A/N: I thought I was done with this pairing. I really did. But it seems that neither all of you nor I were satisfied with the fact that nearly every RTP fic ends in the death of T'Pol. Can I write fluff for this pairing? More importantly, am I even capable of doing so? Welcome to a new project that examines the possibility of an AU RTP relationship and their connections with other pairings that we know and love. This work ignores everything from Bound to the end of season four. The key to enjoying this story is to employ casual disbelief of the unlikely. We're throwing the rule book out the window.

Individual chapters are rated differently, with a general rating of T for language and sexual situations. The following pairings will be included: RTP, Troshi, SassCaptains, PC, and Travis/McKenzie. Eventually, we'll bring in Hess/Rostov, Kov/OC, and Shran/Jhamel. Yeah, I know. Expect no substance here, just sweet saccharine goodness. Sorry this first story is so long, approximately a metric crap ton of exposition was needed for any of my ideas to make any sense.

Intertwining Destinies: A Tucker Wedding

The One Where Archer Gets Drunk, Phlox Is Adorable, and Malcolm Gets Some Action

For the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, Elizabeth Cutler turned to ask her companion if she was alright.

"Yes," T'Pol acknowledged, although she was perspiring lightly. She was recovering from a brief bout with pon farr and some symptoms were lingering still. The same chemical remedy that they had utilized during the first months of their mission had only made the classical indications of her malady easier to hide.

"Are you sure? I'm positive that Hoshi and Trip would understand. After all, it is only the rehearsal dinner—"

"I'll be fine," she snapped, then instantly regretted it. "My control is to a more manageable level. Socialization with former members of the crew will not be overly taxing."

Elizabeth looked at her doubtfully, then turned her focus to her husband, who strolled a few steps ahead of them lost in his own musings.

"My first human wedding," he marveled, hands in his pockets as he examined the scenery of the San Francisco bay as if he had never seen it before.

"Phlox, honey," she corrected gently, having trouble keeping the smile out of her voice. "Travis and Corporal McKenzie were married even before we were, and Archer and Hernandez only eloped last summer." She remembered that day. Less than a month off the boat, so to speak, a message had gone out on encrypted channels. The former commanding officers of the Enterprise and Columbia had grown tired of waiting for the opportune time for more traditional nuptials, so they had settled for a date at the courthouse followed by a huge party in the expansive backyard of their estate. It was so sudden, and yet, so them. However, Elizabeth was glad that her own husband had settled for a more customary wedding when they had made their commitment official in the months after the Romulan War.

Perhaps his former captain's boldness had inspired Trip Tucker, for he had popped the question to his longtime girlfriend, Hoshi Sato, only weeks later. Knowing that they would get nowhere fast with such an effervescent personality as the head of the so-called planning committee, it had taken nearly a year for the date to be set in stone. But only three short days from now, the two would be bound together in holy matrimony. Elizabeth could not be more excited for her one-time shipmates. Love was what the world go 'round, was it not?

Interrupting her inner monologue, Phlox only shrugged as if he was wondering why that particular detail mattered. "Elizabeth, it's the first human wedding I've been to concerning these particular two humans. And…hopefully…the only one." They beam at each other, sharing the joy in life's simple pleasures together.

Suddenly, the Doctor becomes aware that his latest charge isn't doing so well. He turns, approaches her, and takes her elbow for support. Catching her poorly concealed look of consternation, he says, "This will be a festive day for all of us, surely, Commodore!"

T'Pol's promotion from the rank of Captain is still some number of months away. She bristles at his enthusiasm.

"Hoshi tells me that she was sure to contact all of the surviving members of the crew that were present at our lady's decommissioning. Think about it. When was the last time you saw your beta shift replacement? Or Chef? Or Crewman Morales?" he asks, referring to Enterprise's jovial quartermaster.

"It's been quite some time," she admits, breaking free from his grasp and beginning to stride quickly away.

"I hear that Captain Reed will be there," Phlox says knowingly. Sure enough, T'Pol stops in her tracks. Behind her, Cutler elbows her husband and giggles.

