Gigi Sinclair

Trip told the people who asked—the Captain, Admiral Forrest, his parents—that it was the hardest decision he'd ever made. He knew they expected him to say that. In truth, once he had gotten over the initial shock, fear, and physical discomfort, the choice was a remarkably easy one.

She was his daughter. Not genetically, that was obvious, but genetics had very little to do with family. Trip had learned that growing up in a small town, where neighbours were more like aunts and uncles and strangers were invited in for lemonade and pecan pie.

If they'd found her mother, Trip would have given her up, but they hadn't, so he didn't. He carried her, putting up with morning sickness and mood swings and unusual cravings (although that one was more of a challenge for Chef than for Trip.) He worked with the Captain and, thanks to a little selective omission in their dispatches, Starfleet let him stay on 'Enterprise' long enough for Phlox to deliver the baby. She wasn't what Trip had expected his firstborn to look like, but she was his.

After Phlox and Trip, the Captain was the first to hold her. He was uncertain at first, but when she grabbed his finger in her tiny fist, Trip knew Jon was sold. All of the arguments they'd had over her faded into the background, and Trip knew that, once the mission was finished, Jon would be a constant visitor, spoiling his honorary niece to within an inch of her life.

By the time Trip had briefed his replacement and had recovered enough to leave Phlox's supervision, the baby, nearly a toddler now, was talking. In an endearing Southern accent, Jon told him, although Trip couldn't hear it himself. Some of the women had replicated a wardrobe for her. Trip was just glad he didn't have to worry about styling her hair.

As they prepared to leave 'Enterprise', Trip found himself worrying. Not that this was new. Before she was born, he'd been as carefree and as self-centred as they came. Now, he fretted constantly. Whether she would be happy on Earth. If he should help her keep in touch with her Xyrillian roots, and how he would do that, anyway. If other kids would make fun of her. If he'd made the right decision.

"Commander." T'Pol was the last to say good-bye. She glanced down to where the child was playing with Porthos, getting carpet fuzz and dog slobber on her pink overalls. "I feel I should tell you, it is not easy to live in a different culture, isolated from one's own kind."

"No." Trip swallowed.

"But," T'Pol continued, with a flick of her eyebrow, "I can also say, it is considerably less difficult when one has a supportive family." Her expression was neutral, naturally, but Trip knew what she meant. He felt like hugging her, but he doubted it would be appreciated. Instead, he picked up his daughter.

She insisted on waving to "Uncle Jon and Auntie Hoshi and Uncle Porthos and Auntie Sub-commander", so Trip held her up to a porthole as 'Enterprise' left Jupiter Station, ignoring the stares he knew were being shot in their direction.

It was another child who first approached them, as 'Enterprise' disappeared. Obviously the offspring of a boomer family, the boy looked to be about two, close to the age Phlox had approximated she was. The doctor had also theorized that the Xyrillians' rapid development was an evolutionary device. Once the first few, potentially dangerous, years of early childhood were past, Phlox thought, her progress would slow, and she would grow more like a human child. Trip hoped so. The longer they could put off adolescence, the better.

"Who are you?" The boy asked. Trip felt himself stiffen as the other child looked at his daughter, but she just looked back.

"Halla Tucker." She answered, then added: "I'm Daddy's big surprise."

Blushing, Trip exchanged a glance with the boy's mother. "Kids, huh? Repeat the darndest things." The woman laughed and, as the boy handed a well-chewed plastic dog to Halla, Trip felt his heart lift.

Halla. An unexpected gift. And the best damn thing to ever happen to him.