Archive of Our Own ^beta

For a majority of the people on the Enterprise, 5 AM was not a civilized hour to wake up. Those who had stayed up too late the night before moaned in pain and burrowed further under their covers as their alarms went off. Some, like Travis, simply rolled over in their sleep incorporating the buzz into their dreams before realizing what it was. Others mumbled, "Just five more minutes, Mom," before plunging back into sleep. Several, like Jon, mustered enough motor control to send their alarms hurtling across the room, smiling in sleepy satisfaction as machinery met a metal wall with a resounding wham!

But there were a few people, an insane few in some people's eyes, who actually liked to get up at 5 AM. Provided of course that the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours hadn't been filled with one life-threatening situation after another. Phlox got up to feed and talk to his plants and animals and do a little more toenail grooming. T'Pol caught up on her correspondence from Vulcan. Malcolm left Hoshi's quarters and headed down to the hydroponics bay because he found that the plants reminded him of the large grassy field where his grandfather had taught him Tai Chi.

For Hoshi and Trip, the hours between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. saw the reinstatement of a morning ritual that had started they day they'd met ten years ago in Henry and Madoka's back yard.

Ahh, Madoka, Trip smiled fondly remembering the oldest of the five Sato sisters. She'd been Henry Archer's coworker, his lover, and after his death one of the strongest and most vocal supporters of the warp five engine and Enterprise's mission. Now, at the age of thirty-four she was the youngest warp project director on record.

To Trip, though, she would always be Sunshine. The beautiful young Japanese woman with long, black hair he'd once seen wearing a bright yellow sundress and chasing a floppy straw hat across the Academy courtyard on a slightly cloudy day. A woman he assumed was either out of class or visiting a friend until she walked into his advanced mathematics class strode right up to Professor Scott's desk and placed her bag on it.

"Now there's a ray of sunshine to brighten up your day," he'd whispered to a friend.

"Why thank you, Mr...Tucker. I'll be sure to let Professor Scott know what appreciative students he has when he comes back at the end of the week." The hat had come off and Trip was startled to see what his grandma had once called 'an old soul' staring back at him. She smiled and, over the snickers of the other students, said, "You'll find I have excellent hearing."

He'd been sitting in the back row.

The rest of his week in that class became a living hell as she'd called on him relentlessly during class, challenging his explanations of various problems, and making him work harder in than he had in any class so far that year. She'd even showed up in a few of his other classes and spoke to his teachers. Resentment, attraction and admiration kept him up studying late at night so she wouldn't catch him flatfooted the next day. Always her impossibly old, black eyes watched him, studied him, and saw far more than their owner would ever tell.

All the aggravation paid off, though. A few weeks later he was walking into the Warp Five Complex. It was a fair trade, he supposed. He'd certainly gained far more than just work experience during his time there.

"Jon, this is Trip," Henry put an hand on Trip's shoulders and turned him away from the console he'd been working at. "Trip, this is my son Jonathan."

"'Trip'?" Jon asked holding out his hand and raising an eyebrow.

"Charles Tucker the Third, at your service." Trip explained shaking Jon's hand. "Everyone calls me Trip."

"Pleased to meet you." Jon said with a smile. Then he looked up at the ramp above them. "I see you snagged another one, Madoka."

Madoka leaned over the railing to look down at them. "Good looking, intelligent and a sense of humor. Hell yes, I snagged him. You didn't think I'd let some other department get him did you? Besides," she called out as she disappeared, "he'll be good for you, Jon. You brood too damn much!"

Before Jon could open his mouth Henry chuckled. "Let a Sato woman into your life and watch her turn it completely upside down. James used to say the same thing about her grandmother." He began to climb the stairs then stopped and looked back at them. "Best thing that ever happened to me."

Madoka, Henry and Jon had happily accepted him into their little family. He'd had a mentor and second father in Henry. Jon became his best friend. Madoka became one of his closest confidantes welcoming him not only into the warp program but also her home. To this day she kept up with him regularly not only to discuss the warp engine and keep tabs on her sister but to see how he was doing.

