"We really got to stop meeting like this," Trip said, standing again watching T'Pol meditate.

"How do you suggest we meet?" T'Pol deadpanned, opening her eyes and looking up. Trip thought she deadpanned it – then again, all Vulcans were masters of understatement. "We are on different ships on different missions."

"It was a joke."

"I am aware."

They lapsed into the silence that their strange, mental encounters often consisted of. Sometimes Trip sat with her, and sometimes Trip felt the need to talk.

"You know you could write me."

"That would be illogical, as we see each other quite often like this."

"Aww, true." Trip said. "Besides, I wouldn't believe it if you sent me letters anyway."

T'Pol frowned. "Why wouldn't you believe it if I sent you a communication?"

"Old family story, I suppose."

"A family story would cause you to believe that any correspondence you receive from me would be false?"

Trip winced. Perhaps today was a bad day to talk… she sounded as if she needed the meditation herself. "Well, my family lore goes back quite far," Trip stated. "And it turns out that once upon a time there was an ancestor of mine who loved a women he went to the Naval Academy with – you see, ships are in my blood, but not as thick as Malcom's – and they got married and he went into the submarine force."

"How long ago was this?"

"Centuries."

"You family histories are impressive."

"We kept the journals for a long time, and then donated them to historical research a while back… we get free access to data-versions of them, and reading them is kind of a right of passage in my family."

"And these journals are continuous through the centuries?"

"More or less – once you start a tradition of journaling in a family, and you get everyone involved, it's hard to stop. So, anyway, he was on a West-Pac – a six month long mission in the Western Pacific, and he wasn't getting any family grams. Family grams were notes from home of only thirty words, and my ancestor was upset. So, my ancestor's CO asked my ancestor's department commander to make sure he got letters."

"That is not ethical."

"This was during the Cold War; it was important for moral to be kept up on those tiny ships – not unlike Movie Night was needed on Enterprise."

"What did these falsified letters consist of?"

"Well, it was an entire story, really. Apparently he and his wife rented out his car while he was away to visiting military officers and the first 'gram told him that an Admiral had rented his car. The second, that he had totaled it; the third that the Admiral had bought a new, better car in recompense… and when they got to port, my ancestor called his wife, and asked her about these goings on and she said it was a lie. And he found out that all of his family grams were lies."

"How did he react?"

"He told her how much he missed her and was disappointed that she didn't write, and she flew right out to see him in Hong-Kong and when she got there they had hot, steamy, make-up sex and my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother was born nine months later."

"Why did she not send 'family-grams?'?"

"She thought they were pointless. She thought he knew she loved him without any tokens of affection over a six month absence. She didn't think she could say anything in thirty words."

"And you do not believe I would write you."

"No, T'Pol, you're too practical. Why would I need a note like that? Especially if there is nothing between us."

"I have a family legend I wish to tell you, as well."

"I'm listenin'."

"Many generations ago, there was a legend of my ancestor and her mate. Her mate left her, but their love was so strong, their bond so sure, that they could see each other in their mind when they both meditated."

Trip's face blanked and blanched. "Your storytelling skills need work."

"It is a very simple legend."

"Sounds more like a rumor, to me."

"It is possible to see it that way. However, I prefer to think of it as truth."

"I sure as hell believe it." Trip looked down at his feet and scraped his toe on the floor. "I have to go. I have to go on shift."

"Perhaps I will write you," she said, as he disappeared.

A/N: The story contained within actually happened. My dad was the departmental commander and good friend of the guy who got the fake family grams. My mom was good friends with the wife, and I was about 5 at the time, so I heard this story years later. Everything is true to the best of my eavesdropping ability. I always thought the story would suit a good T/T romance, but I could never figure out plausible reasons for them to be apart and only communicating by letter for me to write it.