"Hey, Trip! You're looking great!"

The words were automatic. Privately Hoshi was appalled, and it took all her self-control to keep the smile pinned on her face as Trip slid into the seat opposite her.

Far from looking better for the weeks of shore leave, he looked worse. He was always a casual dresser off duty, but now he looked positively sloppy. True, he'd made an effort to comb his hair and have a shave, even if neither of these had been particularly successful. But worse than any of these things, he looked drawn and exhausted. For sure he'd lost weight.

The inevitable waitress materialized and he ordered coffee and pancakes. As soon as a furtive glance around told him nobody was taking any notice of them, he pulled out a piece of notepaper from his pocket and pushed it across the table to her.

My phone is bugged, said a penciled scrawl across the top of it. I can't talk. But I have to get in touch with T'Pol. Urgently. Not through Starfleet comms.

"So how were your family?" she asked, taking the stub of a pencil he also passed across. "I guess it's still pretty awful around there."

"I haven't been back yet." His voice was flat. "I went to Vulcan with T'Pol. She got married. Then I came home. I've just been hangin' around since then. Sooner or later I'll go back to the ship, they'll need every hand they can get with the repairs." He went on detailing what needed to be done, non-sensitive stuff that provided a cover for the scribbling while she tried to fit into her world-view the fact that their XO had taken the guy who was heels over head in love with her to watch while she got married to someone else.

There had been something once about a betrothal, but it had never come to anything back then. Presumably it had been felt that T'Pol's return to Vulcan had provided a useful opportunity that might as well be taken advantage of.

Jeez, no wonder Trip looked like he'd been rolled over by a cargo loader.

I'll send you an encryption program for your PADD, she wrote. We can talk that way. What's going on?

I have no idea. I had some guy turn up at my hotel room and tell me to contact her. I have no idea who he was. I didn't even see him.

Have you contacted the captain?

I've tried. Not getting any answer.

How about Malcolm?

In England. And he's not answering his cellphone either.

She bit her lip. That was bad news; there were those who'd draw a line of total demarcation between their professional and personal lives – as in 'on leave' means 'don't even think about trying to contact me because I won't respond' – but Malcolm sure as hell wasn't one of them. He and Trip weren't just brother officers, they were best friends.

Admiral Forrest?

That's a last resort.

We may have to come to that. She paused. I'll try to get in touch with T'Pol when I get back. But first I'll get the encryption program set up and send it to you. Run any messages I send through it.

Thanks, Hoshi. Be careful.

You too.

"So enough already about the repairs. You plannin' on hangin' out with anybody while you're livin' it up in your hideaway?"

"There are always possibilities." Hoshi gave him a roguish twinkle. "I'm in Sonoma for the wine tasting, but you never know, I may find some local dialects to study as well – that usually pays off."

"You're a mean, evil woman, you know that?" The coffee and pancakes had arrived while they were talking and Hoshi, currently in possession of the paper at that moment, had hidden it under one arm as soon as she saw the waitress approaching. Now Trip poured maple syrup over the top of the stack of pancakes and pointed the spoon at her sternly. "'Mockin' the afflicted', that's what Malcolm'd call it."

"The only two out of the whole complement who got shore leave to come back in just their blues." She took a sip of her own coffee and grinned at him over the rim, though she didn't much feel like grinning just then. "I'd say I hoped you'd enjoyed the party, but I've always had the feeling it wasn't that much of a party."

"You got that right," he said with deep feeling.

She put a hand out across the table and touched his arm. "I'm sorry. Look, I'm so glad you got in touch. I didn't think you would, to be honest. Even after I made you promise."

He was quick on the uptake. His free hand covered hers, and she felt the slight tremor in it. His blue gaze was intense. "You're one of the best friends I have, Hoshi. I – I should have called you before now. It's – it's just been hard, you know? Lizzie, and then Jane Taylor, and… and then things kinda got out of hand."

"That's what friends are here for, Trip. Have you called Malcolm too?"

