Dear Hoshi,
I wonder what Phlox would say if he knew I was still writing these letters. He thought in the beginning it would be a good way for me to deal with things. Now I suspect he would call in a psychiatric consult and tell me I was inhibiting myself from moving forward.
Fortunately, he doesn't know, so I don't give a damn.
There was an "incident" today with the Jayyusian proconsul. The UT garbled something he said and the Captain's response was confused, and then inappropriate. It spiraled down from there. Ensign Harris was doing her best, but I know I wasn't the only person in the room who was very conscious at that moment of what was missing.
I swear, I would give anything to be able to talk to you one more time.
Phlox would be happy to know that the dreams have stopped, at least. The one where I get to stand behind you while the Captain gives you the promotion you should have gotten years earlier. And then Trip says something in his usual anti-erudite manner, and then T'Pol does that vaguely humanistic politeness thing she sometimes breaks into. And we all go have cake. I'm not dreaming it any more. Is that progress? I guess so.
I've gone over that day in my head, I don't know, a hundred? Maybe a thousand times. I know, logically, there was nothing else to be done. The Captain had to get out of there. I can't be in two places at once. We got the Captain out, and that was the most important thing. And if we'd failed...I'd be berating myself for it for the rest of my life.
But then, I wouldn't know what the alternative was.
Trip reminded me, rather forcibly, that you'd be first in line to kick my arse if you caught me brooding like this. You'd probably be glaring at me and shouting that I shouldn't take the entire weight of the universe on myself. And that things just happen. Which I already know. I hate to realize it, but you won't be the last person we lose on this mission.
But I still think your loss will always be the worst for me.
Malcolm.
Dear Hoshi
I need to calm my nerves a bit. My best man's only advice when I admitted I was nervous about tomorrow was to drink heavily. Somehow I don't think the bride would appreciate my being utterly knackered tomorrow morning. Trip, of course, isn't the slightest bit nervous and is talking loudly about "someday."
Wait till his turn comes. I'll take video of every anxious muscle twitch and hold it over his head forever.
I've had no outlet for my anxiety for the past few months. I was being a royal pain in the arse about this entire proceeding at first. I knew I was being a bastard but I couldn't seem to help it. You know how I get when I'm panicking and don't want to admit it. When I suggested eloping, my bride-to-be merely looked at me and said, "I know I would regret it later. And I'm fairly certain you would as well, although you'd never admit it."
Obviously, this woman knows me far too well. It's my own fault for marrying someone who started out as psychology major in school. Even if she did see the light and switch to history.
After that, I couldn't exactly complain much, could I? So I had to bottle up the panic and try to get over it.
I can just imagine how you would glare at me right now. And possibly smack me in the head. And tell me that if I love someone enough to marry them, I should be able to tell them how I'm feeling. You'd be right. I did finally lose my self-control a few nights ago. It must be some kind of wedding tradition for the two people to have a roaring fight at some point during the planning. I ended up blurting out what I've been truly afraid of all along: that she'll look at me tomorrow, in front of God, the minister and everyone I know, and realize that she's making a huge mistake.
You'd be amused to know she stared at me for a bit. And then slapped me in the head. And demanded to know why I hadn't told her that a long time ago.
I suppose some day, far in the future, I'll become accustomed to the idea that anyone in the universe could love me enough to want to put up with me all the time. Maybe. Even I don't want to put up with me all the time.
On top of my personal nerves, of course, are the family issues. Not hers, thankfully. Her parents are lovely. Warm without being overbearing (such as a certain engineer we know). Although her father did give me that patented paternal glare the first time we met. As if to say, "I know what you're doing to my daughter and I don't like it one bit."
My family, on the other hand, is driving everyone mad. Aunt Ionah arrived with three of her terriers. (She left two of them at home!) They're wreaking havoc at the hotel. Fortunately, Maddie intervened before anyone could suggest she come stay here. Meanwhile, I have no idea what to expect from my father. Mum's been pretty much the same as ever since we got back to Earth, but Father has become unpredictable. When we saw each other for the first time after the mission, he seemed almost afraid. He was overly polite to me, which is about as far as Stuart Reed can thaw. Then the next time I saw him, he was back in full Admiral mode.
At the very least, I'm sure they would never cause a public scene. Still, it would be nice to go into my own wedding day knowing I had a whole phalanx of people behind me, including my own parents!
I wish you were here, Hoshi. I could use a friend who has the ability to calm me down just by talking to me right now. Someone who didn't think all my insecurities are just fodder for jokes. Who would pat me on the arm and tell me I'm just being my usual overwrought self and tomorrow will go off just fine and before I know it it'll be over and I'll be wondering where the day went.
There. I feel better and no alcohol was involved.
I still wish you could be here tomorrow. Hopefully you will be, in some fashion.
Malcolm.
Dear Hoshi
I know it's been a while since I actually recorded a letter, but I do write to you all the time in my head. As I'm on my way home from work, or sitting on the upstairs porch watching the sun set, or doing stupid things like cleaning the yard, I compose letters telling you what my life is like. It's become my way, I guess, of taking stock. When I need to get some kind of perspective on things, I write a letter.
I wonder sometimes if you get all those unrecorded missives. I mean, if there is some way in which you can receive the recorded letters, why not the others as well? But that would be delving a bit too deep into my psyche and I've had enough of that to last several lifetimes.
At the moment, the house is quiet. Nathaniel has been fighting a cold for the past two days, but he finally dozed off, so this is the first time the sound of coughing has not been audible through the whole place in hours. The girls are all away, at Emma's birthday party. Some days I wonder how it's possible Trip Tucker has a ten year old child. He's barely that mental age himself. We were all supposed to go and make a weekend of it, but with Nathaniel not feeling well, I stayed behind with him.
Ironic, isn't it? That I'm offering to stay home alone with one of the children, and a sick one too boot. Given how terrified I was before Nora was born. I was so frightened of turning into my father, being unable to cope with a child, frightened I would do something wrong. Ha. I did a hundred things wrong. My offspring seem to have survived relatively intact. My work here is done.
Would you be relieved to hear I finally got over my perfectionism? I believe you once described it as the curse the universe had inflicted on me to make me the bane of your existence. There was something involving your accuracy rating on a phase pistol involved in that moment as I recall.
No one is the perfect parent. Or the perfect person. Although a few people I know have come close...heh.
You always knew that you couldn't be perfect, I think, deep down. At least I hope you did. Because even knowing that, you never stopped trying to do better. Jon...Captain Archer was like that as well. I learned a great deal about myself from both of you. I always assumed it was all or nothing, until I met you lot. You taught me I could fail.
Did I ever say thank you?
And isn't that a strange thing to be grateful for?
Malcolm.
Warp 5 Complex
Star Trek Enterprise fan fiction archive
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Dear Hoshi by Miera
Author's Chapter Notes: ritten for a "Letters" thread on Linguistics Database in the Sato/Reed forum. |
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