Showing up at her doctor's office at the appointed time the week before, she had been restrained and administered the drug that was promised to expedite the painfully slow process of one of her species' most natural processes. The Doctor was instructed not to release her no matter how much she screamed, begged, or cried out for someone, anyone, to relieve the urgency that was building up within her.

She had lost herself in the mania and desperation, but when she faded back into consciousness she was met by the cheerful face of Elizabeth Cutler. She had taken off from her job in order to assist her husband in this most pressing matter, and had spent the past several hours beside her dabbing her forehead with cool cloths. However, in between bouts of this meager explanation, she was struggling to hide her impish smile. Apparently, Doctor Phlox informed her with his token lack of subtlety, she had begun to plead for one man in particular almost as soon as she had arrived.

Since then, she had made daily treks to the Denobulan's offices at Starfleet Medical, and every moment spent was inundated with gentle teasing as the pair attempted to weasel more information out of her. To her credit, T'Pol stayed mostly silent.

In the months after she returned to Earth, she found herself at the crossroads. There was no way she could return to Vulcan; truthfully, she had no desire to return to the cloistered, close-minded lifestyle from whence she had come. So, she had stayed with the fleet, refusing a ship of her own, and had taken an honorable position at the Academy's most prestigious research institute. It was challenging work, it engaged her mind like not many things could, and best of all, it kept her from thinking about him.

Trip and T'Pol had made their peace eventually, even if the emotions from their poorly thought out hook-up in the Expanse were still raw. Yet, she craved intimacy and stability, and theorized she could find that in none other than the ship's armory officer. Malcolm was composed, well-spoken, albeit shy in many situations. If she was introverted and calculating, he was all that and more. Once much of the Trellium-induced delirium had faded and she considered herself to be, what the humans colloquially referred to as 'moved on', the war had begun.

She had seen so much bloodshed and moral discrepancies on both sides, but when the conflict had ended, T'Pol felt strangely unfulfilled. This sensation had endured for all of her attempts to rationalize remaining aloof from trivial matters such as romance, but as she lay in bed alone night after night, she began to crave some companionship. What's more than that, human companionship. A certain human.

This need was immense and bolstered by profound feelings of regret and entire nights spent pondering what might have been. She had heard very little of Malcolm since the day that Captain Archer had addressed the assembled crowd at Enterprise's decommission, and had assumed that he had taken command of his own ship and was now engaged in his own personal exploration. Logically, this would mean he would be unable to attend the upcoming Tucker-Sato nuptials.

This was not the first time logic had failed her.

She addresses Phlox slowly, deliberately: "I was not aware of this." Her tone was almost accusing. If the two were going to be privy to such a secret, they might as well be looking out for its disclosure.

Cutler comes to his defense. "Neither did we, until this morning. It seems that this was a last minute decision." She shrugs, and the group continues on to the hotel where the dinner will be held.

-0-

The designated area is huge, cavernous, and in the corner Hoshi Sato is chattering excitedly to a gathered group of bridesmaids. She wears a summer kimono in keeping with the aesthetic of her culture. In her peripheral vision, she notices her fiancé and Malcolm Reed in heated discussion. Both men are gesturing broadly with their hands, and Trip appears to be pleading with his friend. She had questioned Malcolm's last minute appointment to best man, but if that was the final thing to go wrong this week, she would be pleased.

She sees Liz approaching with a very uncomfortable looking Vulcan in tow. The Japanese woman waves frantically as they draw near. Hoshi had been informed about T'Pol's condition and how she was currently under the supervision of Cutler should she suddenly relapse or worsen. Truthfully, she was glad. She had treasured T'Pol's friendship from the moment she had taught her to meditate as a way to keep her head about her on the Klingon ship all those years ago. Without coercion, it was unlikely that the shy woman would have attended such an event.

As the group benignly discusses the upcoming weekend, Hoshi can feel Malcolm's eyes boring a hole through the backs of several people in an attempt to get a glimpse at T'Pol. Suddenly, she understands. Rolling her eyes, she knows that she will have to chastise Trip for this later. If she remembers, that is.

