A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the support. It's certainly been a long road getting from there to here. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to write this sprawling, over-the-top, wildly self-indulgent story. In these crazy times, we all need a distraction, and I'm glad to be that for all of you.

There's references to VOY 5x04 In the Flesh, VOY 2x13 Prototype, and ENT 4x06 The Augments, with a little good natured roasting of the latter. Tiny little Parks & Rec reference too. I leaned into fluff, because we're about to separate the Maelstrom and the Enterprise for the first half of the next season and they all honestly deserve it at this point.

Let the record state that I'm a full-fledged TATV denier, but I love the idea of Chef showing up during important days for our heroes. It will definitely happen again. Season Six premieres next week, barring any acts of God. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you would like to see more of moving forward.

I read that the average mass market novel has around 300 words per page. If that's the truth, this story is about the equivalent of an 1,800 page book. If you've read all of it, or even if you've just skipped around, thank you! They say all Shakespearean comedies end with a wedding. Be well.

Season Five

Episode Twenty-Five: Leave What's Lost Behind

Malcolm lost his grasp on reality the moment breathable air fled the reactor chamber. Perhaps it was the sudden rush of cold, or the realization of what was about to happen to him, or the fraught look on his beloved's face, but whatever the case may be, the first thing he did was exactly what they told all new recruits not to do during survival training.

He took a deep breath in, and all oxygen immediately fled his lungs. He was unconscious within seconds.

It took some time, but awareness slowly returned. He was floating in an inky blackness, limbs completely numb, his torso just barely sticking out above the water. Moving was an impossibility - it was as if a cluster of weights were pressing down on him. It was cold, devastatingly so, and his teeth were chattering far louder than the rage of his heartbeat. All around him, he heard whisperings, the barest hint of other voices, but found himself too weak to cry out.

He wondered if this was the afterlife, if this was what his spinster aunts and gran had been talking up all this time. It certainly left a lot to be desired; there were no pearly gates, nor streets of gold, nor saints lining up to meet him. He was sure if he stayed there long enough he might just get used to it, and the thought was slightly amusing to him.

The voices were growing louder now, and he was struggling to decipher them. They soon became a deafening, painful cacophony, and from above him, a pinprick of light appeared. He squinted, terrified of this new development yet powerless to stop it, watching as it grew larger and larger until it swallowed him entirely, perpetual and all-encompassing.

Malcolm jolted awake and immediately attempted to sit straight up, only to find himself tightly restrained. He hissed through his teeth and flailed about, trying to gain purchase but coming up short. Something was wrapped around his head and pressed against his mouth, and for a split second he was consumed by blind, unreasoning panic and screamed with all of the strength he could possibly muster.

Phlox was there in an instant, an answer to prayers he didn't know he'd been making. He seized hold of his arm, temporarily forsaking his aversion to physical touch, and Malcolm realized that he was wrapped in warm compresses and strapped to a biobed.

And he was very, very cold, chilled to the bone. He was shaking so hard it felt like he was about to fly apart.

"Mr. Reed, you're alright! You're in sickbay." His hands were moving again, checking his vital signs, verifying that the intravenous fluids were still distributing evenly. He seemed satisfied despite the direness of their situation, even though blood and smoke were thoroughly covering his person.

He realized that he was right. The voices he'd heard were the cries and wails of injured crewmen all around him, and somehow, miraculously, he'd survived.

"Doctor, how-"

"Don't worry about it," he assured him, adding another protective strap across his chest. This one restricted his breathing, and he grimaced underneath his mask, which was pumping so much humidified oxygen into his lungs that it felt like he was drowning. "We're safe. Just rest."

Could it be true? He wanted to believe it, but the gnawing sense of terror was worming its way back into his gut, especially when he realized that he was alone in his own corner of the chamber.

"Where-" The word came out in a wheeze, and his field of vision clouded, but he could still see Phlox's expression visibly change, downshifting into unmitigated hopelessness. Malcolm immediately knew what had happened, and in that instant, his entire world collapsed in on him.

"No." It wasn't loud enough the first time, so he repeated it over and over for good measure until he could hear the anguish in his own voice. Phlox was trying to calm him down, and when that didn't seem to work, he beckoned for one of his aides, who rapidly approached with a hypospray of sedative in hand.

He fought valiantly, thrashing against him restraints, though every movement was agony. At last he managed to gain a few centimeters and roll to one side, finally getting a glimpse of the piles of bodies all around him, all covered in white sheets, all forgotten in favor of the few living patients he still had.

"She didn't make it," Phlox finally said, and then he was pushing down on him, making a wild reach for his neck. "But you will."

Something wasn't right. In fact, it was all horribly wrong, from his reaction to his half-daughter's demise to the atmosphere to everything around him. He tried everything in his power to get away before every modicum of composure he had left fell away, and he was weeping, begging them to try to revive her again, telling them that it couldn't be true, that she couldn't be dead, that they might as well kill him while they were at it because once he gained the strength to do so he planned on doing it himself.

The grief was overwhelming and positively soul-crushing. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the realization that it was all over, it was done, and he would never have another chance. While there was no guarantee she would have survived if he had let her take the mission, he'd likely held her in his arms as she died, and not been able to comfort her in any way.

He hadn't been able to tell her that he loved her one last time.

The hypospray made contact with a sliver of bare skin, and his body immediately went limp, though his mind continued to race for a few final, desperate moments. He found himself praying for oblivion. Begging for it.

And then he woke up.

He was immediately greeted by the fraught face of an unfamiliar middle-aged woman dressed in a Starfleet uniform, with a thin line of worry settled between her brows. The second his eyes popped open, she reached out to cup his cheek through the breathing mask, stilling his movements, wiping the tears she found there.

It was undeniable. He'd been crying and shaking in his sleep. He wasn't restrained anymore, but he was still held down with heating packs and surrounded by the whirrs and beeps of various machinery. The person standing over him seemed friendly and maternal; really, she quite reminded him of his own mother, and that was temporarily comforting.

"You're on the Cochrane, Mr. Reed. I'm Dr. Molchanova, but I'd like for you to call me Molly." She repeated her motion on the other cheek, then smoothed his hair back from his forehead, checking for recognition in his eyes. "Blink twice if you understand what I'm telling you."

He thought he might have recognized that name from one of Phlox's papers, a colleague or co-author maybe, but traversing his memories felt like wading through a pool of cement. Gingerly, he complied, and was rewarded by a warm smile.

"I want you to know what's going on. We're warming you up now; you had a severe case of hypothermia. You're hooked up to a dialysis machine so we can increase your body temperature from the inside out, and you're responding very well to treatment. It's going to be okay."

In spite of himself, he relaxed somewhat, and she could tell. The ghost of a word or two sprung from his lips, and she bent down, listening intently.

"You got about ten meters off the ground before you were beamed away. Captain Pritchard decided to stick around until the last possible minute, and dived in right before we jumped to warp. There's MACOs on the Maelstrom, and Hammond and Mayweather are on the Enterprise." She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'm thankful you didn't make it out into open space. We definitely wouldn't be having this conversation if you had."

So it had really been a miracle. Malcolm thought about asking how many casualties they sustained, or what happened to the World Ender, but thought better of it. Duty be damned, there was something else on his mind.

"Where is-"

"Here," she said automatically, taking a step back and taking his hand in her own. "Can you feel this?"

He could, but only just barely, sensing the weight of her fingertips rather than the warmth. The movement was apparent though, and she adjusted him carefully so he can take the hand of the person in the biobed next to him.

It was a stretch, but he imagined he could feel her squeezing back. His heart soared on the wings of elation, and he understood that while the universe must hate him, it's given him a brief moment of reprieve, a wholly undeserved second chance.

He immediately resolved not to waste it.

Molly must have seen his smile, because she soon returned to his bedside, asking: "Is this woman special to you?"

Malcolm thought about denying it, choosing to just lapse into silence rather than dignify that question with a response, but thought better. She reached over to move his oxygen mask to one side, allowing him to speak with greater volume. "How could you tell?"

"You two showed up on our transporter pad frozen together. It took about an hour to pull you apart." The good doctor had instantly realized that this wasn't a final, desperate grab for a colleague, but rather a lover's embrace, and she'd carefully worked to extricate his face from the crook of her neck, to separate her hands from where they'd become tangled in the back of his uniform. All in all, she'd lost a fraction of a centimeter off the top of multiple fingertips, and he'd just lost a sliver from the side of his nose, affording it a slightly lopsided appearance. They were lucky to be alive, and she suspected they both knew it.

"Will she be okay?"

Molly's expression shifted, and his heart immediately sunk. She turned to face her other critical patient, and his gaze followed hers.

"Three of her lungs collapsed when the chamber depressurized. We're breathing for her right now, but she'll be off it very soon." Sure enough, Alira was intubated, her head turned to one side and her mouth held open. He could see her eyes dancing behind her closed lids, and wondered if her dreams were even half as distressing as his own. Her chest rose and fell in time almost mechanically with the ventilator, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the biobed with her and warm her up himself, even if just to ensure that it was real, that they'd escaped certain death once again. "You know, I hear that people heal faster when they're surrounded by loved ones."

"Is that a fact?"

"Certifiable," Molly replied, offering him another slight smile. Slowly, she reached out to dim the lights and bid him to rest, assuring him that she'd be right outside if he needed her.

The ensuing pause seemed to stretch on for eternity. It took a herculean effort to even move his fingers, but soon he was tracing the back of her hand, attempting to make sense of what had happened.

Malcolm could follow the natural conclusion that the World Ender had been destroyed; however many ships they lost during the battle were still up in the air. Sickbay felt quiet, and he wasn't sure if they'd been there for a while, or if the Cochrane just had an extremely limited number of casualties. He assumed it hadn't been long - otherwise they would've had a visit from the Commodore, or at least Captain Pritchard. They were likely in the middle of a series of hour-long briefings at the moment, and their presence wasn't needed, nor was it necessary.

He doubted they'd be bothered until they recovered, or until the Admiral needed information from them.

"Beloved?" Malcolm wasn't sure what he was expecting; he knew she was unconscious and couldn't respond, but he thought he felt her hand tighten around his own. "I know this isn't the right time to ask, but…"

He trailed off, listening carefully, though he was positive his whispers were inaudible over the roar of machinery. The question had filled him with dread before, but now that there were no stakes, he felt liberated. It was four simple words, and now that they'd dodged death yet again, the barriers of propriety were gone.

"Will you marry me?"

Silence.

"That's quite alright." He trained his gaze at the ceiling, smiling softly. "You can answer me later."

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours or days. All time was lost in the warmth of his blankets and the touch of her hand, until he found the strength to speak again.

"For the record, that's exactly how I would've wanted to go out."

"Are they going to pull through?"

"That is the third time you've asked in the past half hour, Commodore, and I promise you my answer has not changed since then."

"So you're optimistic?"

"Cautiously so," Phlox corrected him, then returned to his work, dotting dermaline gel across his patient's forehead with the utmost care. Sickbay was full of ailing crewmen, but these two were his priority for the moment, and it seemed that he wasn't the only one. "You're free to stay here as long as you like."

He didn't really mean that, but it was the courteous thing to say. Really, the Captain and the Commodore were posing somewhat of a hindrance to his team, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't muster his normally cheerful demeanor. The doctor was too busy thinking about the thousands of people they'd lost over the entire fleet, the injured lining the hallway, and the pained and agonized cries around them.

He was too busy thinking about his half-daughter under the care of Dr. Molchanova on the Cochrane, from whom he had yet to receive an update. She could be seriously maimed or disfigured or worse, and he would have no way of knowing.

After the loss of her mother, he was sure he wouldn't be able to bear another tragic loss.

His two critical patients lay before him, covered with second and third degree burns caused by the detonation of an antimatter mine aboard the World Ender. He hadn't been on the bridge when T'Pol made the decision on which half of the away team to save, but he'd felt the shockwave reach them a second after the vessel exploded, igniting hundreds of thousands of nuclear warheads and almost certainly destroying Galorndon Core in the process. They jumped to warp at that moment, and the irradiated gasses had caught the tail end of their nacelles, immediately collapsing their warp field and sending them skittering out onto open space half a light year away. Sickbay was instantly filled with engineering crewmen, many of them scorched beyond recognition or missing entire limbs. The smell of burnt flesh was positively sickening. He'd personally reattached three of Lieutenant Commander Hess's fingers, all the while she was fighting him and deliriously attempting to get back to her post.

Phlox had to tear himself away from one of the most severe cases to retch into the sink, the gruesome nature of their injuries shaking him to his very core. He'd seen the devastation of war firsthand as a medic in the Denobulan Infantry and then during the Xindi Crisis, but this was another matter entirely.

The first wave had nearly depleted his stores of hydrocolloid bandages and antibiotic creams. All around him, his medics were completing emergency debridement, and the screams of the crew - his friends - filled his ears, threatening to collapse every last bit of control he had.

T'Pol, it seemed, was in a similar predicament. Rather than standing by the comm, she'd wrapped a headset around one ear, and was presently receiving casualty reports from Ensign Singh. Jonathan heard snippets of it; most of the fatalities had been aboard the Tellarite flagship Sharosta, which had been destroyed by the first volley of warheads from the World Ender. They'd lost the General of their Star Battalion, and their delegation was in a panic, attempting to field communiques from the capital all the while attempting to take a headcount that was looking more dire by the hour.

As he understood it, the radiation levels around Galorndon Core were still too high for them to return and survey the damage. A majority of the enemy fleet had gotten away, and there was no guarantee the crew of the World Ender had survived.

