There's a book - well written and important - that I recommend people read. The book’s title is “The Good That Men Do”, and the authors are Andy Mangels and Michael A. Martin.
Why do I think it is an important book? That is an easy question for me to answer. It reveals a historical verity, which is that Commander Charles “Trip” Tucker the Third didn't die. Or, rather, that he didn't die at the time and in the way detailed in the show’s finale.
It is hard and difficult to accept that a man (capable of surviving uninjured - body and katra, to use a Vulcan term, given by one of their kind was so dear to him - through events that would have destroyed any other man) could die so stupidly, so inanely, so uselessly. This is a murky and (I can assert this with full knowledge of the facts) purposely fake historical artifice, cleverly made - that's clear – and what those in authority want us to believe.
But the Authors of that book had to fight against the perceptions left behind by the TV show, as well as an inane fear of that which universally oppresses men – Human, Vulcan, Andorian, or Denobulan, it doesn't matter who – never mind the layers of hazy half-truths that over time has been deposited in the archives of all the worlds. In practice, to be clear, they used what little truth they were able to laboriously find, to erect their literary reconstruction of those distant events; but that reconstruction could only be invented, and did not correspond to historical reality. They were writing fiction – as of course – have all the authors who followed.
All people must their hat off to those bold and able writers - all of them, not only the first - who had the courage to try and rip away the veil which covered the truth.
However, I cannot pass by in silence what many people have suspected since the appearance of that first book - and, deriving from it, all of the subsequent books - namely that they were a literary and partial transposition of facts that can be read in a completely different way.
Now I will start to unravel this ancient, rocky jumble of meagre knowledge, and misunderstanding for the joy of everyone with an interest in Trip and T’Pol. But I will do it bit by bit, by means of many documents that will reveal the truth, leaping from here and there, to and fro, until the whole story of Trip and T'Pol, and their enemies and friends has been told.
You know that's what the writers do. Ah yeah, because... did you forget what I said in the presentation? I am a writer, exactly like those who wrote that book; surely less capable, of course; a mere amateur. But I am a writer.
And so, exactly like them, I invent.
But what about those documents I alluded to? What the bloody hell do I have to say about that! Just that there are stories, here. STORIES! Have you understood what I mean?
Fanfiction invented and written with love for two personages, for two characters that are not mine, they belong to Paramount. However they have been able to feed a vein in me that was previously unknown; an inventor of tales, a writer.
Fanfiction written for fun, and without any intention of infringing Paramount’s ownership of the characters, and without making any profit, past, present or in the future.
Fanfiction can be found here.
Sure. Fanfiction.
Would you like to believe?
Why do I think it is an important book? That is an easy question for me to answer. It reveals a historical verity, which is that Commander Charles “Trip” Tucker the Third didn't die. Or, rather, that he didn't die at the time and in the way detailed in the show’s finale.
It is hard and difficult to accept that a man (capable of surviving uninjured - body and katra, to use a Vulcan term, given by one of their kind was so dear to him - through events that would have destroyed any other man) could die so stupidly, so inanely, so uselessly. This is a murky and (I can assert this with full knowledge of the facts) purposely fake historical artifice, cleverly made - that's clear – and what those in authority want us to believe.
But the Authors of that book had to fight against the perceptions left behind by the TV show, as well as an inane fear of that which universally oppresses men – Human, Vulcan, Andorian, or Denobulan, it doesn't matter who – never mind the layers of hazy half-truths that over time has been deposited in the archives of all the worlds. In practice, to be clear, they used what little truth they were able to laboriously find, to erect their literary reconstruction of those distant events; but that reconstruction could only be invented, and did not correspond to historical reality. They were writing fiction – as of course – have all the authors who followed.
All people must their hat off to those bold and able writers - all of them, not only the first - who had the courage to try and rip away the veil which covered the truth.
However, I cannot pass by in silence what many people have suspected since the appearance of that first book - and, deriving from it, all of the subsequent books - namely that they were a literary and partial transposition of facts that can be read in a completely different way.