Meanwhile, Trip is saying, "You're always complaining about how you've remained a bachelor while everyone else—" here he makes air quotes, "—settles down. What a better opportunity to make connections than my wedding?"

The Brit gasps in mild horror at the suggestion. "Trip, I would never—"

He cuts him off with a wave of his palm. "Think about it. All of these women from your past, now a decade more mature and sure of what they want for the future. Consider it a second chance."

Malcolm eyes him skeptically.

"Oh, come on! You're my best friend! While you're the best man, you've got to socialize with everyone personally! Are you sure there's no one you've wanted to see since we left?"

His eyes go wide, and he appears to be glaring over Trip's shoulder. The southerner turns around and sees no other than the most reclusive Vulcan this side of the quadrant arriving with Liz Cutler. He glances back at his friend and find that he is now glaring at him in accusation.

"I didn't know she was going to be here!" He replies quickly, but it's a lie. Trip knew intuitively that Malcolm had harbored a crush on his former flame for some time now, and he couldn't imagine a better way to pull them out of their respective shells.

"Sure," Reed says, and he can tell that he's about to launch into a whole series of questions that he isn't prepared to answer. Trip makes a beeline for his fiancée. It's about time that they get things started.

After endearingly fumbling over their introductions, the couple takes a seat at the head table and waits to be served. The guests begin to locate their assigned seats, and Malcolm is chagrined to notice that he's been seated next to the object of his affections.

Some time elapses, and he begins to think that she may have bolted at the thought of associating with him. The very thought causes him to feel sick to the stomach. Suddenly, he sees her, speaking to the Admirals Archer.

As Erika and Jon sit and begin to engage other conversational partners, T'Pol begins to head in his direction. He starts to formulate possible opening lines he could utilize to emphasize that he was available, willing, and the very same man that he had been whenever they had seen each other last. Or would she not like that? Maybe he should begin with how much progress he had made in his professional life—

"Captain," she admits his presence, nods slightly, and sits beside him. At the far end of the table, he can see Trip Tucker trying to be casual in his monitoring of their interaction. He's hiding his facial expression behind his napkin, so Malcolm shoots him a dirty look to let him know that he's fully aware of what is afoot.

It occurs to him that he has yet to respond. Before he can think it out any further, he blurts out, "What a fantastic place to get married!"

Her eyebrow is rapidly approaching her hairline. He can't help but notice that her raven tresses have grown longer, thicker. And is that a bit of lipstick he sees on those full, alluring lips?

Ahem.

"I mean…the building! It's beautiful, isn't it?" He considers making a comment about the weather, but thinks to himself that his attempt at casual banter has already rendered enough damage.

She blinks slowly, but says nothing. Their food arrives; it looks and smells delicious, but suddenly neither feels very hungry.

"It's been a long time," she begins, "I am eager to hear of the changes in your life since we last spoke."

Eager? Her?

"Well…I…" he reaches for his wine glass, theorizing that he might be able to converse better with a little liquid courage in him. Halfway, his fingers collide with hers. A sensation akin to an electric charge races up his arm.

He pulls his hand back as if it were on fire. T'Pol looks nonplussed. He takes a deep breath and says, "Well, I'm currently designing the next generation of Mark VI torpedoes. Research and development is very much in need of my expertise."

Did that sound too arrogant? He dearly hopes not, and dimly wishes that this fortuitous meeting of someone from his past would not cause him to act so like a lovestruck teenager.

"Fascinating," her lips quirk upward and she leans into him. Not enough to invade a professional distance, but enough for a blush to begin to creep its way across his cheeks and down his collar. "I am assisting a team of scientists from the Interspecies Medical Exchange in examining the clinical applications of baryonic dark matter."

This intrigues Malcolm. Regretfully, he states, "I'm afraid I don't know much about that." He hopes that this is enough to sow the seeds of future conversation.

"It is inherently simple," her explanation begins, and so does his confidence.

-0-

Three nights later, Hoshi kneels before a mirror, watching Fiona McKenzie secure her wedding veil to her elaborate up-do. To be fair, it was really a wataboshi, a traditional white hood worn in ceremony by many women in her situation. She had opted for an uchikake kimono for this occasion, but was more than happy to pave the way for a Western style service to appease the Tuckers.

