A Family Reunion

Posted on 24 Sep 2025 @ 1:37pm by Major Porter Wallace

Mission: M4 - Falling Out
Location: Guest Quarters, OC
Timeline: MD 4; Day 29
1553 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure

It was the sound that unnerved Marcus. Snap. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Snap. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Again and again.

He ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair and choked back an expletive. Although his wife assured him he was still handsome, late middle age had softened his once chiseled jaw and his flat stomach had rounded a bit.

Snap. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

He forced his thoughts from the sound and tried focusing on the law journal he’d uploaded to his PADD. The case was over thirty-years-old, but it seemed germane. A human child discovered aboard a Talarian ship. As a baby, his colony had been overrun by the militaristic species, and although his parents had been killed, he’d been been adopted by a Talarian officer.

Snap. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Of course, none of this studying would matter if he committed premeditated murder.
He dropped his PADD to the table with a clatter and stared at his daughter Victoria, a baby carrot half way to her mouth, a bowl at her elbow only half full. Even as a child, she’d chowed down on those hellish orange stumps at every opportunity. Some might call it an addiction; Marcus thought it damn irritating.

Snap. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

She didn’t look up at him, but as if reading his mind she said, trying not to spray pulped carrot out of her mouth, “We could have gone out.” She brushed back a long waterfall of dark brown hair, capturing it behind her left ear. “But nope. You wanted to spend your evening studying case law. Again.”

“We need to be prepared,” Marcus replied.

Victoria looked up at him. Never breaking her stare, her hand fished another carrot from the bowl.

Snap. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“For what? The two families haven’t even shown up with their lawyers yet. The only moved being made are from Rit.”

“I noticed," he said, trying to ignore the fact that Victoria was calling the Orion lawyer representing his brother and partner by his first name. "The change of venue from Earth to Starfleet was…well argued.” Marcus and the families’ two lawyers had been flanked and routed, if he was being honest. He knew the families were considering an appeal, but Rit Sarteniac’s argument had been heavy on case history, including citing the one Marcus was trying to read, that he doubted that’d it get overturned even if it went to the Supreme Court.

“And getting Uncle P.J. and Aunt Ibis standing in the case was nicely done, too,” she said, a mischievous grin dancing on her lips.

Marcus shot her a look at the ‘aunt’ Ibis dig, but feigned deafness. “How is it that we’d never heard of the Starfleet Family Act?”

“How is it we’re not enjoying a nice dinner at that Bajoran place on Level 1250?” Victoria mumbled.

Marcus flicked his eyes up at her. “We’re not on vacation,” he said sternly.
“No, we’re not. What are we doing here?” Victoria demanded. “Ikemba seems like a really lovely kid who’s had a pretty heinous life so far – ”

“That’s what we’re doing here!”

“Let me finish,” Victoria snapped, glaring at him. In moments like this, Marcus immediately recognized her for who she was: his wife’s daughter. While he’d gone into family law and a partnership with his father-in-law, Eve Wallace-Shearing had found a calling in criminal court. Not for the first time, he wondered if Victoria would’ve thrived alongside her mother in the Federation Prosecutor’s Office. “Perhaps you should have reached out to Uncle P.J. and offered our services to him. Then we’d all be on the same side!”

“You don’t know your uncle like I do.”

“You don’t know him either. It’s been twenty-seven years since you even saw him? People change. He’s got a family.”

“By accident!”

“It doesn’t matter how he got it, he’s got it!”

Marcus angrily pushed up from the table, as much in reaction to his fury as to inability to mount a serious comeback. A seething silence settled over the scene: Marcus standing inert; Victoria sitting, arms crossed and daring her dad to try to say something.
They stayed frozen for nearly half a minute when the door chime abruptly pricked the air. Marcus hurriedly composed himself. Victoria uncrossed her arms.

“It’s open,” he called out over his shoulder.

The door slid open. A man stepped in, hands clasped behind his back. A neatly trimmed brown beard flecked with silver rose up his jaw to meet hair of silver flecked with dark. It did nothing to hide the square jaw. The eyes, brown like her fathers scanned the room as if hunting for threats, before settling back on the pair by the table. Victoria could suddenly see what her father may have looked like – trim, fit, and rock hard – if he’d chosen a different direction in life.

Major Porter John Wallace, in a light green civilian shirt and dark pants cleared his throat. “Marcus,” his eyes swept to his niece, “Victoria. I think the last time I saw you, you were what two?”

Marcus stared, but Victoria bounced out her seat and swept across the room toward the man, stopping just short. “Uncle P.J.! Can I call you that? Hug? Handshake, what would you prefer?”

Wallace mouthed P.J. as if it were a shirt he needed to try on for size. His nephews were older than Victoria, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what they called him. His family had all called him ‘John.’ Dad sometimes had called him ‘Johnny.’ Never Porter. Never ‘P.J.’ He’d been saddled with that name after his mom’s great-grandfather.

“I – er – guess,” he shrugged, unwilling to commit to the moniker. He offered his hand; Victoria ignored it and gave him a hug that he awkwardly returned with a couple pats on her back.

Her father still stood there dumbly, so Victoria took it upon herself to battle silence, so she quickly led Wallace to a chair and deposited him, filling the air with mundane questions like what he’d like to drink? Did he want something to eat? Each question was quickly followed by what she liked to drink and what she liked to eat. Then she went on about how she couldn’t wait to meet the rest of his family. She was careful there, never using their names outright just in case a mention of Ikemba would prick the social bubble she was blowing up.

“You shouldn’t be here,” her father suddenly said. He’d barely moved since Wallace had come in. “It isn’t ethical.”

Victoria shot her dad a look: What are you doing?

Wallace was holding a glass of some sort of opaque lemon green liquid and set it aside on a nearby coffee table. “I came to bury the hatchet.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Marcus repeated.

“Dad – ”

“No, it’s not right. We should not be talking with you without your lawyer present.”
Wallace stared at his brother for a long moment, his jaw clenched, body tense. Then his body seemed to deflate. “Ibis and I are getting married. Since you’re on the station – ”

“Your lawyer should be present,” Marcus tersely told him. He turned his back on his brother and slid back into his chair at the table, picking up the PADD he’d abandoned. “Victoria can you show him the do – ”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Marcus looked around wildly, arms flying up as if expecting an attack from his brother, but Wallace had jumped back toward the door, assuming his own defensive position.

Victoria, on the other hand, stood with her hands on her hips staring daggers at her father. “Two decades, Dad! Twenty. Seven. Years. No!” She shook her finger at Marcus. “No! I won’t let you pull this bullshit! If some judge didn’t think that us being part of this case wasn’t a conflict of interest than an invite to a wedding doesn’t constitute a constitutional crisis!”

She took a steadying breath and looked at her uncle. “It would be our pleasure to attend. Send the invite and I’ll make sure we’re there.”

“Right,” Wallace straightened his shirt. “Okay. Maybe we should try to – uh – get together to talk, Marcus.”

“He will do that.”

Wallace looked from her to Marcus and smirked, cracking his rigid exterior. Victoria smiled back. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Don’t be a stranger!”

He nodded and walked out of the room with a wave over his shoulder.

Marcus’s face had turned some shade of purple and a vein twitched in his temple. Victoria had seen her father get truly angry on a handful of occasions. She knew he was about to fling a fulmination at her that would scorch the surface of a star.

But she didn’t want to hear it and when his mouth opened, she froze the fire with a simple proclamation.

“Get over it.”

Then she walked out of their quarters, deciding that the Bajoran place sounded absolutely delightful. Maybe Rit Sarteniac was available.