Chapter 3

AU for Azati Prime.

A/N: I've made some adjustments for length of travel time, etc. in these chapters. According to captain's logs, "Hatchery" (Episode 17) takes place January 8, 2154. The next stated date isn't until "The Council," which is February 12, 2154. For purposes of this story, I've estimated a week and a half or so from the beginning of Hatchery to the moment Archer leaves for Azati Prime, which puts the events of this chapter beginning about January 19 or 20, 2154. (Almost my birthday! I will be 177 years old. Yay me!)

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Captain Archer wasn't coming back.

Trip sat at the engineering station on the bridge, staring at a viewscreen now void of Archer's commandeered Xindi ship. The moment they lost contact with his captain, Trip felt the weight of that loss settle heavily onto his chest. It was difficult to breathe. He'd heard stories of people's lives flashing before their eyes at the moment of death, but in this moment, his entire friendship with Jon was playing on a looped reel in his head.

The man he'd met at Starfleet, the one who'd had such intense faith in him, was gone. It didn't matter that his death hadn't yet occurred—it was inevitable. Necessary. Grief battled with hope, and hope was stubbornly clinging, fingernails gripping the ledge and desperately defying all the logic that said Trip should accept Archer was gone. Maybe there was a way out—

But no. This was a one-way mission. He knew that. And yet, his mind would not accept it. Could not.

The Captain had been a bright light in his life: his champion, his mentor, his friend. Extinguishing that light went against everything this mission stood for. They were supposed to be preserving humanity, not sacrificing it.

Archer was humanity—the figurehead of their species to anyone they'd encountered since the beginning of their mission. His name, his face, were synonymous with the best Earth had to offer. What Jon wanted more than anything was to discover the best the galaxy had to offer in return. And now, that dream was dying.

The Shakespearean tragedy of it all was a bitter pill to swallow.

For now, all they could do was wait. Wait and hope that the captain's mission was a success, and maybe this entire difficult journey would be over. Maybe his death would not be in vain.

But losing the captain meant it would never feel like a victory.

Across the bridge, T'Pol, now acting captain, had been staring somewhat vacantly at the viewscreen where the last images of the Xindi insectoid ship had disappeared from view. After a few more seconds, T'Pol seemed to shake herself, straightening.

"I'll be in the ready room," she said. Her voice was unsteady. Turning, she walked stiffly away and disappeared behind the ready room door.

Trip watched the door close behind her with a mixture of concern and dread. It had been nearly a week since his conversation with Phlox in sickbay. The doctor had called him in twenty-four hours later to share the results of his comparison of the two brain scans. There was virtually no change. Trip's brain chemistry was not being altered as the Captain's had been by the Xindi insectoid hatchlings.

"This is excellent news, Commander," Phlox had said cheerfully, gesturing to the cross-section of Trip's brain displayed on the computer monitor. "Brain function is well within acceptable parameters. I think I can safely say that you are not being unduly influenced by some insidious phenomenon."

Trip frowned. "Does telepathic connection always show up in brain scans like this?"

"No," Phlox conceded. "But the purpose of the scan was to detect a problem similar to that of the captain's, wasn't it? His was chemical. Yours is not. It is very good that we can rule this out."

"But it also means there's no easy treatment," Trip argued.

Phlox closed the test results and the monitor returned to its neutral screen. "We cannot determine that yet," he said. "That is the purpose of the neural monitor you're wearing. It has already been collecting data. We will review it next week as we discussed and determine if there is evidence of increased telepathic connection with Commander T'Pol. Only then can we determine if a treatment is even necessary."

Trip's frown deepened. He'd hoped that the brain scan would've been a revelation, that a logical reason for this connection would be blatantly obvious. That he would be able see the chain of causes and effects that would relax his tension and give him a way to say, Oh, so that's why I feel so connected to her.

"Your fears seem premature," Phlox said gently. "Medicine teaches us to look for facts without bias or judgment. And such facts can only be determined after a time of study and observation."

