TITLE: The Soul of the Father
AUTHOR: Sugah Sugah
SUMMARY: Vulcan is on the brink of civil war, and Enterprise is caught in the middle, between the High Command and the mysterious Syrannites. Meanwhile, Kamea is introduced to Vulcan.
SPOILERS: Through "Home" (season 4, episode 3)
RATING: T – As always, language and violence. Parental discretion is advised.
DISCLAIMER: If I owned anything having to do with Star Trek or "Enterprise", do you think I would still live with my parents? No, I don't think so. I'm just borrowing them and am making no profit. (Sad but true.) I'll return them when I'm done – mostly unscathed. Can't make any guarantees.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the fifth installment in my alternate universe series, immediately following (well, not immediately following, but you get the idea) "Secrets and Lies". Newcomers to my fics might want to start at the beginning with "The One and Only", because otherwise you'll be pretty confused. But, I don't know, confused works for some people, I guess.
A captain's log with stardate will be given in a later chapter, but this takes place approximately three months after "Secrets and Lies".
Sometime during "Secrets and Lies", Kamea had her 59th birthday. I did not mention this then because I couldn't think of how to work it in.
Many props go out to the Vulcan Language Dictionary and the Vulcan Language Institute, as well as the online Hawaiian dictionary, the URL of which I cannot give you, but you could do a Google search if you really wanted to.
Also, mad props to shouldknowbetter, whose story "Repercussions" at Trip/T'Polers was the primary inspiration behind the Malcolm/Kamea storyline. Actually, most of the series helped in the inspiration department. It's a good read – check it out.
Dream sequences, character thoughts, and flashbacks are in italics. If you can't tell the difference between them, I'm really worried about you.
Lolo – idiot
Īlio wahine – bitch
Kokame – god damn
Kika – tiger
The conversation at the end of this chapter that should be in Vulcan was too long and too much to translate, and I'm lazy. So sue me. (But don't, really.)

Reviews are always appreciated. There are still a good many sad puppies in the world.

The Kamea Chronicles

Part Five: The Soul of the Father

Chapter One: Glaciers in Space

Malcolm considered his next move. It wasn't easy; there were only so many moves he could take that wouldn't end in tragedy, but he had come this far and he'd be damned if he was going to lose after all the effort he'd put into it already.

"Would you move already?" Kamea asked, leaning back in her chair. "I swear I just saw a glacier go by."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She really was a very infuriating opponent. For some reason, she hadn't inherited the seemingly infinite Vulcan patience that T'Pol possessed – at least, not when it came to chess. "I'm contemplating my move."

Kamea raised an eyebrow. "Contemplate faster."

"Chess is a game of strategy, not speed," he said, his hand hovering above the board. His fingers had healed quite nicely; Phlox had taken the splints off the day before. "All of the greats took their time."

She rolled her eyes. "Name one."

Malcolm stared at her for a long moment. In truth, he couldn't even think of one chess player, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She had an annoying habit of remembering things like this and then lording it over him later. "I hardly feel the need to defend myself to a woman who considers The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to be fine literature."

Kamea growled low in her throat and looked away angrily. She hated when he insulted her taste in books, but she looked so sexy when she did that – the way she tossed her hair around, the way her nostrils flared – that he couldn't help but do it. "Lolo," she said.

It was muttered under her breath, but Malcolm heard. He had the feeling she'd meant for him to hear anyway. He took her bishop with his rook. "Īlio wahine," he said.

She moved her knight and sat back in her chair again. "Your Hawaiian is improving." She didn't seem the least bit offended by what he had just called her – probably because she could tell that there was no malice in it, just as he knew that she hadn't meant what she said.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I try." He could barely keep the pride out of his voice.

