Chapter 10

AU for "Zero Hour"

A/N: This one's a little shorter, but hey, it's been a week since I last updated. That in itself has to be a miracle. Thanks again to everyone for reviewing, favoriting, and following! You guys are awesome.

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Human revelry was unexpectedly appealing.

Uncharacteristically, T'Pol stood back and watched, indulging the crew's need to celebrate the destruction of Sphere 41. They had spent at least five minutes engaging in curious behavior. The first stage could be most accurately described with a term Trip had once used: "whoopin' and hollerin'." This had been followed by an excess of physical affection—hugs, high-fives, and slaps on shoulders or arms. Finally, this had ebbed into hugs, excited talking, and colorful retellings of what they'd been through in the last several hours.

Even in her newly heightened emotional state, T'Pol could safely say that such exuberant displays of joy and relief were not something she herself would participate in.

Still, the crew's joy was contagious. Warmth felt as it glowed from inside her, a sensation she was enjoying. A trick of the emotional mind, perhaps, but pleasing nonetheless.

Her hand ached. T'Pol looked down in surprise to see she'd been clenching it tightly into a fist. It was her left hand, the one Trip had just held in his a few minutes earlier. The ghost of his callused fingers against hers lingered, warm and strong. It had felt as if their bond was unbreakable in that moment, harmonious and united in gratitude and relief over the destruction of not just Sphere 41, but the entire network.

Or so they thought it was destroyed, her analytical side reminded her. Further analysis was required.

And yet T'Pol was satisfied for now to allow the break from concentration on the bridge and indulge the crew's need to celebrate, at least momentarily. The emotional release was well-deserved.

For the first time, T'Pol could say she understood.

It was a wonder, really. An entirely new world had opened to her when her emotions surfaced and would no longer be suppressed. Their intensity, and at times their violence, could be frightening. But the softer emotions—those, she was coming to enjoy. To crave. And here, in the midst of her celebrating crewmates, T'Pol felt herself not as one apart from them, but as one of them.

Their joy was also hers.

Beside her, Trip was also watching the crew, his handsome face relaxed and happy. T'Pol knew it was his natural inclination to join in, to be the one initiating the revelry, but he made no move to leave her side. He seemed perfectly content to stand here, his body lightly brushing hers from shoulder to hip, sharing this moment together.

Nothing would have stopped him from really touching her if they were alone, she knew that with certainty. He would have hugged her at the very least, likely kissed her as well. T'Pol could truthfully admit that she was disappointed he couldn't, yet she was grateful he didn't, not here.

It had become clear that her mate understood her very well. Trip had learned her boundaries rapidly; he had never come close to pushing her too far. She marveled at his emotional elasticity. When she struggled, he supported her. When he struggled, he accepted her support. He was generous and open, flexible and adaptable.

She turned and took in his profile, struck again by how appealing he was.

Sensing she was looking at him, Trip turned toward her. His smile didn't waver, but his whole expression softened, and in that moment, she was moved by the depth and purity of his devotion to her.

What she had once feared was proving impossible: Trip would not try to change her. He accepted her for who she was. And most importantly, he gently encouraged her to be the best possible version of herself.

T'Pol's eyes began to sting.

"You okay?" Trip said quietly. He scanned her features before letting his gaze come to rest on hers, steady. Patient. She wondered why he had not attempted telepathic conversation again.

I am well, she answered him back in her mind, and she was. Yet again, he had taken her burgeoning emotion and given her the strength she needed to control it. Trip leaned slightly toward her, bumping her shoulder gently before looking away again.

"It takes too much concentration for me to do that," Trip admitted. "I need some practice."

When our bond is stronger, it will likely be much easier.

Trip nodded, but didn't answer back.

After a few minutes longer, the celebration across the bridge began to die down, and T'Pol took advantage of the natural lull to step from behind the science station and back near the captain's chair.

"What is our estimated time of arrival at the rendezvous coordinates, Mr. Mayweather?" She did not raise her voice, but the simply stated question had the effect she'd hoped for: everyone on the bridge turned back to their duties, still smiling.