"And in the mean time?" Trip said, unable to keep the frustration from raising his voice. "What am I supposed to do? Just deal with the fact that she can influence me like this?"

Phlox raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "She has always influenced you, Commander," he said dryly. "That is the very nature of interpersonal relationships. Decisions are influenced by emotions. Emotions are influenced by experience. And this interplay between emotions, experience, and decision-making is constantly being reshaped as we live our lives, have new experiences, and grow and change as individuals. This is a well-documented process for most humanoid species."

"But this is different."

"Perhaps in the details," Phlox answered. "But I believe the foundational principles remain the same."

Trip fidgeted, frowning.

Phlox continued, his voice calm. "The chemistry between the two of you, if you'll pardon the metaphorical use of the term, has always been potent, don't you agree? It's arguable that she's gotten you to change your mind once or twice in the past, even without this new connection."

Trip let out a long sigh and leaned back against the scanning bed, crossing his arms over his chest. He let his many arguments with T'Pol flip through his mind like a stack of cards. It was a big stack. "Yeah, okay. I get your point."

"Let me ask you this. All other things being equal, what if T'Pol were human? Would you be experiencing any of this—emotional upheaval?"

Trip's eyes shot to Phlox's and widened. The man had a point. If he had this kind of incendiary attraction to a human woman, and they'd had a one-night stand like his had been with T'Pol, and if that night had ended in her denying it was what it was—hell. Upheaval was right.

Trip unsuccessfully tried to stop the embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks. "So basically, I'm bein' a hypochondriac."

"Not necessarily," Phlox said, but there was a tilt to his mouth that suggested he was placating Trip. "As with any interspecies relationship, especially one that is so, shall we say, pioneering?"

Trip couldn't help a small smile, despite the butterflies still churning in his gut. "Sure, I guess."

"In any case, monitoring of the medical side of things would be sensible. The truth remains—you have reported specific symptoms. These symptoms have a marked beginning that coincides with a specific biological event. The neural monitor is prudent, but merely as a precaution."

Trip had left sickbay deep in thought, but still tied up in knots. Phlox could be right—he might be overreacting. But he might not. They still didn't know if this flutter in his mind was innocuous or invasive, temporary or permanent.

That possibility was what clinched it. Until he knew more, Trip decided it was safer to be extremely cautious around T'Pol. He hadn't avoided her—the neural monitor wouldn't collect any useful data if he dodged her all together. But the idea that she might be able to so easily influence him made him take a rather large step back.

It wasn't that he'd stopped caring about her; if anything, he felt incomplete being away from her. He found himself daydreaming about her, remembering their night together, wanting to touch her, hold her, just be with her. That sense of wholeness he'd felt seemed like a dream, and avoiding her made him ache.

But the realization of that ache intensified his fears. It became an endless circle—pushing himself away, being pulled back by duty or need, and then pushing away again for his own preservation.

Frankly, it was exhausting. And not something he really wanted to deal with when the Xindi were right on their heels and the entire future of humanity hung in the balance.

Trip had been thankful there was plenty to do to distract himself. The travel time between the planet with the hatchery and Azati Prime had been a perfect opportunity to get the ship back into shape. They'd been patching things up here and there over this mission, but the run-ins with spatial anomalies, the Xindi, and assorted other enemies and damaging phenomena had left their mark. Trip wrote up a to-do list and got his crews working, overseeing every aspect of the repairs, major and minor included, himself.

Such a grueling schedule had left little time for worrying about or interacting with T'Pol. The few times they'd been in the same room, Trip had been careful to avoid that new sensation in his mind, attempting to erect a mental block against it. In doing so, he discovered that he could tune her out, at least when she wasn't agitated. She had been busy and focused herself, so it wasn't as difficult.

And in that time, he considered. What did he want from her? He'd already spent enough time dwelling on their physical chemistry, but that wasn't enough to sustain a long-term relationship. It would certainly help one with a strong foundation keep going once started, but he wasn't fool enough to think one great night foreshadowed lifetime compatibility.

