Chapter Text
Part One
Planet Redrax, neutral space
Present day
“Three…!”
Sunek wasn’t like most other Vulcans. He’d known that for a long time. But as he allowed himself a moment of indulgence to look back at the life that he’d led, he was also okay with that. Because he had never really wanted to be like other Vulcans. And right now, as he listened to the countdown heading towards its inevitable conclusion, that fact continued to bring him comfort.
From a young age, he’d felt that he was different. Plenty of young Vulcans have emotional moments. The goal of his species was to control and master their emotions, after all, they had never claimed to have eradicated them.
During his formative years, that was exactly what Sunek had done. He’d worked to contain his emotions, tried to keep them in check. Even, through a combination of peer pressure and a period of unseasonably high self-confidence, briefly been part of the Kolinahr training programme.
Very briefly.
“…Two…!”
But none of that had worked. His parents had run out of options for how to help their son and his troublesome feelings. And then Sunek had discovered the V’tosh ka’tur. The Vulcans without logic.
To call it an organisation would be far too grandiose a term. It was barely even anything, a loosely defined collective of Vulcans throughout his people’s history who chose to embrace and cultivate their emotions, rather than look to suppress them. Originally, many centuries ago, the group had sought to find a true balance between logic and emotion. But in the present day, the already loose ties of the V’tosh ka’tur had splintered even further, their beliefs and their ambitions fragmenting as time went on.
And Sunek happened to have found a particularly anarchic chapter during his time studying at the ShiKahr Learning Institute. A group of free thinking Vulcans who wanted nothing more than to explore and embrace their emotions as much as possible.
Sunek had fitted right in.
“…One…!”
More than that, he had flourished. His confidence grew immeasurably as he realised that the part of him he had been taught to fight against all this time wasn’t an affliction. It was a strength. He left Vulcan behind under a cloud of familial disapproval and headed out into the cosmos to start really living his life. A process which had taken him all over the galaxy and back again, and eventually brought him here.
To the end of the countdown.
“…Now!”
He took a deep breath, and along with the four other figures around the table, picked up the small glass of lurid orange-tinged liquid and slammed it down. Five empty glasses thudded back onto the table, as the crew of the Bounty flinched in unison.
They had arrived on Redrax earlier that day, ostensibly to attend a sector-wide trade fair from which they hoped to find a spot of gainful employment. But thanks to Sunek, they had first decided to pay a visit to a bar called the Pride of Andor. A bar that every one of his contacts the length and breadth of the quadrant had told him was the best hangout on all of Redrax. Or at least, the best one that didn’t have a dress code.
And here they had stayed. For drink after terrible drink.
“Ugh,” Denella, the Bounty’s Orion engineer, winced, as she wagged a finger at the empty glass in front of her, “That’s…that one was the worst yet.”
“Yep,” Sunek grimaced, absently scratching the unruly mop of hair on top of his head, “That really smarts.”
“Feeling the heat, Sunek?” Jirel, the unjoined Trill captain of the Bounty, grinned at him from the other side of the table, “You’re always welcome to back out.”
Sunek matched Jirel’s grin, despite the residual pain from the alcohol in his stomach. “Never!” he replied with a dramatic flourish, “It’s just Rigellian brandy reacts badly with the Vulcan metabolism. If you ask me, that whole last round was a cheat.”
“I do not think it reacts well with anyone’s metabolism,” the booming voice of Klath, the disgraced Klingon who made up the Bounty’s crew, sounded out unhappily.
Sunek paused as he looked over at Klath. There was still a mild amount of distance between them since their recent run in with a vengeful Klingon named Kolar. During which Sunek had discovered the full details behind his crewmate’s discommendation from the empire, after a ship he commanded had attacked and destroyed an unarmed freighter during the Klingon Civil War. He had repeatedly made it clear to Klath that he wasn’t interested in gossiping about his secrets with anyone else, but he suspected that the Klingon didn’t entirely believe him, hence the awkward distance.
Still, Sunek could hardly blame him for not believing him. Part of his reputation since he had fully embraced his emotional side revolved around his big mouth. He had a distinct inability to stop talking, regardless of the situation. Because Sunek was a talker. More than that, he was a joker.
It wasn’t a reputation he especially hated. Nor was his reputation as the Bounty’s resident drinker in chief. Which snapped him back to their current situation.
“Still,” he went on, keeping his trademark grin beaming wide, “The good news is that it’s my round.”
He gestured amiably to a passing Andorian waitress, who uncertainly teetered over to him in a pair of gratuitously uncomfortable heels which by all accounts represented a vital component of the staff uniform at the Pride of Andor.
“Five Ferengi stardusters. No ice.”
The waitress, already hoping she was in line for a big enough tip to justify the amount of time she had spent carrying trays of drinks to this particular table in these particular shoes during her shift so far, nodded demurely and awkwardly tip-toed away.
“I do not care for that drink either,” Klath growled, “We should order a good bloodwine.”
“You drink too much of that stuff as it is,” Denella said admonishingly, “You’re becoming a walking cliche.”