Hoshi had grown up very keen to learn the ways of other cultures, and hoped that her parents and her in-laws would be able to do the same. She loved Trip with all of her heart, knowing the affection was returned. However, her stoic mother and father had not mixed well with the elder Tuckers on their first meeting. There had been a fundamental clash of personalities; somehow Charles the second had managed to offend Michio Sato in a short ten minutes she had left them alone.

She could only hope that the situation may get better.

As she put the final touches on her makeup, she saw the remaining members of her troop of bridesmaids enter. Cutler, she noted, already was struggling not to cry.

With a poor attempt to keep the emotion out of her voice, she says, "Don't you dare. I need to make it through the ceremony without bursting into tears, you know?" She stands and finds that McKenzie, Amanda, and Lucia are all in a similar predicament. T'Pol stands in the corner, tugging on the neckline of the revealing red gown Hoshi has chosen for the group to wear.

She had been well aware of the stereotypes surrounding ugly bridesmaids dresses, and had picked a backless gown with both a high neck and slit in the skirt. Hoshi had been about to amend her decision and allow her Vulcan friend to dress to her liking, but once Trip had explained to her his plan she had decided steadfastly against it.

Hoshi opens her mouth and is about to praise their appearance and their devotion to the cause when Erika enters. She offers a broad smile.

"We're ready," she says. "Jon says that everything is in place."

For the millionth time, Hoshi realizes how happy to have her former captain officiate her wedding. Sure, he was no minister, but nostalgia had had a tremendous effect in the decision.

"Great," she takes a deep breath as her friends begin to line up behind her. It was time. She wasn't sure she was ready, but then again, no one ever seemed to be.

-0-

The ceremony went off without a hitch. Trip's nephews escorted the rings down the aisle, and the entire congregation was touched by the couple's handwritten vows. Now, the reception was in full swing. A majority of the assembly was mingling and socializing, with the glaring omission of the officiator and his wife.

Hand-in-hand, Erika and Jonathan Archer had left the party in pursuit of their own fun. They considered themselves newlyweds still after nearly a year committed, and often enjoyed all the perks that marriage had to offer. Now, Jonathan strode ahead of her in search of a private place for recreational activities…of some sort.

Erika laughed at his faux intensity and allowed herself to be lead around by her husband. Finally, he located what seemed to be an empty storeroom at the end of a long corridor.

"Jon, they're going to notice that we're gone."

"Hey, where's your sense of adventure?" He winks at her and pushes the door open with a single broad motion.

Immediately, something is very wrong. She can only make out the figure of another man and woman scrambling for composure and someone with an unmistakable British accent crying weakly, "This room is occupied!"

Jonathan has now grown very pale. "I can see that, Mr. Reed!" He slams the door and begins to retreat so fast that Erika has to run a few steps to catch up with him.

"What was that?" she demands, wanting to know what she's missed.

"I can't believe this!" He exclaims, pausing at the end of the hallway. "They never showed any indication of having affection for each other! In ten years! Ten years, Erika!"

She's confused. "Who?"

"Malcolm and my damn science officer, of all people!" he continues his rant and does not answer her question.

Erika quickly racks her brain for the correct name to place with the face she recalls, and her mouth forms a tiny 'O' of surprise. Before she can ask any more questions, she is yanked back into the reception hall by her thoroughly traumatized husband.

-0-

Truth be told, he had been lucky to get rid of her that first night. He had entertained T'Pol's company all through the rehearsal dinner, then the pair had elected for a walk down by the bay in the twilight of the early evening. They had been intercepted by Doctor Phlox on their way out, and he had briefly wondered why. However, that dominating thought had been short lived once he realized just how much he had to catch up on.

She had spoken at length about her work, and he for his. Once they had exhausted that topic, they reminisced about bygone missions and all the people they had met and all the opportunities they had once seized and then lost.

He volunteered to walk her up to her quarters, a bit taken aback by the request. However, as was his chivalrous custom, Malcolm only opened the door for his companion and followed her inside her building.

