The Ears of the Elves

by Asso

Have you ever paid attention to the shape of the ears of the Elves? T'Pol did.

2. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Two

The Ears of the Elves

By Asso

Chapter Two

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I'm back here, my friends.

My capricious muse pushed me still on its way. She told me that it was necessary for me to write the second chapter of this story of Elves and ears.

I, of course, could not help but obey.

And so, here is the chapter in question.

I hope that you will like it.

And, if you will, a recommendation. That is the same I have done as an introduction to the first chapter.

Certainly, you can also read this story without knowing "In the Hall of The Mountain King" (which, moreover, is work in progress). However, much of what is present in this story finds its reason for being in that other, in "In the Hall of the Mountain King".

And another little notation, that is that my innate and incorrigible narcissism drove me to some slight mention to another of my stories. "Bikini."

Well, bear with me, my friends.

I've said, I'm a damn narcissist.

Please, forgive me.

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The Ears of the Elves

Chapter Two

Trip looked at T'Pol with baffled eyes. He removed his hand from her shoulder and straightened up.

She, if possible, looked even more ill at ease now than before, but... well... but this time Trip could understand why. Yeah, because she basically was saying to him that ... that ... that she...

But really had he got it right?

He turned and walked back to the sofa, while T'Pol's eyes were following him, restless.

He sat on the couch and rested his arms on his knees. He watched her with furrowed forehead.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Okay, let me know if I've well understood."

T'Pol did not move or speak.

She looked down and hid her hands between her thighs, as if she was not sure what to do with them, while waiting for Trip to continue.

And he did.

But not in the way she feared he would.

He did it calmly. Even placidly.

He deliberately suppressed the innate impetuosity that was own to him. He knew that T'Pol liked his impetuosity, this was evident in the facts and also by her own admission. But it now was not the time to give vent to that impetuosity. It was certainly not the moment to tell her ... 'What the hell got into you? Where the heck has your logic gone to end up?'

Eh sure, because difficult, rather difficult, not to say nearly impossible, to find something logical in the route along which she had ventured, if what he thought was hidden in her meagre words was true. But it was not just the case to blurt it in face to her. Absolutely no.

T'Pol, his T'Pol, was in need of understanding and participation.

She, in practice, still provided that he had got it right - but there were not too many doubts about that, and she had well understood that he had understood - had not behaved… much logically.

And this was harsh for her. Very harsh.

Therefore, he had to support her.

In every way, possible and impossible.

Matter was that, much as she'd now fully understood that there was something higher than the logic that, from the vulcan perspective, ruled the universe, that love was far beyond her beloved logic, she was still T'Pol, namely his wonderful but - it had not to be forgotten - still his vulcan T'Pol; who had lived a whole life immersed in a logic that seemed to her to be the antithesis of the logic to which, in the end, she had yielded.

The logic of their love.

He was well aware of all this and was well aware that, with stress and effort and hard fatigue, she had chosen in the end to live in the stormy logic of their love rather than in the quiet logic that had governed her life before the two of them met.

Therefore, even only for that, she deserved everything from him.

Everything and much more than everything.

He... he had a duty towards her that no other man had ever had towards his woman, because no woman, ever, had crossed the chasm that T'Pol had crossed for him, for the love she felt for him.

But this was a duty that he was much more than merely willing to fulfil.

It was the most splendid of duties.

It was the daily marvel that filled his life since when T'Pol... since when his strong yet fragile - yes, fragile, much as far-fetched this could sound - marvellous vulcan doll… had entrusted herself to him!

Since when, knowingly, she had abandoned all her certainties to rely completely on the certainty of his love for her.

And what implied all this? It implied, thing of which he was perfectly conscious, that inevitably… - and she had accepted and permitted and fostered this to happen; she, just she; even with all her vulcan pride – … inevitably he had become for her the life buoy to which she knew she could - and had to - cling on whenever she floundered. Even when, in reality, there was no reason to flounder if not her difficulty, more than understandable, to swim in a sea in which she had never thought of having to swim.

Trip could not help but smile with himself.

Oh yeah. Especially considering that she, before surrendering fully to the feeling that she felt for him, did not even know how to swim.

And how splendid had been to teach her to swim!

Really and metaphorically. ()

A thing that was indeed worth it to continue to do.

He smiled warmly.

"Sweetie, let's see a little. It is my understanding that you were struck by the fact that the ears that Humans ascribe to the Elves in their myths are... peculiar."

T'Pol remained silent, eyes downcast. But she nodded.

"Okay, hon. And, in effect, they are... pointed."

Another assent nod. A wee bit hesitant this time, to tell the truth.

"More or less... ahem... like those of Vulcans."

T'Pol's eyes got up sharply. This time she spoke. With a whisper. "Yes."

"You... um… you have thought... you have thought that..."

Oh, now he had to be very - VERY - cautious! His sweet vulcan baby doll could become very sharp when someone pointed out that she had shown an aspect not really proper to what she thought it was to be expected from her. And the thorns could be extremely sharp-pointed if it was him to notice and to point out to her... her mistake. Oh yes. Extremely sharp-pointed. On his poor, defenceless skin!

Damn! How it was difficult to make her happy and contented!

But how it was terrifyingly nice! It was something for which it was worth to spend the whole life and even more.

The look of gratitude and true happiness that she showed him when he offered her the way to be the vulcan T'Pol without being it really… ah, that look was worth all the gold in the world and infinitely more.

Oh, mind you! T'Pol, his T'Pol, was anything but a fool. She was extremely - supremely - intelligent and certainly she didn't let herself be fooled by his amorous comedy. She knew perfectly well that, when he behaved so towards her, it was because he was offering her the buoy rescue she needed. But that was not the point. The point, the real central point, was that he did it and that she was happy that he did.

There was need anything else?

He resumed talking, always in a calm voice and warm, trying to give a clear shape to the motivations that had pushed her to her researches by avoiding letting out even the slightest tone of surprise, let alone dissent or disapproval. He had merely to explain those reasons, since T'Pol had not the heart to do it, but he had to make her feel that he was with her. That it was all right.

"Okay, let me attempt to express what your intentions were." He coughed as if to clear his throat. "Ehm… so… considering, as also our recent experiences show, that, anything but infrequently, myths have a basis in reality, you, being the true scientist you are, have thought that... who knows?... the pointed ears that Humans attribute to the Elves could be the result… oh, well… the result of some ancient and unknown contact they had with Vulcans." He winked, conspiratorial, at her. "Am I wrong, babe?"

Those wonderful eyes of her, fluttered with obvious embarrassment. " Nnn... no. You... you're not."

Here. Now. And in a tone that wasn't supposed to betray the slightest hint of irony or mockery. His damn usual irony, in that moment, he had to throw it in the toilet!

"More than logical, my love, more than logical. And worthy of the scientist full of scientific curiosity that you are."

There it was! There it was, that wonderful look on her part!

Okay, ahead like this. Before... before to arrive to pull out from her the cause of all that disconcertment on her part, the disconcertment, that is, she had clearly shown before, as a consequence... yes, as a consequence of what she was reading.

A disconcertment, a dismay, quite different from the embarrassment that she had shown for being brought by him to admit that she'd succumbed to the urge to engage in researches about the Elves that were… eh well, yes… anything but logical. Regardless of the aura of scientific reasonableness with which he had prettily justified them.

She had followed an impulse not at all scientific. Why on earth the pointed ears of the Elves should have been the result of some ancient contact between Vulcans and Humans? Of course, if that had truly happened, it would be at all logical that Humans had seen Vulcans as magical and higher creatures, and that they could hand down someway their aspect in their myths, the myth of the Elves. But how the hell could such a fact have happened? Too far back in time. Vulcans had achieved the knowledge required to cross space abysses since long a time, of course, but not since a time enough to allow an encounter of such an ancient date. And then... possible that such a fact had not left a trace in Vulcan history? There would have been to think that, if indeed something like that had happened, this had happened to a vulcan society pre-existing to the current one, a society in possession of the knowledge of the warp technology before the start of the known vulcan history and disappeared in the abyss of time without letting a trace, if not... in the ears of the Elves.

Possible? Maybe. But honestly, although the recent experiences with the Bannerdas and the King led to believe that nothing, really nothing, was impossible... well, frankly a wee bit excessive.

But... yeah… but T'Pol, perhaps even without wittingly wanting to admit it, had thought of something like that and had launched herself in her researches.

Irrational? Sure.

But T'Pol could be irrational.

Apparently.

Apparently, just so. Only apparently. Because, behind her unsuspected irrationality - unsuspected for the others, but certainly not for him - there was often if not always something much, much stronger than her unsuspected apparent irrationality.

And he had come to respect very much her seemingly irrational impulses.

In her, there was also an incredible intuitive ability. In her, it acted with powerful strength. Not even this, she would ever admit, but it was so. And he knew it. It was something, in a way, very close to what she defined as his own ability to penetrate the essence of things, to understand things beyond the logic of things themselves, a compliment of which he went very proud, above all considering it came from her.

It was, in practice, another unexpected point of contact between the two of them, apparently so dissimilar and yet, in fact so similar to each other; the result of different cultures, sure, but... yeah... on closer inspection, forged in the same smithy and with the same mold. And, who knows, maybe the Bond that united them to one another had taken shape because it could not be otherwise, because, really, the two of them could be nothing but 'one', since they had been forged at different times, perhaps, but, however, in exactly the same forge. It was not possible that the two halves of the same… product… could stay separated from each other.

Oh, he knew that his was a very human, and romantic, and imaginative vision of their being one. And he knew that she would raise her eyebrow in disapproval if he had revealed to her his strange thoughts, his bizarre ideas. But, in all honesty, he did not know how much that raised eyebrow would actually correspond to her own ideas, to her own thoughts, or if, rather, it would not simply be the tribute that she would feel compelled to pay to her nature of vulcan woman. Because… he knew it, he was sure... because, in her heart, in her true, profound essence, she felt and thought exactly the same way.

