Tempest
Hammerhead Class Frigate (NC-114)
Bridge, Deck A

It was a suicide mission.

They were less than a day away…perhaps no more than a few hours away…from engaging a force that outnumbered them more than thirty to one. And they'd been through a hectic couple of weeks already.

The sudden, completely unexpected fight at the belt in Centauri with the Romulan Bird of Prey that they hadn't in the least been ready for. The scrambling about trying to get both their own ship and the Kolinahr up and running again under emergency conditions before, during and after that fight.

The attempted terrorist bombing aboard the ship. Followed right behind by the necessity of carving out some kind of trusting relationship with the only three Vulcans they'd been unable to get the hell off their ship after that. Something they hadn't exactly made easy with their rather heavy-handed attempts to maintain control of the situation themselves.

Their slick little covert op, stealing munitions from Celestial Station and casually making their departure before anyone could get arrested. And then the fight with the Enterprise right after. The flagship of the fleet, no less. And they'd had to seriously pull their punches there…which hadn't stopped Archer from damned near spanking them silly once he was able to respond in earnest. They'd barely gotten out of that in one piece and only by the most outrageous luck.

Then the Vahklas, which had only served to drive home the point that they just hadn't been ready for any of this. Hadn't at all gotten themselves in the proper mindset here. The fact that they were at war just hadn't sunk in…until they got slapped in the face with it. And thank God they'd decided to bring Alice fully online by then, to get her plugged in finally. They'd have all been dead before they'd even known it otherwise.

So they'd been through hell and high water already, exactly as Trip had recently made note of in regards to the Enterprise. And maybe he and his crew hadn't quite caught up with Archer and his crew in that regard, but Trip sure felt like they were gaining ground and at an accelerated rate by comparison.

And it was a suicide mission. And they were all probably going to die soon. So that put things into a proper perspective around here.

Bridge protocols and standard operation rules had fallen by the wayside as a result of that. And if any of the brass were on the bridge of the Tempest at the moment…in fact, if Coleman himself were there right now…Trip had no doubt they would all bear witness to a full on meltdown of epic proportions.

There were PADDs scattered everywhere. And crewmen coming and going freely, bringing things and taking things away without checking them in and out on the board. Everyone was armed and there were a few non-standard weapons and gear scattered around the place. There'd even been an unclaimed phase pistol that got kicked around on the floor for a while. It became something of a joke until somebody finally picked it up and put it…somewhere. Trip hadn't paid attention. Probably sitting on somebody's console now, with a handy holographic holster called up to hold it. He had one of those on his own console anyway, for his own phase pistol.

The tactical map was up, the main screens all showing data for review and they even had the bridge holographics throw up three more screens on top of that. Most of those screens showing classified intel and eyes only information that no one but he and Song should be privy to. And just forget about the Vulcan intelligence officer right there on the bridge being exposed to all of it.

There were eight empty cups of coffee on the command console and two of them half full. Which rather illustrated the hectic state they'd largely been in ever since arriving at Proxima all those days ago.

He and Song had long since lost track of whose coffee cup was whose and had probably been having coffee cup sex for the last hour. But that only lasted until T'Pol realized they might just be sharing a cup of coffee, determining that was unacceptable to both her Vulcan sense of possessiveness and appreciation for strict hygiene precautions and labeling them both with tabs she printed off her PADD to put a stop to it.

Crenshaw and Judge had the same thing going on over at the comm station and T'Pol hadn't run over there to label their coffee.

And more besides. Million and Judge had apparently thrown caution to the wind and were making no secret of the relationship they had going on. The one he and Song weren't supposed to know about for the last five months. No one said anything to that and no one made a fuss if they were a little touchy in the course of their duties. Likewise Crewman Carver and Jenson, the steward. Which…that one had actually come as a surprise. It would seem Jenson had been going the extra mile around here, making some late night deliveries to the young Maria's personnel quarters recently. Which…maybe explained his volunteering for this mission in the first place.

And pushing the limits to their fullest around here, Trip actually had his shirt unzipped and hanging from one shoulder half the time, while he stood at the command console. With T'Pol, the Vulcan intelligence officer, apparently giving him some kind of weird alien massage thing all down that side about every thirty minutes. Right there in front of God and everybody's grandma. Which finally pushed things to the point where even Song had to say something about all this.

Not to do anything about it so much, but just to make sure her objections were noted for the record. Because it had gotten a little beyond ridiculous.

