Fic: that I could call my very own

[beatrice_otter]

justmarriedexchange fics have revealed, and so I can tell you that I wrote a Trip/T'Pol fic! My recip, lionessvalenti, had several suggestions for canon-divergent AUs, which happen to be one of my favorite types of story to write--pick a canon event, tweak it slightly, and see what happens from there. And also, I love Vulcans, and have Opinions on the way Star Trek: Enterprise handled them, and this fic gave me lots of opportunities to explore all of that. I really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it!


Title: that I could call my very own
Author: beatrice_otter 
Fandom: Star Trek: Enterprise
Pairing: Trip/T'Pol
Written for: lionessvalenti in Just Married Exchange 2025
Word count: 14k
Summary: 

T'Pol figures out something is wrong with her mother before leaving for Vulcan. She and Trip decide how to face the problem together.

"Maybe we're coming at this from the wrong angle," Trip said. "We're worried about what's happening on Vulcan with your mother, and trying to figure out the best way to handle that. But what if you looked at this long-term? What do you want your life to be like, a decade from now? Two decades from now? Then work backwards and figure out what we should be doing now to work towards that."

AN: This is a very minor worldbuilding note, but in English, there are gendered terms for "people who dedicate themselves to a religious life"—monk for men and nun for women. That is not the case for all languages; in Greek, "monachos" is used for both men and women. I'm going to assume that Vulcan doesn't have different words for different genders, but uses the same word for both.

sixbeforelunch provided a lot of excellent brainstorming and beta help, as is usual for my Star Trek fics.

***

"Ensign Sato, are there any remaining communications difficulties?"

The Human shook her head. "None that I'm aware of—I've got a lot of things coming through from Starfleet and the general Earth communications network, both stuff that's been waiting while we were out of range and congratulations for our triumphant return. Why?"

T'Pol debated. On the one hand, it was possible that neither her mother nor any other family member nor any former colleague had sent her a message while Enterprise was in the Expanse. Ensign Sato was very busy and had a great many tasks to perform before she could be debriefed by Starfleet and begin her well-deserved vacation. T'Pol had no desire to add to those tasks if there was nothing wrong. And it was certainly true that being out of contact had been a welcome reprieve; T'Pol was not in favor with the Vulcan High Command, nor with her family, and it had been a relief not to have to deal with anyone's disapproval.

But she had always known that would be merely a temporary reprieve, unless she chose to abandon all claim to Vulcan entirely.

Hoshi was watching her, she realized. "Is everything alright?"

"I am fine, Ensign," T'Pol said. "I have not received any messages since we arrived, and was wondering if there was a technical reason."

"Oh!" Hoshi said. "I'm sorry, I didn't even notice—it's possible there's some mismatch between our systems and Vulcan, I'll query them directly. Maybe try the embassy, too."

"I do not wish to add to your workload," T'Pol said. "I will be traveling to Vulcan, soon enough." After so long away, it would be strange if she did not. And she missed her mother.

Hoshi waved a hand. "It's fine. And if there is a technical problem, it's better to find and fix it now, than wait until we miss something crucial. I'll let you know what I find."

"Thank you," T'Pol said.

***

"Sato to T'Pol."

The intercom interrupted T'Pol's attempt at meditation. She was not sorry for the excuse to stop. "Go ahead, Ensign."

"I'm sorry, the problem is not a technical one. You have no messages."

T'Pol's stomach roiled in a way that had become unpleasantly familiar since her usage of Trellium-D. "Thank you for checking."

She allowed herself a short period of emotional reaction, before gathering her resources to think it through logically. There were three possibilities. Either her mother did not wish to speak with her, or her mother had died and no one had told her, or her mother had decided there was no logical reason to attempt communication while it could not be delivered, and had not yet heard Enterprise was back.

If her mother had died, the clan would have seen to it that T'Pol was notified. And if her mother wished to sever their relationship, she would say so directly.

The logical thing to do would be to send a message and go on about her work, rather than allowing her anxiety to control her. But her emotional regulation had been less than adequate, lately.

She recorded a message, calculated the time before she could reasonably expect a response, and called Trip.

Speaking with him would be more productive than waiting for a reply, and she could not concentrate enough to work. Though she could probably manage to pack for her trip home.

***

Jonathan was surprised to see Trip waiting for him, when he reached Enterprise. "If you're going to ask if you can stay on the ship instead of taking leave, the answer is still no," he said.

"It's not that," Trip said, falling in behind him as they walked towards Jon's quarters. "T'Pol and I have a problem we think you should know about."

"Can't it wait?" Jon said. "I don't have much time before I need to head back down to Earth for the debriefing." He'd already turned in all his reports and had an informal chat with Admiral Forrest, but the Vulcans wanted a full formal verbal debriefing with Ambassador Soval present. He hoped it wouldn't take long; Trip wasn't the only one who needed some time to unwind and relax.

"It can't wait," Trip said. "I think there's something screwy going on on Vulcan."

Jon stopped short. "That doesn't sound good."

"It may just be nothing," Trip said. "And T'Pol knows more about it, obviously, but … you might want to know before your debriefing."

***

Once they were settled in the captain's ready-room, Jon looked to T'Pol. "So what's the issue?"

"Since our arrival, I have exchanged messages with my mother," T'Pol said. "She says that she sent several recorded messages while we were out of contact. They should have been automatically forwarded to me once contact was restored, but they were not."

"Hoshi's already checked—it wasn't a technical problem," Trip said. "Either her mom's lying, or someone deleted the messages."

"The communications system is very secure, and legally, messages cannot be tampered with unless you have a court order to do so, which is difficult to get," T'Pol said. "Without a court order, it would require someone very highly placed in the Communications Bureau to do so—and such a person would be extremely unlikely to tamper with the system without pressure from a member of the High Command, and assurance that they would be protected from the legal consequences of the act."

"So either your mom's lying, or someone very highly placed is trying to keep you isolated," Jon said.

"My mother is a Vulcan, and unlikely to lie," T'Pol said. "Furthermore, she has been unusually reticent in her most recent message."

"As if she thinks someone might read her mail?" Jon asked.

"I would not have thought it plausible," T'Pol said. "If it were not for the missing messages."

"And that's not the only thing weird about her mom," Trip said.

T'Pol hesitated. Trip gave her an encouraging nod.

Jon, about to ask if this was really relevant, watched the interplay with interest.

"She has retired from her job at the Science Academy," T'Pol said. "At her stage in life, this is not unexpected. However, she has not found a position in a related field, nor begun training for a different career entirely. Nor has she started volunteering or working for our clan. Nor has she begun learning a craft or art. I asked after her health; she is neither ill nor injured. She is simply idle, for no reason she is willing to discuss."

"I think she got forced out of her job," Trip said. "They couldn't get to T'Pol, so they went after her mom."

"It is an extreme escalation," T'Pol said. "Even given the destruction of the monastery at P'Jem, and the ways in which I have facilitated Enterprise's actions rather than hindering you in ways convenient to the Vulcan High Command. But I cannot rule it out."

"Then there's Koss," Trip said.

"I don't think he is relevant to Captain Archer," T'Pol said.

"You said his family's got political connections." Trip raised his eyebrows.

"Who's Koss?" Jon asked.

"My former fiancée," T'Pol said. She didn't give Jon time to digest that bombshell before going on. "Our marriage was arranged in childhood. I broke it off three years ago. There is no logical reason for him to wish to contact me, but he apparently knows that I have booked passage to Vulcan—he sent a physical letter to my mother, to be given to me upon my arrival."

"I think it stinks," Trip said. "Koss is an architect. The only way he'd know she was coming back—even with his important family—is if someone thinks it would be important for him to know. I think they want T'Pol back where they can control her. Maybe they figure if the wedding goes ahead, they'll be able to pull her off of Enterprise, or at least put a leash on her."

"I have no intention of marrying Koss," T'Pol said.

"Not now," Trip said. "But what if they put pressure on you? What if they are threatening your mom? What if there's something else going on?"

"We are not in one of the historical melodramas they show in the mess on occasion," T'Pol said. "That is all highly unlikely."

"Can you think of something else that makes sense?" Trip asked.

"Maybe you should get married to someone else before you go home, just in case," Jon joked, trying to lighten things up.

His friends turned to him as if they had forgotten he was there.