Now I will start to unravel this ancient, rocky jumble of meagre knowledge, and misunderstanding for the joy of everyone with an interest in Trip and T’Pol. But I will do it bit by bit, by means of many documents that will reveal the truth, leaping from here and there, to and fro, until the whole story of Trip and T'Pol, and their enemies and friends has been told.
You know that's what the writers do. Ah yeah, because... did you forget what I said in the presentation? I am a writer, exactly like those who wrote that book; surely less capable, of course; a mere amateur. But I am a writer.
And so, exactly like them, I invent.
But what about those documents I alluded to? What the bloody hell do I have to say about that! Just that there are stories, here. STORIES! Have you understood what I mean?
Fanfiction invented and written with love for two personages, for two characters that are not mine, they belong to Paramount. However they have been able to feed a vein in me that was previously unknown; an inventor of tales, a writer.
Fanfiction written for fun, and without any intention of infringing Paramount’s ownership of the characters, and without making any profit, past, present or in the future.
Fanfiction can be found here.
Sure. Fanfiction.
Would you like to believe?
Like this one
A general note: There is nothing offensive here, nothing hot, or violent, harsh, or raw.
There is only sweetness.
And love.
The inspiration for the story comes from that book, of course: "The Good That Men Do".
Only... it is a little more precise.
Obviously, as well as a fanfiction can be.
Eh sure, because it is a fanfiction, remember that.
Fanfiction.
Would you like to believe?
_____________________________________________
And thank you JustTripn, for helping me by editing this document. I beg your pardon, this Fanfiction.
There is only sweetness.
And love.
The inspiration for the story comes from that book, of course: "The Good That Men Do".
Only... it is a little more precise.
Obviously, as well as a fanfiction can be.
Eh sure, because it is a fanfiction, remember that.
Fanfiction.
Would you like to believe?
_____________________________________________
And thank you JustTripn, for helping me by editing this document. I beg your pardon, this Fanfiction.
Noises and shouts ceased. I keep on protectively hugging my newborn babies, and little by little they calm down.
Slowly, I raise my head and listen, scared of what I may hear.
A buzz, beyond the door.
I hold my breath.
I feel . . . fear.
Someone opens the door.
Phlox shows up and stands still in doorway.
He's filthy and torn, but he smiles, with difficulty and relief at the same time.
I can see it.
I can feel it.
He comes near the bed where I'm lying, enfolding the twins in my arms, with maternal care.
With maternal love.
He places his left hand on my arm, and then with the right he delicately strokes the head of both my small children, who now are sleeping, at last.
"It's over!" Phlox says. "Death no longer threatens us".
His voice becomes lower and sweeter.
"Death and the enemy's blind hate no longer threaten you, or the children. "
I close my eyes without speaking.
"Yes, it's all over!" Commander Reed - *No, Malcolm! Malcolm, my friend!* - showed up in the doorway, and utters these words, with a weary voice. "None of those worms survives, Human or Vulcan, Terra Prime or friend of Terra Prime. The information came just in time. HE sent the information just in time. And the Admiral shipped us here, to your home, to protect you and your children, just in time".
"We arrived before the Vulcan ship," he adds with a tense smile.
He makes some steps forward.
We stare each other.
He appears very jaded, and is bleeding from a bad wound on his forehead.
Once more, I close my eyes, without uttering a word.
Suddenly, Malcolm's communicator starts beeping.
He speaks into it.
"Reed here."
"HE will come within ten minutes."
It's the Hoshi's familiar voice.
"On my way."
Malcom shuts off the com.
I listen closely to this exchange.
My eyes snap wide open, and I look at him, intensely.
Expectantly.
Malcolm stares steadily at me.
"HE managed to gain control of the damned Romulan drone-ship, which made landed here those bloody Terra Primers."
Malcolm continues, "I don't know how the hell he did it. Or from where the hell he did it. But he did! He prevented the drone-ship from firing on our ship or the Vulcan ship sent by T'Pau."
"It's difficult to see how a dead man can do these sorts of things!"
Phlox's words, gently jeering, resound sweet to my ears, but also they stir in me a disquiet, an anxiety that is almost verging on pain.
And I'm tired of bottling up my emotions.
I cannot do it now.
