inhistorybooks: (I'm definitely sulking a little.)
Commander Charles Tucker III ([personal profile] inhistorybooks) wrote2012-04-03 12:41 pm

[049: video/spam]

[Private Message to Trip]

[Elizabeth switches on the camera and smiles a little at it, looking maybe a little more subdued than she did in her last post, but still happy and generally unaware of the impact this message is actually going to have on her brother what with her being dead in a few months back home.]

Hey, Trip. Happy birthday! I didn't exactly have a chance to get you a present or anything, but I did make a card. [She holds up a handmade card, which actually looks pretty damn good since she's pretty artsy in a I like to design buildings sort of way.] Be sure to thank Dr. Flemming for it, he's the one who came up with the idea.

I got to finally meet Malcolm and T'Pol, by the way. I never really thought I'd be meetin' them on an interdimensional prison ship, but I guess I'm not complaining, considerin' who knows when you're all gonna be anywhere close to Earth again. [She grins mischievously.] And I totally knew you liked T'Pol. I hope you know Albert and I are never gonna let you live that down once we find out back home, let alone Mom and Dad.

[She's kidding, although the Tuckers definitely like teasing each other, so there's that.] But seriously, congratulations. She's a real nice lady. Once you guys do come back home, you should bring her and some of the others by to visit. Or we could come out to California and embarrass you out there.

Anyway. Happy birthday, Trip. I'm still not really sure why you're here instead've on Enterprise, but I know you'd only leave if you thought it was a good reason. Don't stay away too long, alright? Love you!

[Open Spam for the Pub]

After finding the message Elizabeth had left him, Trip hadn't really known what to do with himself. He honestly felt kind of in shock, somewhere between wanting to cry and throw things before storming the bridge and punching the Admiral in the face because where the fuck did he get off on bringing people's dead family members back without giving them a chance to actually say anything to them? And there was a lot he wanted to say to her. It just felt like the cherry on the sundae of his shitty existence on the Barge, and he didn't want to deal with it right now.

He got up to leave his room, but as soon as he was in the hallway, he realized he didn't have any idea where he actually wanted to go. He didn't want to talk to T'Pol or Jim or anyone, really, because he didn't know what there was to say about it that he hadn't said already, years ago now, and he didn't want to bring it all up again. He didn't want to forget about Lizzie, but all that post traumatic stress and everything that went along with it had been handled. He didn't want to go through the grieving process again, he didn't want to deal with people asking him questions or talking about how wonderful the flood had been, and he really didn't think he wanted to be here at all right now.

So he headed to the pub. He helped himself to a bottle of whatever he could get his hands on first, a shot glass and set himself up in a corner away from everyone else, planning on getting really, really drunk, and good luck to anyone who decided to convince him this was the opposite of a healthy way to cope with what had happened.

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