“Watch out,” Jirel chimed in, “If you keep goading him like that, we’ll end up hearing the story about how he once shared a bottle of the 2309 with Martok himself. Again.”
“That did happen,” Klath muttered, folding his arms in front of him in something approximating a pout.
Sunek couldn’t help but chuckle along with the others. The sound of laughter energised him in a way he couldn’t explain. Having spent so much of his formative years being told to repress or be ashamed of such outbursts, the feeling of unencumbered laughter and joy was like a drug to him.
Probably why I tell so many bad jokes, he mused to himself.
As the blue-skinned waitress returned and set down five glasses filled with a gaudy pink liquid and topped off with neon straws, which earned a look of disgust from Klath, the fifth member of the group finally piped up.
Natasha Kinsen was still a mystery to Sunek. A former Starfleet doctor who they had rescued almost by accident while on a salvage mission for one of Jirel’s contacts. And now, for reasons that Sunek was not privy to, and frankly wasn’t all that interested in, she had left Starfleet behind to join them. Right now, given the groggy look on her face, it seemed as though she might be regretting it.
“Hey,” she managed, slurring her words slightly, “I don’t wanna spoil all the fun, but what happened to the trade fair?”
“How do you mean?” Jirel asked, the lion’s share of his focus now intently on trying to balance a damp beermat on its edge.
“I mean, when are we getting there? What’s our strategy?”
Jirel tutted as the mat fell back onto the table, before glancing around at the others and smiling knowingly. “Newbie over here doesn’t know about the pecking order.”
“Don’t patronise me,” the human woman shot back with as pointed a glare as she could manage in her current state of inebriation, before looking a tad confused, “Also, what pecking order?”
“We have to wait our turn at these things,” Jirel explained as he lined up the beer mat for another attempt, “Right now, the big jobs are getting pitched. Long-term deals, exclusive supply runs, mining contracts, that sort of thing.”
“They’ll go to the big conglomerates,” Denella said, picking up the story as Jirel made a sad tutting sound to accompany the sight of the mat toppling over again, “Or Ferengi merchants with very deep pockets. Then the medium sized stuff gets thrown around. Not super high value stuff, but the kind of thing you still need a decent fleet of shuttles for. Again, way out of our league.”
“Ok,” Natasha nodded, slowly processing this through her booze-soaked brain, “And then?”
“Bandits,” Klath stated simply, “They take their pick of the more…disreputable jobs on offer.”
“Really best we don’t get involved at that point,” Jirel added, as he stuck his tongue out in a farcical display of concentration in the beermat game.
“Right,” Natasha replied with a sigh, “So, we get…?”
“Whatever’s left,” Sunek chimed in, as he slurped a generous mouthful of Ferengi starduster through his straw.
Now it definitely looked like she was regretting joining them. It didn’t happen often, and maybe it was the drink talking, but Sunek couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.
“Hey doc,” he continued, trying to put on his most convincing sympathetic tone, “Relax. These things always…”
And then he forgot all about being sympathetic. Because, over the somewhat inebriated doctor’s shoulder, he saw her walk in.
“Well, I’ll be the son of a Tal-Shanar minister…”
Before anyone had the chance to ask him what the hell that meant, he stood up out of his seat and bellowed across the Pride of Andor, ignoring the annoyed looks his actions generated from several of the bar’s other patrons. Not to mention from a number of precariously balanced waitresses.
“Hey! Hey! T’Len! Over here!”
The others at the table turned to see a Vulcan woman on the other side of the bar turn and look over in the direction of Sunek’s voice. She immediately recognised him and began to walk over. She wore her jet black hair tied up in a ponytail, revealing pointed ears either side of her porcelain face, and she was clad in a simple blue dress.
She was also smiling broadly.
As she reached the table, and the other four members of the Bounty’s crew mentally asked themselves who the mysterious smiling stranger might be, the two Vulcans embraced in a warm, lengthy hug.
Sunek eventually broke the hug and turned to his confused crewmates, his grin now wider than it had ever been.
“Guys, you’re not gonna believe it,” he said gleefully, “My wife’s in town!”
The four seated figures froze in shock. Several moments passed without anyone saying anything. It was safe to say that none of the others had been expecting him to say that.
“Curious,” T’Len said, with an amused smile of her own, “Your shipmates appear to be trapped in some sort of temporal anomaly.”
Sunek just tutted. He knew they were going to embarrass him.
* * * * *
It took another round of Ferengi stardusters for the Bounty’s crew to finally break free of the temporal anomaly. And after the following round of Maparian ales with Andorian whiskey chasers, they were almost used to the idea that T’Len was indeed Sunek’s wife.
At least, as much as anyone could get used to that idea.
“You know,” T’Len observed as the still-suffering Andorian waitress dropped off another round of drinks, “I am beginning to suspect that Sunek never told any of you about me.”
“He did not,” Klath stated flatly, still eyeing the newcomer uncertainly and recalling something that the Bounty’s pilot had recently said to him about skeletons in closets.
