A/N: This story has as a background an established Trip/T'Pol romance.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Day One
"I assure you, we have no hostile intentions," repeated T'Pol for the third time. Malcolm groaned inwardly. Apparently this species' language was close to one they'd encountered, because the UT was having only minimal problems. Unfortunately, it was doing them no good whatsoever.
The alien ship fired. Malcolm had been expecting that, and quickly dropped the shuttlepod into a dive. All they wanted to do was study this comet, which had unusually high metallic content. Enterprise was already gone and had been out of communications range for several hours, off to trade with the Belosians.
"They've got twice as much firepower as we do," he announced, swinging the shuttle around but unable to completely evade the second shot. "I'm returning fire, but the chances of winning are slim."
"We will retreat towards the nearest solar system. One of the fourth planet's moons is inhabitable. It would be advisable to continue firing while we retreat."
Malcolm nodded, and T'Pol took over navigation. He decided not to point out that these aliens – whose name he couldn't begin to pronounce – might not give them the chance to retreat. If they couldn't deal with other people looking at 'their' comet without shooting at them, why let people escape alive? However, he didn't have a better plan, so he held his tongue and concentrated on firing.
"That was close," he commented. "They almost knocked out our engine." T'Pol had jerked the shuttlepod up at the last moment, which skewed the aliens' aim.
"Long-range communications are down," she announced. Malcolm wasn't too concerned about that, because long-range communications hadn't been doing them any good anyway.
"Are we getting close?" he asked as they took another hit."
"Yes. We will reach the moon in three minutes."
Three minutes. He could hold them off for three minutes. Clenching his teeth, Malcolm fired three successive volleys at the same spot. After a moment, Shuttlepod Two shook with the impact of return fire. T'Pol managed to avoid more shots than the alien pilot, which was probably the only thing giving them a chance.
"I don't know how much longer weapons are going to last!"
"Two minutes until we reach the moon," replied T'Pol.
He got off another shot, hitting their engines but not doing much damage. The next shot only grazed the top of their hull.
A terrible shaking heralded the end of weapons. "Weapons are down."
"As are the engines," she replied. "Navigation is still operational."
"They're actually pulling back." Malcolm hadn't been so glad that his pessimism was proven wrong since – well, since the last time he was certain he would die.
"Preparing to enter the moon's atmosphere. Navigation is beginning to fail."
"Can you make it?" he asked, furiously trying to contain the damage.
"Yes. However, it will be what Ensign Mayweather considers a 'rough ride.'"
He managed to stop a power surge while T'Pol brought the shuttlepod down. It was certainly a rough ride, but Malcolm was too busy with his damage control to pay much attention.
"I have located a small island that we will be able to land on with minimal damage."
"Island?" he gulped. Two words that Malcolm Reed never wanted to hear together were 'small' and 'island,' particularly with the phrase 'land on.'
"Yes. Brace for impact."
He braced very hard with one hand while trying to supply navigation with ample power with the other. Consciously, he did not look up.
"Navigation is failing," announced T'Pol.
Oh, no you don't, thought Malcolm. Navigation could not fail when they were trying to land on a small island. If sheer willpower could've maintained navigation, there would not have been any failure at all. He rerouted power from life support, but the damaged relays that fed navigation lost half of it.
"I'm giving you everything we've got."
"Landing in thirty seconds."
There was nothing at all that Malcolm could do now. It was getting warm, and sweat trailed down the back of his neck. He held on to his useless console.
Under the conditions, T'Pol landed the shuttlepod admirably. They landed hard, but most definitely on land. Malcolm suppressed the urge to hug her, after he started breathing again.
"I'm re-establishing life support, but I don't know how long it will last without a serious overhaul."
"Do you have the necessary components?" she asked.
"Yes and no."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow.
"Officially, no, I don't. However, if I take a few shortcuts and use parts from a tricorder, I can manage it."
"Has Commander Tucker been teaching you his 'tricks?'"
For the first time since they encountered the aliens, Malcolm smiled. "Yes." After a moment he decided to venture a personal question. "You're basically married to him and you're still calling him 'Commander Tucker?'"
"I endeavor to keep my personal life separate from my personal life."
"Oh." Malcolm was glad the two of them had finally gotten it together. As for himself, he couldn't deny that T'Pol was attractive, and he considered her a friend, but there was something undeniably special about what she and Trip shared. Malcolm hoped that some day he might find that special something with someone else, but he harbored no romantic thoughts about T'Pol.
"For future reference, Trip and I are married, by Vulcan standards."
