He was tired.

It wasn't a new experience for him; since accepting the promotion and assuming command of Endeavour, Trip Tucker could count on one hand the number of full nights' sleep he'd had. In the weeks after the battle at Elysium, he had lived in either T'Pol's hospital ward or Endeavour's Engineering deck, subsisting on three hours of sleep and what seemed like fifty liters of coffee a day while trying to get the NX-06out of Spacedock. He'd hoped things would settle down after the Endeavour launched.

Naturally, they hadn't.

These days, it seemed as if something always came up, usually at the worst possible moment, and was almost always bad. If it wasn't receiving new orders from Starfleet Command at zero-three in the morning or a reactor coolant leak in Engineering at twelve-thirty hours, it was a distress signal from the shipping lanes at zero-one or a possible Romulan sensor contact at oh-four-thirty.

Even now, as he was returning to his quarters for some much needed sleep, three different problems were spinning around in his head and, as was all too common, none of them could be postponed.

Eisler was at the top of his list. As the new tactical officer and third in command, the German ex-MACO had some big shoes to fill: Commander - now Captain - Stiles was one hell of an officer and Challenger was getting an excellent CO. Mentally, Tucker ticked off the things he needed to do with Eisler, ranging from briefing him on his duties to introducing him to the rest of the command staff, not to mention getting him acclimated to Tucker's command style. Trip also wanted to get a better feel of the man's attitude regarding Vulcans; Eisler's less than warm reception of T'Pol earlier had not escaped his notice, although he'd been too distracted to call the tactical officer on it.

Right under that was dealing with the ongoing feud between the COB and Lieutenant Li. He'd not been able to learn the specifics of their problems - neither the Master Chief nor Li were very forthcoming - but their problems were becoming his problems; having the senior enlisted man and the damage control officer at one another's throats all the damned time was getting tiresome. Both had been transferred to Endeavour after the Challenger had been nearly crippled at Pacifica, and rumors of a failed romance between them there had reached even his ears. Li's battlefield promotion to officer could not have helped if those rumors were correct, and her near-celebrity status back home for the heroism she'd displayed at Pacifica could only exacerbate the problem.

His chief engineer wasn't exactly helping matters either, and Trip idly wondered if he had driven Archer as crazy as Drahn was driving him. The Andorian had an obsession with speed that bordered on the obscene, and the experiments he wanted to run gave even Trip pause. They'd butted heads on so many occasions lately that he was almost convinced Drahn was doing it on purpose just to see what would happen. At least the Andorian was even more accident-prone than Trip had ever been; in the two months since launch, Drahn had been in sickbay at least once every single day and Trip had done nothing to discourage the injury pool that had quickly sprung up among the junior officers.

Archer's unexpected presence only added to the load and, for someone who had insisted that they needed to speak in private, Jon had been surprisingly closemouthed regarding the mission.

"I need you to take me to the Vigrid system," he'd said once Trip had gotten him set up in guest quarters. "I'll tell you more later."

"I'm gettin' too old for this crap," Tucker muttered under his breath as he neared his quarters. The door slid open and he entered, already starting to unzip his uniform. A wave of heat washed over him as he passed through the entryway, and T'Pol glanced up from the desk where she sat. Her presence wasn't a surprise - she'd pretty much moved in once they'd left Spacedock - but the image on the viewer caused his stride to falter.

Koss.

It was obviously a recorded message; the subspace buoys that allowed interstellar communications were invariably the first targets of a Romulan assault, thus limiting direct contact. But simply the image of T'Pol's ex-husband sent a jolt of alarm through Trip. She gave him a look of curiosity as she deactivated the viewer and, through the bond, he could sense she was distracted.

"Somethin' up?" he asked with false nonchalance.

"Merely a routine message regarding my marriage," T'Pol replied absently, her focus returning to the three PADDs scattered before her. For a moment, he admired the view - T'Pol in silk PJs was always a beautiful sight, especially Triaxian silk.

"Don't tell me you gotta go back and get married again," Trip finally said with a forced grin. He'd meant it in jest, but the moment the words left him he winced with remembered pain. Even without trying, he could recall that day with perfect clarity, could remember how astoundingly beautiful she had looked in her wedding dress, could still see the sadness in her eyes, could still feel the brush of her lips against his cheek. He blinked away the memory, and found her half-turned, staring at him with knowing eyes.

