Season Six

by EnlightenedSkye

The crews of the Enterprise and the Maelstrom adapt to ever-changing circumstances as the Romulan War rages on. [January 2157 to March 2160. 25 episodes. Fully episodic, so each chapter is a stand-alone story. ATP, Troshi, Malcolm/OC, P/C. Rated T throughout. Direct sequel to Season Five. Complete. Season Seven coming soon]

25. Episode 25: For the Ages

A/N: Welcome back and thanks for the love! Don't own them, don't make money from them. Whether you've read the whole thing or skipped around, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming along for the ride. Again, we're ending with a wedding, like any good Shakespearean comedy. No action here, just fluff.

If you're wondering about Trip and Malcolm's conversation, they're referencing E5.9: The Arena. Still one of my favorite cold opens of this series.

A sampling of plotlines from our victory lap season: the downfall of Harris and Pascal, a resurgence of Terra Prime, some Xindi political drama, a Carbon Creek -style Soval origin story, five episodes set in the future, another two days and two nights on Risa, IME conferences, the founding of the Federation, Lyssarian desert larva, In A Mirror Darkly Parts III and IV, and so very much more. Season Seven premieres next week. It's 25 episodes set between March 2160 and January 2162.

Next time: we make our brave return to planet-of-the-week storylines.

Season Six

Episode Twenty-Five: For the Ages

Commodore's log, January 14th, 2160: After a week of negotiations, the Coalition of Planets and the Romulan Star Empire have arrived at an agreement that we believe will satisfy both sides. The second it's signed, I'm looking forward to getting the hell out of here.

---

Mere minutes before the wardroom of the Enterprise was flooded with flag officers, Dita lingered around the center table, placing PADDs all around.

The daily routine of a communications officer was a busy one, and over the course of the war, hers had mostly been consumed by delivering damage reports, death notices, and dear John letters, with little reprieve. It was all too easy to feel hopeless, but due to the extraordinary bravery of the fleet (and just a little bit of luck) some light was starting to seep in. Over the past week, various government officials from across the Coalition had been negotiating an armistice with the enemy, culminating in an official agreement that she now carried in her hands.

The Neutral Zone Treaty. It even rolled off the tongue quite nicely.

Of course, their victory hadn't come without a devastating cost - Travis Mayweather was dead, having driven the Maelstrom into the Romulan fleet to incapacitate them. The ensuing explosion nearly wiping them out entirely, but he had left his crew and loved ones to pick up the pieces.

Dita had the distinct honor of sending condolence letters along to the Horizon. She'd poured her heart out in her own note, telling them how she knew exactly what it was like to lose a loved one, how Travis was a brave and brilliant officer who gave his all to the service, how deeply he would be missed. But it wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

She could see Commander Hammond lingering around the back of the room with Captain Tucker, simultaneously harried and emotionless. Every crewmember from the Maelstrom had been extracted from lifeboats save for one, and since then, they'd been scattered among the NX vessels for temporary lodging ahead of their return to Sol. She'd fielded many calls from admirals inquiring into specific officers, so she knew transfers were coming, but to have their family shattered so irrevocably must have stung, and she saw it written all over her face.

Commodore Archer was suddenly there at her side, and she was so taken aback that she very nearly jumped out of her skin. He apologized, and she pressed a hand against her sternum, inhaling slowly.

"Heard anything from the other NXs?"

"Al-Shahrani submitted another formal complaint to Admiral Gardner, something about leading a charge to Romulus and finishing the job."

"So he went over my head after all, huh?" Dita had no idea how to respond, so she stayed silent. Based on his former interactions with the Reeds, Jon knew that the CO of the NX-04 Phoenix had long since been in league with the Section. Their motivations were both audacious and horribly transparent. "The one thing he's not considering is that the Romulans are a proud people, and…"

"If we go back to their homeworld, it's just going to stir the pot."

"Exactly, Ensign. Besides, he's running out of time. Another hour, and we'll…" He trailed off, spotting a flash of movement by the door. "Excuse me."

Jon was halfway across the room before the object of his attention even noticed he was there. Malcolm turned to him, hands held up in surrender. "We're not on duty, sir. Just observing."

He frowned, not entirely convinced, and Alira emerged, cradling a small bundle in her arms. They were both in their civvies, she in a loose fitting dress that hung around her knees, her socked feet tucked into a pair of cozy-looking slippers. The two of them were only one week into a three month course of mandated parental leave. To facilitate this, Jon had the clearance codes in the armory changed, but twice already he'd seen their read receipts on a report, and he had to restrain the urge to remind them that they were supposed to be spending time with their newborn daughter.

"We'll just sit in the back," Alira assured him, tilting her head towards the cluster of communications officers milling about, PADDs held at the ready. "One day when they review recent Earth history at the Academy, she'll be able to tell everyone that she was present for the signing of the Neutral Zone Treaty of 2160."

That much was understandable. It was a significant event, and Jon felt grateful that he'd been able to contribute. Now, the only thing that stood between him and marrying his bondmate was several hours of readings and signatures...and a two month journey home.

"The Academy, huh? Are you so confident that Miri is going to wind up with Starfleet?" The institution in question hadn't even been founded yet, though Trip, Hoshi, and a majority of the Maelstrom senior staff would be involved in administrative and teaching capacities. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't going to miss them, but then again, he knew that nothing stayed the same for very long, and that their lives were all about to change for the better.

"Maybe not," she acquiesced. "Assuming they'll have her, she could also commission with the Infantry."

That lilting tone to her voice told him she was mostly kidding, but in that next moment, Hoshi caught her attention from across the room. She nodded towards them and broke free, setting an intercept course to allow her best friend to lavish attention on her goddaughter.

There was a beat of silence, then Jon dropped a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"I've never been more tired in my life," he admitted, blinking slowly. It was then he noticed his slumped posture, the heavy bags underneath his eyes.

"What about when you and Trip were trying to get the phase cannons installed? The two of you didn't sleep for three whole days."

"No, sir," he interjected, his expression perfectly impassive. "Not even then."

He supposed that was par for the course. Behind him, the doors opened and the representatives from the Andorian contingent began to stream in, followed by the Denobulans and the Kriosians. Jon returned to the head of the table, where he found the other species' delegates waiting.

By request, the enemy was kept audio only, muted for now. It occurred to him then that perhaps with the exception of Pascal, no one in the Coalition had ever seen a Romulan face to face without their masks.

Four long years. How could they not have seen them?

"Audio checks," Dita said, shouldering up next to him. "Prime Minister Samuels, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Enterprise," he replied instantly, and in the narrow viewscreen, he was treated to a view of the conference room overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"Good. High Command, you're next."

Leaving final preparations in Ensign Singh's capable hands, he took his seat next to T'Pol, who was sitting so still he knew that she was mentally very far away. Her fingers teased his underneath the table before intertwining, and though they'd never been so bold or so affectionate in public, he gratefully reciprocated her touch.

"Hall of State, do you read?" Dita paused, and all that filled the overhead speakers was loud, unbearable static. For a minute, he was convinced the Romulans were about to back out on their deal, but at long last, a deep, booming voice came on over the intercom.

"Greetings, Coalition representatives. I am Admiral D'Trex."

In all their negotiations over the past week, they had never once heard from this gentleman. T'Pol leaned into the center speaker. "You honor us with your presence. Will your predecessor be joining us?"

"Valdore is indisposed," he ground out, and none of them could find it within themselves to question that. "Let us begin with the territorial accords."

As the hours stretched on, every delegate took their turn reading various sections aloud, each detailing a part of the larger picture, explaining in no uncertain terms that the age of interaction between the Coalition and the Romulans was over. Effective immediately, a neutral zone would be established, constituting a narrow strip of no man's land stretching hundreds of light years, from Archer IV and the fringes of the Typhon Expanse to Klingon territory and the glaciers of Kazis IX. Incursions from either side would be seen as a hostile action and an immediate declaration of war. Both sides were to build listening posts at strategic locations to ensure compliance. The Enterprise's science brigade pulled multiple all-nighters to prepare their plan, showing how ships heading for the scrapyard could be retrofitted into working space stations. This seemed to satisfy the Romulans, who additionally agreed to return all of the High Command vessels they'd stolen, fully gutted with no questions asked.

As they spoke, transports were headed towards the border with any remaining prisoners of war, and a Tellarite cruiser was waiting to accept them. There was an hour-long pause where they waited to make sure said ship had exited the Neutral Zone, and then the arduous approval process began, consisting of several hundred signatories spread across hundreds of light years.

But eventually, it was done, and Jon was overwhelmed with relief. T'Pol nudged him, and he stood automatically, surveying the room. The tension was almost palpable - his own crew had held off on celebrating until there was something in writing, but he could already anticipate the debauchery that was about to consume the mess hall that evening, to which he was determined to turn a blind eye.

"Thank you for your time," he said, though it struck him just how foolish it was to thank the Romulans for anything.

"Our time together has come to an end," D'Trex declared somewhat climatically. "May our people never cross paths again."

The connection closed, and then one by one, the remote delegations signed off. Once Dita was sure all comm links were severed, she leaned heavily into the console, then pointed up at them without looking.

Deafening cheers erupted, resulting in a ripple effect that consumed the deck, the ship, and the entire Coalition fleet, echoing across the quadrant and into eternity.

---

TWO MONTHS LATER…

---

"Alright, lesson number one."

Malcolm activated the computer display on his desktop, then turned and reached down into the rocker at his feet. His daughter was bright-eyed and alert, in the middle of one of her elusive wake windows, and he was all too eager to take advantage of a golden opportunity.

Miri cooed as he lifted her into his arms, and he couldn't help but drop a kiss into her hair, angling his elbow so she could see the screen.

"Now, pay attention, little one. There's going to be an exam after this." She waved her mittened fists in the air, as if she understood. "This is Earth, where I'm from. I grew up in a place called England."

He zoomed in again, indicating a tiny village on the ocean. "Here, in Cornwall." Another click. "This is San Francisco. Starfleet flies all kinds of ships out of there."

She began to wiggle around excitedly, and he smiled down at her. "Your mum is from Denobula, specifically the capital district. We met here, at the Supreme Council chambers."

It was an old picture, not yet updated to show the devastation brought down upon it by the eponymous battle the year before. Now, his wife had no home to return to, and though she insisted she only ever needed the crew and their little family, he knew it weighed heavily on her soul.

"She went through a lot to bring you into this world, did you know that?" Malcolm looked down at his daughter, her sweet smile and impossibly blue eyes, and felt another surge of affection clench his heart. "We'll be sure to tell you the story someday."