"Right. I'll get to work on the life support. I don't think we'll need it on this island, but I'd like to have it in case."
"Very well. I will attempt to repair the communications system, as the engines are beyond repair." That was certainly true. Trip could most likely repair them back on Enterprise, but Malcolm and T'Pol didn't have anywhere near enough spare parts to fix the engines. Communications were a long shot, but there was at least a chance they could be repaired.
"What do we know about this place?" he asked, grabbing a toolkit and pulling out a wrench.
"There are no sentient beings in the solar system. This moon is Minshara-class, inhabited by several varieties of large predators, none of which are on this island."
"You had time to scan for all that?"
"No. That information I gathered when we passed it earlier."
"Oh."
"The island has an area of approximately 2.1 square kilometers…" T'Pol continued.
Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. "What?" he broke in. "You landed on an island that's only 2.1 square kilometers in a heavily damaged shuttlepod?"
"I had originally planned to land on a larger island. However, during our descent I determined that the probability of casualties was much greater if I attempted to land there."
Reminding himself that he was still alive, he forced himself to hold back any telling comments about water. "Impressive piloting," he said instead.
"Thank you."
It took Malcolm almost three hours to repair life support. When they got back to Enterprise, it was going to take Trip's team more time to repair life support, as they would have to undo everything Malcolm had just done and then start from scratch. Malcolm's repairs, while not by-the-book, were holding steady. They didn't have any backup system, but since they could breath the air on the moon anyway, that didn't strike Malcolm as much of a problem.
He spent another hour helping T'Pol with communications. They managed to get the short-range system working, but long-range was pretty much a lost cause.
"We've made some progress," he yawned. "Let's see where we are."
T'Pol lifted an eyebrow slightly at his yawn but proceeded to the door, tricorder in hand. Malcolm followed her with his phase pistol. There may not be large predators, but that didn't justify leaving his phase pistol behind.
Shuttlepod Two was sitting on a grassy plain that stretched a dozen meters or so before giving way to a rocky beach. It appeared that they were quite close to the ocean, and Malcolm didn't like how little space had stood between them and landing in the ocean. However, they were on firm ground. Off to the other side, the grass gave way to woodland. The white sun seemed to be going down over the woodland.
"I believe that the sun will set in one hour and fifty minutes." T'Pol was studying her tricorder and pressing various buttons. Malcolm was surveying the landscape with his eyes and trying not to think of how close they'd come to crashing into an alien ocean.
"I think I'll be asleep before then," he admitted. "Your landing is admirable."
"I do not believe we are in danger, however, it will be three days before Enterprise returns to rendezvous."
"And quite possibly longer before they find us. Well, we've got enough ration packs for what, six days?"
"Yes. However, it would be advisable to investigate alternative food sources before then. Tomorrow we can explore this island in greater detail."
Malcolm fervently hoped that T'Pol didn't want to investigate the ocean. She was in command of their botched mission, after all. He didn't think Vulcans generally were much for swimming, which comforted him a little.
Looking at the hull, he scowled. "It's going to take a lot of repairs to make this spaceworthy again."
"I'm sure that Trip will be pleased to repair it where we are. He has a fondness for temperate climates and the ocean."
That was certainly true, Malcolm thought. If there was a chance to go to a beach on shore leave, Trip was certain to take it. He wouldn't mind fixing Shuttlepod Two on the island in the least. Malcolm also noted that T'Pol had used the nickname 'Trip,' which apparently meant she considered the situation informal.
"If it's alright with you, I'd like to eat and then get a little sleep."
T'Pol nodded her consent and they returned to the shuttle. "We will not need to alternate watches, as the only potential danger is the weather, and it would take a storm of great magnitude to move the shuttle or damage it further."
"At which point, we would be up," he concluded.
"Indeed."
"What would you like for dinner? We have pot roast, chicken fingers, vegetarian fried rice, bacon and eggs…" he trailed off to reach further.
"The rice will be fine." Malcolm handed it to her and considered his options. After a moment of indecision, he chose the chicken fingers.
T'Pol handed him a water pouch. "We have enough water to last a week, but we should locate fresh water tomorrow."
He nodded, and they ate in silence. His corn wasn't especially great, but otherwise the ration pack was actually a decent meal. Malcolm ate the corn anyway.
"Well," he said after another yawn, "I'm going to bed. Do you have a preference for a certain bunk?"
"No."
"I don't suppose you're going to bed now, are you?"
"Vulcans require less sleep than humans; however, I intend to meditate."
"Happy meditating, then."
"Sleep well."
