A/N: Angelus, d'oh! I know better than that. Thanks for the correction.

Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews.

---

T'Pol wiggled her fingers as she calibrated the scanner for human and Vulcan bio signs. The necessary modifications were easy thanks to information she gleaned from Dr. Phlox nearly a year ago when he'd shown her what a human and Vulcan DNA combination might look like (Lorian). Unfortunately, the calibration took longer than expected.

They'd spent four hours in the shuttle and it looked like they may spend another four.

Glancing behind her back, she noted that Archer was strangely silent, perusing the communications and pilot stations to monitor who was following them. When she pushed a little through their bond, he looked up from his station.

"Sorry, I was trying not to bother you," he said.

"I know," she said.

Of course she does, she heard – his thought.

T'Pol was about to address his comment, running a finger along the panel to punch a few codes, when a sound drowned out Archer's; there was a scream in her ear, a nearly deafening one that could be heard over the cacophony of her own thoughts as well as the captain's.

The sound was shrill like that cry of a tribble, but had the urgency of a wail.

It came from her child.

Racing, her heart sped and she heard blood pulse in her ears like the roar of Enterprise's engines. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Shooting her head one way and then another, the scream – her baby's yell – made her eyes squint and her hands defensively hold her ears.

Shutting her eyes, paying close attention to the emotion behind the yell, T'Pol sensed feelings – peculiar ones. It was like hunger, but not as base. The Vulcan would best describe it as reaching on tip toes trying to get something just out of reach or wanting a blanket to snuggle into on a cold night, but not finding one available.

Teetering, she was about to fall, when a hand caught her elbow.

"Are you all right?" Archer asked.

T'Pol opened her eyes and the emotion, the screaming … all of it was gone. The only sensation that remained was a maternal panic; she wanted to see if her child was all right.

Years of meditation had told her it was best to breathe through anxiety; it would help the dread dissipate and assist her in working through the problem logically … rationally.

Rationally.

"T'Pol?"

Somehow his hand guided her to the bench of the shuttle while she caught her breath.

"Our daugher," T'Pol said.

"What?" And then he said more. "What's wrong with her?"

His worry began to settle over her skin, making it bristle and sweat.

Let me show you her feelings, she thought.

Archer slipped his eyes for a second, as if to focus, and gave a frown.

"I think she wants to be held, comforted," he said.

"The yearning?" she asked.

"Touch." He settled next to her on the bench. "Human infants like to be held and touched."

"I doubt her captors hold her," she said.

He sighed, and she could feel anger build inside him. "No, I'm sure they don't."

T'Pol had never been a mother and wasn't quite sure she ever wanted to be, despite an older version of herself indicating it was indeed a worthwhile cause. It of course was logical to assume one day she would have a child, but she never imagined it would happen so soon and without her consent.

Certainly not in this manner.

And yet despite it all, the need to secure her child's safety was too strong to ignore. In many ways, she could understand the anger welling inside Archer – the need to see these people suffer. Those feelings pushed her from the bench and made her stride back over to the console to finish her task.

She barely heard the creak of the bench again, and her captain come behind her.

"I've been thinking of a name for her," he said.

Her friend always knew just what to say, and though she could read in his mind to know exactly what he'd been thinking, she wanted to hear the words.

"Oh?"

"What about T'Les?"

T'Pol dropped her hand and her eyes rushed to meet his. "T'Les?"

"That may not be appropriate for Vulcan culture, but it--"

"It's perfect."

A soft smile gathered on his face and his eyes twinkled. The two stared at each other for a few moments, until he backed away a few paces and ducked his head. She swallowed deeply, hoping to clear the lump developing in her throat but being entirely unable to do so.

As if to dislodge it for her, he spoke again, this time his voice holding a bit of humor to it.

"Although I was thinking maybe her middle name could be Stewart."

"A middle name?"

"Yeah."

"T'Les Stewart?" she asked.

"Stewart was my mother's maiden name." Then looking at his shoes for a second, he admitted something. "It's my middle name."

T'Pol nodded. "Then her name is T'Les Stewart Archer."

"You'd want her to have my last name?" he asked. "I got the impression Vulcan last names are based on the maternal--"

"They are impossible to say. And you are her father; it is Earth tradition to--"

"In some cultures."

"That is the custom in your culture, Jonathan Stewart Archer."

He nodded, giving a firmer smile. "I suppose it is."