"I tried a coupla times. He must be hikin' over one of those damn fells he keeps goin' on about. Where you don't see man nor beast from one end of the day to the other an' there's no phone signal half the time."

"Yes. That's his idea of heaven." They shared a worried look. Possibly Malcolm was fell-hiking, but it would be unlike him to do so without sending at least Trip a brief note to say he'd be unavailable for so many days. Even on shore leave he was mercilessly practical about things like that. And thoughtful, so that others wouldn't worry if they couldn't get a hold of him.

Continuing to dwell on the subject would be a giveaway. Hoshi released his arm with a comforting squeeze and then deftly turned the subject to her visit home to Japan and what her family had had to say when they got her back. Though her status as another of the 'Heroes of the Expanse' had meant that her arrival at Tokyo had been a media circus and it had been the best part of a day before she'd actually gotten two minutes in private with her loved ones.

"They weren't keen on me coming back here, to be honest," she finished ruefully, taking another mouthful of coffee (it was rather cold by now, but still drinkable). "I think Mother thinks it's time I settled down and started a family instead of exploring the galaxy."

"First find someone you want to settle down with. Sometimes that's easier said than done. An' sometimes you don't find them till it's too late." He rubbed a hand across his eyes, and her heart contracted in sympathy.

"Oh, they have my bridegroom lined up. The son of Father's business partner. Good looking, fabulously rich … I'd have it all. He'd even let me carry on teaching, if that's what I want." She made the note of irony a heavy one. From various conversations in the past Trip undoubtedly knew her family were deeply traditional, and the prospective bridegroom was apparently cast in the same mold. It didn't quite seem to have occurred to any of them that a woman no longer needed 'permission' from anyone to follow whatever career she wanted to, married or not.

"Just make sure they don't marry you to a conceited asshole." The venom in his voice startled her back to the present.

"I won't, don't worry." She patted his hand, blinking back a stray tear. "Can I have one of those pancakes before you eat them all?"

"Oh… sorry. Help yourself." He pushed the plate across to her. "Guess I just assumed you'd eaten before I got here. You can use the spoon from your coffee… Want some more syrup?"

"I had a big lunch. I don't really need anything right now, it's just the smell's heavenly. I shouldn't have more than one or it'll go straight to my waistline. Actually I probably shouldn't even have one."

"Like you need to worry. Hell, I've seen more fat on a greasy fry."

She popped a piece into her mouth, but refused any syrup. The smell hadn't lied; it did taste heavenly.

"I can't stay too long. The next bus is in about fifteen minutes."

"You came on public transport?"

He grinned tiredly. "Not exactly legal to drive right now."

Her worry increased another notch; she'd heard the slight slur in his voice but put it down to exhaustion. Trip had always been able to control his drinking, but if he was too drunk to drive that meant he'd been hitting the bottle even this morning.

"Will you be okay?"

"Sure. 'Less they think to take my boots off, I got nothing a mugger would want." He emptied his pockets on the table, revealing his worn old cellphone, a clear plastic case with a few tiny tools in it, a cheap lighter, the pencil-stub, a crumpled bus ticket and a few low-value coins. "My worldly goods, right there."

"You'll be better when you're back on Enterprise," she said softly.

"Yeah. That's what I keep tellin' myself." He scooped the stuff back into his pockets, drained the last of his coffee and stood up. "Well, nice seein' you again, Hoshi. Thanks for comin'. I'll keep in touch."

"Do. You know you promised."

"An' a Tucker always keeps his promises." If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought his smile was genuine.

She watched out of the window as he walked out of the diner and crossed the flitter park to the road. Just before he reached the bus stop he paused and took something from his sleeve. In the gathering dusk she saw the flare as the paper with their secret conversation on it was set alight, and he dropped it to the pavement and let it burn before crushing what was left of it to ashes with the sole of his boot.

He didn't look back as he waited for the bus, nor as he got on it.

Maybe he just forgot to.