And so, just like in him - and it was T'Pol to say that for him it was so - so even in her and perhaps, in an even more powerful way probably connected with her vulcan nature, something, very similar to the instinctuality that was own of him, worked with great force.

In any case, at the showdown, behind what T'Pol thought or did, there was very often a motivation even more ironclad than logic, regardless of whether she was aware of it or not.

In this, even more than in her logic, it was possible to find, not at all infrequently, the authentic, veritable expression of her true Vulcanity.

Like now. As in this case. As in the case of her plunging into the illogical, absurd, irrational, research about the Elves, or, rather, about the irrational possibility that the Elves could be the mythical transfigured remembrance of an unlikely contact between Humans and Vulcans whose trace was the shape of the ears of the Elves in the human legends.

And why did he think that once again his ineffable T'Pol had hit the mark, following her ... Oh come on! It was so! ...her illogical impulse?

Because of her disconcertment.

What the hell had she found?

What the hell could there be, in what whose reading was so engaging for her to make her even act... but yes!... absentmindedly? Almost oblivious of the present and of her actions in the present?

This yes, that was decidedly not own of her!

But he had to act gradually.

When his priceless vulcan better half was in this state, she had to be taken with pliers!

*So, let's see.*

The first hurdle, that of making her feel at ease or, at least, sufficiently at ease, because consoled by the realization that he approved her and that he thought and asserted that she had not then acted so illogically despite the irrationality of her actions; the hurdle of making well clear to her his total comprehension, his being at all at her side… this hurdle had been overcome.

And now? How was it advisable to continue?

The... ahem... the logic said that the most obvious thing to do was to ask her 'Honey, what the heck have you found?'.

But this was not the time to act logically. Much as this could sound strange, it was not by logic that he could bring to light her fears and apprehensions. The reasons of her dismay.

When she could not cope with a situation, it was even difficult to make her do the most obvious things.

Like saying things as they were.

She had found something she would never have expected to find, which created bewilderment inside her, thing, this one, she did not know how to deal with. And, as usual in these cases, instead of asking him for help directly, she tried to get closer to the core, to disclose her needs and fears, indirectly, by means of concentric approach circles.

That phrase, "It is due to their ears", let fall so, in that way, so that he could understand, but avoiding saying what was behind, avoiding speaking clearly, was exemplary in this respect.

Damn, how she had taken it from a distance!

And... holy cow! ... how he had become skilled in vulcan psychology! Stuff to make pale Phlox!

Hum, well. Actually he had necessarily become an expert in T'Polic psychology.

But this was always part of his duty towards her. His wonderful duty of love.

All right. All right. So, since she had started from the ears of the Elves...

*Go with these ears, man!*

Trip, frankly, felt again the unpleasant feeling that behind the tips of those ears there could be in lurking a possible danger. However it was nothing more than a feeling, probably due to his current idiosyncrasy for the myths and legends. Well, after all, he had good reasons!

But, however it were, those ears appeared to be central in this whole story.

So *Come on, boy!*

Still smiling, he got up, under the gaze now definitely more limpid of T'Pol.

But she continued to be quiet. She did not speak, wasn't capable of taking the decision to say anything about what provoked inside her the dismay she did not know how to deal with, a clear sign, this, that he was right.

She needed a push.

But this was not to be a curt push.

And it was necessary and appropriate that she felt capable of controlling the situation. Namely herself.

This was the most important thing for her.

She needed balance.

She had lost her vulcan balance because of him, under the push, and anything but slight, this one, of the love she had for him. So it was his precise, enduring - and wonderful - duty to make sure that she could find in him the balance that was necessary, essential, to her.

Basically - and this was gorgeous - her balance was him!

Exacting, full of responsibility. But gorgeous.

The gorgeous tribute that much more than willingly he had to pay for having been successful in the undreamt feat of making her fall in love with him and of bringing her to accept and to want it, with all the consequences this had for her.

*Here we are, my dear chief engineer. Remember that she is not one of your machines. She is much more complex and delicate.* He smiled to himself. *And damnedly more beautiful and precious.*

Always under the watchful eye of her, he had come back near to her.

Now he had to be again the Trip she wanted more than any other Trip he could appear. The Trip irritatingly ironic and mocking who aroused her disapproval.

She loved to disapprove him. This made her feel in control of the situation.

This put things right.

In this way, he was the usual rascal she loved. And she the usual poor victim of his rogueries, that she had to reprimand and to correct.

Perfect.

A perfect conjugal situation.

Conjugal, because if, officially, the two of them were not married, at least with official ceremonies, human and/or vulcan, de facto they were married, for explicit declaration of T'Pol. Of... ahem... his wife. And she stated bluntly that he was her husband.

Actually, he missed the formalization of their conjugal status, but... all in good time.

In him an idea had sprouted up. And someday he would give a finished form to this idea.

In due course.

In due course.

And in the right place.

There, in the Fire Plains, right there, where she had told him that she would have married that idiot of Koss to fulfil her idiotic vulcan duties... there, he would ask her to marry him officially. With the vulcan ritual. The same ritual with which that imbecile of Koss had shamefully, foolishly - vainly - tried to take her away from him. And ending up by paying very dearly for his squalid, lousy action. In the most unexpected way.

Trip couldn't help but grin inwardly with grim satisfaction. Not really nice, this, honestly, but, frankly, he couldn't care less for being his thought not precisely elegant, in this regard.

Yes, he would take even this revenge on that disgusting worm of Koss. (())

When he would have realized that the time had come.

And she, his T'Pol, would tell him 'yes'.

There would have been no escape for her, about it.

He would have given her no escape.

And she - with joy - wouldn't have sought any escape.

Anyway, officially married or not, the two of them were even now as husband and wife. And neither of them hesitated to call the other with the name that was due to the other. Husband. Wife.

And the situation to which he had been able to give life now was a perfect conjugal situation.

Even for a vulcan female, like her.

Yep. I was so, in spite of her being Vulcan.

Certainly it was true that, strange as it could seem, the so-called evolved Vulcan society assigned to women the role of "property" of the male spouse, not to mention that marriages could be decided independently of the will of the future spouses.

In sincerity, not that he disliked that T'Pol was... his property. This had indubitably a certain appeal for him, in the light of the punishments of hell through which he had had to pass because of her. It was the law of retaliation, something that her compatriots would find absolutely logical. Her being his property, they would have said, was the right retaliation for the pains of hell - Oh well! Come on! It was so! - that he had had to suffer for her obstinacy in denying her feelings for him. And... thing not to believe... this wasn't unwelcome even to her, namely her being his property. She herself had said this to him. She had told him that de facto they were married because the Bond could take shape only between two Beings who were married to each other in grace of a force superior to any rite of formalization. These were her own words. And - these too were her own words - given that she was a vulcan female, she belonged to him, even regardless of what had happened between him and that miscreated of Koss. (())

She was his property. Full stop.

Okay, okay. All true. However it was his distinct impression, which was corroborated by the facts, that is to say by his conjugal-like status with T'Pol, that, ultimately, it was not that you had just to take for granted that among Vulcans the baton of command was firmly kept in the husband's hands. Oh no. Not at all. - An amused smile made its way inside him. - At least judging by how things were between him and T'Pol.

Actually, he was pretty sure that the normal married life of human boys married with human females had... how to say?... many points of contact with that between him and T'Pol.

Of course, there was to say, T'Pol was a vulcan female very special. There was in her, irrespective of the incredible (for the Vulcans) choice she had made to bind herself to him, a Human... well, there was something in her that made her stand out from the society from which she came as a golden eagle stands out against the background of a flock of little birds.

And the comparison fitted perfectly, because of the golden eagle T'Pol had the strength and pride.

And... oh yes... even the spirit rapacious and predatory.

He... ahem... he knew something about that. - His inner smile became even more amused. - Making love with her was amazing beyond all description, but, well, it had its... dangerous sides. Those were the occasions in which she buckled down infernally to show him with absolute fullness what it exactly meant for a vulcan female being property of her man. Or, rather, what, in vulcan terms, it meant for a man to take care with real fulness of something that was his property, in the matter in question of a vulcan female, and of a vulcan female as rapacious and predatory as T'Pol! A fatigue of hell! And not at all infrequently resulting in several and painful black and blue marks on his poor body. But ... - at this point his amused interior smile could be called a smugly grin - ... but, damn, what a pleasant fatigue! In every respect. Bruises included.

Certainly, despite the points of contact that he had learned that existed between the married life of Humans and the... how to say?... the common-law marriage of him and T'Pol; despite the, so to say, 'facilitation' deriving from a certain character of universality that women had - all women; in the whole universe - and he... well, this couldn't be denied ... he had some experience in this area; despite all this, it was still true that he had had to invent the conjugal-like life between him and T'Pol. Together with her, of course, but... well... but he was the one more flexible between the two of them. Intransigent, sure. This, he was. As she had pointed out to him when their beautiful love adventure was about to begin; when, that is, they were going to start their neuropressure sessions. This, namely that he was intransigent, with himself and with others, he could not deny it. But not for this he was unable to be flexible. He was. Damn, if he was! Otherwise, how on earth would he do with T'Pol? With her it was absolutely necessary to adapt yourself and adapt situations. With her it was absolutely necessary to be flexible. Not that this weighed on him, but ... guys! ... what a fatigue of hell!

Anyway, between him and his beautiful vulcan better half, the role of being flexible was up to him. T'Pol knuckled down, nothing to say, but in the end she was still a vulcan female, with all the rigidity of Vulcans.

Oh mind you! He absolutely did not want her to be different! He wanted her, his T'Pol! Absolutely not a woman other than the one she was!