For a moment, the two gazed at each other until she turned to resume her work and he made his way back to his station to check on communications and patrol shuttles in the vicinity.

---

It was late in the evening when Malcolm arrived in his quarters. The armory officer had set up a few protocols to continue to scan for human and Vulcan bio-signs from his room when he was off-duty, no matter how futile the effort seemed.

It's definitely futile.

He hadn't found anything in more than four hours, and he seriously doubted he would find anything in any more time. They were just too far away from Earth to scan with the precious Commander Tucker was asking for.

What had him over the ropes was -- his two most senior officers, for more than a year, were involved in some lurid affair. He could hardly believe it. Unfortunately his imagination wandered to how many times his captain had called T'Pol into the Ready Room, late at night and alone.

No wonder they call it the Ready Room.

He scoffed at the absurdity of his own thoughts, just as he gave them a nod.

But, it certainly would explain a few things.

To him, it explained why T'Pol would deny Trip's affection, why she was nearly off her nutter battling the Xindi when the captain had taken the Insectoid pod to Azati Prime and why she'd ultimately divorced her husband.

Yes, it's all starting to add up.

Of course, Trip didn't believe it.

Not that a man in love would. And he and Archer seemed like friends at one time. One time.

Bollocks.

Equally as confusing as these feelings was the blinding loyalty he felt, as if all the evidence in the world wouldn't assuage Archer's honor or T'Pol's logic. Neither could be tarnished. Certainly not for any paltry affair.

As he sat on his bunk, staring at the dimmed, blue light cast from the ceiling, he shook his head.

If Captain Archer says he didn't do it, then he must not've.

The one thing he could count on from the man who sat in the center chair of the bridge was honesty.

Maybe this is what Trip was trying to tell me.

With a sigh, he jabbed at the button to turn the lights off and rolled over on his side. Just as his eyes closed, he heard the intercom beep. Careful not to sit up too quickly in his bunk bed, he'd done that the first week of staying on Enterprise knocking himself in the head every single night, he answered.

"Reed here."

"Hey, it's me," Trip said. "Sorry if I woke you."

The one thing that Malcolm both loved and hated was the informality of his friend when he was in command.

"No worries."

"I talked to someone who gave me some information on where T'Pol and Jon's kid may be."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I need a favor from you. A personal one."

Reed knew right away it meant this wasn't an order. "What is it?"

"I'd like you to take a trip." Tucker paused. "How's your French?"

---

The plan was hatched. Commander Tucker explained that Ruby suspected the main headquarters was in Paris and without any further information, Malcolm volunteered. To make the request official, Reed contacted him two minutes later to ask for a day off to visit "relatives in Paris due to a death in the family." Trip granted his buddy permission, suggesting he take that leave right away. Of course, they'd worked out a detailed plan, but Trip doubted anyone would ask about the bereavement.

They never do.

After Reed contacted Tucker in the Ready Room to be cleared to leave for Earth, Trip gave permission for Shuttlepod One to clear the bay and then turned around as the door to the Ready Room chimed. It was Hoshi, her ponytail was askew, with hair jutting out everywhere, and she was wearing eye-bags so heavy they could've been labeled suitcases.

He'd been waiting for more information from the ensign on the personal logs ever since she indicated Archer made the slip in one about a year ago. Because she was only contacting him now, a few hours later, it seemed she had mostly good news; it meant just the one log Archer left might be problematic.

"T'Pol's personal logs are like reading Klingon comics," Hoshi said.

Trip knew first-hand that she'd only used her personal logs as notes, cataloging phenomenon. And not that he really got the whole Klingon comic quip, but figured it must've meant that the entries were dull.

Well, Gardner would get a kick out of the one. And then he'd go bat shit.

Overreacting was The Drip's specialty.

Hoshi Sato finally coughed to get his attention back and Trip leaned back in his chair

He said, "Well, that's it. Transfer them all to Admiral Gardner."

Sato furrowed her brow. "Sir, it's just one recording, I doubt anyone would miss it. It's not like Captain Archer recorded his thoughts daily, weekly or even monthly. He was sporadic. Sporadic enough to--"

"Nah, Hoshi, you should turn them over."

"But--"

"The worst they could do is officially charge him. Besides, I don't think Captain Archer would want us to lie for him, and you don't want this on your record; that's the last thing a communications officers needs – a note that says you tampered with logs."

"No one will know if I--"

"All of them." Sato pouted, unconvinced, and Trip had to play commander. "That's an order, Ensign."