Including his bondmate's brother, who seemed hell bent on destroying them.

His ruminitions were interrupted by the sound of the sickbay doors opening; glancing over his shoulder, he beheld the intense expression of his good friend Trip, the side of his face colored by a nasty gash covered with dried blood. He made a beeline towards them, and it was only until they were nose to nose did he speak.

"Chang, Kemper, and McKenzie are going to be fine." Trip sighed wearily and ran his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up at an odd angle. "Fiona says she saw Private Gilson get hit by a Romulan disruptor, that she disintegrated right before their eyes."

The very thought of it was horrifying to him, and his hand came down on Travis's biobed, clenching tightly.

"Kemper says he wants to do the honors of writing the letter to her family. He's nursing a sideswipe wound, so it'll be awhile. Echo Three's a little flooded at the moment." That was probably the understatement of the year. "Columbia's running triage for the Daedalus-class supports. That's where we took the heaviest hit."

"And their engines?"

"Just as disabled as ours. The Phoenix and the Tempest are on their way to rendezvous with an emergency ECS detachment. We should receive aid in a little over twenty-four hours."

It might not be soon enough, and they all knew that. T'Pol crossed her arms and leaned into the wall, her brows knit together with concern. "Any word on Reed and Taxa?"

"They're alive," Trip acknowledged, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Phlox especially visibly relaxed, setting down his pot of dermaline gel and dipping his head towards the ground. "They were exposed to the elements for about two seconds."

At that moment, Julia stirred, and they all reacted as though they'd been stung. The medical tricorder came out, and he was scanning, passing it over the charred sections of her uniform, over the parts of the EV jumpsuit which had melted to her skin. They were lucky to have been wearing a protective external layer when the shockwave hit them, but somehow in the process of reaching the reactor chamber, they'd lost their helmets, something that he dearly wished they'd held onto.

Even with dermal regeneration, the scarring was going to be extensive.

She came to slowly, then all at once, only to be stopped from a stronger reaction by a hand against the bandages on her arm. T'Pol's touch was firm, unyielding, and she soon settled back into the pillow, noticing for the first time the searing pain wracking her body.

Julia tried to speak, but it came out as a hiss, and Phlox hurriedly prepared a hypospray. Her expression relaxed the moment the analgesic entered her bloodstream, and she reached for her CO's hand, a gesture while Trip gently returned.

"What happened?" The tendons in her neck were straining, her entire body was shaking, and she was very close to tears.

"You did it, Jules." Trip couldn't control his emotion, evidenced by the uncontrollable tremor of his voice. "The World Ender is gone."

Immediately, she began to sob, and he knew it wasn't just in relief. It was also in grief, horror, and realization, and just in case they hadn't put enough thought into it in the past hour, the reality of the situation came crashing down upon them all.

It was very possible there were other marauders, but for now, they were all safe.

"Travis," she gasped, turning her head this way and that. She was met by the unbearable shear of raw skin against skin, and cried out again. Phlox gently laid a hand on her forehead and forced her to look straight ahead, much to her abject discomfort.

"He's alright. I'm keeping the both of you here for the next few days." He raised himself slightly in his chair, pinning her down under his gaze. "Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable?"

His question fell on deaf ears; they could all see she was in agonizing pain, and nothing he could provide to her in that moment could make it better. But she tried anyway, rolling from side to side. "I want to speak to him."

In her mind, it was the only way to confirm that he was alive, that the moment they shared as they fell to their deaths was real. Phlox looked doubtful, but took his leave of her anyway, boosting him with a stimulant and slowly welcoming him back into the land of the living.

Travis's reaction to waking up was quite similar, though rather than pain, they saw confusion and sorrow in his eyes. Like Julia, he shuddered away from physical touch, and gritted his teeth through his every attempt to speak. Finally, haltingly, he managed to get the words out: "Did we win?"

It was stunning in its simplicity. Jonathan knew there was no way to answer this question. With the current state of affairs, it was still very much up in the air.

"You're in trouble, Travis," Trip warned, forever being the one to lend levity to a situation. "I hear that the rampage down to the reactor chamber was your idea."

"It was," he admitted warily, wondering if a reprimand was on its way.

"This may be hard for you to believe, but the away team might have just saved the fleet." And altered the course of the war, but that went without saying. "Once you're out of sickbay, I want to hear all about it."

"You will," he promised, and Julia nodded gently.

"We'll have to think about some kind of reward." Trip stood, cutting a wink towards Jonathan. "How does Lieutenant Commander sound?"

It was far and above the commendation he was expecting, and Travis was momentarily speechless. "Sir-"

"Don't argue with me, Travis." He gave him a thumbs up, then stepped back towards the curtain. "Get some rest. We'll talk about this more when you're on your feet."

A second later he was gone, and out of the corner of her eye, T'Pol saw the veneer of confidence fall off his shoulders, returning to the tragedy of the matter at hand.

A new silence fell over them, and Phlox was moving again, seeming to usher them out. His patients needed to rest, and a skin grafting procedure was likely imminent. The Captain and the Commodore took leave of them, and soon Julia and Travis found themselves alone.

She couldn't see him, but she could hear him struggling to breathe around the weight of the bandages against his chest. Inexplicably, she was filled with a warmth she could not deny, and fought to put words to the sensation.

Travis beat her to it. "So we've survived a life-scarring encounter together. Does that make us best friends now?"

If she could, she would have laughed. Even now, he was a ray of sunshine, casting light over tragedy. "Let's just see where things go."

FIVE WEEKS LATER…

Maelstrom Captain's Log, January 7th, 2157: No change, same as yesterday, same as last week. We're still orbiting Galorndon III on a defensive position along with the Enterprise, Columbia, and Cochrane. Kelby assures me that repairs are almost done, but I'm not sure what to believe anymore.

"Good morning, Chef!"

Malcolm's greeting went unanswered. As he stepped over the threshold, he beheld an empty galley, stuffed to the brim with piles of vegetables and boiling pots and unwashed dishes in the sink. He knew at this hour that the keeper of this domain would be consumed with preparations for lunch, so his absence was a little strange to say in the least.

He stepped up to the stove and inhaled deeply, stealing a moment to admire whatever concoction was boiling away in the pots there. Since the signing of the Coalition charter, a great deal of information had been afforded to them and their recipe database had been expanded tenfold. Some of his experiments were more successful than the others - Malcolm usually ate whatever was put in front of him, but he had to admit dishes like Tellarite grub stew were certainly an acquired taste.

His initial curiosity satisfied, he made his way to the back of the room, where he noted with satisfaction that the coffee pot was up and running. He shifted from side to side, removing a thermos from either pocket, then stepped up to the table, studying his options.

Chef suddenly swept into the room from the stasis unit, affording him a fond hello. He breezed past him and returned to the cutting board, where he was waging battle against a mountain of unpeeled potatoes.

"Looking for something in particular, Mr. Reed?" His question was met with a noncommittal shrug, indicative of his concentration. Chef glanced over his shoulder at the back of his head. "Is the replicator out again?"

"The what?"

"The protein resequencer," he corrected himself. "I told Lieutenant Kov he needs to relax with all his orders. The man is bound and determined to make the perfect milkshake, whether or not he uses enough ice cream in one evening to feed the entire fleet for a year."

"Blame Anna." Malcolm opened a cabinet and began to root around. "She's his enabler in everything. If she told him to jump off a cliff…"

"Come on, give the man some credit. He spent years of his life with the High Command. He's used to dealing with complete and utter nonsense." At that, they both laughed, and Malcolm took a step back, propping his hands on his hips. He looked perfectly confused.

"Do you have any more of that Landras blend?"

Chef shook his head ruefully. "Used the last of it when that freighter captain visited yesterday. He told me that for human food it was almost palatable."

"That's high praise coming from a Tellarite," he remarked, though his expression had visibly soured. "You're going to get both of us in trouble. Taxa hasn't stopped talking about it since she tried it last week."

"Bringing her coffee again, huh?" He offered him that same knowing smile, which ordinarily would have set him at ease, but now, it only compounded on his predicament. Ordinarily he would have put up with Chef's teasing, but now…

"Try the Paksor. It's the Captain's favorite."

While he subconsciously knew that any coffee favored by a Vulcan wouldn't pack a strong enough of a punch to satisfy her, he was already running late and felt like testing his odds. "I'll trust you on this one, just this once. Here's hoping it doesn't come back to bite me."

He might have laughed, but it was barely audible over the slosh of the liquid into the cup. He capped one thermos and quickly tended to the other, already plotting his escape back to the armory before his absence was duly noticed.

Chef's next question hit him like a punch in the gut.

"Why aren't the two of you married yet?"

Malcolm turned quickly on his heels, almost spilling boiling hot coffee on himself in the process. With his free hand, he issued a vague warning, though Chef's distinctly amused expression remained unchanged.

Chef was the one people usually vented to; outside of Phlox, who held actual degrees in psychiatry, he was the one dependable listening ear on the ship. At first, he'd been a little hesitant around him, but even he had to admit that he felt comfortable discussing things with him that he normally wouldn't share with anyone else.

Perhaps it was the way the laugh lines pulled at the corners of his eyes, or his graying beard and pot belly, which made him look more like someone's grandfather rather than a veteran of an interstellar war. Perhaps it was that he was that he always managed to be friendly, no matter whatever else was going on around them, whether or not he was having to whip up a three-course dinner out of MREs or the ovens were going haywire for the fifth time that week. Perhaps it was the earliness of the hour, but Malcolm quickly resolved not to put up with his teasing today.

"It's complicated, Chef."

"I don't see how," he cut in, finally peeling the skin off of one potato and chopping it into a fine half-inch dice. "When the Maelstrom's not around, I sometimes catch you sitting at a table alone looking like a lost puppy. And don't try to tell me that she hasn't been spending the night every day since the battle."

"Now hold on just a minute..."

"No, you hold on." Chef paused, pointing his knife at him. "You're telling me she's beaming all the way over here at 0700 hours to have breakfast with you seven days a week?"

"Yes," Malcolm replied instantly, with an impressive amount of conviction.

"Mhm, likely story." He returned to his potatoes, but was unable to hide his smile. It was almost silent for a full minute, all the while Malcolm seemed frozen in place, a storm of thoughts raging in his mind.

It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about it - hell, he'd even asked her point blank as she lay unconscious in sick bay on the Cochrane. He meant it to be practice more than anything, but even after they both recovered, he found that he kept losing his nerve. There were dozens of instances in the past month where it would have been perfect to ask, but every time he saw her, his heart leapt into his throat and he was struck into silence by his own habit of overthinking everything, keen to just enjoy the time he had with her rather than risk her saying no.

Even though she wouldn't say no to him, not in a million years. At least...he was pretty sure she wouldn't.

He realized Chef was looking at him, awaiting a response, and he decided to give him one. Malcolm took a step closer to the kitchen island and leaned into it, thermoses in hand. Inhaling slowly, he admitted: "I've been thinking about it for some time now. The fact of the matter is, the Maelstrom's about to leave for their tour of the Alpha Quadrant, and they won't be back for at least a year..."

"All the more reason to ask now. What if she meets a handsome, swashbuckling Kreetassan, Aaamazarite, or Tarkalean along the way?"

"Chef-"

"One that has the guts to ask her what's really on his mind." He shrugged off Malcolm's stricken expression. "Face it, Mr. Reed. You're lucky to have a woman like that. She is way out of your league."

"What, do you speak from experience?"

"I do," he confessed, smiling as though he were in on a joke no one else was. "Trust me on this one. This war could go on for decades. You don't want to look back and wonder about all those years you could have spent together. My mother always told me not to postpone joy."

He laughed, a gesture which surprised him. "You're not the first one to tell me that."

"Then it sounds like your mind's made up." Chef watched as he made his way to the door, waiting until he had one foot over the threshold before calling out to him. "Just do me one favor."

"Anything." Malcolm looked intent, and he was reluctant to slow him down.

"Give me some advanced notice about your menu. I promise, I'll make the reception spectacular."

He nodded, suddenly all business, and fled the galley, perhaps to set the events of the future in motion.

Malcolm found her seated at a console on the upper balcony of the armory, intently studying the results of their latest round of diagnostics on the targeting sensors. She didn't even look up, but instead reached out with her free hand, accepting the thermos as it was held out to her.

It took a minute, but he finally located a stool and dragged it over to sit next to her. There were a handful of crewmen lingering around the lower level, but they were mostly out of sight, and in the space between them, he took hold of her hand, gently massaging her fingertips.

Even though it had been more than a month since their brush with death on the World Ender, Alira still struggled with loss of sensation in her extremities. More than once he found her shaking out her arms and legs, stating that they were filled with static, and she often returned to his bed in the middle of the night overcome with chills, complaining that she couldn't get warm.

Of course, he was more than willing to hold her until her tremors subsided, and he appreciated her company more than she realized. The truth was that he'd been plagued with nightmares ever since the battle, and nothing soothed him more than to wake up in the arms of the woman he loved.

The universe had indeed given him a second chance, and he was determined not to squander it.

"Pulse generator acting up again?"

She shook her head. "That last nuclear warhead did a number on us. The diagnostics between the Maelstrom and the Enterprise come up identical, but in practice, they fail just as often as our inertial dampeners."

"Kelby really ought to get around to fixing those."

"Believe me, he's tried. Maybe I can offer him some sort of bribe to rearrange his priorities." Alira retracted her hand and reached towards one of the upper displays, biting her lower lip with concentration. It was one of those unconscious actions that normally drove him mad with yearning, but now, he only felt trepidation.