"Trip and I are not currently close enough for that," T'Pol said, as if it were obvious who the only candidate for her hand might be.

Trip looked at her and made a face that said 'are you sure about that'? T'Pol's eyes darted sideways to him and she raised her eyebrows, then ducked her head, as if avoiding the question.

Jon watched that little byplay, stunned. He knew they'd gotten close while in the Expanse, but … he hadn't realized it was that kind of close. He wiped a hand over his face. "Okay. I've got a lot to do before I head back down for the debriefing. But basically, things are hinky on Vulcan, they're probably a lot madder at us than we thought, and I needed to know that before my debriefing with Soval. And T'Pol might be stirring up a hornet's nest when she goes home to visit her mom."

"Basically, yeah," Trip said.

"Ambassador Soval is generally in favor of humans, and he likes and respects Earth," T'Pol said, which hadn't always been Jon's experience with the man. "But he has not reached his post, nor kept it for so long, by ignoring the wishes of the High Command."

"So it doesn't matter whether he likes me or this ship or respects what we've done," Jon said, "if the High Command doesn't like us."

***

Trip walked Jon back to the shuttle when he was done with his ship-side business.

"So," Jon said. "You and T'Pol." He was a little hurt that his best friend hadn't told him he was in an apparently serious relationship with another friend, but the last year had been hellish and Jon had been distracted by his own issues. Mostly, he was just glad that Trip had something good in his life these days.

"Me and T'Pol," Trip said with a nod. "I may be going with her to Vulcan—there's not much for me on Earth, and she could use the backup."

Jon digested this. "If you do decide to elope before you go, let me know. If I find out after the fact that you got married without me there as your best man, I'll be ticked."

Trip laughed. "I'll see what I can do. Good luck with your debrief."

"I'm glad I'm not going into it without any warning," Jon said. "Thanks."

***

They were in Trip's quarters, this time. T'Pol was advising him on what to pack for their trip to Vulcan. Not that they'd decided he was definitely going; T'Pol was a bit skittish about what might be happening back home. She wasn't sure whether it would be better to have backup, or try to lie low without the trouble bringing a human might stir up. If they were right and T'Les had been fired in retaliation for her daughter's misdeeds, she wasn't likely to be happy to have a human guest dropped on her doorstep. But whether he was going to Vulcan or not, he couldn't stay on the ship, so he still needed to pack.

T'Pol had been quiet for a bit, watching him fold his socks and underwear alongside the industrial-strength deodorant he'd gotten from the quartermaster. Trip didn't mind; he'd always rather have her company than not. Even when she was giving off some stormy vibes. Trip knew her well enough that he could almost feel her anxiety, her fear.

"What do you think I should do?" T'Pol asked abruptly.

"You're asking me?" Trip said. "I've never been to Vulcan, and I've never met your mom, or Koss. If you don't know which would be better, I sure as heck don't. What's your logic telling you?"

"My logic is … uncertain," T'Pol said. She looked down at her hands.

Trip sat down next to her. He'd known that for a while, now, but he was surprised she was willing to admit it. It wasn't just pride. Her whole picture of herself and her culture had had to fracture for her to say that. "Yeah," he said.

"I have … been starting to realize how many of the major decisions of my life have been justified by logic, rather than based on it. And not just since my … illness. How often my emotions or desires have guided me even when I was sure I was acting in a purely rational manner."

Trip nodded. "Humans do that, too, sometimes. A lot more of the time than we like to admit." He waited, but she didn't say anything more. "So what are your feelings telling you?"

"My feelings—" she said the word with a hint of shame "—are telling me that I don't want to leave you. But that is nothing new; I have wanted to be constantly in your presence for a long time, now, and that desire has only grown stronger."

A grin spread across Trip's face. That was the closest she'd ever come to telling him she loved him. He was pretty certain she did—sometimes, he could almost feel it, he was so certain—but he'd feared she'd never be willing to do more than drop hints. "Yeah? Well, me too. I feel better with you than without you, and I can't see that ever changing."

"I am … gratified that my feelings are returned," T'Pol said. "And that you have been patient with my … reticence."

Trip laughed. "You're welcome. Some good things are worth the wait." He sobered quickly. "Maybe we're coming at this from the wrong angle. We're worried about what's happening on Vulcan with your mother, and trying to figure out the best way to handle that. But what if you looked at this long-term? What do you want your life to be like, a decade from now? Two decades from now? Then work backwards and figure out what we should be doing now to work towards that."

***

T'Pol considered Trip's words. It was a logical way of evaluating possible actions. Unfortunately, she had no clear long-term desires for her future that were attainable. She knew what she did not want; she did not want to live the sort of constrained, orderly, predictable life that was valued on Vulcan. Neither did she wish to give up her culture and training and declare herself V'tosh ka'tur. She did not want to lose Trip. In the short term, each of these things was achievable.

In the long term … the higher-ranking posts for both the Ministry of Security and the Science Council were all on Vulcan. Starfleet was pleased with her now, but that was largely due to Archer's patronage and her utility on Enterprise and might not last. And once their time together on Enterprise was done, how could she stay by Trip's side?

"I don't know," she said. "I prefer my life here, with you. But that is not a long-term goal."

Trip nodded. She could feel his pleasure, that she wanted him. T'Pol had been taught all her life to stifle her telepathic senses, but the closer she and Trip got, the more sensitive she was to him. "What is it about Enterprise that you like?" he asked

"Travel," T'Pol said. "Going new places, experiencing new things." She looked at him. "And you."

"Much as I love Enterprise, I won't be able to stay here forever," Trip said. "Exploring the galaxy is a game for the young, and I'm not getting any younger."

"I am thirty-three-point-four-one years older than you are," T'Pol pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're going to outlive me by a long time, unless you die in an accident or something," Trip pointed out. "Anyway, eventually they're going to want me back on Earth training the next generation of Starfleet officers, or designing the next generation of starships, or something. I bet there's a bunch of things you'd be good at teaching. Science, first contact protocols and how not to make an ass of yourself, interstellar cultures and politics … and it's not like teaching's the only thing you could do." He grinned at her. "Hell, it's not like Starfleet is the only thing I could do. We could get ourselves a cargo ship, and ride the spacelanes like Travis' family. We could sign on to research missions funded by a civilian university—we've got the experience for it. Earth's not our only option, either! I bet there are a bunch of planets that would be happy to have a Vulcan teaching at their premier science university, and would be willing to take me on as well. And I bet if we thought about it for a bit, we could come up with even more options."

All the reasons such futures were impossible rose up within her, but T'Pol could not bear to say so and wipe away his smile. She forced herself to consider, and was struck by a new thought.

"What?" he asked. "You look like you just swallowed a frog."

"I have never eaten an amphibian of any type," T'Pol said, knowing it would amuse him. "But I am realizing that … the reason I have never seriously considered any such moves is that the High Command would disapprove, and it would spoil any future chance of employment in my fields of experience within the Vulcan government or areas they control."

"I hate to break it to you, T'Pol, but I think that ship has sailed," Trip said. "Even if you went crawling back to them, I doubt they'd welcome you back with open arms. Probably stick you behind a desk somewhere you wouldn't embarrass them. Low-level work, too. You'd hate it."

"I know," T'Pol said, her stomach feeling oddly as if the Enterprise's low gravity had failed completely.

"So you don't have to worry about what they'd like," Trip said. "You only have to worry about what you want." He hesitated. "And … what they're doing to your mom on account of you, if you're right about why she retired. Is there anything else they could do to her?"

"Not to my knowledge," T'Pol said. "She has done nothing wrong, and there are limits to the High Command's power."

"Okay, then," Trip said, nodding. "So: we're back to the question of what you want your future to look like."

"That will require a great deal of thought," T'Pol said. "But any of the options you named would be acceptable to me."

"Great," Trip said. "So, we know you don't want your future to be on Vulcan, and there's a good chance people are going to try to pressure you into changing your mind, including Koss or his family. What do you need to get you through this?"

"You," T'Pol said.

"You have me any way you want me, T'Pol," Trip said. "Anything else?"

"I am beginning to think the Captain's suggestion had merit."

***

It took Trip a few seconds to realize what she meant. "What, you mean … elope? Show up on Vulcan with a big ring on your finger to wave under Koss's nose?"

"Vulcans do not wear rings as a symbol of marriage," T'Pol said. "He would not understand the meaning of it. But otherwise … yes."