"Four hours at warp 2.7," Travis answered.

"Very well. Maintain course and speed."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Commander Tucker?"

"Yes ma'am?" Trip said, his eyes twinkling above a lopsided grin.

"Please report to Engineering. I believe you have some repairs to make to the impulse drive."

"You got it," he said, and left the bridge.

T'Pol sat in the captain's chair and allowed herself to relax slightly. It wouldn't do to fully celebrate yet; their work was far from over.

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Trip finished up his conversation with Rostov, Kelby, and Hess in Engineering, making a plan to ensure that the power was being properly rerouted back to the impulse drive where it belonged and that all the damage they'd sustained was evaluated and marked for repair. It hadn't been as bad is it could've been, not by far, and Trip was pleased that the work orders could be met within the next 48 if they got on top of it in a hurry.

One of his babies had done well, Trip thought, tapping the impulse drive affectionately as he walked by. She had provided all the juice he needed to fry that sphere like a fly in a bug zapper. She would hopefully get a much-needed rest, and the steady hum of the warp drive, his workhorse taking her place, soothed his remaining ruffled nerves like nothing else could.

The crew seemed to be in decent shape, too. He'd had a few conversations, slapped a few shoulders, given some encouragement here and there where he could. They were shaken up, but relief and elation over their success seemed to alleviate most of their jitters.

Everyone had patches of damaged skin from the exposure to the expanse's altered space, but the crew seemed to be coping well as they healed. Trip examined the back of his hand as he reached for the hatch to the corridor—it was a web of cracks. It stung a bit when he had to bend his hand, but otherwise, it wasn't too unbearable.

Trip stepped through the hatch and back into the corridor, heading for the turbolift and then the command center. T'Pol was sorting through the most recent data on the spheres, trying to determine the extent of the damage they'd caused.

Trip sobered at what lay ahead, worry not too far below the surface of his mind. They couldn't go on a clean-up mission just yet; the Captain and Hoshi still needed to be recovered. If their luck held, the Xindi factions on their side would aid in the weapon's destruction and manage to recover Archer and Hoshi in time.

Enterprise would not wait to find out. They were en route to the rendezvous coordinates the captain had designated before leaving. It was just outside their home system, Earth in sight.

Trip exited the turbolift on A deck and headed across the bridge, through the situation room and into the command center.

"What's our ETA?" Trip asked, coming up to stand beside T'Pol at the screens.

"A little less than two hours," she said, continuing her scans.

"Any progress?"

"I've just been reviewing long-rage sensor data. There is no evidence of the spheres."

Trip's eyebrows shot up. "None of them?"

"That is correct." T'Pol changed to a different set of data. "The spatial anomalies have also disappeared."

Trip's heartrate increased. It was a pretty spectacular destruction of Sphere 41, but they couldn't have been this lucky, could they?

The list of the obstacles they'd faced in the expanse flipped through his mind. "The thermobaric cloud barrier—what about that?"

T'Pol gestured to the screen. The area of the star chart where the barrier had been a thick line was now clear—only one faint section remained.

"It appears to be dissipating. Most of the data indicates the Expanse is returning to normal space."

Suddenly weak-kneed, Trip turned his back to the screen and leaned against the edge of the computer console, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Looks like we did it," he said hoarsely, overcome by emotion.

Glancing at both doors to ensure they were closed, T'Pol moved to stand in front of him. She placed both hands on his neck in the same way she'd done in the launchbay. She leaned against him, bringing their faces in close.

"We did," she said. "Together."

Trip gave her a tired smile, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and settling his palms along her neck to complete the circle. Instantly, the connection between them amplified, and Trip breathed deeply, relief he didn't know he needed surging through him.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he admitted after a few moments of enjoying their connection. "I hope you know that."

"I did not provide much help."

"But you did," he said seriously. "In those last few seconds, I was a hair's width away from losing control of myself. I was shaking—everything seemed impossible. If it weren't for you, for your confidence in me—I couldn't have done it."

She seemed pleased by his praise. "We are an effective partnership."