But everyone was busy. Everyone was focused. No one was sweating the little stuff around here and everything other than bringing the pain to that Romulan fleet up ahead had been firmly relegated to the category of 'little stuff'.

Trip was at the command console, just having taken a moment to zip his shirt back up so Song would stop frowning at him. T'Pol having finished up her latest bit of nervous system super-charging and taking a break to let her own system calm down a bit. Coming around to his right side, to be his literal right hand again for a while.

Trip had already learned his lesson concerning how his arm and the console didn't get along very well. If he weren't groaning in unbearable agony every few minutes from trying to punch a button with the stump, forgetting his hand was gone, he was accidentally brushing it up against the console because he was so busy using one hand to do the work of two.

He finally started turning to the side a bit to minimize the chance of doing that anymore. Keeping that side of his body just far enough away that focusing on working with his left hand was easier and safer. And T'Pol swooped right in the moment he did, taking over the entire right side of the console.

Song was on his left, leaning across from that side, doing her best to get in the way and add her two cents to everything going on. No small part of that being her acute awareness that the Vulcan national who wasn't even technically supposed to be on the bridge was presently holding half the damned command chair.

But despite that irritating Trip and making T'Pol all the more possessive…she was pretty damned good at remembering all the little things Trip forgot and thinking of everything he hadn't, so her spot was secured and Trip wasn't about to run her off.

On the tactical map in the middle of the bridge, the Romulan fleet was on display. Ready for them to start laying their plans on just how exactly they could maximize the damage they meant to do here.

And Trip was trying to do that, despite all the distractions going on.

"Roscoe," Trip called over his shoulder. "You got those updates plugged in on the Romulan shield system yet?"

"Yeah, got it. Added a little something on their power grid related to that. Confirmed on three points."

"Whose got intel on bridge armor?" Someone called. "I don't have the damned bridge protection ratings…"

"It's in that SRS report to Starfleet Command, June '54 I think."

"That's not going to help Song if she can't get a sensor setting that'll allow full penetration, Sabrina."

"Harrison's got that. He just needs to update…"

"He's in the Armory."

"I've got that already! I just need the bridge armor rating, so I can make adjustments!"

Trip was finally forced to just tune all that out. As much as he wanted to monitor it all, to be sure it all got done and nothing was overlooked…he'd long since reached the point where he just had to trust his crew to do their jobs. Kinda the whole point of having a crew in the first place.

Speaking of which…

"Okay, Song." He said, eyeing the fleet floating in the middle of the room. "What can you tell me about these guys?"

Song nodded, already prepared to do that.

"They're nuts, first off." She said, easily. "True fanatics. In every single instance where defeat threatens or there's some risk of being captured…they inevitably suicide attack. So far that's been limited to ship combat, since we've yet to face them on the ground, but it's been the consistent response to defeat so far.

"That tells me we're looking at a very rigidly structured, very dominating society. These people are steeped in this mentality from day one. They worship whatever organization they're a part of. And it definitely isn't the big pirate gang we've assumed up to now. It's a fully militarized nation. A militocracy of some sort, more than likely."

Song stepped away from the command console, approaching the tactical map. Pointing out the fleet formation.

"Look at how they're flying." She said, indicating that. "A level plane long box formation. Each pack of five Birds of Prey in a 'V' formation, with the leading Warbird sitting in the middle. Two packs in front, two in the middle, two in the back. And two more Warbirds, command ships, trailing at opposite corners. Those two are driving the fleet and you can bet one of them is the fleet commander. Probably the guy on the right, from all the left-brain thinking I've seen from them.

"Now, why a long box formation? Because way back when these guys took to space they carried aerial formation methodology with them. Present a minimal aspect to whoever you're going after, to hide your numbers from enemy radar until the last possible moment. But just about everyone they've been fighting in the last few years has sensor systems advanced enough that it doesn't accomplish as much as it probably used to. You can be sure Celestial Station can see just exactly how many ships are coming at them.

"That tells me this repressive, tightly controlled society is a militaristic society. So they're flying in this formation because that's what they're used to and no new orders have come down the pipe to change that. Because it doesn't matter anymore. Sensor technology is too advanced for a formation to make enough of a difference that new protocols would be laid down. And they're too regimented to do anything other than follow the protocols that are in place, whether they're obsolete or not."

Trip was already frowning.

"I'd rather they were pirates, Song." He said, not at all pleased with what she had offered up. "Pirates I can maybe trick or surprise. An actual military force…they tend to be prepared for that sort of thing."

