A/N: This story diverges from canon in the middle of "Harbinger," Season 3, episode 15. Some of the dialogue is heavily inspired by the episode, but it goes off in a different direction pretty dang quick. (I don't copy the dialogue exactly word-for-word from the episode).

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Chapter 1

AU for "Harbinger," Season 3, Episode 15

Trip woke up on the floor.

This in itself wasn't all that unusual. Sad to say, he'd been exhausted enough during this Xindi mission to fall out of his bunk a few times in the middle of the night. Didn't even wake up. A few weeks ago, he'd opened his eyes and blinked for a few seconds before he realized his face was smashed into the base of his bedframe, the cartilage at the end of his nose bent out of shape as he drooled on the carpet. Another time he'd woken with one foot still half in bed, tangled in his once-tight sheets.

This time wasn't like the others.

This time a body was draped half-over him, a blanket of silky skin warming his. Long, slow breaths stirred the fine hairs behind his ear, sending trickles of pleasant sensations down his spine. His left arm was asleep, trapped under her. Clenching his hand into a fist, Trip felt prickles of pain shoot through the numbness.

T'Pol stirred. Trip stilled and waited. She slid one knee a little higher where it rested along his thigh and nuzzled her nose against his neck. He held his breath. Her muscles seemed to melt again as she relaxed, molding herself to him, breaths evening to that steady pace once more.

A long, slow sigh escaped him, one he felt he'd been holding back for months. Maybe years. Maybe since the moment he met her.

For the first time in a long time, Trip felt whole.

He shouldn't feel like this. He wasn't just putting the cart before the horse, emotionally speaking—he was putting the cart on another continent.

For all intents and purposes, he'd just had a one-night stand. An ill-advised fling with a fellow senior officer, unlikely to be anything more. The two of them had been dancing around this attraction for a damn long time, truth be told. But he never thought they'd actually end up here, plastered to each other on the floor of T'Pol's warm quarters, exhausted from the culmination of that attraction.

He never thought she'd be the one to initiate it, although he'd fantasized about it. He never thought she would've been provoked to this by something as minor as his flirtation with Amanda Cole, although he wouldn't deny he'd hoped to get a rise out of her.

Could it actually have been that good last night, or was he just imagining things? Everything in him wanted to trust this bone-weary satisfaction he felt, but he never would've predicted this. It was true that chemistry had sparked between them almost from the get-go, first in conflict, later in the synergy of a productive partnership. Once in a blue moon he contemplated what that synergy might amount to if they headed in a romantic direction.

But fantasies aside, Trip was old enough, experienced enough, to know that physical intimacy took work—it was never perfect the first time, although it could be damn good. This time it shouldn't have been any different.

It was. They were perfect together.

Almost from the moment they'd kissed, he'd felt aligned to her on every plane—physical, spiritual, emotional. It made every other partner he'd been with seem like a half-hearted, last-minute run-through. T'Pol had been the whole show, plus a few encores.

He couldn't deny it—even now. After, when the glow had begun to fade, he felt different. She felt different. Maybe it was only an illusion of closeness brought on by the physical intimacy. Maybe. His logical brain told him he was going way too fast, but his emotional mind? Completely on board.

T'Pol's fingers twitched against his chest.

Wasn't that the problem here, though? His emotional mind was all in. But hers? She suppressed her emotions, she didn't give into them.

Or did she?

Trip frowned. A year ago, had someone asked him what T'Pol was like, he would've said without qualification, "tough as nails." But lately? She was vulnerable.

He'd wondered a few times recently if Vulcans experienced stress, because she was downright touchy these days. It was as if her experience on the Seleya, being affected so intensely by all that trellium-d, had broken something in her, and recovering from it hadn't quite sealed all the cracks.

So was her unexpected come-on last night, her sensitivity about Amanda Cole, all motivated by emotion? Emotion for him?

He thought back to their first few missions together. That version of T'Pol never would've even entertained the idea of attraction to him. If memory served, she'd nearly pursed her lips like she'd been suckin' on a lemon whenever she'd been forced to discuss his romantic life. Her wit had become razor sharp each time at his expense.

Trip didn't think the neuropressure had changed everything. It had accelerated things a bit, but they'd come to a place of mutual respect before that. It was this Xindi mission messin' with her, maybe. It had changed all of them—the uncertainty, the sheer scope and weight of their mission—everyone had been edgy, and the coping mechanisms across the crew had been sometimes unexpected. More than one impromptu romance had popped up, if the rumor mill was to be believed.

Maybe he and T'Pol weren't any different.