He'd considered all the possibilities and was no closer to a real answer. Just that morning at breakfast, as he'd deliberately chosen to sit with Malcolm rather than occupy the vacant seat by T'Pol, he realized the truth: he'd hemmed and hawed long enough. His fears weren't based in fact, and he was letting them get in the way of their friendship, at the very least. He was a grown man acting like an uncertain teenager.

Avoiding her wasn't practical long-term, and it definitely wasn't going to help him figure out what the future held for them. Only a frank conversation would do that. Trip needed to know where T'Pol stood.

Only trouble was, now was the worst possible time to have the "What are we?" conversation. If that look on her face before she'd disappeared into the ready room was any indication, she needed a friend, not a romantic partner. He could at least be that.

So far, he'd only explored two options: use this new intuition to win arguments with her, or run away from that intuition in fear. Maybe he should try using it to help her out some, instead of antagonizing or avoiding her.

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Two hours later, Trip had completed all the work he could possibly think of doing from the bridge terminal. He should head back down to engineering to check on the progress of his teams, but he hadn't wanted to leave.

"Commander, do you have a minute?"

Trip looked up from the readouts on the engineering station. Lieutenant Reed stood at his elbow, his face grim.

"Sure, what's up?"

Reed motioned for him to follow and led him to the Command Center, out of earshot from the rest of the bridge crew. He seemed agitated; his steps were precise, his voice curt.

"Sir, it's been two hours. There has been no sign of the captain. No indication that his mission was a success."

"I've been concerned about that, too," Trip admitted. "But there's also no way to tell if it's a failure, either."

"Agreed," Malcolm said. "But we need a plan in case—"

Trip grimaced. "It should've been me."

Malcolm frowned. "Permission to speak freely?" When Trip nodded, he said, "It should've been any of us but him."

"He wouldn't hear of anything else." Trip sighed. "I really wanted the satisfaction of blowin' that damn thing to high heaven, you know? To see it through to the end. For my sister. For Florida. For our whole world."

"I know how you feel, Commander."

Trip looked into Malcolm's eyes and saw the same mixture of frustration and regret he was feeling right now.

"I'm not one to criticize my commanding officers," Malcolm went on, "but if you'll pardon my frankness, this was a bad decision. He's the last person we can afford to lose."

"I get why he insisted, though," Trip said. "He's felt the weight of this mission from day one. And he's always been one for sayin', 'If you want a job done right, do it yourself.'"

"Even if the weapon is destroyed, the job isn't done."

"Oh, I agree," Trip said.

"Which brings me to my other question," Malcolm said grimly. "What's going on with Commander T'Pol?"

Trip blinked. "Meaning?"

"Why has she been in the ready room this entire time? If Captain Archer were here, we'd already be executing a plan."

Trip frowned at Malcolm. "We can't start thinkin' like that. T'Pol's a different kind of captain. You know that."

Malcolm retreated. "I am sorry to be so critical, but I know I'm not just speaking for myself. She's needed on the bridge."

Trip put his hands on the command center table, leaning against the surface. "I've been thinkin' the same thing."

"Do you know why she's so silent?"

Trip met Reed's eyes again. "No clue."

Sadly, this was true. He'd gotten so good at avoiding her presence in his mind that he hadn't reached out to check.

Malcolm glanced out through the open door way to the bridge. "They're getting restless."

Trip followed his eyes and saw Hoshi at comms, but her eyes were trained on the door to the ready room across the bridge, not on her station. She was frowning. Her line of sight changed, and Mayweather's profile came into view as he leaned slightly in her direction and mouthed something. Hoshi shrugged, frowning deeper.

"This isn't like her," Trip said. "T'Pol never hides away in the midst of a crisis."

"I agree. But for some reason, she is this time."

Cautiously, Trip searched out his mind's sense of her. He'd thought maybe she was too far away now, but when he concentrated, there it was. The tiny flutter, just where he'd left it. He was too far away to read her fully, but it was there. Small. Quivering. Trip gently probed at it, and the sensation seemed to wilt, curling in on itself.

