A/N and Disclaimers: Alright, here we go again. This is the result of a challenge handed down to me by my dear friend and fellow ENT addict, BonesBird. Prompt: "Mal and T'Pol sometime during Season 3." I'm going to publish this in several parts-I really do believe that it reads better that way. My muse is tripping pretty heavy on Trellium here-and as for now, it's rated T and shall remain as such. I'm a sixteen-year-old teenaged girl living in American suburbia...do you really think I have the capability to write smut? Hmm. Read, maybe/YES. Write, definitely not. Many thanks to Shin, the readers, the reviewers, and all of the members of the USS Tumblr for putting up with me. Here is where I obligatorily state that all characters belong to Paramount and no ownership is implied here. Please let me know what you think. As of now, I have a pretty good idea where the story is going, and I would love some feedback. Now, without further ado...

Right Direction, Wrong Occasion

Chapter One

"Think we're dismissed?" questioned the British armory officer, shifting slightly from one foot to another. Although he hid it carefully behind a well-maintained visage of confidence, his stomach was still in knots from the thorough chewing out he had just received. His partner in this particular crime, a certain Major Hayes, stood abreast from him, arms crossed behind his back. In reaction to his query, the MACO only grunted slightly and turned to face the door. With a well-rehearsed snap, his leg shot out and propelled him out of the Captain's ready room—

-and hopefully as far away from me as possible, mused Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed of the NX-01 Enterprise, taking a moment to release a few breaths in an attempt to dispel his own nervous energy that had accumulated in his lungs and gut. Only a minute ago, his commanding officer, Captain Jonathan Archer, had berated himself and Hayes severely for an extreme lack of judgment and professional decorum on both their parts. Acting on several months' worth of pent-up aggression, they had stopped only just short of beginning a full-on row in one of the hallways of the starship. Oh, yes, forget about the fact that they had saved Enterprise and possibly even Earth from certain destruction at the hands of a rogue Suliban—two minutes of nearly harmless hand-to-hand combat had basically erased any memory of any good deeds they had done on the entire mission thus far.

But, at the same time—what had he been doing? Engaging in what pretty much amounted to a child's hissy fit with a subordinate…where was his honor, his integrity, his pride? Malcolm hung his head. One day he would have to apologize to Major Hayes. One day someone would have to accept responsibility for what happened. A Reed always accepted triumph gracefully, and, when proven wrong, always conceded defeat tactfully. His father, his grandfather—they would both be ashamed of him right now. Indulging in a few brief moments of solitude, he pressed his hands to his face and exhaled, his breath coming out in a ragged gasp. What have you gotten yourself into now, Mal? He took a peek between his fingers to gaze at the chronometer on the Captain's desk and was shocked by the lateness of the hour. "Back to work," he whispered to himself, although it sounded more like a whimper.

Driven to the very end, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed threw his shoulders back, shook his arms a little, and tentatively stepped out onto the bridge.

Elsewhere on the ship, Commander T'Pol trotted briskly along the corridors, her heels barely touching the ground. Her arms were clasped at her belly button rather than at their normal position at the small of her back. Her normally healthily tan features were slightly flushed, and anyone who had spent an extended period of time with the Vulcan woman could tell that she was struggling to maintain control.

She had maintained her steely gaze and rigid posture while sitting in the mess hall with Commander Tucker; that much was true. She had calmly rebutted all of his attempts at meaningful conversation and had avoided broaching the subject of the nature of her relationship with the surly chief engineer. To borrow a human expression, she was in the clear. So, why now did she feel such all-consuming guilt?

It wasn't supposed to be him! The thought jumped and reverberated around in her head, making her pulse quicken and her heart drop. That's what it was, an experiment—truly only an experiment!

Turning the corner into a not-often used portion of the ship, she allowed her spine to curve a fraction of an inch as she leaned against one of the bulkheads. A few deep, shuddering breaths escape her lips. He's not the one I want! He never was!

At that moment, Malcolm read turned the corner in the opposite direction and found himself face to face with a trembling Vulcan woman, one who looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any second.

"Commander—," he began, unconsciously reaching out to her.

"Malcolm!" She gasped, meeting his outstretched fingers halfway. There was a moment, a sudden spark of heat, and then her hand was at her side again and she had recovered. Her shoulders were immediately thrown behind her and her back straightened out. Her eyes, however, were still red and swollen with unshed tears.

Wait—what did she just say? The armory officer blinked several times, replaying the last few seconds in his head. His name. She had said his name!

He closed his gaping jaw with a snap and quickly looked down at his own feet. "Good morning, Commander T'Pol."

He could sense her nodding, moving her delicate neck forwards and backwards only thrice. "Lieutenant Reed." Although he could not see her with his own eyes, he had her movements down, permanently etched into his memory. By now she had probably tilted her head to the left and shifted nearly imperceptibly to her right side. This was T'Pol's normal stance, the Commander's posture at her most relaxed and serene….and beautiful.

Stop that! He sternly told himself. She's an alien, your superior, she might even be your best friend's—

"Lieutenant Reed," she began again, and he could hear her stutter slightly on the third syllable, "we have certainly had an eventful night."

His head snapped up and his mouth dropped open once again. Oh, no, not her too. The last thing he needed was another lecture. This one would be worse, given that it would come from such a gorgeous, well-spoken, intelligent, lovely—

Her eyes widened slightly. "The alien's escape, that it all that I meant." As soon as it had happened, it was gone again, the stray emotion fleeting across her features like a stray leaf caught in the wind.

Ah, so she had been briefed—about both situations! God knows what she's thinking, Mal. In all actuality, you probably already know. Irrational human….so quick to emote….so reckless and irresponsible…

Quite to the contrary, T'Pol of Vulcan was finding it difficult to focus. So near to her chosen one…so unable to act! He's not Trip, she told herself, he's intellectual, he's honorable, and he alone is what she had wanted while she was with Trip— pining, longing to be in a different man's arms. Malcolm will not hurt you, her subconscious told her, Malcolm will treasure you and keep you safe. He will not make you question yourself or feel that you are of less worth than you really are. And he is here, now, with you—

A familiar craving clutched her gut. It had not even been twenty-four hours since her last injection of Trellium…so why was she in such a state of unrest? She did not even attempt to contemplate this, just reached out and clasped her hand to the left of the armory officer's face.

He stood, frozen in shock, as the Commander stroked his cheek, running her fingertips over the puckered and bruised skin there. It stung a bit, but her touch was tender, and her hand shook slightly as she continued. After a few more seconds, he had the courage to look into her eyes. Such a lovely shade of hazel, nearly green in this light—

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed…." She whispered, taking a step closer to him. If he wanted to, he could easily wrap his arms around her narrow waist and pull her flush against him. However, a gentleman to the end, his arms remained at his side and he continued to meet her gaze.

He was momentarily reminded of another moment, perhaps two years ago, when the Commander had, in a fit of fever-induced madness, attempted to seduce him in one of the corridors of the ship. He quickly pushed this thought out of his mind—she was here, she was aware, she was not ill. This was real and not a dream. She was now so close that he could feel her breath, her sweet breath, on his chin.

Should he choose now to close the distance between them? Could something like this be taken back? God, man—she's your superior! Get a hold of yourself-!

Malcolm didn't have another moment to think as the Vulcan woman took action, pushing him the last few centimeters to the wall and pressing her lips to his.

All his doubts were gone at that moment. Wrapping his arms around the middle of her back, he dared to deepen the kiss. His lips smarted, the insides of his cheeks ached—but none of that mattered.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had truly found a bit of happiness, however momentary it might prove to be.

to be continued