T'Pol spoke up, deciding it was her turn to offer input here.

"There are aspects of Romulan culture that Commander Song is unaware of." She said, coming around to view the fleet more closely herself. "The reason for the totalitarian militaristic society, in fact. It serves much the same purpose for the Romulans as the strict adherence to logic and discipline does for Vulcans. Much the same purpose as inherent emotional checks and balances do for Humans.

"For example, where as a Human would be hindered from revealing affection for another person due to fear of rejection or risking vulnerability, a Vulcan would be cautious due to the likelihood of that affection provoking dangerous emotional impulses. A Romulan, however, would be cautious out of concern for that affection being used against them. Their culture is rife with intrigue, betrayal and suspicion. Every action is weighed very strictly against the possibility that it may be used against them in some way. And furthermore weighed against any possibility of disloyalty to the state.

"For that reason, a Romulan may well seem as emotionally controlled and rational as a Vulcan in most cases. Yet they will inevitably display emotional outbursts and irrational behavior that even Humans would find striking. But only so long as the situation allows for it."

"Situations like what?" Trip asked immediately. Because that was exactly what he was looking for here. Some way to manipulate the fleet, even if only in some small way.

"The crew of the Vahklas provided a ready example of this type of thinking." T'Pol said. "It is certain they were steeped in the Romulan way themselves. Once defeat threatened, they abandoned reason and embraced self-destructive forms of attack. It is the only purely emotional reaction that is beneficial to the state. It is even considered highly honorable and desirable, so they are prone to accept it eagerly even when other more beneficial options may still be available."

Trip was surprised to spot Benning out of the corner of his eye, having apparently appeared on the bridge at some point. And he'd been immediately drawn to the conversation going on over here.

Which was fine. He'd meant to pick his brain anyway.

But he still wasn't happy with how all this very insightful discussion wasn't offering a whole hell of a lot that he could use here...

"That doesn't really help, though." He said. "We're already trying to hit them hard and do as much damage as possible as fast as we can. If we were going to use a tendency to martyr themselves against them, that's exactly what we'd be trying to do anyway. Trying to make it look like they can't win, then letting them kill themselves and spare us the trouble."

Benning came around the command console to lean back against it and view the tactical display. Offering his own input now.

"It may not help us at first," He said, "But it might make getting out of the situation a bit easier. If we hurt them bad enough, they may not respond like a disciplined military unit. And that might explain some things I've heard, now that I think about it. Like that D'Kyr combat cruiser that took on a whole pack about a year ago. Remember how they got out of that, Song?"

"Right." Song piped in. "They took one of them out, the other four went crazy and the Vulcans ran away. But since they were being pursued the D'Kyr focused on picking apart the weakest one…that guy eventually initiated a warp core breach because they were about to be disabled."

Benning nodded. "And when they popped, they were all so bunched together chasing that D'Kyr that one of them was destroyed outright. The other two so badly damaged that the Vulcans actually turned right back around and took them both out."

"We're talking about thirty ships, though." Trip argued. "The best we've been able to do in simulations is knock out all shields and disable maybe half the fleet. And that's the absolute best possible simulation. Even if they lose discipline at that point, we might be able to take a dozen of them with us…but we'd have to get really lucky to even do that much."

"But we are not only talking about losing discipline but losing rational thinking as well." T'Pol said. "If they reach that point you can expect unproductive decisions to be made. Decisions that are more emotional reactions than they are decisions to begin with."

Trip ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair, processing that. His wounded arm still clutched protectively at his waist.

"Okay." He said, after a moment. "But that still leaves us with hitting them hard and fast. Not only to damage the fleet but to throw them off balance so we can take as many as we can with us before they take us down."

Benning stepped up then, shoving off from the command console to approach the tactical display himself.

"Well this formation they're in is a bit of luck for us." He said, gesturing at it. "The fact that they're in formation at all helps. We need as many as possible within range of the missiles when they fire. And as they are right now, that'd be all of them. But they're not going to stay that way when they see us coming up behind them."

He indicated the two trailing Warbirds.

"These guys are going to make a defensive split the second we show up on sensors. And they're command ships, so they aren't going to turn back on us and attack. They're going to run up alongside the formation on probably…a forty-five degree departure. Putting distance on the formation in case we're coming after one of them, so we're drawn in just a little too close trying to catch them. Then darting straight back in again while one of these packs jumps out and engages us. Which puts half the fleet outside the range of the missiles before we can even get close."

Trip shrugged.

