A/N: Alright, alright. This is another long chapter, but if you can believe it, it's been cut down by about half from the original draft. I've got a lot of fluffy plot bunnies hopping around; can you really blame me? The world is on fire right now, and I for one just need to write about people falling in love and having a good time. Until, of course, we hit the start of the war and I put these characters through hell for the rest of the season.

Things to look forward to in this chapter: the return of the Natalie from Pensacola, Madeline Reed (who I hope you all love as much as I do), Porthos getting a new friend, street fighting, Southern platitudes, set-ups that look like the start of a love triangle but are actually something completely different, inspirational speeches, and snowball fights. I digress. This chapter is a beast, but there's at least something for everyone.

During proofreading, I realized I accidentally namedropped hotpink's story Formidable, In Everything. An oldie but a goodie. Give it a read if you're craving some Shadows of P'Jem ATP goodness.

Next chapter is a funny episode starring the main cast, and the war starts in E12. Still don't own anything you recognize. Enjoy!

Season Five

Episode Ten: Commissioning

Captain's log, December 23, 2155: We have returned to Earth for the commissioning of the NX-05 Maelstrom. The festivities will be held one week from today, following scheduled leave for the crew, a majority of which will be returning home to celebrate the Terran Christmas holiday. On a personal note, the end of our diplomatic mission means bidding farewell to several bridge officers.

"Exactly how long do we think this is going to take?" Trip called out from his perch on the end of the table. "The sooner this is over, the sooner I get to go home and have a slice of my mom's apple pie."

"That's a fine attitude for a man who's going to be a Captain in less than a week," Malcolm teased. "I hope you don't rush through all the senior officers' briefings on the Maelstrom like this."

"At least I'm not so serious about the job that I drive away our first officer."

Across the room, Travis saw their tactical officers glance at one another. When they didn't reply immediately, Trip pressed on: "How exactly did you manage that, anyway? All it took was one away mission with the two of you to send Sub-Commander Tovin running for the hills."

"He wasn't suited to the Starfleet lifestyle," Alira declared, dismissing his speculation. They didn't need to know that he'd been a Romulan sleeper agent, that he'd kidnapped and tortured the Captain in an effort to get information out of her, that they'd gone to great lengths to rescue her and conceal her recovery, that she'd struck him down herself and left him bleeding out on the floor of some nondescript building on the Tellarite homeworld. "Anyone could see that. I noticed it the second he walked through the door."

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling a little nostalgic," Hoshi admitted before Trip could question that statement any further. "It's our last briefing all together as one senior staff."

Lieutenant Cutler reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I'm definitely going to miss all of you. I guess this means I'll be taking charge of girls' night from now on."

"Don't screw it up," Hoshi said with a false air of caution, then laughed. She glanced around the room. "I trust I'll be seeing you all at my New Year's Eve party?"

Sato was their resident party planner extraordinaire, with a nearly encyclopedic knowledge of everyone's birthdays, secular holidays, and religious observances. She was always producing celebrations out of extremely limited time and resources, and never failed to deliver, her annual send off to the year being no exception.

"I wouldn't miss it," Travis promised, "Though, it seems dangerous considering we'll be expected to be sober enough to ship out at 0900 the next day."

"I'm taking steps to make this year's festivities a little more classy. The Captain and the Commodore are going to be there." She paused, taking in the chorus of eye rolls from around the table. "Come on, you guys! You act like they're the party police. It's going to be fine."

"Damn right. This year, I'm going to get T'Pol to sing Auld Lang Syne with us," Trip vowed, something that he'd been trying to do since New Year's Eve, 2151.

As if on cue, the door opened, issuing the Captain and the Commodore into the wardroom. Unprompted, the senior staff sat up a little higher in their chairs, straightening their postures and uncrossing their legs.

"Good morning, everyone," Jonathan called out, giving them all a warm smile. "I know you're all very eager to be on your way, so we'll make this quick. Ensign."

Dita reached forward and activated the view screen. "As you all know, a majority of the crew will be on leave from this evening until 0800 hours on December 30th, when the Maelstrom will be commissioned. A skeleton crew will remain onboard to keep us afloat, so to speak, myself included," she paused, frowning slightly. They all knew she would be spending another holiday season without her husband, an engineer aboard the NX-03 Cochrane, a vessel that was currently poking around Gamma Hromi for untapped sources of dilithium. The rest of her family was running the trade route between Vega Colony and Draylax, without even a moment to stop for leave.

She pulled up an updated version of Enterprise's crew manifest, with a few key changes highlighted. The Captain sat forward slightly, turning her head to address them all. "Our senior staff line up will remain largely the same. Ensign Singh will become chief communications officer, and Lieutenant Commander Reed will serve as acting first officer until we can find a suitable replacement for Sub-Commander Tovin."

Under the table, Alira squeezed his knee. She couldn't say it out loud during the briefing, but she was proud of him. That much was clear, especially when her hand began to drift up his thigh, and he had to grab hold of it before her touch could cause an entirely different physical reaction.

He cleared his throat loudly, causing the whole table to look towards him. In a flash, Alira pulled her hand back, a smooth motion that was entirely imperceptible to the rest of the senior staff. He floundered a bit, before coming out with a slightly ungraceful, "I'm honored, ma'am."

The Captain seemed satisfied with that and returned to her briefing, only getting a few more sentences in before being interrupted by Commander Tucker, who was detailing the various warp specialists they'd managed to lure away from their previous postings.

Gingerly, Alira lifted her coffee mug to her lips and took a long sip, glancing at him for a fraction of a second. As usual, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Damn her.

"Am I imagining things, or is our engineering lead-" Liz was squinting at the screen, standing up slightly in an attempt to get a better look.

"I decided to take Kelby with me," Trip said with an audible trace of remorse, "He's next in line to receive his own brigade, and he's got the most experience, so he'll be given the new warp seven engine. On the other hand, it's about time Hess became Chief in her own right."

Liz reached for her PADD, presumably to congratulate their new chief engineer, only to be stopped by a wave of his hand. "Neither of them know about this yet. I've got their assignments signed off and ready to go. I plan to stop by engineering to surprise them right after this."

"You may want to swing by the Maelstrom before you leave, sir. Subspace chatter says your first officer's already there supervising the final round of maintenance," Dita informed him.

"Maybe I will," Trip said with a smile, finally settling down in his seat at the table.

"Travis, do you want to do the honors of introducing our new helmsman?" The Commodore asked. "It's the least you can do after deciding to run off to greener pastures."

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled, glancing at Hoshi. She pulled up the relevant personnel file, starting with a headshot.

Liz thought she saw Alira's eyes widen in shock, but it was gone as quickly as she'd seen it, and she decided she must have been imagining things.

"This is Ensign Simon Pascal, currently chief navigator of the Republic. Hutch and I know him from STC, and in terms of close quarters evasive maneuvers, there's no one better," he said, leaning into the French pronunciation of his name. "He used to lead instruction at the Normandy branch of the Starfleet Flight Institute."

Simon was classically handsome, with a strong jaw, bright green eyes, and a short crop of red hair. He was smiling, as if he was in on a joke that no one else could hear. He appeared confident, but not smug, and Liz immediately knew they would become fast friends.

"First Captain Hernandez took his Chef, and now we're taking his helmsman." Trip shook his head. "By this time next year, Captain Jennings won't have anyone left on his staff."

Travis glanced towards the head of the table. "There's another thing, Captain. Pascal lost partial use of his legs about a year ago. He uses a system of custom mechanical neurostimulators to get around during duty, but during his off hours, he prefers to use a wheelchair."

T'Pol nodded. "Ensign, make sure that the space dock maintenance technicians know that the ship must be made accessible prior to his arrival. See to it that his medical records reach Dr. Phlox."

"Yes, ma'am," Singh replied, bending to her PADD.

All the while, Malcolm had been reading through his credentials on the opposite side of the screen, becoming more impressed line by line. "Well, Lieutenant, if all of this is correct, it looks like he'll be able to fly the ship arse first through an asteroid field and not even get a scratch on the hull."

"If I'm leaving, I'm going to make sure you all have the best," Travis assured him.

The briefing continued, detailing various transfers and new postings, as well as Enterprise's first official mission to run supplies to the rapidly expanding Solnaran mining outpost. Eventually, the Commodore called their meeting to an abrupt conclusion. He stood, and the rest of the senior officers mirrored his posture. "It's hard to believe our diplomatic mission is ending this weekend. For those of you going on leave, remember that you represent Starfleet wherever you go. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Beside him, T'Pol raised an eyebrow, thinking of the dozens of inadvisable things he'd done during the early days of their mission directly against her counsel, causing them to get into trouble wherever they went. At least, in the years since she'd served under the High Command, he'd gotten better about that.

Only marginally, though.

"And for those of you leaving Enterprise, know that it's been an honor serving with you." His gaze drifted between Hoshi, Travis, Alira, and Trip, smiling faintly, wistfully. "I expect you all to get out there and give 'em hell."

The moment the Commodore sprung them loose, Trip made fast tracks toward engineering to break the news to his team. Apparently a rather large betting pool had been established as to where Hess and Kelby would be assigned; Rostov, who had bet half his yearly leave on Kelby being retained on Enterprise, was beside himself, all the while Hess was whooping and jumping around, hugging everyone in sight, Kov included. To their surprise, he responded by squeezing her tightly, lifting her off the ground, and spinning in a circle. He, like everyone else, had come to the natural conclusion that he would serve as Anna's second, and couldn't even begin to hide his very Vulcan version of excitement.

Taking his leave of his brigade, Trip headed to the shuttlebay and fired up one of their craft, mercifully being able to dock at the Maelstrom's port hatch without much fanfare.

The moment he stepped over the threshold to a corridor that was virtually identical to the Enterprise in every way, he paused, placing his hand on the wall. Years earlier, he'd told T'Pol that while two ships may look the same, a good engineer could always tell the difference.

The Maelstrom was no exception. Even though the engines were idling while the technicians conducted their final checks, he could feel their vibration and sense their temperament. He'd spent the majority of his adult life with his head stuck in a plasma conduit, so he should know. Warp seven felt different.

The corridors were almost unbearably bright; he vaguely remembered reading that shipwide environmental controls had been improved, so it was warmer and lighter during simulated daytime and the exact opposite when a vast majority of the crew was off duty. Trip wasn't sure how he felt about it; he more or less felt like telling the ergonomic specialists at HQ that they would have to pry his poor sleep habits from his cold, dead hands.

The deck plating was lighter as well, a soft, stormy gray that seemed almost reflective and felt slippery under his boots. He was positive that if he took off running he would fall on his ass almost immediately, and made a mental note to warn the crew.

Stepping into the turbolift, he immediately noticed there were no buttons to press. He stood there confused for a moment, wondering how in the hell the thing was supposed to work, before tentatively calling out: "A Deck?"

The craft began to move, slowly at first, then accelerating rapidly, bringing him to his destination in a matter of seconds. Through the door, he could hear the grinding, welding, and shouting of the mechanics hard at work. It struck him that this would be the first time stepping onto the bridge...his bridge.

He was going to be a Captain, no matter how many reservations he had about commanding a warship.

The lift opened, just in time for him to see the tactical station burst in a shower of sparks. His newly appointed second stepped back from where she'd been hovering over the electrician, slapping the arms and torso of her uniform to put out the little fires that had sprung up all over her, calling out, "Flame retardant, my ass!"

Julia turned and made eye contact with him, not embarrassed for even a second. She smiled, and Trip was struck by the memory of her when they'd served together briefly on the Columbia: freckles, bright eyes, and prominent Texan accent, with her box braids gathered to one shoulder in a side ponytail.

"Pretend you didn't see that," she said, crossing the room. "Lieutenant Commander Julia Hammond reporting for duty, sir."

"At ease. We still have about a week to go," he replied, returning her smile. "I gotta say, you look a lot happier than when I saw you last."

She laughed. "You'd be right about that." It had been a welcome change, very much overdue.

Trip glanced to his left and his right, and when he was sure no one was listening, he leaned forward and whispered, "Can I still call you Jules?"

"Please."

"And as far as-"

"She and her are fine," Julia assured him, before turning and gesturing to one side of the bridge. "Care to see your ready room, Captain?"

He shook his shoulders and rubbed his temples, but still followed her across the room and through the hatch. "This still doesn't feel real."

"You're telling me. I've called this ship Columbia about a dozen times already, more than once to the dockmaster's face."

The ready room was bare save for the requisite desk and computer console. Directly across from them, the porthole afforded them a view of several of space dock's upper pylons, and farther still, the enormous sphere of their homeworld. Turning to the right, a decorative frame caught his eye, filled with artist's renderings of each of the five NX vessels, as well as photographs of their senior staff complements, gathered in various configurations around the Captain's chair.

"We'll need to take a nice picture before we ship out," he asserted, and she nodded.

"You know, I gotta say, I was happy to learn I was getting promoted, but when I heard I'd be serving under you, I was practically over the moon." She paused and walked around his desk, coming to a halt in front of the window. "What's new with you? Are you still pining over-"

"I'm with our new communications officer, Lieutenant Sato," he interrupted, settling into his chair and giving it an experimental turn. There had been several moments of weakness during his time on the Columbia when he'd sought companionship and a listening ear, and he'd found himself at her door more than once, each time sharing more and more, far above what he probably should. "You'll love her. She reminds me a lot of you."

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to pry. I just-"

"No worries, Jules. We're technically off duty, right?" He rotated his chair to face her, catching her relieved expression.

She paused, and when she replied, he could hear the amusement in her voice. "In that case, are you still into water polo? Because it's still-"

"Listen here-"

"-the weirdest sport in existence. I won't even pretend to understand how you sit there and watch people swim around in a pool for half an hour."

"The Commodore got me into it," Trip cried defensively, then shook his head. "I almost wish he hadn't."

Julia laughed and came around his desk, pulling up a chair from the wall. She sat across from him and crossed her hands on the table, formally, almost as if she'd been called in there for a reprimand. Then she leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "So, do you have any information on our new science officer?"

He supposed it was her prerogative to know, having served as Erika's science officer for almost two years. Those nerdy types tended to stick together.

"It's Lieutenant Ethan Novakovich from Enterprise's original complement. Serbian born, Seattle raised. He's got a Ph.D. in botany, of all things. He's a little nervous, but he knows what he's talking about. I'd trust him in a firefight, for sure."

"Don't tell me!" She tilted her head to one side, appearing to be deep in thought. "Is that...pollen guy?"

Ethan was notorious for having almost died on the NX-01's first away mission to a planet that was now known as Archer IV; he'd written a groundbreaking thesis on his ordeal, and had spent the past four years trying to live it down, with mixed results.

"The very same. I oughta warn you, the man's a little cursed."

"Cursed?" She repeated incredulously.

"Every away mission he's on, it goes wrong somehow. I don't know how he does it."

Julia laughed. "He better stay far, far away from me then. On the Columbia, I was known for crashing shuttlepods."

"So I hear. Three in one year, Jules?"

"Captain Hernandez took away my flight privileges after that." She paused. "What about our tactical officer? I hear she's full of piss and vinegar."

"That would be an understatement. Remember how I told you that Reed was more like a phase pistol with a hand attached to it than an actual person?" She nodded. "Taxa is more like a photonic torpedo with a dozen pistols strapped to it."

"Well, in that case, I definitely can't wait to meet her!" She smiled, and her joy was contagious. "We're gonna be a good team, aren't we?"

That was one thing Trip was sure of. "Duelin' accents, here we come."

"We're gonna drive the senior officers crazy," she said, extending her hand for a shake.

"Damn right," he replied and reached across the table to seal the deal.

"Are you quite sure about this?"

"I already told you, Phlox. I'm going, and you're not going to change my mind." The two of them stepped into the turbolift. A fraction of a second before the doors were to close, an unfamiliar crewman burst in. They smiled politely at him, then their conversation slipped naturally into Denobulan, the local dialect they both shared.

"Your brother was mugged only a couple weeks ago. And that was in San Francisco, where people are used to seeing off-worlders."

Alira shook her head. "Mareth doesn't know how to defend himself. I do. I'm going to be fine. It's just a few days in London, and then we'll be back."

"I think your mother and I would feel a lot more comfortable if-"

"I feel very strongly about this man. I think he could-" She glanced over her shoulder at their unwitting guest, who was trying his best not to look like he was listening in, even if he had no idea what they were saying. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think he could hold my attention for an extended period of time."

"Really?" The very beginnings of a grin were starting to spread across his lips. "Should we start planning a wedding?"