When he had complimented the pendant she wore, she began to relate how her uncle had given it to her upon the completion of her initial training with the Vulcan Science Academy. This spurred another discussion about their respective families. She expressed sympathy over his stunted childhood, and reassured him that it had had no detrimental effects. Malcolm was about to inquire about her youth, a subject he had yet to breach, when she suddenly stopped in the middle of the corridor.

He looked at her curiously, captivated by the odd twinkle in her eyes. She indicates a nearby door. "We have arrived."

"Oh," he mumbled dumbly. Was it time for goodbyes already? Backing away slowly, unwilling to disengage from her, he said, "Will I hear from you?"

She doesn't react for quite some time, but when she does, it's a curt nod. He's relieved, nevertheless now there is nothing more to say.

She, as always, is more about action.

Before he can think very much about what's happening, he is pushed up against the wall and is reminded of her tremendous strength. T'Pol is close, incredibly close, and he can feel her trembling. They make eye contact; before he can second guess the decision he is about to make, he meets her expectant lips halfway.

It is more wonderful than he could have possibly imagined.

He wraps his arms around her waist and moves to deepen the kiss, which, to his respite, she does not resist. Now that he has finally had to opportunity to touch her, he wants more and to never be without it again.

The rational portion of his mind intervenes when the two break for air, reminding him that this most certainly is not standard behavior for her. She's not herself, and he's not about to take advantage of her. Rather, he's going to wait for some semblance of normalcy to be restored.

He plants a second kiss on her temple, and it's more of a promise than anything.

The next afternoon, there is a fulfillment of some sort; she waits for him outside of his office and this time they spend the night together. It's only after their passion has diluted into soothing words and gentle caresses that she confesses that she has recently completed a second medically induced pon farr. After coyly replying that this would explain quite a few things, he vaguely recalls such an incident towards the beginning of their time on Enterprise. Malcolm hadn't been aware of the specifics of her illness when he had stunned her in the hallway, but eventually the ship's rumor mill and his growing knowledge of Vulcans fill in the gaps.

He admits that the incident had lingered in his mind since then. He had never been so violently and blatantly seduced, even if his professionalism had ultimately won the day. An idea had been planted in his head that day, one that would not be acted upon for nearly a decade.

After her admission, he knows that he's a goner.

Work obligations keep them apart for the entire next day, but when Malcolm sees her at Trip and Hoshi's wedding, the memory of her keening cries and the sensation of her skin against his is still fresh in his mind. This both enthralls and disturbs him.

Predictably, he seeks her out after the ceremony and demands to speak with her in private. He does not typically make love to anyone without first making some sort of commitment, and he's desperate to know if his feelings are shared.

Thank heaven they are.

When they are interrupted by Archer, T'Pol is seated in his lap with her skirts rolled up to her upper thighs. He's whispering sweet nothings into her ear, telling her how loved she is and he'd be damned if any one person would be able to hurt her again. She returns the sentiments by reminding him how long she's waited for the opportune moment to make her feelings known. She's in the middle of this thought when the door is thrown open and they are temporarily blinded by the sudden bright light streaming in from the corridor.

Now, the two sit several meters apart in complete silence. Malcolm's brow is furrowed as he gradually works up his nerve for the moment he knows he will have to return to the festivities.

T'Pol's voice is unobtrusive and nearly soundless and she says, "I do believe that the Admiral and his mate would respect our privacy."

In his mind's eye, he pictures himself the object of ridicule from everyone in attendance at the reception. Although he knows it's a stupid question, he asks, "How can you be so sure?"

She sighs and rises to take his hand. He has never seen her so determined, so resolute. T'Pol doesn't even have to say anything for him to understand what she feels at that moment. Together, the new couple leaves to face the music.

-0-

Back in the grand hall, Jonathan Archer is on his fourth tonic. He can't seem to get the image of two of his closest friends out of his head. Erika had admonished him, prompting him to remember that love was truly a beautiful thing and even they had had a few less than private intimate encounters, but he had continued to drink. She had exhaled patiently and gone in search of other companions; Erika knew that her husband was nothing if not stubborn. It was best to just wait for his current mood to subside.