But, honestly, sometimes - sometimes? - this made rather difficult their marital-like relationship.

And the task (and the effort) to smooth edges fell invariably and of necessity, given his human flexibility, on his shoulders.

But... guys!... how much it was worth it!

And then, in this way ... - Trip smiled again to himself - ...in this way... well... he had become an expert.

An expert in interspecies conjugal life. For any couple. Whether officially married or in fact.

Damn! To well think of it...

Wow! One day or the other he should have thought seriously of organizing an education course in conjugal interspecies psychology!

It could have been a major source of income. There was no one who could boast an experience like his. Indeed, there was no one except him, who could claim to have any experience in this field and, considering the beauty of the life between him and T'Pol as a couple married de facto - because their married-like life was beautiful; this was more than sure - well... he had to consider himself rather on the ball.

*Okay, man, okay. You're really good at this. Now see to prove it.*

Now he was firm just in front of the unknowing source of all his elucubrations and looked at her from above.

He resumed what he had just said to her. "More than logical, sweetie, more than logical, also because…" He paused. He smiled mischievously. "Do you know, honey? Maybe you haven't even thought about this, but your research is logical beyond than you can believe."

Her gaze became even more attentive. And, Trip could have bet, even more relieved. Yes, she presaged that he would come out with one of his rascalities.

And she was happy of that.

Trip's lips curved up in a frank, teasing smile.

"The charm of the pointed ears of Vulcans is something that transcends logic. Worthy of being handed down over time in myths and legends."

There it was! There it was, at last! The eyebrow! The eyebrow fiercely lifted to rebuke him!

"Trip!"

Ah excellent! The most admonitory of her reproachful tones. A little touch yet, and the game was done.

He continued undaunted, winking playfully at her. "You can believe me, sweetheart. I am an expert on the subject."

And before she could even only think to retort, his hand snapped and his thumb and his index grasped softly but firmly the delicate tip of her ear and began to rub it gently with the finger-tips.

At that point, there was a long moment without words.

A long, wonderful moment during which Trip did nothing else except than basking in the expression of T'Pol. Lost, with eyes closed, in the vibrant pleasure that his gesture aroused in her.

Then, he leaned over her, approached his mouth to her ear sweetly tortured by his fingers and sighed into that ear.

"There is nothing more fascinating than the tips of vulcan ears." His lips brushed the tip of that ear that suffered from pleasure in the torment of his caress. "I mean, than the delicious tips of your delicious ears for me, my sweet bonbon."

T'Pol vaguely realized that she had to react. But how could she do that, with the tip of her ear so stupendously tormented between his fingers? How could she, in the ecstasy that this caused to her?

With her eyes still closed, she stammered. "Do you... do you..." - Oh how it was difficult to talk! - "Do you like my pointy ears, T'hai'la?"

Ruthlessly, sweetly mercilessly, without ceasing his torment, he added torture to torture.

His teeth bit lightly that tip without peace.

"You know it, babe." His teeth were pitiless. "I adore the tips of your ears."

"Ashayam..." Weakly, without strength, not even that of opening the eyes. How... how could she react? Rebel against that wonderful torture? "Please..." How was it possible? "Please, stop. I..." How was it possible? "I have to... I have to talk to you."

Here! Yes! Thus! Her bewilderment and her embarrassment were about to be overcame. She had managed to tell him that she had to speak to him, that she had something important to tell him.

One last move and the game was over.

With his victory.

And with hers!

Trip obeyed, in a way. He stopped. Yes. He stopped nibbling T'Pol's ear tip. But he did not quit plaguing that tip between his fingers. And his other hand snapped to do to her other ear what the first ear was already suffering.

T'Pol's eyes widened abruptly. Her hands snapped upwardly to grab his wrists; broke away forcefully his hands from her ears.

She panted.

"Trip, no!"

She brought his hands well away from her ears.

"Trip! Enough! You... you know I lose all my lucidity when you do to me this!"

Without minimally getting upset, with his wrists tight convulsively in her hands, Trip smiled slyly.

"And does this displease you, sweetheart?"

"Yes! That is, no! But... but everything in due course!"

T'Pol released Trip's wrists. She stood up with dignity, although with a little difficulty, to be honest, both with regard to her getting up and to the effort to assume an air of dignity, while her damn beloved Ashayam drew a little back to make room for her, without abandoning his sly smile.

She was silent for a moment, gathering strength to try to compose herself properly.

She succeeded, eventually, and raised proudly her eyebrow.

The sly smile slowly disappeared from Trip's lips, but not from his eyes or, even less, from his heart and here the smile became a broad grin of contentment and satisfaction.

He had made it.

That was the most perfect air of disapproval and reproach that T'Pol could take.

Missing the last, small piece, yet, the crowning of his sweet labours, the cherry on the cake, but he knew that it was coming and it would have been a delicious cherry, with a flavour out of the ordinary. A little acidulous and zesty, perhaps, not exactly characteristic of a cherry, but definitely to savour with great pleasure.

His sweet half squared her shoulders and folded her arms across her chest, without lowering the eyebrow and looking sternly at him.

It was not easy for Trip not to laugh.

But he succeeded.

Ah, what you do for love!

And about the fact that he was madly in love with T'Pol... well... what else should he do to prove it?

T'Pol's voice sounded stern, at least as much as her expression.

"I must talk to you of what I've found. It is an important thing. And... ahem... I need all my lucidity to tell you about it."

Oh yes, a very juicy cherry! Really savoury.

Trip nodded, with a doing... as if he were a little annoyed.

But maybe this time he did not succeeded well in his intent, because she, his T'Pol - it was almost impossible to notice it and indeed nobody else except him would have been able to catch sight of it - unequivocally smiled with sweetness. A slight, extremely slight, sweet smile, just barely hinted, while her eyebrow went down and her eyes glistened intensely.

She had understood perfectly. And, for that matter, could one have any doubt in this regard? Wasn't she really, really clever? Although, of course, lacking in the cunning tricks and... well, yes... even in the, let's admit, crafty knavery that, let's admit this too, he knew use so well? Even though - and it came to Trip to wink at himself - his influence on her made itself felt about that. Yeah, because she was learning. And rather well!

Oh yes. She had understood perfectly all that was behind his mischief. His naughty and playful mischief

And she was more than happy of that.

And her love for him had become even stronger, if possible. The Bond was vibrating of her love for him. And was not this bigger, immeasurably bigger than any effort that he could do for her? There was not, there couldn't be any effort on his part, any undertaking, even the most tiring, the strangest, the most far-fetched, that did not deserve to be accomplished for feeling the Bond vibrate so.

Yes, she had realized perfectly.

He had returned her the mastery of the situation and of herself.

He had made it so that everything could fall within the normalcy.

He had made sure to be the usual Trip, the rascal whom she had to govern and bring back to the order, making skilfully leak out her alleged nuisance and impatience. And with concealed pleasure and delight.

With love.

He had put back in her hand the baton of command.

And so she had been able to go back to be herself. The one who possessed control, who did not let fall herself prey to the disconcert.

It was not the first time he had done this and certainly it wouldn't be the last.

He knew it.

She knew it.

And none of them said it.

It was their great little secret.

A secret made of love.

He was the husband, in all respects, and, therefore, the baton of command was up to him, according to age-old law, unwritten yet so steely, of Vulcan. And yet, he had made sure that the baton of command was in her hands, because it was better, in that moment, that it was so. But was that then really true? In fact - and this was to be husband and wife for real, as the two of them were, much more than many couples officially married - the baton of command wasn't his. But not even hers.

Yes, he had put back in her hand the baton of command, but who for real had command between them two?

Neither she nor him.

In command there was love.

Her voice startled him from the delightful thoughts in which he had lost himself.

It was a firm voice. A little impatient. And nonetheless - undeniably - inscrutably sweet.

"Would you be kind enough to pay attention to me, husband? I need to make you acquainted with what has come into my hands."

Jeez! What a formal language! Exactly hers! Even in the tone of controlled impatience. And then... 'husband'? Ah really, really perfect! She spoke to him by using such a name only when she considered that it was necessary to put back him in line.

This was really a perfect marital situation, even more than before.

The wife who, wrongly or rightly, strives to put a little salt in the pumpkin of her husband and the husband who resignedly surrenders to his wife, whether she is right or wrong.

Perfectly normal.

Everywhere and at all the breeds of universe, just as his personal, magnificent, experience with T'Pol had taught him.

Heavens! Maybe subsequent to the education course in conjugal interspecies psychology, he would have to think about arranging a graduate course in conjugal interspecies psychology specifically dedicated to mixed marriages between Humans and Vulcans.

There was to be sure that he would be a great teacher.

Okay. Now, in accordance with the perfect marital situation that had come to get established, he… had to surrender resignedly to his wife. So... *Come on, man!*

Hard to think about an expression able to be denser of resigned surrender than that that appeared on his innocent, knavish face.

And the tone of his words, then!

The ancient actors of art comedy could have been defined amateurs, compared to him!

"Okay, wife." And he strongly emphasized this name. Wife. "I'm listening."

But... eh, but... a sweet little roguery... come on! This, why not? After all, was he a scoundrel or not?

"I'm… all ears, wife."

T'Pol's eyebrow got up as ever it had risen previously.

"Husband..."

"Yes, wife?"

T'Pol shook her head. Better to let it go. And then, in all honesty, what could she want from him more than what he was already giving her? Than what he always gave her?

Love. And control. And balance. And love. Love. Love.

Love!

Without asking for anything more than what was already his and his alone.

Her love for him.

Sometimes T'Pol wondered if...

How were the names of those strange figures of one of the religious beliefs of the homeland of her husband in facts? Those figures... the... ah yes... the Saints.

Wasn't it, by chance, that he was one of them?

It was necessary... well, she had to be honest with herself... it was necessary... yes, so they said... the patience of a saint to be her husband!