Trip fought down his first impulse, which was say yes and get her nailed down before she can change her mind. He didn't want to pressure her into anything—she'd had enough of that, in her life—and he'd be devastated if they rushed into things now and she regretted it later.

Not to mention all the potential problems they faced. T'Pol knew more about Earth culture than he knew about Vulcan culture, so he had no idea what hurdles they might be facing, trying to build a life together. They thought about the world differently, had such different assumptions about the right way to do things. Trip wasn't naïve enough to think that love was enough to magically wipe all their differences away.

But damn it, he was head over heels for her, and had been for longer than he'd like to admit. Yes, even through misunderstandings and arguments and trouble. Much as his head told him this was a bad idea, it was what he'd wanted for a long time.

He nodded. "I'd like that. But only if you really mean it. If all you want is armor against Koss, I can do that just fine the way we are. If we do this—if we make those promises to each other, to love and cherish for better or worse and all that jazz—I want it to be real. Permanent. Serious. 'Til death parts us, you know the drill."

T'Pol considered this.

Trip held his breath.

"Yes," she said, "you are right. We should do it properly." T'Pol held up a hand, index and middle fingers extended, the others curled in. "This is called the ozh'esta. It is the traditional embrace between spouses."

Trip awkwardly folded his hand in the same way, and reached out to return the gesture.

T'Pol touched her fingers to his, and closed her eyes.

Trip returned suit … and realized the meaning of the gesture. Vulcans were touch telepaths, and he could feel her more clearly than ever before. He hadn't been imagining it, all the vibes he'd been getting from her. He couldn't read her mind, but he could feel her, the shape of her mind, more clearly than ever before. I love you, he thought, as clearly as he could.

T'Pol sent a wave of feelings that would've knocked him over, if they'd been standing. Love, lust, fear, trust, determination, and a whole host of other emotions he couldn't put words to. Things she'd never said, never admitted aloud. But they were real, and she wasn't hiding them. Not from him, not from herself. Not any longer.

***

Jon's communicator chirped, and he held back a groan with effort. Today had been terrible, and he was looking forward to going to a bar and relaxing. He pulled it out and flipped it open. "Archer here," he said, in as even a tone as he could manage.

"Captain, this is Commander Tucker," Trip said. "How was the debriefing?"

"Awful," Jon said. "Thanks for the heads-up; I don't know if I could have kept my temper without it. Soval really wanted to find something to hang us on, and the admirals were sitting there and giving him all the time he wanted to dig for it. And we're starting again tomorrow at 0800 hours."

"Joy," Trip said. "What a way to welcome home the hero who saved Earth."

"Yeah," Jon said. "My only consolation is that if he's focused on me, he's not sniffing around any of my other officers. Speaking of which … how's T'Pol? You hear anything new from her mother?"

"No," Trip said. "But we've decided to get married after all."

"You've what?"

"We're getting married before we leave for Vulcan. Our first thought was to have you do it up here on Enterprise."

Jon made a face at the thought of the extra travel. "If you wanted to get married in the middle of the night, maybe, but I've got to be back down here for tomorrow's roasting."

"Yeah, and you probably wouldn't be able to get any of the crew to come with you, and also, we'd miss our flight," Trip said.

"Right," Jon said. "I forgot about the extra security." Five years ago, there were regular passenger shuttles between the Starfleet spacedocks and the civilian ones. Since the Xindi attack, the only passenger shuttles in or out of Starfleet space stations were to Starfleet ships and bases. To get to a civilian transport from Enterprise, you had to take a shuttle down to Earth, a train from the Starfleet port to the civilian passenger port, and then a shuttle back up into orbit to meet your ship.

"T'Pol's had some choice words on the illogic of it," Trip said. "Anyway, one of the attractions of getting married up on Enterprise is the privacy. We don't want our business splashed all over the news."

"Can't blame you there," Jon said.

"Then I remembered that California has confidential marriages, where the documentation isn't public record," Trip said. "And San Francisco has a county office that's open around the clock because of Starfleet and the various embassies and so on. We come down on the evening shuttle, just like we planned. You and any of the other crew who are still in San Francisco show up to the county courthouse, and T'Pol and I get hitched. Then T'Pol and I board the shuttle to our transport. Sound like a plan?"

"What does T'Pol think?" Jon asked.

"I think it is the most efficient way to accomplish our goals," T'Pol said, "and hence the most logical choice of action."

Jon shook his head. He didn't know why he hadn't expected that. Of course T'Pol would choose the most efficient and logical way to elope. No sentimentality there. "I'll be there," Jon said. "Anything I need to get for you? Rings? Flowers?"

"Rings would be great—I'll send you our ring sizes," Trip said.

"A plain band would be acceptable for both of us," T'Pol said. "I do not wish anything that would catch on equipment or otherwise prove a hazard, and that is an even greater concern for Trip."

"If we want something special, we can get them engraved later or something," Trip said.

"Alright, I'll take care of it," Jon said. "You want me to call Phlox and Malcolm and Hoshi and Travis?"

"No, it will be easier to do so from Enterprise," T'Pol said.

"Then I'll see you when you get down here," Jon said.

***

On the shuttle down to Earth, T'Pol meditated lightly and basked in Trip's happiness. It was a balm to her mind. She found no doubts within herself about choosing Trip, which was odd, considering how great her fears were about what might lie before them on Vulcan. Introducing him to her mother and any family they might encounter would be … fraught, at best. And then there was the question of any political problems they might face. But there was nothing to be gained by ruminating on her fears. And she did not want Trip to think she had any doubts about the course they had chosen.

She reached out to his mind. He sat with his eyes closed, as if sleeping; she was the only one on the shuttle to know that he was, instead, remembering the moment she had said she would marry him.

T'Pol almost drew back, out of habit and training, but then reminded herself that they were betrothed, and would be married in a few hours. She was allowed to touch his mind. She reached out again—

—and found herself in his mind. It was not like when Tolaris forced himself in. Trip's mind embraced hers, and she could feel the rhythms of their bodies harmonizing.

"What are you doing here?" Trip asked. "Is this … are you in my head, or am I imagining this?"

Beside her, Trip jolted, and they were separate again.

"You were not imagining things," T'Pol said quietly, mindful of the shuttle's other passengers.

Trip closed his eyes, and this time he reached out to her. T'Pol turned her face towards the portal so that their posture would not look similar, and accepted him in.

"So, I'm telepathic now," Trip said, mind-to-mind. "Not just when we're touching."

"Only with me," T'Pol said. "And probably not over long distances, at least for transmission of conscious thoughts. Vulcans are … instinctively drawn to form a telepathic link with their mates, which allows for an awareness of our partners over significant distances. My mother could always sense when my father's ship returned to Vulcan."

"His ship, huh," Trip said. "What did he do?"

"He was an asteroid miner," T'Pol said.

"Are we going to see him, when we're on Vulcan?"

T'Pol shook her head. "He died twenty-six point three seven nine years ago, in a mining accident. I did not know him well; he was an excellent father when he was home, but he spent most of his time in space. I lived with my mother on Vulcan." She sensed Trip's curiosity and explained. "He and my mother were very close, despite having little in common; as children, their personalities, interests, and likely career paths were sufficiently alike to make it a good match, and our families wished for closer ties. But then both of them chose different paths as adults."

"So, like you and Koss, then, I guess," Trip said.

"No," T'Pol said. "Koss has not diverged from what was expected, given his childhood aptitudes. In our case, it was only I who changed."

"Hey," Trip said, "that's not your fault! Most people change as they grow up! Sometimes it's only a little, but sometimes it's a lot. That's just life."

T'Pol nodded.

"Now, if we've got a little bit of private space to talk, I'd actually like some help," Trip said. "My Golic pronunciation's pretty bad …"

***

They'd filled out what documents they could ahead of time, but they still had to check in with the clerk and present T'Pol's identifying information. She didn't have a Starfleet ID, and her Vulcan identifying papers were in Traditional Golic and not something the county system was set up to handle.

"Is there a problem?" Trip asked, as the clerk scowled down at the documents. The Vulcan papers were in an elegant calligraphy that looked more like art than writing. T'Pol had written out a translation in neat, printed Standard English.

"I scanned the Vulcan document, and my system is supposed to be able to read and translate it," he said. "But we've never had a Vulcan-language document come in, and it's not working. I can't accept a document I can't read."