Trip stood straight again. "Start working on a contingency plan, Lieutenant. I'll go talk to her."

"Understood, sir."

Trip turned and headed for the ready room.

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"Come in."

Trip crossed the threshold, and for the first time in a week, now in close proximity, he opened his mind fully to the connection with T'Pol. What he felt there was astonishing.

Grief. Frustration. Anger. Helplessness. Desperation. Denial.

Trip nearly staggered under the weight of it, the weight of her pain. Immediately he felt an answering anguish within himself. What had he done? She was drowning in this, and he'd been closing her out, thinking only of himself.

No wonder the flutter seemed cowed and still. She was alone, all alone, and suffering.

"What is it?" she said tersely when Trip had stared at her too long. Her eyes were fixed on the computer screen, deliberately avoiding him.

"It's been two hours since we lost contact with the captain," Trip said.

Her jaw tensed. "I am aware."

The flutter flattened further, hiding. Trip stepped back toward the now-closed door, leaning his shoulder against the jamb so he could look at her as directly as possible. "I think something's gone wrong," he said, voice carefully neutral. "It only took Travis and I a half-hour, and we didn't even know where to look."

There was no visible flinch on her face, but the flutter nearly disappeared at his words. After a moment, she looked up at him with barely veiled irritation. "Your point, Commander?"

God, where did he start? T'Pol was floundering. She needed a purpose. A goal. Some way to channel all this negative emotion into something useful.

That, he could help with. "We need to start making a plan."

She stood, turning away from him and facing the window. Her spine was ramrod straight. "It is too soon. If and when we need a plan, I will let you know."

Trip walked around the desk and stood next to her, staring at her profile. He wavered. A need to hold her, to comfort her, welled up within him, and he clenched his fists to keep himself from reaching out. As much as he wanted it, needed it, he doubted it would help her.

What did she need? Coddling? Reassurance? Support? A swift kick in the ass? As he stared at her stern profile, jaw clenched so hard he could see the muscles straining, he knew all she'd accept from him was the last option.

Sighing internally, Trip reached down and pulled his natural gift for cantankerousness to the surface. It was worth a try. Provoking her might work.

"It's not too soon," he said with a bite in his tone. "If anything, it's been too long. We're sittin' ducks out here, T'Pol."

Her eyes whipped back to his. "Last time I checked, I was acting captain, not you."

Trip leaned toward her. "Then start actin' like the captain!" he said, coming just inches from her face. "Your place is on the bridge. Your crew needs to see you in charge."

The flutter in his mind jerked wildly for a moment. Trip's hope surged. The old T'Pol was in there, fighting—but no. It cowered in on itself again. She turned away again to stare out the window.

"They'll let me know when I'm needed."

Trip grabbed her elbow, jerking her back around to face him. "I'm letting you know, T'Pol. I am. Your second in command. You are needed. Now." He bit out the last and watched her eyes narrow as the flutter vibrated in indignation.

But yet again, she pulled back. "That is debatable," she said softly. "You seem to be managing fine without me."

The muscles in her arm were steely beneath his grip. Tension practically vibrated through her. Provoking her wasn't working, and manhandling her didn't help. Trip dropped her arm and ran a hand over his face in frustration. Maybe calling her talent into question would.

"Look," he said, studying her profile, "you may be an expert on ship's functions, but I know a lot more about human crew morale than you do. They need you." She looked at him with near-derisiveness. He continued. "They can't keep up what determination they have left if the captain is gone and you're hidin' in here!"

"Hiding?" she said, turning fully to face him.

"Yes. Hiding. I thought you Vulcans were made of sterner stuff."

Her eyes flashed, and this time, it stayed. Trip nearly sighed in relief, but instead went for the jugular. "So I guess if you're just gonna completely shirk your duties, I'll have to do it all myself."

"I know my duty!" she hissed.