"That we are," he said. Silence fell, and they stood there a few moments, resting in the strength of each other's presence.

But even here, there was not complete rest. The universe was not right again, not yet. They still hadn't heard from Captain Archer. Trip's eyes darted to the time across the room. Shouldn't they have heard something by now? They could've failed—nothing was certain. And if they did, then Earth-

"You must be patient," T'Pol said softly.

Trip looked down, sliding his arms down her back and hugging her. He took a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said, voice rough. "I needed this right now."

T'Pol slid her hands up to hold his face briefly, lingering a moment longer before stepping back.

Trip grabbed her hand as she moved away, examining the damaged skin on the back of it before letting go and stroking a thumb across her cheek.

"Your skin's not healin' quite as fast as mine." He paused and then added with a smile, "I guess I am tougher than you now and again."

She seemed unimpressed at his attempt at humor. "It serves no purpose to compare healing rates."

Trip laughed. "Not to you, maybe. I gotta get one up on you once in a while. I'll take it where I can get it, honey. You got me beat in every way that counts already."

She turned back to the computer console, continuing to examine the data. Trip watched her profile as she worked.

"You look beautiful like this, you know," he said after several minutes had passed. He came to stand behind her at the console, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.

Trip swept her hair behind her ear. "Earth has some incredible artists throughout history. Even the most beautiful oil paintings get cracks just like these." He leaned down and gently kissed her cheek near her ear where one of the rough patches remained.

T'Pol shivered slightly.

"It happens when they age," he said. "The oldest ones have the most cracks."

Her spine stiffened at that and she pushed back until he moved away. Turning, she glared at him. "I am not old."

Trip laughed in disbelief. "That's jumpin' to conclusions a bit, don't you think? I never called you old."

"You implied it," she said, eyes narrowed. "I will only be 66 years old on my next birthday."

At that, Trip grinned and pulled her back into a hug. "You finally told me," he said triumphantly. "I've been askin' you that for four years." He pulled away and stood back with his feet planted, arms crossed over his chest. "You must really like me, huh?"

She crossed her arms in answer and lifted her chin. "You are an acceptable companion," she said primly, and Trip laughed again.

"Bridge to T'Pol."

Travis's voice came over the intercom, and T'Pol immediately switched gears into command mode. "T'Pol here."

"We're getting a transmission, ma'am. I think you'd better come to the bridge."

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The transmission they'd received was too broken to decipher, but they were only a half-hour away. T'Pol ordered Mayweather to increase speed to Warp 3, cutting the time in half.

When they arrived fifteen minutes later, the fight was raging.

On the viewscreen, the weapon loomed in front of them, its axes spinning. The bridge crew looked on in horror as the insectoid and reptilian ships continued to pound the small complement of arboreal, primate, and aquatic ships.

But not just theirs.

"Are those Andorians?" Trip said incredulously.

"Affirmative," T'Pol said, her face grim. "Hail the lead ship."

"They're hailing us," the ensign at communications said.

"On screen."

"About time you arrived, Commander!" Captain Shran's face filled the screen, his antennae twitching in agitation. "I came to save your captain—I hate owing anyone anything—but it's been a difficult battle."

The picture went fuzzy for a moment as Shran and his crew staggered after a direct hit.

"Get in here!" He shouted when the static cleared. "We're holding our own but we can't last long."

"Ensign?" T'Pol asked Mayweather.

"Weapons range in two minutes!"

"Lieutenant Masters, ready all torpedoes. Hull plating at maximum."

"Yes, ma'am."

"The weapon?"

Trip answered from the science station. "Not moving forward, but still active. I can't tell what's going on."

"The Captain? Ensign Sato?"

Trip shook his head, checking his monitors. "We're too far away to scan the interior. If you can get me closer—"

"Do your best, Mr. Mayweather."

In seconds, they were in the fight. The insectoid fighters were thick all around them, their size and maneuverability making them difficult to catch. But Enterprise was making the difference. Their added firepower was turning the balance back to their side.

A moment later, Trip's triumphant shout rang out: "I found them!"