But he couldn't ask here, not with a half dozen of his crewmen within earshot. The ring box in his pocket was starting to feel awfully heavy.

Finally, she took a sip of her coffee, and immediately pulled a face. "Is this the Paksor blend?"

"He was out of the Landras," he explained, trying his best to focus on the columns of numbers and symbols before him.

"Not bad," she concluded. "A little light on the caffeination, but that just means I'll be needing a refill here in a few minutes."

"I'll bring down a pitcher next time. Do you need someone to keep an eye on the detection interface while you cycle through the radar intervals?"

She cut him a wry smile, knowing full well after so long working together they were practically in sync. With one hand, he caught the hyperspanner that was tossed his way and slid off his seat, removing a piece of paneling on the wall and crawling inside.

Almost instantly, he saw the lights before him on the screen start to blink in rapid succession, first clockwise and then counterclockwise. He took a reading and called it out, waiting as she entered the tuning parameters into the computer.

"Looks like they're responding to external stimuli. How are we looking on vertical range?"

"Point-six. Do you want to go forward or aft first?"

This question was followed by a suspiciously long pause, and he briefly considered climbing back out to see what the problem was. The crawlspace was really uncomfortably narrow, and he already knew he would be covered with oil and soot and heaven knew what else.

"You've got to make a decision," he teased her, his hands poised over the buttons.

"I have made a decision," she assured him, and the sharp intake of breath that followed was audible over the roar of machinery around him. "I want you to be my husband."

He reacted instantaneously, sitting bolt upright and striking his head on the steel plating overhead. When he cried out, she stood, closing the distance between them.

Malcolm's pulse was racing like a runaway hovertrain. With a sudden burst of fortitude, he slid out of the hatch and stumbled to his feet. The hopeful look in her eyes almost took his breath away.

"My first," Alira said, and her voice was warping uncontrollably. "I thought I could wait, but there's no telling if we'll see tomorrow. I need you to say yes."

"I can't," he replied before he could stop himself, and turned away from her, making tracks towards his office.

It was as if her heart had just been ripped out of her chest. She cut a furtive glance around the room, but none of their colleagues seemed to be the wiser. She meant to follow him in a unsuspicious, purposeful manner, but she almost broke out into a run, and caught up with him even before he reached the threshold.

The hatch slid closed behind them. He didn't even bother to open the blinds or turn on the lights, just came to stand around the side of his desk, his back towards her, closed off to her in every possible way.

"What do you mean you can't?" The tears were running freely down her cheeks, and she couldn't hold them back. "Give me one good reason why we can't get married."

He heaved a tremendous sigh, and for a moment, the only sound in the room were her sobs as she desperately managed to hold herself together. In her mind, it was all over, and she'd just wasted a year and a half of her life for nothing. She'd have to go back to the Maelstrom and throw herself into her work. Perhaps one day she would find love again, but for now, all she wanted to do was return to her quarters and collapse into a bawling heap.

And probably destroy anything and everything that reminded her of him. That went without saying.

"Alira, you're going to outlive me by a hundred fifty or two hundred years." She saw his hand come down on the edge of the desk, gripping tightly. "Once I'm gone, you'll be all alone."

"I have plenty of friends and family to keep me company. Next argument."

"You're going to look exactly like you do right now for the rest of my life. In another thirty years, I'll be an old man. What are people going to say?"

"I don't care what they say." This time she touched him, grabbing hold of his arm and bearing down with the sum of her strength. "I'd rather have a few decades with you than a lifetime without. You know that."

He did. Slowly, he pulled away from her, and she let him go, feeling her heart break anew. There was a moment of tense silence, then he said: "I can't force you to sit around and watch me die."

"You're not forcing me to do anything. You're..." She became choked with emotion, and looked down, gasping for air. Several times since the battle she'd struggled with breathlessness, and this was no exception. "You're still not giving me valid excuses for why you can't say yes."

Suddenly he turned, and she realized what was happening before he even reached into his pocket. A second later, he kneeled down, and she didn't realize how hard her hands were shaking until he took one in his own.

"I can't say yes to you because I've already asked you first." She looked confused, and he was all too willing to fill in the blanks. "Back on the Cochrane, right after Galorndon Core. You were unconscious, I'm positive you didn't hear me. The truth is, you've kept me waiting for an answer for quite a long time."

He took a deep breath, testing the waters, and she began to sob again, though this time for a different reason entirely. "I can't promise you that we're going to make it through this war, or that we'll live to see tomorrow, but I can promise you that I'm going to make you happy for however long we have together."

He let go temporarily, opening the box to reveal two matching silver bands.

"Are those-"

"Duritanium. I shaved a few centimeters off one of the starboard torpedo launchers." He grimaced, and his sudden concern for protocol amused her greatly. "Don't tell Bennett."

"Your secret is safe to me." The simplicity of it all was beautiful, and she knew that they would have a piece of the Enterprise wherever they went.

There was a moment of silence, and she could tell he was steeling his nerve. Try as she might, she couldn't wait.

"Yes," she blurted out before she could stop herself, before he could even ask.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I want to be your wife. I want to share your bed and your home and annoy you every waking moment of your life. I want to-" She was cut off by a searing kiss, the kind that weakened her knees and made heat bloom underneath her skin. It went on for too long and not long enough, and when they broke apart, she socked him hard in the shoulder.

Clearly, that wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. "What was that for?"

"You really had me going there," she grumbled, taking the ring box from his hands. The metal caught the light through the slits in the accordion blinds, and she could feel a grin coming on, one that would remain for hours to come. "Now we just need to think about where, and when."

"Here," he said automatically, and she dealt him a curious look. Malcolm wanted to make some sort of broad gesture, but for the moment couldn't leave her side, couldn't manage to step out of her embrace. "Not in my office. The cargo bay, or the mess hall…"

"I can't wait until we come back from Bajor," she interrupted, and though his practical mind told him that they needed to tell her family, tell his sister, tell Captain Tucker first, he knew he didn't want to either. Suddenly she was moving towards the door, and she paused over the threshold, trembling with anticipation. Alira knew that she had officially lost her mind, but at long last, she'd found her heart in the process.

"I've got an idea."

It was all the encouragement he needed.

They found the Captain and the Commodore in the wardroom, surrounded by mountains of PADDs, attempting to make sense of the week's fleetwide status update.

Sifting through the logs of hundreds of Coalition ships was a massive undertaking; invariably, they would spend the entire weekend on it. The fatality reports led the way, then notable conquests and skirmishes, before finishing with the next round of marching orders. Hoshi and Dita were there already, elbow deep in the UT matrix, attempting to translate as they went to avoid the inevitable backlog that would hit them at 0200 hours on Monday morning.

Trip was there too, though his presence seemed to be more of a hindrance than anything. Malcolm immediately knew it had to be a slow day on the Maelstrom, because otherwise he wouldn't be sitting right next to T'Pol, teasing her as he had been for years.

As they entered the room, Archer glanced up, dealing them a long-suffering look. In spite of himself, Malcolm frowned and looked away, suddenly tremendously self conscious. If there was any question as to why they were there, Alira's broad grin did away with any of their doubts. She didn't even wait for anyone to greet them.

"We're getting married," she declared, holding out her hand for all to see. She instantly realized her ring was on the wrong side and transferred it to her left, then resumed her pose, looking between them expectantly.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Their resident Vulcan remained impassive, while Archer's eyes practically bugged out of his head. Trip only seemed amused, and their communications officers seemed too excited for words, a state which was quickly interrupted as Dita rose from her chair and charged at them.

Alira met her hug halfway, though she looked a little uncomfortable doing so. Dita was mumbling something, maybe congratulations or I can't believe it, but her words were muffled into her friend's shoulder as they rocked back and forth for several moments.

"Malcolm, you crazy son of a bitch, you finally did it." Trip was pumping his arm up and down in an enthusiastic handshake, and it was all he could do to go through the motions. He drew him into a tight embrace and thumped him on the back, eliciting a slight oof of surprise. "When's the big day?"

Hoshi appeared hesitant, even unsure. "Captain, this obviously just happened. I doubt they've put much thought into-"

"Tonight," Malcolm asserted, catching Dita's expression long enough to see her eyebrows go flying into her hairline. "1900 hours, cargo bay two."

"Oh my God," Hoshi intoned, finally slipping out of her seat. She held up both of her hands in reassurance. "Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy and so excited for you, but…"

"Here it comes," Trip whispered.

"How could you do this to me?" Hoshi was their resident party coordinator, and it naturally followed that she'd assumed the role of wedding planner automatically. "There's so much to do! Flowers, decorations, invitations..."

"Not to mention who would even officiate." T'Pol leaned back and crossed her arms, giving him the once over.

"I would, I'm already ordained. I officiated a wedding for two of my buddies back at STC," Jon offered, noticing how relief swept through their expressions. Being the ranking officer in the sector, he was in the position to issue such documents, and knew exactly where they were kept in the database.

He knew what they were doing was unorthodox, that even with a United Earth marriage license they would likely have trouble getting their union recognized on Denobula. However, he got the distinct impression that Alira's thoughts on the matter would be act first, seek permission later.

Besides, he couldn't remember seeing his first officer so happy. It was about damn time.

"I wasn't aware that your relationship was officially sanctioned by the service."

T'Pol, he warned silently through their bond, then finally managed to pull up both of their personnel files to extract the information he needed. He did a double take, then swiveled back around to face them. "Ensign, were you really born in 2065?"

Jon always knew, with her enhanced lifespan, that she had to be among the oldest on the ship. Phlox had raised five children already and barely looked forty, but he still couldn't restrain his surprise when he saw it written out in black and white.

"Two and a half years to the date after Vulcan's first contact with Earth." Hoshi had finally overcome her initial surprise and come to embrace her, delivering a swift kiss to her cheek. Alira briefly turned her head and nuzzled her affectionately. "And I still get carded every time I go out in San Francisco."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. Over his shoulder, he barely caught Trip moving out of his peripheral vision, but certainly heard it when he activated the comm. "Tucker to Mayweather."

It took a few seconds for the signal to percolate over to the Maelstrom, but they eventually got a response. "Travis here."

"They're getting married."

There was a sudden commotion at the other end of the line, and they could all visualize him scrambling up out of his seat and going to stand in front of the conn. "What?! When?"

"Tonight, so you might want to check that tally sheet of yours and see who won the pool."

"You've been taking bets on us?" Malcolm hissed, only to be swiftly shushed.

"We're up to one hundred resequencer credits, one of those fancy new phase pistols with the blue stripe, and a dozen other random favors from officers all over the fleet." At this, Malcolm took a step closer to the comm and leaned in, fully prepared to express his displeasure at the idea that dozens of his coworkers had apparently placed wagers on his love life. Travis, however, was determined not to let him get a word in edgewise. "It's Chef by a nose! He guessed the date within seven days."

"He always wins these things," Trip grumbled. "You'd think the man had a time machine or a crystal ball."

"He knows his crew," Hoshi reminded him from where she and Dita stood in a huddle over Alira's shoulder, scrolling through pictures on her PADD. Clearly, she'd already put a great deal of thought into their impending nuptials, a fact which wasn't lost on the Commodore.

"The lot of you should take the rest of the day off," he said, offering them a warm smile.

"Sir-"

"Don't make me change my mind. I won't have you late to your own wedding because you got caught up in some sensor data." He looked like he wanted to protest this, to say that he would never, but soon acquiesced that this was closer to the truth than anything.

"He's right, Mal." Trip slung a companionable arm over his shoulder. "Have you even thought about what you're going to wear?"

As a matter of fact, he hadn't, and when he replied, it certainly sounded like a question. "My dress uniform?"

"And you?" Alira handed over her PADD, and he leaned away from him, keen to shield the screen from his view. He made a series of earnest mhms and uh-huhs, before passing it back and thumping him on the chest with his free hand. "Yeah, you're going to wear a suit."

"I don't even own a-"

"Just leave it all to me!" Trip crowed, and guided the protesting groom towards the door.

"Let's just try this one more time. Remember, it's left forward, side right, left together…"

"Is there any way we can slow this down?"

"Alira, you can hit a practice target from a hundred meters away. Are you telling me you can't handle a simple waltz?"

She looked somewhat affronted, furrowing her brows in frustration. "In my defense, we don't have anything like this back home."

"Are you telling me Denobulans don't dance at their weddings?"

"Of course we do. We just don't touch." She looked to one side where their hands were clasped together, and dutifully stepped through the motions, somewhat haltingly. They made it about ten seconds before they collided again, and Hoshi stepped back, placing her hands on her hips.

Alira sat down heavily at the end of her bunk. "I know what you're about to say."

"Get it together," she warned, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. The comm went off, and she crossed the room in three broad steps. "Sato here."

"Did we want square or round tablecloths?" It was Ensign Medina, her beta shift comm officer, and he sounded mightily confused.

"Do they have both?"

"I'm looking right at them. We're going to have to pull in more tables from the mess hall."

"Go for round. Grab Bhaduri and start working on the centerpieces. Anna and T'Pol will meet you down there." She reached for her PADD and made a show of crossing an item off her list, which was still several pages long. "If you need help, don't hesitate to call."

"Do you really mean that, ma'am?"

"Of course," she said, making eye contact with Alira and shaking her head emphatically. At the moment, they were truly swamped with preparations, though if she trusted anyone to keep their volunteers in line, it was definitely those two. "Sato out."