Over the past eight weeks, he liked to think they'd settled into somewhat of a routine, but truthfully, they were still just as clueless as they'd ever been. He'd read countless volumes about parenting, but nothing could've prepared him for the first time they returned to their quarters, fully responsible for another life. They were terrified they'd accidentally hurt her in some way, even though Phlox assured them they were plenty meticulous. The first time Miri slept through the night, they both lingered at the nursery door, wondering if she was sick or if they should wake her up at all. While he shuddered to think how difficult it would be once their leave elapsed, he was definitely enjoying the ability to bond with their little girl. Malcolm had never once pictured himself as a father before he found out they were expecting, but then again, he never thought he'd settle down before he met Alira.

The chime sounded, and he swiveled around in his chair to face the closed hatch, calling out his welcome. There was a second of pause, then Captain Tucker appeared in the doorway, sporting two bottles of beer and mischievous smile on his face.

"Trip, it's the middle of the afternoon."

"On a Thursday," he corrected him, gesturing at the stars streaking past them in the window. "We'll be arriving in about sixteen hours. The way I see it, this is the last chance to have our weekly catch ups in person." The bottles came down on the desk, and he reached out to tap the end of Miri's nose. "At ease, cadet."

Malcolm frowned at the use of her other nickname, the one that had been so easily adopted by the senior staff. Still, he would be remiss not to acknowledge that their tradition had lapsed somewhat over the past few years, especially as the war heated up. Bracing Miri in the crook of his elbow, he retrieved his beer and held it out, accepting the bottle opener that came his way. They toasted, then each took a massive gulp, setting them down on the table in unison.

"I saw your message," he said, in a manner which he hoped conveyed that he was deeply sorry for not responding sooner. Someone had been rather fussy that morning, and they'd been trying everything they could think of to calm her down. "I'm afraid I'm a little confused."

"What's there to not understand?"

"Well...what exactly do you mean by you aren't sure if you proposed to her or not?"

Trip sighed wearily. "Well, we were in the cargo bay - this was just after the Battle of Sol, I was in there paying my respects to Kelby - and we were talking about the will, and Natalie naming me Katie's godfather before she died, how I wanted to stay planetside, how we both had offers to teach at Starfleet Academy…"

"Go on."

"Well I said are we really doing this and she said yes about a hundred times and then we were hugging it out."

"So you didn't give her the ring?"

"Still haven't." He dragged his hand down the planes of his face. "The timing just wasn't right."

"Then it doesn't count," Malcolm concluded, momentarily taken in by his stricken expression. Redirecting, he tried a different approach: "Are you not sure about this? The two of you have been together for almost five years now, serving together for nearly ten. You'll be working in the same building, raising a child together…"

Trip threw his hands up in the air with exasperation. "I don't want to blow it, Mal. I keep thinking I should try a big romantic gesture, but part of me just wants to go to the courthouse."

"Your parents wouldn't like that."

"No they wouldn't," he agreed. For the past year or so, his mom had been pestering him about welcoming Hoshi into the family. He'd just told her soon, and went back to the drawing board, filling page after page on his PADD with proposal ideas. It was all so overwhelming that he had to get away and seek distraction wherever he could get it. Now, he turned his attention to the little girl in his best friend's arms. "Her hair's still sticking straight up, you know."

"That's a Denobulan thing. Another few months, and it'll start curling up just like her mum's." He patted her belly affectionately, and she whimpered, indicating a storm was brewing. He reached around and retrieved the bottle Alira had left them, cutting that off before it could lapse into a tantrum. "I think you're deflecting."

"I most certainly am not."

"Wasn't it just a few years ago we were having this conversation with the roles reversed?" That wasn't the complete truth - their confrontation had mostly been about his reluctance to bring Alira home with him for Christmas. In the moment, he'd been furious at Trip, but now he could only be grateful that he'd put him in his place...and gotten his PADD stuck in the toilet in the process.

"Whatever happened to that guy, anyway? The one who only cared about duty and efficiency and blowing things up…"

"He's still here," he assured him. "That's just not the only part of my life anymore."

There was a moment of silence as he took that in, knowing it to be true, knowing that they'd fundamentally changed since their first meeting ahead of their mission to Qo'noS. For one thing, they were a little older, with gray hair and wrinkles starting to settle in, but they were also more worldly and experienced, with the kind of confidence that only getting kicked in the teeth by the universe time and time again could afford. Malcolm was right - before he even hatched up this idea about an elaborate proposal, he knew exactly what Hoshi's answer would be. All he had to do was commit to it.

"Where's your better half, anyway?"

"Probably with yours, helping plan the Archer wedding," Malcolm said. "Phlox says it's a good idea for us to take breaks. I'll be going for a run when she gets back."

"Did you ever figure the two of them would get together?"

"Can't say that I did." In the early days, he'd been too concerned with work to notice such things.

"I think I knew when she walked into his ready room on that first day," he acknowledged, and finally admitting that took a massive weight off his shoulders. Trip had long since made his peace with T'Pol, but he hated to think they'd wasted time when the two people they were meant to be with had been there all along. "He was being downright nasty to her, and she was sassing him right back. I swear, I've never seen two people so naturally complement each other in my life."

Save for him and Hoshi, of course.

"To the Archers," Malcolm said at last, offering his beer for another toast. "You know, I haven't seen Commander Hammond much in the past few months."

Now that was a sensitive subject, and Malcolm damn well knew it. Jules had been one of the few crewmen from the Maelstrom to luck out and secure her own quarters for the duration of their return to Earth, and had mostly been holed up inside, even refusing offers for dinnertime company. He knew she was still hung up about Travis - hell, they all were - but every time he offered to commiserate, she politely refused. The same went for the surviving members of their senior staff.

"I don't think she wants to talk about it."

"She will when she's ready."

Trip wasn't so sure. "Look, I told the brass my decision to abandon ship was all about preserving our advantage, to keep the crew alive…"

"Which was the truth."

"It wasn't the entire truth. Honestly, I kept thinking about how I needed to live for Katie. I'm all she's got in the world. What would it say about me if I tried to play the hero and went out in a blaze of glory and left her alone?"

Malcolm nodded, barely suppressing his smile. Now you know what it's like to be a parent, he wanted to say, but knew such platitudes were the furthest thing from appropriate. "I'm sure she doesn't blame you. After all, you had no way of knowing what Travis was thinking."

He didn't look convinced.

"Look, you don't have to play therapist with anyone. Just wait for her to come to you. Your job is to push through this."

"You see, that's where you're wrong." Trip finished off his beer in one decisive swig. "My job is to pretend like nothing ever happened."

---

"Penny for your thoughts."

The intrusion was so abrupt that Liz couldn't help but startle, nearly falling out of her chair in the process.

Instantly, she felt her husband's hand on the small of her back, holding her steady, keeping her secure. She smiled up at him, stealing a glance at those forehead ridges and big blue eyes she loved so much, then swiveled all the way around to face her conversational partner, who was balanced between the science and communications consoles as if he owned the place.

"Remember the first time we came home on leave back in the old days, how I said that Earth had never looked so beautiful?"

Novakovich looked confused, but nodded.

"I was wrong," she concluded, just as Enterprise dropped out of warp past Mars, finding themselves surrounded by escorts.

Unless you counted the Battle of Sol (which she didn't), none of them had been home for the better part of four years, and while she certainly dreaded the mountain of debriefings awaiting them at HQ, for the moment, she wanted nothing more than to have two feet on solid ground.

"You haven't seen it yet."

"I know that," she admitted, craning her neck to get a good view of the situation room. Ethan wasn't the only member of the Maelstrom senior staff to have wandered up from guest quarters - they were all there, even though they hadn't much to do over the past two months but help with routine maintenance. Still, they'd pulled out all the stops in their dress uniforms, spit and polished and ready for the welcome of the century. "Don't tell me you're excited to get chained to a desk, Ethan."

He sighed wearily. "It's only temporary, at least until Jules gets her own command. They've got me teaching a few biology courses and advanced botany."

"You're going to make me jealous."

"Nothing's saying that you can't join the faculty as well," he reminded her, knowing the original contingent of the Enterprise would be well represented during the inaugural year of Starfleet Academy. He'd received an offer to continue his research on some far-flung allied world, but following innumerable battles and Travis's death and damn near everything else, he was looking forward to the exact opposite of excitement for a good long while. "Both of you could."

"We're staying," Phlox declared with an impressive amount of confidence, as if they hadn't just come to that conclusion the night before. As with most decisions they were tasked with making as a couple, they drew out the pros and cons, and despite her best efforts, Liz just couldn't tilt the scales in the direction of remaining aboard Enterprise fast enough. Finally, she'd broken down and explained to him exactly what had happened with Anna and those three mysterious interlopers from the future, and laid down the law that they absolutely, positively had to be there to watch Miri grow up.

Fortunately, he hadn't taken issue with that at all.

"Glad to hear it," Ethan teased, just as the viewscreen exploded behind him, filled with thousands of multicolored fireworks. Over by the comm, Hoshi clasped her hands together and leaned in, just far enough to where she could see the light dancing in her eyes. "I'm sure the doctor would've gotten his pick of the science wing. I have my heart set on the corner office."

"Phlox isn't the one you have to worry about," she promised him. As one, they glanced back towards the tactical station, where Yuris was exchanging furtive words with Ensign Nguyen. The news had come as a shock to them all, because the Maelstrom's doctor had always seemed like a quiet observer, not particularly attached to anything going on around him. Now, he was set to become the third Vulcan ever to commission, not to mention the first non-human chair of Starfleet Medical.

Jimmy wasn't going to be teaching, but rather serving as some sort of official liaison between Starfleet Security and Intelligence, working on strategy or troop movement or something like that. The details were fuzzy, but all she knew was that Alira had fought tooth and nail to get him that offer, in between powering through her postpartum recovery and raising the most adorable little girl she'd ever seen in her life.

She could see her now, lingering behind the conn, one hand resting on the railing and the other on the back of the baby harness she'd strapped to the front of her dress uniform. From this angle, the top of Miri's head was barely visible, and she kept dipping down to kiss it in a way that made it clear she was presently dead to the world. Liz had the distinct impression that would change the second they stepped onto solid ground and were surrounded by thunderous applause.

"Excuse me," Ethan said under his breath, and then he was gone, perhaps to talk some sense into the good doctor. She realized she'd been zoning out, and snapped back to attention just as they coasted past the moon with the entirety of their invasion fleet in tow.

To the far corner of the screen, the Boadicea started to outpace them, and Archer chuckled, telling Hutch to speed them up a little. He obeyed, and they were the first to drop to quarter impulse, making an abrupt about face and bringing the enormous green and blue sphere of their homeworld into view.