"You are my mate, Trip," she replied softly as she offered her right hand to him with two fingers extended. "I belong to you." She shivered as he touched her fingers with his own, despite the warmth of the cabin; he kept it hotter than he preferred, mostly out of deference to her desert upbringing. That, and he really liked seeing her in her PJs. "There will be no one else for as long as I live. Koss was just being ... polite." Tucker raised an eyebrow at that. "He is to marry another and wished to inform me so that I may make ... arrangements if necessary." She leaned forward and kissed him softly, her fingertips still caressing his.

"If there's any belongin' goin' on here, sweetheart, it's the other way around." He gave her a sheepish grin. "You must think I'm bein' silly," he muttered as she returned her attention to the work in front of her. T'Pol gave him a sideways glance and, though there was no hint of it on her face, he could feel her amusement.

"I do not," she declared before looking again at the PADDs. "You were just being ... Trip." He chuckled as he began to strip off his uniform, wincing slightly as the muscles in his back and legs protested slightly. Perhaps those extra kilometers on the treadmill this morning had been a mistake. "You are tired," T'Pol said abruptly, and he looked up to find her studying him with affection in her eyes. He loved it when she looked at him like that.

"Yeah." The uniform went into the hamper; she'd long since broken him of his habit of just tossing his uniform onto the floor until washday. "Tough day." He dropped down on the bed and, for a moment, just let his entire body relax. It felt wonderful. "Think you're up for..."

"Neuropressure?" She finished for him. He smiled again. She'd read his mind. Literally. Amusement flickered across her face as she stood up from the desk and approached the bed. "Not tonight," T'Pol whispered softly and he gave her a surprised look. She leaned forward, intent clear on her face, and captured his lips with her own. Through their bond, Trip felt her arousal spike and nearly groaned as it surged through him. As their tongues dueled, her fingers danced across his face, each touch a promise. She pressed forward, nearly climbing into his lap, and he felt his self-control slipping. Damn, but she was heaven to kiss.

"Darlin'," he gasped as he pulled away. Her mouth crawled down his neck and he felt her teeth against his skin. "Stop ... gotta stop ..." As she kissed her way back to his lips, her hands slipped lower, finding their way to his underwear. He had to stop this. Now. "Phlox ..." he panted under her unrelenting assault, hoping that she would recall the doctor's orders to avoid sexual intimacy while her body recovered. Damn it all, she was supposed to be the logical one! Their eyes met and he felt her open up her memories, felt her draw him into her mind, saw the Denobulan give her a clean bill of health. Her need, her desire, her want hammered at him and, with a broadening smile, he willingly drew her to him. If Phlox said they could ...

"Archer to Tucker." The comm echoed loudly in the relatively Spartan quarters, and Trip wondered where he could hide Jon's body after he killed him. He felt T'Pol's laughter in his mind as he rolled off of the bed and staggered to the comm panel, half bent over. How had she managed to get his briefs twisted around like that?

"Tucker," he snapped as he hit the transmit button. Yeah, he was addressing a senior officer but ... dammit ...

"I took the liberty of having Chef Killick prepare dinner." Jon's voice was entirely too cheerful and held that hidden tone of command; he was giving an order without actually giving one. "I'd like you and T'Pol to join me and Phlox for dinner, if you don't mind."

A phase pistol to the head was too good for his so-called friend, and it left a body behind.

"I can brief you on the mission at the same time," Archer continued. Transporter set on wide dispersion to beam the body into space? That might do the trick. "Say, thirty minutes?" No body, no crime.

"Sure thing, sir. Thirty minutes." Trip released the comm button and glanced back at T'Pol. She rose from the bed, now shamelessly nude, and gave him a look that he understood at once; his thoughts of homicide, however justifiable they may seem, had clearly reached her and he couldn't tell if she was amused or not. Taking in her mussed up hair and gloriously flushed skin, he cocked a smile at her. No jury in the galaxy would find him guilty.

"Share a shower?" he asked, and she raised an eyebrow before giving him that subtle smile that she allowed only him to see.

They were going to be late.