The moment she ended the transmission, the hatch opened, issuing a breathless Lieutenant Cutler. She'd been unlucky enough not to be released from duty, and had spent the duration of her shift fielding frantic texts from her significant other.

"Phlox is so excited he can barely stand it," she informed them, heaving the massive basket she'd hauled all the way down from Columbia's airponics bay down onto the bed. Alira immediately began to sift through her bounty, searching through a variety of blooms for an appropriate substitute to what she was looking for. "We don't have any sureiva blossoms, but the closest thing would be a honeysuckle."

The flower in question grew in the wild on Denobula in and among the sewer grates and breaks in the sidewalk. While a vast majority of the surface was covered in one sprawling metropolis, sureiva was the symbol of resilience, of the ability to overcome despite overwhelming odds. It was commonplace for brides to wear them in their hair, a tradition she intended to keep up, even though their ceremony would be very much human. Tentatively, she brought a cluster of them to her nose, inhaling deeply. They were sweet, although a little cloying, but they could have to do. "Thank you, Liz."

"Don't mention it. Are you ready to get dressed?" From the moment they dropped the announcement in the senior officers' group chat, Alira had been adamant that there would be only one person who would help her. It was tradition.

It was an honor typically reserved for the bride's mother and half-mothers.

As if on cue, the chime sounded, and Hoshi reached out to welcome Ensign Singh and Commander Hammond into the room. Her quarters were getting rather crowded, but for the moment, Alira didn't seem to mind. She allowed both of them to embrace her, then moved with all haste to her closet, where she removed her garment bag and draped it against the door.

"How long have you had it?" Julia asked.

"That's not important," she replied, slightly embarrassed by the truth. They could all see she was excited, and fairly bouncing on her toes. "You know, Japanese brides wear white, Hindu brides wear red, and Denobulan brides…"

With an added bit of dramatic flourish, she pulled the zipper, revealing a modest gown with a full skirt and long sleeves, made of some local equivalent to silk. There was very limited decoration to speak of, though as she turned it, they could see a long line of hook-and-eye closures up the back. It was gorgeous and understated, though held a quiet elegance perfectly suited to their friend.

"They wear cerulean," Hoshi said reverently. Her hands came out to stroke the fabric, and her smile visibly grew. "I guess that takes care of something blue."

She looked at her in confusion, and she was all too willing to explain. "There's a saying on Earth. It's supposed to be good luck for the marriage. Something old, something new..."

"I've got something borrowed," Dita interrupted, holding up a small black box. A second later, she placed it on the desk and opened it, revealing a thin powder and collection of essential oils. In the space between them, she took Alira's hand, and began to trace her thumb over the fine bones in her wrist, already thinking of loops and swirls sprawling across her skin.

"Dita, are you sure? I wouldn't want to-"

"Please. I did my sister's mehndi for her wedding. Back on the Saraswati, I was the go-to artist." She paused, affording her a warm smile. "Usually, we'd take an entire day to complete the body art, but I'll do my best under such short notice."

"I have no doubt." The significance of the gesture wasn't lost on her, and she was truly honored that she would want to share such a beautiful part of her culture.

There was a weighty pause, then Hoshi all but pushed her into the bathroom. "Get dressed. We don't want to risk putting it on while your ink is drying."

Alira seemed startled, but obeyed, and was followed shortly by Liz. The wheels of progress now turning once again, Hoshi turned back towards them, smiling mischievously. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

Julia couldn't help but roll her eyes. "We're both off duty, Hoshi. For the rest of the night, consider yourself absolved."

"Good. Forgive me for being too forward, but I think it's high time you ask Travis to dance."

The look on her face absolutely told her everything, but it was gone in a second, and she sunk down onto the bed, crossing her arms obstinately. "And what makes you say that?"

"Jules, please." Hoshi moved past her and began to root through the basket of flowers, picking out honeysuckles left and right. Something new, she thought, at least new to the bride. "I haven't seen the two of you apart for even an hour since the battle."

"In my defense-"

"She's right," Dita interrupted, setting to mix the henna paste. "Every single time I've spoken to you lately, you've found some way to bring him up."

Julia had to admit that while they'd always been friends, over the course of the past few weeks, she'd grown closer and closer to their helmsman until she was forced to acknowledge, at least privately, that there might be something there. They went to their burn treatments together under Yuris's watchful eye. They ate together, worked together, and exercised together. He was fun-loving, sweet, and charming, and she felt foolish for not figuring it out sooner.

"We went through a traumatic event! In case you forgot, we almost died." Her words were met with unbridled skepticism, and she pressed on, determined to make her point clear. "Besides, he's a direct report. I'd never go after him first."

At last, the truth had come out, and Hoshi was grinning rather lasciviously. She wanted to reach up and wipe that expression off her face. "And if he asks you?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't say no."

Her reply was met with giggles, so much so that Liz ducked her head out of the bathroom to see what was going on. "Are we ready?"

"You tell me."

She reached out to take Alira's hand and slowly drew her into the room, where she smiled at them sheepishly, almost haltingly, swaying from side to side.

"Flawless," Julia asserted, her words going positively unquestioned. "His jaw's going to hit the floor."

Alira looked bewildered by this statement; after all this time living among humans, she was still confused by idioms. "I should hope not."

Hoshi laughed good-naturedly and pulled her before the mirror, ruffling her fingers through her hair. They were quickly joined by the rest of the women until they were all huddled together, and she felt a sudden surge of affection, knowing that moments like these were precious.

"How about a little makeup?"

She pulled an incredulous expression. Alira was adamant about remaining fairly low maintenance in her routine; she only ever wore a swipe of her signature cherry red lipstick. But she did trust her, perhaps against her better judgment, and allowed her to lead her to her desk chair.

They quickly set to their work. Dita knelt down and set to drawing a series of intricate flowers and spirals, all with absolutely blinding speed. Liz retrieved her PADD and swiped through photographs of the traditional hairstyle favored by the bride. It seemed to be constructed out of a dozen plaits all interwoven with white ribbons and flowers until it was impossible to tell where one twist ended and the other began. She had to admit to feeling a little hopeless, but Julia swiftly came to her rescue, weaving her fingers into the tangle of blonde curls.

"You know, body art used to be popular on Denobula," Alira confessed, watching as Dita made quick work of her palm. "My grandmother has the most beautiful watercolor tattoos all over her back and down her legs…"

"They must've taken ages."

"Some things are worth waiting for," she quipped, and the significance of her words were not lost on anyone.

Finally, Hoshi broke the companionable silence. She gestured for her to open her eyes wide, and she complied, though she visibly recoiled from the encroaching mascara wand. "When did you know?"

Alira didn't even have the opportunity to answer. Liz tucked a series of blossoms into the central braid at the crown of her head, then set to the ribbons. "I think I knew the moment you shouted at him in the mess hall on your first night aboard."

"In my defense, I had to assert my dominance somehow."

"I don't think anyone had any doubt of that," Dita said. "Pretty sure my ah-ha moment was movie night a couple days after that. We all sat together, and he kept looking at you like…"

She trailed off, stealing furtive glances at an invisible companion, before sitting back on her heels and tucking her hands into her lap. They burst out laughing again.

"Poor thing. He never had a chance," Julia mused, and before she could add onto that, the chime sounded.

They briefly wondered who it could be, but assumed it to be Anna or T'Pol, perhaps there to deliver a status report on their preparations. Hoshi called out her invitation, and she all but jumped out of her skin when Lieutenant Kov entered the room.

"Turn around!" She ordered, and he startled before complying. He couldn't have missed the sight of his friends dressed in their party finest.

"I've just come to get the ring," he assured them, holding the box above his head like they were in the middle of a stickup. Alira looked somewhat confused, but handed it to Hoshi all the same, and the exchange was soon complete. Now satisfied, Kov reached into his pocket, producing a handful of silver. "Phlox wanted me to give you this."

Hoshi turned his offering over, unearthing a dainty locket at the end of a long chain. Alira immediately knew what it was. "Has he had this the whole time?"

She sounded positively verklempt, but the moment it was in her hands, she knew exactly what to do. An unseen switch was activated, and they were soon greeted by the sight of a small holographic projection of a man and a woman.

Instantly, she was dangerously close to tears, and Hoshi grabbed her discarded PADD, using it to fan her face. It didn't take long to figure out that they were looking at an image of her parents, Feezal and Taxa, on their wedding day over a hundred years ago.

Something old, Hoshi thought, and she supposed it was incredibly appropriate.

Perhaps to them, it was just a photo, but to her it represented a bygone time in her life, filled with light and happiness, a time she couldn't go back to, but remembered fondly all the same.

It was an endearing token of everlasting affection, of devotion more powerful than death.

Kov beat a hasty retreat, and though her hands shook, she reached up to secure the locket around her neck, reminiscing of lost and newfound love.

"Wait, wait - listen to this one." Travis's next words were drowned out in an uproarious burst of laughter. In the mirror, Malcolm saw him make a wild reach for Ethan and almost fall off the bed in the process. He took a deep breath, seemingly wiping tears from his eyes, and continued: "The married pair typically invite other spouses and close friends to share in their love on their wedding night."

By the viewport, Kelby's head came up, and he turned on his heels, seeking confirmation. "Phlox?"

"That's true as well." By that point in the afternoon, they'd spent well over an hour poring over Denobulan marriage customs in the cultural database, and he was quite amused by what exactly his human shipmates found strange. Really, it wasn't such an unusual practice, and he was of the opinion that this particular tradition only enriched the experience of the ceremony. "There can be some aspect of drama involved, so it's important to choose your companions wisely."

Trip could tell he was speaking from experience. Sweeping out of the bathroom, he dropped a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, teasing: "Should Hoshi and I consider this our official invitation?"

"No!" He cried adamantly, following him with his gaze as he traversed the small space inside his quarters. When he was only availed with a laugh, he cut the air with his hand, attempting to make his point clear. "Absolutely not!"

Over by the armoire, Ethan was extricating his suit jacket from a garment bag, attempting to remove the lint and dust from it with his fingers. They'd managed to forge a suit out of random articles borrowed from various crewmen - his jacket, Rostov's pants, and Hutch's shirt - and it was now abundantly clear to him that the top and the bottoms were different shades of black. Not super apparent, but discernible nonetheless.

Trip didn't seem to notice. They exchanged a conspiratorial look, then burst out laughing. "Malcolm, you're such an easy target!"

So he was teasing him. Of course. "It won't be the only tradition we skip over."

"Pity, I was looking forward to seeing you perform the sacred fertility dance, or drink from the horn of prosperity, or partake in the ritual blessing of the-"

"Maybe another time," he interrupted, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it look presentable. He'd never been very concerned with his appearance, but now, he found that it was the only thing he could focus on. After agonizing over his proposal for so long and finally committing to the idea, he now found himself frantic, spinning his wheels, unsure of how to spend his final few hours as an unmarried man.

Travis, of course, had some idea.

He had no idea where the six pack came from. First it wasn't there, and then it was, and then he was accepting a beer from his outstretched hand. It was the same familiar craft brand he and Trip had shared together for years during their weekly catch-ups, and he couldn't help but smile at the memories.

"This is as close to a bachelor party as you're going to get," Travis said, offering the last bottle to Yuris, who had been standing in silence by the viewport for some time now. "Doctor?"

Truthfully, he was about to refuse, but seeing the imploring look in his Captain's eyes made his think better of it. Somewhat awkwardly, Yuris accepted his beer, then seized the cap and pulled it off with his bare hands in a sudden display of Vulcan strength. Trip went for a more traditional method, producing a bottle opener from his pocket and removing the cap with a decisive snap, sending it flying onto the deck plating.

Part of him wanted to chastise him for making a mess of his quarters, but Malcolm thought better of it. "You know, it's just as well. I never wanted anything flashy."

Out of life, out of his relationships, out of his career. He'd always considered himself a simple man of plain taste, but recent events seemed to challenge that.

"You're marrying the wrong woman, then," he teased, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Have you thought about your vows?"

His personal PADD was within arm's reach, and it quickly changed hands. Trip scrolled through the text, nodding contemplatively. "How long have you had this written?"

"That's not important," he asserted, making a mad reach for him. It was much too late, as his friend was already halfway across the room, showing his prize to Ethan.

"And you're referring to her here as your best friend." Trip dropped his hands on his hips, feigning offense. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"They say every man has multiple best friends," Phlox offered, trying to be helpful. "The ones he can share a drink with, and the ones he can-"

"Thank you," Malcolm interrupted, determined not to let that turn of phrase reach its natural conclusion, especially from his future father-in-law. Phlox shrugged and dealt him a cheerful smile, then took a sip of his beer.

Trip clearly meant to needle him some more about the contents of his vows, but was precluded by Lieutenant Kov bursting through the door. He looked frantic and breathless, as though he'd run all the way back to his quarters from the Maelstrom, and soon doubled over, heaving loudly as he braced his hands against his knees.

"Jesus, Kov!" Travis finally managed to clamber to his feet, and quickly went to his aid, rubbing his back in large, comforting circles. "Take it easy."

"You told me to hustle," he gasped, gesturing at Trip, who reacted with incredulity. From his pocket, he revealed the product of his misadventure, then tossed the ring box to Yuris, who caught it with an open hand and swiftly brushed past him into the corridor.

"It's just an expression," Trip assured him with a laugh, and he managed to right himself. He beckoned to him and he leaned closer. "What do you think? Are the ladies about to show us up?"