“Guys, come on,” Sunek managed, slightly awkwardly, “There’s not much to tell.”
Although he was delighted to see T’Len, he wasn’t entirely overjoyed with the idea of revealing too many personal details to the others. He was here to crack jokes, not bare his soul, after all.
“You’re a member of the V’tosh ka’tur as well?” Natasha managed.
“Yes,” she nodded, “I realise that me having been here for more than ten minutes without once being condescending towards you rather gives it away.”
Her mouth curled into a smile at her own joke. Something that Natasha still couldn’t help but find mildly disconcerting coming from a Vulcan.
“So,” Klath muttered, “She is another member of your cult.”
“Not a cult, Klath,” Sunek said with a wag of his finger, “We’re just a few friendly Vulcans who prefer expressing our emotions freely, rather than bottling them up behind social norms.”
“Hippies,” Natasha murmured.
The others turned to the doctor, who flushed slightly when she realised she’d been speaking out loud, and had now become the focus of everyone’s attention, before forcing herself to continue.
“Um, an old subculture on Earth. A bunch of young, disenfranchised humans who tried to escape from the trappings of society through alternative thinking, free love, that sort of thing.”
“Huh,” Sunek mused, “Well, there was no free love in the V’tosh ka’tur, unfortunately.”
“There was,” T’Len smiled, “But you were not invited.”
Sunek’s grin slipped slightly. He wasn’t averse to a bit of self-deprecation from time to time, but didn’t enjoy it quite so much when other people made him the butt of the joke. Though, from the smirks on the other faces around the table, he was in a minority on that matter.
“But,” Denella finally managed, gesturing to the two Vulcans, “What…? When…? Why…?”
“I think what my engineer is going for is: How did you end up getting married?” Jirel said, stepping in to translate, “Specifically, to Sunek?”
“What?” Sunek, grin restored, shot back, “My rugged masculinity isn’t enough of a reason—?”“No,” Denella answered immediately, causing Sunek’s grin to vanish all over again.
“Come on,” Jirel persisted, “You can’t just drop the ‘I was married all along’ bombshell on us after this long. Do we get an actual explanation, or do I have to set Klath on you?”
The Klingon, playing along with the bit, folded his arms across his chest and stared at the Vulcan couple with a menacing glower.
“I’ve already told you,” Sunek sighed, “There’s really not much to tell. We got married on the Vulcan colony on Hexis Prime…I dunno, thirty years ago?”
“Thirty years, six months and fourteen days ago,” T’Len nodded, confirming Sunek’s statement and clearing up any remaining doubts about her Vulcan heritage in one fell swoop.
“So,” Natasha asked, “You were betrothed then? Or—?”
“Oh, wait,” Denella said, her face lighting up in drunken excitement, “Did you have to challenge someone to a fight with those big stick-y blade-y things? Because those look amazing.”
“It’s called a Lirpa, Professor,” Sunek shot back sarcastically, “And, no. I guess the easiest way to explain it would be a…marriage of convenience?”
He tried his hardest not to take any further offence from the looks of understanding that now cascaded around the table, as if everything about the situation suddenly made complete sense.
“We were both from very traditional families,” T’Len continued, “Neither of them were especially supportive of our desire to be part of the V’tosh ka’tur, and did what they could to prevent us from having any part of it. But once we were married, we were able to make our own decisions.”
“Yeah,” Sunek nodded, “We found a more liberally minded priestess to preside over it, did the whole ceremony, and…honestly, we haven’t seen much of each other since.”
He absently glanced over at T’Len, and made a mental note to avoid thinking too much about the sudden pang of longing he felt inside.
“How very romantic,” Jirel deadpanned.
“How very bite me,” Sunek countered, getting his mind back to normal.
“Well, I was always grateful for what Sunek did for me back there,” T’Len replied, “You can only imagine what it is like to deal with having to tell your parents that you want to embrace your emotions. But Sunek was always so supportive.”
“Supportive?” Jirel said with a look of feigned shock, “You, Sunek?”
“Continue to bite me, Jirel.”
“Actually, Sunek was quite the activist in his youth,” T’Len continued, with no lack of pride, “He helped many young Vulcans at the ShiKahr Learning Institute come to terms with the possibility of exploring their emotional side.”Sunek felt himself squirm in his seat. Ironically, the emotion he was currently exploring was one of his least favourites. Embarrassment. “Yeah, well,” he managed to shrug, “Everyone’s an activist when they’re a student, right?”
“And now,” T’Len continued, gently placing her hand on top of his, “Something in our cosmic destiny has brought us back together.”
Despite his continued discomfort, he couldn’t help it as his face creased into the dopiest of smiles at this comment. Seconds later, not quite soon enough to disguise it, he turned back to the wider group and adjusted his features into his more usual cocky grin.
“So, that’s the whole story,” he said, going back on the offensive as cover for his initial reaction, “And now, the way I see it, you guys all owe us a drink.”
“How’d you figure that?” Denella asked, slightly nonplussed.
“None of you ever got us a wedding present!”