Surely not now.
Yet again Malcolm looks at me, and yet again he speaks, with purpose.
"I believe the time came for him to make a choice. HE could have chosen to keep on hiding himself behind his Romulan appearance, so as to carry on with his work."
My friend goes on with his speaking, his lips bending up in a slight and knowing smile.
"Or HE could have chosen..."
*...to protect me! *
I lay down my head on the cushion, breathing deeply.
In my mind flashes vivid the scene of him moving precariously forward along that subtle thread, lost in space ... in the endless void! Risking his life to protect us!
*To protect me! To save me from death! *
My eyes shut, while I try to chase away from my brain the awful sensation of those moments, while I was holding my breath.
While I was dying little by little, watching him move, fearing a slip.
Stubbornly denying the depth of my feelings for him!
*And now, once again, he has protected me.*
The warmth of our baby's bodies fully fills my heart.
I hold tightly them against myself.
*And he has protected... our children. Distant, injured, I know. And again he has protected me. He'll always protect me... He'll always protect us!*
Malcolm lifts a hand to greet me, shyly.
"It's better I go. You and the twins should rest".
He turns swiftly and leaves us.
I look at Phlox.
He's smiling with his immense smile.
"I'll follow Commander Reed, it's better. Really all of you three should rest, and then… I wouldn't want to intrude on your party."
I grasp and squeeze his hand.
I know my eyes are moist.
He has been beside me...
He has been close to me all this time.
He has taken care of me in my solitude... and in my fear.
I owe him... my children!
Their life and their birth.
He always gave me hope.
Phlox still smiles, looking a little ill at ease.
He returns my grip.
Then, with a last soft and friendly smile, he goes away.
He goes out from the room, closing the door behind him. I look at my babies, who are sleeping, finally peaceful.
Yet again, I lay down my head on the cushion, shutting my eyes.
And I wait.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footsteps fall. There is noise in the hall.
I stare at the door.
The footsteps cease, behind it.
I watch the handle go down.
The door opens and... I can see him!
He starts to move forward, proceeding slowly, gazing at me, and... dragging an injured leg.
He stops his laborious walking near my bed.
I observe his face, feeling my heart leaping.
He looks tired out and ragged.
Crushed.
Achy.
Holding my breath, I watch what he has put on, on his head.
On his beautiful face.
A black bandana tied behind the nape covers his hair, a black eye-patch occults his eye.
Like a pirate...
But he is not a pirate and I...
... I do not dare to think... why he's wearing those things!
He is motionless in front of my bed... in front of me.
His eye... his blue eye... the only eye I can see... is fixed, wide open, on me.
Suddenly that eye flashes on the children.
My children and... his.
The children he has never seen.
Whom I have never mentioned to him.
For his sake.
And mine.
Slowly that eye softens in wonder and tenderness, while his lips mildly bend up in a soft and sweet smile.
While my heart sinks into an endless and doughy warmth.
I know what he is staring at.
What he is thinking of.
He's gazing at our babies, looking astounded at their ears... pointed... like mine.
*Those beautiful pointed ears...*
These words whirl in my mind.
They are the words he sweetly was whispering in my ears in our moments of intimacy, his teeth tenderly biting the tips, his tongue softly stroking the earlobes...
My heart melting...
My eyes closed...
Pleasure running and shouting through me!
He reaches out, but suddenly pulls his hand back to his side, ashamed, trying to hide it from my sight.
But I have seen that hand...
It's a crippled hand!
I feel a lump in my throat.
I lift my head, and I grasp that hand with both of mine.
I take it to my lips and I kiss gently and passionately his tortured fingers.
Never again will this hand be useful in the job he loves, but always...ALWAYS!... this hand will know how to stroke me!
Always this hand will be capable of arousing in me shudders of delight and of pleasure.
And I will know how to give him... solace.
I raise my look on his face... on his eye... while I keep on holding strongly his hand.
Now his eye is locked with mine, and it... shines and sparkles.
All of a sudden the little girl emits a sound.
She opens her eyes and sees her father.
She stares at him and then... she smiles.
Peaceful, she closes her eyes.