He had a feeling it didn't come off as tough as he'd intended, but she stood a little straighter and nodded under the authority of the comment anyway.

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks," he said. "Now, go get some sleep."

When the door slid closed, leaving him alone in the Ready Room, Tucker sighed. Phlox had delivered some fairly good news only a couple of hours ago.

At least Ambassador Soval is looking into this.

---

Watson looked over to his friend, Paxton, as he placed the call to his friend. The older man was hidden behind a column, out of visual range of the monitor. He knew the man wanted to be there, to hear the story they'd concocted and to embarrass Starfleet. They had the same goal: force the aliens off their planet.

And that thought brought both of them a smile.

Without hesitation, Kevin Watson contacted an old friend, Tom. Tom was a reporter at the Seattle Times and had gone to the same grade school and high school, but hadn't talked in five years.

"I know something about the Enterprise Affair – the one that involves Captain Archer and the Vulcan who serves there, T'Pol," said Watson.

Tom's smoothed his hand over his wiry gray hair, widened his blue eyes and hung his mouth agape, salivating for the scoop.

So, Watson weaved an interesting tale.

It started with truth, making the lies less noticeable. He explained his father, also a scientist, worked with the famous Henry Archer and that his family was on a base with them in upstate New York. During that time, the Vulcans "prodded their noses into everything." The humans found it loathsome and used to complain about it when they weren't in earshot of the aliens. Even the children joined in, calling each of the meddlesome Vulcans "pointy-ears."

"It was a breeding ground for prejudice?" Tom asked, already hot on a story.

Watson gave a single nod. He then explained that his father kept in touch with Henry when the Archers moved, along with the project, to San Francisco. In fact, he'd kept up with him until the engineer's life was claimed more than 30 years ago. When they went to the funeral, the Archers in their pain and suffering vowed that someone would see that Henry Archer's engines were put into space. Jonathan, a boy then, shook his fist and cursed the Vulcans who came to watch the engineer buried, his voice dripping with malice.

"Captain Archer never recovered," said Watson. "His prejudice grew."

It spurned him onto seeking additional responsibility in Starfleet until he got assigned to a starship: Enterprise. But, when he was assigned a Vulcan first officer, his hate didn't cool; it twisted him.

"He raped her," Watson said. "He's been raping her for years. He said he enjoyed screwing over the Vulcans just like they'd done to his family. Eventually, she gave birth and because he had such hate for her people, he gave the child to us – Terra Prime. He even told us to do whatever we wanted with his daughter."

The story took one harrowing turn after another, indicating Archer had asked Terra Prime to take his child because he knew they had no great love for the Vulcans either. He knew the group would discard his baby one way or another without telling Starfleet.

The reporter had dropped his PADD during the moments Watson said the "hero of the Expanse" was violating a woman under his command and hadn't recovered since then.

"Tom?" asked Watson.

"How do you know?"

"You mean what proof do I have?" asked Watson. For dramatic effect, he walked over to a crib – one staged only a few paces away – and scooped the child up. Shoving the baby at the monitor, pointing its ears at the screen, he said a few words.

Watson said, "This is their child. Everything I've said has been the truth."

"I'd like to travel to meet you," said Tom.

Watson nodded.

"I'd like to bring a doctor with me."

"You can," said Watson.

"Are you sure he was … raping his first officer?" asked Tom. "Raping?"

"Oh, I'm sure. Starfleet has been covering this up for years."

The reporter shook his head. "I … my wife and I named our son after him."

Deciding not to scoff at the sentimentality Tom's choice, he changed the subject.

"When can I expect you?" asked Watson.

"Tonight," the reporter said. "Kevin, what happened to you? How did you get mixed up with Terra Prime?"

Kevin Watson had been expecting this question. They kept in touch since high school, at least off and on, until his mother died last year. She was vacationing in Venezuela last year … when the Xindi attacked.

"My mother."

Tom frowned. "A lot of people died then."

Kevin's eyes flashed back at the terminal. "Only one was my mother. You know, the Vulcans were right. We're not ready for space travel. We're not ready for a lot of things."

"Maybe you're right. I'll see you soon," said Tom.

The screen blackened and Watson turned to Paxton.

"Satisfied?" said Watson.

Paxton walked over and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "We won't let anything attack Earth ever again. Enterprise will pay for causing the Xindi to come."

Watson nodded, anger settling over his bones; he'd come to know that fury as relief.

"I hope so."

TBC