Chapter Text
Location: Alabama, Earth (Three Weeks Later)
The sun rose slow and heavy over the Alabama coast, spilling gold across the water and heat across the sand. Cicadas droned in the distance, and the salt air clung to everything like a second skin. Trip Tucker stretched out on a towel beneath the blazing sky, the rhythmic crash of waves half-lulling him to sleep. Beside him, T’Pol lay reclined, her skin glistening faintly in the sunlight—unbothered by the stifling humidity that made most folks melt into puddles.
It had been three weeks since they’d returned to Earth—three long, uneasy weeks of trying to fit into a world that didn’t seem ready for them. Xenophobia had crept into the cracks of society, spreading like mold in the dark corners of fear. Many humans whispered that the Federation was growing too fast, too far-reaching, too alien. And for a man like Trip, whose heart and home were entwined with Vulcan grace, that suspicion had a way of sticking.
Through a carefully orchestrated cover story courtesy of Section 31, Trip had managed to reconnect with his family in Alabama. It was supposed to be a fresh start. T’Pol, ever the stoic partner, had agreed to stay by his side—formally accepting their union according to both Vulcan and human traditions. Vulcan elders called it illogical. Earth neighbors called it strange. But to them, it was simply right.
Still, finding peace was easier said than done. Employers eyed Trip with suspicion—“too Vulcan,” they’d mutter, because logic and restraint had become liabilities in a world drunk on pride. So the couple found refuge where they could—in the warmth of family, in the quiet rhythm of the tide, in the rare moments where love outweighed the noise of judgment.
Trip cracked one eye open and turned his head toward her.
“How’re you liking this warm weather?”
“The heat is quite agreeable,” T’Pol replied, eyes half-closed. “The humidity, however, is less tolerable.” Her gaze flicked toward him, and she tilted her head ever so slightly. “Trip, your epidermis is becoming inflamed. Did you not apply a sufficient amount of sunblock?”
Trip mumbled through a lazy grin. “Mmm… guess I forgot. You mind doin’ it?”
“Of course, t’hy’la.” She reached for the sunblock, her fingers moving with quiet precision as she spread it across his back and shoulders.
Their peace was short-lived.
A shadow fell over them—then several. A group of teenage boys loomed nearby, their laughter sharp and mean. The leader, a wiry kid with too much swagger and not enough sense, crossed his arms. “Hey! We don’t appreciate Vulcans on our beach.”
Trip’s muscles tightened. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his easygoing drawl losing its warmth. “Okay, junior, you’d best walk away now… or you might find yourself in a world of hurt.”
“Oh yeah?” The kid smirked. “What are you gonna do, alien-lover?”
Trip sat up fully, jaw tightening. “Didn’t your parents teach you respect?”
“I respect Earth,” the teen shot back. “Not some alien. They don’t belong here.”
Trip started to rise, but T’Pol’s hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder—steady, grounding. “Trip, perhaps we should leave?” she said, voice calm but edged with quiet authority.
He shook his head. “No. We’ve got just as much right to be here as they do.”
The teen sneered, emboldened. “Maybe you should listen to your friend and get lost.”
From his tower, the lifeguard—a tall man with a sunburned nose and mirrored shades—spotted the commotion and strode over. “Is there a problem here?”
Trip spoke first. “Yeah, these punks think they can tell me and my wife we don’t belong here.”
The teen gestured dismissively. “This beach is for humans, sir. Not aliens.”
The lifeguard frowned, looking between them. “What the hell are you talking about?” He motioned toward the water, where a Tellarite family was busy digging a hole the size of a shuttle crater. “This beach is for everyone. Now, unless you boys wanna explain yourselves to the sheriff, I suggest you move along.”
The teen glared at Trip one last time, but the bravado drained from his face. He turned and stalked off, muttering under his breath while his friends followed.
Trip exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t get it. You’d think after a hundred years since First Contact, humans would be more open-minded.” He looked up at the lifeguard. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” the lifeguard said, tipping his head toward T’Pol. “Enjoy the beach.”
T’Pol inclined her head and raised her hand in the Vulcan ta’al. The man hesitated, then—awkwardly but earnestly—mimicked the gesture.
Trip chuckled. “You wanna go? I’m gettin’ hungry.”
“That would be acceptable,” T’Pol said. After a pause, she added with perfect seriousness, “As much as I enjoy the heat here, I believe I would prefer a more secluded location in the future. My current attire does not permit optimal sun exposure.”
Trip blinked. “Uh… you wanna go to a nude beach, T’Pol?”
“Is that what it is called?”
He laughed softly. “It’s a place where you don’t have to wear a swimsuit, yeah.”
T’Pol arched an eyebrow. “Then let us find one.”
Trip nearly choked. “Darlin’, I love the way you think.”
Location: Alabama, Tucker Household (A Few Hours Later)
The evening light slanted through the kitchen window, turning the dust motes to gold. The air smelled faintly of coffee and sea salt. Trip and T’Pol sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, silence stretching between them like a live wire.
They’d both been avoiding this talk—the one about the colony offer on New Terra. It was more than just a job; it was a lifeline. But leaving Earth wasn’t a decision either of them could make easily.
Trip finally broke the silence, voice low. “I still don’t get it, T’Pol. How can Earth treat us this way? We both fought in the Romulan War—hell, we helped save this planet. My friends are here. My family’s here. Earth’s my home. Vulcan’s yours. Both of these planets mean somethin’ to us.”
T’Pol folded her hands neatly on the table. “I understand your hesitance, Trip. But we are both aware of the challenges we have faced here. On Vulcan, those challenges would be greater still. The prejudice, the judgment—it would be… difficult, if not impossible, for us to truly thrive on either world.”
Trip stared down into his mug. “So what, we just pack up and leave? Start over somewhere we don’t even know?”
Her gaze softened. “Perhaps it is the only way we can grow. If we stay, we will forever be fighting battles that may never be won.”
He leaned back, exhaling hard. “And Vega III—you think that’ll be different?”
“I cannot say for certain,” she admitted, walking to the window. “But it may offer us a place where we can define ourselves. Free from Earth. Free from Vulcan. A new beginning… for us.”
Trip joined her, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “It’s not about runnin’ away—it’s about findin’ someplace where we can finally live. But it’s a big leap.”
T’Pol turned to face him, eyes deep and clear. “I will always support your happiness, Trip. But I am also aware of our needs as a couple. You have always sought more—adventure, purpose. That is who you are.”
He studied her for a moment, then asked softly, “And you? What do you want, T’Pol?”
“I want happiness for us,” she replied. “A place where we are not constantly fighting for acceptance—or for the right to simply exist together.”
Trip reached for her hand, brushing his fingers against hers in the Vulcan ozh’esta. “Then I guess we’ll make it work. Together. I’m with you.”
T’Pol’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “And I, you, adun.”
To Be Continued...