned one credit for every time he'd been told that people had missed him at various recreational events, he'd be filthy rich by now.

When he entered his quarters, he found T'Pol, but not T'Lara. His senses were on full alert on an instant, but the calm demeanor of the Vulcan kept him from punching the alarm button right away.

"Where's the short one?"

"T'Lara will spend the evening with Patricia in the botanic laboratory and the hydroponics area. She has apparently developed an interest in horticulture." She frowned at him. "I find it rather illogical of you to call her 'the short one'. Even though she is only eighteen years old, she will reach my height within the next two years at the latest."

Now there was some information to work through. First of all, T'Pol had referred to her new acquaintance by first name, so Anna had not exaggerated by much when she had told him that they were becoming fast friends. And secondly, as much as she had tried to conceal the fact, it was hard to miss that T'Pol didn't much care for the implication of her being short, too.

To anyone who didn't know about Vulcan life-spans, T'Lara looked to be twelve or thirteen in human terms, if perhaps a bit on the tall side for the age. And while she was actually almost nineteen, a comparably-developed human would be about eight or nine years old. The fact that she was less than a head's height smaller than T'Pol had been a major source of his discomfort during those days when he still had to hold her all night. These days, thankfully, she preferred T'Pol for comfort during the night.

"It's just a figure of speech," Trip said with a conciliatory smile. "My sister Lizzie is still called 'short stuff' and she's the tallest member of the whole family."

"Most peculiar," was her reply to his explanation, but she clearly dismissed it as just another Human peculiarity, and he more-than-gladly accepted the gentle hug she offered. Such moments had unfortunately become somewhat rare since the arrival of T'Lara.

"Sit," she asked, indicating the bed, and after he had done so, a bottle of beer was placed in his hand.

He looked at her. Such a preparation was always indicative of T'Pol's wish to talk about something, and having seen her at lunch with Anna and Pat at the table, there were probably no prizes for guessing what it was about.

Sure enough, she placed a chair opposite him and sat on it, her expression comically resolute as she opened negotiations. "I have overheard several members of the crew expressing their dismay at the fact that you seem to neglect your social contacts."

"Now why could that have happened, T'Pol?" he asked back, mentally berating himself for having let a bit too much sarcasm seep into his voice. To buy himself some time he took a swig from the bottle. But the second part of his reply was no less sarcastic, if perhaps not expressed with the emotion on such strong display. "It's not like we've been made the step-parents of a child that has been through a lot and needs us."

T'Pol was fixing him with a look that left him guessing what was going on in her mind. He had expected a rebuke for his sarcasm, but none came.

"Charles," she started, leaving a pause after his name. "T'Lara has been to engineering with you several times. She has noticed the strong bonds among your people despite the fact that they are not related. She has even learned the English word for it – friends. She is starting to wonder why her father does not have friends."

He put the bottle down and sighed. Whatever he tried it was always not good enough.

"T'Pol, what am I supposed to do? It's literally impossible to do things right in this situation. Do you really think I could prefer a beer with Malcolm over bein' around when the short one needs us? I'm already countin' my blessings that she no longer holds on to me during the night, but in the wakin' hours she still needs lots of reassurance. Do you really think I'd put anything before that?"

"You need to," T'Pol answered evenly. "You cannot keep secrets from T'Lara. Her telepathic abilities are as strong as could be expected from a descendant of Surak. Your determination to provide the best possible care is commendable, but if you neglect yourself over it, she will notice. Do you wish her to place the blame for that transformation on herself?"

He felt an irrational anger boil up in himself. Why did it always come down to Vulcans thinking they knew better what he needed than himself? And now he had two of them in his quarters every day. He couldn't hold back as his anger broke through his meager defenses.

"Fuck it, T'Pol," he growled, jumping up, and he started pacing the room, gesticulating to emphasize his anger. "I feel like a damn lab rat! Everybody thinks he or she knows better than me what my needs are! There you go and say 'You are tense – have sex with that woman, she's tense, too.' And idiot that I am – I did. That it felt wrong in every way imaginable doesn't matter, does it?"

She didn't answer. It wasn't as if she had much chance to, as his rant continued.

"Suddenly I'm a dad. And I try my best at it. Everyone says I'm doing a fine job on that, but of course that's not good enough either, because now I neglect myself! What do you want me to do? Go to Malcolm's, get wasted outta my skull and then drop by Anna's to take a few naked pics of her while I'm at it? Is that what I'm supposed to do? I'd feel like a fuckin' shit again, because it would inevitably end up with her having to 'help me', but if it makes you happy, I can fuck off right now!"

He came to stand in front of her, breathing heavily from his outburst, his face now probably beet-red from anger. At least that was what his burning cheeks felt like. To his surprise T'Pol looked at him with a raised eyebrow and he damn well knew it was her way of having a good ol' giggle at his performance. It didn't do much for his mood.

"I had been afraid I would need to resort to domestic violence to make you express your anger."

Her dry delivery knocked the wind out of his sails. Looking at her, dumbfounded, he took the bottle of beer from her and for want of a better idea he emptied it all in one go. It resulted in a strong urge to belch, but he was able to release the swallowed gas silently through his nose with an effort, instead of ending up belling like a stag in rut.

"Okay, Dr. Freud," he said and took a seat at the desk, looking at T'Pol. "Since you, Anna, the lil' one and probably Porthos as well know better than me – what is my problem?"

"The problem, Charles, is your misplaced anger. Did you notice that you are the only one who keeps mentioning your sexual encounter with Lieutenant Hess? The Lieutenant obviously was most satisfied with it. I no longer think about it as together with Patricia we came to accept the arrangement as a necessary measure and much preferable to arrangements with less suitable partners for either you or Anna.

"The only one coming back to it again and again is you. And the reason for that is, you are upset by the fact that you actually found the encounter quite satisfying yourself. And you suppress that anger. Now that this anger is added to by your rage about the fate of T'Lara, it starts poisoning your katra. You must let go of it."

"What do we do about that?" he asked, still a bit numb about her blunt analysis of his thoughts (and the most annoying thing about this was, that it was – of course – spot on).

"Ceasing to deceive yourself and me about your thoughts might be a start," T'Pol noted dryly. "You have spoken to me about the encounter as if it was a mechanical act. Your thoughts about being a parent to T'Lara, especially the unique challenges that came with it, are left to speculation. You try to mimic a Vulcan, and that is not only dangerous, you also fail abysmally in that endeavor."

Trip closed his eyes. He had never expected T'Pol to be this brutal in calling bullshit on his facade. This would perhaps be a good time for another beer, and as if she had read his thoughts he opened his eyes and saw T'Pol handing him one. Hell, for all he knew, she probably had read his thoughts.