Title: Cry Havoc
Author: MissAnnThropic
Email: miss_annthropic@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Harbinger
Summary: The evolution of Trip and T'Pol's relationship following the events in 'Harbinger'.
Disclaimer: None of its mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching taped episodes of my favorite shows :(

****

"Doesn't mean we can't keep doing the neuropressure, though."

T'Pol did not flinch to an untrained eye, did not so much as pause to an outward observer, but the man sitting directly across from her was far from either. Commander Tucker's aptitude at reading the Vulcan science officer was uncanny, heightened, and she knew he perceived her infinitesimal flicker of being caught off-guard in the partially turned away, cant-head look he cast in her direction.

T'Pol soon had her cup of tea at her lips, a feeble but physical barrier against the chief engineer, and as she took a sip her eyes did a very human thing... they darted. She could hardly help the gesture... she was uncomfortable. There was something charged, intimate, in Trip's seemingly off-hand comment. She knew him well, could read his tones sometimes better than she comprehended his colorful speech, and she knew all he'd just said, all he'd insisted, was for nought. He would not forget their 'encounter' last night... at least not any time soon.

T'Pol swallowed with deliberation, lowered her cup, and met his gaze head-on. She would have to be the pillar of strength, the wellspring providing enforcement and reiteration that their 'experience' last night was not the prelude to something more. It could not be, at any cost.

Her manner was cool and collected as she said, "Until it has been established that you would no longer experience sleep disturbances without the neuropressure it is only logical our sessions continue. The Enterprise would suffer the inefficiency of a chronically exhausted chief engineer."

Trip watched her a moment, no more than three seconds, but in that time a stony resolution came over his face. As good as T'Pol was at reading his vocal intonations and nonverbal communication, he was just as good at reading her. He picked up on her demeanor, the chill dismissal of their previous closeness standing as stark reaffirmation of everything she'd said only moments ago, and quickly he adapted to match her.

Trip became distant, professional, without a centimeter of movement in his body posture or his facial expression.

T'Pol blinked calmly as she watched him transform. A small seed of relief budded within her to see him reverting to the colleague she'd befriended. This was the only way it could be. She would not allow this human to sway her, to affect her.

"Can't have the ship fallin' apart on account a me, can we?" Trip commented dryly, if not with a hint of sincerity, then he sighed, defeated. His voice lost the measure of acidity it had gained when he said, "I better get back ta engineerin', I have some things to do. See ya later, Sub-commander."

T'Pol nodded, "Commander," then watched impassively as he rose from his seat and made his way out of the mess hall. Her gaze lingered on the door in the wake of his departure only a fraction of a second before dropping back down to her cup of tea.

T'Pol saw from the corner of her eye the crewmen at the table near her. She knew they had not heard, human hearing was too poor to register the hushed conversation she and the commander had had, but still they were attentive to her solitary breakfast.

T'Pol refused to look at them, not because she was made uneasy by their covert scrutiny but because it would make them uncomfortable. T'Pol had grown accustomed to the reaction she still engendered from many among the crew. She had been accepted as a member of the Enterprise crew, respected for the skills she possessed, but on a personal level many of the humans still preferred to relate to her from a distance and through an intermediary such as Captain Archer.

T'Pol had confessed to herself some time ago that the awkwardness was not entirely one-sided. On the whole T'Pol was still poor at human relations. Theirs was a culture difficult for Vulcans to grasp, filled with emotional nuances and subtleties nonexistent in T'Pol's native society. It was a select handful of humans aboard Enterprise around whom T'Pol was not put at some appreciable measure of disquiet. Commander Tucker was one of those few.

T'Pol, unconcerned with the looks slanted toward her from the human diners, lifted her head and pensively considered the doorway to the mess hall. Truth be told, Trip was the human, against all logic, that she was now most comfortable around. For a long time T'Pol felt closest to Captain Archer, soothed by the layer of professionalism between them, a buffer zone with which she was familiar. She had been resistant to explore human companionship beyond that safety zone.

Then the neuropressure sessions with Commander Tucker began.

T'Pol took in a short breath as she remembered that initial impromptu session. When Trip had first administered neuropressure to her she'd been somewhat startled by his actions. With minimal direction he found the exact neural node and with little prompting exerted more or less the proper amount of stimulating pressure. T'Pol had been braced for pain from ineptitude, but Trip had surprised her.

'Because his are the hands of precision, trained for both demanding and delicate work,' T'Pol mused as she sipped again at her tea. It was one of many facts about Charles Tucker that she had gleaned through interactions with him. Trip was without question a man who knew his hands well, and was very in tune with their movements. T'Pol had never complimented Trip his dexterity, the human utterly unaware of how he'd impressed the unflappable science officer. Instead, she had settled far too easily and far too quickly into an unstrained comfort in his presence, engaging in close and frequent physical contact with him, that had ultimately led to this.

T'Pol could not allow this progression to escalate. What happened last night could not recur. Her companionship with Commander Tucker had become dangerous; her Vulcan veneer of detached control wavered around Trip. Neither he nor she was prepared for the consequences of any further emotional entanglement between them.

T'Pol made this decision for the both of them, vindicated in her certainty it was both logical and right, and finished her tea with outwardly untouched calm. It was a stubborn, buried part of her, a piece of herself she fought with all her Vulcan control, that mourned the loss of an interpersonal closeness that had been growing and spreading with illogical tendrils of comfort and peace even as it ignited confusion and fear.

It was fortunate that T'Pol was Vulcan and none of these emotions, these feelings, could alter her judgment. Such human failings that might have bested another would not challenge T'Pol's reigning logic... certainly not on this, so personal a matter.

*****

Wonderfully feminine form, more angular than a human woman's, sharper and more severe in body as well as visage. Her skin tone bronzed, tanned but tinted just enough, enough to distinguish the expanse of her tantalizing flesh as exotic to his senses.

Commander Charles Tucker's lips thinned and his gaze narrowed in intense concentration as he focused on the diagnostic read-outs displayed in front of him. Engineering was a quiet hum of efficiency surrounding him, Trip's team going about their work diligently, sparing now and then the usual small talk and idle conversation.

Commander Tucker had not partaken of any of the amiable chit-chat in the two hours he'd been on duty, since leaving T'Pol in the mess hall at breakfast, and his people had picked up soon enough that he wasn't in the mood to be approached for anything less than ship's business.

With his eyes soaking up the sight of her, feeding on the carnal presence she was creating. His gaze returning to hers after what seemed an era visually trekking her Sahara skin.

Trip glowered at the computer access panel before him as though it were to blame and mentally attacked the numbers and measures with a furious singularity of purpose. It wasn't that he was faced with anything particularly difficult, simple routine warp engine checks... he just kept getting distracted.

That was being kind, because 'distraction' was a mild word for what Trip was experiencing at that moment. He had learned to work through distraction in the academy, but he'd never quite been distracted like this. He couldn't get T'Pol out of his mind.

The tantalizing feel and the taste of her lips when they kissed. Soft and slightly wavering, pecans and cinnamon. The latter dancing at the tip of his tongue, a sun-kissed flavor fitting of a woman from a desert world.

The very real effect on him was marginally akin to being fourteen years old all over again. The chief engineer would have scoffed at the comparison to a love-sick teenager, because that damn well wasn't it. This was more like a brain infection, a festering idea of her in his thoughts that he could not shake.

He'd dismissed the vivid memories, sensory recall, as normal lingering impressions at first. Certainly, despite the line of bull he'd fed T'Pol, it was an incredibly memorable night. When an hour passed and he found himself failing to brush the incident to the back of his mind when work demanded his attention, when T'Pol clung to his thoughts like plasma particles, he started to suspect this wasn't just the work of memory... at least, not typical human memory. Sure as hell not the way Trip Tucker's mind usually functioned, because if nothing else he knew how to put work in its proper place when it came to a hierarchy of priorities.

Inside his head, T'Pol was grossly out of line.

Nutmeg and sun-bleached sand taunting his taste buds as he swept her mouth. Thoroughly fascinating, the flavor of T'Pol impressed upon his brain.

Trip felt like a part of him was perpetually trapped, ensnared in last night, enmeshed in the memory of T'Pol's embrace as tangibly as he had held her only hours ago.

Trip struggled in what seemed an endless war with himself until finally, like a slow-warming warp engine, he hit a stride. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd truly managed to suppress the stark images in his mind or if he'd merely figured out how to disassociate that part of his mind that was hung up on his encounter with the Vulcan science officer from the rest of his mental processes. Either way, Trip discovered how to work with the preoccupying event in his mind.

It became persistent background noise, an unrelenting pest in the back of his mind.

Heat from her, rising around him and with it bringing a heady scent of sun-dried earth.

Through sheer force of will alone Trip began to adapt his work in engineering into a distraction from the repeating recollections. The harder he focused on his work, the more intense and single-minded his attention was on his duties, the more the memories of T'Pol became muted.

Trip settled into dogged execution of his tasks, sinking into the soothing hum of Enterprise's engines to drown out the remembered sound of T'Pol's reined sighs.

Her skin feverish under his touch; he could feel her body temperature soar beneath his hand and against his chest, an enchanting summer on every inch of his skin where his flesh met hers.

"Commander?"

Trip was jarred at the intrusion into his private little war. He took a moment to collect himself as he turned to one of the ensigns assigned to the engineering staff. She was standing patiently after calling his title as she waited for his attention.

"Yes?" he asked the young woman.

The crewman, her expression dour and weary, handed a PADD to Trip as she said, "Sir, power relays went down again on Deck C, sections four through six."

"Damn," Trip cursed as he scanned the maintenance report now in his hands. That particular section of the ship had experienced power failure twice in the last two weeks, traced each time back to a set of faulty power couplings. They needed to be replaced, but material aboard Enterprise was scarce and there were no available spare power relays to fix the power fluctuations for good.

Trip frowned. "Well, guess we'll have ta see what we can do about jury-riggin' them back together enough to hold a current." Even as he said it he grimaced, fully cognizant of how unprofessional and 'sloppy' such a quick-fix solution was... sadly, such backward repairs were becoming his only recourse in far too many situations. Just when he thought the day couldn't get worse he was proven gloriously wrong.

The ensign inquired reluctantly, "Would you like me to see to it, Commander?"

Trip considered her request and the work-load the repair job entailed. It was a tedious, fine-tuned job that the ensign obviously did not relish the idea of undertaking. Normally, Trip wouldn't blame her. It was a boring job that necessitated patience and diligence, because cobbling together a working power transfer circuit from a faulty relay was not an easy task.

Today, it sounded like just the thing Trip needed to keep himself busy.

"I'll handle it, Ensign, just keep me informed if anything happens down here."

With obvious relief the woman nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll put together a relay repair kit for you right away."

Trip nodded and called after her, "Make sure ya put in plenty a copper casin' strips, got a feelin' I'll be needin' all the balin' wire I can get."

*****

Captain Jonathan Archer, for lack of any other pressing business to attend to, paced the bridge. His command crew was used to such behavior at quiet hours. Jonathan Archer was a man not apt to stay still for long, and the expanses of space that held no wonders or excitement, instead a stretch only of uneventful, peaceful travel through the darkness, could task the captain. His habit of pacing was a small gesture that stemmed the restlessness he could sometimes suffer. When he became captain of the Enterprise, Earth's first long-range vessel of scientific exploration, he never foresaw these pockets of inaction.

Archer made circuits of the different stations and after so many months in service together each person manning each station knew without prompting that a certain look from their captain called for a report.

Archer stepped closer to Malcolm Reed and turned a curious gaze up toward the tactical officer.

Malcolm was ready with a quick report. "Deck C is still reporting isolated power failure, Captain."

Archer frowned unhappily. "That's the third time that section's gone down in the past month..." The captain ceased musing aloud then asked his waiting officer, "Trip still on it?" The question was more perfunctory than genuinely questioning.

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, sir, he's been down there since 0930 trying to effect repairs."

Archer sighed in helplessness. He knew Trip was doing all in his power to keep the Enterprise at peak efficiency, but the exploration vessel had been asked to give more than she was designed to offer in their unexpected mission to track down and stop the Xindi. She'd gone from ship of science to ship of war without changing any of the basic functions of which she was capable. Such a shift in mission parameters would normally require an overhaul of the entire vessel to properly adapt to the new functionary title... Enterprise had received no such luxury. Trip was a brilliant engineer, but he could only do so much with what he had with which to work.

Archer mulled a few loose thoughts over then said, "I'd like to see Trip in my ready room when he goes off duty." Maybe they could brainstorm a new method by which to hold the stressed ship together, although already the Enterprise was bound together by means no one would have imagined a short few months ago, some that positively set Trip's hairs on end.