Malcolm had been learning Hawaiian for the past three months and was getting pretty fluent in it. He started to learn the language because Kamea had a tendency to slip into it when she was upset or angry – or when she didn't want someone to know what she was saying. She also spoke Hawaiian when she was delusional and when she was asleep – the latter of which Malcolm had to deal with more often than not, as several months ago Kamea had learned that the insomnia that had plagued her for much of the past decade was nonexistent whenever she slept in Malcolm's bed. They had been sharing a bed – in a strictly platonic sense, of course, no matter how much Malcolm longed to make it otherwise – ever since.

She gave him a half-smirk. "Your modesty, however, needs work. Go."

He studied the board for a long moment and moved a pawn. She quickly captured the pawn using her other bishop and glanced up at him.

She looked better, now that she was able to sleep through the night. She had gained back much of the weight she lost, and her skin had more color in it. Her eyes had lost that haunted look, and her work was no longer suffering. More than one person onboard Enterprise had commented about the change in her appearance, but to Malcolm's knowledge the only one who had any suspicions was Commander Tucker – and T'Pol, but she was always suspicious, and that came as no great shock to Malcolm.

"Do you need me tonight?" he asked. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, scrutinizing her.

Kamea shrugged with her one good shoulder – her other arm was still in a sling – but he noticed that she didn't seem able to look him in the eye. "I don't want to be a bother."

He smiled, pleased with the dark flush that tinged her cheeks and the tips of those delightfully pointed ears. "A beautiful woman who needs to be in my bed is hardly a bother."

She shot him a dark look so thoroughly Vulcan that he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. She really hated when he did that. But if the look on her face was any indication, she knew he was struggling not to laugh. "There goes that glacier again," she said, in a bad parody of indifference.

He rolled his eyes and moved his queen. "I'm choosing to ignore that comment, since there are no glaciers in space."

She moved her rook. "No, but if there were, they'd move a lot faster than you do."

"Nice to see you've not lost your sense of humor." He rested his head on his hands, surveying the remaining pieces on the board. Without looking at her, he asked, "Have you had any more of those dreams?"

She sighed. "No."

Though she no longer had the nightmares about her parents' deaths that had been the cause of her insomnia, she claimed to be having the most unusual dreams. She never delved into too much detail with Malcolm, but he had a feeling they had something to do with her father – mostly because now he could understand what she said when she muttered in Hawaiian. She talked a lot in her sleep. But when she was awake, she never wanted to talk about her father. He didn't want to pry, but it was obvious that she had some unresolved issues, and he just wanted to help.

He wanted her to let him help.

He glanced at her. She had dropped her head back, staring at the ceiling. "You're a terrible liar, Kamea."

She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, and he licked his lips unconsciously, remembering how her hair felt against his skin. Then he started remembering how the rest of her felt against him, and the blood started to rush south. That had been happening a lot lately. He shifted to relieve the pressure in his uniform and said many silent thanks that he was sitting down.

"I'm not lying," she said, sounding only slightly annoyed, which was an improvement. "I haven't had any more – I keep having the same ones." She paused and began to play with her fingers. "It's…odd."

He stopped mid-move, his bishop poised above one of her pawns. "Odd how?"

"They're not like dreams," she said, tilting her head to the side so that it was almost parallel to the ground and swinging her hair back and forth. She liked doing that, he noticed. "They're like memories. Only I don't remember any of this stuff. And I'm not in half of them. Like I said – odd."

"But they're all about your father?" Malcolm asked. He took her pawn with his bishop.

The dark look returned with a vengeance. "Can we not talk about this, please?" She moved her knight with a little more vehemence than necessary.

Malcolm tried not to be hurt, but it wasn't easy. He didn't like the way she continually shut him out when he tried to talk about what was bothering her but then arrived at his room in the middle of the night and crawled into his bed. He was beginning to think that was all she wanted from him. The idea hurt more than he was willing to admit. He swallowed and nodded slowly. "Of course. My apologies."

She rolled her eyes, and he couldn't be certain, but she looked embarrassed. "Stop apologizing." The tone of her voice had softened somewhat. "You're always apologizing."

"Right. Sorry."