And then there was Hoshi, Madoka's youngest sister by ten years. An amazing bundle of contradictions wrapped up in a 5'3" frame that surprised him to no end and whom he loved dearly. Henry and Jon had known both sisters all of their lives since their grandparents James Tasaki and Rei Nakamura had been on the warp three engine project when Henry went to work at the complex.

It wasn't uncommon for the Jon and Trip to stay at Henry and Madoka's house for the weekend. Their home, inherited from her grandparents, was a large two-story structure designed to be energy efficient as well as cater to a large family. Consequently, on some weekends you couldn't go five feet without either bumping into one of Madoka's other sisters or friends and coworkers who'd come over for one reason or another.

Hoshi had stayed at the house on and off since she was ten years old whenever her schedule brought her into the United States. It wasn't until the summer after he'd been pulled into the warp program that he finally met her, though. Most of her appearances never coincided with the times Trip was there. Usually he was leaving for San Francisco when she was getting in but from the stories Henry, Jon and Madoka had told him about her all three adults adored the young linguistics prodigy to no end. Madoka especially had an intense interest in her youngest sister's well being, making sure that Hoshi got away from her tutor and experienced the things Madoka herself had missed while growing up.

Besides photography, sketching was a hobby of Trip's. It was his habit to wake up early wherever he was and sketch. Each time he stayed at the Montana house Trip would go down to the garden early in the morning and sit letting his mind go where it wanted, his hand moving of its own volition across the blank page of his sketch book. It was a calming experience. One that allowed him to purge himself of old issues and feelings he'd thought long since resolved, frustrations from the day before that hadn't been worked out of his system during his night time forays to the gym, and half remembered ideas and images that his mind had manufactured during sleep. He filled the paper so that his mind could start the day as a blank slate ready to face whatever the universe threw at him.

Hoshi rose this early to practice Kyudo, Japanese archery. Kyudo had been the one constant in a life filled with traveling, conferences, and tests. It was her art; no one else in her family had practiced it since her great grandmother. It cleared her mind as well and prepared her the busy day ahead.

Trip shook his head, Hoshi had her form of meditation he supposed this was his. And it was those two forms of meditation that had brought them together one early July morning in the garden.

The house had a wide, spacious back yard that was part Japanese garden and part grass. It was a careful blend of the spontaneous works of nature and the works of man done in such a way that a person couldn't tell where one left off and the other began. Looking at it, Trip was always amazed at how seamlessly the garden flowed into the grassy part of the yard. If he stared at it long enough he could almost believe that the garden was an island and waves of grass were gently lapping at the shore.

At first he'd mistook her for Madoka who often rose early to practice Iaido, a Japanese form of swordsmanship. The uniforms for both arts were the same: a hakama, dark blue wide pleated trousers, and a keiko-gi, white kimono-like top. Both women chose to wear their hair in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. Instead of the long graceful katana flashing in the early morning sun, however, Trip saw the gentle motions of a gloved hand pulling an arrow back in the string of a seven foot bow, the young woman wielding it waiting until just the right moment to let go and send it flying towards its target at the other end of the grassy yard.

Mesmerized Trip sat down on the grass, sketchbook lying forgotten in his lap and simply watched her. Unconsciously he mimicked the slow in and out of her breathing and the tranquil, almost blank state of her face as she cocked another arrow into the bowstring and pulled back. Four more arrows flew into the target at the other end of the yard. Some hit the bull's eye some missed but always there was that tranquil look on the young woman's face and soon Trip got the idea that maybe hitting the target wasn't the real point of the exercise. Perhaps it was the state of mind of the archer that was important.

She's practiced since childhood, Madoka told him once over lunch. Growing into larger and larger yumi, or bows until she could handle great-grandmother Mitzune's yumi. It's about seven feet long, made of lacquered bamboo. Our grandmother, Rei, used to take it out and clean it so it wouldn't become brittle and Hoshi saw it and wanted it.

As the last arrow hit its mark the young woman turned and smiled at him in welcome. "Good morning, Trip. I've heard a lot about you."