"Aye, sir," Malcolm answered and his hands moved over the controls before him, no doubt encoding a message to Trip's quarters relaying the captain's request.

T'Pol's calm, even voice intoned from the other end of the bridge as though she'd intuited the captain's recent train of thought, "The Enterprise suffers from a lack of adequate material for the engineers to properly maintain the ship."

Archer often wondered if there was any limit to the amount of obvious statements a Vulcan could provide. His handful of years of service with T'Pol as his first officer had yet to show the bottom of that particular Vulcan cavern. "I know that, but unfortunately a quick stop over at Jupiter Station for a refit is not an option. We'll have to make due until the threat of the Xindi has been destroyed or we've literally come apart at the seams."

T'Pol did not answer, instead lifted one eyebrow in acknowledgment (or perhaps a subtle commentary on the language he'd chosen) and returned to attending to her sensors.

Archer returned to his captain's seat and sat down, suddenly tired. He felt like his ship, over-worked and over-extended. Sadly, he knew he was not unique among his crew; everyone was feeling the strain of their mission.

*****

Trip, splayed out on his back with his torso shoved into an open wall panel on Deck C, was relegated to working in the dark corridor by the light of flashlights and emergency illumination. Sweat was coloring his blue uniform navy blue in patches on his chest and back, the sputtering, coughing wheeze of the decoupled relays a sick symphony that had begun to grate on Trip's nerves after the first three hours.

Trip strung copper conduction strips from one portion of the fluttering power relay to another, intent upon finding the fine balance that would cooperate with the stored power almost desperate to flow to its proper destination.

It was demanding work, and the recurring mental images plaguing him really were not helping.

Her slim Vulcan body pressed readily into his bare human frame, a hot aphrodisiac that smelled like the sun.

Trip's hand inadvertently brushed an active power coil surface. Only barely, but enough to burn.

Trip sharply jerked his hand back, "Son of a...!" he flexed his fingers to insure he was not seriously hurt, then gave his wounded hand a moment to recuperate before sending it back into the fray but already he'd booked himself a visit to the doctor after he'd finished his work for an analgesic cream.

With every taste, every touch, he wanted her more.

Trip's irritation was building into anger. He couldn't afford the distraction, not when he had work to do. To his chagrin, T'Pol's presence in his mind refused to abide by those stipulations. The smallest slip in his concentration opened the way for memories to flood him, nearly overwhelm him, and it had to stop.

Happily nipping and suckling on her alien skin.

Trip carefully returned to his work two-handed, more cautious of the live power sources he was working with and around. Maybe T'Pol had the right idea calling a halt to their... whatever they might have had. If a closer relationship meant he could look forward to T'Pol on his brain on a continuous loop ad infinitum then it was just as well he back off.

Best to leave it alone, and maybe stay clear of T'Pol for a little while for good measure, because the mission to find the Xindi and stop them was paramount. Trip refused to be taken from that for anything... it was too damn important.

Resolution battled with nettling doubt that it would not be so easy for Trip to dismiss the idea of T'Pol and what they'd shared from his mind.

Her touch, so familiar with his body from so many intimate neuropressure sessions, skirting places with specific knowledge coupled anew with physical hunger. Trip, taken with her wisdom, the knowing way she touched him even when she faltered in uncertainty. Trip, completely taken with her.

"Ensign Harris told me I'd find you here."

Trip startled at the voice, having missed the sound of any approaching footsteps, and craning around in his confines he finally cleared the access panel enough to look up at Corporal Cole. She was standing beside his prone body in her gray MACO uniform, head cant and a teasing smile on her lips as she looked down at him. The angular light from emergency strips and strategically placed flashlights cast her face in intriguing contours and shadows.

Amanda's eyebrows twitched when Trip did not say anything right away. "Heard you've been at this five hours straight."

Trip scooted out of the panel, glad for the new distraction, and as he sat up and laid aside his tool returned, "Don't know, what time is it?"

Amanda smirked and squatted down beside him. "I'll assume it's accurate since you've got that 'lost track of time' look about you. Anything I can help you with?"

Trip stopped himself, measured his initially intended words for how they may have accidentally sounded, then said, "It's... kinda a fine art gettin' these damn things to work, and not that I don't appreciate the offer, but if ya don't have the trainin'..."

Amanda waved a hand, clearly not wounded by the slight. "I get it, no sweat. I kind of suspected I wouldn't know enough to be of any help."

Trip glanced down at his recently assaulted hand, examining the red patch of burned skin as he asked, "Then why'd ya track me down?"

Amanda smiled. "To get you to break for chow; I'm also assuming you missed lunch."

"Uh... yeah, guess I did." Rather than make any attempts to rise and accompany the MACO to the mess hall Trip basked in the breather Amanda's arrival had forced him to take. Air dried and simultaneously cooled the sweat on his face and dampening his clothes. He relished that cool breeze far more than he noticed any pressing hunger gnawing at his stomach.

"I went to T'Pol's quarters yesterday for a neuropressure treatment as per the doctor's request," Amanda suddenly said in considered, measured words, a blatant effort exerted to come off as sounding conversational.

Of all the people they had to discuss, it seemed Trip's fate today that it would turn out to be T'Pol. Trip cocked one eyebrow at the MACO. "Oh yeah?"

Amanda nodded. "She was... well, that Vulcan knows neuropressure." The last was said with obvious admiration for a well-honed skill.

Trip found himself chuckling. "That she does. Still seems like magic to me sometimes the way T'Pol can..." the engineer trailed and switched trains of thought, "Amanda, why didn't ya tell me that I was hurtin' ya when I was doin' it to ya?"

Amanda shrugged in unconcern. "A lot of the stuff you were doing DID feel good, just a few things that hit a bad spot. I didn't think it was a big deal."

Trip frowned. "Neuropressure's not something to fool around with, I could'a really hurt ya, T'Pol says maybe even cause permanent nerve damage."

"Well, you didn't."

Trip, not assuaged by the disaster averted by dumb luck, nodded absently. "Just the same, think it goes without sayin' I shouldn't do it to ya anymore."

Amanda seemed displeased with the idea but didn't outright object.

Trip found himself offering, "If ya wanted ya might be able to get T'Pol to work with ya on a regular basis the way she does with me." It was reasonable enough, but there was a gut response in Trip that didn't particularly like the course of action he'd just recommended Amanda take.

Amanda made a face at the suggestion. "Nothing against the sub-commander, but I don't think I'll be pursuing a regular client-based association with her. She can be... rough."

Trip's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"Besides," Amanda continued, "she's not as good company as you are."

Trip stared at Amanda a moment, his physical senses locked on her but his thoughts simultaneously assaulting him again, without warning.

The shiver of barely contained ecstasy when his fingers teased her sensitive Vulcan ears, the pointed appendages' flush of green with rushing blood.

"She's nice when ya get to know her, it just takes a while to get past that Vulcan shield she puts on," Trip defended before he could stop himself.

Amanda's brow furrowed slightly. "All due respect again, but she strikes me as more or less like every other Vulcan I've met. Don't get me wrong, I respect her expertise and I know she's done as good a job as anyone can really expect from a Vulcan living among humans, but... I don't know, it's hard when the Vulcans are so vocal against us being out here."

Trip sighed in understanding. He knew exactly what Amanda was talking about... not so long ago it was his opinion as well when it came to the Vulcans. On the whole it still was how he felt, now with one exception... Sub-commander T'Pol.

"So, Commander Tucker, can I escort you to the mess or do I need to call in for reinforcements?" Amanda pressed with a feral grin.

Trip answered regretfully, "I'm sorry, Amanda, but ya better go on without me. If I don't get these damn things workin' again by ship night there's gonna be a whole section of off-duty crewmen stumblin' around their quarters in the dark."

Amanda opened her mouth to argue.

"Really, I have to finish this. Thanks for the invite, though."

Amanda shrugged and moved to leave him to his work but before she'd managed to stand she threw in, "We're scheduled for another hand-to-hand combat training session tonight."

Trip groaned and had to let his eyelids flutter shut in order to forestall the desire to roll his eyes. With all the other things on his mind he had completely forgotten about the combat training exercises in which the MACOs and Enterprise officers had been conjointly participating. He couldn't bow out of it, either, because while Malcolm might be willing to let it slide a few times Major Hayes would undoubtedly report his absence, and Captain Archer was the one who had pressed the Enterprise crew training with the MACOs to improve everyone's battle efficiency.

"I bring it up because Major Hayes and I spoke this morning and he'd prefer if MACOs sparred with MACOs, at least until the Enterprise crew members are a little more... proficient." Amanda said the last in a rising voice, obviously attempting to sound diplomatic and delicate.

Trip gave a wry grin. "Ya mean when we're not easy targets."

Amanda returned the smile. "If you want to get technical," then she cocked her head at the dirty engineer, "which I imagine you do. Major Hayes feels that a MACO is not getting a full work-out as per his physical regiment requirements when paired with an Enterprise crewman."

Trip, thinking back to their first joint session and seeing the MACOs fairly wiping the deck with Enterprise officers, conceded gracefully. "Well, he's probably right, but in our defense the rest of us have day jobs; we can't spend all day playin' soldier."

Amanda shook her head but her lips were curved in a smile. "Just wanted to tell you that it's nothing personal that I have to find a new partner."

"Probably for my own good anyway, I've got too much work to do to be stove up in sickbay because my sparrin' partner got overzealous."

"I'm wounded, Trip, to think you'd think I'd injure you."

"Well, not intentionally."

Amanda finally rose to a standing position and added in a soft voice, "I was hoping the cessation of our neuropressure sessions wouldn't mean we stopped spending time together." Her tone was openly inviting even if Trip had managed to miss the unspoken language in her unassuming stance as she watched him process her words... which he hadn't.

Trip honestly didn't know what to say because he didn't know how he felt about the veiled proposition. Today was the last day he should be expected to make any decisions surrounding his fractured personal life, especially a decision that included any woman. He liked Amanda, he genuinely enjoyed her company and they had a lot in common, but after spending the entire day with T'Pol a constant cerebral companion of sorts he felt he would be unfair to Amanda to accept any gesture of potential intimacy. He had some things to work out before he could weigh the consequences of becoming involved with someone, to say nothing about whether or not he could, in good conscience, spare the time in light of the Xindi.

"I'm sure we could find somethin' else to do other than neuropressure," Trip finally answered. He thought it was open-ended enough, however Amanda had noted the pause between her words and his. She took it for what it was. Counted among her numerous qualities was intelligence. To her credit, she seemed unfazed by the brush-off, because Trip did know how to let a girl down gently... or at least make it clear that he was trying to let a girl down gently. That coupled with the fact Amanda Cole was a woman built of sterner stuff than most women. She could not have become a MACO otherwise.

"I'm sure we can. I'll let you get back to your work."

"See ya later, Amanda," Trip bade her farewell then watched her walk down the corridor. He remained unmoved, thoughtful, until Amanda's figure rounded the hallway corner and disappeared from view.

The swirl, the fog encasing his thoughts, when she turned to tasting him. Her mouth a hot brand on his skin, trails of Vulcan fire across his chest and along his neck.

Trip gave a mental sigh of exasperation and crawled once more into the open access panel. He picked back up the gauntlet in the war pitting concentration on his work against the fermenting essence of last night with T'Pol branded on his brain.

It was turning out to be a very, very long day.

*****

Sub-commander T'Pol found herself between two clusters of humans, not exactly ostracized but she was well aware she was not entirely integrated into either group. She was standing in the cargo bay with the MACOs and available Enterprise crewmen waiting for their self-defense practice. Through natural inclination, the inborn herding instinct in humans that they still unwittingly adhered to, the MACOs were grouped together on her left and the Enterprise crewmen were gathered on her right. She was somewhat more enfolded into the Enterprise cluster, but there existed more space between her and any of the humans than stood between any two humans. T'Pol was not bothered, of course, but she noted it.

T'Pol pondered such situations a great deal during her meditation. Humans, behaviorally, were a constant conundrum providing endless, up-close study. For instance, the humans now were making two categories, 'human' and 'Vulcan', but if a test of loyalty was forced upon the group it would quickly change to 'MACO' and 'Enterprise' and T'Pol would no longer be regarded separate from her Enterprise shipmates.

It was in some ways illogical, but illogic seemed to be one of the ruling forces of human behavior. Just like the fact that, at that moment, Major Hayes was displaying agitation and irritability toward those present when his true hostility was directed at Commander Tucker. The engineer was late.

All eyes turned to the cargo bay doors when at last they slid open and an unapologetic Trip entered.

T'Pol marked his disposition in a fleeting instant. He had changed into exercise attire but his physical appearance else-wise indicated that he had not showered after his duty shift before coming to the cargo bay for self-defense. He looked tired and more than a little irate.