The corners of her mouth tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile, and for a second Malcolm hoped she might actually laugh, but the moment was ruined when Captain Archer suddenly appeared beside their table. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Kamea."

Kamea nodded at Archer, and Malcolm sat up straighter in his chair. "Hello, sir."

Archer smiled at both of them. His attitude towards Kamea had grown considerably warmer since the incident on Altara, and for that Malcolm was grateful. The tension had started to get to him. "Am I interrupting something?" Archer asked.

"Malcolm and I were just discussing the meaning of life," Kamea said, draping her good arm over the back of her chair. "He thinks it's money. I think it's sex. What do you think, Captain?"

Malcolm was sure he had turned bright pink; the captain sputtered incredulously for a few seconds before regaining the ability to form coherent sentences. "I was wondering if I could steal you for a while," he said, his cheeks noticeably redder. "I want you to take a look at some of the star charts, see if you can tell us anything new."

She cocked an eyebrow. "The Vulcan star charts are extremely thorough. I don't know if I can tell you anything they don't already know."

Archer smirked. "Ah, yes, but the fact that you're willing to do so is more than I can say about any of the Vulcans." He coughed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "I had asked T'Pol, but all she said to me was, 'That information is classified'. You'd think I was asking to see the specs for one of their top-secret warp drives."

"I can show you those, if you like," Kamea said. Archer and Malcolm both gawked at her. Malcolm couldn't tell if she was serious or not, but she didn't seem to be joking. She pulled her head back in apparent surprise at their reactions. "All right, fine. Just the star charts then. Well, I don't foresee that to be a problem. We were almost finished, provided Malcolm takes his turn sometime during the next century." Malcolm glowered at her and moved his queen. Kamea promptly took his queen with hers and said, "Checkmate."

Malcolm stared at the board in disbelief. He had carefully considered every move, painstakingly planned each attack. She had barely glanced at the board, spent no time examining the positioning of the pieces, and she had beaten him? There was no justice in this world.

Kamea grinned at him. "It appears as though you need to rethink your strategy." She stood up, ignoring the captain's proffered arm. "Good game, Lieutenant. We should do this again sometime."

Malcolm jerked out of his daze as the implication of her suggestion hit him. "Yes, that sounds agreeable," he said, looking up at her. There was a promise in her eyes that almost made him trip on his next words. "Perhaps later? I believe a rematch is in order."

She almost winked at him – her eyelid twitched a bit – but she wouldn't dare be so forward in front of the captain. "If you say so."

They had developed a routine, which they never spoke of because they weren't even sure what it was. At least, Malcolm wasn't. He couldn't speak for Kamea. But every night, around the same time, Kamea would sneak up to Malcolm's quarters and punch in the security code. Malcolm gave it to her so she would spend less time in the corridor, reducing her chances of being seen by passing crewmen. They decided that she would go to him instead of the other way around because, due to her refined senses, she was more adept at sneaking around.

Besides, seeing Kamea wandering the ship at night was practically second nature to most of the crew, and no one noticed her as she made the nightly trek to Malcolm's quarters. At least, no one said anything about it. But Malcolm had a sneaking suspicion that Commander Tucker knew more than he was letting on, if only due to the multitude of winks the commander seemed to be throwing him lately. Malcolm had learned to ignore him. He asked Kamea about it once; her eyes grew hard and she spat something in Vulcan, so he hadn't asked again.

He stayed awake until she came, using the extra time to catch up on work or read – Kamea had given him a copy of The Teachings of Surak, translated thankfully. She was like clockwork, practically the same time every night. He was beginning to anticipate it; he could almost sense her arrival.

At the beginning, he debated what he should wear to bed, and he tried something different every night. He found the Kamea slept more soundly whenever he just wore sweatpants, and he also found that he enjoyed the feel of her warm skin on his bare chest. Sometimes, in her sleep, she would trace patterns on his stomach. Her touch was feather light, and it gave him chills just thinking about it. She, on the other hand, generally wore a T-shirt and athletic pants, which he didn't think was fair. He was in a far greater state of undress than she was.