"Phlox!" She cried in exasperation, and their guest shifted uncomfortably, that being one of the few words in Denobulan he did understand. "I'm not sure if he could even handle our lifestyle."

"Don't sell these humans too short. My Elizabeth certainly can."

The doors of the turbolift opened and the crewman hurried down the corridor, anxious to get out of earshot of their intense conversation. She paused over the threshold, then pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. "That's another thing. You're going to St. Louis to meet her family over leave. How is what I'm doing any different?"

They continued down the hall for almost a full minute before he finally replied, "It's different because I've seen what these kinds of people can do. They almost attacked me during our first visit to Earth after the Xindi mission, and if our shipmates hadn't been there, they would have done some damage."

Alira stopped in her tracks, nearly causing him to collide into her. When she turned her head to look at him, she finally understood. Her half-father was worried about her.

She supposed his concern was warranted. Every Denobulan national traveling to United Earth received the standard warnings about extremist groups, self defense tips, and the kinds of individuals to watch out for. They hid their cranial ridges and dulled their smiles, kept their heads down and went about their business quietly. She used to pride herself in never being afraid to be herself when she walked the streets of San Francisco during STC, but even now, she supposed she'd gone to great lengths to humanize herself as much as possible. She was on her way to meet Malcolm at the transporter pad wearing a rather uncomfortable pair of jeans, their standard issue cold weather parka, and a knit beanie that Hoshi had loaned her. Really, unless you looked closely, she thought she was virtually indistinguishable from every other human on board, a fact which she hadn't seen a problem with. Until now.

"There's always going to be those kinds of people around. I'm not going to let that stop me from living my life."

Phlox sighed, looking away for a fraction of a second. "Your mother isn't here right now, but if she were, I know she would be telling you to be careful."

"I know. Trust me, you don't need to worry." She smiled, hoping that would be sufficient to assuage his concerns. He didn't look convinced. "Besides, I'm more worried about you. All week in a house with seven humans? How are you going to pull through?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "Elizabeth has informed me that her parents are extremely...midwestern. What that means is a mystery to me."

She laughed, and they continued on their path. Eventually Phlox asked, "I trust you'll be keeping notes during your travels? This is an excellent opportunity to study human family dynamics."

"If I remember. As I understand it, we're only meeting his sister Madeline." They were nearing the center of the ship, and passing more and more crewmen dressed in their civvies, all eagerly awaiting their chance to depart for leave. She'd spent all week listening to her friends discuss their plans, secretly relishing and feeding off of their enthusiasm. She knew that Lieutenant Commander Hess was high-tailing it back to Munich, hoping to catch the eighth night of Hanukkah with her sister's family. Ensign Nguyen was traveling to Vietnam to see his parents, and Petty Officer Rostov was headed to Volgograd to see some friends from college.

As they rounded the corner, Alira almost walked headlong into Liz. She made a small, surprised sound, then took a massive step back. "Phlox, are you ready to go?"

"I am, my beloved," he replied, treating them to that same dopey grin Alira usually associated with Liz being around. They were all off duty, so they were being a little more careless with the use of their terms of endearment. As she watched, her cheeks grew a little red, and she gestured towards the pad.

"Looks like we're up next."

"Have anything special planned?"

"I wish," Liz said ruefully, "Just going home for Christmas for the first time in three years. Here's hoping we all don't wind up strangling each other."

Alira's eyes widened, then observing her neutral expression, relaxed slightly. Though her English wasn't impeccable, she tried her best, and her shipmates' use of hyperbole sometimes went over her head. She found it amusing how often humans joked about hating or imparting some other form of bodily harm on family members without really meaning it. "I would definitely call that an unsuccessful gathering."

"What about you?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Where are you headed?" Liz gestured towards her, taking in her traveling clothes, the duffel bag slung across one shoulder.

Momentarily, Alira panicked, looking towards Phlox for support, but finding none. She was almost positive Malcolm wouldn't appreciate her spreading the news of their getaway all over the ship, even if the person asking was her half-father's lover and one of her closest friends. She thought about the last message she'd sent, wishing Hoshi safe travels as she returned to Kyoto for her brother's wedding.

"Brazil," she blurted out. "Rio. Hoshi recommended it, she taught there a few years ago. She says it's a great place to take in a bit of sight-seeing."

"Really? Dressed like that?" Suddenly, there was a devilish glint in Liz's eye. "It's the middle of the summer there."

Alira cursed inwardly, making a mental note to brush up on her United Earth geography. She was in the process of formulating what was sure to be a brilliant rebuttal to her observation when Malcolm suddenly appeared at her side, similarly dressed for cold weather. He greeted Phlox and Liz warmly, completely oblivious to what had just transpired, effectively blowing their cover.

Not for the first time, she was sorely tempted to smack him.

Soon the two of them were gone, and they were next. The crewman at the controls looked at them more than a little curiously when they both requested the London terminal. She knew he knew it, for in the seconds before they were transported, Malcolm leaned over and whispered, "Enjoy your leave, Ensign."

"You too, sir," she replied, trying her best not to look at him, overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

Together, they beamed directly into the St. Pancras transport station, immediately stepping off the pad and joining the throng of people in the corridor. The station was packed, filled with locals and United Earth nationals, visiting dignitaries easily identifiable by the UTs hanging out of their pockets, and students in their school uniforms rushing to catch their transport home for the holidays. Malcolm was familiar with the routine; once he and Madeline were old enough to cross the street alone, they were dispatched to London on the daily for their private education. He distinctly remembered being ten years old and holding his little sister's hand as they dashed towards the Cornwall hovertrain.

As they entered their teenage years and settled into boarding school, their visits home became less and less frequent, until they really only saw their parents for birthdays and major holidays. Once he graduated, he'd started renting a flat in the city. While Madeline had dived into her uni studies with earnest, he'd bounced around from vocation to vocation until finally heeding the call of Starfleet, leaving his sister to make a life for herself in the flat they'd once shared.

He had to admit to feeling a certain thrill in returning, knowing he was nearly anonymous in the city that made him.

St. Pancras was built under and around a three hundred year old train shed from the days of steam locomotives, the canopy far above them inlaid with hundreds of pane glass windows. Predictably, the sky was clouded over, carrying a veiled threat of snow that would begin to fall in the evening hours. Rising to the primary level above the transporter rooms, they were treated to the sight of dozens of hovertrains sitting in their tracks. The largest and fastest, he knew from experience, advertised a thirty-minute round trip to Paris, departing on the hour every hour.

As they passed under the way out, Alira, who had been chattering excitedly about everything she wanted to do in Europe from the moment they stepped off the transporter pad, suddenly paused and slipped her hand into his own, intertwining their fingers together. "Are we going to see your sister?"

"Not quite yet. There's one stop we've got to make first," he answered cryptically, then at her confused expression, he added: "I believe I promised to show you a real medieval castle one day."

She remembered. It had been in the final moments before she'd been transported from the rubble of the government building on Rigel V, when she'd barely been clinging onto consciousness, when he'd been trying everything in his arsenal to keep her awake. It seemed like it had been only yesterday and one hundred years ago simultaneously.

"Do you always keep your promises?" She asked as they stepped out from the main entrance, pausing for a second to admire the buildings around them, their curved roofs, gothic spires, and arched windows.

"If I can help it," he replied, squeezing her hand. A second later, they were dashing across the street to the station at King's Cross, descending several levels below ground to the tube.

Two hours later, the two of them were crashing into Madeline's flat in Brixton. Malcolm knew the door codes, so he hadn't even bothered to ring ahead. Throwing his bag on the floor that he'd been carrying around all afternoon, he called out, "We're here!"

"And we brought-" Alira glanced at the takeout container in her hands. "I believe it's called sushi?"

She emerged from a room at the far end of the hall, still dressed in her scrubs, grinning from ear to ear. She crossed the room and wrapped her brother in a tight hug, saying, "It's about time you got here! I was beginning to think you would find some excuse not to come. How long has it been?"

"Six months, give or take," he teased, holding her at arm's length. "Mads, you're getting old."

Madeline rolled her eyes. Alira thought they had the exact same smile, and she would soon find out, the same laugh. "At least I'm not pushing forty."

"I've still got a couple of years," he protested.

"Which, if you were to ask mother, is practically ancient."

"You haven't settled down either."

"I'm working on it. If everything goes according to plan, I'll propose to Michelle on her birthday. There's just the matter of a ring. My lady's got expensive taste." She suddenly turned and acknowledged their guest. "I'm sorry, dear, you must be this Alira I've been hearing so much about. Do you mind giving us a cuddle?"

"Of course not," she replied, and they embraced, somewhat awkwardly.

"Thank you for keeping my brother sane over the past few months. I don't think I've ever received so many letters from him. He seems so happy now. Before, he was a real miserable bastard."

"He still is," Alira assured her, much to Malcolm's chagrin.

Madeline laughed and clapped her hands together. "Could I interest you two in a drink? I'm starving. This will be the first opportunity I've had to eat all day."

"My sister is a veterinarian," he explained as she moved into the kitchen. "Quite an adequate one, so I hear."

"Very funny. I suppose I could say that you're a passable tactical officer."

"In our line of work, it's not enough to be passable. You have to be exceptional," he informed her.

"Really? How did they miss giving you that attribute?" Madeline asked sardonically, dodging the dish towel that was summarily thrown at her head. She recovered quickly and leaned across the countertop, winking at Alira and shielding her face from her brother's view. "You can be honest with me, dear. What do you think of London so far?"

"To be fair, I haven't seen very much of it. It reminds me of some of the smaller villages on my homeworld."

"A village?" Madeline repeated incredulously, having no way of knowing that on Denobula twelve billion people shared one continent that was nearly merged into one contiguous city, that a vast majority of the land was covered with skyscrapers hundreds of stories tall with precious limited space for agriculture and recreation. "Malcolm, where on earth did you take this woman today to give her that impression?"

"To the Tower of London," he admitted somewhat defensively, "I promised a while ago I'd show her a real medieval fortress."

"You see, there's your problem. If you're looking to impress her, you should have taken her up to Edinburgh Castle." Madeline was moving again, sliding a corkscrew and three glasses across the table.

"One day," he said, barely turning his head to glance at her. While his sister's back was turned, he smiled, and his eyes were so full of promises of the future that she couldn't help but return it.

A couple of hours later, Malcolm emerged from his former bedroom, thoroughly exhausted. It hit him every time they were planetside; he was loath to admit that he never really slept well on the Enterprise no matter how hard he tried. He was constantly worried, his thoughts were constantly racing, a rather unfortunate truth that had plagued him his entire life.

At the front of the flat, Alira and Madeline were seated on opposite ends of the couch, sharing the same blanket, with a bottle of wine placed on the coffee table between them. Their laughter had roused him out of bed, and he was coming to investigate.

With the assistance of the great social equalizer of alcohol, they were conversing like old friends, and had been for some time. He wasn't sure what exactly it meant that Alira got along better with his sister than he did, but he didn't care to think too hard about it. They hadn't even discussed the nature of their relationship yet, let alone what they were going to do when the Maelstrom commissioned in less than a week. It had been weighing heavily on his mind.

Madeline suddenly realized he was standing in the hallway and waved him over, nearly spilling the contents of her glass in the process.

"Alira was just telling me about that ruse she pulled during the war games exercise a couple of months back. If you ask me, she definitely cheated, though it was clever."

"Thank you!" He threw his hands up in the air. "I've only been saying that for the past six months."

"There's no fairness in war," Alira insisted. "I had to assert my dominance somehow."

Madeline whooped, reaching over to give her a high five. "That's right, sister! Stick it to the man!"

"As much as I'd love to stay here and debate fairness with the two of you, I'm off to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed them both on the cheek. "Are you going to be alright on the couch tonight?"

Alira nodded. "I've got some reading to catch up on, and Mads for as long as she's awake."

She'd already begun using his nickname for her. He desperately wanted to ask her to join him for the night, but didn't dare.

"I wish I could go without sleep for most of the year," Madeline mused. "I would get so much done…"

"What does your father do again?"

Liz sighed and rubbed at her temples, preparing to answer the same question she'd been asked at least three times in the past couple of hours. Not that she blamed Phlox; while her family tree was nowhere near as complicated as his, there were still a lot of details to remember. She supposed her frustration had nothing to do with him, and more to do with the fact that she was only fifteen minutes from introducing the man she loved to her family, a situation which she had a feeling could only end in disaster.

Though she briefly entertained the idea of just skipping their exit and continuing to drive out of the city, she signaled and left the interstate, bringing their rental to a halt at a traffic light. The sprawl of suburbia seem to encroach on them from all sides, choking out the stars that were only just beginning to appear in the dusk of the evening, rising tall into the sky like mountains beyond mountains. It had always made Liz feel a little claustrophobic.

"He's a lawyer. Civil litigation, mostly."

In the passenger seat, she heard the sound of paper rustling, and immediately held out her arm. Phlox complied, pouring a few gummy worms into her hand. While rushing to make their connection in the Chicago hovertrain terminal, he'd become distracted by a stand selling all means of Terran snacks, and though she'd initially protested, she soon gave in, and they boarded the train bound for St. Louis toting a massive bag of junk food. It had been mostly gone by the time their carriage passed underneath the Arch.

"What does that mean?"

"He likes to argue with people about who owns a majority share in the company, or who owes alimony, or who slandered who on a messaging board somewhere," she replied, making a left turn onto the main drag of the suburb she once called home. Everything was eerily familiar; the pizza place she'd gone to with her friends before senior prom, the library where she used to check out dozens of books at a time, the drive-thru ice cream parlor she went to consistently after working her shifts as a lifeguard at the community pool. The memories were incredibly close to the surface, but with the buffer of time between her and her childhood days, it was feeling more and more like she was returning to a place she no longer belonged. In spite of herself, she laughed softly. "He's a real breadwinner, alright."

Before he could ask, she followed up: "That just means he's the one who makes the money. My mother's a homemaker, always has been." Liz turned onto a side residential street and made her way down a hill, passing over a two lane bridge over a creek where she used to hunt crawdads with her cousins.

Though she didn't glance at him, she could hear the realization in his voice. "Ah! An architect."

She laughed again, louder this time. "No, she keeps track of the housework and bills and such. She used to make our lunches and drive us to school, but these days she mostly just annoys our neighbors."

Two more turns, and they found themselves deeper into the subdivision, filled with nearly identical two-storied red brick homes. Windows were shuttered and closed to the cold; the half-melting gray slush that Liz always associated with the midwest was piled haphazardly along the sides of the street, somewhat complementing the gratuitous and occasionally tacky selection of holiday decor clinging to lawns and eaves.

She knew the concept of Christmas was incredibly interesting to Phlox, a topic of informal sociological study. Over the course of their relationship, she had tried to explain to him the concept of stockings hung over the fireplace, of an artificial tree covered with all means of sparkling things, of a jolly elf that was somehow able to deliver toys to all the little Terran children in a single night. She considered herself fully capable of answering his questions, but couldn't for the life of her come up with a reason why their next door neighbors had erected a giant three meter tall blow up reindeer in their front yard.

Liz made a right hand turn and coasted into the driveway; it was already a tight fit, with both of her parents' vehicles and her brother's minivan, and she was sure she was going to have to get up close and personal with Rudolph in order to extricate herself from the driver's seat. From her vantage point, she could see the open blinds, see the roaring fireplace and figures moving in the front room. The panic was rising into her throat, and she was fighting to keep it down.

Phlox must have sensed her anxiety, because he reached for her hand and squeezed it, drawing it to his chest. She glanced over at him, taking in his reassuring smile and the sparkle in his eyes, and immediately felt more at ease.

"It's going to be okay. And if it isn't-"

"We're going to skip town and head to Vegas." Liz popped the lock and opened her door. "I'm going to hold you to that."

On the porch, she hesitated for almost a full minute before pressing the doorbell. There was a pause, then the thunderous rush of feet. The screen door popped open, affording her a glimpse of her niece and nephew, Sarah and Dylan, looking a whole lot older and taller than the last time she saw them.

"Auntie Liz!" They cried, both reaching for the door handle at the same time, getting nowhere in the process. She pulled at it, and they stumbled out, throwing their arms around her legs.

She laughed, lifting Dylan into her arms. He had just turned seven, and was looking more and more like his father every day. Every time she visited, she spoiled the two of them rotten, and was more than willing to hand them back to her brother after a few hours, thoroughly over-excited and hyped up on sugar. It was just what aunts did.

"Did you bring us any bugs?"

She tutted, shaking her head. "Not this time. We brought lots of pictures, though." Liz turned slightly so he could get a good look at Phlox, who was standing farther down the porch at a respectful distance. "My friend here has a whole room full of funny-looking creatures."