"Nice of you to join us, Commander," Major Hayes said with just enough respect in his tone to avoid any rejoinders but enough disdain for the engineer's tardiness to make his feelings on the matter known.

Trip's eyes narrowed fractionally at the MACO commander and the corners of his mouth pinched but he said nothing in retaliation... nor did he apologize for his lateness. T'Pol checked herself when she found a very faint frown of her own directed at the MACO for his manner toward Trip.

Trip had yet to look at her, tacitly avoiding it in fact, but was finally forced to face her. Everyone else, while milling around waiting, had wordlessly chosen a sparring partner. T'Pol was left the odd man out, no one jumping to pair with her, so Trip was unofficially assigned to her. It was more than his tardiness and her isolation that dictated their pairing; everyone on Enterprise, even if they did not know any specific details about the relationship between the chief engineer and Vulcan science officer, noticed that the two were more comfortable with each other than most of the humans were around T'Pol or she around humans. Trip was their escape-route, their excuse not to have to team with the Vulcan one-on-one because Trip and T'Pol were friends and did not mind the company of each other.

Normally, that was true, but today Trip moved toward T'Pol with a hesitancy in his step.

'He's reluctant, clearly uneasy about what happened last night, particularly after the discussion on the matter we shared in the mess hall this morning,' T'Pol thought as Trip drew closer. She should have known, of course, that the commander would let his emotions distract him.

He stopped facing her and one of T'Pol's eyelids flickered at what she read in his expression. She had seen Commander Tucker worked to exhaustion before, and she'd seen him irrational with profound emotions (such as grief) but the state reflected in his face right then was not exactly either.

That and T'Pol could almost sense something from him, feel something emanate from him the way she felt his emotional states when she touched him. It had only ever happened before when she was in physical contact with Trip, the nature of Vulcans being touch-telepaths, but now he stood two feet away, hands at his sides completely free of contact with her and still she felt... something.

T'Pol suppressed the urge to frown again, instead turned her attention to Major Hayes.

"Now that everyone's accounted for, I'd like us to run through the holds and throws we introduced during the last session." He looked toward the Enterprise crew to address them. "Work on your own for a while, once the MACOs have gone through the maneuvers a few times I'll have them supervise other teams."

Trip caught sight of Amanda standing opposite her male MACO partner. She returned his gaze, offered a small, congenial smile, then locked all her attention on her opponent.

Trip's weary annoyance at the self-defense class and warm friendliness at Corporal Cole was butted aside by a blatant sensation of disapproval, enough to make Trip frown in consternation and confusion.

Trip looked back to T'Pol to find a very impassive expression on her face. All the same, he got the feeling T'Pol knew he'd been making a social exchange with Amanda and she didn't seem happy.

Trip was too tired to argue, so he didn't mention it.

Teams on either side of them began to warm up into combat stances and Trip languidly began to move. T'Pol backed into a ready stance, voice seemingly flat as she asked, "Are you well, Commander?"

A little of the irritation directed at T'Pol faded, replaced by discomfort and content at the masked concern he could detect in her tone and Trip nodded. "Long day, go easy on me."

T'Pol lifted one eyebrow but said nothing.

Trip and T'Pol wordlessly set into a pattern of advance and retreat, alternating offense and defense.

T'Pol was stronger and faster than Trip by virtue of her species, but the chief engineer was keeping pace with her admirably. T'Pol assumed he was bored by the slow executions and sped up her own moves, intensified the maneuvers.

Trip matched her, not a word spoken. With increased speed came an illogical annoyance in the commander, who channeled his energy into aggressive concentration. T'Pol startled faintly at the change in Trip but easily matched his steps. Perhaps he had a human need to work through his emotions so she felt correct to oblige him... besides, T'Pol could do with the work-out.

Trip parried her attacks, each time anticipating her actions just enough to deflect them. He was not usually so adept at hand-to-hand, much less against a Vulcan, but T'Pol found herself watching closely for an opening, a weakness, unable to land any hits. It brought razor-sharp focus to what she was doing, and with ease she locked into the singular effort.

Strange emotional concoctions rolled off him, anger, thrill, irritation, hatred. T'Pol was distracted by the psychic onslaught, and it was enough to level the playing field between human and Vulcan.

Neither noticed their vigorous, furious combat had drawn attention. All the other teams stopped and watched the two. Trip and T'Pol were ruthless, deadly, but neither gained distinct advantage over the other. Their actions were composed of powerful deflections and failed attacks. It got almost too fast to follow.

T'Pol was lulled by the rhythm, the unconscious beat, then jolted when she realized she was committing a grave error. She was enjoying it. 'It must be the emotions I am sensing from him, affecting my own,' T'Pol reasoned, and before she could reel in her control she experienced another very human emotion. She got angry at Trip.

It was just enough to tip the scales. T'Pol was fast, decisive, and with a loud thud Trip was soon sprawled on his back on the mat, his arm locked painfully in T'Pol's almost delicate grip. He yelped, tensed, then stilled and glared at her.

T'Pol realized she was standing over him, victorious and still holding him, then deliberately let him go. She extended her hand to him, offering to aid him up. Trip stared up hotly at her a moment, breath short, then relented and accepted her hand and hauled himself up to his feet.

"Did I injure you, Commander?" T'Pol finally asked.

Trip was massaging his hand, still sour from the defeat. "Nah, it's nothin', just got me on my bad hand today."

T'Pol looked down at the hand Trip was tending and saw the red raw mark of a burn.

"You should have Doctor Phlox treat that."

Trip sneered. "Well thank you, but I was plannin' on doin' that when I had some spare time." Trip frowned at his hand again then slowly returned his eyes to T'Pol. He just then seemed to realize how angrily he'd spoken to T'Pol, unjustly, and in his eyes was silent apology.

T'Pol accepted with just as wordless a look.

Trip and T'Pol watched each other, silent, until Major Hayes interrupted them. "I must say, Commander Tucker, it looks like you've been practicing the moves you learned yesterday."

Trip at last turned his eyes away from T'Pol to look at Major Hayes. "Well, don't ask me ta explain it, but I don't think I'd do as well against anyone but T'Pol."

Hayes and Trip seemed equally confused. T'Pol looked as aghast as a Vulcan could manage.

"If I pass for tonight, Major, I'd like to drop over at sickbay and have this looked at," he waved his wounded hand at the MACO, still peeved at the major's attitude when Trip first arrived and it showed in his slightly insolent tone.

Hayes nodded. "Very well. Sub-commander, I think you've earned a break if you want but you're welcome to continue sparring with us, whichever you prefer."

T'Pol thought a moment before she answered. "I will continue exercise in private if I am free to choose. I should practice some Vulcan techniques that are inappropriate to conduct on human physiology."

Hayes nodded and moved off. Everyone seemed quick to drop T'Pol from their scope of responsibility. It was indeed fortunate that a Vulcan could not be bothered by such slights, unintentional or unconscious though they were.

Trip noticed Reed watching them, open shock and questioning on his face.

Trip felt even more tired than he had when T'Pol first helped him up off the floor.

"Look, T'Pol, I'm gonna head down to Phlox and get somethin' for this burn then I'm hittin' the sack."

One of T'Pol's eyebrows rose.

"Means goin' to bed."

T'Pol said, "First you must speak with the captain; he left a message for you to confer with him in his ready room at your earliest convenience."

Trip sighed, very nearly groaned, "I haven't had a chance to check my messages today. Well, thanks for tellin' me, least I can go by there without havin' ta go all the way to my quarters and all the way back. I was just gonna say that I won't be comin' by tonight for neuropressure."

T'Pol said nothing but Trip felt the need to offer an explanation. "I've been workin' like a dog all day, and after this work-out added to that I don't think sleep will be a problem."

T'Pol finally nodded, readily acquiescing. "Very well, Commander. Sleep well."

Trip nodded, considered her a moment longer than necessary, then quickly shook himself and turned to leave.

T'Pol felt the barrage of emotions fade the further Trip got. It made her nearly ill with dark portent. She would have to mediate longer than usual today to contain this. She wasn't even going to allow herself to consider the possibility of it intensifying.

If she were human, she might confess to intense apprehension... and fear. If she were human.

*****

When the comm signal chimed within the captain's quarters the alert little beagle was the first to awaken. Porthos's head jerked up at the sound, ears pricked in the dark toward the desk and its cicada-like ringing.

Captain Archer ignored it for only a split second, just time enough for him to struggled up from deep sleep, and as soon as he recognized the sound for what it was he was in motion. Archer, still half-asleep, rolled up and out of bed. He moved to the desk while Porthos hopped up from his bed and hurried to the feet of his master as the captain, in sleep clothes and sporting bed-head, sat down at his desk and depressed the control to answer the call. "Archer."

"Ensign Walters, sir, sorry to disturb you so late, but Admiral Forrest is on the comm channel; he requested to speak with you."

Archer had not been in contact with Starfleet for weeks at least; T'Pol would know the exact date of their last communique.

"Put him through, Ensign."

Archer's desk-bound monitor sprang to life, encasing the image of Admiral Forrest of Starfleet looking immaculate as ever in his uniform, if not a little tired. If it had been a more decent hour Archer might have been put to shame at his own state of undress but it was too late to worry... and he was betting the admiral hadn't called him up to dress him down for being out of uniform.

"Jonathan," Admiral Forrest greeted, "hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

Archer knew it was empty courtesy for the admiral to ask, just as it was programmed what Archer should answer with unless Enterprise was on fire.

"Not at all, Admiral, what can I do for you?"

Admiral Forrest sighed and Archer braced himself.

"What I'm going to tell you will come as a surprise to you so bear with me. You remember the second ship of Enterprise's class that was under initial phases of construction when Enterprise was commissioned?"

Archer nodded. "NX Columbia if I'm not mistaken."

Forrest paused. "Yes, well, that was the original idea. Construction was nearly halfway complete when the Xindi attack on Earth happened. When Starfleet ordered you and your crew to track down and stop this threat to humanity we here on Earth did what we could to assist. The former NX Columbia project was scraped and the incomplete ship was refitted for a different core mission."

Archer was awake now. "Go on."

Forrest nodded grimly. "The NX Ares is now complete and we're dispatching it at once to face the Xindi threat."

Archer digested this a moment, letting it coalesce in his mind, then he said, "So we're not alone anymore... why do I get the feeling there's more."

Forrest continued, "This ship is a warship, Jon, built for combat. We at Starfleet feel it appropriate for main responsibility for the destruction of the Xindi threat be shifted to the Ares."

Archer frowned. He was not happy. "Admiral, all due respect, we've been after the Xindi for months."

"Precisely. You've done a fantastic job all things considered, Jonathan, and before you object further, no, you're not being pulled from the mission. We'd like nothing more than to be able to relieve you of this burden and pass it over fully to the Ares and her crew, but we can't afford that.

"The Ares is on an intercept course with the Enterprise at this very moment, sadly its shakedown run will be traveling at top speed to reach you as soon as possible. What I need from you is for you and your crew to provide the Ares and her crew with everything you have amassed on your mission so far that might help them against the Xindi. Intelligence, weapons and engine upgrades, flying tips if that's what it takes, but update them as completely as possible in as little time as you can manage."

"What are Enterprise's orders after that? You said we weren't being pulled from the Xindi mission."

"You're not. After you've given Ares all that you can you're to report back to the Sol system ASAP. Enterprise will report to Jupiter Station for maintenance, refits, weapons' upgrades... as soon as you're fit and stocked you'll rejoin the Ares."

Archer tried to digest all the information at once. "Why wasn't I informed of any of these plans before now?"

Forrest's lips thinned. "We felt it would be a security risk for you to know that an Earth ship designed for combat was being built. If the Xindi captured you and managed to extract that information and struck against the Ares before she was operational it would have spelled disaster for Earth because it would mean Enterprise and Ares were both out of commission."

Archer could not argue with the logic, even if it did irk him. T'Pol would probably admire the practicality of Starfleet's actions.

"Admiral..." Archer said testily, "Enterprise is fit now to continue the mission. We'd appreciate the help the Ares can offer, but it's not necessary to divert all the way back to Sol for a tune-up. We're ready and willing to keep going."

"I knew you'd say that. I understand how you feel, and I can sympathize with and even admire the effort and time your crew has put into this mission, but Enterprise is not built for fighting and you know it. Even with these upgrades she won't be a warship, but she'll be better off than she is with what she has now. You won't be abandoning the hunt for the Xindi, the Ares will be carrying on in your stead."

"All due respect," Archer pressed, "but we've held our own pretty damn well so far."