"I have given you the translation," T'Pol said. "Legal documents on Vulcan are often written in a specialized dialect of Traditional Golic."

"Yeah, but the translation isn't government-issued," the clerk said. "I need a government-issued document for my files."

"She's got a government-issued document," Trip pointed out. "It's not our fault your system isn't working."

"It's not my fault, either," the clerk said. "I didn't program the thing."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Come on, you know who she is. If you have any doubt, she's on TV right now." He pointed at the screen across the room, where the news was playing a repeat of Jon's big speech, all of them clearly behind him.

The clerk rolled his eyes. "Yes, Commander Tucker, I know. But the issue is not what I, personally, know, the issue is what the system will accept as valid. And also, the legal requirements that have to be met if you want to get married tonight."

"Will we have to contact the Vulcan Embassy for documentation?" T'Pol said.

Trip winced; explaining what they needed and why would be … all kinds of fun. Though luckily, by this time Soval would probably not be available and they'd be dealing with an assistant of some sort.

"Let me think," the clerk said with a sigh. He stared off into space for a bit, and then pulled something up on his screen. He read for a bit, chewing his lip.

"Okay," he said, "I think I have this figured out. You volunteer as a translator for the night, I swear you in as an official volunteer translator of the State of California, and then you sign off that the translation is accurate and it becomes an official government document."

"What would my duties be, as a translator?" T'Pol asked.

"Translating this document," the clerk said, tapping the Vulcan papers. "Also, we'd keep your contact information on file and we'd call if we ever needed to translate something else from Vulcan into Standard. You'd be under no obligation to come in."

"That is a reasonable and efficient way of satisfying the legal requirements," T'Pol said.

"Seems a bit silly and inefficient, to me," Trip said.

"All bureaucracies will accrue what you call 'red tape' over time," T'Pol said. "Discerning how to fulfill the letter of the law while accomplishing what is needed is a valuable skill, in a government employee." She nodded at the clerk. "Your help is greatly appreciated."

"You're welcome," the clerk said, pulling up some files on a PADD. He smirked. "So, even the logical and efficient Vulcans can't create a sensible bureaucracy?"

"No." T'Pol took the PADD and started filling in the information.

Trip sighed. Fortunately, they'd allowed plenty of time for this; Jon and the rest weren't supposed to get here for another half-hour.

"You know, my best friend growing up is now in Starfleet," the clerk said. "And from what he says, Starfleet bureaucracy is even worse than what I've got to deal with, so I'm kinda surprised you're so impatient."

"Commander Tucker is of the rank where he can have a yeoman handle the more intricate bureaucratic requirements," T'Pol said without looking up from her paperwork. "In addition, the Enterprise and her crew often receive special treatment."

Trip opened his mouth to argue with that, and then thought of how much easier things were now than they had been when they were trying to get the damn ship built.

"Typical," the clerk said.

Once T'Pol finished filling out the forms, he swore her in, and then had her attest that the translation was accurate. That being the last piece of information his system needed, he gave them their marriage license and let them wait for their friends in a conference room.

***

Jon arrived a little early, but found Trip and T'Pol already waiting in a small conference room in the municipal building. Trip was in uniform, but T'Pol was in purple robes Jon had never seen her wear, before. Oddly, they weren't talking, or even looking at each other; Trip had his eyes closed, and T'Pol was staring off into space.

"I got the rings," Jon said, handing the box for T'Pol's ring to Trip and Trip's ring to T'Pol.

"Thanks," Trip said, smiling down at the little velvet box. He looked up at T'Pol and his grin widened. T'Pol didn't exactly smile, but there was a definite warmth in her expression as she looked at him.

"It was no trouble," Jon said. "I hope you two have every happiness together."

"I think we will," Trip said. "How much were they?"

Jon waved this off. "Don't worry about it. Consider it a wedding present."

"I hope I'm not late," said Hoshi from the doorway. "I didn't know if you'd want flowers, so I stopped and got some." She walked over to T'Pol, and handed her a bouquet of pink and blue and yellow flowers—the sort of pre-made bouquet you could pick up in grocery stores.

"Thank you," T'Pol said, inspecting them.

"I couldn't find a florist who was open to get corsages or anything like that."

"It's fine, Hoshi," Trip said.

"I hope you're not missing any Vulcan rites or traditions," Hoshi said to T'Pol.

"I understand that Humans often dream of their wedding day," T'Pol said. "I, however, spent much of my adult life avoiding marriage. I feel no lack in this ceremony. Besides, gongs and bells would be difficult to procure on Earth on short notice."

Travis, Phlox, and Malcolm walked in, and by the time the congratulations and well-wishes were exchanged it was time for their appointment with the clerk.

***

It was a standard wedding ceremony—or, Jon corrected himself, a standard Human wedding ceremony. Briefer than most, of course, because a courthouse wedding didn't have any religious elements, or any cultural rites that might be in vogue. Just the essentials.

When it came time for the vows, Trip and T'Pol picked one of the set of three the clerk had on a sheet for them. But after they'd spoken the vows, they touched the first two fingers of their hands together and spoke a few words in what Jon assumed must be a Vulcan language. Not the Modern Golic he'd learned at the Academy.

"What are they saying?" Travis whispered.

"Not quite sure," Hoshi said. "It's not a dialect I know very well. 'Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched. We meet at the right place.'"

More poetic than Jon was used to thinking of Vulcans being.

Trip and T'Pol exchanged rings, and Jon was relieved to see they fit. Then it was time for him to sign the papers as witness, and it was done. The clerk congratulated them and slipped out.

Jon gave Trip a hug. "Congratulations to you both. I hope you'll be very happy."

"I'm sure we will," Trip said.

"I've arranged for a private room at an all-night restaurant," Malcolm said. "A proper meal before you head out."

Trip looked at T'Pol, who raised an eyebrow at him. "We've got two hours before we have to be at the shuttleport. It should be fine."

***

They kept the conversation light and mundane as the waiter took their orders; Trip kept his left hand below the table, just in case. He wasn't as recognizable as Jon, but if there was any place he'd be recognized, it'd be here in San Francisco, with more Starfleet personnel per square kilometer than any other place in the universe. And it was public record that he wasn't—hadn't been—married. Nobody would assume "wedding band" from the ring T'Pol was wearing; it wasn't a Vulcan custom. But it only took one person who knew who he was wondering when he got married to start people asking questions, and that was the last thing he or T'Pol wanted.

Once the door closed behind the waiter, Jon reached for his glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's raise our glasses to Trip and T'Pol. May your days be sunny, your nights starry, and your hearts always full."

There was a chorus of "hear, hear!" as everyone raised their glasses and clinked them together.

"I hope you're not going to make me give a speech or anything," Trip said.

"Not as long as you don't make me give one," Jon said. "I'm over my quota for the month."

"Are speeches a traditional component of Human weddings?" T'Pol said.

"They can be," Trip said. "Usually at the reception, after."

"Vulcans do not have receptions," T'Pol said. "Once the joining is complete, the couple leaves for the bridal house, and those assembled leave to give them privacy."

"I can certainly see the benefit in that," Jon said with a smirk.

"If you'll pardon my curiosity, I've been wondering how—and when—you two got together," Malcolm said. "I knew you were friends, but … this was a bit of a surprise."

"To all of us," Hoshi said.

Trip made a face, trying to figure out how to explain their relationship. "We just …." He shook his head. "There have been a lot of times, over the last four years, when one of us has had a problem, that the other one could help with. We got really close. I don't know, how do you explain falling in love?"

Trip's hand rested next to T'Pol's, on the table, close enough that stretching out his fingertips would have brought them into contact. Nobody else at the table would understand just how intimate that was, the depth of connection it implied, for a Vulcan. Hell, Trip wouldn't have understood that himself even just a few months ago. And now he did, because he could feel her, and he didn't know how to explain it so that they would understand.

"That explains you," Malcolm said. "But I've never thought of T'Pol as much of a romantic."

"I am not," T'Pol said. She cocked her head, considering possible answers that would satisfy them without sacrificing too much privacy. "In my entire life," she said slowly, "Trip is the only person who has always, consistently, worked to make my life and my options … larger. Giving opportunities, rather than taking them away."