She would come into his quarters and go directly to his bed. They didn't speak – they didn't need to. He would put down whatever he was doing and slide against the wall. At first he'd patted the bed seductively as a joke, but that got old quickly. Now he just held up the covers, allowing her to slide in beside him. She would snuggle against him, draping her arms over him. It hadn't taken long for them to find a position that was comfortable. Sometimes they spooned, but usually Malcolm would lie on his back and Kamea would press her curves against him in all the right places. It took an enormous amount of self-control to stifle his body's reaction to her movements, because when she shifted against him, he was not responsible for his actions.

If she whimpered in her sleep, he held her closer and whispered encouragingly in her ear until she quieted down. Sometimes she quieted down right away, but sometimes it took longer, so he used his thumb to stroke her arms. Thanks to his universal translator, he now understood almost everything she said when she murmured in her sleep, so he knew what to say to her to calm her down.

He'd been thinking about it quite extensively for several weeks – he thought of little else – and he believed he'd come to a conclusion, thanks to some research about Vulcans he'd been doing. Apparently Vulcans were touch-telepaths, which was why T'Pol never touched anyone, and they could sense a person's emotions by touching him. His presence was calming for her, and that was why she was only able to sleep when he was in her bed. She didn't say that, but he could figure that out on his own, and he loved that she came to him for help.

He just wished she would talk to him.

Not that he was complaining about the situation. After all, there were a lot worse things in life than consistently sharing a bed with a beautiful woman, even if all they did was sleep.

Of course, sleeping together even in the most literal sense of the word had its advantages. For instance, Malcolm's hands a tendency to wander. Generally, they just found their way underneath the hem of whatever shirt she wore to bed and came to rest on the bare skin of her stomach. He learned early on that if they tried to go higher than that, he got kicked. He wasn't sure if Kamea was conscious of doing so or not, but one night the temptation had been too great and he'd snaked his hand all the way up to cup a breast. He immediately felt guilty for taking advantage of Kamea's situation, but most of the guilt had vanished when she'd kneed him soundly in the thigh. The bruise that sprouted the next morning was large, purple, and painful – and a constant reminder for him not to get fresh.

And even though he looked forward to it every night, even though sometimes all he could think about was how long until she was back in his arms, Malcolm was beginning to feel as though she was using him, and it was not a pleasant feeling.

He made a decision as soon as he arrived back in his quarters after his shift on the bridge. He was going to confront Kamea about their…unusual situation as soon as she arrived that night. They were going to sit down and discuss everything like civilized human beings, like rational adults, and he was going to force her to talk if it killed him.

Which it very well could. He'd seen Kamea mad. Not a pretty picture.

He was so nervous about the prospect of confronting Kamea that he wasn't able to do anything constructive all evening. He would sit down at his desk and attempt to review Commander Tucker's proposals for increasing the range of the torpedoes, but after a few minutes he began to fidget, and then he would get up and start pacing. Eventually, he gave up the idea of doing work altogether. He obviously was not going to get anything done.

In fact, he was so consumed in his own thoughts that he didn't even realize Kamea had entered his room until she spoke. "Is this a private party or can anyone join?"

He whirled to face her and felt his breath leave his throat. She wasn't wearing her usual bedtime attire; she was instead clad in only a tank top and a pair of running shorts, and Malcolm was quite positive he had never seen her bare legs before. "Kamea," he said. The word came out squeaky, and he flashed back to grammar school. He coughed and cleared his throat, trying to force his voice to return to normal. "I think we need to talk."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I'm too tired to talk," she said, stumbling towards his bed. "I just want to go to bed."

Malcolm quickly thought of something unsexy to stop the southerly flow of blood. "No, I really think we should talk."

She glared at him. "I don't want to talk. I just want to go to sleep. If that's going to be a problem, I can go back to my room." She moved towards the door.