"No arguments, but you have also been very lucky. This isn't a request, Captain, it's an order. The best outcome we can hope for from this series of events will leave Earth with two well-equipped ships to face a hostile force. Starfleet feels the inactivity of Enterprise for a short time to achieve that is worth the sacrifice."

Archer seethed inwardly, and outwardly sagged. An order was an order and he knew when he'd pushed his comrade past the point where he would bend. "Understood."

As he disengaged the link with Starfleet he idly turned his eyes down to the patiently waiting and watching dog at his feet. Archer was looking down at Porthos but his mind was on the conversation he'd just had with Admiral Forrest. His crew was not going to be any happier about this than he was.

It was a briefing he was not looking forward to at all.

*****

The passion they created, the flurry of desire, as he moved into her, alien and right. All of her with all of him. The rhythm as they rocked as one, the oneness of motion. His hand on her thigh, his mouth on her throat. Her hands on his back, her body arching into his with primal alacrity.

The cascade, the fall, the sweet desert onto which he lowered his tired body, the embodied Vulcan sands that embraced him in the aftermath and the peace. The desire. The passion. The love.

Commander Tucker awoke with a gasp and for a second blinked up vacantly at the ceiling. His mind was racing, jumbled with memories so real his skin prickled.

When the images faded back to their proper place in the corner of his mind, when he finally managed to shake himself free of the last vestiges of his dreams, he laid quietly. For a minute he had every intention of merely going back to sleep but it became obvious in short order that he would never be able to sleep after that wake-up call.

Heaving a sigh, Trip turned his head to look at the chronometer. His sigh turned into a groan. 0350 hours.

Trip growled angrily and moved to get up, mood only worsened when the initial attempts to move only ignited a plane of complaints from his body. Yesterday's abuses had festered in his sparse sleep and he was sore as all hell.

Cranky and cramped, Trip got out of bed and shuffled absently toward his bathroom. He still had a couple more hours before he had to report for his duty shift and he didn't know what he'd do to fill that time.

An arrested attempt to disrobe for a morning shower convinced him that, however he ended up occupying himself, a primary destination would be sickbay to get Doctor Phlox to give him something for his myriad aches and pains.

Somehow this was all T'Pol's fault.

*****

Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather did not make it a habit to spend breakfast in one another's company, but as luck would have it both ensigns were up early that particular day and ran into each other on the way to the mess hall. They were as friendly toward one another as anyone else among the crew, comrades and comfortable in each other's company, but among the bridge crew Hoshi and Travis were perhaps the most dissimilar. Hoshi had never really wanted to travel in space; Travis was born and raised on spaceships. She put up with it because it was her job and she was able to learn completely alien languages on her current assignment; Travis would be out of place anywhere but in space.

It was just enough of a rift to ensure they never became best friends, but regular friends was entirely possible and already they were congenial colleagues.

When they stepped into the mess hall it was all but barren at this hour. A couple of crewmen were eating breakfast, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and chef was gearing up for a full day of serving food to the Enterprise crew.

Hoshi and Travis both noticed Commander Tucker sitting alone at a table at the same time. He was partially slumped in his chair, tray before him from which he dispassionately picked at something that resembled scrambled eggs.

Hoshi and Travis approached the solitary officer.

"Morning, Commander," Hoshi greeted.

Trip looked up and gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Didn't know you two made a habit of early risin'."

Hoshi offered a smile. "I wanted to get in some extra work on a translation I've been trying to crack today before my shift started."

Travis pipped in, "Mind if we join you for breakfast, sir?"

Trip shook his head, "Please," and gestured toward the empty chairs around him. He acted kindly enough but there was a dullness to his words that implied he either didn't really want company or would himself make pretty lousy company. It deterred neither ensign.

Hoshi sat down while Travis went to get some chow. The communication's officer looked down at Trip's tray. It was half-eaten and the way Trip was picking at it absently she suspected he'd been at it for a while.

"When did you wake up, Commander?"

Trip's mouth pursed, his brow darkened, then he shrugged and pushed again at his eggs. "Too damn early, that's for sure, but anyway, what translation was it ya were so gung ho to work on that it was worth wakin' up this early?"

Hoshi didn't miss his blatant attempt to change the subject but she allowed it without protest. If Trip didn't want to discuss what was bothering him she had no right to pry, and he was a senior officer.

"A Xindi translation. At first I thought it might be a unique dialect among the insectoid species, which I have not encountered yet among any of the Xindi specie languages we've discovered, but when I paid attention to the context in which it appears... my hunch is that the insectoid Xindi use a distinct form of verbal communication for mercantilistic exchanges, which, if it's true, would be intriguing," she noted the rather displeased shadow cross Trip's face and amended, "uh, source aside."

Trip gave a silent nod. Travis joined them with a tray of breakfast foods and two cups of coffee. He passed one cup to Hoshi then handed over two slices of toast and a halved grapefruit to the grateful young woman.

"Is everything all right, Commander?" Travis inquired.

"Fine, Travis, just listenin' to Hoshi talk about that insectoid translation that's got her all fired up."

Hoshi took a bite of toast and smiled thinly. "I don't think I'd call it 'fired up'," she paused a moment, "not in the sense you seemed to be last night, so I've heard."

Trip's eyes rose questioningly to the woman as he ceased poking at his scrambled eggs.

Hoshi obliged. "Lieutenant Reed told me that you and T'Pol were quite brutal last night in the self-defense training."

Trip scowled. "Malcolm made more of it than there was. We just got a little overzealous."

Travis's eyebrows rose. "An overzealous Vulcan? I'd have paid to see that. I can't picture T'Pol getting worked up."

Trip gave a strange little smirk that vanished almost instantly. Hoshi's eyebrow flickered at seeing the fleeting gesture but she held her peace.

Instead, Hoshi said for Travis's benefit, "Lieutenant Reed said it was a real show, even stopped the MACOs in the middle of what they were doing. I'm sorry I missed it myself."

Trip sighed raggedly. "Well, I paid for that little stunt this mornin', woke up so sore I counted myself lucky to make it to the mess hall without endin' up on my ass."

Travis smiled after swallowing a piece of sausage. "I can imagine, going head-to-head against a Vulcan and getting 'carried away'... lucky you came away walking at all."

Trip didn't respond at first, perhaps a perfectly natural lag in conversation, but Hoshi sat close enough and was keen enough to register a distracted, glazed expression on Trip's face. He was physically at the mess hall table with them, but mentally he was anywhere but.

The three lapsed into casual, friendly conversation as Travis and Hoshi finished their breakfast, the entire time Trip pushing the remainder of his food around the tray like he was herding the eggs.

Other crewmen soon began to trickle into the mess and before long a regular attendance had coalesced around them, gathered around tables in talkative groups, the last minute cram before shifts started.

One of those later arrivals was Malcolm Reed. He walked into the common room and spotted Trip, Hoshi, and Travis chatting amiably over abandoned trays. He swooped by the chow line for a quick grab at some food then made a bee-line for their table.

"Do you have room for one more?" he asked.

"Pull up a seat, Malcolm," Trip implored, in somewhat better spirits than Hoshi and Travis had first found him.

Reed seated himself between Trip and Hoshi and launched into his food with due haste.

"Easy there, Malcolm, we're not at tactical alert," Trip teased.

Reed washed down a mouthful of jammed biscuits with orange juice then retorted, "Maybe you have time to dally, but when I woke up and read the message from the captain it meant I only had about ten minutes for breakfast."

"What message from the cap'n?"

"You didn't get it?" Reed seemed puzzled.

Trip answered cryptically, "I checked my messages last night, but I left my quarters pretty early this mornin'."

Reed nodded. "Ahh, well, that explains it, according to the message Captain Archer sent it an hour ago to all senior officers."

"Well, what was the message?"

"A senior staff meeting in the briefing room before shifts."

Trip frowned, pensive. "Any idea what this is about?"

Reed shook his head and looked at the chronometer. "No, but we'd better get a move on if we don't want to be late for it."

Trip and Reed rose, bid Travis and Hoshi farewell, then after dropping their trays off at the counter left the mess hall and headed at a fairly brisk walk toward the briefing room.

*****

T'Pol sat passively in the briefing room as she waited for the captain to explain the reason for calling this early, last-minute meeting. She watched those already present for lack of anything else to do in the interim. They wore their curiosity and confusion in their expressions, everything T'Pol also shared but saw no reason to outwardly display. Captain Archer was standing patiently, alternately looking at his gathered officers or out the windows toward the stars. Doctor Phlox was seated across from T'Pol, his hands folded and fingers intertwined as he shifted restlessly. For a professional Phlox had a great deal of energy and unbridled enthusiasm that, had the doctor not been so good at his job, might have been a point of contention with the Vulcan. As it stood, it demonstrated merely a cultural species difference that Denobulans were far more furtive and active that even humans. Major Hayes was on his feet, hands clasped behind his back as he slowly walked one end of the room to the other. It was just slow enough a speed to not technically constitute 'pacing' to humans, however to a Vulcan it was a distracting and noticeable habit. Hayes repeatedly turned his eyes toward Archer but occasionally at T'Pol as well, obviously taking her unruffled exterior to imply she was already aware of what the captain intended to say.

T'Pol happened to glance toward the doctor and the Denobulan caught her eye and offered a smile.

T'Pol turned her eyes to the captain instead, who was too preoccupied to interact needlessly with her.

Finally the door to the room swished open and the last two members of the senior staff walked inside.

"Sorry we're late," Trip said when he noticed the congregation already present. Reed shouldered in past him to take a prompt seat at the table.

Archer nodded toward Reed and Trip. "No problem, but now that we're all here let's get started. Please," he gestured Trip and Hayes toward the table.

Hayes, with a little more respect in his eyes since last night, gave a nod of greeting to the engineer as he moved to sit. Doctor Phlox gave one of his winning smiles. T'Pol did not look in Trip's direction, instead she kept her eyes trained on the table or her hands, anywhere that prohibited her from looking directly at Trip.

T'Pol, outwardly, was a perfect picture of collected repose, but inside she was troubled. She had known of Trip's arrival seconds before either officer had commanded the door open, and it had not been because of her supreme Vulcan hearing.

T'Pol continued to avoid, at any point in the briefing, any eye contact with Trip as Captain Archer began to detail the very interesting conversation he'd had that morning with Admiral Forrest.

T'Pol listened to everything with a clinical detachment, attending only to the task of initially absorbing facts and information, but hers was not the only reaction with which she found herself contending. As the captain drew to the end of his announcement T'Pol became increasingly aware of displeasure and fury on the part of the stolidly sitting chief engineer. When the captain was finished, quiet to observe his crew, Trip was a tight-jawed, speechless figure but T'Pol was almost overwhelmed by his outright rage. She looked down at her hands as she mentally fortified her thoughts to reach that meditative calm she held so fundamental.

Archer, after a moment without speaking, finally continued, "I can imagine how each of you feel about this," his eyes cut tactfully toward Trip then moved quickly away, "believe me, I had a few issues with these orders, but they still stand."

Hayes was the first to venture an opinion. "Starfleet has a point, Captain. A starship specifically designed with combat in mind would be far more equipped to handle the Xindi than a science vessel is."

Trip's jaw ground but he still said nothing. His clasped hands atop the desk clenched tighter around one another.

Archer frowned. He'd expected nothing less than full support from the MACO contingency on Starfleet's surprise.

Reed, however, was not as pleased. "Sir, surely we've proven ourselves to Starfleet that we can handle whatever the Xindi try to throw at us. There's no reason to recall us."

Archer nodded. "I argued that point with Forrest, but it appears Starfleet isn't willing to budge. This has no doubt been through committee after committee. And, no doubt to them, to people who haven't been living this mission for the past several months, it seemed like a wonderful idea. Unfortunately, we're left with no option but to obey. This is hardly a reason to go renegade when we don't know they aren't right. Enterprise has taken quite a beating and we all know she could take more, but I've been mulling this over all morning and maybe there is some merit to the idea of standing aside to let a heavier-armored ship step in."

Finally Trip broke his silence, and his voice was cutting and ice-cold, "If this is already a done deal then what exactly are we meetin' for?"

Archer considered Trip closely before answering, "As heads of your prospective departments you'll be the ones the crew goes to with questions when I announced this ship-wide; I wanted you to be as fully informed as possible. Also, since we're going to be giving the Ares a crash-course in Xindi-hunting and traveling in the expanse when they get here I want each of you to begin thorough reviews and summaries of everything you've done on Enterprise the last few months that might be of use to them. We won't have much time for this so I want you to make this assignment a priority... the sooner we pass off this data and get back to Sol the sooner we can refit and restock the Enterprise and get back out here in the front lines where we belong."