He scoffed at her, deliberately rolling his eyes in derision. "Sure you do. Could've fooled me. Your duty is with them!" Trip pointed at the door. "They need a leader who has some hope!"

"I can't be that for them!"

Trip put both hands on her upper arms, squeezing her tightly. "Yes, you can!"

She was trembling. Eyes darting wildly, she stood in his grip, a trapped rabbit desperately searching for escape. The flutter in his mind seemed unable to decide on a movement—fear, grief, anxiety, mistrust all battled for supremacy.

The moment hung there. Trip held his breath, hoping, praying that she would acquiesce.

She didn't. Her face smoothed into a familiar blankness and she stiffened, reaching up with a steely grip to pull his hands away from her. One deliberate step back and a tilt up of her chin, and Trip knew his gamble hadn't paid off.

"Dismissed," she said coldly, and turned away.

Trip had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. "What?"

"I said dismissed," she repeated. When he didn't move, she turned and faced him with a blank stare. "Get. Out."

Trip stood there for a few tense seconds. "No. I'm not leavin' until you talk to me."

She leaned into his face. "I'll have you thrown in the brig for disobeying a direct order."

He stepped toe-to-toe. "So do it."

His challenge hung there in the silence. Her emotions cycled in waves, churning, swirling…and then, she broke.

"Please," she said softly, stepping back and crossing her arms, hugging herself. In an instant, all that emotion welled in her eyes. "Just leave."

Trip searched her face. "What is wrong with you?"

She looked down at the desk's surface. "The expanse—it has had a negative effect on me. My emotional suppression is compromised."

That wasn't the whole story—he was getting pretty adept at figuring out when she was lying. But pushing her wasn't going to help anything.

Trip came forward, trying not to crowd her, but needing to be closer. He leaned against the end of the desk. She watched him warily.

"Tell me what you're feelin', T'Pol. If suppression isn't working, talking about it might." She looked skeptical, so he pressed her gently. "It'll help. I promise."

Her gaze caught his, and Trip had to fight hard hard to keep the shock from showing. Her eyes were suddenly shiny.

Tears? From T'Pol? This was unreal.

"He can't be gone," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know." Trip's voice broke as emotion surged within him, too.

They stared at each other, pain answering pain, and as it welled between them, Trip acted on instinct. Reaching out, he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her.

It was a testament to her instability that she let him.

As they stood there, drawing strength from each other, Trip sought out the sensation in his mind. It expanded and contracted, a motion not unlike deep breathing, and Trip realized that she was stabilizing. Taking what she needed from him.

And he took what he needed from her.

"I know this is hard," Trip said a few minutes later as T'Pol eased away from him.

"He's not coming back," T'Pol said. "I know that."

"Emotions have a way of playin' tricks on us," Trip said. "Acceptance is pretty far along in the process of grief. I don't blame you for strugglin' with this."

"But you think I'm shirking my duty." This time, there was no anger in her voice.

"I think you're at a disadvantage here," Trip said gently. "You're used to suppressin' emotions, not dealin' with 'em. The human way of doing things had an advantage in this situation."

"How so?"

"We have learned how to function in spite of the grief." Trip threw her a wry smile. "I'm not sayin' we're perfect at it. Losin' Lizzy about killed me, too. But here, now, we can't let the grief overwhelm us."

"I will try," T'Pol said.

"You need me, I'm here."

She nodded, and the flutter stood still. Stable.

After a moment, T'Pol continued. "You are right to be concerned. We have no indication that Captain Archer has been successful—"

"You think there could've been an explosion and we just didn't detect it?"

T'Pol frowned, considering. "That is doubtful."

Trip sighed. "That's why we need a plan."

T'Pol straightened, looking much closer to her old self. "Very well. Get Mr. Reed and meet me in the command center."

"You got it." Trip waited as T'Pol returned to the computer screen to complete the task she'd been working on. He paused at the door. "T'Pol?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget. You're not in this alone."

She nodded only once in acknowledgement. "Meet me there in 15 minutes."

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"You'll be killed!"