He was about to offer some clever witticism to that effect when he felt a hand tugging at the end of his tunic. Phlox glanced down to behold little Sarah Cutler, who had something very important to tell him.

"My daddy says you're not from here."

The two of them exchanged a bemused glance over her shoulder, then Phlox crouched down so he could be at her eye level. "That's true. I'm from a planet called Denobula."

"Is that far away?"

"As a matter of fact, it's about over forty light years from-"

He didn't have the time to explain such complex scientific concepts to a five-year-old, for in the next moment, two more adults stepped over the threshold, surrounding Liz in a tight hug.

"Glad to see you made it, sis. I thought you might have forgotten where the place was." The man smiled, and Phlox immediately recognized the family resemblance.

She rolled her eyes, passing her nephew into his mother's arms. "Beloved, this is my brother Sam and his wife Nina."

Phlox took one look at the two humans before him. They were both wearing festive sweaters emblazoned with the logo of some entity called the Cardinals, and sporting smiles that would make any Denobulan feel inferior. He immediately knew he was going to like them.

"So this is the elusive boyfriend we've heard so much about!" Sam looped his arm around his sister's shoulder and pointed towards him, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Nice to meet ya, buddy. Liz just goes on and on about you in her letters."

"When she remembers to write," Nina cut in, patting the top of her daughter's head as she ran past them into the house.

He felt a bit of satisfaction knowing that; he was known to brag about her accomplishments to his colleagues back home. Phlox was about to return his pleasantries when there was a sudden commotion from the front hallway, and two more people poked their heads out.

"Elizabeth! You're home!" An older woman stepped across the threshold and wrapped her in a captive embrace. "My God, did you see what the Kowalskis did to their lawn? I swear, it's like they're trying to drive me up a wall."

"A man's entitled to decorate his home for Christmas exactly how he sees fit, Sharon. Even if it is ugly as homemade sin." Liz's father was balding and a little hunched over with age, but he had a kind face. He drew her in, kissing her on the forehead. "I'm so happy you made it this year, little bit. I was beginning to worry that you'd gotten lost in space."

Sharon turned, as if she was starting to lead them back into the house, but paused, locking eyes with their guest. Phlox immediately recognized those eyes. He'd seen them time and time again, when he'd first arrived on Earth decades ago, while enjoying drinks with the fellow senior officers at the 602 Club shortly before a bar fight broke out, and even from the odd crewman on occasion. They were hard to forget.

When she opened her mouth, she confirmed his suspicions.

"And you brought him."

"Mom!" Liz was quick to react, her eyes wide with horror and poorly concealed anger.

"It's fine, it's fine! I just had the table set for seven. It won't be very much trouble to-"

"I told you about this months ago. You knew! I can't believe-"

Nina stepped between them with practiced ease, effectively driving a wedge into their argument. "Why don't we all go inside and have a drink? I understand dinner's almost ready."

Her husband seemed to take the hint. He opened the front door and propped it open with his foot. "Come on, big guy. There's some holographic family albums around here somewhere. I'll show you every embarrassing picture of Liz I can find, braces and perm included."

Liz dealt him a look which he supposed might be interpreted for gratitude, but she mostly looked enraged. She didn't wait for anyone to follow, charging through the door right after her brother, arms crossed confrontationally.

As it turned out, Sharon Cutler was the type of midwestern mom to tell everyone that the meal was ready about two hours before it actually was. She was skulking around the kitchen, clanging pots and pans, making far too much noise. Her husband and daughter were adding finishing touches to the tree, which sat in the corner of the front room, surrounded by dozens of immaculately wrapped presents and lit candles. It was more than a little toasty, and Liz was considering removing her jacket, but that would require walking right past the kitchen on her way to the coat closet, where her mother was raring to go for another argument.

Sam made good on his promise, hauling down a half dozen family albums from the attic and spinning elaborate yarns about their shared childhood to Phlox, showing him photo after photo projected onto the coffee table of summers at the lake, marching band practices, and road trips to see the grandparents.

Every so often Liz would have to chime in to correct specific details, mainly when it concerned an embarrassing story about her. Sam would roll his eyes and claim that wasn't how he remembered it, and he was older, so he would know, and Phlox would play along, much to his amusement.

Eventually, when they grew tired of that, Phlox began to entertain the children with pictures of the creatures in his menagerie, to a repeated and prolonged chorus of ew and wow and gross. She was always surprised how good he was with children; she sometimes forgot that he'd already raised five of his own. When they got around to the Altarian marsupial, Sarah asked her if it was really true she'd let it escape one night, and she confirmed it, adding that she'd spent three hours chasing it through the halls with a net so Phlox wouldn't have to know.

Her mother emerged from the hallway, carrying a tray of crystal glasses she was soon to serve to the adults. Liz took one look at her drink and decided she was going to need a lot more wine to get through the evening.

She accepted her glass from Nina and turned back to her task of unraveling the tangle of bulb lights at her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother take a seat at the far end of the couch, sitting about as far away as possible from Phlox and the children.

To her credit, she made some attempt to engage them in conversation and to seem genuinely interested in their diplomatic mission. Liz was immediately suspicious, but told them all about the spectacle that was their foray into war games, and the misfortune that had befallen them on Rigel V, skipping over the fact that she'd nearly been mortally wounded. Phlox described Betazed with as much vivid detail as he could muster, the physicians he'd met and the interesting specimens he'd collected.

Sam and Nina, who had never so much as ventured outside of North America, peppered them both with questions, endlessly fascinated by their travels. Her father took a moment to gloat over her promotion to chief science officer; though it was months ago, he was proud of her, and she could tell it was genuine by the look in his eyes.

After some time, the conversation naturally lulled, and Liz took a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs, looking between the silent warring parties on opposite ends of the room. It was only a matter of time before someone fired a warning shot.

"How are you enjoying your visit to Earth, Mr. Phlox?" Sharon asked, taking a sip of her drink, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

Liz immediately noticed that he was visibly uncomfortable, trying not to look at her, trying not to say anything that would be considered controversial or confrontational. "It's been fine. I lived on Earth for a number of years before being posted to the Enterprise. This is, however, my first visit to St. Louis."

He looked towards her, perhaps for approval, and she nodded encouragingly. They had to take the high road, no matter what.

"It must be strange."

"What's strange?"

She gestured around the room. "Being here. Seeing all these nuclear families."

"Mom," she admonished. She could see that she was about to protest, no doubt to say that she meant nothing by it, but she wasn't about to let this one slide. "Do you ever think, just maybe, that comments like that are why I haven't been home in three years?"

"I was just-"

"I don't care. If you're not going to be civil, we don't need to be here."

Her mother met her gaze and narrowed her eyes, and they were locked in a standoff for seemingly one endless moment. The tension in the room was palpable.

Suddenly, she stood. "Elizabeth, could you help me with the deviled eggs?"

"Gladly," she replied, following her into the hallway. Behind them, Sam, who could clearly see a storm was brewing, very unsubtly queued up some festive music and turned the volume all the way up.

The second they stepped into the kitchen, Liz brought her hand down onto the countertop with an audible slap, causing her mother to turn on her, mimicking her posture. "What is wrong with you? That man in there is trying his best to be nice to you, and you can't even-"

"I raised you better than this," she hissed.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She raised a finger towards her, as if warning her not to swear in her house, then turned to the stove, where she began to stir at something gurgling away in a stewpot. "You're going to be thirty next year. It's time that you settle down."

"We've been through this. My place is on Enterprise. I love my work. It's where my family is."

"Your family is here." Sharon gestured around the room. "I worry about you up there, flying all over the place, doing God knows what with God knows who."

"You don't get to have any say in the kinds of missions I go on or the kinds of people I associate with."

She shook her head. "I worry about you, Elizabeth. You could have taught at a university here in town, you know. Been given a really lucrative research position."

"But I chose to apply myself." She took a step closer, well into her mother's personal space. "I chose better."

"Is it better?" She set her ladle down and turned to her, and her voice was low, dangerous. "How can you be sure that man loves you?"

Her eyes widened and she had to bite her tongue to avoid flying off the handle. If there was anything she was sure about after four years, it was Phlox's feelings for her.

"That man in there-" She pointed towards the hallway. "Has been with me through everything. He makes me a better person."

"I just wish you picked someone your own age."

"He is my own age, if you consider that Denobulans live just over three hundred years."

"He's over a hundred years old! That's-" Suddenly she was tearful, wiping her hands on her apron, quickly escaping to the stasis unit. "That's insane. And he's got three other wives."

"I've met them all. They're a lot more welcoming and accepting than you've ever been."

The door of the unit closed with a crash, so loud she was certain things had fallen from the shelves inside. Her mother whirled on her, furious, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "And what about when you want to get married? Bigamy is illegal, Elizabeth. What you're doing here is beyond questionable, it's unnatural."

"Unnatural?" She was suddenly shouting, unable to control her volume, gripping the edge of the counter top with all her might. From the other room, she heard all conversations cease, and she was sure they were all listening in. Memories were flooding back to her; her parents begging her to stay home before her initial deployment, begging her to choose a more lucrative field than entomology, begging her to settle, begging her to put her dreams aside, begging her to conform to their idea of what her life should look like. "Mom, I understand you're worried about me getting hurt, but believe me, I can take care of myself. And you can't use it as an excuse to hide your bigotry anymore."

She opened her mouth, but Liz took a step forward, advancing on her, cutting her off. "If you don't like the way I'm living my life, that's perfectly fine. You don't need to associate with me ever again. Tell all the ladies at your book club how your daughter ran off with some big scary alien and threw her entire future away! I dare you!"

Liz felt someone grabbing her arms, trying to hold her back, and she realized it was Sam, trying and failing to diffuse the situation. She broke past him and headed towards the hallway, but not before turning and delivering her final remark, her voice louder and angrier than ever.

"And, for your information, if we ever were to get married, we'd do it on Denobula, where it's perfectly legal. Don't expect an invitation. I wouldn't want you anywhere near me sucking all the happiness out of the room like a black hole!"

Before she could think twice, she was pushing past her father and sister-in-law, bursting out onto the front porch. The temperature had seemingly dropped ten degrees, and the clouds were starting to spit snow. The night sky was black, empty, and the street lamps were drowning out all the stars.

She dashed towards the hovercar and slipped into the driver's seat, sliding the keys into the ignition. It was only then that the emotions caught up with her and she slumped forward over the steering wheel, trying and failing to maintain her composure.

It was some time before the front door opened again, producing a very concerned looking Denobulan. He stood on the porch, arms crossed, peering out into the darkness. Over his shoulder, she could see the silhouettes of her brother and father, yelling at someone standing very far from the window. Her sister-in-law stood, corralled the children, and disappeared from view, presumably taking them out to the backyard. Liz sat up and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

Finally Phlox approached the vehicle, his hand hovering over the door handle momentarily, then slid into the passenger's seat. Neither spoke for quite some time.

"We don't have to deal with this," she asserted, jabbing a finger towards the house. "If she's going to be hateful, I refuse to be a part of it. I refuse to subject you to it."

"It's to be expected," he said quietly.

"You see, that's the thing. Just because people have been xenophobic in the past, doesn't mean we should allow it to continue. We've gotta call it out when we set it, beloved. That's the only way." She paused. "She's always been like this, you know. It was stupid of me to hope that she'd changed. When I was a teenager, all I ever wanted to do was just get in the car and drive far away from this place."

"Why don't we?"

As usual, his plainspoken manner took her aback. "What?"

"I said, why don't we?" His hand found hers, which she hadn't realized was already resting on the gearshift. "Where are we going, Elizabeth?"

In spite of herself, she smiled. "Vegas?" She thought she heard him laugh, knowing full well she wasn't serious. Before she could even think twice, she shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. "I know a place."

Liz maneuvered out of the labyrinth of the subdivision and back onto the main drag, then onto the interstate, where she accelerated so quickly down the ramp that they were both pushed back into their seats. Though it was the day before Christmas Eve, it was quite late, and there weren't many vehicles on the road. It didn't matter; she swerved around the ones that they encountered on their way out of the city, pressing down on the accelerator just a little bit more, until the snow was flying around them like stars past a vessel at warp.

Neither said anything. They didn't have to. Phlox briefly considered warning her to slow down, that they might encounter a patch of rough road at this speed, but thought better of it. For years, she'd been fixated on getting flight practice in the shuttlepod whenever she could, talking about how when she had control of the wheel, she felt weightless. She felt free.

Finally, he understood.

A music station was playing some late night compilation of local music, all burbling synths and wailing guitars and triumphant lyrics about driving all night and running until one's legs couldn't carry them any longer. It was a familiar theme in human music, he'd noticed, perhaps centered around their species' persistent fight to live exuberantly despite a constant sense of existential futility. Liz turned up the volume until the vehicle began to shake, and together they passed the final lights of the city, the great expanse of the mountains open before them.

They drove for perhaps two hours before Phlox noticed that the trees were growing taller and standing closer to the road, casting elongated shadows over the road when illuminated by their headlights. It was snowing harder now, and the temperature had dropped considerably to where he occasionally felt the slip of their tires over a patch of ice. They were continually passing over and under hills and dales, and he didn't realize they were approaching another city until they were passing through it, and Liz was pointing out the sleepy commuter town where she'd done her undergraduate work some years ago.

A few minutes later, she turned off the interstate onto a much less well maintained road. She paused at the stop sign for a couple of moments, studying how the path ahead of them was thoroughly covered in snow, undisturbed in the lateness of the evening. For a fleeting moment, he thought she was going to turn back, but then she forged onward, bringing them over a narrow one lane bridge.

There were no street lights for miles around, just their headlights and the occasional glowing eyes of a nocturnal critter on the side of the road. Liz turned the music down and drove with her upper body hunched over the steering wheel, peering into the darkness as though she expected something to jump out at her at any second.

Finally, they rounded a curve and found themselves in a quaint mountain village, where the road either began or ended, depending on one's perspective. There were a handful of homes and a couple businesses; one of them drew his lover's attention, for she decelerated gently over the undisturbed snow, bringing them to a stop across the street.

"It's still open," she whispered, and he realized she was emotional again, though he suspected for an entirely different reason. "My friends and I used to come here to study all the time. I never thought-"

She removed the key from the ignition and stepped out, coming around the car and standing below a neon sign that felt blinding in the near total darkness. She raised her hands above her head, and the joy the discovery brought her was undeniable.

RIVER'S BEND DINER, OPEN 365, 24/7, as it appeared, seemed to be a relic of a long-forgotten time. A stretch of windows encompassed the restaurant on all sides, and the interior was illuminated by fluorescent lighting, which clearly set off the red-and-white striped booths and countertop, where a lone waitress was biding her time, wiping down the same section of the table over and over.

Before he could even exit the car, she'd reached the door and poked her head inside, asking if they were open. The waitress looked up, taking in the sight of the excited young woman and her companion, and replied, "Open? At 1AM on Christmas Eve?"

He could see her visibly deflate for a second before she followed up, "Of course, honey. You and your friend get in here. It's a cold one out there tonight."

Inside, they chose a booth farthest away from the door and cuddled up, not particularly caring for propriety or professionalism at the moment. They were the only ones in the dining room, and though their waitress accurately surmised they weren't from around there, she wasn't able to get a straight answer out of them (Liz immediately shouted out Commander Tucker's hometown, and Phlox said San Francisco, and together they'd descended into a fit of giggles) and eventually left them alone, only returning to present them with their meals and the check.

Sampling the diner's finest hamburger was apparently a rapturous nostalgic experience for Liz. When she finished hers, she started to steal his fries, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease her. "It's a wonder your species has survived so long eating this type of food."

"It tastes a lot better when you're drunk," she promised. "I used to sit in that corner booth over there and write exobiology papers all night. I must have had five or six cups of coffee in one sitting each time. Driving back to the dorms, I swear my entire body would be vibrating."

Suddenly, the chime on her PADD went off, and she threw it down on the table, examining the flood of notifications. "It's my brother. He says mom's crying."

"Perhaps that indicates she's willing to make amends."

"Phlox, you don't…" She shook her head, dropping her face into her hands. "People like this don't just change that quickly."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Do you know why this place is so special to me?" She didn't want for him to reply. "I remember being twelve years old and being dropped off here. All around here for kilometers, there's just empty forest, and this Vulcan couple held a science camp for kids whose parents wanted them to grow up to be overachievers."