It's like she has understood nothing can happen now to her, or to her brother.
Or to me.
And, to my left side, her brother moves slightly, and, without opening his eyes, he smiles.
I gaze at my bond-mate.
At my husband.
He opens his lips and whispers sweetly my name.
Slowly, he kneels, while I sit on the bed, huddling my legs.
Our faces are very close and we look each other, almost incredulous of this moment.
With a sudden motion, I embrace him and he returns my hug, enfolding me in his arms.
I hide my face in his chest and finally I feel tears of joy... *yes... of joy*... on my cheeks.
Finally the words come out from my mouth.
"T'hai'la, ashal-veh, ashayam... my beloved..."
I raise my head, looking at him, in ecstasy.
He's back.
His long lonely journey, my long anxious waiting are ended.
I snuggle up to him, my face nuzzling into his neck, and a murmur comes out from my lips, while they caress his skin.
"My love, my love, my love!... MY TRIP!"
Slowly, I raise my head and listen, scared of what I may hear.
A buzz, beyond the door.
I hold my breath.
I feel . . . fear.
Someone opens the door.
Phlox shows up and stands still in doorway.
He's filthy and torn, but he smiles, with difficulty and relief at the same time.
I can see it.
I can feel it.
He comes near the bed where I'm lying, enfolding the twins in my arms, with maternal care.
With maternal love.
He places his left hand on my arm, and then with the right he delicately strokes the head of both my small children, who now are sleeping, at last.
"It's over!" Phlox says. "Death no longer threatens us".
His voice becomes lower and sweeter.
"Death and the enemy's blind hate no longer threaten you, or the children. "
I close my eyes without speaking.
"Yes, it's all over!" Commander Reed - *No, Malcolm! Malcolm, my friend!* - showed up in the doorway, and utters these words, with a weary voice. "None of those worms survives, Human or Vulcan, Terra Prime or friend of Terra Prime. The information came just in time. HE sent the information just in time. And the Admiral shipped us here, to your home, to protect you and your children, just in time".
"We arrived before the Vulcan ship," he adds with a tense smile.
He makes some steps forward.
We stare each other.
He appears very jaded, and is bleeding from a bad wound on his forehead.
Once more, I close my eyes, without uttering a word.
Suddenly, Malcolm's communicator starts beeping.
He speaks into it.
"Reed here."
"HE will come within ten minutes."
It's the Hoshi's familiar voice.
"On my way."
Malcom shuts off the com.
I listen closely to this exchange.
My eyes snap wide open, and I look at him, intensely.
Expectantly.
Malcolm stares steadily at me.
"HE managed to gain control of the damned Romulan drone-ship, which made landed here those bloody Terra Primers."
Malcolm continues, "I don't know how the hell he did it. Or from where the hell he did it. But he did! He prevented the drone-ship from firing on our ship or the Vulcan ship sent by T'Pau."
"It's difficult to see how a dead man can do these sorts of things!"
Phlox's words, gently jeering, resound sweet to my ears, but also they stir in me a disquiet, an anxiety that is almost verging on pain.
And I'm tired of bottling up my emotions.
I cannot do it now.
Surely not now.
Yet again Malcolm looks at me, and yet again he speaks, with purpose.
"I believe the time came for him to make a choice. HE could have chosen to keep on hiding himself behind his Romulan appearance, so as to carry on with his work."
My friend goes on with his speaking, his lips bending up in a slight and knowing smile.
"Or HE could have chosen..."
*...to protect me! *
I lay down my head on the cushion, breathing deeply.
In my mind flashes vivid the scene of him moving precariously forward along that subtle thread, lost in space ... in the endless void! Risking his life to protect us!
*To protect me! To save me from death! *
My eyes shut, while I try to chase away from my brain the awful sensation of those moments, while I was holding my breath.
While I was dying little by little, watching him move, fearing a slip.
Stubbornly denying the depth of my feelings for him!
*And now, once again, he has protected me.*
The warmth of our baby's bodies fully fills my heart.
I hold tightly them against myself.
*And he has protected... our children. Distant, injured, I know. And again he has protected me. He'll always protect me... He'll always protect us!*
Malcolm lifts a hand to greet me, shyly.