"So we go low." He said. "Drive straight in and as soon as they start to do that, drop z-axis hard, keeping oriented on the fleet, until we're at maybe a forty-five degree angle approach ourselves."

"Then these two guys jump up on top of the fleet." Benning said, nodding. "Hide behind them because we're being so unpredictable. And that puts both of them right back in range of the missiles again. And one of them is the fleet commander."

Song frowned, though.

"Still leaves that pack they're going to send after us." She said. "Maybe we're just one little ship but they're not going to just let us walk right up to the fleet. They'll send a pack after us, probably one of those two in the rear."

"But that's not all they're going to do." Benning pointed out. "Now we're incoming from below and behind. So they shift those two packs in the front down low themselves. And hike up the two in the rear. Or…the one in the rear, since the other one will be coming after us. But that puts the fleet oriented perpendicular to us again. Which is what they think they want."

"Because they want to be ready to cover each other against this crazy Starfleet frigate coming after them." Trip smirked. "But it just puts them all right back in range of the missiles again."

A sudden smudge of blue on the periphery of his vision announced Shran's arrival. And here she came to get in on things. So the gang's all here, it would seem.

He really should have just gone ahead and called an actual command staff meeting.

"This still leaves the pack sent to engage us." T'Pol said. "Five Birds of Prey. A Warbird as well, if the pack remains intact. They will be focused on intercepting our approach. Can the Tempest engage as many as six Romulan vessels and survive? And still approach the fleet closely enough to fire the missiles?"

"Well, that's the tricky part." Trip said. "Mayhem can get us past that pack easy enough…but it's a one shot. It probably won't work twice and we need it to get close to the fleet. So we have to deal with that pack some other way, without getting too badly beat up in the process."

Shran jumped in then, not wanting to be left out of this discussion. Kicking the Romulans in the gonads was something she was very much looking forward to.

"Unless we can hit that pack while it's still close enough to the fleet." She said. "Then we can use Mayhem to get past them and fire the missiles. Why don't we use that fancy fast attack maneuver Song likes so much?"

Song smirked. "Because it took out every impulse thruster on the ship last time I used it."

"So do it better next time." Shran frowned. "And who cares anyway? All we really have to do is fire the missiles. After that any Bird of Prey we take out is a bonus. We'll already have hurt the fleet enough that Proxima isn't so easy a target."

"That is insufficient." T'Pol said. "Our goal is not only to damage the fleet but to do as much damage as we can. And to escape again afterward, if that is possible."

"Can't do both." Shran insisted. "If we really want to hurt them then we have to stay in the fight after we knock out their shields. To take advantage of that. We could destroy or disable a dozen of them if we're lucky. And that's enough that they can't simply plow right through Proxima defenses anymore. They could even get stuck there."

Trip sighed.

"Look." He said, firmly. "I've been clear on this point so far but let me say it again anyway. This is a suicide mission. I don't know what God has in mind for us here, but barring divine intervention of some kind we're not coming back from this. So we focus on doing every bit of damage we can to that fleet. We go down swinging and we go down swinging hard."

He looked around, eyeing everyone there intently. To be sure they were all getting this.

And the rest of the bridge crew as well. As they'd all stopped yelling across the bridge to one another to listen to the very interesting discussion going on.

"Now, we've got a Vulcan shuttle sitting in the cargo bay." He said. "And she's warp capable. So we load the wounded on that shuttle and get them clear before we engage. That will be your last chance to step away from this, so if you're not on board anymore take the opportunity while you can."

And having said that…it occurred to Trip that this might be the only opportunity he had.

To convince T'Pol to go with T'Lea. To board that shuttle and get out of this before it was too late.

"We've got a rough plan thrown together here." He said. "We'll go over it a bit more and find all the weak spots, but we've got what we need. So everyone finish up what you're doing and take an hour. Go prepare yourselves for this. Or make your decision to get on that shuttle. I want them debarked and out of harm's way when that hour's up, so make your decision before then or it'll be made for you."

Everyone looked uncomfortable at that. And he could only hope that was because enough of them fully realized the situation now, having reached the point of no return here.

But one of them was going to object, he knew. They were going to try to reassert themselves and form a rallying point for everyone else. It was just Human nature, after all. They probably wouldn't even realize what they were doing or why.

It was still surprising that it was Song who did that, though.

"Trip, I think I can speak for all of us…"

"Well, you're wrong. Because you can't." Trip said, quickly. To quash that before it got started. "You can't speak for everyone else. You can't speak for anyone but Keyla Song. So take an hour and go decide what she's gonna do. Everyone else, go do the same."