She gave him a small, sad smile and turned towards the window. The snow was coming down harder now, and their vehicle was nearly covered. "They were the first off-worlders I'd ever met, and I was just fascinated. I asked them a million questions, and I guess they got tired of me, because they introduced me to their son. His name was Kersal, he was about my age. We were fast friends, even though we couldn't have been more different."

"Like you and the Captain?"

"Trust me, that took a lot longer." She shook her head. "Anyway, it was only two weeks, and when they drove us back into town to be picked up by our parents, we were determined to exchange comm codes or addresses, anything. My mother took one look at the two of us sitting in the same booth and freaked out. She practically dragged me out to the car, and I never saw him again. That's when I knew all of this was real."

Phlox fleetingly remembered the first time he'd arrived in San Francisco for his orientation into the Interspecies Medical Exchange, a young man filled with enthusiasm to take on his first off-world assignment, only to be spat at the second he stepped off the transport, to be told to go back where he came from. It had been temporarily demoralizing, and though he'd endeavored to go about his day, the voices still played over and over in the back of his mind, and for a second he'd wondered if he really belonged there after all.

Suddenly, Liz was moving with purpose towards the door, and he had to jog to catch up to her, momentarily recoiling at the cold air that enveloped them when they stepped out onto the sidewalk. She passed their vehicle and kept going to the end of the street, past the final lamppost, until he realized they were standing at the top of a hovertrain bridge that disappeared into the trees on the other side across a wide ravine. The night was utterly silent, save for the snow falling in large flakes all around them.

Just a couple meters from the edge of the cliff, she stopped in her tracks, studying the frozen river far below them. She was rubbing her arms with her hands, fighting the cold, fighting the emotion that was threatening to spill to the surface. When she spoke, it was quiet, deeply affected. "I think about all the wonderful people we've met and the wonderful things we've gotten to do, just because we were able to open our minds." She turned to him, and he could see the tears in her eyes once again. "I want to just walk away, but I can't do that. She's my mother, Phlox."

Carefully, he approached her and took her in her arms, just as they'd done countless times before during late nights in sickbay, when the pressures of their mission were weighing heavily on them, pushing down from all sides. He knew that when she was in such a state, it was best to just let her speak.

"I just don't know why she can't tolerate you even half as much as I love you." Her words were muffled in the fabric of his shirt, but when she looked up at him, he knew it to be true.

"If you think about it, it's not unlike the aftermath of our encounter with the Antaran man on Xantoras."

She remembered the incident in question, the man rescued from the reactor breach who'd initially chosen to die rather than be treated, choosing centuries' old prejudice over his own life. It had been one of the first times she'd seen Phlox drunk; immediately after the incident, they'd gone to the sweet spot and drank from Chef's stash until they were both red in the face and their troubles seemed so far away. Ultimately, he'd been able to reconnect with his son, who had fallen prey to the dangerous rhetoric of xenophobes on their world, and together they'd started to mend the decades-old rifts in their relationship. "I thought you said Mettus was coming back around to the family."

"It is taking some time," he admitted, "Unlearning prejudice can take years. Fortunately for him, his mother and I are extremely patient."

The wind began to pick up, and she shivered, pressing further into him. "Wemel is a saint. I wouldn't be so forgiving after all those horrible things he said to her."

"If you think that's bad, you should see our security officer and my youngest daughter Seray. They may have the same mother, but that is where their commonalities end. I can't leave them in the same room for more than a couple of minutes without them trying to kill each other." He could feel her laughing, and insisted, "I'm not exaggerating."

She pulled away slightly, reaching up to cup his cheek, looking into those brilliant blue eyes she loved so much. "You know, as much as I'd love to stay here and gossip about our family, we ought to head back to the city before we get snowed in up here." She paused. "Also, we should go back to the diner and pay the tab before that waitress calls the cops."

He nodded and leaned into her, and for a fraction of a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes and stood on her tiptoes, only to feel something very cold being shoved in her face.

Liz sputtered, stepping back, realizing that the good doctor had managed to stow a snowball in his free hand for nearly the entirety of their conversation. She also realized he was presently amused at her expense.

"I've seen snowball fights in some of those holiday movies Commander Tucker has forced us to watch. Have I done it right?"

"You know, usually you throw them from some distance away." She bent down and began to form a snowball between her gloves, firm and compact, just as she'd practiced a thousand times over as a child. Already, Phlox was backing up, taking a defensive position on the sidewalk. "You have no idea what you just started!"

She let the projectile fly, and their laughter cut through the night air, the only discernible sound for miles around.

The next morning, Malcolm woke up disoriented, for a moment not remembering where he was or what day it happened to be. He had a sneaking suspicion he'd overslept; this was confirmed when he wandered into the kitchen and found Alira alone, nursing a cup of tea.

"Where's Mads?"

"She had to go into work. She asked me to tell you that Mrs. Spaulding's cat is having kittens."

He smiled. Their neighbor had lived there as long as they had, and hadn't changed in nearly two decades, forever a kindly old lady in a housecoat that was constantly offering sweets. "Hopefully she can join us later. What do you want to do first?"

She considered this for a moment. "Madeline was telling me about something called ice skating."

"You want to go ice skating?" He wasn't sure he believed her. "You just want to see me fall on my arse."

"Maybe, maybe not."

As it turned out, Madeline soon relayed to them that she wouldn't be able to join them until after dinner. When it rains, it pours, she claimed, and she had several emergency surgeries to perform that day. They set to their itinerary anyway, starting with ice skating, which turned out to be a true disaster if ever there was one. Neither of them were particularly well balanced, falling over every couple of minutes and dragging the other person with them, winding up in a laughing heap on the ice. Eventually Malcolm had to swallow his pride and admit that their venture was a miserable failure, and they'd cut their losses by taking a stroll through the city center, taking in the sights of Buckingham Palace and the Welsh guardsmen. Then they'd explored the Natural History Museum, where he took inordinate pleasure in observing her awestruck reaction to the various dinosaur skeletons on display. That had been followed by a visit to Westminster Abbey during evensong, which Alira claimed was the closest she'd ever come to a spiritual experience.

The sun was setting by the time they reached the London Eye, but they managed to secure one of the final passenger capsules of the evening. They rode all the way to the top, looking out over the people far below, the snow-capped roofs of the city, and the street lights aglow. Malcolm stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his chin atop her head.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"I may not be human, but I believe I might be catching on to a little bit of that Christmas spirit."

He kissed the top of her head, drinking in her scent. As they began to descend, she asked, "Do you know what would make this day even better?"

"What would that be?"

"Absolutely nothing."

They decided to end the day with a walk back to Madeline's flat, which was more than three kilometers away, but fairly well lit and through a familiar neighborhood.

Alira was walking backwards, showing him all the fancy spins and maneuvers she'd want to execute if she was even remotely decent at ice skating, when she sideswiped a man standing in a group in front of of someone's home. She reacted as if she'd been stung, stumbling away and apologizing profusely.

"Hey, watch your girl!" One of them shouted, to a chorus of affirmation by his friends.

"Sorry, lads," he called out, looping his arm through hers and continuing on their path.

"Wait a minute!" Came the call from behind them, and Alira instinctively reached for the phase pistol strapped to her belt. Malcolm shook his head, looking in both directions ahead of them. There were plenty of people on the sidewalk, and even more still walking around in the park across the street.

Before they could react, three of them had jogged up behind them and formed a line on the sidewalk, effectively blocking their path.

"I already apologized to you," Alira asserted, still confident even with a clear and present threat. "We don't want any trouble. Let us pass."

She attempted to move around them, only to be pushed back roughly.

"Don't you touch her," Malcolm hissed, fully aware they were already attracting attention from passersby.

"What are you going to do about it?" The tall one stepped up to him, and he could smell the alcohol on his breath. Immediately, he knew they were in for it.

"That's the problem with all the new blokes in this neighborhood. They go to the office across the river and bring their alien whores home from work," the middle one said, and they all seemed to have a good laugh at that.

Alira didn't even hesitate. She pulled back and punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground in one blow.

It was as if she lit a match in a room full of warp plasma. The two other men were on them in a flash. It only took a few seconds for the policeman patrolling the park to take notice and rush them at full speed, blowing his whistle loudly.

Two hours later, Malcolm and Alira sat in a holding cell, awaiting their fate or their bail, whichever came first.

"I had to do something," Alira insisted for perhaps the twentieth time that hour, "I couldn't just let him say that to my face."

"I don't blame you, I just hate to think of what the Commodore will do when he hears about this."

"Do you think we could get a formal reprimand for getting arrested eight thousand kilometers from HQ?"

"I've seen people get written up for less," he admitted morosely, turning as their assigned detective approached their cell.

"Message for you, Mr. Reed," he said, deactivating the force field covering the mail slot for long enough for him to retrieve the headset. "I'll return presently."

He took a seat next to Alira and activated the earpiece, only to be greeted by Madeline shouting, "Have you lost your bloody mind?!"

He leaned back and grimaced. "Mads, listen-"

"Whatever happened to keeping a low profile? I've just gotten off the phone with Starfleet PR. They're trying their best to keep this off the morning news. You better pray to God or Denobulan Jesus that you don't get charged!"

"Denobulans don't have an established pantheon of gods," Alira informed her, "That man on the street also called me a whore."

"He could have called you the scum of the earth for all I care. You broke a man's nose, and if they decide to press charges, I'll kill the both of you, then I'll hand you over to Starfleet headquarters, and then they can kill you again!"

"Mads, I understand that you're angry, but would you be willing to bail us out if we're charged?"

On the other end of the line, she sighed heavily. "I'm standing in the lobby right now waiting to hear from your detective. You didn't think I was going to let my big brother rot in some holding cell, did you?"

"Not for a second."

"I'm glad you have that much faith in me. I'll speak to you soon." She cut the connection, and the room descended into silence.

Finally, Alira spoke. "You know, this wouldn't be the first time I've been arrested."

"Me neither. What was yours for?"

"Fighting in the street during my Infantry training," she admitted sheepishly. "And you?"

"Drunk and disorderly conduct. I was twenty, and on holiday in Spain. Same sort of situation."

"Sounds like we're both repeat offenders. Do you think there's any hope for rehabilitation?"

He mulled it over for a second. "Absolutely not. Straight to prison."

There was a pause, and then they both began to laugh, all of the tension of the past few hours diffusing in an instant.

They quickly sobered up as their detective returned to their holding cell, this time deactivating the force field entirely.

"A spot of good news, Lieutenant Commander, Ensign. The powers that be have convinced the other party not to press charges of assault in exchange for them not being charged with disorderly conduct." He passed them their identification papers. "Miss Taxa, please be advised that as a Denobulan national protected by Starfleet, you have two more strikes remaining until your citizenship will be brought before a tribunal for review. I would advise that you stay out of trouble for the foreseeable future."

"I'll try my best, sir."

"Good. Now collect your things and get out of my station house." His tone was impossibly firm, but there was amusement in his eyes.

They met Madeline in the lobby, who insisted on referring to them as the felons for the remainder of the evening. They picked up takeout and ate on the floor of her flat, trading stories of their adventures in and around the quadrant. It was very near to midnight when the Reeds retired for the evening, leaving Alira full reign of the living room.

It was sometime in the middle of the night when Malcolm awoke to the sound of his door opening. Through half-open eyes, he could barely make out the snow falling heavily outside his window. A figure moved to close the blinds, then climbed into bed with him, carefully sliding underneath the covers.

"Alira?" He questioned, feeling for her in the darkness. She was at his side in a second.

"Merry Christmas," she replied, pressing up against him. Her hands began to roam, her intentions evident.

He was alert instantly, seizing one hand by the wrist. Old worries were coming back. "We can't do this. We work together."

"Only for another week. That's close enough."

Damned if she didn't have a point. In one fluid motion, he pulled her on top of him, meeting her gaze. "Are you sure?"

Her only reply was to kiss him soundly, leaving them both nearly breathless. "I came to you, didn't I?"

And so they made love for the first time in the early hours of the morning. There were a few immediately obvious physical differences, but they took their time, laughing over their own awkwardness, repeatedly shushing each other in an attempt to avoid waking Madeline in the next room. Afterwards, she cuddled up to him and treated him to one of her dazzling smiles, and he'd known they were going to be okay.

"You know what they say," he mumbled into the darkness, absently stroking her hair.

"What's that?"

"Nothing brings two people closer together than almost going to prison."

She laughed and sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the edge. He reached out and traced the ridge running the length of her spine with his thumb, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She had two lines of freckles and dark pigmentation that stretched up her arms and down the backs of her thighs, something that he'd never had the opportunity to appreciate before. She stood, and he studied her form, her curves, her wild mane of hair, her battle scars.

She was beautiful. He'd thought that from the moment he met her.

Alira soon returned to bed with one of his sweatshirts and drew it over her head, settling back into his side. "It's freezing in here."

"Glad to see the tradition of girlfriends stealing your jumpers transcends species."

"Girlfriend?" The way she said it, he couldn't tell if she was bemused, incredulous, offended, or a combination of the three. But he'd metaphorically opened Pandora's Box, and he had to go for broke.

"Yes. I mean, this can mean whatever you want it to mean."

"What do you want it to mean?"

It was a loaded question. Slowly, he turned to face her. "Listen, I know we're about to get onto two different starships. It could be weeks or months until we see each other again, but we can talk every night for as long as we're in range. We'll write. I'll save up all of my leave and come see you. I want to make this work."

For once, her expression was truly blank as she considered his proposal. Malcolm was terrified that she would say no, but all fears were dashed from his mind as she reached out and cupped his cheek, gently tracing his jaw with her fingers. "If I didn't want the same thing, I certainly wouldn't have spent the past six months pursuing you." She returned his smile. "You're going to have a hard time getting rid of me now, my beloved."

"My beloved," he repeated, drawing her in and kissing her softly.

A few hours later, Malcolm awoke with a childlike sense of excitement, the fact that it was Christmas morning notwithstanding. He quickly dressed and bounded out to the kitchen, where he again found Alira alone, with Madeline nowhere to be seen.

"She left us a message," she said, sliding the PADD across the countertop.

I've caught the 0500 transport to Malaysia to see mum and dad in time for dinner. Don't worry, as far as they know, you're still at space dock conducting emergency repairs. In case you're gone by the time I get back, try not to start any fistfights on the transport back to San Francisco, yeah?

All of my love, Mads

When he looked up, she was beaming at him, visibly excited by the prospect. "Why don't we go to Malaysia as well? I'd love to meet your parents."

He stiffened, clasping his hands together and squeezing. "It's complicated, Alira."

"Oh," she said quietly, visibly deflating. "Are you embarrassed for them to see me?"

Malcolm quickly turned to her. "It's not like that. I haven't seen them in years."

"Why not? They're your parents."

"Not everyone has a close relationship with their parents."

"Maybe it's worth a try."

He rose to his feet and traversed the room, raking his fingers through his hair. "You don't understand."

"Then tell me, so I can," she demanded, swiveling around in her chair to face him.

"My parents gave me a great childhood. I had everything I ever wanted, please don't get me wrong," he began, slowly sinking down onto the couch. "I had everything I needed, except their compassion. Madeline and I were held to impossible standards. There was such pressure put on us, and we were never spared one kind word. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I heard my parents say they loved me."

He glanced in her direction, taking in her open posture, her eyes wide with concern.

"I was such a nervous child, and I only grew into a nervous adult. I lived in constant fear of a reprimand. I fixated on my work, I withdrew from people. It's shaped the course of my entire life."

Malcolm felt around on the side table for his visual aide, and finally found it: a holoimage of his sister and her girlfriend seated together, arms wrapped around one another. "Madeline and Michelle have been together for five years. They've wanted to get married for three of those. My parents have no idea who Michelle is. They've never met her."

A lot of things were starting to make sense, in particular his seldom mentioned ex from STC. "Is this about Chris?"

He nodded, gravely. "I've known who I was since I was a teenager, but the moment I introduce my parents to someone I care about, there's doubts. He's not from a prominent family, he's not military stock, he's not who they pictured me settling down with. That's not unconditional love, Alira. And I don't give a damn how much they want to be involved in my life as an adult. I don't have to love them any more than they pretended to love me."

"No one deserves your forgiveness, Malcolm. They have to earn it."

He thought this was a rather odd attitude for a Denobulan to have, but he agreed. They sat in silence for several minutes, before Alira reached behind her and retrieved her PADD. "This may not make you feel better, but it should distract you. There's a hovertrain leaving for Paris in forty-five minutes. We can make it if we leave right now."

Malcolm rose to his feet and crossed the room. He saw that she'd already reserved their tickets in an extraordinary display of faith. He didn't want to think about how much something like that had cost with such short notice. "I can't think of a better way to spend this Terran holiday than in the City of Love with someone…" She paused, as if mustering her courage. "...with someone I love."