Yeah. Sure. But... eh, however, she was not at all far behind him. His being a likeable... yes, a likeable rogue... this pleased her... this pleased her to death, let's admit. But ... for Surak! ... how much patience it took to be what de facto she was for him! His wife!

But how it was awfully nice!

And on the other hand...

The thought struck strongly T'Pol, as many other times it had happened. As many, many other times it would happen again.

On the other hand he knew perfectly well that she liked to death his being a rapscallion, that she liked to death to scold him and purport to be annoyed with him for being so. And so... so he resorted to this side of his character on purpose when she... when she was in trouble. When she was not able to be in control of the situation and of herself.

It was... it was easy for her to regain control if she could rebuke him for his... for his delightful, boyish roguery.

Like a wife does with the husband she loves.

Like the wife that she de facto was did with the husband she loved so much.

Her Trip.

It was the way he used to make her feel in control, at ease, when she could not cope with the situation.

And he used it because he knew that, with her, it worked.

As many times it had happened.

As many, many other times it would happen.

She knew it.

He knew it.

And none of them said it.

It was their great little secret.

A secret made of love.

He had put back in her hand the baton of command, as Humans would say, by using his charming roguery, knowing that this would have allowed her to regain her control and balance.

But who for real had the baton of command between them two?

Neither he nor her.

In command there was love.

His voice startled her from the delightful thoughts in which she had lost herself.

It was a teasing voice. A little irreverent. And nonetheless - undeniably - inscrutably sweet.

"Hey wife! Still alive?"

*Oh Surak!* "I am, husband, and…"

"Oh, thank goodness! I was a little worried. So? Can I know what you want to talk about? I bet ..."

*Katras of my vulcan ancestors! What sort of roguish smile on his face!*

... "I bet it's something that speaks of ears."

*Damn of a husband! * "Indeed so, husband."

"Something told me so. And I bet it comes to elven ears." He winked slyly. "And maybe even of vulcan ears."

T'Pol sighed visibly, putting in show all her resigned disapproval for his way of doing. But, in fact, it was exactly what she had to do.

What she was expected she would do.

He, her beloved, incomparable husband, as in facts he was, had made sure that she could do it.

He had brought back the situation to normal.

The wife who strives to put a little salt in the pumpkin of her husband and who must resign herself to the impossibility of doing so.

A perfect marital situation among Humans, as far as she knew.

At least that was what her ineffable other half of herself, to put it in human terms, was always saying to her. There was to have trust? He was ... he was such a damn freebooter! He himself had taught her what such a name meant. And - for Surak! - he really was this!

But... but she was sure that, in this regard, he did not behave with her like the freebooter he was.

He, somehow, said the truth, maybe blanketing it with some exaggeration, but, in reality, without lying at all.

Certainly, such a kind of conjugal life, namely the one they shared, was not the one her culture had instilled in her. In her culture, the female - the wife, the one she was in the facts – was… was… eh well, it was so… was property of her husband.

Therefore, in the facts, she… was property of her Trip.

And… and this didn't displease at all to her.

And... oh well, yes... not even to him.

However...

However he did not behave with her as if she were his property. Sometimes, this yes. As it was right that it was. As both of them liked that it was.

T'Pol smiled, inevitably, within herself, as, thanks to him, she had long since learned to do. And with true pleasure.

And she had every reason in the world to smile inwardly, because his being more than satisfied that she were his property, well, this leapt out patently at... certain peculiar… private… moments.

Their moments of love.

The way she showed him that she was really his property when the two of them made love... well, that way was not at all unwelcome to him! Oh no. Definitely not at all. Despite the not exactly moderate amount of bruises that, as a result of her eagerness to demonstrate how she was his property, he invariably found spread a little everywhere on his aching body. Pleasantly aching, maybe it was righter to say, judging by the pleased look he had at the end of her clear and... practical demonstrations of her belonging to him.

And... and for sure not even she disliked the total possession of her that he exercised in those moments. Being possessed by him in that way, so fully, intensely, deeply... ahem... very deeply... in katra and... and body... such a wonderful sensation was... indescribable!

The inward smile of T'Pol became deeper, as she relived within herself those wonderful moments and savoured the idea that countless other moments like those would come in the future.

But in reality… in reality only in those moments, and with full and mutual satisfaction, he, her husband-master, exercised his right of property over her.

Her inner smile got cloaked in a warm, sweet joy, and she had extremely solid motivations for doing so.

Why? But because only in those moments, only in those, his domineering and… and gorgeous masculinity led him to possess her as if she were belonging to him, truly his property. Exactly as she was, in those moments. And... and always, actually!

But for the rest, under no other circumstance, he, the master of her heart, by no means made use of his rights of ownership over her, that he had according to the unwritten but ironclad laws of Vulcan, perfectly valid in their case, even without the vulcan official formalization of their being married. The Bond that had formed between them stood well higher than the temporal authority of a priest and than the formal act of a mere, mundane ceremony.

And this fact, by itself, transcended even the ratification of her being his property as a result ... - T'Pol could not help but cringe inwardly at the memory - ... as a result of what had happened - incredibly happened - between her Ashayam... and Koss. (())

He, her husband in fact, was well aware of all that and, ultimately, she... she would have understood him if, by exercising his right, he had wanted to retaliate a little on her for all... for all the pains of hell, as sometimes - but smiling! Smiling warmly and with mild irony! - he indulged to tell her she had forced him to go through.

Perhaps... this, yes... maybe she would be disappointed, in some ways, if he had done so, because he... he would not have been really her Trip, the man who had made her fall in love. But she would understand. And she would adapt. To this, she would adapt.

But she had no reason to feel disappointed. And how could she?

He didn't hold her as the woman who was his property.

He respected her even more than how he had done before and held her as the most precious good that could exist.

And... and this was stupendous!

No vulcan female could enjoy this sensation, this joy. No other except her.

And this was more than stupendous.

And not only this.

He, slowly but impetuously, as it was distinctive of him, had introduced her into a normalcy of living very different from that she had expected from a conjugal life. From the life that would have been granted to her by that skunk of Koss. No vulcan term could better express what Koss was more accurately than that human term. Skunk. A grimy, stinky skunk.

Her Trip had led her to be a different vulcan woman. A better vulcan woman. Better and - if the interior smile of T'Pol had shown itself, it would now have been an amused and satisfied giggle - spicier than any other vulcan female.

And stronger. More self-confident.

Because her love for him was such as to push her to be so?

Sure.

But mainly because his love for her... his love for her ... - oh how she was lucky! - his love for her was immense!

And this love, the love he had for her, had transformed her. Had changed her.

And she knew that at every moment she would find in him the strength to be the new woman she was.

He, too, of course, he too had changed. Somehow he had come closer up to her vulcan essence, just as she had done with his humanity. But he remained still a Human, thanks to Surak! Her human man, just as she was his vulcan woman. And in his humanity, in his being Human, there was flexibility. He was intransigent, yes. She remembered when she had said this to him when... when their neuropressure sessions were going to start; when their wonderful love adventure was about to begin. Yes, he was intransigent, with himself and with others. Rightly intransigent. He demanded a lot from himself and could not conceive that it was not so for others. But that did not mean he was not flexible, that he wasn't capable of adapting and of adapting things to himself and... and to her. On account of her needs.

For her, it was not so. For her it was really hard to be flexible.

Vulcans were capable and talented and intelligent, but certainly very little flexible. They were as rigid as their logic, and, indeed, looked with suspicious eyes at the human flexibility, not to say that they disapproved it, just as she did, before she had had to live with Humans and among them, on Enterprise. Above all before she met her Trip

She was a rigid Vulcan, it was so. It was written in her genes and in the culture that had formed her.

But despite that, thanks to him, thanks to her Ashayam, thanks to his love, a little more flexible she had become. She had learned to be less rigid, to understand, to adapt, to savour any side of beauty that life could offer.

As the beauty of her life together with him.

She had learned to be the vulcan female who was supposed to be the property of her husband - Of him. Of her Trip. – as her culture wanted her to be; and at the same time the female without limits of race or culture who loved living with him as a female of his own race would do, according to what she knew and what he told her.

Or... or perhaps, more simply, this way of living together that the two of them had was nothing but the glaring demonstration of what he argued forcefully and vigorously

And that is that the rules of love are universal.

And, in fact, it came natural to her, normal, to be so, as she was, with him.

This, for her and for him, was their normalcy. The peculiar normalcy, the normality their own, of their life as husband and wife, of their life... how was it? ... Ah yes. More uxorio.

The normality in which she could be fully herself. Without fears and without apprehensions.

And, now, he, the unparalleled husband, who, more uxorio precisely, lived with her, the unparalleled gift that what Humans called fate had wanted to give her, had made sure that normalcy could be restored, in ... in the teeth of her difficulty to withstand the impact of what she had found and that had disturbed her so deeply that she again had had to take refuge in his invaluable and unfailing protection.

Oh yes! She was really lucky! Her compatriots would have found it hard to understand, but she was incomparably lucky.

Because she had him!

She had the stupendous normalcy of their life together.

And now, this normalcy, the normalcy in which she could have control and quiet, was back, in spite of the... the hard bewilderment she had had to cope with without knowing how to do.

He had allowed this to happen.

She had understood this perfectly well. She had perfectly understood what he had done.

Oh, how she loved him! She felt the Bond vibrate of all her love for him. And she knew that he too could feel it.

"Hey, honey! Look, my ears are waiting! More open than they are, they can not be! But if you make them wait a little longer, I do not guarantee that they can stay so."

*Scoundrel! Damn… damn wonderful, stupendous scoundrel!*

"I proceed immediately, husband. I apologize. I can not demand you to maintain your concentration beyond the limits of your own species."

Was it too much? Had she pushed too far the game? Had she conceded too much to her vulcan harshness?