She didn't look at him, but she didn't need to. Trip could feel how deeply she meant it, how much that mattered to her. He grinned so wide it felt like his face might split in two, and stretched his fingers out to brush hers. T'Pol drew in a breath, and lightly rubbed back, before retreating.

That … that was probably smart. Nobody else at the table might know what that meant, but if they did much more of it people would figure out what it meant when he couldn't stop himself from going farther.

The party couldn't last long—they had a shuttle to catch. And on the transport, they had a private room all to themselves.

Just about now, he thought the Vulcan custom of no receptions would have been a pretty good idea …

***

Jon got to the debriefing room bright and early the next morning, a folder of papers in his hand. T'Pol had been adamant that the Vulcan Embassy would want a paper copy of the documentation, not just the digital records that he would be handing over to Starfleet on Trip's behalf.

Soval arrived exactly five minutes before they were supposed to get started.

"Ah, Ambassador," Jon said. "I wonder if I could have a word in private? Subcommander T'Pol asked me to pass this along to you." He waved the folder.

Soval looked annoyed as always. "Very well, Captain. Admiral Forrest, might we have a suitable room?"

Forrest looked up from where he was talking with his yeoman. "Of course, Ambassador. Yeoman Surtees can show you."

"Actually, sir, you might want to come too," Jon said. "You're going to need to know this as well."

"If this is official business, surely the full meeting would be the appropriate place to raise it?" Soval said.

"This isn't official business," Jon said. "Or, at least, not mission-related. It's a personnel matter."

"Very well," Soval said.

Admiral Forrest led them down the hall to a different conference room, this one slightly larger than the one the Enterprise debriefing was being held in. "Alright, what's this about?" he asked.

Jon waited until the doors were closed behind them and flipped open the folder. He extracted the official copy of Trip and T'Pol's marriage certificate and handed it to Ambassador Soval.

Soval scanned the paper quickly, and recoiled as if bitten. "This cannot be real."

"I assure you it is," Jon said. "I was there." He savored every twitch Soval made. After the grilling he got yesterday, he thought he was entitled.

"What is it?" Admiral Forrest asked, craning his neck to see.

"It's a marriage certificate," Jon said. "Commander Tucker and Subcommander T'Pol got married at a registry office last night."

"Human privacy laws are almost nonexistent, and your media is well known for its intrusiveness," Soval said. "If this were real, it would be all over the news."

Jon shook his head. "California law allows for confidential marriages—they're legally binding, but they're not public record. Trip and T'Pol don't want reporters on their tail any more than you or I do."

"Where are they now?" Forrest had a hunted expression on his face. Jon was almost sorry for broadsiding him this way, except that he'd sat silently by yesterday and let Soval do his worst.

"On their way to Vulcan, to visit T'Pol's mother," Jon said. "Their ship broke orbit about an hour ago. Since it was such short notice, they asked me to file the paperwork with Starfleet and the Vulcan Embassy."

Soval took the folder from Jon and inserted the certificate back into it. "Excuse me. I must deal with this back at the embassy." He nodded to Forrest. "We will certainly need to discuss this subject later."

"No kidding," Forrest said.

Soval left. Forrest watched him go, then turned to Jon. "Did you know about this?" he demanded.

Jon shook his head. "I knew they were friends, but … the first I knew there was anything romantic between them was two days ago. I only learned about the wedding a few hours before it happened. But apparently they've been … close, for a while."

Forrest shook his head. "Thank God they went for a confidential license—the last thing we need is the media finding out. Starfleet's taken a drubbing in the press for the last year, and now that we're finally getting some good public approval numbers with your heroics, I don't want to derail things by giving the press an excuse to dig for salacious details of your officers' private lives."

"I agree," Jon said.

"What's your take on the personnel side of it?" Forrest asked. "I'd been planning to offer her a commission in Starfleet and formalize her position as your first officer—God knows she's earned it, and I hate breaking up a proven command team when I don't have to. But having couples serving together is difficult."

Jon shrugged. "Neither one of them report to the other, and they've worked smoothly together this long—so smoothly I didn't even know they were together. They're both professionals. I can't see that changing."

"Well, we'll give it a shot, I guess." He nodded. "If Soval's not going to be here, you're off the hook—I have better things to do than rake you over the coals for a complicated, dangerous mission completed as well as anyone could have done it. You're on leave as of now. I'll go tell the others the debriefing is over."

***

The bed in their quarters on the transport was not large enough for two. They could have taken down the upper bunk, and slept each in their own space, but Trip had insisted on sharing at least for tonight, and T'Pol found she did not mind. She had spent so long forcing herself not to want him, in body or mind; and now she could feast upon his presence as much as she wanted. He was hers, and she was his, and she could take all the pleasure in him she wanted, and know that it was returned.

But comforting as she found his presence—and as pleasurable as she found admiring his body—the bed could be more comfortable.

"What'cha thinking about?" Trip asked.

"I foresee many discussions in our future as to the temperature settings."

She felt his body jerk with silent laughter. "You're probably right." He was naked. She had gotten up, once their immediate coupling was done, and put on a thermal layer. "Also, I can't wait until we have a bigger bed."

"The beds in my mother's house are bigger than this, but not by much," T'Pol said. "Vulcan couples often have separate accommodations, even in a marriage as intimate as my parents' was."

"And Enterprise doesn't have married quarters," Trip said. "I'd prefer to sleep with you, if you're okay with it and we can manage it. Maybe I can rig something up."

"I would not object," T'Pol said.

They spoke lightly of other matters: plans for the future, what their homes were like growing up, what they wanted their home to be like together. There were many differences, and many things that would require careful negotiation, but none of them mattered that night, and so T'Pol was content to leave them for later discussion.

"You're avoiding something," Trip said, after a bit. "Something you feel …" he hesitated "… ashamed about?"

"It is not a personal shame," T'Pol said. "Nor is it something you are likely to encounter, because I am very un-likely to suffer from it. But you have a right to know."

Trip waited for her to continue. "Is it sex related?" he asked after a few moments. "You can be really uptight about sex. Until today." He grinned.

"The problem was never sex in the abstract," T'Pol said. "It is a bodily function, and in general it is more logical to accommodate bodily functions than be distracted by them. The problem was the likely emotional fallout from having sex with you."

"Yeah, I don't think we could have screwed once and gotten things out of our system," Trip said. "I really don't think I will ever get you out of my system. But you didn't actually answer the question."

"It is about sex," T'Pol admitted. "Vulcans have a heat cycle. It is called pon farr. Every seven years, adult men go into heat. They lose all rationality, and become violent. If they cannot mate, the chances of death are very high—some men with immense discipline and training can meditate through it and regulate their hormones back to normal. But most men cannot manage that."

Trip digested that. "And Vulcan women?"

"Usually, a woman's own cycle is stimulated by her mate's. There are circumstances where a woman can enter pon farr in the absence of a male, but they are rare."

"Wait," Trip said. "That time in our first year when Jon was captured by a bounty hunter and you got real flirty?"

"That was not a true pon farr," T'Pol said. "It was an infection that stimulated the same hormone cycle; when Phlox cured the infection, he was able to stabilize my hormones."

"Glad to finally have an answer for that one," Trip said. "Wait … what about Koss? You're sixty-three years old. Unless Koss is a lot younger than you, he's got to have gone through, what, six or seven of these heat cycles?"

"Four or five at most," T'Pol said. "They generally do not begin until the mid-thirties."

"Still! Four or five times he's got to mate or die … and I'm assuming that if you'd been the one helping him through them, you'd be married to him already?"

"Yes," T'Pol said. "That is why marriages are arranged. So that men will always have a mate, and the risk of death is minimal. When a betrothed couple goes through pon farr together, they are considered married, even if no ceremony has taken place."

"That makes sense," Trip said. "But still. What's he been doing all this time? Is he just really good at meditating?"

"To the best of my knowledge, Koss has never taken the training that would enable him to successfully meditate through pon farr."

"So he's got a lover," Trip said.

"Or has made use of the services of a professional." T'Pol had pondered the question on more than one occasion.

"Vulcan has sex workers?" Trip shook his head. "You learn something new every day."

"They are more respected on Vulcan than on Earth," T'Pol said.

"If they're literally saving peoples' lives, I don't doubt it," Trip said. "Am I right in assuming that if Koss wanted to marry you, he could have called you up any of those four or five times he's been in heat, and you'd have gone?"