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled through his teeth, causing his cheeks to puff out to an almost comical degree. His hands slid into the pockets, and he leaned back, shaking his head.

"So you're telling us there's no hope?" Despite the sudden direness of the situation, Kelby seemed amused.

"Not unless you can change your entire appearance and then everything else about you," he replied bluntly, then swiped Phlox's beer, downing it in one gulp.

Trip rushed headlong into cargo bay two, wholly preoccupied, his thoughts racing as he ran through a mental checklist a kilometer long.

To his relief, a majority of their guests had already arrived, filling in the rows indiscriminately of their assignment or rank. The crowd was clothed in a mish-mash of dress uniforms, off-duty civvies, and formal wear-not exactly the unified front they wanted to present, but exactly what they should expect on such short notice.

He found Erika, Laura and T'Pol seated in the front row, deep in conversation. The latter nodded to him as he entered, and he approached them, hissing: "Where's Jon?"

"He's rehearsing his speech. He wouldn't let any of us take a look," Erika replied with an eye roll. "The string quartet just ran through their selection, though."

"How did it sound?"

She grimaced. "Passable."

He threw up his hands in frustration and rushed to the other side of the room, where sundry crewmen from the various ships were readying their instruments. He pointed to the cellist, demanding: "Tell me it's not true that you've only run through this once."

Crewman Gillespie shrugged. "We did. It was fine."

"It better be more than fine."

The first violinist, the quartermaster from the Columbia, moved his music stand to one side to dole him a reproachful glare. "We're trying our best, sir. I haven't played since high school."

"I suppose you get what you pay for."

"Which in your case was nothing," Ensign Hu from the Enterprise reminded him.

"Y'all are a disgrace to the service," he mumbled as he rushed away, not really meaning it, but still wanting to put on a good show for his best friend.

He had to admit Hoshi had worked her magic once again, fashioning an arbor and trellis from what he suspected was scrap metal from engineering. He wasn't sure where she'd managed to find so many flowers, but they were everywhere, a dizzying variety of colors and varieties that perfectly suited the haphazard way the entire affair had been arranged. All around the upper level, swags of white fabric had been strung between the railings, and a long walkway led the way from the door to the place where the officiant was to stand. The only thing missing was the bride...and the groom...and the entire wedding party for that matter.

Suddenly the doors opened, emitting the man of the hour, dressed in the suit they'd cobbled together from the sum of their limited wardrobes. He looked uncomfortable, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he didn't so much as look up as he approached the corner where Trip stood.

"There's still time to back out, Mal," he teased him.

He cut a glance to the MACOs from the Maelstrom, who had managed to fill an entire row by themselves. "You don't think I would be beat within an inch of my life if I did that?"

Trip scoffed. "Shut up. You love her."

The Commodore rushed in close after them, completely out of breath, clutching a PADD to his chest.

"Please tell me you've finished that speech."

"It took all day, but I've finally got it. When I'm done-" He paused to catch his breath, clutching his stomach. "There won't be a dry eye in the house."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Jon. Have you seen the ladies? Have you seen anyone?"

"Out in the hall," he gasped, finally regaining his composure. "They're ready when we are."

Trip looked at Malcolm, who looked like a gust of wind could knock him over. "Are you ready?"

He cleared his throat. "Now or never."

Trip made his way over and pressed the console to open the hatch, nearly running headlong into Hoshi in the process. Her hair had been gently curled, cascading around her shoulders in loose waves, and she wore his favorite dress of hers, strapless and red, the one that was tied with a bow at the small of her back. He couldn't help but give her the once-over, flashing his trademark Tucker smile. "Don't you look nice."

She ignored his compliment and skipped straight to business. "Is everything ready?"

"As ready as it can be."

"That doesn't answer my question." Over his shoulder, their friends were starting to pair off, looping their arms together, chattering excitedly to one another. Farther down the hall, Phlox was barely visible, deep in conversation with someone who he dearly hoped was the bride.

"It's now or never, right?" He mused, co-opting what Malcolm had just said.

She took a deep breath, exhaling all of the tension within her. "Let's get this show on the road."

Trip made a rapid about face and gave the signal to the string quartet. The cellist began her slow march up the scale, and soon the violinists joined in, producing a truly passable, if not somewhat stilted, rendition of Pachelbel's Canon in D.

The crowd quickly settled into their seats. He retreated to the arbor, where he took his place beside Archer. The moment Julia and Travis entered the cargo bay arm in arm, he whispered to Malcolm: "Last chance to run."

"Not going to happen, Mr. Tucker."

The procession continued, filling up the remainder of the front row to one side, until a very solemn Dr. Yuris entered holding Porthos under his arm like a football. The little beagle squirmed, but settling down into the Vulcan's lap once they were seated.

Finally Hoshi swept in holding a bouquet, and for a moment, Trip was overcome with emotion. For a split second, his love-addled brain had him convinced it was their wedding, and the earnestness with which he was able to buy into it took his breath away. She briefly made eye contact and winked, coming to stand right next to him.

The music was starting to swell. Leaning over, he asked, "So you're not going to cry?"

"Absolutely not," he replied, sounding confident.

When Alira appeared in the doorway, the waterworks were instantaneous. Trip watched his friend look away momentarily, then focus his gaze back on her, desperately trying to blink away tears.

She and Phlox walked closely together, not touching, their hands clasped in front of them. The bride wore a gown the color of an unclouded sky, with voluminous sleeves and a full skirt that barely swept the ground when she walked. Her hair was tied up in a series of elaborate twists and catches, interwoven with tiny white flowers and matching ribbons. While he didn't quite understand the significance behind it, he knew it had likely taken hours. In all the time he'd known her, Trip was quite sure that he'd never seen her smile quite so wide or so dazzling.

Phlox stopped short of the arbor, turned to her, and in a moment of surprising closeness, took both of her hands and squeezed them hard. The good doctor was having a much harder time hiding his emotions, but he made it to his seat in one piece, only to be comforted by an equally tearful Lieutenant Cutler.

Finally Alira approached where the three of them stood and paused slightly, dipping her head towards them. Quickly they reciprocated the gesture, and she reached forward, looking for all the world as though she were about to shake hands with her betrothed.

They stopped short of it, thumbs touching to form a triangle. It only lasted for a second, and then they rotated their hands, clasping their palms together and holding them at eye level. At a second glance, he realized there was actually a fraction of a centimeter between them.

The music came to a somewhat ungraceful halt, and Archer cleared his throat, holding his PADD much too close to his face.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Ensign Alira Taxa and Commander Malcolm Reed. The news that they were planning on getting married came to the surprise of most of us, as we all had plans to ship out tomorrow." That much was true - as much as this was the beginning, it was still very much the end, as the Maelstrom would be touring the Alpha Quadrant for the foreseeable future and the Enterprise, Cochrane, and Columbia would be sent out on patrol as far away from each other as they could possibly get. "We only had ten hours to plan this, so here's hoping this goes off without a hitch."

There were a couple of laughs from the crowd, and Alira shook her head, hiding her repentance behind a wry smile.

"Good start," Trip murmured and shook his head, much too low for any of them to hear.

"I digress. We've been locked in this war for a year now, and for most of us, this isn't our first one. Now more than ever, it's important to find what gives us purpose and hold onto it for dear life. It's those relationships that are forged in times of struggle that are built to last," Jon lowered his PADD by a fraction of an inch. "I'll now let the groom read his vows."

Malcolm suddenly flinched, as if he wasn't expecting his turn to come so soon. He frowned and pulled at his suit jacket with his free hand. Trip was silently begging him not to blow it.

"About a year and a half ago, I was soundly beaten in a war games simulation by a new officer we'd just welcomed aboard." Now that certainly wasn't where Trip was expecting him to take it. He extended his free hand towards the crowd and pointed. "Now, she cheated, but that's not the point."

Alira shook her head, but her smile didn't waver. He wondered just how many times they'd debated that exact issue.

"Those who know me understand that I'm a man of few words, so I'll get straight to it. You've shown me how to be fearless. You've shown me how to love, and to that end, how to live." He paused and took in a shaky breath. "The truth is I didn't know what I needed in this life until I met you. You truly are my best friend, and I love you with all that I am. I know that there's no one else in this universe with which I'd like to weather the storm."

She looked down for a fraction of a second, and when she returned to the task at hand, Trip was surprised to see tears in her eyes. As usual, she wasn't going to wait to be prompted.

"I honestly didn't make a plan for what I was going to say. Those of you who know understand that's very much on brand for me." She glanced back at the crowd, shrugging apologetically. "The truth is, when I first met this man, he drove me crazy."

There was more laughter from the assembled crewmen, but she wasn't done.

"He still does. He's the most uptight, protocol driven, frustrating person I've ever met. He never stops whining, and he's allergic to everything." Visibly affected, she had to take a moment to steady herself. When she spoke again, her voice was warped with emotion. "And I promise with all of you as my witness, in my ninety-one years, I've never loved anyone more."

For a split second Trip was sure she was going to burst into tears, but she narrowly avoided it, intertwining their fingers together and squeezing with all her might. She fixed her eyes on him, her gaze unmoving. "I wish I'd met you years ago. I've never experienced such unconditional, all-consuming love, despite the sum of our flaws, despite the sum of our mistakes. I know that together we can leave what's lost behind. I know that today, our own happiness begins."

Beside him, Hoshi shifted from side to side, and he could practically feel the emotion coming off her in waves. Venturing into the assembly, he took in the rapturous expressions of their fellow crewmen, and in spite of himself, had to exhale a ragged breath.

Archer shattered the moment as he resumed his speech, announcing that he would be reading the traditional Denobulan Rite of Devotion from the original text, and begged the audience their indulgence at what was sure to be a massacre of the beautiful words.

The assembled communications officers in the crowd were visibly cringing at his pronunciation the entire time, but he made it through, adding an extra apology for good measure.

His blunder was quickly forgotten, and he took a step closer, coming to within centimeters of them. "Malcolm, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Of course," he said automatically, then startled, remembering his place. "I mean, I do."

"And Alira, do you-"

"I do," she interrupted, not wanting to wait for another second. For Jonathan, that was good enough.

He nodded towards Trip, who swiftly bent over and produced a treat from his pocket, causing Porthos to leap out of Yuris's lap and scramble across the floor towards him. He lifted the beagle into his arms, removing the small pouch attached to his collar which held the rings he'd been tasked with guarding for the past few hours.

"May these rings be a sign of your bond in the coming years, in every struggle, in every moment of strife." They briefly let go to put them on, then they returned to their embrace, hands clasped tightly between them. "May you never forget the journey that has led you here to this moment, and may you always be as happy as you are today."

The room was completely silent for one endless moment. Trip was positive he could've heard a pin drop, and if he looked closely enough, he could see his friends shaking, faintly vibrating with emotion. He took a snapshot in his mind, to preserve the memory for decades to come, and knew he could never forget how their faces changed at the Commodore's next words.

"By the power vested in me by the United Earth Council, I now pronounce you married."

Within a second, Alira pulled away and threw both arms around his neck, kissing him soundly.

A cheer erupted from the crowd; Hoshi stepped forward, wrapping her arms around the newlyweds and squeezing tightly. Travis and Ethan joined in, followed by a majority of the senior staff, until they were all clustered under the arbor, keen on drinking in every last second they had together until they were scattered to the wind.

Still in their seats, Laura looked toward T'Pol just in time to see her wipe a tear away.

"Captain, are you-"

"Of course not," she admonished, but stood anyway and went to join the group, followed shortly by her companions.

Long after the initial excitement died down and everyone was settled in for dinner, Hoshi found herself standing at the head table, looking out onto the crowd and admiring her handiwork.

She readily decided that if the service or teaching didn't work out for her, she could very easily have a second career in event planning. Hoshi would never boast about her skills to anyone, but even she had to acknowledge that orchestrating a wedding under such short notice was a miracle unto itself. Chef had truly outdone himself, and she made a mental note to express her appreciation to him at the earliest opportunity; a three course meal for one hundred was a big enough undertaking as it was, the fusion of several very disparate cuisines notwithstanding.

Trip was picking at some kind of vegetable that rather looked like a dragon fruit and seemed to retreat from his fork every time he tried to take a bite. He repeatedly asked if he was doing this right and if the damn thing was alive, to which Phlox only smiled and informed him it was a delicacy that he should feel honored to partake in on such a momentous occasion.

The doctor's other main contribution to the meal was a fragrant stew filled with what appeared to be noodles and various legumes, which she gathered from the example set forth by their resident Denobulans that they were supposed to slurp loudly. Alira managed to down it one gulp, drawing curious looks from all of them, but forged on with her conversation all the same.

That was another thing - Hoshi could probably count on one hand the number of seconds she looked away from her husband throughout the meal, even when their friends came up to congratulate them, even when someone else was speaking to her directly. There was a certain sparkle in her eyes, a certain warmth emanating from the depths of her soul, and she recognized it immediately.

It was exactly how she felt around Trip.

With little time to waste, she procured a fork and rapped it gently against the side of her wine glass, quietly at first, then with increasing volume. Slowly, their guests began to take notice of this, and turned in their chairs to face her.

When it was silent, she raised her glass, calling out: "A toast to the bride."

She leaned into the table, glancing back towards the newlyweds. At last, they'd managed to look away from one another, though at this angle she could see Malcolm still held her hand, gently tracing her knuckles with his thumb.

"Here's where I'd normally tell you all about what a great person Alira is, and how much she deserves this, and all the fun times we've had together." She paused, swirling the contents of her glass contemplatively. "The truth is, I spent so long today putting this wedding together that I didn't have time to write anything down."