And there it was. That word. Without thinking, he bent down and kissed her, relishing in the waves of affection that rushed over him.

"Give me five minutes," he said, dashing off to the bedroom.

The second he was gone, Alira swiftly cleared a notification that had appeared on the screen while Malcolm had been looking at their reservation. It was marked as a message from her sister on Teerza Prime, which was an excellent cover up for the truth.

It certainly hadn't failed her yet.

On Christmas morning, Hoshi left her family's home in Kyoto and boarded a crowded transport to Atlanta.

When she and Trip first started dating, they spoke at length about the holidays, how the entire Tucker family congregated at his parents' home for three days, enjoying one another's company, tearing open presents and eating enough food to feed the entire complement of a starship for a year. Though he'd been hesitant, at first wondering if it was too soon to start inviting her to these sorts of things, he asked anyway, only to have her refuse.

It wasn't that she didn't want to; since the beginning of the summer, she'd known that her little brother Katsuji was getting married, and her parents had specifically arranged the date so she would be able to attend. If she didn't show up, she'd probably be murdered by a herd of angry cousins, or worse.

The Satos loosely followed the Shinto religion, so the wedding necessarily involved a visit to a shrine along with other members of their immediate family. Hoshi had sat in the front row, watching the ritual purification and reciting the prayers, before taking part in the drinking of sake with the newly married couple. Her new sister-in-law, radiant in her shiromuku, had kissed her on both cheeks and asked about her travels, though she, along with a majority of the family, said that she wished she saw more of her.

Needless to say, her parents weren't too happy when she left the next day to surprise Trip, but she suspected they'd get over it. She also suspected there was a distinct possibility she'd be bringing Trip back around the next time they returned to Earth to meet her family, but didn't want to jinx anything.

By the time the shuttlepod touched down in Atlanta, her PADD had adjusted to the time difference, indicating it was just after sunset on Christmas Eve. The sudden darkness was a little jarring, but she made her way to an auxiliary transport terminal, beaming into the hovertrain station in Valdosta, which was the farthest she could travel with modern transportation.

Apparently, the Tucker home was well off the beaten path, an hour outside of town on a dirt road off of a state highway. She hired a rental hovercar which drove her far into the wetlands, over many a stream and through heavy tree cover on both sides. The comm code she'd nicked from one of Trip's transmissions home corresponded to a subdivision in a small tourist town outside of the Okefenokee Swamp. Stepping out of the car, she was surprised by how warm and humid it was, even at night, even so late in the year.

By the time she stepped onto the porch of what she suspected was the Tucker home, the rental had driven away. It was only then she looked at the plaque hung above the front door, and realized the last names didn't match.

Truly at a loss, she returned to the street and looked to her left and the right, not seeing any cars coming from either direction. This was not even a one-stoplight town; a couple hundred meters up the street, there was a single stop sign intersecting a country road, and at the far end, she could barely make out lights shining through the windows of a business.

Thanking her lucky stars that someone was open on Christmas Eve, she hurried up the street and stepped inside what turned out to be a dive bar, populated by several downtrodden locals, most wearing shorts and sandals.

In the background, soft piano music played, incongruous with the stained wood of the tables and the neon signs hung all around heralding various beer brands. She stepped up to the bar and attracted the bartender's attention, asking for directions, hoping they were within walking distance.

A man sitting several stools away piped up: "The Tuckers live down the old swamp road, about twenty minutes. I'm going that way, I can take you there."

That was good enough for the bartender, and he went back to polishing glasses with a dirty rag, perfectly unbothered that a woman in his establishment was being offered by transportation by a random man who might be a serial killer for all anyone knew. But seeing as she was low on options, Hoshi accepted a ride from the man in his rusty old pickup.

He insisted on being called Billy, and asked her what she was doing in their neck of the woods. He'd been tickled pink, as he put it, to meet another member of the Enterprise crew. Trip was apparently some kind of local celebrity; everyone for miles around was proud of him and his accomplishments, especially since he was about to take his own command.

Hoshi had introduced herself as Alira, the ship's deputy tactical officer, implying that she could defend herself better than the average person, just in case he was thinking about murdering her. She quietly wondered what her friend would say knowing she'd willingly gotten into a vehicle with a strange man only to drive out into the wilderness. Carefully, she pulled her bag up to her lap and slipped her hand into the front pocket, feeling the handle of her phase pistol.

Eventually, Billy rolled to a stop in front of a home built in the Antebellum style with a massive wrap-around porch. The yard was illuminated with floodlights, though she could see the warm golden glow emanating from within. She thanked him and slipped out of the passenger seat, trying her best not to sprint towards the front door. All around her, she could hear bugs and frogs chirping, but couldn't see them for the inky blackness of the swamp all around them.

There were two small children playing on the porch, and as soon as she waved at them, they sprinted back into the house, only to return moments later with an older woman in tow.

She assumed that no one in the house would know who she was save for Trip, so her sudden appearance might seem a bit strange. She came to a halt at the base of the steps and introduced herself, explaining that she'd just driven in from Valdosta to meet her boyfriend's family, if they would have her.

To her surprise, the older woman hurried towards her with arms extended, calling out, "Hoshi dear! My goodness! We certainly weren't expecting you!"

She wrapped her in a tight hug, with Hoshi gratefully reciprocated. "I'm Elaine, but you can call me Gracie, honey. My my, I was expecting you to be pretty, but I wasn't expecting a supermodel!" She laughed, loud and raucous, then held her out to arms length. "You're certainly welcome here tonight. You'll have to share a bed with Natalie and the baby, but we can make room."

Wait a minute...the Natalie from Pensacola?

Before she had the opportunity to say anything, Gracie reeled back and shouted her son's name, causing an audible rush of people towards the door. Suddenly the front windows were filled with extended members of the Tucker family peering into the darkness, smiling, waving.

Apparently, though she hadn't met any of them yet, she was well known.

Trip appeared at the threshold, barefoot in a t-shirt and shorts. He didn't hesitate for a second, jumping down several steps and rushing towards her. "Hoshi, what are you doing here?"

He stepped closer, and she could see his smile, the surprise in his expression, the affection in his eyes. That didn't stop his mother from chastising him: "Heavens to Betsy, what's gotten into you, boy? Is that how you starship types greet a lady?"

"I came all the way from Japan because I heard someone around here makes a great apple pie," she replied with a smile, leaning into Trip's arms.

Gracie chuckled and clutched her chest. "Bless your heart, you're just about the sweetest thing!" Taking a deep breath, she turned towards the house and shouted, "Charlie!"

An older man shuffled out from the foyer, and though he was a little shorter and more than a little rounder, she could see a lot of Trip in him, from the crow's feet pulling at the corners of his eyes to his crooked smile and his bright eyes. She hugged his father enthusiastically, listening to him compliment her profusely, saying how pretty she was and how the Tucker men sure did know how to pick them.

Gradually the porch began to fill with assorted aunts, children, and cousins, to where Trip finally gave in and called out, "Alright yall, come say hello!" Turning to her, he whispered, "I should warn you, they're huggers."

"Who is?"

"All of them," he answered, and she soon found that to be true.

Hours later, after being embraced by damn near every member of the Tucker family, Hoshi found herself in the sitting room with the grandparents, being introduced to Charles Tucker the First, or as Trip called him, the original. He was a wizened old man and not particularly mobile, but he'd reached out to pinch her cheek, telling her how he'd seen on the news that she'd made up some sort of device that let them communicate with off-worlders. His bridge partner at the senior center was an older Vulcan man who sometimes lost track of his words, so her little toy had certainly made their gameplay a hell of a lot easier.

Gracie pulled her into the kitchen with the other ladies in the house, and she'd helped them make cookies from scratch, listening to them gossip about women in town with classically hyphenated names, like Molly-Mae and Mary-Beth. Trip's nieces and nephews brought her out to the backyard to show her how they trapped frogs, ignoring Trip's brother's warnings about the gators that populated the swamps all around them. Trip's uncles asked her a million questions about life aboard a starship, and by the time she'd worked her way back around to the man of the hour, she had decided that the Tuckers were her kind of people.

In the relative stillness of the first floor hallway, Trip wrapped his arms around her and told her he was so happy she'd made it out. "You've just about given me the best Christmas present ever, darlin'."

"Hmm. Don't speak so soon. I plan on going back to the front room and picking a fight with Granny Sue-Ellen about politics."

"Hey, don't start. That woman could talk for hours about absolutely nothing."

"Reminds me of someone else I know," she replied, placing a hand on the back of his neck and guiding him in for a kiss.

A second later, she heard the telltale sound of feet on the hardwood floor. Looking up, she made eye contact with an attractive blonde woman holding a toddler on her hip. She looked more than a little embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, did I-"

"No, no," he said, pulling back from her. "Hoshi, this is Natalie Barrett, and this little one is Katie."

The baby looked at them, before grinning and burying her face in her mother's hair. Natalie stepped forward and shook Hoshi's hand. "It's so nice to meet you, sweetheart. Trip has told me so much about you."

"Natalie's not technically a part of the family, but she might as well be."

That much was probably true. Hoshi knew all about Natalie, how they'd dated for nearly two years, how he'd once told Jon she was the one, how he'd spent several weeks of leave before their diplomatic mission at her home. She supposed she should have felt threatened, but instead she felt reassured, like an important missing piece from Trip's past was finally being added to the puzzle.

"My parents work at Jupiter Station and haven't made it back for several years. You know how engineers are," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Unfortunately, I do," she replied, and the two shared a laugh.

Trip threw his hands up in mock frustration. "And what am I, chopped liver?"

"Someone's gotta keep you from getting too big for your britches," Natalie countered, but was interrupted by Gracie's loud, clear voice before she could press the issue any further.

Hoshi leaned to one side, peering down the hall, watching various cousins and children scamper into the kitchen. "What's going on?"

"The annual Tucker Christmas Eve cookie decorating competition. Winners get prime present opening spots on the couch tomorrow morning." Natalie smoothed her daughter's hair back, smiling at her. "Come on, Katie! Let's go get icing all over our faces."

Though Hoshi necessarily knew the aspects of a good old fashioned American Christmas, this was the first one she'd gotten to experience first hand. She and Trip looked towards each other, eyes wide, until she finally reached out, poking him in the chest. "You're on."

Hours later, Hoshi retired for the evening, having been thoroughly trounced by Trip's older brother Albert in cookie decorating. Ultimately, she hadn't minded, and it had been a good bonding experience, even though the smack talk had gotten a little intense towards the end.

She'd had to wait quite a while to use the bathroom; walking down the hall and passing multiple open doors, she was taken aback by the sheer number of people the Tuckers had managed to fit in their home. She'd halfway expected to be sharing a bed with Trip tonight, though she suspected Gracie and Charlie were more of the traditional sort. Taking a deep breath, she entered the guest bedroom she was sharing with Natalie and the baby, surprised to find her still awake.

Natalie set aside her PADD and turned off the lamp on the bedside table as Hoshi joined her. Katie was sleeping soundly in the pack-away crib on Natalie's side of the bed, and she had to whisper to avoid waking her up.

"I'd recommend getting up extra early to get a shower in the morning. Things can get a little cutthroat."

"Sounds like good advice," she said, rolling over to face her. Naturally, she'd found herself in this position more than once with her female friends, mostly Liz and Alira, but for some time it had been Dita, who had suffered nightmares for a while after their mission to Andoria. "Everyone here's been so nice. I'm glad I came."

"Now you know why I keep coming back." She trailed off, seemingly deep in thought, then looked her directly in the eye. "I've been thinking about naming Trip the godfather. I know yall's career isn't the safest, but he's the closest friend I have, and my parents aren't getting any younger. I thought you should know."

She nodded, fully respecting Natalie's decision to be forthright with the news. Hoshi knew that if Trip had told her out of nowhere that his ex-girlfriend decided to make him legally responsible for her child, she might have been a little perturbed to say in the least. But from what she could see, he loved that baby, doting on her like she was his own. "I think he'd be honored."

"Good." Natalie smiled and rolled onto her back. Hoshi mirrored her posture, and her eyelids began to grow heavy.

Suddenly, in the darkness, Natalie reached for her hand. She squeezed it, not daring to look at her, wondering what this was all about.

"I wanted to thank you. Trip never stops talking about you. After baby Elizabeth, I was really worried. He seemed so down, and I can't say I blame him." She paused, and she could hear her breathing deeply. "You make him so happy, Hoshi. I don't know if you know that."

"He makes me happy too."

"I think he might even love you, but I don't want to put words in his mouth." She released her and rolled over to her side facing the wall. "I don't even think he knows it yet."

As the clock rolled over into Christmas morning, Hoshi smiled into the darkness, and didn't stop smiling for quite some time.

"I'm telling you, you're going to love it," Jonathan insisted as they stepped into the turbolift. "I've really outdone myself this year."

"That remains to be seen," T'Pol reminded him, reaching out to press the correct button on the wall panel. They'd been giving one another gifts for years, even before they'd become involved, starting with a Secret Santa exchange during the first year of their mission. Opening his present, Jonathan had immediately known who it had come from, because only a Vulcan would think to give him something so practical as a new stylus for his personal PADD. It had served as a subject of teasing for months after that, as if he really needed another reason to poke fun at his first officer in what were really poorly disguised attempts at flirting.

Then again, he supposed their love for one another took different forms in those days, in their near constant wordplay, in the way they looked out for one another, in the way they supported one another in everything they did. Even in the early days of their mission, when Jonathan was sure that he'd never met a bigger pain-in-the-ass in his life, he'd secretly known that he would do just about anything for her, and vice versa.

He would do anything...except sugarcoat the way he felt about her Christmas presents.

"There's no way you could do any better than this." As the lift doors closed, he decided to press his luck, even though he'd heard rumors of her discussing the matter at length with Lieutenant Sato, and had witnessed firsthand her asking Lieutenant Mayweather for information about one of his ECS contacts, a certain freighter captain that was renowned for being able to acquire anything. Though he certainly wouldn't have questioned her dedication to their little contest at any point in the last four years, he suspected she was putting a little more effort into it now.

The lift began to move, and she turned to face him. Though her stance was perfectly neutral, her expression impassive, he could see the fire in her eyes and tell she was enjoying another classic iteration of their game. In all things, they moved together, they played off cues from one another, and this was no exception.

She opened her mouth to deliver what was sure to be a bruising retort, only to be interrupted by the horrendous screeching sound of metal against metal. The lights flickered off, and the floor listed to one side as the turbolift came to a halt at an angle. T'Pol fell forward, momentarily using him to regain her balance. They had to stand staggered in order to stay upright, and Jonathan seized the opportunity to experimentally press buttons, first carefully, then forcefully, punching the recall button like it had just insulted his mother.

"It's dead," he confirmed.

"As is the comm." On the other side of the lift, T'Pol was pressing buttons as well, prying off the cover of the console to confirm that contact with the primary power relay had been severed.

"Secondary power?"

"Not enough to resume operation of the lift."

"The space dock technicians must have left their upgrades incomplete when they left for the holiday. Trip was right, we can't trust them as far as we can throw them. Unless we plan on staying here until the morning, I'd say we should…" Suddenly realization struck him, and he was rummaging around in the pockets of his jacket. Leaving his quarters that evening, he'd been struck with the overwhelming urge to add something to his person. Now, he suspected it might have been pure intuition.

T'Pol watched him produce his communicator and hold it up triumphantly. In the near darkness produced by the emergency lights, she could see that he was smiling, and his newfound optimism was infectious.

"You're always telling me to be more prepared," he reminded her as he flipped open the cover. "Archer to Mayweather."

There was a pause, then Travis's slightly confused reply: "Sir?"

"Where are you, right this second?"

"My quarters."

"The Captain and I are stuck in a turbolift."

"Which one?"

"The one at the end of the hallway as you turn right out of the mess hall. We're probably halfway between D and B Deck by now." Jonathan studied the lift doors, experimentally pulling on one of them. He had to put a little muscle into it, but gradually light began to stream through, about a half meter from the deck about them. "Probably C and B."

"Roger that. I'm on my way, and I'm bringing reinforcements."