"Yes," T'Pol said. "I did not desire to marry him, but neither do I desire him dead. I was pleased that he had found a solution that did not require me, and did not enquire as to how he was managing it."

"So he may not want to marry you, either."

T'Pol sighed. "What Koss wants and what his family wants may not be the same thing."

Trip nodded. "Just like what you want and what your family wants are not the same thing. And you're all expected to follow your family's orders even to marry someone you don't like."

"I do not dislike Koss," T'Pol said. "I disliked the sort of life I would have been expected to lead as his wife. Koss is … a decent man, reasonably considerate, and would be considered a very good husband by most Vulcan women."

Trip laughed. "T'Pol, if there's one thing you're not, it's most Vulcan women."

"That is true." T'Pol chased away the regret and shame that acknowledgment brought. She had tried so hard for so long to be what was expected of her, only to fail. It was … better, this way; more logical to acknowledge the truth of herself, of what it was and was not possible for her to be, and act accordingly. But it was hard, this late in her life, to change her ways of thinking.

Trip felt her melancholy, and reached for her, both physically and mentally. She settled back into bed, entwining her mind around his, and anchored herself in the present moment. There was peace and contentment and pleasure here, with Trip, and it would be illogical to waste it.

Trip passed the time by exploring their bond. He was clumsy, but surprisingly quick to figure things out.

Which, she realized, could be a problem.

"What is it?" Trip asked.

"There is a Vulcan illness called Pa'nar Syndrome," T'Pol said. "It involves a degradation of synaptic pathways. It is transmitted by a mind-meld, an intense telepathic joining, in which two minds briefly become one."

"Are you saying I need to be careful?" Trip said, drawing his mind back.

"Yes," T'Pol said. "I have it. I do not believe it can be passed along a marital bond, but … there is very little medical research on the subject. The High Command believes that melding is unnatural and that those who contract Pa'nar deserve whatever they suffer as a result."

"Sounds cruel," Trip said. He hesitated.

"Do you remember Tolaris?" T'Pol asked.

"Vaguely," Trip said. "He was one of the V'tosh ka'tur, right?"

"He was," T'Pol said. "He wished to meld with me, and did not respect my wishes on the subject."

Trip stiffened next to her, and she felt a flush of anger. He took a deep breath, and wrestled with his emotions. "That son of a bitch."

"Learning that I had contracted Pa'nar Syndrome did not endear me to my superiors," T'Pol said.

"Even though it wasn't your fault?" Trip said.

"They do not care about fault," T'Pol said. "Only ostracizing those who fall outside their strictures."

"You know, the more I learn about your government, the less I like them," Trip said.

"The High Command was not always like this," T'Pol said. "Nor did they have so much power until the last few decades."

"But you're okay, right?" Trip said. "Phlox can treat it?"

"Phlox can prevent the damage from progressing," T'Pol said. "At least for now."

"At least that's something," Trip said.

***

T'Les was everything he'd expected her to be: tall, reserved, and coolly disapproving. At least, he thought she was disapproving; she was a lot harder to read than T'Pol had been, even back when he'd first met her.

Over tea and light snack foods T'Les grilled him about his career, his engineering accomplishments, his family, his history, and his plans for the future. She'd obviously looked him up, and read some of the news reports on Enterprise and the crew.

Trip answered her with equanimity. T'Pol, sitting next to him, got more and more perturbed.

"Mother, you are being rude," she said at last, interrupting a question about how his parents met.

"It's okay, T'Pol," Trip said.

"No, it's not," T'Pol said. "Unlike Humans, Vulcans believe strongly in the sanctity of privacy." She shot her mother an annoyed look.

"In public, yes," T'Les said. "This is not public. This is our home, and he is not a guest, he is my son. You have made him my son. You have the right to throw away all the plans made for your life, if you want, but I have the right to learn about the man you have chosen instead."

"She's got a point, T'Pol," Trip said. "When you meet my folks, they're going to have a lot of questions for you, too. Even if I'd married a girl from my home town, somebody they knew, they'd want to know more about them. Someone they've never met before—someone from a whole different culture, hell a whole different species? Hopefully, they're going to see you regularly for the rest of their lives. Yeah, they're going to want to know all about you."

"I am gratified to hear that your parents have at least some sense," T'Les said, as neutrally as she'd said everything so far.

Trip shrugged. "Vulcans don't date—dating is when two people spend time together romantically, sometimes just for fun and sometimes to see whether they want to make a long-term commitment. But Humans do. I had my first girlfriend when I was a teenager. I've met the parents before. I knew at least that much of what I was getting into, coming here." T'Les might be taking it slightly farther than his own parents would … but not by much.

T'Les nodded, and started in on his dating history.

***

"I'm not sure how to take your mom," Trip admitted as they got ready for bed.

"How so?" T'Pol asked. They were in a guest room, because it was larger than the room T'Pol had lived in as a child and rarely used since. When she was a child, a succession of family members had lived in it, cousins in the city for schooling, aunts and uncles who did not wish to establish their own households, and the like. Mother had liked the company, the household tasks split between more adults, especially when Father was away. But the room was neutrally furnished now, and though it had been carefully aired and cleaned in preparation for their arrival, it had an air of disuse. She could not remember the last time her mother had mentioned a relative living with her in a letter. Was this a change T'Pol had missed, in her decades away, or more recent?

"She's very … neutral," Trip said, and T'Pol brought her attention back to her husband. "It's hard to tell what she thinks of me. I don't think she approves, but … I'm not sure."

T'Pol considered the question. "My mother's control has always been impeccable," she said. "I have never been able to match it. I do not know her as well as I used to. I think … her judgment is largely reserved for me. But she is less disapproving than she was when we arrived."

"That's good," Trip said.

The firepot on the shelf was not the one T'Pol had made in an adolescent art class, which had been part of this room's furnishings the last time T'Pol had been here. Instead, it was a standard, unremarkable firepot purchased in a store. However, her favorite type of incense was in a packet next to it. T'Pol gathered up the pot and the incense, and sat down on the meditation mat. "Will you join me?"

"Sounds good," Trip said. "I could use some time to settle my thoughts." He dropped down cross-legged next to her. "You don't use incense on Enterprise," he said.

"It would be an air hazard that would put unnecessary wear on the air filters," T'Pol pointed out. "When I was a child learning to meditate, I found that using incense helped me concentrate. Even after I no longer required the additional aid, I found it pleasant. This was my favorite scent."

"And your mother got it just for you," Trip said. "Thoughtful of her."

"Yes," T'Pol said.

***

"What are your plans for your stay?" T'Les asked them the next morning.

"That depends," Trip said. "I'd love to do some sightseeing—it's my first time on Vulcan—but obviously T'Pol is mostly here to see you, and then there's the fact that T'Pol isn't too popular with the High Command lately—"

That got a reaction out of her; she raised an eyebrow at him, with an unimpressed stare.

"—and so it might be better to just stick around the house."

"I do not believe there is anything T'Pol could currently do to lower her status with the High Command, without actively inciting others to defy them," T'Les said. "And their options for acting against me further are limited."

"Have they punished you for my actions?" T'Pol said. The dread that she had felt since learning of her mother's retirement rose within her. "I had wondered if that was why you resigned without seeking a new career."

"The Security Ministry accused me of taking restricted data from the Academy archives, and fabricated evidence of it. I resigned."

T'Pol could hear her blood rushing. "They couldn't reach me on Enterprise, so they punished you. It's criminal. How could you let them do this?" She clung onto her composure, or what was left of it, and reached out to Trip with her mind. Her fault. It was her fault. Her mother was suffering because of her actions.

"They were doing something wrong," Trip said, "and they blame the person who exposed it? Might be logical … if you don't care about ethics. If you think maintaining power and control is more important than doing the right thing, it's very logical. But it stinks to high heaven." He shrugged. "Besides. What were they expecting her to do? She's not the captain. She can make recommendations, and the captain often follows them … when he thinks she's got a point. Us visiting the planet wasn't her idea. And as far as she knew, the monastery was the only thing there, so there was no reason to raise a stink when we wanted to visit it. And once we were there … things snowballed."

T'Pol let his words wash over her as she fought for control, deeply aware of her mother's eyes on her.