But no! No. His eyes said no. His beautiful blue eyes were laughing.

As his voice. "Oookay. Touché, wife. But could you try to get closer to my poor human mind, just a little, at least? I mean, do not put so hard to the test my human limitations, please. Have understanding."

T'Pol smiled back. Not with the mouth, not that. But her eyes were all a smile.

She spoke with clarity and self importance. Well, by golly! Was she the vulcan wife, all precision and exactitude and control, that she was or not?

"I will try, husband."

"Oh, thanks God!"

She raised her eyebrow. "Please do not interrupt me, or mine will be wasted effort."

His eyes laughed more and more. "I'll try, wife. But it's hard for me, you know."

"Yes, I know. But I will have understanding."

"Oh God, I thank You twice. So, wife..." - and his blue eyes danced insolent and captivating. - "Do we want to talk about these elven and vulcan ears?"

"Husband..."

T'Pol was no longer able to keep the light tone of their talk. Now, in the end, after... after... her T'hai'la would say 'after much beating around the bush', she had to tell him what she had found and…

And why this disconcerted her so much.

Suddenly his eyes grew serious.

"T'Pol, what have you found?"

T'Pol realized that, quite rightly, the game was over. Her Ashayam's tone, his words, his expression, said it clearly. Now she was again the T'Pol mistress of herself. Thanks to him, she was. It was time to speak for real. With seriousness, the seriousness he deserved.

"Trip..."

He cut her off. He gently took her hand.

"What were you reading, sweetheart?"

Despite everything, the embarrassment caught her again. But she ruled it.

She felt ashamed a little, but walked past it.

"A fable."

"A..."

"A fable."

"You?!"

This time his tone was of genuine surprise, not to say of disbelief.

And T'Pol, this time, felt really irritated.

It was not bad, all things considered, given the difficulty she had to reveal him that she had fallen prey to the disconcertment as a result of reading a fable.

Her irritation helped her to overcome the remaining hindrances, the last embarrassments.

"If I am not mistaken, husband, you said more than once that fables are important, that in them many truths are hidden."

"Yes, but you've always watched me with that your eyebrow of reproach when I told you this."

"Would you say that you resent for the fact that I wanted to pay heed to you?"

"Eh? But ... but no! I wanted to say that..."

"That it is strange that I gave myself to reading of the fables?"

"Well... but... but yes, T'Pol!"

On seeing him, with those beautiful blue eyes wide open in amazement watching her, all irritation of T'Pol suddenly vanished.

After all, he had all good reasons for reacting that way.

From scientific readings to readings of myths and legends, the step was long, but from these to fables... the step was much longer! That was undeniable. Definitely unexpected from her part. But up to a certain point, considering the man with whom she shared her life. A man, her man, everything except devoid of charisma and influence. On everyone and, of course, more than ever on her. When there had been the occasion, it would really have been right for her to strongly emphasize to him the deep impact he had upon her. He would have been proud and she would have been proud of his pride.

And, then, let's face it, once again, although this time by no means intentionally, he, her T'hai'la, had hit the mark. Her last embarrassments had fallen because of the irritation that he had caused her, baring the... unvulcan-like deviation in which she had slipped.

Her T'hai'la was unmatched even when he didn't know to be it!

Her voice softened. She, too, took gently his hand. "T'hai'la, you were right."

He looked at her confused. "I was right?"

"Yes, T'hai'la. About the fables."

He nodded thoughtfully. "It is a fable a little particular, that one, isn't it, T'Pol?"

Uneasiness crept back a little into her. She clenched his hands. "It is... it is very peculiar, Trip."

"Ah."

"I think... I think maybe it would be better that, rather than hearing from me what it narrates, you read it by yourself."

It was Trip to lift his eyebrow, this time.

Mh, no. Wrong again. T'Pol was trying again to get around it. Much as, of course, she had read and re-read that... that fable, when she was at having to talk to him of it, she withdrew.

But what the hell was inside that fable?

Devils of all the hells! Sure, one could understand! The sufferings she had had to endure with that infernal King had been infernal, precisely, and it was unthinkable they hadn't left any mark on her. Not that he had not been seriously tried, not that. Damn it, how he had been marked! At the mere thought he felt come the creeps! He, though, had... weird, isn't it?... more resources than her, even though she had been capable of doing what she had done, with that devilish being.

He was… leathery.

He felt the impulse to snicker with some bitterness, although, of course, he did not.

Oh sure, that he was leathery! Not to say worst. Was it not him, by chance, the one who was the King's… the King's incarnation? *No! Do not think about it, man!*

She, his most beloved vulcan spouse, was not so leathery, had not such a tough skin, however strong her willpower could be. She... she hadn't to share with the King... what he had to share.

And she... oh he, and he alone, was able to know this... she was highly sensitive. She had a very great sensibility. A sensibility that made her much more vulnerable than him.

She was… she was as a wonderful flower. A flower with a strong and robust stem, also thorny if you want, so strong, so robust to be capable of not bending down nor of snapping under the rough blast of the most raging of storms. A stupendous flower, topped with a corolla of marvellous iridescent petals. Magnificent petals, brightly coloured and shiny and shimmery. But extremely delicate, these ones. So delicate that they could fall down for what to others could seem a trifle, nothing more than a very slight gust of wind, exposing this way to the destructive fury of the elements the defenceless and fleshy heart of the stupendous blossom she was.

And all this increased even more the attentions that he had to have for her.

Okay, okay! But in any case, enough now! Whatever there was in that damn fable, she had to stop shutting itself up within her shell.

It was not like her!

Did it happen by his fault? Was it not, by chance, that he, even unwittingly, wielded a bad influence on her?

But... but to him, it didn't seem.

He had told her many times that the influence she wielded over him was beneficial towards his behaviour and his way of being and thinking and she always replied that the same thing happened to her about the influence that - it was obvious, between... ahem... husband and wife - he wielded over her.

And T'Pol never lied. Well... at least not on things of this sort.

Actually the others, fellows and colleagues, probably did not think exactly so about the influence that he had on T'Pol. Not that they said that it was a bad influence, but ... well, yes, well ... they giggled up their sleeves when they noticed certain attitudes or phrases or expressions of T'Pol which reminded a little his attitudes, his phrases, his expressions.

Who knew why? Mah. Mystery.

Not to mention when the reverse happened, when, that is, it was him to remind T'Pol's manners and behaviours.

In these instances, the laughs under moustache were even more evident.

Mystery in the mystery.

But, however it was, T'Pol's current behaviour could not in any case depend on the influence exerted by him on her.

His defect was certainly not that to shilly-shally, in saying or doing. If anything, his defect, and he knew it, was to be too impetuous. But it was a defect very dear to him, because it was a defect that T'Pol liked to… to madness. There was no mistaking, about it, though she always rebuked him for that. Or rather she pretended to do so.

So, he had nothing to do with the current attitude of T'Pol.

Then there was more.

Oh, for the devil! But really! What the hell there was in that damn fable?

Well, to hell! It was time to put an end.

And T'Pol had to stop beating around the bush!

She had to be her!

The magnificent flower she was, was entrusted to him; for him that stupendous corolla flaunted its colours; for him, and only for him, it opened up in all its dazzling beauty.

He had to preserve that wonderful corolla, that unique and peerless flower.

It was more than a duty. It was a mission.

It was the purpose of his life.

And if, to fulfil this purpose, he sometimes had to impose himself, then it was necessary for him to do it.

*A fable, huh? All right. So then, be it so! A fable through and through!

He inhaled sharply and forcefully and narrowed his eyes with a hard face, under the confused look and… but yes… even a little cowed of T'Pol.

He let go of her hands and turned on his heel neither saying yay nor nay.

Disoriented, T'Pol saw him reach the divan, stopping in front of it and then turn around to face her.

She did not understand. And did not understand at all the mischievous glint shining in his eyes and the expression even more than mischievous showing off on his face.

He was smiling. A little... it was hard to express how... halfway between crafty and determined?

It was... indecipherable.

He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, going from indicating her to indicating the sofa. And still with that unfathomable, cryptic smile printed on his face.

"Get the damn gizmo on which it's recorded that damn fable and come here."

His voice was soft, but his tone was of command and T'Pol fully realized it was not opportune to disobey, or, even less, to kick up a fuss, wanting to resort to the very fitting way of expressing of her husband.

There were times when she did not have to lay questions, neither to anyone nor to herself, but only obey.

And not because she was his property. The conjugal iron law of Vulcan had nothing to do with that.

She had long since learned that when he had this attitude towards her it was because he… he could not do anything else with her than command her.

An infinite number of things had changed since she had set foot on Enterprise.

Would anyone have thought that Enterprise would become her home? The house that she loved?

Would anyone have thought that that house would be the house that she would share with the man with whom she now shared her life?

Would anyone have thought that this man would be him? Her beloved Adun?

Her Trip?

And would anyone have thought that the woman, tough and proud, the vulcan female without cracks, who had refused to shake hands with him, knowing... knowing in her heart what others couldn't know and could not even imagine... namely that if in that moment she had accepted that hand, she, from that moment, would have been what she inevitably, fatally, had later become - His woman, his wife. His spouse. - …well then, would anyone have thought that that woman, strong and sure and disdainful, capable of commanding men and things... that woman would have needed him, her Adun, also... also to be guided by him?

No one would have thought it would have been so.

And yet it was so.

She was his woman, his wife. His spouse.

And sometimes she needed to be guided, to be commanded, even, by him.

And he knew it.

But the fact was that it was not a command.

It was an act of love.

And she knew it.

There had been times in the past, in which he hadn't imposed himself on her.

And both had severely atoned for his mistake of giving up on asserting himself on her.

She… well yes… she needed his authority.

She needed not only that he loved her, but that he proved it with authority; that he knew impose himself on her, if necessary, with authority. With the authority that stemmed from his love for her.