For a human, Trip might have appeared to display control to make a Vulcan proud, but T'Pol was holding tenuously to her facade of impassivity. She felt like she was in the middle of a fire storm of rage, forced to pretend to those sitting ignorantly around her that she sensed nothing, that she was not at that very moment in the center of a furious pyre.

Archer turned next to Phlox.

"Well, doubtless there will be a number of crew members who feel this course of action will deny them the victory and battle they've sought and craved for so long, but frankly, Captain, I believe some time to recuperate will do all of us a world of good. Even if only for a few days. The crew is tired, exhausted, they need rest."

Archer, on principle, straightened his back and tried to vanquish the traces of wearied fatigue from his features. The doctor was right, though. The Enterprise crew was running on fumes, but it didn't change the fact they weren't ready to stop.

The captain studied each of his gathered crewmen in turn in an effort to gauge their responses. Doctor Phlox looked tired, as though he'd only then relented to the idea that he too had been working furiously since the beginning of the Xindi mission, perhaps to the edge of his endurance. T'Pol was sitting perfectly still, in an odd turn of events staring at her hands clasped in her lap rather than meeting his gaze. He did not imagine Starfleet's decision would be so difficult on her of all people. Hayes was in some measure rejuvenated at the news; he was charged at the idea of a warship to take over the job that he had always lamented was not a task for which Enterprise was adequately prepared. Archer was miffed, a little offended, but he could not fault Hayes, the man was merely dead-set on doing absolutely everything in his power to save Earth. Reed was tight-lipped in disapproval but his captain had spoken and, unhappy as he might have been, he was not going to argue direct orders.

Archer came to Trip last of all and inwardly winced. He'd known Commander Tucker a long time, enough to read him and discern that right now Trip was about as furious as Archer had ever seen his friend. It was filled with the new definition of Tucker-fury that Trip had invented specially for the Xindi. The engineer's face was stony, his jaw muscles bunched and his hands clasped together so fiercely that Archer wondered if the younger man was trying to hold himself back from going into a physical tirade.

Archer took a short breath. He knew an explosion coming when he saw it, and dread its repercussions though he might he wanted to hear everyone's honest opinions. It was the reason he held these briefings. If Trip didn't say what was on his mind he looked like he might well snap from the tension.

So Archer gathered his wits and prodded the dragon.

"Trip..."

It was all Trip needed, everything necessary contained in Archer's tone, and the chief engineer mechanically cycled through stages. His face grew stormy, his hands flexed, he took a deep breath, then he let loose.

"This is absolutely ridiculous, Cap'n. We've been out here for months, MONTHS, doing NOTHING but trackin' these Xindi. No one knows more about fightin' them than this crew, and no one wants to beat their alien asses more than us." His voice rose to a yell. "WE should be out here, damnit, not limpin' back to Earth. It's too god damn important! Doesn't Starfleet realize that? What logic is there in pullin' their best team off a mission this big?"

Everyone averted their eyes, meek from being caught in the crossfire of Trip's impassioned fury. Archer alone faced his crewman, witnessing the hellfire that engulfed Trip's presence as he raged. Archer understood all too well. Trip felt like revenge for his sister's death was being stolen from him. A lot of other people on the crew would share his sentiments.

Archer nodded. "I understand how you feel, Trip, but the decision's been made. There's nothing we can do but carry out our orders. With any luck we'll be back under way and back on the trail of these bastards before the Ares can finish what we've started.

"In the meantime, I suspect that you will have more work than any other department preparing reports for the Ares. You've done a lot to this girl to carry her through everything we've encountered and the Ares crew is going to need it all."

Trip was almost trembling with rage but did not offer further argument. Archer had half-expected more cursing and yelling but if Trip was going to buck up and swallow his anger then all the better for it. If nothing else, on this mission against the Xindi people aboard Enterprise had learned well the concept of 'not enough time to spare'. People around the table, all but T'Pol, finally risked to lift their eyes and dared glances at the provoked engineer.

"If no one else has anything to add, you're all dismissed."

Hayes, full of oats at the recently learned news, fairly jumped from his seat to rush off and tell his fellow MACOs about the briefing. Reed was not far behind him, begrudgingly but determined to carry out his duty, detestable though he might currently find it. T'Pol had risen and was attempting a calm, cool escape when her eyes, nearly of their own volition, cut over to Trip. What she saw only corroborated what she sensed like a swirling storm pressing at her private thoughts. Trip had not yet moved to stand, a most unhappy facsimile of a human statue. He was too consumed to bother glancing at T'Pol when she obviously paused to consider him; his eyes were cast down, slightly off-center to stare at the table top beside his clasped hands.

Doctor Phlox, a worried expression on his friendly face, was watching the commander in silent concern as the Denobulan slowly stood, reluctant to leave in light of what he saw. His desire to aide the commander was nearly palpable and a couple of times he visibly restrained himself from heading toward the young human man.

Trip finally moved to stand, slow and deliberate, and Archer spoke. "Trip..." his voice was gentle, the friend once again instead of the captain. "I'm sorry, I know how you... I know you don't like this, trust me, I don't like it either, but there's not much we can do."

Trip took long, deep breaths, refused eye contact with Archer for a moment, then at last turned his blazing eyes to the captain and spat tightly, "You could tell those ignorant sons a bitches at Starfleet that it's nothin' but stupid to pull from the mission the only people who know ANYTHING about fightin' the Xindi." He glowered furiously as his hands closed into fists at his side. "And this thing with the Ares is bullshit! Passin' off a few helpful tips and a stack of upgrade schematics isn't gonna do a damn bit a good when they get out there. Ya can't hand-off that kind of experience and you damn well know that. All this will do is give the Xindi two or three weeks' advantage over us, and the last thing any of us should be doin' is givin' an inch to those Xindi bastards!"

"Trip..."

"It should be US! We started this and we should be the ones to finish it. Starfleet's got no business takin' that from us. NONE."

T'Pol took an unconscious half-step back from Trip and lowered her eyes pointedly to the floor. Her face still expressed placid calm, a convincing deception in contrast to the inner turmoil she struggled to contain. She could see from the corner of her eye Captain Archer glance toward her. She knew what he sought; it was a choreographed dance by now. He expected her to make some calm, logical comment about the practicality of the captain's orders that tended to at first incite further dissension in the engineer that later simmered into displeased acceptance. At what point she had become the one designated as the handler of an out-of-control Trip Tucker she could not specify, but at that moment she knew it was truth. Archer waited for her role but T'Pol said nothing.

Archer shed the friend shell and stepped with effortless ease back into the role of captain. "Whether we like it or not we have a job to do and I expect you to have those summaries complete by the time we rendezvous with the Ares."

Trip's lips pinched tightly and his jaw muscles clenched but the engineer did not allow himself to come unglued for a third time. Instead he gave a curt nod, "Yes, sir," and turned and strode out of the room.

T'Pol took measured breaths and counted the seconds, the steps he took down the corridor, until at last she was confident enough to lift her head and return the captain's attention.

Archer was too consumed with his own concerns about the crew to say anything to T'Pol about her quiet behavior and refusal to intercede when Trip was on the war path.

"I'm sure he'll calm down once he's had an hour or two to accept the news," Phlox tried to offer helpfully.

Archer sighed. "I hope so, but I don't think it will be quite that easy... for Trip but also for a lot of other people on the crew."

T'Pol decided she was not needed for the small talk between the doctor and captain and without drawing undue attention to herself stepped out of the briefing room to contact the rest of the Enterprise's science team about the Ares's imminent arrival.

*****

For two days Enterprise bore a frightening resemblance to Starfleet Academy the week of finals. Everyone was hard at work, reviewing all they'd done in recent months and working laboriously to distill the copious amount of information and detail into concise, easy-to-use summaries. The ship itself had come to a near stand-still, adopting a holding pattern in open space as it waited for the Ares to arrive.

Sub-commander T'Pol moved through the noticeably quiet corridors, ears forced to strain to pick up bare whispers of a human voice more often than not. When she'd first come aboard Enterprise the din of unnecessary, communal human chatter and noise constantly buzzing on the ship had disquieted her, accustomed as she was to Vulcan silence. Now, what seemed so many years entrenched in the human vessel, the utter silence made her uneasy. The crew was busy, a perfectly good reason for their reticence as of late, but it was not the only reason by far. Everyone was tired and disappointed, worn and unhappy. It made for a tense work environment and everyone was showing the effects of their surroundings. Everyone but T'Pol, but even she had privately noticed the shift in attitude. She had been forced to lengthen her nightly mediation to combat the rising tide of emotional volatility emanating from the crew.

T'Pol dispelled the thoughts when she reached her destination... sick bay.

Stepping inside she at once saw Doctor Phlox tending to one of his caged animals.

"Doctor, you wished to see me?"

Phlox turned at her voice. His smile was tight and his actions less animated than usual; even the good doctor was feeling the mood rampant aboard the ship.

"Yes, thank you for coming so promptly," Phlox answered then cast searching eyes over the whole of sick bay. T'Pol lifted an eyebrow speculatively at his behavior.

"I assumed what you wished to discuss was important."

Phlox, apparently satisfied with his search of the empty medical bay, nodded. "It is, please," he beckoned the Vulcan closer.

T'Pol would prefer to stand at the distance she held now but wordlessly moved nearer the Denobulan.

When she was only a foot from him Phlox said, "I'm concerned about Commander Tucker."

T'Pol jerked to a halt, hands clasped strongly behind her back as her eyes no doubt jumped and locked on the doctor's face. She quickly recovered, soon the image of perfect calm, and she ventured with care, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Phlox sighed. "I debated discussing this with you because I thought it might violate Mister Tucker's right to doctor/patient confidentiality..."

"Then perhaps we should refrain."

Phlox sighed again. "Were you anyone else I would agree, however I feel that because of the help you've been providing Commander Tucker by performing neuropressure you could in some way be considered a part of his health care regiment."

T'Pol didn't answer immediately, and when she did it was measured, "In that case, what did you wish to discuss with me?"

"I wanted to ask you if you've noticed anything different about Commander Tucker these last few days during your neuropressure sessions."

T'Pol lifted her chin barely. "Commander Tucker and I have not met for neuropressure in almost four days."

Phlox blinked, restocked his questions and thoughts, then mused aloud, "I see... well, perhaps that explains a great deal."

"Doctor?"

"The fact of the matter is, myself and a number of other crewmen have noted an almost acute agitation in the commander lately."

"Many among the crew have been 'agitated' considering recent events."

"Yes, that's true, and maybe that is all that is bothering Commander Tucker. However, I have to consider the possibility that this is something more than we might be led to believe if we were to merely take the path of least resistance. In only a few days the commander has come to me for treatment of a plasma conduit burn that he should have been well able to prevent, a broad-spectrum pain medication and muscle relaxer, and we must not forget his... verbal objections in the briefing room to the announcement about the Ares."

T'Pol had to steel herself against restless shifting. "Commander Tucker is very invested in the mission to stop the Xindi."

"Yes... and it's beginning to take its toll. Another matter I intended to discuss which I suspect you've already answered... it is my suspicion that Commander Tucker's sleep troubles have returned. I was walking the ship last night, or rather very early this morning, and Mister Tucker was ensconced in engineering with enough work around him to drown a targ and he looked far worse than such a foul creature."

T'Pol would not be concerned. She would not allow it. "I still fail to see why this requires my consultation."

Phlox's expression turned gentle. "T'Pol... I don't know how much appreciation Commander Tucker has expressed to you for the neuropressure you perform on him, but he should be counting his blessings for your generosity because frankly you've done more for him in only a few months than I've managed with medicine in twice the time. His insomnia all but gone, his stress endorphines drastically reduced even in times of high anxiety, even body functions I never predicted responding to Vulcan neuropressure have shown remarkable improvement.

"For whatever reason the two of you have abstained from neuropressure sessions these last few days I appeal to you to resolve them so you may resume the neuropressure treatment. Commander Tucker is under immense stress, emotionally and professionally; he can't afford to be distracted."

Of course, the doctor was right. As chief engineer Commander Tucker could be allotted so little margin for error. T'Pol weighed the doctor's plea, considered the options, then faintly sighed. "I was unaware of the severity of Commander Tucker's condition; I apologize for my negligence, I have been preoccupied myself with preparations for the Ares."

"I understand, and I hate to bother you when everyone is so busy, but if my understanding is correct that Vulcan neuropressure consumes only an hour of each day..."

"It is."

"Then I think it would be exponentially beneficial to spare the little time it requires."

T'Pol's hands, hidden behind her back, were locked tightly together. "You are right, Doctor. I will arrange to meet with the commander tonight after our shifts are over to resume his neuropressure treatment."

"Thank you, T'Pol."

*****

T'Pol did something she had not done since she was very young... she procrastinated. She fully intended to speak with Commander Tucker, as she had assured the doctor she would, but it was not a meeting to which she looked forward.