They'd only just returned from Christmas dinner with the skeleton crew that had volunteered to monitor the ship over leave; naturally, this had included Lieutenant Mayweather, whose family was somewhere between Andoria and Earth running freight, and Ensign Singh, who was in a similar predicament. Their resident computer scientists, Crewmen Joseph and Miriam Rosner, had elected to stay behind, mostly because they didn't trust the retrofit technicians to touch the shipwide mainframe without messing up in at least a half dozen places. Even Lieutenant Kov had remained on the partial insistence of Minister T'Pau; unbeknownst to him, the hybrid problem was only increasing in severity, and it was deemed much too dangerous for him to return home under such circumstances. Jonathan and T'Pol both had no living parents or siblings, and after so many years serving together, they had an unspoken understanding that home was wherever the other one happened to be.

And so they'd spent their leave monitoring repairs, catching up on their reading, meditating, and taking Porthos for walks around their mostly empty ship. Invariably, they would come across some other member of their brigade and engage them in small talk; on Christmas Eve, Lieutenant Kov had stated outright, with a perfectly impassive expression, that it was incredibly lonely keeping watch over engineering by himself. Immediately, Jonathan knew they had to do something.

Chef and his stewards had returned home for some much needed respite, so they were on their own to prepare dinner. They wound up with a curious mixture of foods representing their cultures: plomeek broth, naturally; rich potato pancakes and a massive pot roast from the Rosners; a spicy chana masala and fried flatbread from Ensign Singh; what Jonathan could remember of his mother's stuffing and mashed potato recipes; and finally, a curious mixture of leftovers from the stasis units that Mayweather called boomer soup.

Together they'd reminisced about their mission so far, the holidays they've enjoyed with family as a child, and what laid ahead for each of them. They'd spent hours in the mess hall talking and carousing with their fellow officers until well into the night, and when they'd taken their leave of them, Jonathan had decided they needed to reinstate inviting crewmen to their meals effective immediately.

They'd been en route to her quarters when they became trapped in the lift, though perhaps that wouldn't be for long. Satisfied, he snapped his communicator closed and turned back to her.

He could see that she was deep in thought, and he soon discovered the cause of her silence. "Since we will most likely remain here for some time, you should tell me what you have procured for my Christmas gift."

Jonathan shook his head. "It won't be for long, T'Pol. Besides, it would ruin the surprise."

"You would clearly prefer that I suffer the indignity of waiting until we are out of our current predicament. You haven't stopped talking about it since we left the mess hall."

He stepped up to her, looking down into her bewitching green eyes, and challenged her directly: "Well, if you want to make a guess as to what it might be, I'm all ears."

The corners of her lips twitched slightly; he knew full well how much she hated that turn of phrase. But there were other ways of getting the information she wanted; swiftly, she reached out and seized his hand, intertwining their fingers.

He knew she could feel his excitement at getting to surprise her, anxiety about being found out, the slight aches and pains all over his body from spending the afternoon running all over the cargo bay, attempting to trap her present with little more than a box, a handful of lunch meat from the galley, and a string tied to the end of a stick. So what if he had waited until the last minute? It was hard enough to find the right gift for the woman he loved, but once he'd received the message from Ensign Singh that the retrofitters had found something strange while unloading cargo, he knew it was meant to be.

She took a step back, momentarily not being able to make sense of the emotions she felt coming off of him. "Jonathan, what are you-"

"I trapped a cat in cargo bay two," he admitted, "I think it's about a year old, but I won't know for sure until Phlox gets back. Somehow it made it past decontamination, so it needs a thorough exam. I thought you might like a little companionship when I'm not around."

She was shocked. Most couldn't even begin to decipher that from her mostly neutral expression, but Jonathan could tell. "Vulcans do not tend to keep pets."

"You had a sehlat as a kid," he pointed out. "And a cat is a hell of a lot smaller than one of them. They also won't eat you if you're late with their dinner."

She didn't look convinced, so he pressed on. "I know you think Porthos smells bad. They're cleaner than dogs. It'll spend most of the day sleeping." It occurred to him that T'Pol reminded him a bit of a cat, in the fact that she was serene, aloof, and graceful in her every move, not to mention her inner eyelids and delicately pointed ears.

T'Pol must have sensed this thought through their bond of physical touch, because she pulled away roughly and crossed her arms. "If that is the case, would you have given Doctor Phlox a komodo dragon for Christmas? I understand his species evolved from lizards."

He couldn't help it. He laughed and seized her shoulders. "No, T'Pol. Please, just reserve your judgment until you meet it. I'm pretty sure it's a girl. I snuck her into your quarters while you were in the kitchen with Crewman Rosner."

She paused, taking in his smile, his fervor, and she decided to humor him, just this once. "What is its name?"

"Lady," he replied, and she correctly assumed the namesake was Milady de Winter, a character from The Three Musketeers, which he'd forced her to read more than once. "I just thought Porthos could use a friend around here."

Though he was often somewhat misguided, she knew that Jonathan loved her and would do anything to prove it to her, time and time again. She was apprehensive, but ultimately appreciative, for the thoughtful gesture.

"Thank you, Jonathan." Slowly, she allowed him to draw her in, and looked up at him, the intensity returning to her eyes for a fraction of a second. "I do still believe the present I have for you is superior."

"Of course you do," he whispered, leaning in slightly to kiss her.

She allowed him, and soon deepened the kiss, her fingers working their way into his hair. Part of him wondered why they had denied themselves this for so long, but at the end of the day, she was his Vulcan, fiery, secretly passionate, formidable in everything.

"Sir?"

It was Travis's voice, and he sounded shocked. They quickly separated and peered into the light, noticing not one, not two, but three pairs of eyes staring back at them.

"We took a look at the primary power relay that connects this lift to the rest of B Deck. The techs sure did a number on it, sir. Joseph's on the bridge now trying to restore the connection." Dita explained, "And there's not going to be anyone manning the station until 0700 tomorrow. They've all gone home."

"I can fix the problem, but it will take some time. If you'll forgive me for saying so, sir, this is the most excitement we've experienced during leave thus far." He paused, taking in their harried expressions, then gestured between them. "Not this. What I meant was-"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," T'Pol interrupted. "And what do you suggest we do?"

Travis suddenly slid his upper body forward into the shaft, reaching down to them. "We could try this. Dita, you need to hold this door open. Grab my ankles, Kov."

"You'd better hope this lift doesn't start moving again, or you're going to be sliced in two." Archer was skeptical.

"We better be quick about it, then," Travis replied tersely, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Jonathan gave T'Pol a boost, and she latched onto his outstretched hand, pulling herself up with the sum of her strength.

It took more than a little grunting and cursing to lift their Captain out, but they somehow managed it, and Jonathan watched her disappear bit by bit until the heels of her boots were no longer visible. Minutes later, they were both standing on B Deck, thanking them for their help and reminding them to maintain their discretion with a very curt as you were.

T'Pol led the way to her quarters; they found Lady curled up on her desk, fast asleep. She was a calico with robust coloring, and looked a little thin from foraging for food on space dock. Jonathan expected that was soon to change.

Cautiously, with some encouragement, she approached the cat and knelt down. Jonathan watched as she pet it once, twice, more than a little awkwardly. Lady opened her eyes and regarded them sleepily, then laid her head back down and was once again dead to the world in a matter of seconds.

"She'll warm up to you, I promise," Archer said, and they went about their evening routine.

At some point in the past few weeks, they'd started sharing a bed. What had started out as a mere comfort as she recovered from her ordeal with the Romulans turned into a habit, and she'd repeatedly shown up at his door in the middle of the night, shivering, claiming she couldn't get warm.

She often stayed long after her shivers subsided, most of the time into the early morning hours, which necessarily meant that they gradually began to move into each other's quarters. His touch was everywhere, in his spare uniform tucked into the drawer, his toiletries in the cabinet, the water polo ball sliding around underneath the bed. It was a little tight in her bunk for two people, but they didn't particularly mind.

With Jonathan spooned tightly around her, T'Pol demonstrated the function of his present, a holoprojection of the alpha and beta quadrants, with all the worlds they'd visited highlighted, their mission reports and logs hyperlinked. He told her he loved it, that it was amazing, and that he didn't want to think about how much time she'd spent on it.

It had been close to one hundred hours, she informed him, but that was neither here nor there.

In the middle of the night, he awoke with a start to the sound of her voice, whispering insistently, pulling on his arm. For a fraction of a second, he was terrified that something was wrong, and reached for something, anything, to use as a weapon, only to realize he wasn't in his quarters. He rolled over to find T'Pol laying on her back with Lady sitting on her chest. They were staring at each other almost nose to nose, wide eyed, and the cat was singing to beat the band.

"I told you she was going to love you," he mumbled drowsily.

The commissioning of the Maelstrom turned out to be a grand affair held in the open-air amphitheater of San Francisco's Bay Stadium, which might have been a brilliant idea were it not the middle of winter.

The seats were packed regardless, a sea of faces representing most worlds in their alliance as well as a majority of the personnel from Starfleet Headquarters, immediately identifiable from the navy blue of their dress overcoats. The crew of the Enterprise, the only other NX-class currently on home soil, had been given seats of honor right at the front.

Malcolm sat alone, separated from the rest of the crew, shivering in his boots. There was a substantial wind sweeping in from the bay, and the fact that they were about ten stories off of sea level didn't necessarily help matters. Archer had given the crew special dispensation to wear gloves during the proceedings, and any other insulating clothing they could procure, provided it wasn't visible to the multiple rows of cameras sitting directly in front of the platform.

From his vantage point, he could see the bridge crew of the Maelstrom lining up behind the podium. Alira was already arguing with a member of Starfleet Security, pointing at multiple vantage points along the perimeter of the structure, no doubt dressing them down for their inattention to detail. Travis, Ethan, and Julia stood together, laughing and talking like old friends, hands shoved in their pockets. Kelby stood to one side, studying the audience contemplatively, forever a man of new words. Further still, their mysterious Vulcan CMO stood almost off the side of the platform, appearing deep in thought. The only ones missing were-

At that moment, Trip and Hoshi slid into the seats on either side of him, offering him identical grins.

"How was your Christmas, Mal?" Trip asked.

Before he could respond, Hoshi said, "I'd say his was pretty good. Just look at that smile on his face. It's practically Denobulan."

He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know?"

"I checked the transporter logs after you two beamed down," Hoshi confessed, "I hear you went to London."

"And Paris, and Rome," he admitted, his smile genuine.

"Did we seal the deal?" Trip whispered conspiratorially as he jabbed him in the ribs.

His only reply was to blush a vivid scarlet and sink down in his chair.

Trip looked at Hoshi, his lips forming a tiny O of surprise. "And they said it couldn't be done."

"Who ever said that?" He cried defensively.

"Everyone who's ever met you, Mal."

He scoffed and crossed his arms across his chest. "And how did you spend your leave, Mr. Tucker? No doubt wrestling alligators and shooting holes in stop signs."

"Actually, Hoshi came down to see me. My family loves her. Mom even let her help with the turkey. You might even say she's an honorary Tucker now."

Malcolm glanced back and forth between his friends, who were presently looking at each other with so much love in their eyes that it was almost sickening. And to think, they'd just been teasing him about his time with Alira. "You two are absolutely shameless. Don't you have a ship to commission?"

Hoshi glanced up just in time to witness Admiral Gardner approach the podium and peer out into the crowd. She smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

"I thought there was some reason we were here. Shall we, Lieutenant?" Trip was suddenly all business, standing, running his hands over his dress uniform jacket.

Malcolm watched the two of them approach the platform. As soon as Trip stepped into view, the cameras the press were holding erupted in a flurry of shutter clicks, and the senior officers began to form a line behind the admiral, feet at a shoulder's width apart, arms crossed behind their backs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could barely make out the Captain and the Commodore sitting down the front row to one side of the center aisle, in deep conversation with a man he assumed to be their new chief navigator. He was wondering if he'd have the time to get up and introduce himself, but was interrupted by Admiral Gardner tapping on the microphone.

A hush fell over the arena; the only sounds for the next several moments being the shuffling of feet on the platform and the unbearable howl of the wind. Gardner rubbed his hands together and breathed into them, before reaching for his PADD and leaning into the podium.

"Assembled guests and esteemed colleagues, we are gathered here today to officially commission the NX-05 Maelstrom. This vessel is like none before her, the result of many years of collaboration between our various research groups to forge the perfect engine, the perfect weapons complement, and the perfect navigational system. She will allow us to go farther than any other NX vessel has traveled, and protect United Earth interests with greater precision than ever before."

Trip could pick up on the subtext, and he was sure the delegates from their allied worlds could as well: With this ship on the fleet, if you come for us, you better come correct. He glanced over his shoulder to his new first officer, who smiled encouragingly.

"Naturally, the perfect vessel needs the perfect senior staff, hand selected and highly recommended from their previous postings, with the ideal mixture of wisdom and prior experience to ensure the Maelstrom encounters every success along the way. We at Starfleet Command saw no better fit for the Captain's chair than Commander Charles Tucker III. Over the past four years, he has served as Chief Engineer on our flagship, the NX-01 Enterprise, and for the past six months, has been the first officer of that vessel." Gardner gestured for him to join him at the podium. He complied, turning to face him, ignoring the thousands of eyes on him at that moment. "On December 30th, 2155, for outstanding service to his crew and United Earth, it is my pleasure to grant you the rank of Captain."

As the admiral pinned the fourth pip to his jacket, the arena erupted in applause. Trip met his overture of a handshake, bearing down on his hand with the sum of his strength. His thoughts were racing; he was fighting to keep his expression neutral.

After all these months of running from it, it had finally happened. He was the Captain.

Admiral Gardner stepped back and joined the row of senior officers behind him, and Trip soon found himself alone before the crowd with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He cleared his throat and reached for the second pip on the podium. He glanced back to where he thought Julia would be, but she was standing in front of him in an instant, quite literally bouncing on her toes.

They exchanged a smile, and he looked back towards the crowd. "To join me at the conn, I am honored to introduce Lieutenant Commander Julia Hammond, formerly the chief science officer aboard the NX-02 Columbia. Over the past year or so, I have grown to know her as a treasured friend and advisor." He paused, taking in her blithe expression, the blind hope in her eyes. He could only hope to recapture the magic of their early mission that had given him the exact same outlook. "On this day, it's my honor to promote you to the rank of Commander."

The applause returned, and Julia shook his hand, whispering, promising him that she wouldn't let him down. He instantly believed her.

Trip went on to introduce the rest of his senior staff, pausing every so often to entertain the enthusiastic cheers of the ECS contingent, the deafening roar from the delegation of the Denobulan consulate, and some rather subdued and scattered claps coming from certain representatives of the Vulcan compound in Sausalito. Finally, the introductions complete, he activated the screen of his PADD and glanced down at the remarks he'd prepared with Hoshi.

He looked up, making eye contact with the Commodore, one of his oldest and dearest friends, his expression blank, perfectly expectant. Then he looked towards Captain T'Pol, surprisingly seeing more emotion in her face. She nodded, as if anticipating what he was about to do, and he set his PADD aside.

"When I was a kid, I'd go camping with some friends. We'd spend half the night looking up at the stars, wondering what our own sun would look like from a world far away." He leaned forward over the podium, bracing his elbows against it like he was having a conversation with the press gathered below him. "Now that I've been to over three dozen M-class planets, I can tell you exactly what it looks like. But traveling all over this quadrant and the next one, I soon realized why Cochrane made his first flight, why we fought so long to leave our own solar system, why we continue pushing the boundaries of space exploration."

He paused, practically feeling Admiral Gardner's eyes boring a hole in the back of his skull. He was going off script, but there was little that the brass could do about that at this point. "It's all about the new experiences, the new discoveries, the feeling when you build a bridge to connect with a species you never would have considered working alongside before. It's about the people we take with us, and the people we leave behind." He glanced toward T'Pol again. "I'm sure I don't need to remind yall of the kinds of things the Enterprise has sacrificed to keep Earth safe. But when I'm here standing in front of yall, with the mission of a lifetime ahead of us, I know it's all been worth it. And for those of you considering joining our ranks, I'm telling you now, it will always be worth it. Be well and let the stars guide you wherever you go. Thank you."

There was a beat of silence where he felt he could have heard a pin drop in the stadium, but then the crowd erupted into applause which could have only been described as thunderous. The Commodore was the first to stand, followed by the Enterprise contingent, then countless more attendees, until Trip was in good company, and the weight of the world on his shoulders felt just a fraction of a kilogram lighter.

The next evening, Trip walked into cargo bay two with only an hour to go before midnight. It was immediately clear that Hoshi had left no stone unturned in her quest to stage the perfect New Year's Eve celebration. It was also a commissioning party of sorts to send off the officers that would be making the switch to the Maelstrom, and a good number of both contingents were present.