Most likely she would have the greatest difficulties to admit this loudly and strongly.

But she knew it.

And she wanted it.

Her katra knew it.

And wanted it.

She tended to toss and turn in her troubles. At one time it was not so. At the time of the certainties without questions. At the time of the hushed and blind stillness when she was only and merely a small cogwheel in the gear train of Vulcan.

She was no longer a small cogwheel.

She was a woman.

A true woman.

Conscious.

Free.

Free to love.

And free to toss and turn in her troubles.

And free to cling to him, to her lighthouse, to pull herself out of her troubles.

Free to obey him.

She could not do it.

And she could do it.

She was free, now.

Free to love him.

Obeying him?

And why not do it, since she was free not to do so?

And why not do it, since it was nothing but his love for her to push him to impose himself over her, knowing - both - that she needed sometimes to be commanded by him to get out of the fears and apprehensions that she did not know how to deal with?

Like now.

Yes. - T'Pol's heart swelled of warmth. - Her katra was not mistaken.

His was a wonderful act of love.

To which she could not but obey.

She was not even fully aware of all this.

But her katra was.

And her katra obeyed.

Without hesitation and without uttering a single word, T'Pol took the… gizmo to which he was referring and, with that in hand, he walked quickly to him.

She stopped right in front of him and, with the padd tight on her chest, watched him with questioning eyes.

Waiting.

For the next command.

Which was not long in coming.

"Sit down."

A curt command; peremptory.

And yet ... and yet...

T'Pol perceived it clearly; there was no need of the Bond, to feel it.

There was, in that command, something infinitely affectionate, infinitely tender. Just as in his eyes. And in his smile.

Ironic; mischievous. That was true.

Yet unfathomably sweet.

And enigmatic.

T'Pol realized that he was using one of the weapons that he had learned to use so well with her.

He was stimulating her curiosity

She was curious.

Terribly curious.

Curious... he would say... like a woman.

And about the fact that she was a woman, a true woman...

A strange pride peeped out inside her.

She had once heard Hoshi say that a true woman, what she now was and knew to be, has no need to command the man she loves and who loves her. A look, a nod, a gesture, even a silence on her part – had said Hoshi - and he obeys, without even knowing that he is executing an order of her.

She, away from the eyes of Hoshi and of those with whom she was speaking, had raised her eyebrow with puzzlement, but now… after all had occurred – after all had occurred between her and her T'hai'la - …now she was aware of what Hoshi had meant. And that Hoshi was absolutely right. Because what she had said was exactly what constantly happened between her and Trip.

T'Pol was perfectly conscious of that.

A look, a nod, a gesture, even a silence on her part... and her every wish, even unconscious, became an order to be fulfilled without fail on his part.

She did not need to give him orders, to impose herself on him in their personal lives, in their lives such as husband and wife. Of course, this would have been impossible. She was, in all respects, his ko-telsu, his wife. His vulcan wife. She was his property. Well before and for reasons far more profound than those resulting from what had incredibly happened, from what had sealed forever the fate of Koss at the hands of her Champion. Of Trip. (())

It was something of her Vulcanity which she could not or maybe it was fairer to say she did not want to give up. Lot of things of her culture she had left behind her shoulders, partly because she had grown within, partly for the love she felt for her Ashayam. But that thing, no. That was a thing which she did not want to give up. She wanted to be his!

It was a constant thought in her, this one, because ... because gratified her. Just like that. Pleased her. It made it that she could touch with her hand that their path, her own path - hard and difficult - had ended. Happily. HAPPILY! In spite of everything. In spite even of herself!

She had become his woman. She had become his wife. Not by human or vulcan rituals, by human or vulcan ceremonials, but by something much higher. By the love that bound them to each other into the supreme tie of the Bond. She was ... oh Surak! How couldn't this not be supremely pleasant? Supremely satisfying? ... she was his property because she was his wife. HIS WIFE! HIS VULCAN WIFE!

And in those moments, in those so peculiar circumstances, in which she felt emerge, uncertainties and fears that only he could soothe, the thought, that thought - she was his! - was inevitably recurring. It was rampant!

Oh yes, She was his. His property. As a perfect vulcan wife had to be. And so… never she would have dreamed of giving him orders. Oh well. Trueorders, to put it exactly.

But in any case she hadn't the slightest need to do so. Not even remotely she could come to find herself in the situation of giving him whichever command in the context of their life together, of their privacy, in the way, as it seemed, that sometimes, not to say often, the wife did with the husband, at least among Humans, according to what her husband in fact amused himself to tell her, narrating scenes from the life of his parents that, of course, were not minimally reflected in what little of the married life of her own parents of which she was in knowledge. Although, to be honest, he did not speak willingly of his parents. It seemed… it seemed that with the death of his sister all ties with his family had been severed.

Watch out, though. The fact that she did not have to give orders to him... this did not come from the obvious assumption that, for her, from her vulcan point of view, it was merely something inconceivable. Simply he, her beloved T'hai'la, made it so that such a possibility couldn't arise.

Never.

Because her every wish, also unspoken, for him, for her Ashayam, was… was an order! Just like that! An order from which he didn't shrink.

Never.

Grumbling, sometimes, not to say always. Becoming sombre. Complaining. With furious debates between them, even, but, in the end, doing always what she wanted or desired and, perhaps, only for the pleasure he had - the same pleasure, honestly, she too felt - in arguing with her, in... in making her ears intensely green for annoyance; maybe even just for the pleasure to hear her reprimand him, not to say, even, for the pleasure to give her the pleasure to be able to reprimand him.

From the outside it was rather difficult to notice it. Even their closest friends could have some difficulties. Hoshi, perhaps. And maybe Phlox. Maybe even the Captain, when he managed not to think only of himself. And definitely Malcolm. He spoke little, but understood a lot. They, perhaps, could realize what really lurked in their bickering, so...so loved by all. She was well aware of this. And... and she liked that others had fun witnessing their bickerings.

It was... it was nice. It made her feel part of their world. The world of her beloved.

The beloved who loved her so much to catch sight of her every wish and turn it into his own will even before she could express it.

To such an extent he loved her.

To the point of having been able to make her not only a woman free to love him, but, simply and deeply, a woman.

And a woman free to be curious just such as a woman.

Just like now.

Was it a trap?

One of the usual unexpected traps that he knew so well how to set to her and where she invariably fell? With hidden delicious pleasure? And... Well, yes... that she too had learned to set to him in their wonderful game of love? Known only to them?

Was that it?

A trap?

Maybe. Indeed it was for sure. But who cared? It was a trap of love and she knew it.

And she threw herself headlong into this trap.

She sat down immediately, without letting herself be told twice the command.

He looked at her from his standing position.

His inscrutable smile became satisfied, without losing any of its impenetrability, nor, even less, of its crafty appearance.

Nor of its undeniable, soft gentleness.

He nodded. "Very good."

What a smug voice! And... what else was there in the tone of that voice? And in his expression? What was the trap that her Ashayam had prepared for her?

Suddenly he lowered, bending one knee and setting down the other on the ground, so that his face was at the same height of hers.

With one arm resting on the knee not placed on the ground, he watched her with laughing eyes.

He wagged a finger at her.

"Now open well your ears, wife, just as I opened mine before."

She nodded without saying a word.

"So ..." His finger pointed at the padd that she still kept close to her bosom. "... is that a fable?"

She nodded again.

"Okay. Now answer me, wife. Do you know how it is that, on Earth, kids learn the fables? Their ..." - He chuckled softly - "... their inherent truth?

She shook her head.

"I'll tell you. They do not read the fables on their own; the fables are read to them."

T'Pol's eyes widened. She began to understand. He wanted her to...

"Now, you'll read me that fable."

T'Pol tried to speak. "But… but you do not ..."

He laughed out loud. "I'm not a baby? Oh, somehow I am, my dear wife! You say this to me so often! You always tell me that I'm childlike."

"Y… yes. But ..."

"So then, you'll read me that fable. As one does with a child."

T'Pol attempted again to speak. "But I ..."

No way. He ignored her completely. "Ah, it will be wonderful."

He stood up. He laughed aloud, his eyes almost dreamy.

He stopped laughing. He looked back at her, whose eyes looked at him from below, frowning and uncertain.

"Yes, it will be wonderful, wife. It will remind me of when it was my mother to read me the fables."

His mother? At that statement, T'Pol finally managed to say something complete. "I'm not your mother, Trip!"

He burst out laughing. "Actually, no!"

He leaned over her. He took her face in his hands. He rubbed his lips over hers, which certainly did not elude that soft caress. "You're not my mother, T'Pol, my wifey."

He broke away his mouth from hers and smiled on her face. "Fortunately, you're not." He became suddenly serious. His fingers gently caressed her cheeks. "You are my wife."

T'Pol felt almost suffocate by the fervent gentle sound of his words. She closed her eyes, while his rough, warm, delicate fingers continued their magic on her cheeks. She heard her voice, that - low, dreamy, sighing - came out by its own will from her mouth. "I am your wife."

His laughter made her open her eyes.

They alighted on his.

He stood staring at her for a moment without speaking. With those his blue eyes which laughed.

Then he straightened. He stretched out his arm toward her and pointed his finger at her, with resolute and peremptory doing.

"Just so. You are my wife. My vulcan wife. So then ..." He smiled slyly. "So then you are my property."

"I ..."

"Not so, wife?"

"I... I…"

"Hey! It was you who told me that you are my property! And also that little question of no account that I have had to face with the dear Koss basically brought to the same conclusion. It has ratified, I believe, this truth. Or maybe it is not the truth? Do you maybe mean to tell me that you lied? (())

"No! Vulcans don't… I haven't lie!"

"Good. So you're my property, right?"

"R… right."

"Okay. So you can not disobey my commands."

"I..."

"You can or you can not?"