Trip had lately been an unprecedented distraction for the science officer; it had been far too easy for T'Pol to simply avoid the commander entirely. If his conspicuous absence from her company as of late was any indication he was just as eager to oblige. They were all intent upon their own duties so it had been easy to do; science and engineering did not have reason to meet that often.

T'Pol was more hesitant to confront Trip than she should have been. The moment to collect her calm and poise before heading down to engineering was more of an effort than it should ever have been for her and that fact troubled her greatly.

T'Pol entered engineering to find a tense, nervous staff of Enterprise crewmen abound. She stood a moment in the doorway with her hands still at her sides as she looked around, hoping to spot the chief engineer. Instead all she saw were tired faces with what humans called 'hang-dog' expressions.

"Sub-commander, can I help you with something?"

T'Pol turned to the male voice and saw one of Trip's junior engineers looking at her. In his hands was a PADD that he fingered unknowingly.

"Where can I find Commander Tucker?" T'Pol asked.

A fleeting look of sympathy and pity flickered across the young man's face as he answered, "Down there, ma'am."

"Thank you, Ensign." T'Pol gave a faint nod and moved toward the control platform for the warp engines. She found Commander Tucker sitting at the small desk affixed to the far wall. He had a scattered collection of diagrams and PADDs around him, none of which were currently holding his undivided attention. That honor fell to an unfortunate engineer.

"... have to do it again, and this time I want it broken down by system and not reaction cycle, understand? How the hell is the Ares engineerin' team supposed to know what all those figures mean without a system breakdown?"

"I'm sorry, Commander."

Trip caught himself, sighed, then said in a slightly gentler voice, "It's all right, I should have specified earlier. I know we run diagnostics by reaction cycle so I should have explained what I wanted, but now that I have I'd like those specs as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir." Dallying no longer, the flight-footed ensign disappeared.

Trip closed his eyes and ruffled a calloused hand through his hair. He dropped his hand and turned to look directly at T'Pol. He did not look pleased to see her.

"Something ya need, Sub-commander?"

T'Pol stepped closer, despite her hesitancy to do so, in order to lower the volume of their conversation. "I have come to schedule a time for you to undergo neuropressure tonight."

Trip looked down at his work and shuffled a few PADDs. "This really isn't a good time, T'Pol, I'm busier than I even have time to tell ya right now, so thanks but I think I'll have to bow out."

T'Pol wanted to accept his dismissal but forced herself to stay and press her case. "I'm afraid I must insist. Doctor Phlox spoke with me; he is concerned that you are suffering under the recent pressure placed upon the crew."

Trip's eyes snapped up to her. She was not prepared for the venom in his glare.

"Pressure? We're sittin' here doin' systems' diagnostics and book reports while we wait around for the Ares to show up. I've been under more 'pressure' at the academy; I survived it then and I'll survive it now."

"Perhaps I misspoke, but it does not change the fact the doctor is concerned for you and now that I am here I see his concern is not unwarranted."

"Oh, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

T'Pol felt like taking a step backward but instead braced her stance. "You are clearly behaving more irrationally than usual. You are irritable, you spoke harshly toward Ensign Tanners unjustly..."

Trip roughly stood and said as he gathered a few choice PADDs, "Damnit, ya heard me apologize for snappin' like I did, and it's not like I'm the only one a little short-tempered lately."

"I am not arguing the truth of that, I am merely saying that you may benefit from continuation of our neuropressure sessions."

Trip stood to face her, a collection of PADDs now tucked under his arm, and he said, "Look, I appreciate your concern or whatever it is, but I don't have the time and I don't need your help." Trip immediately stopped, his expression softened, then he said more gently, "I didn't mean it like that... I just, I've got a lot on my mind right now and you're just gonna have to trust me when I say that I really don't think neuropressure's gonna help."

T'Pol began to just barely frown but before she could say anything more Trip moved past her.

"If you'll excuse me, Sub-commander, I need to cross-check the warp plasma injectors and the technical procedure we've whipped up for adjusting them to compensate for spatial distortions."

T'Pol stood and watched the commander leave, uncertain now what she should do. She had been taken aback by his outward manner toward her, but also by the other cues she'd read from Trip. Flustered, exhausted, angry, on the edge of something from which T'Pol had wanted to physically step back.

Her customary persistence had been thrown by that unknown abyss, that unnamed precipice, and in her hesitation Trip succeeded in brusquely declining her suggestion to hold a neuropressure session, and before T'Pol could argue her position the commander was gone, burrowed into his work beyond retrieval.

T'Pol glanced around her and watched with acute attention the engineering team working around her. T'Pol was by no means a great authority of judging human behavior, but even she could not miss this level of discomfort and tension. She was certain not all of that unease was due to the rushed nature of their work. Trip's strange disposition effected not only his work and morale but that of the rest of the engineering team as well.

T'Pol was obligated, duty-bound, to make certain Commander Tucker found the relaxation and rest he needed. It went beyond her own marked disquiet around Trip and even beyond his readiness to be anywhere but in her presence.

T'Pol turned and left engineering, accepting that Trip would not be swayed to change his mind at the moment, but she was far from giving up.

*****

Trip had always felt comfortable in his quarters aboard Enterprise. They were small but always more than adequate. Besides engineering it was the place he felt most at ease, the most at home. Now, as he walked back and forth in front of his small desk, he felt like a caged animal.

This was a new definition for tense and he knew it. More than once he'd considered going to Phlox to ask the doctor to give him something, anything, but he refrained because he did not know how he could explain the symptoms. 'I feel like T'Pol's tattooed inside my skull keepin' me from keepin' my mind on my work' didn't really have a professional ring to it. That and Phlox would doubtlessly ask about him and T'Pol, about why she might be such a consuming concern for him so suddenly, and the commander was not ready to tell anyone what had happened one illicit night between him and the Vulcan.

It was late, 2200 hours. Trip was leaning over his desk to review his engines specs, still clad in full uniform. He wasn't even going to pretend that he might sleep tonight; he decided to save himself the time wasted undressing only to dress again and head down to engineering for another all-nighter. Sleep had become a battle against himself, trying and wanting so hard to ignore the vivid, almost visceral presence of T'Pol inside his thoughts and always failing. Over and over again, failing so gloriously he woke up dizzy for her absence at his side.

Trip blinked tired eyes heavily and the muscles in his arms and back abruptly tensed. He took a long, tight breath, and...

Trip straightened immediately when his door chime sounded. He turned toward the closed door and for a moment simply stood there with some small hope she'd go away. No further summons issued forth but he knew she was still waiting.

Trip went to the door and keyed it open to find himself looking down at T'Pol standing on his proverbial doorstep.

"Commander," she greeted nonchalantly.

Trip braced one arm covertly against his wall. "Sub-commander, is there somethin' ya need? It's kinda late, ya know."

T'Pol looked at him silently a second, a burning second that made Trip antsy, then she said, "I have come for our neuropressure session."

Trip's hands clenched tightly into fists. The Vulcan just did not give up. "Like I said before, I don't really have the time, so I'm real sorry ya wasted a trip down here and all..." he trailed and stared down at her, so damn close he could smell the pecans and desert sand. It was like being a fly in a spider's web. He had to get rid of her... now.

T'Pol dropped her face fractionally, seemingly listened down both directions of the hallway, then turned her eyes to his once more. Her voice was pitched lowly enough to give Trip goose bumps. "Please, Trip."

Trip knew it was the worst thing he could do, but right then he couldn't refuse. With a defeated sag he moved away from the door and plodded toward his desk. He heard T'Pol step into his quarters after him and close the door behind her.

Trip didn't want to attend to every sound and every move she made but he was helpless to do anything else.

"Commander..." T'Pol finally said when Trip had not moved from standing with his back to her for what must have been a good three minutes.

Trip snorted weakly under his breath. "What happened to 'Trip'?" He finally turned to look toward her and caught the blatant look of discomfort that flickered across her face. It existed only a moment but he'd seen it, he was certain. She returned his look, as cool and unflappable as ever, and tactfully avoided answering his question. "If you would disrobe we may begin."

Trip made one more effort to spare himself this agony, because he knew that's what it would be. Even the thought of touching her, her touching him, had him spinning. "I really appreciate ya makin' house calls but maybe we could do this some other time? I can talk to the doctor in the mornin' and explain to him that he doesn't need to worry about me crackin' so this isn't really necessary."

T'Pol did not budge, though oddly she looked smaller than she had moments ago, and she said, "I believe the doctor is correct and I doubt you could convince him otherwise."

Trip's teeth ground together. "So you think I'm just a breakdown waitin' to happen too?"

T'Pol blinked at his outburst and calmly folded her hands before her. "I do not doubt that you would allow this ship to experience a warp core breach before you let personal trouble interfere with your duties as chief engineer..." Trip's anger seemed to lessen at T'Pol's unveiled compliment of his professionalism and devotion to duty. She continued, "However, there is no purpose in enduring such exhaustion when one can combat it and you have said before that neuropressure helps you sleep soundly."

Trip's frustration and confusion around T'Pol as of late dissipated for all of a second, but in that second he felt so very tired.

"If you would undress," T'Pol gestured easily toward him, command layered within her tone.

Trip, relenting, unzipped his blue uniform, stepped out of it and dismissed it with a languid kick into one corner, then pulled off his shirt. He was left standing in only his boxer shorts. Had T'Pol not seen him in far less, he might be a little more prudish about stripping in front of her. Although at the moment, with the mood he was in, it might not have made much difference either way. She'd cornered him and he was not feeling acquiescent.

T'Pol looked down at the floor of Trip's quarters. "We do not have posture mats or meditation candles but we will make do for tonight. Sit."

Trip did so without a word. He turned his back to her, straightened his body, and initiated deep, controlled breathing. He heard T'Pol kneel down behind him, could feel the heat from her hands as they drew near his bare shoulders. He also felt her stop just before she touched him, as though reluctant.

At last her fingertips were in light contact with his skin, then they pressed harder into taut muscles. Trip shut his eyes and fought to focus, to concentrate beyond her.

T'Pol's movements were stuttered and uneven, so different from the confidence she usually exuded with neuropressure. She stimulated nodes along his spine that had always in the past unwound the commander like a hypospray of Phlox's most potent sedative.

This time, despite her ministrations, his stance remained tense, his muscles rigid. Trip could feel her consternation but he couldn't shake the tightness throughout his body. He was fighting too hard with himself to relax to let himself do just that. There was also the fear that if he did relax around her it would lead to disaster.

T'Pol's voice finally issued forth behind his shoulder, "Relax and breathe, Commander."

Trip did take a breath and attempted to do as she asked, in vain because the instant he became aware of T'Pol's hands moving again he stiffened.

T'Pol stopped again, paused a long time, then with motionless, slender hands resting casually on his shoulders said, "Doctor Phlox mentioned that you had seemed more agitated and tense than usual lately," she faltered, "perhaps you would like to... talk about it?"

Trip couldn't help but laugh. It was a wired, pathetic laugh, but a chuckle all the same. "Talk?" he parroted in surprise.

T'Pol removed her hands and Trip gave a silent thank-you to the universe.

"The neuropressure does not appear to be relaxing you, and I have heard it said that humans relieve pressure frequently by discussing their problems with another. We could attempt that method if this is ineffective."

Trip heaved a sigh but said nothing. He didn't know what he could say, and for all the anger he'd harbored before, now, at that very moment, he couldn't blame T'Pol for any of it.

Her voice again from behind him. "Is the Enterprise recall so troubling to you?"

"Yes... but it's not just that."

T'Pol said nothing, expectantly quiet, and Trip knew it was coming. The conversation he could well have avoided completely was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

"Then what else?" T'Pol asked, and he could swear she sounded worried. It was in her vocal inflections.

Trip finally moved. He shifted to turn and sit facing her. He looked at her closely sitting atop her legs with hands folded in her lap as she watched him intently but warily.

Trip studied her a long time, swallowed, then plunged ahead with the terrifying truth because T'Pol always responded to in-your-face honesty. "You."

T'Pol did not so much as blink but the edges of her mouth tightened and her hands curled closer together in the wake of his answer.

Trip lowered his eyes as he said, "I don't know what's happenin' but you... you've been in my head somehow, ever since we..." Trip gestured feebly with one hand, a motion that spoke volumes. "I just can't stop thinkin' about ya, and I don't mean that in some adolescent, hormonal way, I mean that this is way different and it's... I can hardly work because of it. I'm not sleepin' because of it, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make it stop."

Trip stared at the floor a long time, in no hurry to look up and see T'Pol's face in reaction to his confession. When he finally did he was not met with the disgust or disapproval he had anticipated. On the contrary, T'Pol looked calm, far from surprised, perhaps a little tired.

