Fur and Fathers

Chapter Seventeen

Trip came reeling back into himself to the sounds and sensations of a flurry of violent activity all around him.  Too many people seemed to be shoving him, and he lost his balance and toppled forward with a small cry of dismay.  He remembered to keep his eyes squeezed tightly shut, but he instinctively threw out his hands to steady himself.  One brushed against what felt like a knee.  The other....

Something tiny and living moved under his hand.  A minute hand closed around his thumb.

He froze.  His heart turned over.

The stupidest things go through your head sometimes.  He’d idly dipped his hands into the waterfall a few times during the endless hours of waiting, breaking the sheets into spray that glittered in the candlelight like a rain of Kodalan diamonds.  Did that count as making sure they were clean?

Elizabeth.  His little girl.  His beautiful little girl, who’d never had the chance to grow up, who’d gone away taking a piece of his heart with her.

He lifted the baby with infinite care, hearing and not hearing the sounds of people doing the necessary things in the background.  He held her so they could cut the umbilical cord, the tininess of her no mystery to the hands that had cradled Elizabeth.  He could feel T’Pol’s head against his shoulder, her arms around him, and between them the bond was fully open, raw with memories and grief.  The tears ran down his face.

They needed to give Hoshi something to drink.  A voice he identified as Grenyal’s was calling her softly, and she answered it just like she’d been asleep for a long time and was finally waking up.

“Agnes?”  Her voice was slurred, but anxiety was threaded into it.

“Your cub is well and whole.  You shall hold her in just a moment, but first you must drink this.  You have been away for long and long, and you must get well again for her.”

Agnes.  God damn, that just had to be Malcolm’s idea.  Trip couldn’t decide whether he was laughing or sobbing.

“Give her to me!” Even when she must be as weak as a kitten, Hoshi was still feisty.  Her tone suggested that now that she’d downed the drink, someone had better comply or there’d be trouble.  Big trouble.

T’Pol took the baby from him, handling her like she was made of crystal.  The movement of her thigh against his told him she was leaning.  Assorted soft sighs all around revealed that even the Skaira thought the sight of a mother holding her newborn for the first time was pretty wonderful.

“Hello, little Agnes.”  The murmur was soft, private, contained swallowed tears.  “Aren’t you daddy’s beautiful little girl?  Agnes Elizabeth Sato-Reed.”

Oh God, he had to get out of here.  Get somewhere private so he could come apart in peace.

The voice on his left side was low and raw with menace.  “Jerhazy, if you touch him now I will kill you.”  She was lifting him up and T’Pol came with him as though the two of them were a single entity.  Perhaps both of them were blind as she gently steered them through the doorway and up through the darkness of the tunnel.

Candlelight came back on to his eyelids.  The pattering of falling water was close to him.  Firm, no-nonsense hands were stripping his clothes off, and beside him his wife was shedding hers.

There was a broad slab of stone directly under the fall, pitted by the ceaseless uneven blows of the ragged sheet from above.  His tentatively probing foot found the edge of it, and discovered in the same moment that the stream was no warmer than any other underground spring he’d ever encountered.

He stepped forward quickly before he could think better of it.

The cold of the water on his sweat-lathered body was atrocious.  He sucked in a great gasp of air with the shock of it, turning automatically to gather T’Pol into his arms and lend her some of his warmth, protecting her with his shoulders from the worst of the icy battering from above.

Her mouth came up to his in desperation.

Fire flamed where there had been ice.

Neither of them noticed that Shiránnor had left.

Nothing mattered now but each other.

*               *               *

The examination by Jerhazy was a formality.

It wasn’t pleasant, but he endured it in silence, knowing that he had nothing to hide.  He shut his eyes again so he wouldn’t see the narrow, hostile face so close to his; it was bad enough to have all that anger prowling through his mind in search of something she already all but knew she wasn’t going to find.

He was thankful beyond words he’d had all this time of bonding with T’Pol. He’d been able to learn how to deal with having someone else in his head.  His wife was sitting close beside him, holding his hands, watching the operation narrowly; he could feel her wariness.

No!  The predatory thoughts had touched an open wound among the memories and he threw up the shields with more violence than he’d known he was capable of.  She’s none of your goddamn business!

Jerhazy growled.  He pathed it more than heard it; the sound itself was barely audible.

Shiránnor was couched on his other side.  She hissed viciously and lifted one forepaw as though holding it ready to slap down on the floor.  Every claw on it was bare.  Stay within your bounds!

Eventually, however, even as determined as she was to find some evidence of guilt, Jerhazy had no choice but to give up.

“Nothing,” she growled, stepping back.  “He saw nothing.”

“Then I guess I’m free to leave.”  He stood up and faced her.

Her ears flattened.  He wasn’t sure whether it was because she wanted to kill him anyway just for having been there at all, or because Shiránnor had risen, too.

“As Duty Priestess, it is your province to answer.”  The words sounded as if they came from the bottom of the First’s stomach.  “Does he leave or does he not?  And if not, on what grounds do you detain him?”

Jerhazy backed up a little further.  It was plain how much of an effort it took for her to attain a subservient posture.  Her eyes were anything but subservient before she lowered them.

“He may leave,” she rumbled.

The light was draining out of the sky as they emerged on to the top of the great ceremonial Way that had been carved up into the mountain to reach the shrine.  According to his chronometer they’d been down there for just under twenty hours and eaten nothing.  Trip, who had a good appetite at the best of times, found that he was as famished as a starving timber wolf.

“Will Hoshi be coming too?” he asked.

“Grenyal will keep her there until she has eaten and slept, and regained a little of her strength.  If all is well you will see her tomorrow, or the day after at latest,” Shiránnor answered.

“Hey, are you okay?”  As he glanced sideways at her in the better light he saw that she was gray with exhaustion.  Her voice was almost slurring with it.

“I am – a little tired,” she admitted with a faint smile.  “You did well – both of you.”

“I was unfortunately able to do virtually nothing to assist.”  T’Pol was never comfortable with borrowed glory.

“You were where you were needed.  You did what needed to be done, and did it well,” said the Skair simply.  “What more can any of us do?”

They began walking down the Way, Shiránnor moving with something less than her usual feline grace.  Most of the other Skaira who had attended the birth brought up the rear, talking in low tones.  They seemed relaxed enough, but through the bond Trip felt his wife’s unease.

We have caused serious conflict, she sent.  This is not what we are supposed to do.

He sighed.  He was too tired to argue, and besides, he had a guilty feeling on that score himself.  Maybe we shouldn’t have come at all.

It might have been better for Shiránnor if we had not.

Aduna, you’re probably right, but I’m too tired right now to think about it.  The events of the past twenty hours had worn him out completely.  All he wanted right now was a solid meal and a very long sleep.  By the way, did I mention you were wonderful?

I believe you did say something of the kind.

I hope Shran hasn’t eaten all the supper.

If it was alcoholic I would say you had cause for concern.  As that circumstance is unlikely, I would imagine he has not.

Trip chuckled tiredly and reached for her hand.             

Sure hope I don’t fall asleep with my face in the soup.

If you do, I promise to pull you out.