He nodded sharply then. Putting on what air of authority he could for them.

"One hour." He said. "Dismissed."

They dithered and looked uncertainly at one another. And again, it was Human nature. They'd expected someone would step up and make the decision for them. And now they had to do that for themselves.

It took a little glaring here, a little reassurance there and a few quietly but firmly spoken words.

Then he had the bridge cleared.

And he was alone there with T'Pol.

He'd known, without even thinking about it. She'd stay because he stayed.

Which was exactly the problem.

He came around the command console to face her, where she still stood near the tactical display.

Leaned back against the console, where Benning had leaned before. Arms folded at his chest, even if the stump did detract a bit from how strongly he'd meant to present himself.

He took a deep breath…and let it out again.

And…yep, still had no idea what the heck he was going to say here to convince her to be logical.

Of course…at that thought, the logical argument became perfectly obvious.

"T'Pol." He said.

And she immediately tucked her hands at her back and faced him. Ready to have whatever conversation they were about to have.

He smiled a little at that. Couldn't help it.

"I need you to do something." He said.

"What do you require?" She asked.

Ready, of course, to do whatever he required.

"I need you to do the logical thing here." He said.

And there we go. Groundwork firmly laid. Argument won.

The argument was already over, before it had even begun. However much she might hem-haw and try to edge around things, she couldn't argue logic.

She'd be getting on that shuttle. Because whatever else could be said about her, she was Vulcan and it was the logical thing to do.

"The shuttle leaves in an hour…"

"I will not be on it." T'Pol interrupted. "That would not be logical."

Trip…took a second to recover himself. Because…

"That actually would be the logical thing…"

"It would not."

Trip cleared his throat.

"T'Pol." He said, reasserting himself. "We've got two very fine Tactical officers already and this fight doesn't need an intelligence officer…"

"That is irrelevant." She countered. "You are my t'hy'la and I am able to touch your katra. And you mine. It would not be logical to abandon you."

"You can find another t'hy'la. In fact, I'm sure you'll have no trouble…"

"Also irrelevant. If you were something so easily dismissed and replaced, you would not be my t'hy'la. It is obvious you do not understand the nature of this relationship and it is unfortunate we have not had the opportunity to discuss that in detail yet. But while I understand your intentions, they are misguided, Trip."

"T'Pol," He said, more firmly now. Brooking no further argument. "You're getting on that shuttle. If I have to…"

"I am not leaving." She said, dismissively. "And this discussion no longer serves a purpose. I have another matter that is relevant to discuss with you, however."

"Well, we're not finished discussing this just yet."

"That conversation has already ended. And this matter is actually relevant. But if you are unable to participate in making the decision I intend to discuss with you, then I am prepared to make it for both of us on my own."

Trip took a deep breath. Again.

Stalling for a little time because…

…well, yeah. Whatever else you could say about T'Pol, she was female. So maybe he'd been a little overconfident in his ability to win an argument with her so easily.

And…she was Vulcan. So…maybe at all.

"Look." He said, giving it one more try. Because you never know.

She ignored that, talking right over him.

"Captain Archer asked for my assessment of you as Captain of this vessel." She said.

Which…

Huh? What the hell did that have to do with…?

"As part of that, I mentioned that you are too willing to embrace self-sacrifice." She continued. "That was a matter of some concern to me then. All the more now, considering what I have learned."

She paused there.

And Trip frowned.

Because he didn't want to ask. And because he knew damned well she'd said that entirely to force him to. Which would effectively surrender that other argument he was still trying to have and concede to this one.

"What do you mean, 'what you've learned'?" He asked, despite himself. "What have you learned?"

"That it is possible for us to bond." She said. "Not only possible but perhaps likely enough to justify attempting that."

And damn.

Now he had about ten different questions that needed answers.

He hadn't exactly had time to read up on Vulcans like he'd meant to, so he had no idea what she was talking about.

And because he was Trip, he had to know what she was talking about. His curiosity had just been challenged on a subject he already found impossibly compelling.

The subject of T'Pol.

He took another deep breath. Steeling himself.

"Fine." He said. "But we're talking about the shuttle thing before we're done here."

"We do not have the luxury of discussing the irrelevant." T'Pol dismissed.

"I think it's…"

"I have mentioned mating bonds in passing." She said, talking over him again. "Were you able to intuit the general concept?"