As though sensing his eyes upon her, T'Pol looked up and met his gaze. She returned his look silently, unmoving, then said with heavy certainty, "What you are experiencing are the initial stages of a mental bond."

Trip's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "A what?"

T'Pol looked fractionally away, the most avoidant the Vulcan ever allowed herself to become, and Trip's curiosity perked because he well knew that.

"The symptoms you've been experiencing are perfectly normal."

"Not to me."

T'Pol gave a relenting half-nod. "No, but were you Vulcan..."

Trip rubbed his forehead, fearing the beginning of a headache. "T'Pol, just tell me, what's happenin' ta me?"

T'Pol returned her eyes to him. The intensity in her gaze was enough to make Trip lower his hand from his temple, every fiber of his being locked in complete attention on her.

"Had I suspected that this was possible, that a human would experience this process, I would not have initiated sexual relations with you. I apologize for that."

Trip tensed marginally again at the thought of that night, for all its trouble, never happening. It struck a sour chord in him in ways he couldn't really explain.

"When two Vulcans become close, become intimate, they begin to form a mental connection with one another. I did not think a human could link in such a manner to a Vulcan, though I had begun to suspect you had established some manner of connection to me during the MACO training session."

Trip thought a moment to try and grasp what T'Pol was saying then asked, "What exactly does that mean?"

T'Pol answered slowly, as though instructing a cadet, "It means that when we engaged in sexual activity together a mental bond spawned between us."

"So what is this bond? If I HAD been a Vulcan, what exactly does it do?" Somehow, breaking it down as he might an engine to figure out how it ticked made him feel easier about the rather unsettling ideas T'Pol had been broaching. Mental links? Wasn't supposed to happen to a human? What the hell was happening to him?

"It is a means for Vulcan mates to maintain personal, intimate contact with one another even when they are not physically together. I confess that I too have been effected. I was taken off guard to discover I was capable of experiencing such a link when the partner was human, but that I would develop a mental bond is not as unprecedented as it is for you to have developed one. Like you have been toward me, I have been sensitive to your emotions since the night we had sexual relations."

Trip seemed befuddled and a little consternated as he thought long and hard. "I haven't 'sensed' that from you."

T'Pol considered this only a second. "I do not believe humans capable of conscious awareness of such sensations, your psychic abilities are next to nonexistent in Vulcan terms, but it seems obvious that, subconsciously, you have been in mental contact with me."

Trip shook his head skeptically. "I don't know about that. I think I'd know if I was pickin' up anything like that from ya."

"How, then, do you explain what transpired when we sparred with the MACOs?"

Trip had no answer.

The two sat a space apart quietly regarding one another for a considerable amount of time.

At long last Trip spoke. "What... what do we do about it?"

T'Pol did not look full of confidence. "Unnurtured the bond will fade in time. Again, if you were Vulcan some techniques might be tried to sever the connection more quickly and precisely but I feel that would be unsafe with your untrained mind. Logically, our only recourse is to allow the tenuous link to dissipate on its own... and, of course, we cannot be intimate again."

Trip was more saddened, bereft, at that idea than he thought he would be. But of course she was right, T'Pol usually was.

T'Pol collected a breath and said, "Perhaps we should complete the neuropressure so that I might return to my own quarters."

Trip nodded. "Yeah, sure... look, mind if I do neuropressure on you first this time? Nothin' personal, well, guess it is, I just... don't think I'm ready to relax just yet with you... touchin' me."

T'Pol nodded in swift deferment, "Very well," and turned her back to him. Moments later her hands moved over her front, a zipper sang, and T'Pol peeled her suit off down to her waist. Her hands came up to customarily cover her breasts (heedless of the fact Trip had seen it all before) and she began to adopt the breathing patterns of the posture she had assumed.

Trip moved across the floor over to her and laid his hands on her back. Her skin was hot, soft, just as his burning memories of her flesh had been. He began to work the neural nodes along her spine with increasing expertise, sensitive to the incremental easing of her muscles under his touch. He knew her body so well, its subtle language and behavior. He tried to think but could not recall ever knowing any of his human woman partners' bodies as keenly. It was a knowledge about T'Pol he found he fiercely treasured, in all rights cherished. T'Pol relented to his touch, she placed complete trust in him. It spoke in the way her muscles relaxed each time he found and pressed a neural node. The way her guard dropped when it was just the two of them, separate from the rest of the crew. The way T'Pol felt safe and free in his company. The way, he realized, that he felt the same around her.

At that moment Trip knew with absolute certainty the closest he could ever get to T'Pol would never be close enough. And that the thought of distancing himself from her as she'd suggested was down-right abhorrent.

Without thinking, Trip stopped the neuropressure to lean in and softly touch his lips to her shoulder. Pecans swirling under his tongue, the heat of her warming his lips. Heady and sweet, and he wanted more, wanted it to never end.

No movement at first, and then T'Pol shifted beneath his hands. She craned around to look up at him just as Trip withdrew his face enough to return her look. Her dark eyes were shrouded, penetrating, but he did not back away. In all truth it took everything he had not to slip his arms around her.

Instead, Trip's hands went from motionless to caressing her sleek back, hungry for the feel of her, intoxicated by her.

T'Pol blinked once, never breaking eye contact with him. There was question in her gaze, intensity in her presence, and Trip was answering with all he had by shifting ever so slightly closer. She did not flinch away. T'Pol's eyes left his once, momentarily, to flicker down to Trip's insanely near mouth.

T'Pol lowered her hands that had been covering herself, leaving herself wondrously exposed. She anchored one hand on the floor, twisted her body further in his direction, and her second hand came up to his neck. Long, branding fingers danced with restrained passion along the skin of his throat.

Trip lowered his lips to hers and was met with matched intent. His hands circled around her lean body, gathered her closer, and without a word T'Pol went to him.

*****

Trip and T'Pol both knew they had surrendered to a fate intertwined. In some form, some shape that neither could define, it existed. Neither spoke a word on the matter, because as they lay naked and pressed together on Trip's bed, their state testament to their guilt, they both knew such words were unnecessary.

Trip looked over at the chronometer. 0530. He'd have to go on duty in an hour and a half. T'Pol was laid out partly under his body on the bed. She was partially lying on her stomach, face turned away from him and hands tucked under her head, while his body was laid half over hers. Trip's hand idly brushed along her arm for the sake of the physical contact, fingers trailing the almost fevered skin in a gentle caress. It was scary as hell but also the most right thing he'd felt in what seemed a very long time.

He'd stopped fighting her, in his mind and in his life, and the difference it had made was astounding. She was still there, he could feel her in his head like a persistent phantom, but it was a comforting reassurance that she was near, no longer a consuming invasion or aggressive reminder. He could work with that, the way one might go to work every day with a picture of his family on the desk. Surrender had been the fast, easy way to peace.

T'Pol lay awake, eyes locked on the far wall with a distracted stare.

Trip snuggled down closer on impulse, molded himself tighter to her back, and burrowed his face in the crook of her neck. She let him; she remained still and in doing so, unresisting, accepted his gesture.

For a minute they laid thus, unmoving. Then, just barely, hardly capable of being detected, T'Pol tensed underneath him.

Trip backed off, pulled up to lay on his side with his weight lifted from her, and, allowed that further range of movement, T'Pol rolled over on to her back. She looked up at him. There was something sincere and pensive in her look, clearly indicating she was thinking of something.

Trip had a pretty good idea what was on her mind. Not because he picked up anything from T'Pol through their supposed mental bond, but because Trip knew, to a degree, how T'Pol's mind worked, as well as he suspected any human could know a Vulcan's mind. It was the logical concern to preoccupy her.

It was a difficult position for both of them, he knew that. Both were facing a possible interpersonal entanglement with an individual from another species, ripe with conflicting cultural norms and traditions. Relations between humans and Vulcans were not exactly stellar by anyone's standards. A relationship between a human and a Vulcan was littered with hitches and complications, a fact they both knew well. It didn't even pretend to be easy.

Trip propped his head up on his elbow and offered her a small but easy smile as he spoke to her concerns, "This is gonna be all right, T'Pol."

T'Pol nearly frowned. "It is unwise to assume you are certain of that." She looked away, in doing so managing to seem as though she had put miles of distance between them even though she still lay within inches of him. Trip resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, bring her back, because he got the feeling T'Pol needed the space.

"It is done," T'Pol finally uttered, expression neutral, "we will have to accept the consequences." T'Pol sat up and moved to get out of bed.

"T'Pol," Trip called gently.

T'Pol stilled at his voice. She did not look back at him but she didn't move further to leave either.

Trip shifted up to a sitting position as well and studied her closely as he asked, "Just tell me, do ya regret it?" He almost feared to ask but he had to know.

T'Pol was motionless a long time, not uttering a word, then she slowly turned her head toward him. Her partial profile was back-dropped by the stars outside his quarters' window. Set determination was carved into her angular Vulcan face as she met his eyes squarely and answered, "Vulcans do not regret." After that she left the bed and went about getting dressed without another word or even look spared his direction.

Trip laid back and watched her, the entire time smirking. It was almost enough to make him forget about the whole business with the Ares.

Trip's smile faded just a bit as T'Pol discretely left his quarters and he slowly got up and headed for his bathroom to get ready for work.

Almost enough to make him forget the Ares, but not quite.

*****

Captain Jonathan Archer sat in his ready room, eyes fixed to his computer screen as he scanned through the messages in front of him. One by one, with admirable speed and efficiency, stations and departments were beginning to report in with their ready status for the meeting with the Ares. As always, his crew had come together and performed above and beyond expectations. The task he'd assigned would have taken a week under ideal circumstances, but the Enterprise personnel had scrambled what he'd asked for together in a matter of days. The only departments' reports he was missing were the major departments that had undergone the greatest en route change due to the mission against the Xindi.

A sharp bark drew Archer's eyes away from the screen. He turned in his chair, rested his hands on his knees, and looked across his small ready room toward the source of the sound. Porthos was sitting underneath the room window, tail wagging and ears perked toward his master alertly.

Archer smiled. "What's the matter, boy, all this starting to get to you, too?"

Porthos licked his lips and shuffled his front feet but remained in place.

Archer patted his thighs with his hands in invitation. "Come here."

Porthos at once got up and trotted to his master's side, looking up at the human only a second before rising up to hind legs and anchoring his front paws on Archer's left leg.

Archer was petting Porthos when the ready room door sounded.

"Come in," he called over his shoulder without turning from his attention to his pet.

The door hissed open and Porthos's tail began to jerk back and forth more quickly.

"Cap'n."

Archer would recognize that voice, that accent, anywhere. The captain's good mood vanished, replaced by sympathy and reluctance. Trip had been unpleasant since learning about the Ares... not that Archer could blame him. Despite that, Trip's attitude was not exactly what the captain wanted to handle at the moment. The southern engineer had not been the best of company as of late. Trip wasn't letting his disappointment and anger at their latest orders interfere with his work, it was just that his disposition was tainted with bitterness, a bitterness that was hard to miss. Archer couldn't very well order his chief engineer to lighten up; Archer understood all too well where Trip was coming from concerning his reaction to the news of Enterprise's detour back to Earth.

Archer sighed and at the sound Porthos dropped down and returned to his place by the window. Archer watched the dog move off, almost envious. He had yet to look at his friend standing in his office.

"Trip, report?" With one last second to steel himself against the walking sore Commander Tucker had been lately, Archer turned his head to face Trip.

He was greeted by the very familiar face of his friend and chief engineer. Also familiar at this point was the unhappy scowl that marred the young man's kind features.

The younger man's voice, however, distinctly lacked the hostility and anger it had been known for as of late. In fact, it was almost even and calm when he said, "Engineerin's almost finished with the major upgrades and the summaries we'll need to pass off to the Ares. Another day and all we'll need is that ship to show up so we can take their engineerin' staff by the hand and walk them through it."

Archer took a moment to adjust to Trip's demeanor. "That's good news, Trip. Your team's done a good job."

Trip's lips pursed, he looked on the verge of saying what was on his mind, then he exhaled and bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes, sir."

Archer released a breath he didn't realize he'd been keeping in check. Trip had come in calmer than Archer had expected and the predictable tirade he'd been bracing for had never come. The day was starting to look up.

"So, how much work is the Ares crew in for?"

Trip's lip faintly curled. "It's not gonna be a walk in the park, but if they're even half as good as Enterprise's crew they can manage to implement all our recommendations within three days."

"Three days?" Archer asked in surprise as he thought of all the on-the-fly repairs and refits Trip and his team had done aboard the Enterprise in the last few months.

"I didn't say it would be an easy three days."

