Later Days {Star Trek Enterprise Fan Fiction}

Faith, Part 3

3 – Cold

"You're really sure, Dec?" It was his half-sister, Marie Patrice Beckett, on a video call. She was in the middle of preparing for a trunk show. There were human, Calafan, and Andorian models all running around. Through it all, she was an oasis of calm, handing over a shoe or a sash or an unopened bottle of mascara to someone or other through the semi-organized chaos.

"Yes, I am certain," he replied. "You're rather busy. I should not have contacted you."

"Oh, that's all right. Here, take this one," she was about to hand over a tube of lipstick to a human model when she checked the label at the bottom. "No, wait, get number forty-one." She turned back to the viewer. "So, Rebecca Shapiro, eh? And you're going to become Jewish, and everything?"

"I am indeed."

"Is it very difficult?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I've only just met the rabbi. We mainly discussed whether I was sincere. We didn't get into the particulars."

"What does Rebecca think of all this?" She turned, "Wait, put on the cover-up. It's way too cold to go outside in just a swimsuit, even if it is straight to the limo. I swear, Dec, I'm everybody's mother sometimes."

"There's a place for your maternal instincts, after all."

"You didn't answer me; what does Rebecca think, of you converting?"

"She doesn't know."

"Dec!" There was a tap on Marie Patrice's shoulder by a blue hand. "Yes, yes, the ice yellow. Cool colors for everybody but copper Calafans." She turned back to face the viewer. "You proposed marriage but you didn't tell her you were converting?"

"No, I, I wanted it to be a surprise. And I didn't want her to think she could ever talk me out of it."

"That's a helluva commitment. You never made that kind of a commitment to Louise, and you were married to her for, what, three years?"

"Not quite three. It's just, Empy, I, I never felt like this about Louise. Louise was always so, so cold."

"And Rebecca is hot, eh?"

"Empy! C'mon, really!" He peered at her closely. "You ask me too much 'bout Rebecca, and I'm bound to begin inquiring about Ken Masterson and you."

"All right," Marie Patrice threw her hands up in the air, and a silver Calafan unexpectedly handed her a green hair ribbon that had gotten knotted. That made her laugh a little, and she sent about undoing the knot. "Look, all I'm saying is – and I'm not trying to pry – I just want you to, you know. Declan," she said, stopping what she was doing, and looking at him seriously, "if there's one thing I learned from all five of our parents, it's that the bedroom time is really, really important. I don't necessarily mean the rousing sex, although that's all to the good. What I mean is the intimacy. The talking. The lying next to someone and hearing them breathe. The stealing of covers and the snoring. All of that togetherness, and all of that vulnerability. Everybody says – I know you do – Selfish Empy, Immature Empy. I know that, I get it."

"Now, now, we don't."

"Oh yes, you do. And I don't exactly disabuse you of such notions. Hell, I know how self-centered I am. No one can accuse me of not being self-aware. But I will, I mean, I'll probably never marry Ken. I love him but I just don't want to do all that pomp and circumstance. I get plenty of it here." She gestured and that same Calafan took back the now-untangled hair ribbon. "But I will and do give all of that to him. I do that because that's the most important thing."

A bit nonplussed, Declan replied, "I'm unused to such, such declarations from you. The, the intimacy. You're absolutely right. With Louise, she was so distant, so removed, so, so detached. I used to think I hadn't much of a skill level, you see. Even in our most intimate moments, she was, let's just say; I think the correct term is bored."

"Oh, Dec."

"Yes, she was that cold. And it's not that way with Rebecca. I shan't provide you with the sordid details, or anything like that, but the gist of it is, she approaches our intimacy, whether it's physical or just to sleep or share a coffee or the like, she, she approaches it with, well, with enthusiasm."

"And you just want to be even closer by doing this, and becoming Jewish, just like her?"

"Yes," Declan affirmed, "I wish to approach it with the same enthusiasm as she approaches being with, with me."

"Then do it," Marie Patrice declared. "But there is just one thing."

"Oh?"

"Allow me to design you a yarmulke and a tallis. I think they're okay if they're blessed by a rabbi – otherwise, I'm not so sure that the fabric matters, but I'll do some research. I still have some of the cloth from when my father came over from the other side of the pond, that shirt he was wearing when our mother saw him for the first time, in person. And I have some shirts of your Dad's, too. It won't be a patchwork. I'll make it nice. But let me do this for you."

A little overcome, Declan just said, "Our home will always be open to you. Come in from the cold at any time."