Truthfully, Liz didn't expect to get misty-eyed, though with one glance at the rest of the senior staff, she confirmed she wasn't alone. Earth was broken and scarred and still smoldering in places from nuclear attacks, but it was still there, and that was all that mattered.

"Stationmaster at dry dock is hailing us, ma'am," Dita called out, pausing to clear the lump from her throat. "Repair crews are asking permission to come aboard."

T'Pol nodded, rising from her chair with catlike grace. "Tell them that permission is granted. I stand relieved."

As they all did, for the next month at least, maybe more. So very many of their colleagues were going home, but she and Phlox would be hitting the road.

Together, they would drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, taking in every national park, wildlife refuge, and tourist trap along the way. They would leave their communicators behind and just live and breathe, in a way they hadn't done since they heard the words Xindi and Babel and Romulus.

"Docking sequence is complete," Hutch said, slowing them to an all-stop at the very instant the upper pylons came into contact with their hull. Already, transport requests were starting to light up across her console, and if it were possible, she could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her.

"Who's first?"

---

Trip could hear the thunderous applause over the sound of the thrusters powering down, even through the bulkheads.

He'd opted to go down in a shuttlepod - though he'd checked the transporter himself, evaluating every last circuit and subroutine, the Reeds hadn't been too sure about having their newborn's atoms scattered and rematerialized, and for that, he couldn't blame them. Jon was babbling excitedly, pointing out the boats in the bay, the crowded sidewalks, and the parade winding down the streets of San Francisco. T'Pol seemed to take all of this in stride, and in turn, Hoshi seemed to faintly vibrate with excitement, holding onto the upper railing for dear life.

At last they touched down on the green space just inside the gates of headquarters, and he could see that the narrow viewscreen was crowded with all means of faces, human and non-human, commissioned and civilian, all shouting for them at the top of their lungs. Jon seemed to hesitate before engaging the hatch, but once the door was open and the sunlight hit his face, he forgot his every last worry, held his arms out wide, and inhaled the fresh air.

The crews of the Enterprise and the Maelstrom were already dispersed throughout the crowd, embracing their family, some bawling their eyes out, some laughing for joy. Admiral Gardner and Prime Minister Samuels were waiting for them surrounded by armed guard, but Hoshi streaked right past them, flying right into the arms of an older man and bursting into tears.

Trip would've recognized Mr. Sato from a kilometer away. Not only had the man called him six times in the same number of months demanding to know what his intentions were with his daughter, only the night before, he'd officially asked the most important question of his life, and felt all the more relieved to know his answer.

Somewhere a confetti cannon popped, and like a ripple, several dozen crewmen ducked and covered their heads. Instinctively, his pulse kicked up a notch, but he rapidly managed to get it under control, turning around just in time to discover Mirella had come out of her harness, that Malcolm was rocking her back and forth and speaking to her softly, something he couldn't quite hear. Her eyes were simply enormous, surprise and wonder evident, her fists flailing as tiny slips of colorful paper fell around them. From a distance, he caught a glimpse of Alira's tearful expression, and realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

While they were just now coming down to earth, his head and heart were still stuck in the clouds.

A familiar voice shook him out of his reverie, and before he knew it, he was laughing, taking one step and then two, gathering his father in a bear hug.

Charles Tucker Jr. - Charlie, to his friends - was the mirror image of his son in every regard, from his giant beaming smile to his sparkling eyes to his easy Southern drawl that could set anyone at ease. Trip felt himself relax into him, all the tension leaving his body in an instant. It wasn't unlike when he was small and found himself with a skinned knee, or when he took a beating from an older boy and came home after school in tears. He always knew what to say, and though he didn't know the half of what they'd experienced out there, he gave the distinct impression it didn't matter.

"What the hell were ya doing over here, boy? I was standing over there by Mr. Sato, waving like an idiot, making a damn fool of myself…"

He pulled back, horrified. "You two were catching up?"

"Of course we were." Charlie began to guide him into the crowd. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially: "Mrs. Sato, too. She told me all about your plan, you know."

"Dad, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was just…"

"Would you just relax?" Roughly, he slapped his back, then shook his head. "We love Hoshi, always have, ever since she came to visit that Christmas."

Four years ago now. To the surprise of absolutely no one, she had folded herself naturally into the Tucker clan, participating in their practical jokes and caroling and cookie decorating competitions, and even made nice with Natalie and the baby. Speaking of which…

"Did mom bring her?" It was an incredibly vague question, but he seemed to catch on. Charlie's expression turned dour, even severe.

"She's not great with crowds yet," he explained, which was understandable. Katie had been left alone in the bunker for hours after her mother died, wandering between the rows of cots and crying for help. It was a horrific trauma for a child to endure, and from the moment he'd heard that Natalie's will had been executed and he was now the legal guardian of her daughter, all he'd wanted to do was shield her from the horrors of the universe.

Just like he'd been unable to do with his friends. With his crew.

"We'll be down tomorrow once the Archers are married. We'll take her to the beach, and then back to San Francisco." Trip inhaled swiftly, surprised to find emotion lurking just below the surface. "You've got to see this place they've assigned us, dad. There's a community playground, and plenty of other families and kids..."

"She's going to love it," Charlie interrupted, as if to remind him where they were. All around them, the celebration continued, but he'd very nearly allowed himself to get swept up once again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could barely make out Jonathan and T'Pol whispering furtively with Samuels and Gardner, their expressions forcibly neutral. At some point, the former locked eyes with him and held up three fingers, and his heart sank.

So that was it. No speeches, no celebrations. Back to work as usual.

Unless…

"Think the Satos would be up to swinging by the 602?" He could only imagine the party raging there, and was planning on paying his respects to Ruby.

Charlie cut a sidelong glance at Hoshi and her parents, then nodded. "Well, son, you never know if you don't try."

He had no idea just how true that statement was.

---

"Don't look now, but I'm pretty sure that's your new helm officer."

Jon's gaze left the refreshment table and swiveled around, following Erika's outstretched hand. The main atrium of HQ was bustling with a who's who of Coalition dignitaries, all eager to shake hands and put a name to a face after so long only communicating over subspace. Sure enough, he spotted the woman in question in a cluster of Imperial Guardsmen.

The fact that she was the only Andorian wearing a Starfleet uniform made her stand out like a sore thumb.

"Sharatejal zh'Thorastra." Her full name rolled off her tongue incredibly easily, and Jonathan glanced back at his partner in crime, eyebrows raised in surprise. "You'll be calling her Ensign Tejal."

Her hair was stark white and close cropped around her delicate features, and her posture was strong and unwavering, the very paragon of a woman who didn't suffer fools lightly. It was then he realized that she reminded him of another member of his senior staff, one who had also become the first commissioned member of her species and was flourishing all the more for it.

He could see her now, standing in a huddle with her husband and her older brother, who just so happened to be the Denobulan ambassador to the United Earth Council. Their familial resemblance notwithstanding, Mareth also had a great deal in common with her in that he'd conned, stolen, and murdered to get to where he needed to be. Though Jon knew that Taxa's days as a contracted killer were long over, he still balked at the idea of having to keep an eye on another member of her family. Just because he was smiling and laughing now, cutting it up with the Reeds while he doted on his niece, didn't mean he could necessarily be trusted.

"Friend of yours?" Jon asked, suddenly snapping back to reality. Beside him, Erika shifted, taking another sip of her champagne.

"Not exactly," she confessed. "Gardner asked me to narrow down Shran's shortlist before sending it off to Hutch. Apparently, she's the best of the best."

Technically, several other Starfleet COs had also extolled her praise, one even referring to her as the Travis Mayweather of the Imperial Guard, a comparison which seemed quite insensitive given recent events.

Jon smiled, thinking about how reserved T'Pol had been at the beginning, and how she'd opened up over the years. Even though he anticipated Tejal being remarkably harder to get to know, he was more than up for the challenge, and knew the rest of his officers could say the same.

"Got any plans for leave?" A waiter swept past them, offering a drink. She extended her glass towards him, and he returned her overture of a toast, savoring the first sip as though it were his last.

She rolled her eyes - both knew their first order of business was his wedding to T'Pol. In the aftermath of the Hijacker attack on the Columbia, he'd asked her to officiate, and she'd agreed, under the condition that he allow her to prepare her remarks and have absolutely no say in the process.

"Actually, my first officer and I were planning to elope in Vegas over the weekend."

He inhaled swiftly, choking on his champagne, coughing and hacking all the way. More than a few eyes were drawn to them, and Erika slapped his back repeatedly with an open hand, as if she hadn't just given him the shock of a lifetime.

"Really? You and Commander Mbatha are taking the plunge?" A deep, shuddering inhale, coupled by feigned offense. "So soon after my wedding?"

"Come off it, Jon. He's been with me since the beginning, and even though this thing has only been going on officially for like a year…"

"Have you even met his parents?"

"I will eventually, about a week after the fact. Listen. I'm not getting any younger, and you're always telling me not to postpone joy…"

"I'm so happy for you," he concluded, looping an arm around her shoulder. Really, he was, and that was the honest truth. Just three years ago, she'd lost her lover in a fiery shuttlepod explosion of Pascal's design, and though he knew what they had so long ago could never be again, Archer had always held out hope that his oldest and dearest friend would find her better half.

Besides, in the realm of falling in love with one's first officer, he couldn't exactly judge.

Before she could respond, a bolt of realization shot up his spine, and he turned to find T'Pol standing between Gardner and Samuels, a storm of confliction raging in her mind. She didn't even look back at him, only turned on her heels and disappeared into the boardroom. Wordlessly, they abandoned their drinks and followed, not stopping until the other guests of honor had joined them and the doors slid shut behind them, trapping them in a sterile white room.

Here, the celebration outside was drowned out, either by deft soundproofing or the low whine of the impulse generator somewhere below their feet. Already, someone had cued up a map of the known cosmos on the screen inlaid within the table, scattering PADDs in a neat semicircle around it on two sides. Archer spared a quick glance around the room, noting the curious mixture of officers who had been summoned into Gardner's domain - namely, the inclusion of Trip and Julia surprised him, not to mention the Reeds and Commander Mbatha, who looked bewildered that he'd even been included at all.

"Please, take a seat." Prime Minister Samuels gestured towards a row of empty chairs, then rubbed his hands together, treating them to the same warm, disarming smile that likely served him well in negotiations. "I promise, this is nothing like being pulled into the principal's office."

Somewhat reluctantly, they settled in, and for the longest time, the only audible noises were chairs scraping against the floor and little Mirella's soft coos as she moved against her mother's chest.