So this was Hoshi, he realized smiling back. "Good morning, Hoshi. I've heard a lot about you, too." As they left the garden, he had the feeling she was going to be a very important person in his life.

The rest of the house was still asleep when she came back down from her room dressed in shorts and a tank top and joined him in the kitchen. They talked as he made breakfast getting to know one another as he mixed pancake batter and she flipped through his sketchbook. In fifteen minutes before the others rose and came down the staircase Trip and Hoshi had become fast friends.

Morning after morning they met in the backyard, Hoshi with her yumi and arrows and Trip with his sketchbook and pencils. Afterwards they would start breakfast and talk about whatever came to mind. Her opinions were well formed and she was knowledgeable on a number of subjects Trip was certain most fifteen-year-olds didn't concern themselves with. The fifteen-year-old girls he'd known were more concerned with boys, school and makeup instead of the state of the world government. Under the serious adult Hoshi was whom he believed to be the real Hoshi. She was intelligent, snarky, impish, more than ready to have a little fun, and she adored the people in her family as much as they adored her. She was the girl who'd welcomed him into her world without a second thought.

It was their friendship and that ritual more than anything else that pulled him through Henry's illness and death. Hoshi had opted to take that semester of college and he spent as much time as possible in Montana balancing out his duties as an orbital engineer with helping Madoka and Jon out at the complex. They would all split their time between the hospital, San Francisco and the complex. The Montana house became little more than an empty shell where they slept and ate and waited for Death.

In grief and anger, Jon struck out at anything he felt was hindering the progress of his father's dream trying to push the timetable for its launch up as much as possible. He exhausted himself and everyone else by going over research again and again looking for anything that would help him. Madoka, faced with the man she loved dying and, if Soval had his way, Henry's dream dead or indefinitely postponed shut herself down. She waded into the bureaucracy of Starfleet making contacts, forging alliances, and using every scrap of knowledge she'd learned from her diplomat father to maneuver and protect Henry's legacy.

Trip and Hoshi became each other's lifeline. Her presence in his life was a balm to the frustration he felt at losing his second father. They were in the same position: wanting to help, wanting to take away the pain and suffering of their loved ones, wanting to soothe the hurt, and to be reassured and soothed in return. In the end, both were helpless to do anything but stand by an watch as their world went to pieces around them then desperately tried to rebuild itself with one important part missing.

When Death finally came and took Henry, Madoka caved in on herself. Hoshi, who couldn't bear to see her strong sister so broken and lost, persuaded her to visit the second oldest Sato sister, Minako, in Hong Kong. She left for a month and tried to figure out who she was without her better half and what to do with her life. Jon fell into a black pit of depression and brooding, locking himself in the attic with old movies of his parents and several bottles of hard liquor wondering if the life he was leading was really worth the cost.

Trip and Hoshi stuck together in the days after the funeral. At his request his mother sent him the Tucker family quilt and for the rest of the week the two camped out on the couch wrapped warmly in it. They watched old movies, crying as Lawrence Olivier's Heathcliff and Merle Oberon's Cathy looked out onto the moors as she died in his arms, laughing as Ingrid Bergman outfoxed Cary Grant in 'Indiscreet,' and breathing a sigh of relief when the Scarlet Pimpernel escaped the French Revolution once more. In between movies, Trip showed her the different patches on the quilt; reciting the oral history of his family exactly the way he learned it at his grandmother Julia's feet. In return, Hoshi pulled out an old beaten up pack of cards and, as she built a fragile house out of them, told him the stories of the women of her family exactly the way she learned them sitting in her mother's lap as she taught her daughters how to play poker. They held each other through the grief and felt a little of the pain begin to heal.

As always, in the morning they would go out to the back yard for their morning ritual. It was an anchor, a reassurance that life, even when it hurt unbearably, did go on. Life would get better despite the fact that the world had irrevocably changed.