"I don't blame them for having a classified listening outpost and thinking the monastery was a good cover. But if you put military stuff under a cultural heritage site, and your enemy finds out … you run the risk of that site being destroyed. That's the way it works. And the Andorians already knew it was there—they came before us, looking for evidence. They would've found the outpost whether or not we were there. The High Command took a gamble, and they lost big. It's not T'Pol's fault. She's just a convenient scapegoat."

"You've already acknowledged that the High Command prizes power over ethics," T'Les said. "Why does this surprise you?"

"Has our coming here made things worse for you?" T'Pol said. "Our marriage?"

"It did not make things better," T'Les said. "But I do not believe that any action of yours could make things better. It is too soon to see what the long-term results will be. However, at this point, there is very little they could do to me without trumping up some sort of criminal charge. I have a good enough reputation that the public nature of a trial would be very likely to backfire on them; the evidence would have to be impeccable. They are more likely to wait until I try to rebuild my life, start a new career, and act then."

T'Pol forced herself to take deep breaths. It was her fault; her mother was suffering for her actions.

T'Les studied her. "You've changed," she said. "Your emotions were always close to the surface, but you managed to contain them. Is it because of Trip?"

"No," T'Pol said. She did not want to confess her shame to her mother, but she could not hide it from someone who knew her so intimately. "In the last four years, I have suffered … neurological damage, on multiple occasions. I contracted Pa'nar Syndrome from involuntary contact with a melder." But emotional volatility was not a symptom of Pa'nar, at least not until the latter stages. Her mother would know there was something else wrong. "I was also exposed to a neurotoxin called Trellium-D which affects emotional control." She hoped her mother would not press for details …

"Our doctor, Phlox, is really good," Trip said. "He's fixed what he can."

"He cannot treat Pa'nar syndrome," T'Les said.

"He has found a way to keep my condition from progressing," T'Pol said.

"He must be an exemplary physician," T'Les said. "I did not think that possible, without a trained healer."

"Do you mean that there was already a treatment for it?" Trip asked.

"Pa'nar Syndrome has existed for all of recorded history," T'Les said. "So has the cure. It is caused by a clumsy meld, by someone whose telepathic technique is sloppy. Any healer trained in the mind arts at Gol—or, in previous generations, any school of healing on the planet—can stop the cascade of damage."

"And the High Command suppressed that knowledge because they wanted a reason for people to think melding was dangerous," Trip said.

"Yes," T'Les said.

"How do you know that?" T'Pol asked.

"Anti-melding sentiment was well-established, by the time I was a child, but telepathic contact was not yet criminalized. Nor was accurate education regarding telepathy. It was common knowledge, at least among those whose families were not part of the anti-melding movement."

"And you never told me?" T'Pol tried, and failed, to keep her voice even. Yuris could not have known; if so, he would have told her to find a Gol-trained healer, not given her research on the syndrome.

"You showed no interest in telepathy," T'Les said. "It never came up."

"Question is," Trip said, "how do we find a healer trained at Gol. Can we just … look one up on the data net, and make an appointment?"

"No," T'Les said. "The High Command could not make it illegal for Gol to train healers in the mind arts; if they had tried, the monastery would simply have ignored the dictate, and they have considerable resources and independence. But they can restrict the use of telepathic contact outside of Gol."

"Each use of telepathic contact or treatment requires a full ethics review, ahead of time, to ensure that there is no other way for the health problem in question to be treated," T'Pol told Trip. "Unauthorized treatment can result in the medical license being stripped."

"And they'd never give permission for you to be treated," Trip said.

"You will have to go to Gol yourselves," T'Les said. "Any of the permanent residents of the monastery could heal you, and the High Command has no influence there."

"It's a monastery," Trip said. "How upset are they going to be with T'Pol over what happened to P'Jem?"

"Unlike the High Command, the healing adepts at Gol prize ethics above all," T'Les said. "They are unlikely to blame T'Pol, and even if they did, they will not deny treatment for any reason."

***

They took the train to Gol; even with a high-speed train it took six hours, but apparently there were electrical storms often enough that there was no regular shuttle service. Trip didn't mind. On the train they could have a private compartment, instead of getting stared at the whole way.

"Besides," Trip said when T'Pol had apologized for the long travel time, "this way I get to see more of the planet." And it was interesting; he'd expected the whole place to be a desert, but of course it couldn't be, not and support several billion people. The train took them across a fertile plain, stopped in two cities, and then passed over a low mountain range covered in trees, before dropping down onto a barren, rocky moonscape.

"It is called the Forge," T'Pol said. "There is water here, and a complex ecosystem; but the train was routed away from the places where plants and animals grow, that it might not disturb them."

The Forge was dramatic, but also a bit boring after the first hour; Trip read from an engineering journal, while T'Pol worked her way through reports. "How'd you get those?" Trip said. "Jon ordered my people not to send me any."

"As I did not have to be ordered to take leave, neither Captain Archer nor Doctor Phlox felt any need to enforce rest through other means," T'Pol said.

"What's going on with the—"

"I will not aid you in evading a lawful order," T'Pol said. Her voice was even, but he could feel her smugness. "You need your rest and recuperation."

"Oh, come on!"

"No."

Trip sighed and turned back to his own journal. Twenty minutes later, when T'Pol showed every sign of being absorbed in her work, he slid closer on the seat, pressing his side against hers, as if all he wanted was to cuddle with his new wife. In a few minutes, he'd turn off his PADD and rest his head on her shoulder, and he'd probably be able to see what she was reading.

T'Pol tapped a button, and the screen turned to poetry. "That would be far more convincing if you were not thinking so hard about being subtle."

Trip laughed. "Can't blame me for trying."

***

The train station was at the edge of the city, and the monastery was at its center, which surprised Trip. The day was blisteringly hot, even with the cooling on his thermals set to max. There was a streetcar, so they didn't have to walk, for which Trip was thankful, and it was interesting to look at the homes and shops along the way. The architecture was very different here than it had been in T'Pol's home town; more brick and adobe, less glass. The walls were covered in intricate geometric patterns.

The monastery was encircled by high walls, with buildings pressed right up to it. The tram let them off just meters from the wall. There were gates, but they were open, with a Vulcan man in plain robes standing beside it.

"We are here for the clinic," T'Pol said to the attendant.

He nodded, and they walked past him to find the clinic just inside the gate.

They were a solid half-hour early for T'Pol's appointment, and it wasn't like Trip would be going into the exam with her, but there was a private room with air conditioning for them to wait in, and between the gravity and the heat and the thin air, Trip didn't even consider asking if he could go out and explore the neighborhood by himself.

Once T'Pol was called in to see the healer, Trip closed his eyes and tried to meditate as best he could. He wasn't that good at it by himself, but T'Pol was nervous, and he thought it might help.

***

The healer was … unnerving. Her mind was … powerful. T'Pol was not usually aware of the minds of others, except for Trip, but here she could feel the woman's mind evaluating her own. Not reading it, precisely, but evaluating its functioning. She felt more naked, fully clothed, before this healer, than she ever had when physically undressed.

"Thank you for sending me your medical records ahead of time," the healer said. Her name was V'Retis, and she had skin darker than Ensign Mayweather's, and she wore a matron's skullcap covered with a veil in the oldest, most traditional style. "They were fascinating reading; your neurology is quite complicated. The effects of the traumas you have suffered and the things you have been exposed to are … compounding one another, and unfortunately we do not have time to study your case in-depth and form a long-term treatment plan."

"I am here because my mother says you can cure Pa'nar," T'Pol said.

"Yes, of course; and that is easy."

T'Pol held herself very still. All she had suffered—the pain of the assault, the shame of learning what had been done to her, the scorn of the authorities, the fear of what the disease would do to her as it progressed … all of that, and it would be easy to treat. It could always have been easy. It was only the decisions of the High Command that had ever made it otherwise.

V'Retis waited for her to regain control of herself. "The rest of it—the exposure to that exotic mineral that functions as a neurotoxin, for example—that is more complicated. I have a great deal of respect for the doctor on your ship; the treatments he has devised for you are ingenious. With your permission, I will offer myself to him as a resource for continuing research on how to treat the neurotoxin damage."

"That would be agreeable," T'Pol said.