"And not get any sleep?" he asked, and she stopped. "Because you won't. You said it yourself. Something about me helps you sleep."

Kamea turned to stare at him. "Well, you don't have to sound so smug about it."

He gave her a half-hearted smile, which faltered almost immediately. "Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you let me in?"

She shook her head. "There is nothing to talk about."

He scoffed. "What about the dreams you keep having? Don't try and tell me they don't bother you, because I know they do. Just because you don't wake up in a cold sweat doesn't mean they're not frightening you."

"Damnit," Kamea said, heading for the door once more, "I don't need this."

Malcolm reacted without thinking. He raced to the door and stood in front of it, blocking her exit. She snarled, baring her teeth. "That's pointless, you know. I could toss you aside without even breaking a sweat."

He didn't break eye contact. "If you wanted to, you would have done it without giving me a warning."

She looked away. "You're too smart for your own good."

He fought the urge to take her face in his hands. Touching her was not an option; it never really was, only when they were asleep and he could get away with it. "Don't shut me out, Kamea."

She buried her face in her hands and dropped to the floor, as if her legs had just been knocked out from underneath her. Malcolm went to her automatically, but when he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, she jerked violently away. "Kokame, Malcolm. Why can't you just leave it alone?" She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I don't want to talk about. Talking makes it real and I don't want it to be real. Can't I just go on pretending that everything is fine?"

He sat down beside her, struggling not to put his arm around her. "I thought you said you were sick of pretending."

She snorted. "You know, I'm starting to think you do tape everything I say."

Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. "I told you before, I'm just – "

"Concerned," she said, her voice noticeably softer. Malcolm nodded. "And I appreciate your concern, however unnecessary it is." She paused, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips, and again, Malcolm said prayers of thanks that he was seated. "This is payback for beating you at chess today, isn't it?"

He lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "Let's just say I prefer our verbal sparring matches."

"So, in other words, you're a sore loser," she said. Her face was expressionless but her eyes sparkled.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's it. Now, are we going to bed or not?"

"Lead the way, kika."

It had a familiar feel about it, as though she had been here before. But Kamea did not recognize anything about the room in which she now stood. Nothing about the room looked familiar; there was an odd assortment of artifacts scattered about – even the furniture looked weird. Nothing smelled familiar; it smelled like fire and desert. But she had the most bizarre feeling of déjà vu standing there. It was like a memory from a dream.

"You cannot be serious, brother," said a voice off to the side. It, too, was unfamiliar.

She followed the voice into the next room, and the strangest sight met her eyes. It was her father, only decades younger than he should have been. His hair was not tinged with gray but full and black, and he was leaner than she remembered. He was dressed in what she knew to be traditional Vulcan garb, and he was constantly pulling at the collar of his tunic, as though uncomfortable in his clothing.

The woman to whom he was speaking was not her mother – and she hadn't expected it to be, since she hadn't recognized the voice – but another Vulcan, one she had never seen before but whom she knew immediately. The cheekbones, eyes, and expressions of the woman reminded her so strongly of T'Pol that Kamea knew at once this had to be her aunt, T'Les.

"I am always serious, dear sister," Lorian said. "I am Vulcan,and as such am incapable of being anything but serious."

They spoke, naturally, in Vulcan, and though Kamea was fluent in her father's native language, she was having some trouble following the conversation. Perhaps it was the dialect that they were using, or perhaps it was because she hadn't ever witnessed an entire conversation spoken in Vulcan before.

"Now is not the time for humor," said T'Les. "No doubt an incorrigible habit you adopted from the woman with whom you claim to be in love."

"My dear sister," said Lorian, "if you insist on acting like a juvenile, I shall reciprocate. Her name is Kalea, and I would very much appreciate it if you referred to her as such. After all, I do not call your husband 'that man'."

"You cannot marry a human," T'Les said.