Their morning ritual would last until Hoshi entered into the academy. Her archery practice fell by the wayside and it fell to Madoka to care for the Kyudo instruments. The pressure of accelerated classes had left little time for Hoshi to do more than study, eat and sleep. Weekends back at Madoka's house were cram sessions in math and science. For the first time, Trip saw Hoshi as unsure and scared, wondering if she'd made the right choice for her career, struggling to maintain her second place position in her class. College had prepared her for one kind of life and she'd done a 180 into something completely different.

And he wondered how much of herself she'd lost touch with over the last three years. The spitfire he'd met was still there as snarky and as feisty as ever but where Hoshi once jumped in where angels feared to tread now she paused, still afraid, still unsure of her place on the ship despite the fact that she'd earned it. He'd been so afraid she'd quit and leave during her first year on Enterprise, afraid that the dauntless spirit he'd seen in her had dimmed and would never recover.

This second year out in space was better. Hoshi's confidence was growing with each mission, proving herself not only in the eyes of her crewmates but also in her own as well. T'Pol's meditation sessions were going well, the once strained relationship between the two women easing out into mutual respect and even friendship. Then there was her relationship with Malcolm. The British man had inadvertently taken Madoka's place as the strong wall at Hoshi's back, encouraging her, making her feel safe, loving her unconditionally. Their coming together had been slow, tentative. The final barrier was Hoshi's fear of losing him the way Madoka had lost Henry, of loving and being destroyed when that love was taken away.

"Hoshi, you have to be willing to take the risk."

She turned and looked out the view port watching the stars streak by. "I'm afraid, Trip. You saw what happened to Madoka. How broken she was afterwards...how broken she still is five years later even though she hides it well."

Trip reached out and grasped her hand, gently tugging until she faced him. "I also remember how happy she was. I know you do, too. Even though she lost him later they still had nine years together. His love was a gift she cherished and we both know she wouldn't have traded a moment even if she knew he was going to die." He squeezed her hand. "The love remains even after the people are gone, darlin'. The tragedy is if you never give that love a chance. Could you really be happy knowing you had love and let it slip through your fingers because of fear?"

The last barrier fell and she'd been happy ever since.

Happy but still missing something.

The crate arrived via a boomer ship a few days after her birthday. Inside were Hoshi's yumi, arrows, targets, uniform...everything she needed to take up Kyudo again. Nestled in the folds of her keiko-gi was a note.

Missing something? I think these would do better in your care than in mine. I love you, Madoka.

A note appeared on the console in his quarters two days afterwards.

Tomorrow. 5 a.m. Martial arts room.

So here he was dressed in a pair of old jeans, sneakers and an oversize sweater that he'd snatched from his father's dresser the day before Enterprise had shipped out. Tucked under one arm was a large sketchpad and in his hand was a pencil box that clunked merrily with each step as its contents rattled around inside. As he walked through the corridors to the gym, Trip nodded and smiled at the few early birds that were up and wandering the corridors.

The main gym was deserted when Trip walked in. He didn't normally go in for early morning exercise. He preferred to be totally conscious when operating gym equipment and conscious thought didn't usually kick in until after the second cup of coffee. For him exercise was something to help him unwind at the end of the day. He could burn off any excess energy and try to clear his mind of the miscellaneous things that cluttered it during the day. That way he could go back to his quarters and actually sleep.

A door just off the main gym led into the padded martial arts room in which one wall was mirrored and the other three, including the door, were padded. He was more acquainted with the ceiling, though, usually because he ended up staring at it when Malcolm flipped him during self-defense class.

The sound of an arrow tearing through the air and hitting a target at the back of the room brought Trip back to the present. He walked quietly across the room and got comfortable on one of the benches. Using the wall as a backrest and putting his feet up on the bench, he placed his pad on his thighs and pulled a pencil out of his box. Then he paused and looked up to see her smiling at him in welcome.

"Good morning, Trip."

He smiled back. "Mornin', Hoshi."

Once, he asked why she studied Kyudo. "It's a form of meditation, a spiritual journey," she'd told him. "When I quiet my mind of all extraneous thought there's nothing left but Hoshi Sato. Not the daughter, the student, the sister, or the prodigy, just me. I get to discover who I am."

It was good to know she had her journey and he was glad to be along for the ride.