From across the room, he spots Trip Tucker and makes an uneven beeline for him. His intoxicated logic says that the best way to get the offending thought out of your mind was to share the horror with someone else.

Hoshi and Trip are accepting congratulations from an endless stream of well-wishers, so they don't notice Jonathan's approach until he claps a hand on their shoulders.

Hoshi wrinkles her nose, but Trip only rolls his eyes and chuckles good-naturedly. "Jon, be honest. How much have you had to drink?" His coltish gait and precarious footsteps were hard to miss.

He holds up two fingers. "More than too much, but, man, I gotta tell you…" he trails off as his words begin to slur and his affected eyesight blurs his friends' faces.

"Tell me what?" Trip asks gently, taking his pal by the arm and beginning to escort him away. He shrugs at his wife, as if to say, what can you do?

He's grateful to get away from his wife's mooning distant relatives that had had no interest in her until they heard that she was marrying and away from innumerous acquaintances from his academy days that had seemed to invite themselves. As he directs Jon to the turbolift, he queries, "Where's your room?"

Archer finally locates his train of thought. "Oh, yeah! You'll never believe what I swan…sween…saw! Good ol' Mal Reed and our very own Vulcan!"

Erika chooses this moment to appear, having seen her inebriated husband leave with Trip. She loops an arm through his. "Jonathan, that's enough."

"Ah, mah wife!" He grins widely and points to the woman in question. "Iddn't she pretty?"

Trip trades places with the couple. Erika is now frantically searching for her room key so that she might swipe it and deliver her husband to their temporary quarters so he wouldn't reveal anything else to someone who was most definitely not on a need-to-know basis.

As the doors begin to close, Jonathan manages to fit in one last quip. Pressing his elbow to his forehead, he cries, "Jee-zus! Youdda thought they were about to do it or somethin'!"

Trip was now alone in the lobby of the hotel, standing stock still. Finally, he smirks and says only, "Well, I'll be damned."

-0-

Malcolm sits in a quiet corner of the reception hall, nursing a wounded pride. It was not every day that he had to acquiesce that he didn't know, shouldn't fix, couldn't have the solution for every little thing. However, it was his belief that this woman that had returned to his life valued him for his intelligence, even after he was caught in his own paranoid preconceptions. Sure enough, no one had stared when the couple had entered. Assuming that their secret was still intact—for now—his beloved had left him with only a glint of anticipation in her eye and a copy of her room key. Being very satisfied with that development, he was now engaged in the time-honored tradition of people watching.

He becomes aware of Trip Tucker nearing his location, and his heart sinks before he realizes that there's no way he could know about the events of the past hour. He's relieved, and his friend sits down next to him and passes a frothy mug of beer.

"Not exactly classy enough for such an occasion," he muses, taking a swig.

"Hey, we're celebrating!" Trip clinks his glass with his own and continues, "…in more ways than one, it seems." He gestures to the keycard that his friend has carelessly left on the table.

Malcolm's face goes beet red and he finds himself sputtering for composure. "How did you know?"

"Well, first of all, ya'll weren't exactly subtle. That, and Jon got absolutely hammered after the fact…you fill in the blanks."

It's silent for quite some time as the Brit fights for control of his embarrassment. The awkward hush easily transitions into companionable silence where the only noises between the two are mugs being set down on the table before them.

Eventually, Malcolm says, "I know why you asked me to be your best man."

Trip shrugs. "I knew there was a chance. But, really, there was one obvious reason."

"And what's that?"

"You're my best friend, Mal. And that's never gonna change."

The two share another moment of unperturbed companionship before Trip grasps the forgotten card and flicks it into the air. Malcolm catches it with an open hand.

"I'd run along, man. It seems as if you might have a date to uphold."

As if he suddenly remembers what's waiting for him upstairs, Malcolm finishes his drink in one last gulp, stands, and nods somewhat gravely. He leaves an amused Trip Tucker in his wake, who vaguely muses that if his wife had carried a flower bouquet and had had the opportunity to toss it, he was sure he could guess the outcome.