The cargo containers had been moved to one end of the room; from the entrance, Trip could see that several people had started to use them as tables and chairs, setting up impromptu games of cards or dining arrangements. The projector they typically used for movie night had been brought out of his suitcase and set up facing the far wall, displaying a live feed of Times Square. Chef had truly outdone himself, setting out all means of refreshments and amusements for their guests along several connected banquet tables. String lights had been strung from the ceiling and the catwalk, and the overhead lights had been slightly dimmed to set the mood. The liquor and conversation were flowing. He could tell it was going to be a good night.

He found Ensign Taxa standing in a trio of newly commissioned Maelstrom armory crewmen, attempting to engage them in spirited conversation. They seemed wary, a bit awkward around their CO, and moved off at once when they saw him approach. She frowned, but when she turned to him, she offered her usual enchanting smile.

"You look like you're trying to win Miss Denobula in that getup," he said, watching her turn this way and that. It occurred to him that he'd never seen his tactical officer wear anything close to revealing, but this was an exception, a red dress that preserved her modesty, but still clung to her every curve.

"When do I ever get the chance to dress up, Mr. Tucker?" She countered, suddenly looking over his shoulder and waving to someone. Reed was at his side in an instant, hands stuffed in his pockets, striving his mightiest to keep his eyes trained on her face.

"Nice of you to show up, Mal. I woulda thought you'd be the one to turn in early."

"And miss Hoshi's party? She's been working on this for months." Then, truthfully: "She threatened to come after me if I didn't make an appearance."

"I don't know about you two, but I'll be back in my quarters at five minutes after midnight. I've still got some loose ends to tie up. We're shipping out tomorrow, after all," Alira said with a bit of amusement in her voice.

"You gotta at least stay to see the ball drop and to hear us sing Auld Lang Syne. It's tradition," Trip protested.

"I suppose it'll be a fitting farewell to the crew. You might even be able to persuade me to sing." She took a long sip of her drink, making eyes at Malcolm the entire time. "What do you think, Mr. Reed? Should we start 2156 off with a bang?"

He immediately started to cough and sputter, which was barely remedied by Trip thumping him solidly on the back. "Well, I think I'll leave you two to it," he mumbled, amused by his friend's awkwardness.

He made a quick loop around the room, but Hoshi was nowhere to be found. Somewhat disappointed, he decided to sidle up to Dr. Yuris and Lieutenant Kov, who were having a rather one-sided conversation near the far wall.

Yuris was a rather intense Vulcan, with piercing green eyes, but the sort of wavering voice that always made it sound like his emotions were about the break through the surface. He stood at well over six feet tall, towering over nearly everyone in the room, but he seemed to shrink away from his companion at the moment. Kov, a rather excitable person by any species' standards, stood well into his personal space, peppering him with questions about the High Command, their mutual acquaintances, and how their homeworld had been in his absence.

"I cannot believe that you traveled here on an ECS transport and failed to sample any human cuisine. That's a wasted opportunity, doctor."

"It was only a four day journey."

"None of their Chef's offerings, though? Not even their desserts?" Kov was incredulous, shaking his head. As Trip approached, he pointed towards him. "Not even pecan pie?"

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant."

"Now, that's a crying shame." Trip reached past them and retrieved a flute of champagne. "You know, our new chef comes highly recommended. He and Enterprise's chef went to culinary school together. I plan on having a family dinner for the senior officers once we ship out. I'm sure he can whip something up."

"Sir, I-"

"You'll try it, I'll see to that. And cut it out with the formalities. We're all off-duty, aren't we?"

"If you say so, Mr. Tucker," Yuris replied, his lips set in a thin line of discontent, his expression simultaneously indifferent and long-suffering.

Across the room, Commander Nicholas Kelby was on a mission. He'd expressed his concerns to Lieutenant Commander Hess, but she had mostly ignored him, seeming content to continue carousing with her subordinates. It didn't matter. They were shipping out tomorrow, and this couldn't wait.

"Captain!" He called out, striding right up to him, interrupting his conversation of what other human foods they would have to force onto their CMO when the opportunity presented itself. Trip turned to him, eyebrows raised, and the way he didn't even pretend to take him seriously infuriated him. "These duty rosters are a mess. You can't put some of these people together. There's fraternization and recurring arguments all over the place."

"So make the changes, Kelby. I trust your judgment," he said, though sometimes he wondered why he did. All the man ever really cared about was posturing, repeatedly asserting his dominance, and getting promoted down the line. He gestured to the PADD he was holding. "And put that thing away. This is supposed to be a party."

He didn't understand that the root of the issue was the fact that he didn't know these things about the Maelstrom's engineering crew, half a dozen of which had come over from the Enterprise. Sometimes he thought he was the only one who actually cared about the ship's operations.

From behind the projector, Travis watched Kelby stalk away from their CO and make tracks towards the door. Shaking his head, he leaned back and asked, "How does it feel to be right?"

"About as good as it feels to be the Chief," Anna replied, raising her drink towards the group. The moment Kelby had taken his leave of them, she'd known exactly what was going to happen. "Pretty damn good."

"You're just glad to finally be rid of him and shove him onto us," Novakovich countered.

"For the record, I never said that." She pointed towards him. "I will say, though, space is a pretty lonely place when you don't have any friends."

"I just hope I haven't burned a bridge," Nguyen muttered, crossing his arms and looking down at his feet. He'd been preoccupied ever since he'd broken the news to Lieutenant Commander Reed that he was making the switch over to the Maelstrom. He'd been his second for years, and taking his leave of him felt like an act of treachery on par with a Shakespearean betrayal.

Ethan had gone over this at least a half dozen times over the past two days, but perhaps he needed a reminder. "He's not going to hold it against you, Jimmy. No one will begrudge you the opportunity to get your hands on some new tech."

He peered around the corner, noticing that Ensign Taxa and Commander Hammond were having an animated conversation over by the refreshment table. "You don't think he thinks I made the switch so I could-"

Jimmy was interrupted by his friends' resounding laughter. Travis clapped him on the shoulder and turned him to face the group. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Reed's going to be a real sourpuss by this time next week, mark my words," Anna surmised, shaking her head.

"I think we'll all be to some extent." Ethan suddenly looked solemn, contemplative. "I don't know about everyone else, but I'll miss most of the Enterprise crew."

"Don't get soft on me now, Novakovich," Anna said as she handed her drink into his hand, urging him to partake.

Julia had been making her rounds, greeting their senior officers and as many commissioned personnel as possible ahead of their shipping out in the morning. She'd finally tracked down Alira as she refreshed her drink and introduced herself, offering her the traditional touchless Denobulan greeting.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I've heard wonderful things about you from my counterpart aboard the Columbia." She was staring her directly in the eyes, unblinking, though she was being treated to a trace of that notorious smile.

"And I've heard a lot about you." Julia leaned in and whispered, "Especially your exploits at STC. I heard you drank your company commander under the table."

Her expression suddenly fell, and she began to stutter, her confidence wavering momentarily. "I can drink about twice as much as a human can because of my…" She gestured noncommittally to her left side. "Redundant livers, ma'am."

"I heard he had it coming."

"He always called me Blondie, never by my name. He implied that I was only there to sleep my way through the barracks."

"He called you Blondie, huh? And what did you call him?"

She glanced up at the ceiling and shook her head. "At least in target practice, I called him Second Place."

"I don't think anyone could blame you for that."

Alira was suddenly very intense, very adamant on getting her point across. "You should know that doesn't reflect my behavior as an officer."

"Even if it did, that wouldn't be an issue. They say that well behaved women seldom make admiral."

As she watched, her tactical officer's eyes widened and her expression began to shift into that famous smile she'd been hearing so much about. When she began to laugh, it was infectious, and soon they were sharing their first joke of many.

Out of the corner of her eye, Julia noticed Ensign Pascal approaching them, crossing the floor of the cargo bay in his wheelchair with practiced ease. She'd seen his headshot that morning during the weekly rollout of new officer postings sent out by HQ, and had been impressed by his credentials. If there was anyone qualified to replace Lieutenant Mayweather, it was him.

She soon realized he meant to introduce himself, and offered her hand before he could even extend his. "Looks like Enterprise is getting some new recruits. Congratulations on your posting, Ensign."

"And congratulations on yours, Commander." He nodded towards her, and she couldn't help but pick up on his strong French accent. He was certainly good-looking, with the kind of permanent smirk that made it look like he was always in on the joke. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Alira was next to greet him, shaking his hand, even though she looked more than a little uncomfortable doing it. Simon held her hand for a beat too long before releasing it. "I don't believe I've seen you on any of the recent posting updates, ma'am."

"No need for the formalities. Ensign Taxa, the new tactical officer for the Maelstrom."

He nodded, seemingly all avoiding eye contact with her, gesturing behind her. "Would you mind handing me a-" He snapped his fingers repeatedly, as if he was trying to remember the correct word.

"Oui, pas de probleme," she replied, passing a flute of champagne into his hands.

"Perfect, now I feel appropriately festive. Est-ce que tu parles francais?"

She grimaced. "Quelques phrases." Glancing towards Julia, she added, "It was my United Earth dialect elective at STC."

She'd heard something about all new recruits having to learn one additional human language and one alliance language starting a couple semesters back, and she supposed it was true. "I see. Are you two sure you haven't met before?"

"Yes," they replied simultaneously, and she almost believed them for a second.

At that moment, they were passed by T'Pol and Hoshi, who were walking with their heads close together, seemingly deep in conversation. They reached the far wall and stepped into a side room, the hatch sliding shut behind them.

"Thank you for agreeing to help with this. I have no idea why the volume isn't coming through." In the dim light of the utility closet, Hoshi had connected Trip's ancient projector to her PADD where she was streaming the feed of Times Square, and at fifteen minutes until midnight, the speakers had suddenly cut out, leaving them with quite the urgent situation on their hands.

"I fail to see why you didn't ask Commander Tucker for help with this task."

She scoffed. "Have you seen him? He's too busy bothering Dr. Yuris. I think he's secretly enjoying having a new Vulcan to terrorize." At her raised eyebrow, she continued, "You know that he always enjoyed teasing you."

"I do," she admitted, reaching for the volume controls, toggling them on and off. "Sometimes, I may have enjoyed it as well."

Hoshi smiled and disconnected the overhead speakers from the projector. "You know, he's going to miss you, and he's not the only one."

T'Pol suddenly corrected her posture, standing ramrod straight. She could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

"I'm going to miss you too," she clarified, watching as she sank down to her haunches again.

They worked in silence for a minute before the Captain spoke. "Lieutenant, you should know that I have treasured our friendship."

"We're still going to be friends, ma'am. That's never going to change." She meant it, too. Over the past four years, they'd been through nearly everything together. They were practically sisters.

In the space between them, T'Pol reached out, and Hoshi took her hand. Just as it happened all those years ago on that sinking Klingon ship, she felt her composure, her calm, and underneath that, her fondness and endearment to her. What she couldn't express in words, she could express here.

With her other hand, she reconnected the projector to the main power relay on E Deck, and they could hear the volume roaring back to life from the opposite side of the wall. Slowly, they stood.

"I wish you every happiness, Hoshi."

She realized that it was the first time she'd ever heard her address her so informally. She smiled, and she could feel T'Pol return it inwardly. "I wish you all that and more."

When they returned to the party, they took their seats at one of the tables at the perimeter of the room, where Liz was in the process of relaying a rather involved story to Dita and Jonathan.

"So on Christmas Eve morning, I decided to take him out to Forest Park to look at the lights and the art museum. Just picture it, I'm walking along on these pathways in the garden for what felt like an hour, just telling stories, shooting the bull, until I finally ask him a question. I look back and he's nowhere to be found."

Phlox leaned forward across the table to make a personal appeal to the Commodore. "In my defense-"

She cut him off swiftly. "I called for him, but I kept hearing something go off around me. Come to find out, he'd stashed his communicator in my backpack when I wasn't looking."

"My husband used to do that same thing," Dita said, rolling her eyes.

"I must have ran several kilometers all over the park looking for him. Finally, I gave up and went to the information desk at the museum. I was going to have them call for him, you know, Phlox, you party of one is waiting at the front."

"Commodore, I was-"

"I was terrified. I thought maybe he'd been kidnapped again, that the Klingons were back at it. Come to find out, he was sitting off to one side in the cafe with two Rigelian doctors he found in the park, having tea."

"You really can't take him anywhere, can you?" Archer asked, shaking his head.

"They were teaching docents at the university. Hearing about their work was very enlightening," Phlox insisted.

"That is one benefit of returning from leave," T'Pol said. "It is easier to keep track of certain individuals."

Jonathan felt her look at him with incredible intensity. Surely he hadn't run off on too many treacherous away missions without her knowledge...had he?

"It's about time," Hoshi glanced at the screen, and quickly excused herself. To her surprise, the Captain and the Commodore followed her, breezing past her and heading towards the exit.

She found Trip standing with Malcolm at the back of the room. Various crewmen were congregating in groups in front of them, waiting in anticipation as the sixty-second countdown began.

"Where the hell are they going?" Trip asked, knowing full well his hopes of getting T'Pol to sing with them that year were now thoroughly dashed.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Alira had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, leaning against the table behind them.

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'll ask them in the morning. They've called me to the Captain's ready room at 0800."

"Another briefing?" Malcolm was amused by this notion, having listened to Trip complain about the day-long new CO's orientation he'd had to sit through along with two newly minted ECS freighter captains.

"If I wanted to hear some stuffy brass who've never so much as left their own system tell me how to run my ship, I woulda called up the High Command."

Hoshi laughed at that, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Enjoy this while you can, Captain. It'll be the last time we're all together like this."

They were all silent for a moment as they contemplated this. The combined voices of the assembled officers around them was deafening, and only grew louder as the countdown continued.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Alira set down her drink and glance at Hoshi, who shrugged.

"Six, five, four…"

She was at his side instantly.

"Three, two, one…"

A collective cheer rose up around the room. Now that their seniormost COs were gone, people were seizing the chance to steal a good luck kiss from their sweethearts, whether their relationships were officially sanctioned or not. Near them, they saw Crewman Kelly kiss Petty Officer Rostov on the cheek, only for him to act disgusted and wipe at his cheek, then attempt to wipe it on her blouse. The group they'd been standing in erupted in laughter.

"You know, I just realized something." He looked at her, and she was pointing towards the screen. "It's January 1st, 2156."

"What about it?"

She took another step closer, her smile positively devilish. "We no longer work together."

Much too late to do anything about it, he realized what was happening. In a second, she had placed her hands on opposite sides of his face and was kissing him in front of God and everyone in the middle of the cargo bay.

Before he could stop himself, he was reciprocating, until realization hit him like a lightning bolt. He tried to pull away, but she held fast, and he wound up pushing them both into the table, attracting the attention of a majority of the room in the process.

Finally, she pulled back, triumphant. Waving towards the crewmen in the near vicinity, she called out, "Goodnight, everyone!" Then she was gone in a flash, out the door, before he could say anything to her.

Malcolm could feel the red rising to his cheeks, and tried to hide it by crossing his arms and frowning, but wound up furrowing his brows rather cartoonishly. He knew both of his companions were wondering if he was going to let her get away with it.

"Are you going after her?"

"No." His answer was definitive.

"Right." Trip gestured to Rostov, who turned to the wall and queued up the music. Suddenly the room was flooded with the sound of lush strings, and the crew started to move closer together, draping their arms over one another's shoulders. Without another word, he wandered off to the group, leaving them standing at the back of the room.

"How long has she been planning to do that, Hoshi?"

"At least a couple of months," she informed him, "Whether you'd made your move by now or not."

Just an hour after midnight, Trip found himself standing in the threshold of the cargo bay, waving goodbye to the final group of attendees. They were laughing and stumbling down the corridor, but paused anyway to bid him a fond farewell and continue their slightly silted procession towards their quarters.

He heaved a massive sigh, turning back to the center of the room to find Hoshi seated at one of the tables with a trash bag in one hand, determined to clear every last bit of evidence from their party before they shipped out in the morning. She was already a little overwhelmed by the task, taking in the great expanse of napkins, food, and utensils scattered across the floor.

"You oughta just leave this for maintenance," he called out, approaching her.

"My party, my mess," she grumbled, "You'd think we were serving with a ship full of five-year-olds."

"It's not our ship anymore," he reminded her. Already, he was tapping into the speakers with his PADD. "And we need a good night's rest if we want to be coherent tomorrow."

"Something makes me think you've got plans other than going straight to bed."

Overhead, a woozy mid-twentieth century ballad began to play, and he stepped up to her, pulling her from her seat and into his arms with ease. "You know, I never got the chance to tell you tonight how nice you look."