It was Gardner who spoke first, advancing the screen and displaying many successive lines of text. "By now, you've probably read the memo about our next diplomatic venture."

"The United Federation of Planets," Erika said warily. "If I may ask, sir, why are we jumping on another interplanetary alliance so fast? The charter of the Coalition is meant to last for…"

"Two years following the last engagement of the war, yes. I think you would agree that if we collaborate this well in conflict, our partnership will be just as fruitful during times of peace."

Collaborate and well were the operative words there. Jon thought that if the powers that be knew even half of what went down in the field, they wouldn't be so optimistic. In all actuality, their alliance was loose at best, as they were mostly aligned in their mutual goal of not getting wiped out by the Romulans. One time, Trip had asserted that the only thing keeping them together was a long string and a piece of tape.

"That might be a tough sell," Alira cut in, leaning over to study the PADD in front of her. "What you're proposing is a complete merging of armed forces across multiple worlds."

"The benefits far outweigh the detriments. Our alliance had been well-tested these past four years."

"With all due respect, the Denobulan Infantry has been around for literally a million times longer than that." This wasn't to mention the proud and resilient Imperial Guard, who would likely turn their noses up at the faintest hint of that suggestion. It would also involve absorbing MACO into the ranks of Starfleet Security, which she already knew would go over like a lead balloon.

"We will value your shared perspective moving forward, Lieutenant," Gardner replied abruptly, eyes tracking down rather disdainfully to the infant in her arms, then back up. "We've noted some mitigation steps in our action plan. If everything goes according to our timeline, we should be ready to sign by the time Starfleet Academy wraps up its first semester."

"December of 2161," Trip repeated somewhat incredulously, wanting to make sure he heard him right. "A little less than two years from now?"

"Certainly," Samuels confirmed. "If you scroll down to the last page, you'll see this plan has already been cosigned by several Coalition leaders."

"Including Minister T'Pau of Vulcan, and the Tellarite chancellor for foreign affairs," Gardner interjected, and T'Pol's eyebrows quirked ever so slightly upwards.

"There's six names here," Erika noted. "You're going to need a lot more than that."

"That's where you come in." The display shifted again, to mirror the vertical cross-sections of both the Enterprise and the Boadicea, and the senior staff rosters began to fill out on either side of them, with several notable changes.

"For the next two years, our NX fleet will mostly be concerned with exploration, making first contact, and winning over our allies to the side of our Federation." Samuels zoomed in, and Erika visibly startled, leaning into her first officer.

"I suppose I ought to be the first to congratulate you, Commodore Hernandez," Gardner said wryly. "You and Jon will be leading the diplomatic charge, taking one quadrant each. If you ask nicely, I bet he'll even let you have your pick."

"Thank you, sir," she replied automatically, her enthusiasm evident but dulled slightly by her earlier doubts. They'd even thought to promote Philani to captain so she could remain on board in a supervisory role, much like Archer had done for his former crew in the aftermath of Terra Prime.

Apparently, their relationship was never as secret as she thought.

She felt his hand on her kneecap, squeezing furtively, and she glanced up, forcibly neutralizing her expression. They weren't about to win her over that easily, especially because they'd made promises to the United Earth Council without knowing what pulling off these kinds of diplomatic miracles took in the field.

Gardner pressed on. "The senior staff lineup on the Enterprise will remain the same save for the substitution of your helm officer, though you should all be advised that we plan to retire her in January of 2162, shortly after the signing of our charter."

In that moment, they could've heard a pin drop. A knot of confusion and dismay settled in Jon's chest, one which he knew was mirrored tenfold in his bondmate. They both knew their home was falling apart at the seams, having flown close to far too many suns and survived far too many scrapes with their enemies. But that just meant it had character, a personality all to its own. It was the place where many of them had fallen in love, found destiny, and made lifelong friendships.

Already, Jon wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to his crew.

"Rest assured that everyone on your roster will be getting prime placement. Anywhere they want, they just need to say the word."

Right. Trip could feel the emotional undercurrent in the room rising like the tide, a curious mixture of confusion and indignation. Although he hadn't lived there for quite some time, he still felt like the Enterprise was his home, and he hated to know that it would soon be turned into a museum or torn to shreds for spare parts.

"Don't look so stricken," Gardner chastised, pulling up a different screen. They were all mesmerized by the artist's rendition of an unfamiliar vessel, the saucer section flattened and the secondary hull prominent. Unlike its predecessors, the nacelles were underneath the ship, with a dedicated weapons housing up top, more than two dozen torpedo launchers and phase cannons built in close proximity for maximum devastation. It was evident that while they planned to systematically decommission the NXes, the fleet wasn't planning on slowing down. "Might I introduce the NCC-178 Poseidon, the flagship of the vessel class of the same name. She'll be commissioned around the signing of the charter, with a dozen more to follow."

"An impressive warship, sir," Malcolm assured him. He was studying the schematics so closely that his nose was almost pressed against his PADD.

"It's not." Another flick of the wrist, and they were greeted by an interior view of the enormous bridge, every visible surface shiny white or reflective chrome. "I should preface this by saying that the plans are nowhere near ironed out, and everyone from regulatory isn't exactly on board…"

At that moment, Miri squealed, and he startled, taking a massive step back from the table. Alira smiled apologetically and began to bounce her daughter on her knee, trying her best to keep her occupied.

"The Poseidon will be the first ship in the fleet built with cohabitating officers and families in mind. We're talking expanded quarters, childcare facilities, dedicated instructors - as such, it'll be kept away from a majority of the action, but if they're lucky…"

"An accurate description of their mission might be second contact," Samuels cut in, describing it a bit more tactfully than his companion.

Archer was starting to catch onto where this was going, but Malcolm still seemed clueless. His ambivalence was swiftly curtailed by another PADD sliding across the table, nearly striking him in the gut.

"It's yours if you want it, Mr. Reed, as well as a promotion to captain at the time of commissioning. I'll need your decision by the end of the week, and your senior staff selections within the next six months…"

"He'll take it," Alira interrupted, her Denobulan grin on full display. He was still in shock, but she could only feel grateful that his unwavering dedication to the service was being recognized, that they would remain a family and their daughter would have other children to grow and learn with. There was truly no other option for them.

"He will," Malcolm repeated reverently, surprise melting into a small but genuine smile. "I will. Thank you, sir."

From across the table, Trip afforded him a thumbs up, and he nodded curtly, expressing his appreciation in that subtle way only he could.

"Glad that's settled. Now, this is our warship." Another screen, and another class designation. It would have been the spitting image for the NX-01 were it not for its double-wide and slightly cylindrical hull. "The NCC-179 Yorktown has a complement north of three hundred, and we're incorporating a new model of particle weapon out of R&D called the phaser bank. Now, unless they prefer to stay in their current positions, the crew of the former NX-05 Maelstrom will be given preference for assignment here due to…"

Here it comes. Trip glanced at Jules, but she seemed to be very far away, disinterested, subdued, and glassy-eyed. She scarcely reacted when she was reminded of the abbreviated length of her contract with Starfleet Academy, and didn't even manage a smile when they offered her command outright.

"Excuse me," she said quietly, standing and slipping out without another word, and without even giving them an answer. There was a pause, then Trip gave chase, all the way through the reception and into several successive corridors, growing narrower and darker until they at last reached a dead end.

For the longest time, she kept her back to him, arms crossed and shoulders slumped in utter defeat. Trip thought back to his conversation with Malcolm and wondered if now was the time, if they were going to acknowledge the inevitable after two full months of dodging it, but what she said next drove all doubt from his mind.

"So that's it, huh? I'm just supposed to accept this command and shut up?"

"Jules, I don't think anyone wants you to just…"

"Am I supposed to get over him that easily?" She whirled on him, and the tears streaming down her cheeks broke his heart anew. The emotion was finally coming out, still raw and angry but very real, and the last thing she needed after so long without catharsis was someone trying to calm her down. "We were together for a long time and in the end all he could do was apologize and do what he felt like he needed to do, which apparently wasn't stay with me."

"He loved you. We all knew it."

"And he told me as much, but he loved this job even more, loved the crew and the people he served. He was so much more than that - he loved campy movies and morning jogs and playing stupid practical jokes on Ethan and Alira…"

"Travis was a great man."

"He was, so excuse me for feeling a little offended when the best they could do for him is a bust on a small monument somewhere off the beaten path." She pulled one of the PADDs they'd been given from her pocket, and scrolled far enough ahead to see where their meeting was eventually heading. "It doesn't even look that much like him. It doesn't tell his story. It just has his name and rank and forgive me if I don't think calling him the hero of the Battle of Cheron is enough. Trip, it's not enough, it's…"

This time, he was right there when she collapsed in his arms, sobbing loudly, shaking with the weight of the emotion that was consuming her. He took a deep breath and held it there, as all at once it occurred to him that the young, eager helmsman he'd met all those years ago was really gone.

And he was never coming back.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours. Trip completely lost track of time in the warmth of his friend's embrace. They'd been foolish, he realized, to try and jump back into the thick of it so soon after such a crushing loss - really, none of them had taken the time to heal.

"I've got you," he assured her, stroking her back in slow, careful circles. She laughed haltingly and pulled away, dabbing at her eyes.

"You know, sometimes I think I didn't know him that well."

"Me neither," Trip confessed. "But then again, maybe he didn't really know us either."

"It's just for the longest time I was thinking about my future with him in it, and now that he's gone…" Inhaling swiftly, she dropped her face in her hands. "I'll take command of the Yorktown when the day comes, of course, and I suspect most of the Maelstrom will come with me."

"They better. What else are you going to do, teach ethics for the rest of your life?"

"It's called command and control, and apparently it's a whole major that cadets get to choose," she replied dryly. "I don't know how I'm going to teach these kids to be good leaders. We were only ever thrown into the fire."

"You remember what Erika always said during the morning briefing when we were both on the Columbia?"

"The problem with playing by the book is that…"

"Everyone plays by the same damn book," Trip concluded, and together they laughed, sinking into another comforting and familiar embrace.

In the curve of his ear, a soft whisper: "Did you get a good look at the first draft of that charter?"

"Just like Samuels to get a head start." Clearing his throat, he deepened his voice: "We the lifeforms of the United Federation of Planets determined to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war…"

---

"Just tell me if it's too much."

"It isn't."

"Seriously, just tell me if you need me to go. We still have time, nearly half an hour…"

"Lieutenant," T'Pol interjected, then glanced up at her, expression softening. "Hoshi. If you were disturbing my meditation, I would certainly let you know."