T'Pol hurried to the science station. The Captain and Ensign Sato were near the core of the weapon. Xindi reptilian bio signs on board were few. One winked out as she watched.

She turned to Trip. "The transporter?"

Trip nodded once. "I can get a lock—"

"Go."

Trip jumped up and ran out of the bridge.

As the door closed behind him, the deck rocked on a volley of returned fire.

"Mr. Masters?"

The young lieutenant looked at her with wide eyes. "We're okay. Hull plating at 80%. They're doing damage, but not as bad as the reptilians." He turned back to the weapons controls. "Firing!"

In the viewscreen, two more insectoid fighters exploded.

T'Pol punched the comm on the arm of the Captain's chair. "Mr. Tucker!"

"I'm locking on," came Trip's voice over the comm. "Transporting in three…two…"

The deck rocked again. T'Pol barely kept her balance.

"Damn it!" Trip's furious tone rang through the comm. T'Pol felt his despair surge through their link. There was no need to ask—the transporter must have taken a significant hit.

She turned to her tactical officer. "Mr. Masters?"

The young lieutenant looked at her with haunted eyes. "Direct hit to the transporter relay, ma'am," he said quietly.

Silence fell over the bridge.

"Return to the bridge, Commander," T'Pol said over the comm.

The fight continued, but the silence on the bridge felt suffocating.

A few moments later, T'Pol stood, her back stiff. "How many enemy vessels remain?"

Trip was back at the science station, his face grim. "Six."

"Four," Masters corrected as two more exploded on the viewscreen.

In minutes, the last enemy fighter was destroyed.

"The Xindi?"

"Degra's ship and a few others are still intact but heavily damaged."

A few minutes later, Shran was on the viewscreen. "Our transporter was damaged," he said. "Yours as well?"

"Unfortunately, yes," T'Pol said. "The Xindi?"

"Theirs too." Shran's voice was like gravel. "They were targeting the transporter relays on the Xindi vessels first."

T'Pol paced the deck. "We will prep a shuttlepod—"

"There is no way to board the weapon with a shuttlepod. Not while it's armed. If your captain is successful in disarming it, there may be a chance—"

"We will prepare for his success," T'Pol said abruptly. "We thank you for your assistance."

"Your captain will be remembered for his glorious death," Shran said, saluting, and ended the transmission.

Silence descended. They watched the weapon in disbelief. Was there really no way to retrieve Archer and Sato?

"What is that?"

It was Mayweather, watching the weapon on the viewscreen. Trip checked his instruments. "Explosions," he said, voice hoarse. "Cascading. They're destroying it."

T'Pol sank into the captain's chair, watching the screen with growing dread and horror. Inside her mind, she reached for Trip and they rushed together, merging. No one on the bridge could tell, but they were mourning. Together.

"Vessel dropping out of warp!" Masters shouted.

T'Pol shot to her feet. "Onscreen!"

In disbelief, they watched as the other eerily familiar ship swooped in and flew alongside the weapon before veering sharply away.

The weapon exploded.

Time seemed suspended.

"They're hailing us," the ensign at comms said quietly.

"Onscreen," T'Pol said.

She held her breath, letting it out in a sigh of utter relief when a familiar face, stretched in a grin, appeared on the viewscreen.

"Nice to see you again, Mother." Lorian's eyes sparkled. "I think we've got two of your crewmembers who need a ride."

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A/N: Confession time—I detest the end of Season 3 and the beginning of Season 4. The Xindi arc wrap up isn't so bad until the end of "Zero Hour" and on into "Storm Front." Alien Nazis? Ugh. I know the new show runner had to play the hand he was dealt, but I didn't want to mess with it here. I know my solution is probably a little too neat and tidy, but call it writer's privilege. :)

A/N2: Okay…so it's going to be more than 10 chapters. I think probably twelve, maybe thirteen? Who knows. I have a definite ending planned that I'm really excited about but I'm not sure how many chapters it will take to get there. Some of you have suggested a sequel; from what it took to get this one written, we'll have to see about that one…