"It's better I go. You and the twins should rest".
He turns swiftly and leaves us.
I look at Phlox.
He's smiling with his immense smile.
"I'll follow Commander Reed, it's better. Really all of you three should rest, and then… I wouldn't want to intrude on your party."
I grasp and squeeze his hand.
I know my eyes are moist.
He has been beside me...
He has been close to me all this time.
He has taken care of me in my solitude... and in my fear.
I owe him... my children!
Their life and their birth.
He always gave me hope.
Phlox still smiles, looking a little ill at ease.
He returns my grip.
Then, with a last soft and friendly smile, he goes away.
He goes out from the room, closing the door behind him. I look at my babies, who are sleeping, finally peaceful.
Yet again, I lay down my head on the cushion, shutting my eyes.
And I wait.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Footsteps fall. There is noise in the hall.
I stare at the door.
The footsteps cease, behind it.
I watch the handle go down.
The door opens and... I can see him!
He starts to move forward, proceeding slowly, gazing at me, and... dragging an injured leg.
He stops his laborious walking near my bed.
I observe his face, feeling my heart leaping.
He looks tired out and ragged.
Crushed.
Achy.
Holding my breath, I watch what he has put on, on his head.
On his beautiful face.
A black bandana tied behind the nape covers his hair, a black eye-patch occults his eye.
Like a pirate...
But he is not a pirate and I...
... I do not dare to think... why he's wearing those things!
He is motionless in front of my bed... in front of me.
His eye... his blue eye... the only eye I can see... is fixed, wide open, on me.
Suddenly that eye flashes on the children.
My children and... his.
The children he has never seen.
Whom I have never mentioned to him.
For his sake.
And mine.
Slowly that eye softens in wonder and tenderness, while his lips mildly bend up in a soft and sweet smile.
While my heart sinks into an endless and doughy warmth.
I know what he is staring at.
What he is thinking of.
He's gazing at our babies, looking astounded at their ears... pointed... like mine.
*Those beautiful pointed ears...*
These words whirl in my mind.
They are the words he sweetly was whispering in my ears in our moments of intimacy, his teeth tenderly biting the tips, his tongue softly stroking the earlobes...
My heart melting...
My eyes closed...
Pleasure running and shouting through me!
He reaches out, but suddenly pulls his hand back to his side, ashamed, trying to hide it from my sight.
But I have seen that hand...
It's a crippled hand!
I feel a lump in my throat.
I lift my head, and I grasp that hand with both of mine.
I take it to my lips and I kiss gently and passionately his tortured fingers.
Never again will this hand be useful in the job he loves, but always...ALWAYS!... this hand will know how to stroke me!
Always this hand will be capable of arousing in me shudders of delight and of pleasure.
And I will know how to give him... solace.
I raise my look on his face... on his eye... while I keep on holding strongly his hand.
Now his eye is locked with mine, and it... shines and sparkles.
All of a sudden the little girl emits a sound.
She opens her eyes and sees her father.
She stares at him and then... she smiles.
Peaceful, she closes her eyes.
It's like she has understood nothing can happen now to her, or to her brother.
Or to me.
And, to my left side, her brother moves slightly, and, without opening his eyes, he smiles.
I gaze at my bond-mate.
At my husband.
He opens his lips and whispers sweetly my name.
Slowly, he kneels, while I sit on the bed, huddling my legs.
Our faces are very close and we look each other, almost incredulous of this moment.
With a sudden motion, I embrace him and he returns my hug, enfolding me in his arms.
I hide my face in his chest and finally I feel tears of joy... *yes... of joy*... on my cheeks.
Finally the words come out from my mouth.
"T'hai'la, ashal-veh, ashayam... my beloved..."
I raise my head, looking at him, in ecstasy.
He's back.
His long lonely journey, my long anxious waiting are ended.
I snuggle up to him, my face nuzzling into his neck, and a murmur comes out from my lips, while they caress his skin.
"My love, my love, my love!... MY TRIP!"
_______________
Here ends Ulysses’ Odyssey.
He has returned to his Penelope