Hoshi smiled, leaning forward and collecting another piece of hair between her fingers. Silently, she watched as she wrapped it around the curling wand in her opposite hand before allowing it to tumble over her shoulder. With a soft, almost reverent touch, she ruffled her fingers through the locks at the nape of her neck and began again, lending an easy rhythm to her study of the icon and candle before her.

Most Vulcan brides had attendants, and for T'Pol, the choice had been obvious. Save for a couple acquaintances from the High Command and a few childhood classmates that disowned her the second she joined Starfleet, their former communications officer was her closest friend. They couldn't have been more different, but after all these years, Hoshi had become incredibly in tune with her emotions and mannerisms, everything that she was all too careful to keep locked up beneath the surface. Really, save for Jonathan and Trip, no one had ever known her that well.

And she had missed her. Surak's ghost, how she had missed her.

"I'm so glad you've grown your hair out," she said quietly, tapping her shoulder to let her know she was done. "You should know that I've been rooting for the two of you since the beginning."

"Since the beginning?"

"Ever since I saw you two interact on the bridge during a crisis."

"We were only colleagues."

"You only look at a woman like that unless you trust her with your life," she countered, leaning in so that her chin rested atop her head. In the low light of their hotel room, her eyes were ablaze with fondness and affection and something she couldn't quite place. "Do you want something to eat before you get dressed?"

Behind her back, she gestured towards the tray next to the door, piled high with what passed for fine vegetarian fare at an establishment like this. Further still, she caught a glimpse of the half-drawn curtains and the distant chaos of the city, bustling even for the late afternoon. The air was heavy with anticipation and sweet perfume and soft music, which Hoshi had cued up in hopes of setting her mind at ease.

It wasn't as if she was nervous. Instead, T'Pol felt a profound sense of impending resolution. Though she couldn't visibly reciprocate his excitement, she longed to see the look on his face when the officiant declared them husband and wife.

"No," she replied evenly, rising from her chair and taking her dressing gown with her. Her robes were hung up against the bathroom door, already folded and pressed, and she was satisfied knowing she would marry for the second and final time in the same costume her mother had worn to bond with her father all those years ago.

The real one. Not the Romulan sleeper agent who had for so long haunted her dreams and innermost thoughts.

The dress itself was a royal purple, floor length with voluminous sleeves hidden by a rich, chocolate brown outer robe that hung off the shoulders. There were deep pockets, perfect for carrying her mother's IDIC and a few other totems, namely the antique compass Jonathan had given her. To help keep you pointed in the right direction, he'd said, though with time she came to understand that all roads she traveled down would lead only to him.

"You might want to," Hoshi advised. At her curious look, she added: "You'll be on your feet for a while. Trust me, I've done this at my sister's wedding, my brother's wedding, the Reed wedding…"

"So you speak from experience."

"This isn't my first rodeo, T'Pol." Laughing, she attempted another idiom. "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride?"

She nodded sagely, knowing full well there was no way Hoshi could know what was in store for her. Trip had been keen on seeking input from both her and Alira to achieve a balanced perspective, and she admired him for the courage it took to accomplish even that. It occurred to T'Pol that she'd joined the crew of the Enterprise not caring to forge connections with anyone, and now she only wanted Hoshi to feel even a fraction of the happiness that she did with Jonathan.

Once she was dressed, Hoshi pushed her slightly forward, into the bathroom and the overhead lights. Against all odds, she saw her mother looking back at her, across the barriers of time and space and ambition and consequence.

Do you really believe that a human and a Vulcan could have a future together? T'Les's words still echoed in her memory, the same question she'd posed following her refusal to bond with Koss, an inevitability she eventually accepted, if only to restore her professional standing. It had been for nothing, and she died an anonymous death in the sands of the Forge, saying that she had done it all for her and that one day she would understand.

Once the truth was revealed, T'Pol knew it had all been to protect her, and Soval had been in on it all along, monitoring her schooling and steering her in the direction of the Ministry of Security. Now, with every single member of her immediate family long gone, T'Pol could only wish that her mother were still there, even if so many of their conversations were in confusion and anger, even if they never really understood each other.

Hoshi seemed to sense this and more. She tapped her shoulder, standing on her toes to beam at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm so happy to have known you, T'Pol."

And that was it - in an instant, she was gone, heeding to a door chime. She had been expecting Minister T'Pau, or perhaps Commodore Hernandez, but was instead greeted by a very sheepish older gentleman, wearing the same set of robes she knew he reserved for only the most important diplomatic receptions at HQ.

"Ambassador," she said, dipping her head towards him. Nervous now, she turned and retrieved her outer coat, pulling it over her shoulders and drawing it tightly around herself. Silently, Hoshi slipped into the corridor, communicator in hand.

The door shutting behind her sounded thunderous, like a small antimatter mine going off.

All tension between them suddenly dissipated, Soval took one step forward. "Lieutenant Sato has informed me of an important tradition in many human ceremonies."

T'Pol knew exactly where this was going, but decided to spare him the least bit of dignity. With feigned indifference, she moved to the closet, stepping into her shoes and bending down to fasten the clasps.

"What would that be?"

"That of a male relative walking the bride down the aisle." There was a decorous pause. "I believe that given the circumstances…"

"I would be honored, Ambassador." Slowly, she righted herself and turned to him, noting the subtle shift in his expression since he'd entered the room. T'Pol could tell he was holding something back, but couldn't for the life of her discern what it was.

"I was present for the bonding of your parents," he informed her, as if she could forget. Soval and her father had been close, having served as partners in the Ministry of Security for years prior to her birth. When T'Les discovered that her husband had been murdered and replaced by a Tal Shiar sleeper agent, he was the first one she came to, and together they'd worked to conceal the evidence. At the beginning of their mission, T'Pol had been angry that he would hide her ancestry from her, but now, she understood. Bringing her to Earth, assigning her to the Enterprise...it had all been for her benefit. Above all, she knew he recognized that. "Your mother was wise to keep her robes. You wear them well."

T'Pol nodded, subconsciously running her hands over the fabric. Really, it was one of the very few Vulcan aspects to their wedding, which was by design. Weeks ago, when Hoshi asked how she envisioned the ceremony, she'd replied in no uncertain terms that she only wanted it to be as unlike her last marriage as possible.

"When were you going to tell me that T'Pau has thrown her support behind Samuels' Federation?" The question came out more pointed than she anticipated, though to his credit, Soval scarcely reacted, turning in profile to face the window.

"You might want to ask her about that."

"I am asking you." Silently, she joined him, studying the nearly identical high rises all around them, the bustling hovertrain platform below, the sun sinking lower on the horizon. "They're asking all of our armed forces to merge. The High Command will never agree to it."

"From the proposed charter, I was under the impression that it would be an organization of peace."

Surely he wasn't that naive. Cutting a sideways glance at him, T'Pol realized he understood the irony of that statement.

"They all start out that way," she reminded him. "And I'm not entirely convinced her reasons aren't selfish ones."

This time, he pivoted to face her, expression blank, fists clenched into his sides. "How do you mean?"

"T'Pau is a pacifist." That had certainly been true during her time with the Syrrannites, but less so during the war. "Vulcan has been broken for a long time, Ambassador. The Ministry of Security has been infiltrated, our standing army decimated. The cultural differences surrounding the Kir'Shara will continue for far longer than either of us will be alive."

"Say what you mean, Captain."

"I think she intends to lean on United Earth for assistance while we rebuild. That way, if someone attacks while we're down…"

"For years, we've come to Starfleet's aide whenever they were in trouble. For once, it would be appreciated if they were there to answer our call."

"So you admit they're capable."

"I never denied that."

"You certainly failed to show it." She took a deep breath, centering herself once again. There was no possible way she could explain to him the depths of Section 31 influence that ran through Starfleet. So she went for the vague approach, careful not to reveal too much. "Several recent events have caused me to question the motives and loyalties of those closest to me."

"Despite his utter failings as a charismatic leader, I trust Admiral Gardner to keep his word."

"He isn't who I'm worried about."

Soval startled ever so slightly, then nodded, seeming to come to an understanding alongside her. The warning duly received, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small piece of paper, passing it into her waiting hands.

"I'll be waiting outside," he said, and then stepped out without another word.

Slightly bewildered, T'Pol remained motionless for some time, before looking down at the handwritten letter in her hands. She recognized the script, the same precarious, jagged little letters that Jonathan left scribbled in every single notebook in their quarters.

My T'Pol - I know you didn't want to exchange vows, that you're not fond of crowds or making a scene, but I'd never be able to forgive myself if I didn't tell you what I was thinking when I woke up this morning with you at my side, knowing that today was the last day I wouldn't be able to call you my wife.

Your friendship has meant so much to me, as well as your wise counsel, even though I didn't always listen to it. I think about all those years we didn't acknowledge what we had between us, and I'd regret it if the present didn't already outpace my wildest dreams. Not a single day we spent together has ever been wasted.

You challenge and encourage and work me up like no one ever has. I know that you already know all of this, that you can probably feel how nervous I am from three blocks away, but just in case you've ever had cause to doubt, you are the only one that I love. You are my touchstone, my counterpoint, and at some times you've been my only confidante. There's no one else I'd rather have in my heart. Join me now, so we can start the rest of our lives together. Yours, Jonathan.

She released the breath she'd been holding, then stashed the letter in her pocket before she could lose her nerve. Swiftly, she sent waves of reassurance towards him through their bond, as well as flashes of memory, back from their earliest days together.

P'Jem. She'd been close to throttling him and Trip for not taking their visit seriously, but when the presence of the Andorians was discovered, she had thrown her trust behind his ludicrous plan and been all the more impressed by how it came together in the end, even as the divide between the High Command and the Imperial Guard had never been wider.

Her tribunal. Even though she was deathly ill and her career hung in the balance, Jonathan had refused to abandon her, going to bat for her in a room full of her peers. She would never forget his kindness in her hour of greatest need.

The Expanse. After all these years, she was comfortable enough to admit that her decision to resign her commission wasn't entirely centered around wanting to defeat a new threat to the quadrant. She hadn't wanted to leave him, and though her life would soon be torn apart by an unfortunate foray into self-medication, he was always by her side.

The embassy bombing. The Augments. The Babel Crisis. So very many treacherous missions, and through all of it, their relationship had only grown stronger. T'Pol spared a thought to a younger version of herself, who some nine years ago was dreading her assignment to the Enterprise. She felt a little sorry for her - she didn't know exactly what she'd go on to deny herself for years.

Heart pounding and thoughts swirling, she swept out of the room and into the hallway, determined to face her destiny head on.

Their procession through the lobby and into the street was silent, even as they forged through the boardwalk and out towards the ocean. From a distance, the sharp scent of saltwater reached her, and though it was wholly unfamiliar, it calmed her, allowing her to take a good, long look at the sight awaiting her just out of reach of the crashing waves.