Hoshi glanced over to their resident Vulcans; Kov looked expectant, regarding her with a visible smile, with Yuris looked on with trepidation, as though there were a million places he'd rather be in that moment.

"But since I'm a comm officer, I'm an expert at remembering things. I can tell you that the first time I met her, I knew we would become best friends. She's intense in every aspect of her life, just so ridiculous and over-the-top. I guarantee you, she can make you laugh in a hundred different ways and kill you in just as many." From behind her, she heard a muffled scrap of a giggle, then Alira reached for her hand, a gesture she quickly returned.

"I remember this one time, it must have been two or three months into our diplomatic mission, she talked a bunch of us into going with her to Pon Farr Night at the Vulcan nightclub on Keto-Enol…" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Commodore do a visible double take, glancing back at T'Pol.

Malcolm gathered that a majority of the female senior staff had been involved in that particular misadventure; Anna and Liz were hiding their amusement behind their hands, while Dita looked like she was about to die of embarrassment. Beside him, Alira offered a wry grin, and he made a mental note to investigate that further.

Hoshi seemed to realize she was getting off track, and waved her free hand dismissively. "I digress. Those of you who know understand that nothing gets past this woman. During that shipwide prank war we had on our way to Coridan, she and several of the MACOs spent all night moving everything in the science laboratory five centimeters to the left."

Ethan whipped around and pointed at her, feigning tremendous offense, suddenly put two and two together. He was met with a smirk, and a silent challenge.

"If you've ever had to spend all night in sickbay for observation, you've probably had the honor of having her sit with you. She tells the funniest stories, is the worst gossip on the ship, and is the best running partner you could ever have. Provided, of course, that you plan on going to the gym at 0300 hours." Her hand tightened over hers, and she squeezed back, pivoting on her heels.

There's got to be trillions of people in the universe, millions of species and thousands of starships, but among all that big cosmic mess, I truly believe you've found the person meant for you." Slowly, she leaned across the table. "Alira, words can't describe how happy I am for you, how happy we all are. You've found yourself a good man, and you'd do well to keep him. And if he ever hurts you…"

She turned her head slightly and they locked eyes, her message well and truly received, though her expression only conveyed affection and more. Before he could respond, she turned swiftly, raising her glass to the rest of the room. "To the bride!"

There were echoes of the sentiment around the room, and then Trip was on the move. From his mischievous smile, Malcolm knew he was in trouble, and heaved a massive sigh.

He replaced her at the head of the table, then hoisted himself up on top of it until his feet were dangling over the edge. Hoshi moved away, and he could see her talking to Chef in the far corner of the room, gesturing wildly. A second later, Trip reached back and stole his drink, taking a healthy sip.

"Are y'all comfortable? Y'all have enough to eat?" His gaze danced across the attendees, much to their amusement. "Good, I'm glad. We're gonna be here for a while."

There was no doubt. He was in for it.

"Lemme start off by saying in the five years I've known Malcolm, I've only seen him smile one hundred and forty-seven times. One hundred and forty-six of those were when his lovely bride entered the room."

Surely it had been more than that. "That doesn't sound right..."

"Lemme finish," Trip warned him. "Anyway, most of you know that every single Halloween, I make it my mission to build a haunted house in one of our warp nacelles. The haunted catwalk, we call it."

Across the room, Travis nodded and tipped his glass towards him, having been his co-conspirator in his latest round of frights. Their Captain was a huge fan of horror films, and an aficionado of all things macabre. His exploits were notorious, and besides Hoshi's party, was one of their favorite ways to celebrate the holiday.

"Last year, the three of us decided to go together. They were the first people through, and Malcolm put on a brave face, saying that it was all in good fun, and that he was right there for her if she got scared. Oldest trick in the book." Little did she know that he was absolutely notorious for not being able to handle it, that Trip practically had to drag him in by his ankles every year. It was hilarious, really, that he could handle staring certain death in the face, but not a science crewman in a monster mask.

"This man was screaming and running away from my actors and practically jumping into her arms, all the while she was laughing hysterically and having a grand old time." It was clear the memory was still fresh in their minds; Alira was trying not to laugh for his benefit, but failing miserably. "At the end, we went back to the mess hall, and he was absolutely white as a sheet. She told him she'd be back with hot chocolate and a blanket for them. Do you know what this man said to me the second she walked away?"

From the look on his face, he definitely remembered, but Trip wasn't about to stop for anything. Clearing his throat, he assumed the best possible imitation of his English accent that he could muster. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Mr. Tucker."

There was a roar of laughter from their guests, and Trip dipped his head, relishing in their reaction. A moment later, he continued: "Really though, Malcolm is my best friend, and I'm just glad to see him happy. I was a little worried he'd be single forever. Much longer and we woulda had to send out advertisements. I had the tagline made up and everything."

Malcolm looked slightly wounded that they were all having a laugh at his expense, but didn't stop him.

"Seeking a man or woman, mid to late thirties or equivalent. Must like guns, boring old novels written by English people, and complaining." He glanced back at Alira. "Did I miss anything?"

"That about covers it."

"Good. In all seriousness, though, I don't tell him enough just how much his friendship means to me." Trip set his drink back on the table and slid it back to him, only for it to be caught a fraction of a centimeter from the edge. "I'm really happy for you, buddy. I want you to remember this day as a new beginning, as the start to another life. After all we've been through, after all we've seen, I hope you take hold of his moment and never let go."

It was uncharacteristically saccharine for Trip, and across the room, Hoshi froze. The sound of her heels made an abrupt click against the deck plating, and he looked up at her, his eyes brimming with so much affection she could barely stand it.

In their line of work, with their way of life, they were constantly running out of time. The beauty and impermanence of it all hit her like a bolt of lightning, and not for the first time that evening, she felt tears stinging her eyes.

Chef allowed them very little time to wallow in their own sentimentality. The cart passed her first, then she landed sights on the cake, a massive, three tiered behemoth with piped rosettes, understated, but imposing nonetheless. He had winged and complained about catering such a large event under short notice, but from the way he traversed the space between them like a man on a mission, she knew he was plainly enjoying this.

The moment sufficiently shattered, Trip collected himself and turned to the crowd. "To the groom!"

He was met with a chorus of cheers and glasses clinking together, which was quickly replaced by a roar of conversation. Chef beckoned towards Alira, and she obliged, coming around the table to greet him.

Their embrace was swift and businesslike; he briefly squeezed her arms and leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks, whispering: "Remember what I told you."

Truthfully, it took her a moment to realize what he was talking about, but once she did, she happily returned to the task at hand. It seemed rather odd that the couple was expected to cut the first slice together, but she was more than willing to buy into any number of human traditions, considering she was surrounded by them, considering they had so readily invited her into their family.

It's only when her husband received his own slice that he noticed a rather fortuitous addition to Chef's sponge recipe. He locked eyes with Hoshi, indicating the rings of pineapple ribboning through the cake. "Hoshi, you shouldn't have!"

"Anything for you," she replied with a smile, and meant it.

Alira stood there motionless as he happily dug in, studying the expressions of Trip and Chef over his shoulder. They were gesturing frantically, waving their hands in the air, pointing at their cheeks and shuffling from side to side.

This time, she doesn't hesitate, stepping up and pushing the cake into his face with far more force than was necessary.

A hush instantly filled the room, and for a few seconds she was worried she'd affronted him. Malcolm looked shocked, his jaw tensed, though he was unable to ignore the muffled chuckles coming from the two men standing behind him. His hands came up to clear away the debris, and his eyes came into view, dark and devilish. As she watched, his expression changed from acceptance to mischief, and before she could move away, she found herself with a face full of icing.

Suddenly they were laughing, and Hoshi was saying something about ruining her makeup, but she didn't hear it. The roar of conversation returned, and she stepped forward, collapsing into him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Some time later, once they'd cleaned up and the rest of the guests were served, they found themselves back in their seats, listening as the speeches continued. Liz went next, and she was tearful as she explained just how happy your half-father and I are, before lapsing into a brief rant about how old that statement made her feel. Various armory crewmen followed that up with embarrassing stories about their COs, sparing not a single mortifying detail. Ethan and Travis tag-teamed an amusing anecdote about the time they got drunk with the bride and spent the evening unsuccessfully attempting to program Trip's command console to emit whale sounds every time he pressed a button.

It wasn't long before the reception lapsed into social hour, and Alira found herself standing by the bar, looking on as her husband received round after round of congratulations from the compliments of four different starships. For once, he didn't appear uncomfortable to have so much attention heaped onto him, rather seeming to radiate a sense of calm from the very core of his being. Or perhaps it was serenity. Happiness.

"Red or white?" Chef was there in an instant, offering her the choice of two bottles. He studied her expression, then extended her the red, sweeping her glass out of his hands. For the moment, she wasn't surrounded by well wishers, and he was more than willing to fill in the gaps.

"You two make a great couple," he said, handing it back to her.

"I know," she replied, swirling the contents of her glass. Contemplatively, she studied the scene below her, the various crewmen crowding the dance floor, her COs chattering conspiratorially with Rostov, and farther still, Liz lurking around with Trip's camera, determined the capture the evening in all its glory.

"Will the two of you be serving together someday?" For some reason, the way he said it made her think he already knew the answer, though she wasn't sure why.

"That's the plan." There were whisperings of the successors to the NX, the Poseidon and Yorktown classes, having reached the final stage of development at Utopia Planitia. If rumors were to be believed, Malcolm was short-listed for command of the latter's flagship, though she resolved not to tell him until she knew for sure.

Until she knew that their ordeal with Corsica and Rosalind was truly over.

"Glad to hear it." Behind her, Chef was rapidly restocking the bar, dipping below the counter intermittently to replace the glasses hidden there. When he spoke next, his voice was so muffled that she was almost sure she misheard it. "Kids?"

She took a drink, biting back the bitter taste that followed. That was a bit of a touchy subject: having grown up in a large family, she wanted them, but he wasn't so sure. Alira was positive this had to do with his fear of ruining a child's self esteem as much as his own father had ruined his. Besides, there was no guarantee that any degree of medical intervention would make conception possible, let alone that they would be able to manage a family while serving aboard a starship. All the same…

"Hopefully one day." She couldn't help but imagine an adorable child with big blue eyes and a mess of soft brown curls. "Could you imagine, though? My temper and his stubbornness?"

"Hey, you never know. Your kids could be starship captains, diplomats, presidents..."

"President of what?" This time, she set down her drink to look back at him, but was only met with a knowing smile.

Trip was there in an instant; from overhead, a woozy midtempo ballad had started to play, indicative of the twentieth century tunes he loved and so often forced them to listen to on the bridge. He offered her his arm, and he accepted it, allowing him to guide her across the floor into her husband's arms.

"When did you learn to dance?" One hand rested on the small of her back, holding her close, and the other was held at eye level with their fingers intertwined. He led her confidently, assuredly, as though they'd done this together a hundred times before.

"About four hours ago," he confessed, and she had to laugh at that.

Malcolm was at least subconsciously aware that all eyes in the room were on them, but for the first time, he was able to tune all of them out and focus on her, all doubts and insecurities temporarily forgotten.

The twirl came before she was really ready for it; as the song swelled into the first chorus, he released her part of the way, and she took advantage of it, stepping out and turning on her heels. At that moment, the flowers in her hair caught the light and her skirts fanned out. When he caught her eye, he was seized with the understanding that this was real. This was now, and she had never looked more beautiful. She was stunning. She was a vision.

She was his wife.

When she returned to his arms, he pulled her closer, and she tucked her head into his shoulder, slowing down the pace considerably. His fingers trailed up her back, and through the silken fabric, he could feel her relax into him, ever thus at peace.

Somewhere during the second verse, Erika found herself wandering through the crowd of guests on a mission.

It didn't take long for her to find her - Laura was easily identifiable from her petite stature and wild mop of auburn hair, and she knew as much. At first she nodded towards her, determined to interact with her professionally in front of an audience, but what she asked next removed all pretense from her mind.

"Would you care to dance, Captain Pritchard?"

Her senior staff watched her sweep onto the floor and surrender herself to the embrace of her girlfriend, her partner, her companion in everything. Jonathan heard whisperings all around him, crewmen wondering just how long that had been going on, but he said nothing, content to see his friends have their moment in the sun.

Julia was lurking near the back of the room, nursing a glass of champagne and trying her best not to look like she was expecting anyone.

Hoshi made eye contact with her from across the room and winked; she scowled back and settled into a nearby table, hearing the rush of conversation around her but not daring to take part in it.

When Travis touched her arm, she almost jumped out of her skin.

At her surprised expression, he stumbled over his words, having to start over and over again. She waited patiently, all the while her smile grew, and by the time he finally got his question out, he knew what the answer would be.

Abandoning her drink, Julia settled into an easy waltz with her chief navigator, chattering idly about their evening and thinking to herself how right it all felt.

Being thoroughly single in every sense of the word, Ethan found himself standing at the bar, deep in thought.

"Beautiful wedding," he mumbled, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chef nod.

"Historic," he agreed. Ethan meant to say something else, but when he glanced back, he found that he'd seemingly vanished into thin air. Chalking it up to a sudden and urgent errand, he shrugged it off and went in search of more hors d'oeuvres.

Jonathan was so caught up in the music and the atmosphere that the moment T'Pol reached out to him through their bond, he visibly startled. He could see her standing across the room with Dita, studying the contents of a PADD held between them.