"But first we should address the Pa'nar syndrome. It requires a mind-meld. As a healer, I am bound to a strict code of ethics; I will look only at the injury I am there to heal. I will not look at any of your thoughts or memories, nor invade your privacy in any way. You do not need to do anything to prepare, but you may meditate if you wish. You may also request a different healer perform the meld, and you do not have to give any reason for such preferences. There are five other healers currently on duty. You also have the option to ask for a priest or monk to perform the meld, as all of them here at Gol are adepts. Do you have any questions?"

T'Pol shook her head.

"Do you have any reservations or fears?"

"I am a Vulcan," T'Pol said.

"You are a biological sentient who has not gone through the Disciplines of Kohlinar," V'Retis said. "Therefore, you have emotions; mastering them or suppressing them is not the same as not having them. As for melding, a great many people have spent many decades teaching fear of melding, and disgust for it. You, in particular, have only been exposed to it in traumatic circumstances. Fear is a natural result, and it would be illogical to ignore factors which might complicate the treatment of your condition."

T'Pol looked down. "I am … anxious. But not afraid." When she was younger, she would not have been able to confess that; when she was younger, she would not have known well enough how to distinguish the two, and put names to them.

"Thank you for your honesty," the healer said. "Would you prefer to meld now, or take time to prepare yourself? Would you prefer someone else?"

"I am prepared," T'Pol said, "and I have no objection to you."

"Do you wish me to provide basic instruction in telepathic skills and hygiene?" V'Retis asked. "It will not be enough to allow you to meld safely; for that, you would need a more extensive course of study and practice under the auspices of someone with decent telepathic skills. It would, however, give you a better framework for handling the sort of low-level telepathic contact Vulcans share with family members and close friends who are in close proximity."

"I would appreciate that," T'Pol said.

The meld was nothing like with Tolaris. She was aware that something was happening, but although the great presence of V'Retis' mind was even more powerful in the meld, there was a delicacy and precision to it. T'Pol could sense very little more of the other woman than she could when they were sitting across the room from each other, but she was dimly aware that the reverse was not the case. If V'Retis wanted, she could have ripped open all the doors as Tolaris had.

T'Pol did not know how much time had passed, but eventually there was a feeling of satisfaction and completion from the other mind, and then a bit of surprise.

You did not tell me you were married, V'Retis said. Nor is it in your medical records.

How did you know? T'Pol asked.

You are bonded. Until melding was outlawed seventy-three point four six years ago, such a telepathic bond was the only thing needed for a legal marriage. Vulcans will instinctively form such bonds with partners they are close to, but they can also be intentionally created by a telepath of middling skill.

Our bond was … spontaneously formed, T'Pol said. I do not know how long ago. I did not let myself reach out to him consciously until we chose to marry. Does it matter?

It would be best if he also received basic telepathic education, V'Retis said, unless he has already received it elsewhere.

He is not a telepath, T'Pol said.

What condition does he have?

There were conditions that would destroy a Vulcan's telepathic abilities. It was logical that V'Retis had assumed her husband was a Vulcan. None. He is human, and telepathy is extremely rare among them.

For the first time she could feel some emotion from V'Retis; it was surprise. I did not know it was possible to form a marriage bond by accident with a member of another species. That information should be shared, at least with healers who might need to know to look for it. However, your privacy is of greater importance. Given your position, there would be no way to anonymize you. Do I have your permission to tell my fellow healers here at Gol?

If and when our marriage becomes a matter of public record on Earth or Vulcan, you may, T'Pol said.

You said you had decided to marry, so presumably your relationship is not accidental, however much the bond may be. You should know that bonds can be broken by a healer or adept, if you ever wish to divorce.

Thank you, T'Pol said. I hope we do not ever need that information, but it is better to have it.

It is always better to have the complete facts; how else can one make logical decisions?

***

Trip liked V'Retis, when he was called in to meet her and get a short course in the basics of sharing your mind with someone else. She was very professional, and he learned a lot from her, including the name and location of her favorite restaurant, which he and T'Pol ate dinner at that evening. The meld was weird, but not even in the top ten weirdest things he'd experienced in the last three years.

That evening, they took a tour of the monastery. The next day they were up early to beat the heat and took a tour of the city, which spent the hottest hours of the afternoon inside a large air-conditioned museum dedicated to religious artwork and the history of the monastery. They wandered around a bit on their own that evening, and took the late-night train back to T'Pol's home.

***

T'Les wasn't waiting up for them when they got back, which was good, because Trip was wiped. They'd meditated together on the ride back, practicing a bit of what they'd learned from V'Retis, and after that Trip had napped. Both had helped, but it had been a long couple of days.

The next day they spent resting and talking with T'Les, telling stories about their time on Enterprise. Trip would have liked to hear stories about T'Les's work, but that would probably be a sore spot, so instead he asked about T'Pol's childhood.

After lunch, Trip fixed the kitchen stasis unit. It seemed kinda fancy to have a stasis unit in a regular kitchen instead of just a plain old refrigerator, but then again, Vulcans had been a lot more technologically advanced than humans for a long time.

They spent the rest of the visit fairly close to home; although they took a few hikes out to various places of interest, Gol was the only city they spent any time out and about in. No point in rubbing Trip's presence in the noses of the High Command. Koss must have gotten the message; he didn't show up at all.

The last night they were there, Trip turned in early to give T'Pol and her mom a last few hours together. But he couldn't sleep, so he went into the library to read for a little bit, practice his Vulcan. The windows were all open to catch the evening breeze, and T'Les and T'Pol had apparently moved into the garden. He could hear them talking in low voices.

"I know he is not what you would have chosen for me," T'Pol said.

"Nothing in your life is what I would have chosen for you," T'Les said. "You have always been stubborn, and set on your own path."

"I apologize for the pain I have caused you."

"You bear no responsibility for the crimes of the High Command," T'Les said. "Besides. You are content with yourself now, and at peace in a way I have seldom seen you be. It is agreeable to see."

"Thank you." He could feel T'Pol notice his presence. "Trip is in the library. He couldn't sleep, after all."

"Can he hear us? Human ears are less sensitive than Vulcan ears, I believe."

"He can," T'Pol said.

"I can take the book and go to our room, if you want privacy," Trip said.

"That is unnecessary; the best chairs and lights for reading are in the library," T'Les called back.

***

The ship back to Earth was of a different class, and though the cabin was the same size, the bunk was slightly larger. T'Pol watched him bang into the corner of it for the third time in fifteen minutes as they stowed their belongings. "Perhaps it was better to have the smaller bunk. You will have bruises tomorrow."

"No, it's fine," Trip said. He grinned at her and sent her a pulse of lust. "We'll make good use of it tonight."

"I am sure we shall," T'Pol said, keeping her response off her face, but not out of their bond. "How did you like Vulcan?"

"It'd be murder to live there, what with the gravity and the air," Trip said. "And I still can't believe tens of thousands of people live at Gol—even for Vulcans, that's too darn hot. But I liked the people, those I met. V'Retis was pretty cool, and I think your mom likes me. I was glad to visit, and I hope we can go back some day."

"I am glad," T'Pol said. "I, too, believe she holds you in high regard—that surprised me."

"How did you like it?" Trip asked.

T'Pol considered the question. "I am glad we went, and that we went together," she said. "I feel … more settled, about it. I do not have to worry that anyone will try to force me into a life I do not want or choose."

"And that means you can relax and appreciate the good stuff," Trip said with a nod.

***

"Hey," Trip said that night.

T'Pol was not close to sleep, but she was enjoying the silence and companionship. And the feel of their legs entwined.

"Yes?"

"I've had my vacation, and it was really relaxing," Trip said.

"And?"

"Do you think you could pass me some of the reports from Enterprise? How things are going with the refit?"

"As first officer of the Enterprise, I am bound to follow all lawful orders from Captain Archer," T'Pol said loftily.

"Yeah," Trip said. "But he never ordered you to keep me away from work, right?"

"I am not enabling you to evade a lawful order either," T'Pol said. "If you are bored while on the ship, I shall simply have to entertain you." She didn't have to insert innuendo into her voice or mind; Trip knew what she meant.

"Well, I suppose that'd be alright too," Trip conceded. "I'm sure we can think of things to keep us occupied. This is our honeymoon, after all."

He touched a finger to the side of her face stroking the telepathic receptor points. T'Pol closed her eyes, and lost herself in the feeling.




On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Ad Astra. On tumblr. On Pillowfort.

Comments

cool story

[eileenlufkin]

very satisfying!

Re: cool story

[beatrice_otter]

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it!