Jonathan had warned her that springtime could be a little chilly, but the beach was warm, the sand shifting pleasantly underfoot, the breeze touseling her hair with nary a cloud in the sky. The sun was just beginning to set, barely teasing the line of the horizon, casting a warm glow over their attendees, a couple dozen in all. The only decoration was a tall gong set off to one side. Someone was striking it, causing deep, sonorous tones to sing through the air. Their guests fell silent, and her eyes traveled up that arm to a white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows and the easy smile of the man she loved.

The last human wedding she'd attended was a rushed affair held in a cargo bay, and while the groom had grown emotional at the sight of his bride, he'd more or less held it in. This was nothing like that - Jonathan was openly tearful by the time she reached the back row of chairs, and were it not for Soval's hand curled around the bend of her elbow, she would have charged across the sand right after him.

There was no music, no fanfare, just the crashing of the waves and the smiles of their friends all around. T'Pol waited for Hoshi to reach the end of the aisle and take her place next to Trip before beginning her slow procession towards him, holding his eye the entire time, not daring to look away.

By the time Soval took his leave, she was already reaching out to Jonathan with two fingers on her dominant hand, a gesture which he easily reciprocated. T'Pol was sure the crew had caught glimpses of that particular embrace before, in darkened corridors or storage lockers or turbolifts a split second before the doors closed. Now, there would be little doubt as to what that meant, and she felt all the more reassured for it.

The very corners of her lips quirked up before flattening again. It wasn't much, but she knew without a doubt he saw it, because he grinned back at her, his joy and elation evident.

Erika was officiating, and T'Pol was immensely surprised to find she'd done her research. She nearly had to shout to be heard over the howl of the wind, but came through loud and clear nonetheless.

"What you are about to witness comes down from the time of the beginning without change…"

---

In contrast to the ceremony, the reception was lush and opulent, much more befitting of the elaborate send off they were set to give to most of their friends.

By some minor miracle, Hoshi had managed to convince one of the most exclusive venues in the city to close its doors for one night. Madame Chang's had in turn lent them a private dining room in the back, double doors thrown open to the night air. Out in the garden, a string quartet was playing, and several couples were swaying among the rows of trees and hedges, their laughter reaching T'Pol even from a distance. The head table was bustling, but she felt perfectly at ease at Jonathan's side.

Throughout the dinner, Chef kept the courses coming, exiting the kitchen to introduce each dish personally. Along the way, he complimented Hoshi's decorating sense and how nice everyone looked and how happy he was for the couple, calling their wedding historic and one for the ages. After the appetizer, he'd even leaned across the table to kiss T'Pol on both cheeks, and she'd been heartened by his smile, by the scruff of his beard and his big blue eyes, glittering with mirth.

She could tell Jonathan was getting impatient. At one point, he excused himself to call dry dock and have Porthos and her cat sent ahead to the nearest transporter station, as well as their luggage for their month-long honeymoon in the Adirondacks. When he returned, he moved his chair a fraction of a centimeter closer, resting his hand on her knee and slowly trailing upwards.

Fortunately, Captain Shran chose that moment to make his appearance with his family, and he pulled his hand away, treating them all to a genuine smile. Talla squirmed in his arms, but he held fast.

"Say hello, Talla," he prompted quietly.

"Hi there, pink-skin!" She crowed, causing him to chuckle.

"I heard you had a birthday. How old are you now?" She held up four fingers. "Wow! The last time I saw you, I'm pretty sure you were still in your mom's belly."

Jhamel nodded, beaming, perhaps recalling that fateful night the lot of them had become stranded on an ice-cutter bound for the Andorian capital. She was perfectly in tune with everything going around her, and possessed the kind of quiet elegance that made him wonder just how in the hell such a lovely woman had wound up with the likes of him.

"Did you receive our present?" T'Pol asked, eager to play the game.

She giggled, reaching out for her mother. Jhamel produced a plush stuffed beagle, which her daughter proceeded to cover with kisses.

"Between you and every other flag officer in the Coalition, she's got enough toys to fill a starship. She's become spoiled, Archer. Probably the most spoiled little girl in the quadrant," he ground out, though his smile told him that wasn't a bad thing at all. Shran cast a glance over his shoulder towards Miri being cradled by Ensign Hutchison, who was making faces in an attempt to get her to laugh. Her father remained close at hand, ever vigilant, watching out for the first signs of an impending squall. "Present company excluded, of course."

"It was a beautiful ceremony, Miss T'Pol," Jhamel cut in, reaching out to brush her fingertips across her wrist. A small smile darted across her lips and stayed there. "You feel so loved, I just know it. You're happy, too."

Conscious of the Aenar's telepathic ability, T'Pol turned her wrist so she could take her hand fully, and for the first time opened her mind to her, allowing her reassurance to wash over her in waves.

Across the room, Hoshi was busily filling more wine glasses, having lifted a bottle off the tray of a passing waitress. The remnants of dinner lay before her, and she felt a little nostalgic, especially since the last time they'd been gathered at Madame Chang's like this, they were just about to head out of their diplomatic mission right after Terra Prime, and so very much had changed.

For one thing, Travis was dead, and she missed him more with each passing day. In the end, he'd given the ultimate sacrifice; even though her mind was awash with bittersweet memories, she couldn't help but feel grateful that he'd allowed them this, this fleeting moment in the endless march of time.

"Big plans for leave, Jules?" Commander Hammond, soon to the Captain, was still a little sullen, though she still accepted the proffered glass, swirling it by the stem.

"Not really. I'm heading to Chicago in the morning to see my mom." There was a lot unspoken there, mostly because she knew exactly what was going to happen - it had always been just the two of them, so there was little doubt she'd be waiting in the foyer, only to charge down the sidewalk towards her the second she rounded the corner. Julia would fall into her arms and sob until she had no tears left to cry, and the world would begin again.

"I'm finally seeing all that Earth has to offer," Kov chimed in without being prompted, sliding a PADD across the table. She could see he had dropped tags all over the place in multiple continents, and it certainly did mirror the kind of soul-searching road trip she'd done several times over the course of her lifetime. "Starting with New York City. I leave tomorrow."

She made a contemplative sound in the back of her throat, studying his choices a little more carefully. "I see you're going to hike Mt. Fuji in about three weeks. Swing by Kyoto, and my mother will make you a meal you won't ever forget."

"Would she?"

"It's only a few hours by hovercar," she assured him, maneuvering to a new screen and tapping out a familiar comm code. "Just give her a shout before you arrive."

He seemed a little puzzled by that idiom, but afforded her that very Vulcan smile all the same. For the first time all night, Hoshi settled back in to her chair and allowed her gaze to drift, out towards the garden where their friends were dancing, to the threshold where Trip stood cutting it up with Ensign Nguyen, then back around the table, to a set of familiar faces she wouldn't again see for quite some time.

After so long in the comfortable bubble of the Enterprise and the Maelstrom, they were all about to go their separate ways. While Hoshi was excited to get back into the swing of things, teaching and studying languages without the constant threat of the ship shaking apart around her, she was caught by the desire to seize the moment, to wring all the happiness she could out of it before it was too late.

At that instant, Alira emerged from the hallway, looking harried and exhausted and a little irritated. She dropped the bottle she'd been carrying into Malcolm's waiting hands and then kicked her bag under the table, sinking into her chair with a heavy sigh.

"That lactation room they promised you was actually a broom closet," she said, and began to tuck back into her dinner, which was long since cold. Before she left, they'd all seen her struggle for more than twenty minutes to get her daughter to feed, only to give up and take matters into her own hands. Hoshi smiled apologetically, but she wasn't done. "Despite that, mission accomplished. That should be enough for the night."

Miri easily changed hands, and she only squirmed for a bit in her father's lap before settling down. Hoshi could see the kind of weariness all too characteristic of new parents hanging off them like a shroud. There was little doubt their time at the reception was already numbered.

"I hope the two of you can get some rest." Dita cut in, apparently reading her mind. "You definitely deserve it."

In a sense, they all did. For the first time since the war concluded, they were now prepared to scatter to the wind. The Singhs were returning to New Delhi to help Dita's parents settle into retirement, Ethan was flying back to Belgrade to visit friends from college, and even Yuris was retreating to an undisclosed village in the Rockies for some well-earned meditation. Though the past two months had been remarkably uneventful as they traveled back to Earth, the Reeds hadn't even had a moment to breathe.

"We're going to Malaysia tomorrow," he said, and looked none too enthused about it. "To visit my parents."

Hoshi frowned. As she understood, Alira hadn't even met them yet, and Malcolm hadn't been home since before the Enterprise commissioned the first time. But with their third wedding anniversary in the recent past and a new baby, they had very little excuse not to see them. With how much he'd complained about his father, his stubbornness and cold-heartedness and blatant xenophobia, she could only imagine the storm that awaited them.

"At least you've been on parental leave," Ethan cut in, trying his best to help. "That's kind of like a vacation, right?"

The two looks he was dealt were nothing short of incredulous.

"I'm going to pretend like I didn't just hear that."

"I'm sorry, I just don't know anything about…"

"And while I'm at it, I'll ask you to think about what you'd feel like after…" She trailed off, searching for an appropriate comparison, free hand waving in the air. "Squeezing a grapefruit out of your nose!"

"Better idea," Hoshi interrupted, nudging the glasses she'd been filling across the table. Swiftly, she rose from her chair, clearing her throat to get everyone's attention. Once she was sure she had it, she lifted her drink and spun around, meeting every eye. "A toast to the newlyweds!"

More like the parting glass, Jonathan thought. Very few people in the room knew about the impending decommissioning of the Enterprise, that after another two years their time aboard would come to an end. If he wasn't so unspeakably happy, he might've been a bit more torn up about it.

"We'll have time for some toasts later - I understand Erika's got about a dozen embarrassing stories about the groom at the ready - but in the meantime, I thought we might pause and allow them a first dance." She halfway expected T'Pol to look stricken, or reject the idea outright, but she rose from her chair, glass still in hand. Taking that as silent approval, she concluded: "To our next journey together."

"To the victory lap," Trip added under his breath from across the room, scarcely heard by anyone.

Within minutes, the garden was crowded with couples, swaying and moving in time with the music. Fortunately for T'Pol, her husband didn't attempt anything with frills, taking her into his arms and tucking her head underneath his chin in the way that always made her feel safe. Though their world was also coming apart at the seams, for one endless moment, all was right with the universe, and she surrendered herself to Jonathan's embrace as she always would.