"I ... No. I can not."

"And do you want to obey my commands?"

"I ... I ..."

"Do you want to do it, wife?"

"I ... I ... I..."

"Do you want or don't you want?"

"Yyyy… yes. I want to obey your commands."

"Ah well. So, obey, my wifey. Read me that goddamn fable."

"But… but..."

"Obey!"

T'Pol was left speechless. That was an order. A true order! It was not one of those fictitious orders with which he liked to point out that she, the scornful vulcan female who had kept him so long... so long in dance, behold, was now, according to the unwritten law of Vulcan, his property. And it was different from the commands that he gave her some moment ago. It was... it was harsh! Much as peremptory the earlier ones had been or, rather, had appeared, this command was really peremptory! It was an imperative order! It was a command that commanded her to obey!

Was he testing her? Did he want to probe her? After having brought inexorably her to say everything, to admit bluntly that not only she was his property, which was already established, even if not so patently and openly, but also that she had to obey his orders, that she wanted to obey his orders? But why? There was no need to do so to get her to do what he desired. There was no need.

There was no…

Suddenly, T'Pol understood.

Maybe... maybe there was a need. Maybe it was necessary that he commanded her for real, to allow her... to force her... to overcome the impasse from which she didn't manage to get out. She would continue to toss and turn in her uncertainties, stupid uncertainties, to put it like him - she was conscious of that - but from which, however, she had very serious difficulties to evade. It was... it was her own habit, she couldn't deny it. And...and even now, she was doing the same thing. And he had fully understood. And so… so he had decided at last to command her to give it… the expression was… to give it a cut.

Relying on his right to command over her.

Even that... yes ... even that was love.

And... and...

For the first time T'Pol felt fully the truth. In all its crudeness. And in all its arcane beauty.

And she had to obey him.

It was not a fairy tale that she belonged to him. It was not a mere assertion, a hyperbolic metaphor of her love for him.

Her ancestral heritage made itself felt powerful within her, how she would never have believed it could be. If ever there could have been some doubt that, by and in the millennial law of Vulcan, she was his woman, this doubt, now, couldn't do anything but get completely dissolved into thin air.

She... had to obey.

It was so. And she wanted it.

Perhaps, as far as it was known, for the first time after a very long time a vulcan woman was coming again to find herself face to face with her true essence, with the heart of her being a vulcan woman. This… this was amazing. But even more amazing was that this arcane, ancestral imperative, deep-seated in the profound heart of the vulcan breed, was making feel its mighty voice again, in all its imperiousness, to a woman of this breed with regard… with regard not to a vulcan man, but to a human man, the same human man with whom, then, the same vulcan woman had astonishingly revived the fabled vulcan Bond.

And that woman...

Pride! Endless pride! Incredible, wasn't it? Yet it was so!

... That woman was her!

She nodded. Serious. Determined.

"As you command, husband. You command and I obey."

This time it was the turn of Trip's eyes to snap open wide.

Gosh! What ... what had she said?

He could not hold back himself. "What ... what did you say, T'Pol?"

T'Pol remained unruffled at all. "I said As you command, husband. Y…".'"

"Ah here. It seemed to me."

"…You command and I obey."

"Okay, okay! No need to repeat everything! I understood!"

T'Pol looked at him with raised eyebrow.

One had to say that his expression was beyond price. His astonishment, because this was obvious, at hearing her assert her obedience to him in that way, was... well yes ... it was funny. Funny? Surak! That damn of her husband had really entered under her skin, to put it like him! Yet she could not deny it. For Surak's sake! She had just made full profession of obedience to her husband and, instead of feeling at the very least upset because of this admission, she not only felt proud for having done so - to... to hell with her Vulcan heritage! - but, in addition, she found even funny his stunned expression at hearing her act of submission... because, well, it was just this... her act of submission to him.

But there was a reason, of which she was well aware, which was not simply that the ways of the amusement were infinite, as her facetious husband was in the habit of saying.

The real reason was that her act of submission, her recognizing that she had to obey him, it was not an act of submission to a vulcan male. And that entailed a huge amount of consequences. And – frankly? - all of them pleasant.

Being subdued to a vulcan male... being brought by her own nature to obey him ... this ... this ... T'Pol once would have never believed she could nourish such a thought, and instead now, she was happy to have it… this would have been intolerable for her.

But her master-husband was not a vulcan male. It was Trip. Her Trip.

Who never would have dreamed of wanting her to be submissive to him!

Who was even amazed that she could have uttered that phrase. 'As you command, husband.'

Who had even trouble at hearing again her act of submission as a whole; who did not want her to complete it, to repeat also the second claim. 'You command and I obey'.

Who considered her as the very source of his own will!

There was no doubt about that.

Who simply wanted to assert his right over her to shake her, to… to take her off the hook. This, it was!

And even on this there could be no doubt whatsoever.

T'Pol felt within herself something... something… something difficult to define... something at the same time warm and... but yes... funny. Because funny, for her who, unlike the others of her breed, now was able to understand what the fun was, really funny in hindsight it was the very essence of such an occurrence, namely her act of submission to her Trip.

An ironic twist of fate, he would have said, and honestly he would not have been wrong.

And from many points of view, first of all that the woman who professed her obedience to him, it was her. The same woman who... who had driven him mad, just so, and who ... who - T'Pol felt a surge of shame - sometimes had even humiliated him. The same woman who, in a sense, had embezzled to him the command of what, to want to be truly correct, was up to him to command in the absence or in the event of unavailability of the Captain. Enterprise.

And now - really a twist of fate - that woman, while being perfectly aware, like him, that the baton of command was neither in hers nor in his hands but in the hands of their love, well then, however that woman gave him - formally - the command of something far more important than Enterprise. Their lives.

But there was another twist of fate, and much greater.

How else to define the fact that what the other vulcan females would find, to say the least, unbecoming, if not reprehensible, and namely being wives - property - not of a vulcan male, but of a human male, was instead the way towards freedom?

She was free! Something that certainly the other vulcan females were not. Oh sure! She had to obey. She felt she had to do it.

But the astonishment itself of her beloved human husband was clear evidence that he would have never expected that she would.

And most importantly, he would never have taken advantage of this power if it were not necessary to do so. If it were not necessary to make her free even from the illogical uncertainties she felt every time she had to face what logical was not.

Like now.

What other vulcan female could ever enjoy such a... such a fortune?

What other vulcan female could ever rely on a husband who, rather than taking advantage of his power over her, used this power to make her free? Totally free?

And ... and then ... what other vulcan female could ever experience the... the fun she felt now, in this beautiful game of love?

No vulcan male would ever have been able to make her understand the essence of the fun.

Or maybe, quite simply, no vulcan male could ever have been able to be for her what, for her, it was her Trip.

The love of her life.

And if this life, then, could be fun... so much the better!

So then... *Come on, T'Pol!* . It could be funny, after all, being an 'obedient' wife.

"You look surprised, husband. Why?"

"I? Surprised? But... but no! Simply ..."

T'Pol laid it on thick.

"I am your property, right? You yourself have just reminded this to me. And, in fact, it's so. Consequently, I have to obey you, just as you've rightly pointed out to me that I must do."

"Of... of course. Sure."

T'Pol piled it on even more.

"My will is yours, husband. As it has to be."

"Ah… oh… sure. No… noteworthy."

And T'Pol pushed on the accelerator a little bit more.

"And for me it is a pleasure performing whatever command you may desire to give me, husband."

"Ah… uh… good."

"Are you not happy about this, my husband and lord?"

"Hu... husband and lord?"

"Sure. I belong to you. I'm your property. This is now an established fact, just as it is an established fact that I, as a consequence, must obey you. The logical outcome of this logical reasoning is that you are my husband and lord. Don't you think it is right?"

"Oh sure. Sure. Of course."

Yes. It was fun. It was as if he had been wrong-footed – words of him - in his own game; as if he had trouble to realize that her profession of submission and obedience to him could be substantial, as well as formal; he, even, appeared to have great trouble to realize - and to accept - that she had said what she had said. Sure, she had already told him this on other occasions; sure one could not forget what had happened between him and Koss. (()) But now, as a consequence of the same game he had started, not only she, but he too had to touch with hand the profound truth of what she had just told him… solemnly. And that - funny, isn't it? - wrong-footed him, and absolutely not her.

Well, it was comprehensible. All this was part of her world, not of his. And for him, then, for the gentleman - just like that! - for the gentleman he was also with respect to human parameters, it was inconceivable.

And, in the end, to what did all this bring? To the fact that, though it was totally true what she was saying, he, her beloved husband and lord, had no intention of being so. Nor, even less, he was able to fully realize that he was her husband and lord for real. He appeared not only surprised, but sheepish and uncomfortable, even annoyed, despite being him, after all, the one who had uncovered the pot. Very nice, this colourful expression of him. Really fitting. Like... a glove. Nice… and funny.

Anyway, this - his reaction to her profession of submission and obedience - spoke volumes, more than remarkably. And it spoke volumes also with regard to her being his property.

She was.

But not because it was him to want it.

She was because it was her to want it.

And though she was telling the truth, nevertheless it would have been definitely nice – funny, just as he had taught her that things could be - to make fun of him, in that new pleasant development of their game of love.

A "property" that teased its master.

Priceless!

On her lips hovered the shadow of an amused and satisfied and smug smile.

And this was a big mistake.

Because he understood.

A wide smile - accompanied by a twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes, there was not to go wrong - appeared on his face.

He nodded in turn.

"Okay. Very good. Things are clear now. You are my property, my will is your own and you have to obey whichever my command. With pleasure, also, from what you tell me."

The smile grew even wider, as his eyes sparkled - let's be frank – more than mischievously. It could be said… perfidiously.

"So, let's see that the implementation of this peculiar command of mine on your part may be really a pleasure."

