Hi, everybody! In accordance with my bio that says I'm a Trip/T'Pol shipper, I figured I was overdue and should post this.

This is an Enterprise story that I wrote for the HouseofTucker website a few years ago - well, five years ago, to be specific. I thought I should post these here for your reading enjoyment as well. If you are Trip/T'Pol fans, I definitely encourage you to check out .com/fiction/. My author name was Energy4TripnT'Pol.

"Pathways" is an AU version of "In a Mirror, Darkly." Coulda happened. In another place. :-D

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all rights to Star Trek. I own nothing except a deep love of Trip Tucker.

Enjoy, and please review!

CHAPTER ONE

A lone man was wandering the hallways on an Enterprise he had been on for four years. He was slightly limping as he walked, but he found it only made the crew avoid him more. If someone stopped too long to talk, it was a strong possibility that a certain tactical officer with a dark goatee would round the corner, draw his phase pistol, and shoot both parties.

He shook his slightly blonde hair. In his life, Vulcans and humans weren't exactly the best of friends, and if you were on this ship and seen with one, the tactical officer would shoot without hesitation.

And Malcolm Reed seemed to like it a lot. Too much, the man thought.

So in a way, he was sneaking around. It wasn't visible to the crew, but they didn't know where he was going.

It was for the best. If they knew where he was going, Malcolm would have a clear shot at him.

He approached the quarters of someone from the shadows. He waited to make sure that everyone had emptied the corridors before he approached the door.

His hand instinctively went to the doorbell. He was always quick outside the door; even though there were only 73 people on this ship – 71 after Malcolm's last known incident – it seemed like someone was always walking. It was better for them to stay in their quarters. It was definitely safer and eliminated a risk from his personal life.

A distinctively feminine voice quickly replied, "Come," with as much authority as she could muster.

The man took one last look at the corridors, all around, and entered. As he did so, he slipped his left hand into his pocket and found his ring, trying to wrangle it clandestinely on to his finger.

Immediately, the woman inside – the Vulcan woman with the upswept brow, the pointed ears, and sable colored eyes – noticed the limp. She rose from her bed, laying the book she had been reading on the desk, and went to him. Her closed satin robe showed she had been expecting only him as company this evening, brief at that – yet on this ship, whenever the captain decided she was needed on the Bridge, there was never any warning.

The person standing before her was the only stability in her life.

And sometimes, she reflected that he lived up to another definition of his nickname.

"Trip, what happened?"

Trip Tucker shrugged as if he had a normal day, very unlike his life. "Got shot in the leg. That's all."

She raised her hand gently to his face. "Trip," she said, slightly reprimanding him while she stroked his cheek.

He smiled at her. "It's okay. Just that Malcolm decided I was leading a mutiny or something. If it hadn't been for the captain . . . ." He trailed off, looking towards the window. He saw a star going by and turned back to the woman he loved, the only one he could ever love now. He knew that in her case, being as how Vulcans were usually unemotional beings, he was the only person – not to mention human – that she was ever capable of loving. "Doesn't hurt that bad. Not anymore."

T'Pol looked sharply at him. "Did you go to Sickbay?"

"Nah. Only thing I need to make me feel better is being around you."

A slight smile came to her lips. Trip leaned down slightly and kissed her gently, then deeper as her hands went to the back of his head. She broke off. Trip looked worried at her. "T'Pol? What's wrong?"

"Everything," she whispered, burying herself in Trip's protective arms. "You have to move quietly around the ship, always checking to make sure you are not being followed." She slightly shrugged. "Even then it's not a guarantee."

Trip looked down at her, moving his hand to her chin. He tipped it upwards. "People do crazy things for love."

She nodded. "Agreed."

Trip leaned back down and kissed her once more, and then released her. "I've gotta go. Otherwise some people may be suspicious."

"Besides our cynical captain?" she said stoically, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, it's not really his fault. But – oh, forget it. I'll see you soon."

"Not soon enough," she said, terminating the conversation with one last kiss for the night.

"I love you, always," he said, as he held up his left hand slightly and let the light gleam off the ring.

"I know," she answered in a soft whisper after looking at it.

Had his life not been in jeopardy for being in her room, he would have stayed longer, just to stay with her and hold her. But knowing how jeopardy was a part of everyone's lives and how T'Pol might be called unexpectedly to the bridge, he took one last glance at her, turned around, and left her quarters.

Leaving was the worst part: not only did it leave T'Pol unprotected to a degree but he couldn't have an all clear until he got outside. Trip's hand slipped back into his pocket and he loosened the ring until it fell off his finger, then continued his walk through the corridors, back to the other side of the ship to his quarters, and entered solemnly and apprehensively.

A piece of pecan pie was sitting untouched on his desk, complete with a fork. A note lay next to it; Trip picked it up. He smiled as he recognized the handwriting. "T'Pol."

Knowing she was the last person on the ship that would poison his food, he picked up the fork and plate and dug in.