But they were different. She was different, and so was he. They hadn't talked about her heightened emotions. Trip hadn't wanted to broach the subject. Nope, he didn't want to open that can of worms if he could avoid it. Now that they'd slept together, though…he probably should.

Trip sighed, staring at the ceiling of T'Pol's quarters. Those kinds of conversations weren't any kind of picnic, but it was too important this time. She was too important.

A few minutes later she hadn't moved a muscle, but Trip could sense the moment she woke. It was a strange feeling, like a slight wavering in the back of his mind, a feather lightly flickering in the breeze. Seconds later she stiffened and pulled away from him, sitting up and reaching across his body to the floor where her robe lay, discarded.

He stared at her, not quite believing what he was thinking. Her face was smooth, placid. Eyes steady, emotion flat. No nonverbal cues. But he knew, like he knew the feel of his own skin, that there were emotions churning beneath the surface—a swirling like a whirlpool that was getting faster and faster.

She was panicking.

Without stopping to think about it, Trip sat up and gripped her hand.

The whirpool stopped. Trip let go, slowly. He held her gaze for a few seconds, nothing more, before turning away to reach for the blanket to pull across himself.

The floor shook and the dim lights flickered.

"Tactical Alert. Senior officers to their posts," came Captain Archer's voice over the all-call.

They'd have to settle this later.

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A bleary-eyed Trip walked into the mess hall the next morning after being knocked out by a sphere-building alien and then spending the next four hours trying to get a comprehensive diagnosis on the sad state of his engines. He looked up to see T'Pol's back at the beverage station as she reached in to grab her mug of tea.

"Mornin'," he said.

"Commander," she acknowledged, and Trip paused, watching her as she retreated toward an empty table.

There it was again. That tickle in the back of his mind, a deeper awareness of her than he'd had yesterday.

He paused, distracted. After a second he shook it off, turning to the beverage dispenser and placing a mug on the platform.

"Coffee, strong." His cup started filling.

He chanced a glance at T'Pol, but she wasn't looking at him.

"Crazy night," he finally commented, feeling awkward.

T'Pol acknowledged his comment with a nod as she settled in her seat. Trip picked up his mug and joined her at the table

He set his mug down. "A lot of damage to the engine. I don't know who gets the prize: the alien or Malcolm."

She took a sip of her tea. "How long before repairs are complete?

Trip stretched slightly, sighing. "At least another day."

She sipped her tea again and he studied her. This feeling he had—it was just a hunch, right? She seemed normal. Disinterested. Calm.

And yet…she didn't want to be here, talking to him. She was just going through the motions. He was sure of it.

Maybe he should just acknowledge the elephant in the room?

"I uh," he stopped, cleared his throat. "We should probably talk about last night."

"I received a full briefing."

She hid behind her teacup, and he felt that little feather in the back of his mind flutter frantically before it suddenly stopped, as if squashed.

Trip frowned. Was she really pretending she didn't know what he was talking about?

He kept pushing. "I meant what happened between us."

T'Pol blinked at him over the rim. This was jarring. Her face was saying nothing, but he could swear there were volatile emotions in her. Panic. Fear. Regret. Hope. Embarrassment. Need. Insecurity.

Was all that really coming from her? It was uncanny, like looking at an illusion. A tug of war played in his mind: believe what his eyes were telling him, or ignore them and turn to his other senses, including this unexplained new one, that all pointed in an entirely different direction.

Maybe he should feel her out a little. Get the conversation moving forward.

"I'll talk first." He watched her closely. "I—"

But didn't have anything to say. Maybe if she went first—

"Actually, you go first."

She paused. Trip tried to read her, but the flicker in his mind had gone still, as if holding its breath. Then a sharp burst of sensation, and, "I suppose I should thank you," she said.

Trip started, surprised. This, he hadn't expected.

He blushed. "That's not necessary." It had been a great night, but this was a little much.

Then she continued, "For making it possible for me to explore human sexuality."

His intuition perked up again. There it was—that misalignment. What she said wasn't what she meant.

Wait—she was lying? He gaped at her, not sure how to respond. "I'm not sure I understand."

She looked at him directly. "Your culture is intriguing in many ways, sexuality included. Since I left the High Command, I have meant to conduct some field research."

Was she kidding? The feather-like sensation was moving differently now. Not flickering frantically, but waving. Merrily. Trip's irritation spiked even further.

"So last night was some kind of experiment?" he said in disbelief.

The feather danced. Damn her—she was happy. Happy that he was irritated.

"I wouldn't use that word," she said smugly.