Malcolm Reed's agitation had risen to a fever pitch, not at all happy with T'Pol's plan. They were en route to the launch bay, T'Pol's steady strides revealing her determination.

"That is a possibility," T'Pol answered, voice steady. "But I am likely to have more of a chance at successful diplomacy than a human would."

Malcolm turned to Trip. "Commander, you can't be in favor of this."

Trip was still staring at T'Pol, his mind in a tailspin. A few minutes ago when she'd suggested that she take a shuttlepod and head straight for Xindi territory to negotiate a possible peace treaty, he'd understood two important truths.

One, T'Pol was grieving. Their conversation in the ready room had done little to mitigate her pain.

And two, her grief was making her reckless. She was looking for control wherever she could find it. Her logic was being warped by her emotion, and she didn't seem to see it.

An hour ago, they'd met in the command center and come up with a plan. They'd continue to monitor the surface, hoping that the captain would finish his mission. If nothing changed, they would launch one of the shuttlepods, this time with Malcolm at the helm, and try a second time to destroy the weapon.

At the time, T'Pol had agreed. Then just ten minutes before the deadline they'd set, she'd called Reed and Trip with her into the turbolift and told them her new plan.

A diplomatic mission with herself at the helm of the shuttlepod.

"Commander?"

Malcolm's agitated voice broke through Trip's concentration. "I heard you, Lieutenant. I'm just tryin' to figure out what to say."

T'Pol seemed to walk faster. "This is the most logical plan," she reiterated. "I am Vulcan. I could be considered more neutral in this conflict than any of you. I will have the best chance at negotiating a ceasefire."

"Maybe," Trip said flatly, and Malcolm couldn't hold back a scoff. "But we're talkin' the difference between zero percent chance from one of us and likely a less than five percent chance if you try it."

"I'll take the shuttlepod," Malcolm said. "I'll destroy it myself. It was a good plan."

"I have considered your chances. You will not make it past their defenses. We have no other options but an attempt at diplomacy."

They reached the doors of the launch bay. T'Pol stopped and turned to face Malcolm.

"Report to the bridge, Lieutenant."

"We can't lose another captain today," Malcolm said, his voice quavering with frustration. He gave Trip a dark look of desperation, then turned on a heel and strode off.

T'Pol opened the hatch.

"You're lyin' again," Trip said, following her in.

"You are mistaken."

"You're not gonna try for a diplomatic solution. You've got some harebrained idea to go and save him."

She stopped and whirled to face him, her stare cold enough to freeze lava. She pivoted and marched across the catwalk. "You are wrong."

Trip strode after her. "You don't even have a plan. This isn't going to work."

At the top of the ladder, she turned back. "You've made your feelings clear."

In the back of his mind, the flutter was pulsing, whirling, desperation churning in her mind, and Trip felt powerless against it.

He grabbed her arm. "I don't think I have. You're not going!"

"Let go of me!" She jerked her arm back, nearly losing her balance.

Trip held on. "I'm not going to stand back and watch you die!"

"I said let go!" Her shout echoed off the launch bay walls.

The floor shook and they both stumbled. T'Pol nearly lost her balance, about to fall off the ladder and into the shuttlepod, when Trip pulled her back and the both fell, T'Pol landing atop him on the catwalk floor.

They were both breathing hard, frustrated, agitated. Trip acted on instinct, putting his hands on her face, cupping her jaw.

"Listen to me," he said in a fierce whisper. "Just listen."

She struggled on top of him, but Trip held on. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, raining onto Trip's face.

He ran a thumb gently over her temple. "You can't save him. He's gone. But you can help save us, save Enterprise. That's what he would have wanted."

T'Pol let out a whimper and pushed against him, breaking Trip's hold. As soon as she regained her feet, the ship shook again.

"Bridge to T'Pol!"

She gave one last anguished glare at Trip and pushed past him to the comm. "Go ahead."

Malcolm's anxious voice answered. "We're under attack! The Xindi have found us!"

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A/N: Thanks for reading!