Still within the confines of the dining room, the Reeds watched in silence as the song continued. Miri had just finished her dinner, and Alira knew she was a likely candidate for a diaper change. Before she could even reach for her daughter, Phlox appeared, bending at the waist to address them directly.

"When was the last time the two of you had a dance?"

The question came so out of the blue that Malcolm had to put a good deal of thought to it. Must've been our wedding night, he concluded, at our own reception. "Oh, about three years, two months, one week, and…"

"Some number of hours," Phlox concluded, ever so carefully lifting the baby out of his arms. "Go on. I'm sure I'm not too out of practice."

Malcolm looked like he wanted to complain, but Alira pulled him to his feet, up and into the garden. Once they were gone, Phlox settled down into the chair he'd abandoned, and shifted his half-granddaughter so she was sitting up in his lap.

"So what should we talk about, hmm?" He felt a pang of nostalgia centered around speaking to each of his five children like this, but also regret, based on what could have been. In the glow of the fairy lights, he could see his Elizabeth twirling and laughing with Kov, and soon his sadness was replaced with hope.

Miri whimpered, and he took the hint, settling her in on his shoulder. Gently tapping on her back, he narrowed in on a familiar tale.

"Let me tell you a story about a Starfleet captain, and a Klingon found in a cornfield, and a doctor who was in the right place at the right time…"

---

Three hours later, red-faced and beaming and a little bit tipsy, Trip and Hoshi stumbled into their condo, clinging onto one another, all the while struggling to find the light switch.

Trip thought he might have found it, but it wound up being the environmental control panel, and he was soon greeted by a blast of cold air conditioning to the face. Throwing his hands up in frustration, he forged on into the darkness, and immediately tripped over an unopened cargo container, face planting into the tile while Hoshi laughed uproariously.

"There's something there," she warned him, a little too late. "I think it's the dining room set...or maybe the couch…"

He groaned, rolling to one side and clutching his forehead. Squinted into the darkness, he was greeted by the sight of her warm smile. Soon, he was laughing with her, and she held out a hand to him, which he gratefully accepted.

As soon-to-be chairs of the engineering and xenolinguistics departments at Starfleet Academy, their accommodations were better than most. Rather than being crammed in the shoebox units uptown, they'd been given the keys to a condo in Sausalito so often reserved for flag officers and their families. They'd lost everything along with the Maelstrom, so all of their furniture was shiny and new, if not still in boxes due to the lack of time they'd had to put it together.

The one room that was already immaculate belonged to Katie - pouring back through Natalie's letters, they'd picked out all of her favorite things, from dolls to the color purple to toy hovertrains and big picture books. Together, they'd spoken at length with Phlox and a staff psychologist at Starfleet Medical, if only to make their space as welcoming and accommodating as possible. After all, she'd endured a traumatizing loss, one which would be difficult for anyone to endure, let alone a five-year-old. They were warned that she might be a little nervous with them at first, but Trip was willing to wait as long as possible for her to warm up to them.

It was the least he could do, to provide a stable home when he'd deliberately deprived himself of that for most of his adult life.

"You've got a big bump on your head," Hoshi said, guiding him down to a barstool. Even still, he wavered, leaning heavily into the kitchen island. The gears turning in her head were practically visible, and she soon redirected, heading into the hallway. "I'm sure the med kit is around here somewhere…"

After the first dance, a majority of the guests returned inside, where the evening descended into reminiscence. Person after person stepped up to the microphone, relaying increasingly absurd tales about the captain and the commodore. T'Pol seemed to take it in stride, even giving a few amusing anecdotes about the time he had to perform a ritual apology dance for the Kreetassans. Hoshi had followed that up with a handful of holo-pics she'd taken of his ridiculous get up for posterity, and by the end of the story, Jon was mortified and Trip was laughing so hard he was crying.

Neither of them really drank that much - it must have been sleep deprivation or the lateness of the hour, but by the time they stumbled off the hovertrain onto their street, they felt three sheets to the wind. Trip tried his best not to sway back and forth, staring at one point on the far wall with such intensity that he didn't even notice her opening the hall closet until it was too late.

Her gasp was deafening in the otherwise empty space, and he was on his feet in a second, staggering towards her and calling out a warning that went unheard.

Trip saw it then, the secret he'd tried so hard to keep from her. Earlier that afternoon, while they were celebrating at the 602, he'd had hundreds and hundreds of flowers delivered, all stuffed in the finest crystal vases and situated in the most artful arrangements. There were roses and lilies and irises and begonias in every color of the rainbow, and the plan had been to wake in the early hours of the morning and blanket the balcony with them, and be waiting there on bended knee by the time she crawled out of bed for her morning coffee. It would've been beautiful and romantic, the perfect balance of understated and ostentatious, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt she would've loved it.

If she hadn't just blown his plan right open.

"I'm sorry, darlin'...it was going to be a surprise...I wanted to...I just...oh, damn it."

Mumbling and cursing, he reached for his pocket, fumbling around until he found the ring box. He crouched down, and she finally understood what he was doing, eyes wide and hand clasped over her mouth. Standing there in her gown and heels and elaborate updo, she'd never looked so beautiful, and the realization hit him like a bucket of cold water, making him feel as sober as possible given the circumstances.

All the remarks he'd prepared went out the window, but curiously, he found that he knew exactly what to say.

"Hoshi, I need to make this formal." A pause. "I need to make this real. When I asked you to join me in San Francisco, I think we both knew what I was trying to say, but I couldn't get the words out. Truth is, sometimes when I'm around you, I forget who I am. I forget how to breathe. You make me so happy I don't know how to put my love for you into words."

"Are you really…"

"Please. We've been friends for so long, and you've been by my side through everything, all the times I didn't believe in our mission, all the times I didn't believe in myself. I want you with me, not just as a co-worker and a co-parent, but as my wife." He seemed to remember himself, and flipped the box open. "It's my grandmother's ring. She gave it to me when I was sixteen, told me not to give it to a woman until I was sure she was for keeps. Hoshi, if I'm sure of anything…"

"Trip."

"What?"

"Shut up," she interjected, then laughed, her joy and elation evident. "My answer is yes. Yes, I'll marry you, yes, I…"

She didn't have the chance to say anything else, because he'd already risen and gathered her in his arms, laughing and twirling her around until all his previous misgivings were forgotten.

---

It was well past midnight when the Archers beamed into the transport station in Burlington, and another hour before the snow stopped falling and they felt brave enough to venture into the countryside.

Jonathan explained that a March snowstorm wasn't exactly unheard of in the Adirondacks, and T'Pol had nodded graciously, not dissatisfied to wait for as long as he was at her side. As they sat in the lobby next to the service desk, listening to hovertrains arrive and depart behind them, he took great pleasure in seeing her watch the snowfall, maintaining rapt attention as the flakes blanketed the ground in giant drifts. It occurred to him then that she'd likely only seen snow a few times in her life, perhaps during a mission or two, but mostly on Earth. In the parking lot, she waited while he slung their luggage into the trunk, then stepped right up to him, eyelashes fluttering and pupils enormous.

He knew that look and exactly what it meant. He was sure if this were broad daylight, a human and a Vulcan might get some weird looks for traveling together, but for now he was all too willing to surrender to her unspoken request, wrapping both arms around the curve of her waist and kissing her soundly.

They drove in companionable silence through the suburbs, over Lake Champlain and into the mountains. Having split his childhood between Bozeman, San Francisco, and the Archer family home, Jonathan knew the route by heart, and knew they were getting close the instant the pine trees grew wider and encroached on the highway. The pavement was snow packed and a little slick, so he drove with both hands, listening as the wind howled away outside the cabin. On the radio, an acoustic ballad was playing from a distant satellite station, something about journeys and new beginnings and coming home to the ones you love. He was so warm from the internal heater and the champagne they'd shared and the magic of the evening that he almost missed the turn off altogether, banking sharply off the highway and onto a well-maintained drive that arched steeply as it climbed up the icy hillside.

Snow had only just started to fall again, and T'Pol was enraptured. She kept her eyes trained on the roadside as the neighbor's houses crawled by, the exhaust from their impulse generators and the warmth of the floodlights the only indication that they were there at all. Halfway up, Jonathan paused to let a deer trundle across their path, and T'Pol couldn't look away, intent on taking her fill of the moment as she never had before.

"How long has it been?" The question was remarkably vague, but she didn't need to clarify - he already knew exactly what she meant.

"Well over ten years," he admitted. "I've hired a cleaner to come through every few weeks and maintain the place, but other than that…"

He trailed off, sighing deeply, then shifted the hovercar into a higher gear to climb the last few hundred meters. Neither of his parents had been wealthy, so the cabin in the woods on the shore of a frozen lake had been the most substantial thing to come out of their will. For the longest time, he'd consciously avoided visiting, not wanting to reminisce about all the Christmases and Thanksgivings and Easters back when Sally and Henry had still been alive. Now that he was an adult, broken and scarred and built up once again by the burdens of command and a life in the interstellar fast lane, he found himself wanting to create some new memories there to override the old.

"So it is not unlike my mother's home back on Vulcan."

Jonathan had been there once, during their first visit to Vulcan while tending to Coalition negotiations, and had seen how the weight of the past threatened to crush her. Now, none of that mattered - they only had each other, but in the end, that was all they ever needed. He was reminded of that every time his gaze drifted down to the wedding band on his ring finger.

At long last, they arrived in the shadow of a great, imposing structure, built by his ancestors in the months before the Eugenics Wars. The wooden siding and eaves were weighed down by snow, but T'Pol would have been remiss not to acknowledge the artistry that had gone into it, from the tall, arched windows to the widow's walk high above their heads. There was a garden at their feet, long since dormant for the wintertime, and somewhere, she heard the faint tinkling of wind chimes.

"You must be freezing," Jon mumbled, brushing past her and forging up to the porch through the snow. He was determined to carry both of their suitcases by himself, no matter how many times she offered. Inside, they weren't faring much better, as the living room was deep and cavernous, with high ceilings that led into the stairway to the second and third floor. Her husband reached for the light switch, only to discover that it was malfunctioning.

At last he released their luggage, propping his hands on his hips and peering into the darkness. It took T'Pol's eyes a moment to adjust, but soon she could make out a half dozen armchairs, copious paintings of mountainous landscapes, and several animal heads stuffed and mounted to the wall. Bending at the waist, she released the latch on Porthos' carrier, causing the little beagle to go shooting off into unexplored areas of the home. Her cat soon followed, only to settle in near the kitchen for a nap. At one end of the room, she spotted an old-fashioned hearth and began to move towards it. He followed closely, apparently coming to the same conclusion.