"I…guess. I don't know exactly. Look…"

"It is a complicated subject, with many details I'm sure you will find fascinating. But the most relevant point being that it is a mating bond. Essentially the Vulcan equivalent of Human marriage."

"Well…okay. But what's that got to do with…?"

"The possibility exists for us." She said, as if it should have been obvious. "It is something we should discuss."

Trip had his mouth open to keep going with the whole getting back to the original argument thing…

But, yes, that threw all that right out the window.

"Wait." He said, throwing up his one hand to stop her from spinning him around for just a second, thank you very much. "You're talking about getting married?"

"Essentially." She said. "Although, as I indicated before, mate bonding is only the Vulcan equivalent…"

"T'Pol…is this the right time for this talk?" Trip said, surprised. "I mean, I don't mind talking about it and all but…this isn't really the time…"

"It is the time." She insisted. "Because you're tendency to embrace self-sacrifice has impacted your command decisions. And those decisions impact even the possibility of pursuing a mating bond. We discussed the conditions under which intimate sexual behavior can be expected to reoccur during our conversation in sickbay, but I failed to take the opportunity to properly delineate those conditions."

Okay…what?

Seriously, what?

"T'Pol…I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I am talking about the fact that pursuing a mating bond is the logical course for us to take." She said. "But that requires up to a year to achieve success, assuming we succeed. That in turn requires surviving the assault on the Romulan fleet."

"Which makes this whole confusing argument you're throwing at me so I don't make you get on the shuttle completely pointless, T'Pol. Because we're not going to survive the assault on the Romulan fleet. So let's get back to talking about how you're going to get on that shuttle."

"I will stay to ensure we survive." T'Pol insisted. "Because you have failed to see the logic of survival."

"I don't have a problem with survival…"

"You do. Your religious beliefs indicate that you will achieve eternal paradise when you die. Consequently, you do not respect the prospect of death and your decisions, as in this case, are impacted by that."

"I'm as scared of dying as anyone else. And this still doesn't have anything to do with…"

"Perhaps you fear dying. But you do not fear death. And so you are comfortable expending your life in the attempt to destroy the Romulan fleet. But this has an impact on both of us. Not just individually, but both of us together. So what I require of you is that you respect that and resolve to work together with me to ensure we survive this assault."

Trip…frowned. Deeply and with some confusion.

There was a damned point she was trying to make here. And it was a big one. He just had no idea what the hell it was…

"Allow me to attempt to put this in perspective for you, t'hy'la." She said. Speaking gently now, rather than arguing.

So he sighed. And paid attention.

Because you never know. Maybe she'd make some damned sense.

"You were willing to give your life so that Lynn might live." She said. "Just as you are willing to give your life now so that billions of others might live. That is noble and it is good. But you have forgotten something equally as important, Trip. You have forgotten there are others that you must live for."

Oh.

He got it.

And, of course. But…

"I can't, T'Pol." He said. And he said it sadly, because it was indeed a sad and terrible thing. "We can't survive this."

"It is possible." T'Pol insisted.

"Well, sure. Anything is possible. It's just not very likely at all."

"But you must make the attempt. Because it is possible. And the bond that you and I could bring into being requires it."

He shook his head.

"T'Pol…I'm only Human. You're just asking too much of me."

"I am asking too much of you, yes. But we are not one person. We are two. And together we can become greater than the sum of both of us. So together we can do what is possible but not likely. All I ask is that you embrace that."

Right. Okay. Got it.

"So you're just asking that I try to get us out of this alive." He said, to be sure he was following along.

"At the most basic level. But also reminding you that the relationship we share carries an implicit duty to do so. And, additionally, I am establishing the point beyond argument that I intend to do my duty in this regard as well. So I will not be boarding the shuttle."

Trip stared for a bit.

So, yeah. He'd lost that original argument way back before it even started. Despite being so sure the complete opposite was true. And he'd apparently lost this argument, too. Without being completely sure what the heck it was even about.

He took another deep breath.

"Are you sure we aren't already married?" He asked. "Or bonded, or whatever? Because you're driving me crazy here, T'Pol. Kinda like I suspect only a wife could a guy."

"Not as yet." T'Pol said, easily. "But there is hope yet."

"And all I have to do is take out twenty-four Birds of Prey and eight Warbirds."

"Or at least survive the attempt, yes."

Trip considered that for a moment.

And...

Actually...

That was a pretty sweet deal, wasn't it?

So...

"Okay, fine." He said, smirking. "Consider it done."