Okay, this was too much. "But that's what you meant."

"Are you getting emotional?"

"Yes, damn it, I am," Trip snapped. She was enjoying having the upper hand a little bit too much. "You're makin' me sound like a lab rat."

"I apologize if I offended you."

No, she for damn sure wasn't sorry. He stared at her. T'Pol blinked back at him, and this time, he could see it. The other signs that matched the flickering in his mind, which had slowed to a quaver: wariness in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hand on her mug.

She was lying. He could feel it. And on top of that, a cautious confidence. She felt like she'd was just about to unequivocally win this argument.

Well, too bad, Trip thought, irritation flaring. He wasn't done arguing.

"No you're not," he said.

"I'm not what?" she asked coolly, but set her mug down a little harder than she would normally.

"You're not sorry you offended me." He leaned against the tabletop, narrowing the space between them in challenge. "You meant to offend me."

She leaned back and raised a haughty eyebrow. "Are you accusing me of lying?"

"Damn straight. You are lyin' and I'm not going to take it." Trip leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Vulcans do not lie." T'Pol calmly picked up her mug and took a sip.

He leaned back across the table and waited until her eyes met his again.

"Liar."

The flicker became agitated again as she broke eye contact and set down her mug again with a clank. "You make it impossible to have even the simplest conversation."

He scoffed at that. "Me? You're the one who's about as forthcomin' as a fencepost."

Her mouth set in a grim line, T'Pol refused to answer him. They stared at each other for a few minutes longer.

"C'mon, T'Pol, admit it," Trip said in a mirror of last night's conversation. "You liked bein' with me."

She looked away. "I told you, it was an exploration, not the beginning of a relationship."

"I don't know what dictionary you've been lookin' at, but I think your definition's a little off."

"What do you mean?"

"We're crewmates. Then friends. And now—" Trip checked to make sure no one was listening in—"more than friends. I hate to break it to you, but we're already in a relationship."

"But not a romantic one."

He raised an eyebrow. "I think your candles and silky jammies last night beg to differ."

"That was not—" T'Pol stopped.

Trip stared. This was so odd, seeing T'Pol at a loss for words. He was actually winning an argument with her for once. It had never been like this—her cold logic had always superseded his emotion. But now? Her emotions were there—close to the surface, and turbulent. Every verbal jab she threw, he blocked. Her frustration was palpable. And there, the flicker, the intuition that told him what she was feeling before she spoke.

"Your refusal to cooperate is illogical."

"Maybe," he agreed, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smirk. "I sure didn't mind cooperatin' a few hours ago."

Her mouth tightened. The flicker was pulsing now, growing, a tiny maelstrom brewing. He watched her take one deep, measured breath. Trip swore he could literally feel her emotions fighting to break free, pushing against the barriers that might not be strong enough to hold them back, not emotions this intense.

T'Pol dropped her voice to just over a whisper. "This is not an appropriate venue for this conversation."

And just like that, Trip's irritation subsided. She was struggling, and he was egging her on. If he really cared about her, and after last night he was certain he did, he shouldn't be pushing every button she had.

He sat back, adopting a more open, less challenging position. "You're right," he said just as softly. "But we need to have it sometime soon."

She relaxed, and the pulsing in his mind faded.

"Perhaps we should just forget it ever happened," she said, running a finger over her mug handle.

"We could do that," he acknowledged. "But I think it's gonna be pretty close to impossible."

Her eyes shot to his, and the fluttering intensified. He took pity on her. "But we can table it for awhile. I think we both need some time to process."

"Agreed." Her relief was palpable. She stood. "I am needed on the bridge."

Trip got up and stretched a bit, barely covering a yawn. "I'm headed out, too." He followed her to the dish rack and they placed their mugs on it to be cleaned. "Neuropressure tomorrow night?"

She looked like she might argue, but after a moment's hesitation, acknowledged him with a brief nod and strode away.

The flicker stilled and faded as she disappeared around the corner.

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A/N: I keep doing this to myself. Thinking of ideas for fanfic that happen during the seasons of the show. And I think, "Hey, it'll be fine. I can just go AU from the point I start to change it." But this show is different than TNG—it's serialized, so if I pick up in the middle of "Harbinger," I can't act like the rest of Season 3 doesn't exist. The Xindi are still out there. So I'm left with a combination of some AU and the "missing scenes" approach I took in my last TnT story, "Meditation." I'm hoping this one isn't quite so welded to the original show. We'll be popping in and out of canonical episodes here and there, but eventually we'll finally jump off the tracks.

Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 coming soon.