Archer allowed a smile. "Of course." The captain pushed back in his chair, elicited a creak from the furniture, and looked up at Trip critically a moment. "To be honest with you, Trip, the more I think about this assignment the more I find myself conceding to its wisdom."

Trip's eyes locked on Archer's and though he didn't say anything his eyebrows furrowed. The tempest was stirring again right before Archer's eyes.

"Don't get me wrong," Archer quickly amended, "I still think we should be out here, but we have our orders and I think you can agree that this crew could use a break, even a little one."

Trip's lips thinned, his eyes narrowed, then he said lowly as though he loathed to say it, "The Enterprise too could do with the down-time."

"God knows she's earned it. You've done a great job with her. When we get back to Earth I intend to inform Starfleet of your exemplary performance."

Trip looked torn between frustrated, angry, and tired. He didn't seem the least interested in commendations. Still, about his person, was a renewed sense of acceptance that for days had been staunchly avoiding the young engineer. It was refreshing to Archer to see a Trip Tucker that he could be around, that didn't give the impression he was always on the verge of exploding, and Archer found himself saying, "If you can spare the time, I'd like you and T'Pol to join me tonight in captain's mess for dinner. We haven't had much time for that lately."

Trip, for the briefest moment, looked like he was combating the flight reflex. Then, with a descending calm, he gave a regretful shrug. "Love to, sir, but I'm not quite finished with my procedures for the Ares on properly applying Trellium D to the outer hull and if they don't have that they may as well fly into a sun."

"Of course. Well, once we're back underway to Earth, then?"

"Count on it, Cap'n," and Trip shifted on his feet, not enough to appear rude but enough to indicate he would really like to be dismissed.

Archer gave a relenting nod and in the next breath Trip was at the door and Archer was alone in his office once more.

A whining bark drew Archer's attention back to Porthos. The dog had laid down, head resting on the floor between its paws. The soft brown eyes were watching Archer closely.

"What do you make of that, Porthos?" Archer asked aloud.

Porthos mouthed twice and his ears laid back in an enigmatic expression.

Archer turned in his chair back to his computer screen that he'd been reading before he became distracted.

*****

Ensign Hoshi Sato had to jerk back from nearly sagging down face-first into her peas and mashed potatoes. It was the third time she'd nearly nodded off over dinner. Each time, when it should have been a hint that she needed to call it a day, instead she shook herself and concentrated even harder on the PADDs before her.

She started at the voice that seemed to appear suddenly near her. "You look like you could sleep for a week, Hoshi."

Hoshi dragged her tired eyes up to the source of the voice and found Travis Mayweather with dinner tray in hand, face painted with a warm but concerned smile.

"I feel like I could sleep for a week," Hoshi replied and gestured with her free hand to the seat across from her.

Travis sat down and ate a few bites of reconstituted steak before regarding Hoshi as she worked, her dinner nearly abandoned, and asked, "How you holding up?"

Hoshi missed the question and looked up, eyes glazed. "Huh?"

"No offense, but you don't look too good."

"Oh... just tired, I'll be looking forward to the Ares's arrival just to be over and done with this eleventh-hour report scramble."

Travis swallowed a mouthful of food, took a drink, and nodded. "I hear you. I don't envy you or Commander Tucker. I think you two have been the busiest people on Enterprise getting things ready for the Ares."

Hoshi stifled a yawn. "Well, Commander Tucker's team has done a lot of work on Enterprise's systems and engines in the expanse since we started this mission and the Xindi language... I honestly don't know how the Ares translation specialist is going to manage this. I've input the constants and grammar that I'm fairly certain of into the Universal Translator, but there are so many small details that I'm not one-hundred percent sure of but still fall back on in some instances in a translation, or adapt notions from a rough idea of the tongue that I've been battering about..." Hoshi sighed and set down the PADD.

Travis commiserated. "I can't imagine. I've had it pretty light, just a few flying tips on navigating the expanse and spatial distortions but so much of what I do amounts to getting a feel for how the ship moves when it hits a rough spot. Not much I can do in the way of writing in a report for that."

"At least after we rendezvous with the Ares we'll be headed back to Earth for a little while."

Travis was noncommittal on the subject, at least not as nostalgic as Hoshi was about Earth. His family was space-faring; he had no ties to Earth beyond it being the planet of his species' origin. Not to say, of course, that he wouldn't fight to the death to protect the quaint little world.

"Well," Travis said, "I can't say I'm not looking forward to a little rest. I don't even plan to do anything but sleep."

Hoshi nearly purred. "Sleep from the time we hit Jupiter Station to the minute we're recalled to head back out."

Travis nodded in enraptured agreement as he chewed a bite of his processed steak.

"I wonder how many other crewmen are planning on spending the entire down-time back in Sol unconscious."

Hoshi thought idly on the postulation though it had been phrased more as a joke. "I'd imagine quite a few... this crew's run ragged."

"Yeah, though we'd be ready to go another ten rounds right here right now with a Xindi ship, bring it on."

Hoshi smirked. "You sound like Lieutenant Reed. Although I think most on the ship would agree with you," her voice dropped, "Commander Tucker certainly would."

Travis, on impulse at the mention, looked across the mess hall toward the table he'd noticed when he entered the room. At the other side of the dining hall, at their own table, sat Trip and T'Pol. Trip was sitting facing in the direction of Travis and Hoshi. T'Pol was sitting on Trip's left side, allowing Travis only a profile view of the Vulcan. Both were eating in apparent, comfortable silence, their lips intermittently moving faintly and without hurry. As he happened to be looking in their direction, Travis saw Trip lower his fork and throw a look sideways at T'Pol as his weary expression lifted to form a smile. T'Pol, for her part, gave no indication she found anything humorous or had much less been the source of it.

Travis turned back to Hoshi. "Wouldn't surprise me if the second we handed off our reports to Ares the engineering crew dropped from exhaustion."

Hoshi caught herself, in the conversation lull, attempting to return to work and adamantly pushed the PADD before her aside. "That's if Doctor Phlox doesn't medicate them en mass before that."

Travis snorted. "Don't think half the engineering staff would mind that when it came to Commander Tucker. No disrespect to the commander, I can't imagine what he's had to handle these last few days, but scuttlebutt is he's been a real bear to work for since we received our new orders." Travis looked again toward the chief engineer. "Then again, he's been better lately... maybe Phlox already did medicate him."

Hoshi gave a knowing smile, easily mistaken for amused, but said nothing. Of course, she didn't know that Phlox wasn't giving Trip a sedative, but her suspicion was that the reason that Trip was calmer was sitting next to him at that very moment sharing dinner.

So much of conversation between individuals was nonverbal, composed of body language, and Hoshi's expertise was in all the intricacies of communication. She noticed the little details, insignificant to many, unnoticed by most because it was integrated into their personal style of communication so tightly they weren't aware of it enough to disentangle body from voice. Hoshi watched as closely as she listened, and she just noticed that about Trip and T'Pol. They were almost electric together, the way their energy spiked in tone and gestures when they were around each other. As much as T'Pol fired the commander up, she also pacified him when the occasion called for it, his bane and his balm in one fell swoop. Their unspoken language had become ten-fold intricate and subtle since Trip had begun undergoing neuropressure at the Vulcan science officer's hand, almost well beyond Hoshi's skills to even partially decipher.

Their unique friendship was intriguing to say the least. It was almost a case study in intraspecies communication in its own right.

Hoshi spared a glance in their direction. She noted the way Trip sat with shoulders slouched, right elbow anchored on the table with his right hand lightly bobbing the empty fork, left arm laid flat against the table near T'Pol, his legs under the table stretched out and crossed at the ankles, right foot propped atop the left and just barely pulling his posture in her direction. His head was cant just slightly in favor of T'Pol's position and with each glance his eyes were holding on T'Pol's face longer than strangers or casual acquaintances would make visual contact.

T'Pol, a much harder read of posture, was sitting primly in her chair beside him, projecting impeccable Vulcan stoicism, but little things jumped out at Hoshi. Her back, so often held ramrod straight, was just barely relaxed, enough to drop her shoulders a fraction, her hands were clasped lightly around her fork and knife, her legs folded underneath the table at a near perfect ninety degree angle until they too crossed at the ankles, her left resting atop the right and almost imperceptibly drawing her stance toward the commander in kind. Her drinking glass was situated on her right, where Trip's hand almost brushed its side thoughtlessly. Surely great care had to be taken for her to avoid touching him when she reached for her cup, but yet the cup remained where it was rather than being moved to an equivalent position on T'Pol's left. She endured the risk of repeated, unintentional physical contact with Trip, a grave gesture for a Vulcan. Her movements, always trained, were more relaxed and her own glances in Trip's direction were maintained longer than Hoshi noted T'Pol tended to hold eye contact with any other human members of the crew.

Were it not considered rude in both cultures, Hoshi could probably, with ease, waste an entire day just watching the way they interacted.

No, Hoshi doubted Phlox had anything to do with Trip being comparatively subdued.

"Hoshi?"

Hoshi tore herself away from her own thoughts and looked back at Travis. "Sorry?"

Travis shook his head. "Maybe you better get a jump on some of that sleep now, you look like you could use it."

"That's the second time you've implied I look horrible, you keep it up and I'm going to start taking it personally."

Travis grinned. "Hey, don't get ugly, I'm just looking out for you. Pretty, smart women like you need their beauty sleep."

"Nice save, Ensign."

Travis grinned playfully, eyes alive and energetic despite the hour and the past few days, then his gaze shifted to just above her shoulder and his smile fell. He was already starting to rise from the table as he said, "On second thought, I think some shut-eye is going to have to wait," and with nary another word he took his tray to the disposal receptacles then exited the mess.

Hoshi turned to look over her shoulder, seeking whatever had drawn such a reaction from Travis, and found herself focusing intently out the mess hall windows. It looked like normal space to her, burning stars in the blackness, but the longer and harder she looked the more it seemed that one of those bright specs was just barely moving amid its celestial brethren.

Hoshi heard movement from elsewhere in the mess hall and sought its source. Trip and T'Pol were both getting up, expressions and gestures tenser as their eyes too returned again and again to the view ports while they gathered up the remains of their dinner.

Hoshi narrowed her eyes again at the speck. It was a white pinprick to her, granted a moving pinprick, but from the reaction from her fellow crew members, from a space boomer and the chief engineer as well as the Vulcan with superior vision, Hoshi could only conclude one thing. That insignificant spot was the long-awaited Ares.

*****

Captain Archer had been called to the bridge just as he was preparing for bed when sensors detected a ship on a direct intercept course with Enterprise. He'd been redressed and back on the command center of the ship in two minutes, faced with the night crew of the ship. They were the faces aboard Enterprise he did not see near as often as he would like, but someone had to run the ship while his main crew slept.

Archer discovered he'd rushed to the bridge only to pace around and wait. The ship was too far out to identify, merely enough to register on the sensors. They weren't in the friendliest of galactic neighborhoods and Archer didn't intend to hail out to an unknown ship sight unseen. So they were waiting for the ship to come within range of positive identification, friend or foe.

The view screen showed what the sensors saw, attention locked on the slowly approaching vessel as the silver speck grew larger, the moving dot of light taking the very distant shape of a ship, its metal hull reflecting distant starlight.

Archer knew his ship and its abilities well enough to know they were nearly close enough for a more detailed read on the ship.

Seconds before that scan was capable of taking place the turbolift door opened and an outpouring of primary rotation staff fluxed inward. Ensigns Mayweather and Sato, Sub-commander T'Pol, and Commander Tucker.

Archer resisted smiling. He could only imagine how the group had learned of their possible contact out there, but he was not surprised. The same could not be said for the midnight crew currently manning the stations. Many looked toward the arriving staff with looks of wonder, for to them the perfectly timed appearance had to seem almost clairvoyant.

Ensign Mayweather went immediately to helm control but rather than relieve the current crewman chose to stand near the console, at hand if needed, and watch the view screen intently.

Ensign Sato, similarly, returned to her customary station. Neither did she request the current occupant vacant the post, but the night-shift crewman did anyway and Hoshi did not argue with him. Instead, Hoshi sat down in her seat and divided her attention between her communications console and the image on the view screen.

T'Pol was not quite as tactful. She did ask the on-duty science station attendant to relinquish control and the woman had little to do but obey the Vulcan. T'Pol did a quick check of her sensors, attentive to the slightest oscillation of readings that would mark the coming ship as good news or bad.

Trip, for his part, hung back at the rear of the bridge, never far from the turbolift door. He wanted to see what was going on but was prepped for a dash down to engineering at the slightest word from Archer, about as spring-loaded as a human being could get.

At peculiar moments like this Archer felt sparks and swells of pride in his crew.