We've just received word. The transport bringing Pascal and Garcia back to Earth was attacked and lost with all hands.

Attacked? By who?

Unknown. They somehow disguised their warp signature. Should we tell them?

He knew that this likely meant that they had faked their own deaths and were still at large - from the craftiness of the Section, at least from what he'd heard, he certainly wouldn't put it past them. Regardless of how quiet it had been over the past month, the entire plot was threatening to come crashing down on them, and all of their lives were in danger. He had to suppress a twinge of fear at the thought of it.

Not right now, he replied adamantly, eyeing his officers in the center of the circle. They were so in love, so at peace in that moment, that he knew it would have to wait until morning. He glanced back up at his bondmate, who was hurriedly relaying instructions to Ensign Singh, for whom the evening's festivities were almost certainly over. Jonathan waited until she was done, then mentally beckoned to her, rising from his seat. Come dance with me.

Phlox found Liz standing against the wall, looking out onto the crowd as the song wound down. For all intents and purposes, he felt at ease, knowing that at long last his half-daughter had found her perfect match. He'd only been asking when they planned to get married for the past year. After the death of Alira's mother, he'd tried his best to put the puzzle of his life back together, and now, there was just one piece missing.

She'd been wandering around getting snapshots of the evening for her scrapbook, determined to present it to the newlyweds as a belated wedding present. After all this time, her tenacity was endearing, and he didn't mind telling her as much.

What came out, though, was another question entirely.

"Have you ever thought about getting married, Elizabeth?"

She reacted strongly, and for a second he was terrified she was going to say no. Though human courtship rituals were much less mysterious to him now than they had been in the past, she occasionally mystified him, causing him to seek the counsel of her close friends in hopes of remediation. The truth was that they'd been together for almost five years, and that was practically an eternity for a Denobulan engagement. He wasn't sure what they'd been waiting for.

"Phlox, you can't just propose to me at your half-daughter's wedding reception." Her smile was slowly returning. "That's so tacky."

"Well, I've already got the ring." He removed it from his pocket and held it out to her, box closed. Hoshi had helped him pick it out; while he didn't quite understand the human tradition, he knew that Liz would be counting on it, and was perfectly willing to oblige her. As he watched, her eyes traveled from his face down to his hand. It wasn't exactly how he'd practiced it with Dita, but he usually found that in all matters professional and personal, the direct approach was always best.

She grabbed his hand and slowly lowered it, striving mightily to maintain her composure. "Tell you what. In twenty minutes, we'll get out of here. I want you to take me to that stargazing spot on D Deck and ask me again."

"Again?"

"I'll say yes," Liz assured him, and wandered off to get a picture of the wedding party.

Simon's cell was tiny, cramped, and airless.

Within minutes of the conclusion of the battle, he had been spirited away, practically dragged across warped deck plating and collapsing sections. All around him, people were screaming and running for their lives, back towards their posts or perhaps sickbay, and for the first time in hours the tactical alarm was silent.

Needless to say, the clash at Galorndon Core had not gone well.

Lieutenant Choi was partially delirious, and from the looks of it she'd hit her head pretty hard at some point. He asked what was going on, where they were going, but she provided no further explanation. The division head of Starfleet Intelligence escorted him straight to the brig on what was probably the one functioning transport they had left and locked the door tight. A moment later, the lights dimmed, and the reality of the situation crashed down on him.

He lay there for a few moments, still clasped in restraints, trying his best not to hyperventilate. He could feel the drone of the engines as they idled, and though he'd tried his best to make himself familiar with his surroundings, he had to admit the stretch of time between the Enterprise and this other ship was all a blur. He closed his eyes and attempted to reconstruct the corridors in his mind, but couldn't.

A few minutes later, he heard Rosalind shouting, followed by a second hatch closing. Simon rolled to one side and stumbled to his feet, hoping to be able to see her through the narrow viewport at eye level, but came up woefully short. She must have assumed he was there, too, because he soon heard his name being whispered into the near darkness.

He answered in turn, and for fear that they were surrounded by auditory sensors, that was the last word either said for days.

At some point they were moving again. As a navigator, Simon liked to think that he had a good sense of direction, but couldn't for the life of him decipher where they were headed. He assumed Earth, but didn't know for sure, and kept track of time by wrenching a zipper off his uniform and using the sharp edge to make notches in the wall.

On day six, Choi visited them for the first time. The brig was soundproof, so save for the rumble of the engines and the occasional sneeze or scuff along the floor, it was the first thing he'd heard in days. She dragged a chair out into the middle of the hallway and attempted for a full hour to get them to say anything else about the case. She prodded them. Taunted them, to no avail.

On day nineteen, they briefly stopped for something. Simon was starting to go crazy, having spent nearly three weeks pacing the length of his cell and falling in and out of a fitful sleep. His only human interaction was the steward who delivered his meals through the slot in the door three times a day, and even he only shoved it through the opening with little care for where it landed or if it survived its fall to the ground. He was starting to doubt that the Section was coming to bail them out after all, and he was calling himself foolish for ever putting his trust behind them.

On day thirty-four, it happened.

The attack came out of nowhere. The hull was rocking, and perhaps it was the madness setting in from isolation, but he thought he heard shouting. Through the viewport, a face came into view, then another, then they were blasting through the door, and he was running as fast as his legs could carry him with Rachel at his side.

He watched the ship get destroyed from the bridge of the transport. It was collateral damage, and he didn't feel the least bit sorry for Choi and her minions, who at long last finally got what they deserved for challenging forces beyond their control. The architecture of this ship was strange and unfamiliar, but it seemed to have a cloaking device, so he presumed it had been stolen from a heretofore unknown species. If the blood stains streaking the wall were any indication, it hadn't been easy.

Harris met them on the bridge, and seeing him felt like reuniting with a ghost from the distant past.

Or perhaps a demon.

He first chastised them for allowing things to progress that far, that their marks were able to conspire against them for so long right under their noses. Winston had fulfilled his end of the bargain, but they were still going to act, to eliminate the problem before it could fester and grow. Now that they had initiated their contingencies, they were no longer needed in that arena, and would be reassigned elsewhere.

Simon was briefly terrified they were going to get killed, but for once he was merciful, and handed them the dossiers Agent Long prepared for them. Those PADDs contained information on their new lives, their new identities, their new realities.

The extensive plastic surgery they were both about to receive.

In the darkness of space in the middle of nowhere next to the burning hull of a former Starfleet transport, Ensign Pascal died and was effectively reborn.

It was well past midnight when Jonathan and T'Pol returned to her quarters.

While she had been relatively quiet as their friends read their vows, he could feel the emotional undercurrent within her rising like the tide. Several times, he caught her looking at him, and the affection pouring out of her almost took his breath away.

He'd be lying if he said the service didn't get to him. A majority of the attendees were in the same boat; Hoshi and Liz were straight up sobbing, and by the end, you could have heard a pin drop in the room. During a time when everyone was thinking about and missing their friends and loved ones back home, to witness such a brazen display of pure, all-consuming devotion was certainly cathartic. The reception had produced an almost polar shift in the atmosphere, and even T'Pol had gotten into the spirit, going glass for glass with Lieutenant Commander Hess on a bottle of cabernet.

She was known to imbibe on occasion, particularly during their own private ritual they used to unwind after a particularly difficult mission, but never to overindulge. The alcohol didn't seem to get her, but some time after they danced, he caught her standing in a corner with Kov and Yuris, exchanging Chef's chocolate tarts as though they were conducting a clandestine drug deal.

To his utter shock, he felt her intoxication rippling through their bond, and spent the rest of the reception trying and failing to appear as sober as possible. T'Pol wasn't visibly drunk, but her expression softened, and he could sense her smiling inwardly, all reservations gone. For the first time, he could tell that she was amused by what was going on around her, that she truly cherished her time with the crew and wouldn't have it any other way. All things considered, with the past few months she'd had, he didn't blame her one bit.

They excused themselves a little after midnight. Once they were out of the purview of their coworkers, T'Pol leaned heavily on his arm, out of preference rather than necessity. In the turbolift, she wrapped her arms around him, and caught his lips in a desperate kiss, molding her body to his.

This simple gesture ignited a fire within him, but he was determined not to give her what she very clearly wanted. Eventually he managed to tear himself away from her and afford her a silent warning; the mischievous glint in her eye was obvious, and for the moment he was glad to see this side of her, the one no one else could.

Jonathan…

You're drunk, he insisted. I'll bring you a glass of water.

She looked disappointed, but obeyed his instructions anyway. He slipped his fingers under the lapels of her heavy outer robe and slid it off her shoulders, draping it across the coat rack. Jonathan left her to undress for bed and retreated to the bathroom, where he was continuously assailed by her stream of consciousness, including several thoughts which were downright salacious.

You overdid it on the chocolate tarts. The three of you should have stopped at two.

I'll have you know that I am fully in control of myself and my actions.

He returned to the bed and passed the glass into her hands. In her inebriation, she hadn't bothered to wrestle with the buttons on one of her silken nightshirts, settling on one of his worn tees instead. The sight of it warmed his heart, and he leaned forward, depositing a kiss on her forehead. Doesn't seem that way. Another tart, and you might have started dancing on the tables.

This time, she smirked, her lips downturning in a display of her incredulity. Jonathan, don't be ridiculous. Sometimes, it seems that you do not know me at all.

I know you well enough, he corrected her, taking her by the hand. Do you feel up to meditation tonight?

The look on her face conveyed that she didn't think she had a choice. Carefully, she made her way over to her pillows and lowered herself to the floor, avoiding a faceplant by a fraction of a second. Before he could point it out, she righted herself and pulled her legs underneath her one by one, then closed her eyes, attempting to find her center.

He readily met her there, and she momentarily relished in the comfort and safety that surrounded her. T'Pol knew that her present physical state was having a toll on him, and she took steps to banish the fogginess that filled her mind. She focused on the part of her that cherished him, that knew she could always depend on him no matter what. A different kind of warmth washed over her, and she realized, not for the first time, that he was her perfect counterpart. Her chosen one. Her ashayam. Her husband.

Jonathan pulled back as though he'd just been slapped, and she reacted in kind, looking back at him with surprise. He asked her to repeat what she just said, and she complied, watching as concern settled into the lines of his face. A second later, he broke the silence that had been held between them since the moment they entered her quarters.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said." She paused, and wondered if it was her state of intoxication that was causing her brain to short circuit. Whatever the case, she was genuinely confused. Lady wandered into her lap, and she obliged, scratching her cat behind the ears. "I thought you knew."

He chuckled softly, something she always found endearing, and crossed his arms. Jonathan was clearly seeking an explanation, and she knew she owed him one.

"We are bonded, physically and mentally. If you were a Vulcan, we would be considered legally married. We have been since the moment we..."

"Hold on just a minute." He sat up to his haunches and leaned across the meditation candle between them. "You mean to tell me this entire time we've been married?"

"If you were Vulcan."

"But I'm not."

"Does it matter?"

"No!" Finally, he reached out to cup her cheek, gently tracing the contours of her lovely face with his fingertips. He wanted to put his thoughts to words even though they failed him in that instant, and knew she saw visions of their future together just as clearly as he did.

Jonathan wanted to marry her in the human tradition on a beach at sunset, then sweep her off her feet and carry her to the waterfront so together they could gaze into eternity. He wanted them to take desk jobs once the war was over, and split their time between San Francisco and the Archer home in upstate New York. He wanted to meditate with her every evening and wake up with her every morning and feel her in the back of his mind constantly. He wanted to start a family and build a home so full of love and light and laughter that they would never have to think of the perils of war ever again. It was so close, so tantalizing, and he wanted to do whatever it took to make it possible.

"A son?" She asked, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly.

"Or a daughter. I hope they'd have your ears."

"And I hope they have your eyes." Slowly, as if in a trance, she bent forward and pressed her forehead against his, closing a live circuit of physical contact that conveyed her adoration for him and more.

Jonathan quickly decided that he'd never known such completion. That evening, as they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, he took comfort in knowing that he would never have to let her go.

The chairman of the Tal Shiar was used to close calls, but this one had been extraordinarily harrowing.

He had watched from the bridge of the World Ender as their master plan unfolded, the enemy hitting every single mark on cue, the surface of Galorndon Core splitting apart under the onslaught of their weapons. He had watched on the visual sensors as the Coalition marauders forced their way to the center of the vessel, mowing down his forces at every turn. It was infuriating, and he'd almost grabbed his disruptor to see to the problem himself.

But that would require taking his eyes off his sister's ship as it played a dangerous game of cat and mouse, edging closer to their hull as she attempted to provide a narrow window of escape. They had the same father, shared the same blood coursing through their veins, but she had chosen this way of life, to willingly turn her back on her own people and fight on a losing side.

T'Pol infuriated him. A day didn't go by where he didn't dream of wringing her neck, but he knew she would be more valuable as an ally rather than an enemy. He intended on coaxing her into their ranks one day, and if their sleeper agent presence among the ranks of Starfleet headquarters was feeding them accurate information, that opportunity was fast approaching. Yes, a new era was upon them, and he planned to tell the Praetor all about it upon their return to Romulus.

Solan waited until the last possible moment, then turned and calmly walked to the back of the bridge as the deck plating split underneath him. He disappeared in a column of light and reappeared on a transport which quickly sped away ahead of an antimatter explosion.