"The place is almost two hundred years old, honey," he admitted somewhat apologetically, and his hand ghosted over her hip as he stepped up beside her. "Let's start a fire and then go in search of the generator. I'm sure between the two of us we can repair it."

She was going to say something, perhaps about him putting an inordinate amount of faith in them, but knew just as well that if they could lead an entire ship through the endless dirge of war, they could handle a simple household appliance. And so she did help him pull wood in from the shed and light a match, and within minutes, they were standing before a roaring hearth, looking quite pleased with themselves.

Jonathan had that sort of industrious look in his eyes that betrayed the fact that he was about to redirect to the next task, but she wasn't willing to let him go just yet. Truthfully, T'Pol had been stewing away in silence since the ceremony, keeping one secret hidden from their bond. Not wanting to keep up with the pretense any longer, she turned to him and took his hand, teasing his fingertips with her own.

"I spoke with Phlox a few days ago." Fear lit up in his expression, and she quickly followed that up: "He believes my first pon farr is only weeks away."

"Not microbe induced this time?" Though it had taken her several years to own up to the rather embarrassing incident in the early years of their mission - which involved her throwing things in decon and making rather overt advances towards their doctor - he now understood that her fever had been for him.

Her eyes briefly narrowed, and he grinned. Slowly, she closed the distance between them until they were all but pressed together, then began to make quick work of his coat, leaving it abandoned on the floor behind them.

"You must know that most Vulcan children are conceived during the blood fever."

Of course he did; they'd discussed starting a family at length, had already thought about names and godparents, but had always considered that to be years away, some unattainable goal on the opposite side of a never ending war. Now that they were faced with their freedom, well…

"Unless you wish to wait," she interjected, having misinterpreted the flow of unease through their bond. Jonathan stopped her fingers as they curled around the collar of his dress shirt, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I don't want to wait," he confirmed. "Look, T'Pol, I'm going to be forty-eight this year. I still want to be able to run around with our kids."

There it was, the reminder of his mortality. Consciously, she forced thoughts of her lonely years after his death aside. "I am pleased to hear that. When we return to San Francisco in a month, we will have the doctor cancel out our contraceptive injections."

"And in the meantime?"

She broke away, exposing him to her stream of consciousness, including some thoughts which were downright lascivious. He was met with a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards and down onto the couch behind them. As he watched, she shed her outer robe, revealing a silky purple gown with billowing sleeves, the kind that set off her eyes and made them glow, like streaming sunlight, like the most gorgeous supernova in the known universe.

"Surely you are aware of the human adage about how practice makes perfect."

The next thing he knew, she was in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck and lips pressed to his, her embrace so perfect and so right that he couldn't imagine ever being without her ever again.

Fortunately for Jonathan, he never had to.

---

"Trip, I'm pretty sure you missed a turn."

"Hoshi, I've been here dozens of times. Trust me, I know where I'm going."

"We should've been there ten minutes ago." She paused, then pulled her feet off the dash, digging around in the bag sitting in the back seat. Her PADD ran off of satellite connection, so she was tremendously surprised to find that she barely had a signal at all. Trip slowed to a stop on the side of the road. "Yep, just as I feared."

"What's that?"

"We're ten kilometers away. Looks like we're going to be late for lunch."

He sighed, taking his hands off the steering wheel and ruffling his hands through his hair. Following a shower, several cups of black coffee, and two detox hypos, they'd taken the morning shuttle from San Francisco to Atlanta, then the hovertrain to a secondary transport station in Valdosta. From then on, they set off into the wilderness of southern Georgia, keen on paying a long-overdue visit to the Tuckers. After so long being on high alert constantly, they were ready to celebrate any number of things, from their recent engagement to their promotions to their new and growing family.

If they could only find their way out of this mess of winding back roads.

"For what it's worth, there's no one else I'd rather get lost in a swamp and fight an alligator with." Trip reached out and captured her knuckles, dropping a kiss on her hand right above her ring. Hoshi laughed, a beautiful, melodious sound, and he peeled off, churning up a considerable amount of dust.

Out here in the country, time seemed to pass slower. Trip couldn't deny he'd missed it. Soon, they got their bearings, and eventually breezed into the driveway of an immaculately maintained ranch home, replete with a vegetable garden and wide, wrap-around porch. Sure enough, his mother was waiting there, and before he even unfastened her seatbelt, she was charging across the lawn, clapping and shouting all the way.

His fiancee didn't have the opportunity to get in a single hello - Gracie Tucker skipped all formalities and gathered her in a tight hug. She kissed her cheeks, then clasped both sides of her face, grinning broadly.

"You're even prettier than when I saw you last! What's this I hear about you becoming some fancy department chair, getting your own corner office? Aren't you just as smart as all get out?"

"Mom, I got the same offer..."

"Don't worry, honey. I haven't forgotten about you." Gracie took a step back, took Hoshi's hands, then shrieked with realization. "Charlie, come quick! He's finally gone and done it!"

His father emerged from the front door, a little girl in tow. Katie instantly stepped behind the curtain of his legs, peering out tentatively, squinting into the bright midmorning sun. Even from a distance, Trip recognized just how much she reminded him of her mother, and he was seized by a wave of grief he couldn't suppress.

Meanwhile, Gracie was just gushing over his bride, telling her that I was just fixin' to get lunch ready and you've gotta forgive me, the house is all catawampus, I've forgotten how busy children are, and while you're here, we oughta go dress shopping in town with Trip's cousins, wouldn't that be fun? Hoshi met her enthusiasm with a smile, but her gaze kept traveling towards the porch, towards the child waiting for them.

Fortunately, Trip's dad seemed to take the hint, coaxing her onto the sidewalk. Leaning into his mother, he whispered: "Have you talked to her about what happened?"

Gracie's demeanor changed on a dime. "She knows there's very bad people out there, that they lash out because they have no love in their hearts and they weren't taught right from wrong. Her mommy was a hero who wanted to help others, and it's not her fault any of this happened. I know she believes that."

There was more, and in her past letter, she'd described taking her to a therapist, how Katie had opened up about feeling scared and confused and all alone. He understood he had to tread carefully. As she approached, he sunk down to his haunches so he would be at eye level with her, and treated her to a big, beaming smile.

"Hi Katie," he said carefully, pointing to himself. "I'm Trip."

She returned his grin. "I know. You send presents."

"That's right, birthday and Christmas." Without being prompted, Hoshi joined him briefly, before sitting cross legged on the ground. "This is Hoshi. We're all gonna live together in San Francisco."

Her eyes lit up before fear settled in. She hugged herself tightly, rocking from side to side.

"Are you my daddy?"

It hit him then - Katie had never met her biological father. From what Natalie told him, he wasn't in the picture. Now, she was searching for any family she had left.

"I'm not your daddy," he confessed, not wanting to mislead her. "But I can be, if you want."

For a while, he thought she was going to refuse, run away, or burst into tears, but she only said: "Okay."

Heartened now, Hoshi held out her hands, and Katie went over to her, settled into her lap. She was surprised, though she tried not to let it show. "How about we have some lunch, then we go to the beach?"

"I heard there's carnival games, and a petting zoo," Trip added, knowing it to be true because he'd been sure to call ahead. What's more, he'd made the man on the other end of the comm line swear they'd be open. "Would you like to go?"

She took one good look at him, then at his parents, before nodding and turning towards Hoshi, burying her face in her shirt. Her hand came up to stroke her hair, and he saw nothing but hope in her eyes.

And he knew it was all going to be okay.

---

The instant the Neutral Zone Treaty was signed, Valdore knew it was the end.

He half expected the new regime to charge into his room and kill him on the spot, but curiously enough, they seemed to forget he existed. For weeks, his meals were beamed in directly from the galley and he had no visitors. Every single electronic diversion had been removed from his room, from his computer to his personal PADD. They'd even increased the polarity axis of his windows, thereby cutting him off from the rest of the cosmos, but he still got the sense they were moving in the vague direction of home. After all these years, he knew the motion of their flagship in his bones, and as such, felt impending doom overtake him.

Over and over again, he had tried to make the Senate see his point of view. Dealing a swift end to the fighting now would allow them to pour over the terabytes of data they'd acquired and form a new plan moving forward. Reunification and expansion weren't fallen ideals just yet.

But they had only chosen to focus on the numbers, the fact that he'd lost well over ninety percent of their fleet leading up to and during the Battle of Cheron. The Chairman of the Tal Shiar was dead, as well as their head of research and the First Consul, formerly the acting Praetor. There was some suspicion that he'd been the one to do her in, and they'd blatantly refused to believe that T'Leikha had managed to be charmed by an undercover member of a black ops intelligence group all along. They said no one was that stupid, and because he was trying to dupe them into believing it, he might as well have believed the same about them. Yet he still insisted it was the truth, even as his words fell on deaf ears.

After so very many days alone, he was starting to go mad. Repeatedly, he attempted to plot his escape, only to find that all ventilation hatches and maintenance conduits had been sealed from the outside. There were a trio of guards outside his door at all times, and unless he had power tools of some sort, there was no way he could saw through the deck plating. Valdore briefly considered telling them exactly what they wanted to hear, if only to gain the opportunity to see the sunlight once again. It would be all too easy to admit to murder - in this case, he might even be rewarded, seeing as T'Leikha had never been popular. At the end, she'd been vilified to the highest degree.

Still, he shuddered to think what the news outlets were reporting about him, how the general populace was harassing his family. Moreover, his honor and reputation would never recover. He wasn't sure which was worse.

He was contemplating all this and more one night when his meal arrived, emerging straight out of the ether and materializing on his desk. Valdore approached it, warily at first, wondering if today was the day they'd decide to poison him, and began to stir what appeared to be stew on his tray.

It only took a couple of seconds for him to notice a steadily blinking light at the bottom of the bowl. Hurriedly, he uncovered what appeared to be a homing beacon. His fingers roamed all over it, searching for a switch, only for a soft voice to come through, no louder than a whisper.

"Admiral?"

At first, he struggled to place it, but when he finally did, he experienced a surge of rage like never before. "Pascal. You're still alive?"

"Apparently. Now, let me…"

"Where are you?" He hissed, then lowered his voice, stepping into the closet in an attempt to muffle the noise.

"Tau Ceti, and don't you dare cut me off, because I guarantee I'm the only thing standing between you and certain death."

"And why should I put my trust in you?"

"Because I've got a proposition." A lengthy pause. "I guarantee you, this one is worth your time."

End of Season Six

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Next time on Enterprise…

Season Seven, Episode One: And the World Keeps Beginning

As our heroes begin the next stage of their lives on board the Enterprise and in San Francisco, growing pains abound.