"Do I?" She looked down at herself, her black dress creased and stained from many hours of wear and her short-lived attempt at cleaning, then glanced up at him, her eyes gleaming. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He sighed somewhat dramatically and used his hand placed on the small of her back to draw her closer, and together they began to step in time to the music across the floor. Hoshi took his other hand, and wrapped her other arm around his waist until her head was resting on his chest. She closed her eyes momentarily, relishing the feeling of his warmth, his closeness, his protection.

"Did you get a good look at my new quarters last night?"

"I might have been a little preoccupied," she admitted.

"It's twice as big as the chief engineer's quarters on the Enterprise, you know. And the bathroom-" He trailed off, stroking her back in small, careful circles. "I'd like to build you a bathtub. There's plenty of room."

She pulled back momentarily, surprised. "Really?"

"I know how much you've missed your bubble baths since you came aboard. I'll even make it big enough for two, provided you wouldn't mind a guest."

"I wouldn't send you away," she assured him, then frowned. "Most of the time. Catch me after a double shift and it might be a different story."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Hoshi was feeling uncharacteristically sentimental. Carefully, she drew his hand to her lips and kissed it, delighting in the love she saw in his eyes. "Do you remember how I used to be? Terrified of space, scared of my own shadow?"

"You're a lot braver now, that's for sure. I'd say you're downright fearless."

She shook her head. "I'm glad I met you when I did. Even then, you were drawing me out of my shell."

"A lot of things have changed since then, Hoshi." His expression momentarily clouded, and she knew he was thinking about the bloodshed and fighting they'd witnessed, the moments where they'd been in imminent danger, all the people they'd lost along the way. "I don't know if I'm ready for this. If the time comes, I can't order people to their deaths. I can't preside over a massacre."

"No one ever said anything about a-"

"And this war with the Romulans, no one wants to acknowledge it, but I can feel it in my bones. It's coming." He paused. "If it comes to that, the Maelstrom's going to need a better commanding officer than me."

Hoshi reached up, cupped his cheek, and forced him to look at her. "You don't know that, Trip. Everyone on board thinks you're more than qualified to take the Captain's chair, myself included. You've just got to convince yourself." He looked like he was about to say something, but she interrupted him. "We've already been through hell and back with the Xindi once before. They nearly took everything from us. Whether you believe it or not, you're a better man for having gone through it and come out the other side."

"I just don't know how I can look at a single member of our bridge crew without thinking that the very next day they could die in the line of duty due to a decision that I made."

"That just comes with the territory, Trip." The music was beginning to swell, and they were moving slower, almost coming to a full stop in the middle of the floor. "I trust your judgment, but if there's ever a moment you don't trust your own, Julia is always going to be there for you." She trailed off, choosing her next words carefully. "I'll always be there for you."

"Thank you, Hoshi." He was beamed at her with the same crooked smile she'd always loved. "You always know just what to say, don't you?"

"Normally I'd be saying the same thing about you."

Before he could reply, she leaned in and pulled him in for a kiss, for a moment not caring to feel anything other than his arms around her and the gentle flutter of her heart.

Malcolm slipped out of the cargo bay along with the first wave of crewmen to leave the party, head down, striving mightily not to make eye contact with anyone.

He knew that after Alira's stunt, they were all looking to see how he'd react. He knew they were curious to see how one of their most serious and decorous officers would proceed, knowing full well that the nature of his relationship with his former second had just been revealed to the full complement of two vessels, and most likely several very bemused dry dock technicians. He knew for at least the next few hours, they would be watching his every move.

He deliberately passed his stop and doubled back through C Deck, nodding briskly at several junior officers, before stepping into a rarely used turbolift and descending to the senior officer's block.

Considering he'd helped her move quarters over to the Maelstrom just this morning, there was only one place she could be.

He was fully prepared to chastise her for crossing the line, for embarrassing him, for giving the crew something to talk about; however, he soon entered his quarters to find her in his bunk wearing nothing but a smile. He was then reminded that every Denobulan he'd ever met shared one key characteristic: a blatant disregard for subtlety.

Thank God for that.

This wasn't like the awkwardness of their first time, nor like the handful of rough, passionate encounters they'd had over the course of leave. This was careful, deliberate, slow-burning, as though they were attempting to memorize the movements of the other, to hold one another in their minds until the moment of their next meeting.

It could be months, it could be years. They both knew that.

He held her until she was gasping and trembling around him, then released her. She was gone for what seemed like an eternity, then she returned, cuddling up close. In the near darkness, they talked about the party, their mission briefings, their new armory crews and who they thought they'd need to watch out for. They talked about anything, if only to avoid the inevitable.

But it was unavoidable: it was there in the Maelstrom patch newly sewn onto her uniform, already draped over his desk chair for the morning. It was there in the way she'd caroused with her new senior staff earlier in the evening, seeming to fit right in, as though she'd never served aboard Enterprise at all. It was there in the fact that she was presently clinging onto him for dear life, as though it was the last time.

Eventually he drifted off to sleep; waking up several hours later, he thought he saw her standing at the window, draped in a blanket, studying the great sphere of Earth below them. She seemed deep in thought, and her expression was fraught, dejected, something that he wouldn't soon forget.

When his alarm sounded ahead of alpha shift, he realized that she was gone, along with nearly every last trace of her having been there. They'd agreed not to make an ordeal of saying their goodbyes, and so she'd slipped out in the early morning hours, leaving a lipstick kiss on the bathroom mirror. He stared at it, stared at his reflection, for one endless moment, then set about his morning routine, trying not to think about the fact that she was no longer there.

She wouldn't be at breakfast, sounding far too peppy for the time of the day. She wouldn't be at target practice with the MACOs, to keep track of how many points he missed and then thoroughly show him up. She wouldn't be on the bridge, laughing and cracking jokes with Hoshi and Liz all day, no matter how much it annoyed the Captain.

He knew things were going to be different after the Maelstrom commissioned. He just didn't know it was going to be this difficult immediately.

He picked up coffee in the mess hall and trudged down to the armory, hoping to find some temporary distraction in his work. It wasn't enough, but it would have to be for now.

Coming around the corner, he was surprised to see Ensign Pascal cross the threshold and come towards him, holding a PADD in one hand and tapping it impatiently into the palm of the other. He was wearing his mechanical neurostimulators, which formed a sort of articulated silver exoskeleton over the legs of his uniform, affording him a perfectly normal stride, albeit with a bit of a limp. As they passed one another, Simon smiled and called out, "Good morning, sir!"

"Good morning, Ensign. See you on the bridge." It was 0700 hours, just two hours before the Maelstrom was due to ship out, and he wasn't going to be at his station until the exact moment he needed to be.

He was so preoccupied, he hardly stopped to wonder exactly what reason their helmsman had to be in the armory before his shift.

Malcolm reached for the door controls, but someone on the other side beat him to it.

A second later, he came face to face with Alira, who was more than surprised to see him, though she steeled her facial expression quickly. Finally, he broke the silence, informing her, "You're cutting it a little close."

"I'm on my way to brief my team right now, sir." She paused, shifting her bag to her other shoulder. She knew it was a bad idea, but she still had to ask. "You're just in time. Would you walk me to the transporter pad?"

"Of course," he replied, and the two of them fell into step together. Gradually, she began to walk faster until she was a few paces behind him, her eyes trained on the ground, arms crossed tightly in front of her.

"It's all yours, by the way. I cleared my command codes."

"I appreciate it."

"I've reviewed the schedule of target practice with Sergeant Cole. She's in charge of the MACOs now, but be sure she remains on track. If we fall behind on certification, HQ will come after us."

"I'll make sure to-"

"Don't forget to keep up with their physicals. They need to be seen by Dr. Phlox every three months to be cleared for duty, without fail, no matter how much they try to put it off and complain about having to go through the imaging chamber."

"Ensign, I don't think-"

"And be sure that the Captain and the Commodore wear their body alarms on away missions. I know they hate it, but it's already saved their lives once. I can't imagine what would happen if-"

"Alira!" Her name escaped his lips far louder than he intended, but she finally turned to face him. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and the sight of it broke his heart.

At that moment, an unfamiliar crewman passed them, and they both disengaged, stepping into a smaller hallway up ahead. Once he was sure they had a little bit of privacy, he took her hand and promised her, "We're going to be okay."

"How can you be sure?" A single tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. She wiped at it and sniffed, looking all around, trying to smile, whatever it took to regain her composure. He probably thought this was mostly due to her missing him, and in part, it was.

The other part had to do with the fact that the path she was headed down, she was almost positive she would never see him again.

"I'll see you as soon as our leave renews for the year. In six months, our projected courses will be close enough that I can hop on whatever ECS freighter is closer and be with you by the end of the shift." He reached up and cupped her cheek and she leaned into his touch, breathing deeply. "You need to stop this. You're going to make me cry."

Looking into his eyes, she confirmed that this was very nearly the case. Slowly, her smile began to return, though it was faint and deeply sad. "We're going to be okay," she echoed, praying that was true.

They moved back into the main hallway and arrived at the transporter pad in less than a minute. Alira stepped onto the platform and trained her eyes on the ceiling, still blinking back her tears.

"Are you ready?"

He was standing at the controls, having programmed the Maelstrom's location less than a kilometer away. When he looked at her, it was with such earnestness that she had to tell him the truth. "No."

Malcolm sighed, then tapped his chest above his heart. She reciprocated the gesture, touching her right side underneath her arm, then closed her eyes.

In seconds, she could feel the transporter activate, and surrendered herself to the sensation of the beam picking her apart piece by piece.

Just an hour before the Maelstrom was due to ship out, Trip found himself tracing the familiar path to the bridge, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

He'd returned to engineering momentarily to clean out the last few personal effects from his office, enduring some good-natured ribbing from Lieutenant Commander Hess, who said she thought they'd gotten rid of him the night before. He'd accepted congratulations from damn near every crewman he passed in the hall, and as he stood in front of the Captain's ready room, he wondered what kind of surprise his two dearest friends could possibly have in store for him.

Inside, he found T'Pol sitting in her desk chair and Archer facing away from him leaning into the window, just as he'd found him a hundred times before. Immediately, they stood and faced him, for a moment appearing nothing but businesslike.

"What's all this about?" He looked between them, hoping to find some sort of clue, but they offered nothing.

"The Captain and I thought we should be the last ones to send you off." Jonathan reached for a PADD on his desk and passed it to him. "The latest Stanford vs. Texas match. I expect to hear your thoughts when you pass Echo Two next weekend."

"I understand you'll only be a couple light years behind us."

"For at least the first three weeks, until we break off for the Solnaran system," the Captain confirmed. They'd sat in the same mission briefings, hearing about how Kandar had been picking up increased Romulan activity on the far reaches of the system, and how they'd dispatched a handful of patrol ships until Enterprise could make it out there. Their mission, in no uncertain terms, was to secure the Solnaran mining outpost and keep it from falling into enemy hands.

"We'll try not to leave you in the dust," Trip promised, "Though, what's the point of a warp seven engine if you're not going to try it out?"

Archer smiled. "I wanted to make sure you knew how proud I am. I always knew you were going to make a great CO. It's your time, Trip."

He'd already said something to that effect the night before as he and T'Pol made their rounds around the room, bidding a fond farewell to every officer they were due to lose to the Maelstrom. By the time they got around to him, Trip was already deep in thought about his assignment, how apprehensive he was to get back in the game. Though Hoshi had momentarily worked her magic to convince him there was nothing to worry about, he suspected he'd be fighting these feelings for some time to come.

"Thank you, Jon. Both of you, don't be a stranger. I wanna hear from you outside of those fleet-wide mission updates." He suddenly remembered what he'd been meaning to ask him, something that had been weighing on his mind for some time. "Listen, about me and Lieutenant Sato-"

"You have our approval. Don't worry about it," Archer assured him. Even T'Pol seemed to be okay with it, nodding encouragingly, which surprised him. Being the ranking officers in the fleet, at least when they were outside their own solar system, they had the absolute authority to officially sanction or deny two officers the right to carry on a romantic relationship. Which begged the question-

"So, who's going to approve-" He started to gesture between them, but was cut off by Archer.

"Don't push it, Trip," he said, though his blush told him his suspicions were correct.

Suddenly T'Pol reached into a cabinet above her desk, returning momentarily carrying a small wooden box. He squinted at it for a second, unsure of what it was, until realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

"T'Pol, I can't-I mean, I shouldn't just-"

"I've had her with me all of this time. Now, I would prefer that her father takes her on an adventure." Without preamble, she placed the box on the desk and pushed it towards him so he could read the inscription.

ELIZABETH T'LES TUCKER, JANUARY 2155.

BELOVED DAUGHTER.

SHE NOW WALKS AMONG THE STARS.

Before he could stop himself, the emotion crashed over him like an avalanche, and he was soon choking back a sob. Immediately, he felt Jonathan wrap his arms around him, followed by T'Pol, softly, tentatively. He drew strength from them, and when he pulled back, he held them both at arms length and assured them, "I'm going to show her all the best the galaxy has to offer, every single star and comet along the way. You have my word."

"Keep her safe," T'Pol said quietly, and took his hand for a fraction of a second.

"Keep your entire crew safe," Jonathan added. "I don't need to remind you that they're all counting on you."

"I won't let you down, sir." He took the box in his hand and carefully placed it in the bottom of his backpack. "I won't let any of them down."

When he emerged onto the bridge, Malcolm rose from his station and reached toward him. He clearly meant to shake his hand, but found himself being wrapped in a hug.

"You better be on your best behavior, Mal. If you're not, I'm probably gonna hear about it."

He pulled back and studied him. There was no way to express his gratitude for their years-long friendship in just a few passing remarks, so he settled for addressing the most pressing issue in his mind at the moment: "Take care of her, Trip."

He wanted to tell him that this was a meaningless request; he couldn't think of any conceivable situation where his tactical officer would need someone to watch over her, at least in that moment. Instead, he nodded a bid a fond farewell to the bridge staff, before entering the turbolift and pressing the button for F Deck. He was determined to take the scenic route on his way to the transporter.

In the silence of the small chamber, he donned his headset and queued up the music, closing his eyes and letting the opening notes wash over him.

Almost heaven, West Virginia…

It was just past the start of alpha shift, and the corridors were mercifully empty. Every room, conduit, and bulkhead he passed had a memory attached to it, and in his mind's eye he could see them all: running through the corridors in his underwear as they defended the ship against greedy and opportunistic Ferengi; discovering he was pregnant mere months into their mission; repeatedly having to pull off miraculous repairs equipped with little more than elbow grease, duct tape, and good old American ingenuity; hunkering down in the catwalk for five days with the rest of the crew with one latrine between the eighty of them; attending a funeral for his own clone; staging a mutiny when Archer accidentally became imprinted on some Xindi insectoid hatchlings; mooning over the opportunity to meet his childhood hero, Emory Erickson, before discovering his true intentions.

Though some of those memories were painful, they were fresh, and he knew he would not soon forget them. For almost five years, Enterprise had been his home, and there was no doubt the change of venue would require some adjustment. But if he waited until he was ready, he suspected he would never leave at all.

It was time for a new adventure.

He returned to Maelstrom's bridge with minutes to go until launch, taking his senior staff by surprise.

"Welcome home, Captain," Julia said, and she had no idea just how much those words meant.

As he joined her at the conn, she informed him that she'd already checked in with engineering and informed the dockmaster they were soon to depart. He complimented her initiative, and when Travis looked over his shoulder, asking what course he should lay in, he replied, "Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning."

It took only a second for him to roll his eyes and turn fully to face him, offering him a slightly admonishing: "Sir."

"The Alpha Eridani system, Mr. Mayweather. According to Kandar, it's got several M class planetoids."

He nodded and turned back to his console. Trip took a deep breath and glanced around the room at bridge crew, taking in Travis's blind enthusiasm, Alira's ever-present smile, Ethan's quiet earnestness, Hoshi's sparkling eyes, and the grounded presence of his first officer by his side. He knew it was time.

"Full reverse, Lieutenant."

As they watched through the view screen, Travis disengaged from their berth, where they'd been nose-to-nose with the Enterprise. Slowly, they turned one hundred and eighty degrees, coming around to face the great empty expanse of space before them. There they hung for one endless moment, awaiting their next call to action.

"Full impulse to warp three. Let's see what's out there."

End of Episode Ten

Next time on Enterprise...

Episode Eleven: Letters from Subspace

The crews of the Enterprise and the Maelstrom struggle to adjust to their new normal. Trip's scheme to get his senior officers to bond and T'Pol's attempts to improve morale fail spectacularly.