Kamea now knew that this was not her own memory. It couldn't be. She had never been to Vulcan, never met T'Les, and certainly never witnessed this particular exchange. But how could she possibly be dreaming about something about which she had no knowledge? She knew that this conversation had happened – her mother had told her as much – but she knew nothing of the specific details, and she certainly would not have been able to conjure up a memory of how T'Les's house smelled if she had never been there.

What in the hell was going on?

T'Les continued in a way that suggested to Kamea she had been practicing this speech for some time, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to recite it. "Think of the life your children would have, if it's even possible for you to have children."

Kamea watched her father carefully and was surprised by what she saw. He was actually rolling his eyes. Her father never rolled his eyes. "I have heard this argument before, T'Les. It did not sway me then. What makes you think it would have any impact now?"

T'Les stared at him for a moment, apparently speechless. Not only was he behaving in typical human fashion – or what T'Les probably believed to be typical human fashion – he had dropped the endearment "dear sister" and simply called her by her name. For all Vulcans droned on about nicknames and terms of endearment, Kamea guessed it was still pretty hurtful when someone suddenly switched like that.

"Your actions are not logical, brother," T'Les said, and Kamea – as adept at she was at deciphering Vulcan emotions, given that she was half-Vulcan – could tell that she was hurt. But she was grasping at straws; Lorian had always gone on for hours about the different types of logic.

"Based on whose concept of logic?" Lorian asked. "I am marrying the woman I love. If that is not considered logical, then perhaps I want nothing to do with logic."

Lorian turned on his heel and made to leave, but T'Les – in a surprising move that Kamea would not have expected – raced after him and grabbed his wrist before he reached the door. "Are you listening to what you are saying? Are you willing to turn your back on your people, your culture, everything you have ever known, because of this infatuation you have with this Earth woman?"

Kamea bristled automatically, and so, apparently, did Lorian. "I'll thank you kindly," said Lorian, "to not refer to my wife in such a manner."

T'Les pulled back in barely disguised shock, and Kamea grinned in smug satisfaction, even though no one could see her. "Your wife?"

"Not yet, but I intend to make it so. I have returned to ask for the High Command's permission to perform the bonding ritual."

"You are already betrothed, and even if you were not, the High Command would never agree to it. Humans do not have the emotional maturity to engage in interspecies relationships."

Lorian cocked an eyebrow. "Fascinating. You mentioned emotion, something that Vulcans do not recognize. I think, my dear sister, that you are just as confused as the rest of our people."

T'Les's eyes darkened. "You speak of the minority, brother. You would do well to hold your tongue."

"And you, dear sister," Lorian said, putting a little more bite on the endearment than before, "would do well not to discuss things about which you have no knowledge."

"I will not have you disgracing our family because you believe that you are in love. We are Vulcan, brother. We do not experience love."

Lorian almost smiled. Kamea could tell. "Perhaps you do not experience love, T'Les. But I do. And I intend to embrace it and cherish it, because there is nothing like it in this universe. And I am not going to throw it away because of some antiquated ritual that has little to do with me and everything to do with tradition." He turned to leave again.

The door was open and Lorian had one foot through it before T'Les spoke again. "Lorian."

He stopped but did not turn.

"If you do intend to go through with this sham of a marriage, if you insist on claiming that you are in love with this human, than you are no longer welcome in my house. You are not permitted to see my children. If you walk out that door, you are not my brother."

Lorian didn't even look back.

Kamea woke with a start. She jerked her head back so violently that she hit Malcolm, who – not surprisingly, that man could sleep like the dead – didn't even stir. They had shifted position in the middle of the night. She ended up on her side, wedged against the bulkhead, and he curled around her, his arms wrapped around her stomach.

And, once again, his hands had found their way underneath her shirt. She really would have to speak to him about that.

She buried her face in their shared pillow and tried to go back to sleep, but all she could think about was that dream. What did it mean? It wasn't one of her memories, she knew, since it had obviously happened before she was even born – before her parents were even married. So then where had it come from? And why?

It took a long time for Kamea to fall back asleep.