Pointless to deny that T'Pol's eyes became quite worried. As always it had taken him a few seconds to grasp the situation and she had learned from personal experience that there was nothing to rest easy with him. Just not at all.

Another trap was ready for her.

And, once again, she would have fallen into it... head over heels.

He nodded again, to her, but also and even more so to himself. Then he chuckled. And T'Pol felt a familiar chill run down her spine.

She knew that chuckle.

Shortly afterwards, she would have remained snared in one of his perfidious - delicious - traps of love!

"My dear 'property', if it has to be a pleasure, be it a pleasure." He chortled again. "Let's see to get comfortable."

Under T'Pol's gaze, that defining confused would be an understatement, he sat down in a flash on the couch beside her and, very quickly, without giving her time to understand what he wanted to do, he lay down in belly up, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, his hands clasped comfortably on his chest and his head resting comfortably on her lap.

"Trip! What ..."

He laughed softly. "Do not you like me to stay so, wife? My mother always made lean my head on her lap, when she read me a fable."

T'Pol, this time, became really vexed. "Trip! I told you that ..."

"That you're not my mother, I know. And I told you that I am perfectly aware of that and that fortunately you're not. Thank God you're not! Otherwise, how could you do with me what you do? "He winked at her."I mean, not exactly what a mother does with her son."

T'Pol felt it coming. But she could not do anything. She could not prevent her ears from becoming intensely green. If her blood had been red, like that of Humans, it would have been obvious to anyone that her ears had turned red.

His amused laugh made her ears become even greener. She felt their tips burn. Not to mention her cheeks.

All of a sudden his hand shot out as it had already done previously and, as before, his fingers gripped with sweet force the tip of one of her ears, so green.

"And besides, my wife, it is not possible to get confused." He laughed mockingly. "My mother did not have these beautiful pointed ears."

T'Pol's hand grabbed that impertinent hand of him and pulled it away forcefully from her ear. Her eyes flashed. "Husband! Do not try it! If you want me to execute your command, do not try it!"

He looked at her from below, from his comfortable position, with his head softly resting on her lap. The smirk made again its appearance on his face. "Hey, my submissive property, am I wrong, or it's me the one who's supposed has to give orders?"

"It's you, but you must put me in condition to comply your orders!"

"Ah, sure. Logical." He chuckled again. "All right, all right. Understood." He winked again at her. "Would you be kind enough to let go my hand? I won't try anymore." Another wink. "At least for now."

T'Pol said nothing, thinking instead a lot. About his words. She freed his hand and watched him in silence as he intertwined it again with the other to lean comfortably on his abdomen.

Then, as if he had been struck by a sudden thought ... "Hey, T'Pol! When you say that you can not help but execute all my commands, and with pleasure too, do you mean really all of them?"

T'Pol felt a premonitory tingling at her ears. "Y... yes. Sure. All."

"Ah. Even some peculiar command in some peculiar situation?"

The tingling changed again into a rich green. "More than… than I've already done?"

He laughed aloud. "Well, you know. In this respect human imagination has no limits."

"I... I think it is you the Human who has no limits in this regard."

"Do you think?"

"I think."

"Mh. Fine. I do not know how you can state this, though. Do you have any touchstone?"

"No! You ... you know I do not have it!"

"Ah yes. So I take it as a compliment. Anyway, if I may say, it seems to me that you too have really few limits in this regard, my dear wife."

Damn it. How could it be possible to soothe a little the burning sensation caused by the turbulent rush of her blood up to her ears?

"It is... ahem… it is because my will can not help but follow yours, my husband and lord."

"Ah, that's why."

"Sure."

"Mh, okay." There could be a more mischievous expression than the one he showed at that moment? "I'll keep this in mind for the next times."

T'Pol was sure that her ears were becoming phosphorescent.

"Do not... do not take advantage of your power over your wife, my husband and lord. Please."

Oh Surak! She had to think better of it. Much as it could appear definitely hardly credible, in reality it was truly possible for her indescribable T'hai'la to take on an even more mischievous expression. In fact he was doing it.

"Are you sure you do not want me to take advantage of it, wife?"

Okay. Now she was sure. Her ears could not but be decidedly green-phosphorescent.

"No. That is to say yes. Ie no. Ie..."

"Ie?"

"Take advantage, my husband!"

His laughter rolled everywhere on her, ending up its gallop into her ears and going to titillate them impudently and deliciously; and making her so think even more acutely of how they had to appear of an intense bright green. Maybe they could even be able to illuminate the environment.

His laughter subsided slowly, as well as the pleasant sensation of the movement of his body upon her knees while he laughed.

At the end only his gaze remained, mischievous and sweet.

And his sweet weight on her lap.

He raised his hand. His fingers gently stroked her cheek.

"Well, enough now, my wife. We clarified a lot of things. It is time for you to prove the truth of what you say."

He withdrew his hand and placed it back on his abdomen, intertwined with the other.

"See? My hands are firm." He laughed softly. "Your ears are safe."

He raised his eyebrow in her own way, and laughed softly in his own way.

"You have no more excuses, wife. Now, you just have to execute my order." He closed his eyes. "With closed eyes. This way one can focus better, while listening." Another chuckle. "The ears open up better."

T'Pol stood looking at him without speaking.

He was handsome.

And was gorgeous inside.

He had ensnared her.

He had trapped her.

And had dispelled all the shadows that were in her.

Bewilderment?

Embarrassment?

Apprehension?

Fears?

Empty words.

There was none of this.

There was his love for her

And hers for him.

The rest ... it was nothing.

And... and it would be marvellous to read that baffling and beautiful fable to her wonderful, eternal child.

But she was not his mother.

Oh no! Definitely not!

She was his adored wife who adored him.

She was his property

And she would be this forever.

Like forever he would be hers.

"Hey!" His eyes snapped open. They looked at her with a warmth that would have been able to melt the ice of Andoria. "So what? I'm waiting, my sweet better half. One should not make wait the children, even those a little too grown up, like me. You know, it can be traumatic. Children are very sensitive."

Children?

T'Pol did not even know how such a thought could be born within her. But it was born. And maybe, after all... her hand squeezed the padd where there was the fable she had read and re-read and that now she would have to read to him... after all, she knew why.

Children.

One day... one day she would give a child to that wonderful child a little too grown up, would make him the father of the fruit of their love.

Yes. Somehow she would. An unexpected and unsought daughter had gone before they could give her the love that was owed to her. Together the two of them had managed to overcome that pain and the daughter, who had not had time to love them, had nevertheless given them the greatest gift, a true gift of love.

She had united them. Forever.

And he, just he, the Human apparently less strong than her, had picked up the shards of her soul, had gathered them together, had reassembled them and glued them together. Had made disappear even the signs of the fractures between shard and shard.

He was a wonderful child. A wonderful man. A wonderful lover.

A wonderful husband.

And would be a wonderful father.

She would make him a father.

And not only of a single child. - T'Pol's heart smiled at the memory. - Just as he wished, just as they, on one marvellous day… on one marvellous night… had planned together. Playfully. Merrily. Joyfully. ()

It was a promise.

"T'Pol!" This time his voice sounded worried. He had lifted the trunk and was watching preoccupied her. "T'Pol, sweetheart! Are you ok? What's happening to you? Why that look lost?"

T'Pol shook herself from her thoughts. "I'm fine, I'm fine, T'hai'la. Do not worry."

Concern did not abandon his eyes. "Do I have to believe it?"

"Yes, really. It is... is that I was thinking."

He raised his eyebrow again. "Mh. I should not be amazed. You think all the time. But ... prithee, what were you thinking of so important to absorb your attention to such an extent, right now?"

"I... was thinking about children."

"Children?"

"Yes. This fable… speaks of children."

"Of... children?"

"Yes. Children... very special." She took on a strange expression. "Like those we could have. You and me."

He stayed silent for a moment. His expression became intent. His brows furrowed.

"Mh." He spoke softly. "I think it's worth that I listen very carefully to this fable. Is it so, T'Pol?"

"Yes. It's so, Trip."

"Come on then. At this point I..." He smiled. As only he knew how to do. He dissipated her last disquietudes. As only he knew how to do. "I am jumping out of my skin."

Her eyes smiled, happy.

She put her hand on his chest. She pushed down him.

"Stay down, Ashayam, as you were before. And close your eyes again."

He carried out.

He heard her voice, sounding unequivocally sweet and warm.

"Here. Exactly so. In the way you surprised me. I love that you remain so, my husband and lord. It is pleasant. It will make even greater the pleasure that I'll feel..." It seemed like she were laughing softly, in the way own of him. And maybe it was really so. "... that I'll feel in executing your order."

Trip said nothing. He stood absolutely still and silent. Even, he unconsciously held his breath.

Waiting.

For a moment longer, T'Pol stood watching him.

His face, virile and handsome.

His mouth, well-made and strong-willed.

His golden hair.

His closed eyelids which hid the beautiful blue of his eyes.

His closed eyelids which prevented him from seeing the wide smile that broadened out on her face.

T'Pol shook herself.

She brought the padd close to her face, at the right distance from her eyes, so that she could read.

Her other hand, as her eyes got focused on her reading's opening words, went down, without her even realizing it, on his head, to fiddle with a wayward blond curl.

In the silence and in the dim light of the room, just lit by the soft lamp of the meditation candles, T'Pol began to read.

---

End of Chapter Two

TBC

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oh oh!

Elves, Vulcans, ears and children!

A lot of stuff, my friends!

What do you say? Do we go on?

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() Ahem… Do you remember, my friends, my "Bikini"?

(())Curious, my friends? But what is Asso alluding to? you'll wonder. Be assured. If, as I hope, you will continue to read my stories, you'll know. And in the most unexpected way. Just like that. Just like Koss had to pay dearly for his squalid, lousy behaviour with T'Pol in the most unexpected way.