The loss of Galorndon Core was purely strategic, the show of their nuclear strength methodically deliberate. Admiral Valdore would have been more satisfied if they had managed to take prisoners, but he was pleased knowing the sheer number of ships they'd mowed down on their way to victory. A battle of attrition, yes, but worthy of their efforts nonetheless.

A majority of his troops had perished in the explosion, but seeing as they were hybrids, they were quite expendable. One of them found him in the corridors after their escape and handed something to him before proceeding to the barracks, not even daring to look him in the eyes.

It only took a few hours to reach their cloaked shipbuilding yards; they were well into enemy territory, but they'd serviced them for years without incident. Seeing as the Praetor was otherwise occupied on the second front, First Consul T'Leikha met him aboard the station, coming to stand next to him at the viewport overlooking the construction chamber.

He finally revealed his prize - a data chip preloaded with a virus, one which the Coalition troops had apparently dropped in their haste to get to the reactor chamber. Having been forged in the computer of one of the NX vessels, it had left an imprint, a ghost of their internal network, and would give them exactly the edge they needed for the next attack.

She scarcely reacted, holding it up directly at eye level before stashing it in the pocket of her jacket. Together they trained their eyes out onto the fleet of World Enders, sprawling and innumerable, and farther still, a different creation, one of even more devastating and punishing scope.

"Prepare the new weapon," he said, and she dutifully dipped her head, slipping into the shadows.

The morning came much too soon, with the distant shuffle of boots in the corridor and the flicker of the overhead lights shifting into daytime mode.

After so long together, Alira was well adjusted to their morning routine, and she reached out to deactivate the alarm a fraction of a second before the top of the hour. She waited with baited breath for the rustle of movement, then abandoned her PADD on the bedside table, rolling over and wrapping her arms around her bedmate.

He stirred almost immediately, opening radically to her touch. Sleep's haze cleared steeply, and suddenly his lips were on the hollow behind her ear, drinking in her scent. He could feel her pulse thrumming away, confirming that she was there, she was very much real, and in the short span of twenty-four hours, everything had been made right with the universe.

Her hands started to drift, ghosting over his arms and threading into his hair, and she sighed contentedly. Whatever she meant to say no longer seemed necessary, and they lay there for an indeterminable amount of time relishing the moment, trying not to think about that it would soon be torn away from them.

"This is real, you know." It came out before he could stop it, and was uncharacteristically sentimental. He began tracing the ridge on her back from the nape of her neck down to the top of her hips, his touch whisper light and almost reverent. "You're my wife."

"You're my husband."

"You married me in front of people."

"I know, Malcolm. I was there." She didn't have to push very hard to get him on his back, knitting her fingers together on his chest and propping her chin atop them. Her eyes were shining with so much warmth and affection that he couldn't help but return it, and soon that famous Denobulan grin was back. "Did you ever think..."

"I hoped." The natural conclusion of that question posed quite the conundrum, as he'd spent far too long pining, wondering what could be and not allowing himself the simple pleasure of her in his every waking moment.

"You could've had me a lot sooner."

"How soon?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she briefly considered withholding the truth. In all honesty, she'd known the moment they shook hands outside the Supreme Council chambers on Denobula. Usually, physical contact left her feeling supremely uncomfortable, but a bolt of electricity shot up her arm in that moment, and she'd gone the rest of the day fighting butterflies in her stomach, wondering who exactly this man was, and how he could've had the audacity to set her entire life on end.

What followed was a solid six months of chasing him, of attempting to convince him to forsake protocol and risk it all to return her affections. Eventually, he'd given in, and what followed was the most passionate, all-consuming, whirlwind romance of her life. It had almost fallen apart with the revelation of their mutually tragic pasts before coming back again, and now, she never intended to let him slip away again.

She would have to live with what she's done and suffer the consequences, but damning everything else, she was determined to live. To live with him, and wring the fabric of whatever little time they had together for every last drop of happiness.

"Almost immediately," Alira confessed, and slowly withdrew from him, not for a second missing the devastation there. There was no denying that her departure was fast approaching, and a quick glance at the chronometer confirmed the inevitable.

Though she fumbled around for a second, she finally managed to wrap a blanket around herself and stumble to her feet. In the harsh light of day, she could see the destruction the night before had wrought, the clothes scattered around, the shoes piled up in the corner and tiny white flowers everywhere. Somewhere near his desk she located her gown and began to do up the closures in the back, making a mental note to swing by the quartermaster's before she went on duty. This was an article of clothing she intended to preserve for the rest of her life exactly in the state it was in, and she wasn't going to accept anything less than a perfect job.

"This place is a mess." It was so quiet she was almost sure he hadn't heard it, but the thought was funny all the same, and she enjoyed the brief look of consternation that crossed his expression.

Lethargically, he made his way over to the side of the bed and threw his legs over it, attempting to blink the sleep from his eyes. What with the ceremony and the subsequent celebration, she knew he'd only drifted off for an hour or two, and now had a full duty shift ahead of him. Alira felt a little bad, though she privately thanked her lucky stars that she didn't have the misfortune of belonging to a species that required daily rest.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Not mine. You'll have to clean your act up before I move in." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, and her hands froze somewhere in the top drawer, where she was rustling around for her spare uniform. It didn't escape her that they were about to be separated for a full year, which would most likely stretch out longer if the enemy had anything to do with it. She could joke about it, but the thought of them serving together was looking a lot less realistic by the day. The recognition of that stirred a wave of dread, one she was all too eager to brush aside for the time being.

"Any responses yet?"

She'd taken it upon herself to break the news to her family. With a system-wide quarantine in place and the deadline they imposed upon themselves, their attendance was simply an impossibility. Besides, Alira was sure that Starfleet wasn't prepared for dozens of Denobulans to descend upon their flagship, likely leaving a trail of broken hearts in their wake.

Malcolm's sister Madeline was another issue entirely - she was positive she would be incensed about not being told beforehand. She'd been talking about marrying her brother for months during their correspondence; she must have known something was coming. All the same, it would be at least a week before they heard back from her, and in the meantime she was sure they'd figure out a way to break the news to his parents.

Stuart Reed, she understood, was somewhat of a hateful man, one restrained by rules and propriety. Apparently the one and only time he introduced them to a significant other, it hadn't gone well. It was bewildering to her that he wouldn't want to inform them at all, but she obeyed his wishes anyway, leaving them out of that morning's transmission.

Because she knew his eyes were almost certainly on her, she shook her head.

Suddenly he was right there, wrapping his arms around her waist and anchoring her to his chest. His lips were trailing from her shoulder up to the crook of her neck, and she momentarily closed her eyes, relishing in the certainty of his love.

"I don't know how we'll ever coexist in the same quarters."

Her hand came around to the place where his rested on her stomach, and she momentarily intertwined their fingers, rotating his wedding band with her thumb. Though precious little else seemed permanent, she knew this always would be, and resolved to wear it like a badge of courage in the coming months.

"I've got some idea," she replied, and broke free to retreat to the shower, leaving her very bemused husband in her wake.

A short time later, Alira found herself traversing the corridors of the Maelstrom with a little extra spring in her step, entertaining greetings from well-wishers at every turn.

The ship was predictably bustling with activity; they were about to ship out on what Captain Tucker kept referring to as the Great Alpha Quadrant Ass-Kissing Tour of 2157, visiting a host of worlds in an attempt to draw them into the next revision of the Coalition of Planets, whether as affiliates or simple trade partners. Their ultimate destination was Bajor, where according to Admiral Gardner, they would be conducting damage control to the highest extent following Columbia's disastrous visit the previous year.

He didn't give any more details that that. Erika, apparently, was even less forthcoming.

The second she stepped onto the bridge, she was drawn into a tight hug and almost off her feet by none other than Lieutenant Novakovich. Ethan appeared a little worse for wear, perhaps a little hungover, the ghost of which was visible in Travis's face as well. He congratulated her for the hundredth time and informed her that she was glowing, something she dearly hoped was a heretofore unfamiliar human idiom and not a reflection of reality.

Across the room, Captain Pritchard, Commander Hammond, and an unfamiliar third officer were deep in conversation, seeming to block everyone else out. The bridge was already quiet, but their words were still inaudible. If their frantic hand gestures were any indication, whatever they were saying was tremendously important.

Trip was at her side in a moment, his expression dour. Before she could greet him, he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, causing her expression to fall inexorably.

When Laura beckoned towards her, she had to plaster a none-too-convincing replication of her normal easygoing smile onto her face, but attended to her all the same, trying to ignore the way Julia's eyes were boring a hole through her skull.

She was trying to tell her something. What it was, she had no idea.

"This is my new tactical officer, Ensign Osman."

"Call me Zahid." He corrected his CO gently, then shook her hand. "Allow me to offer my congratulations on your marriage, ma'am. It was a beautiful ceremony."

Alira found it somewhat endearing that he was persistent in affording her some formality even though they technically had the same rank. She made good and sure to stare him down, and to her relief, her instincts didn't immediately kick in telling her something was wrong.

Could it be that she could trust him?

"Thank you. Congratulations on your promotion."

He winced, no doubt remembering the sudden and shocking duplicity of the woman who had formerly held his post. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he'd known. If he'd even had a clue.

"The Cochrane will be heading to Draylax to employ the vessel detection grid around the colony," Julia explained. As Alira understood it, the cargo run between that world and Vega Colony was one of the most critical, so it naturally followed they would be among the first offered protection. "They're having some trouble initializing the central beacons, and-"

"We were wondering if you might take a look." Zahid interrupted, passing a PADD into her hands. She began to scroll through schematics and rows and rows of data points, attempting to make sense of it all. "I'm aware we're cutting it close, but we wouldn't want to show up and not know what we're doing."

"Of course, I'd be happy to. You're probably not giving yourselves enough credit." She stepped aside and gestured towards her station, and they followed dutifully.

Julia and Trip lay in an intercept course, disappearing into his ready room a second later.

Within moments of the start of his shift, Jonathan decided that he'd never seen the crew so collectively hungover.

People were practically falling asleep over their bacon and eggs in the mess hall; even the steward who served them breakfast flinched at his greeting, dropping his plate and getting the hell out of there before the headache he was likely nursing got any worse.

He tried his best to hide his current state, but the truth of the matter was he was still feeling the after effects of T'Pol's intoxication. She seemed perfectly fine, but the nausea had hit him in the morning, and she'd had a grand old time teasing him about growing older.

All of that coming from a Vulcan. The indignity of it all!

By the time they arrived on the bridge, they were as presentable as they could possibly be given the circumstances. Archer took it that the party had continued well into the night after they left, if the dazed and sleepy expressions of his bridge officers were any indication. He took a moment to thank the powers that be that they weren't leaving on patrol for another few hours, because even the crewmen in the situation room looked like they were about to fall over.

Years ago, he would've been perturbed to find his senior staff in such a state, but he had to admit that they'd earned a bit of downtime. Mostly out of necessity, they'd skipped their traditional Christmas and New Year's Eve parties to focus on repairs, and morale had subsequently taken a hit. Seeing as they'd been the persistent target of the will-they-won't-they conspirators, he had a feeling that the rest of the crew was just as happy as he was to see Reed and Taxa get married.

He found the man in question at his station, guzzling coffee like there was no tomorrow. Jon congratulated him once again, then Ensign Hutchison asked if he'd gotten any sleep, only to be met with a sheepish shrug and a vivid blush.

That was another matter entirely - to fill the vacancy left by Pascal, they'd snagged Travis's second, a seasoned veteran of the Enterprise who had put almost five years behind the controls before joining the crew of the Maelstrom. Jack's antics were notorious, and now that he was back home, Jonathan was sure it was only a matter of time before he heard about something he'd done that stopped just short of reprimand-worthy.

Over by the science station, Lieutenant Cutler was trying her best to look busy, a state of affairs which was only complicated by Dita's persistent request for her brigade's weekly status reports. What with all the commotion surrounding the wedding, she'd become somewhat behind, which Ensign Singh was all too willing to point out interrupted the natural rhythm of internal communications.

Finally she managed to gather the relevant files and slide out of her chair, traversing the five steps over to her console and passing it over. She was just about to pull back when Dita's hand latched onto her wrist and turned it over, studying her knuckles.

Her stunned expression was met with a silent warning, and she leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially: "Where did you get that?"

"Where do you think?"

Her lips split in an ecstatic grin, which Liz eagerly returned. Were they not on the bridge surrounded by their fellow crewmen, they might have been shouting and jumping up and down. Even she had to admit it had been a long time coming.

"Hoshi and I have been trying to counsel him through popping the question the human way for months," Dita said, then leaned forward, adding a little extra emphasis onto her point. "Months."

"He did pretty well," Liz assured her, and it was mostly the truth. Once they'd gotten out of the reception, that is. She thought after all these years together that she wouldn't cry, but she'd wound up sobbing, and this had truly concerned Phlox, who was worried that he affronted her in some way. In reality, she was unspeakably happy, and she'd caught herself staring at her ring multiple times since then, wondering how she got so lucky.

He made her feel loved. He made her feel safe. In the midst of an interstellar war, that was certainly difficult to come by.

"We'll wait for the excitement to die down a little," she added. That was only part of it; they didn't want to drop the bombshell on their friends so soon after one wedding, but the real problem would be obtaining a Denobulan marriage license under the purview of the Supreme Council. Bigamy was still illegal on United Earth, something her mother was all too keen to remind her of every time she wrote home. "Promise me you won't tell anyone until then."

"And you think Phlox is capable of keeping a secret?"

She had a point; if anything, the doctor wasn't particularly known for his subtlety. "He better!"

"My lips are sealed." Dita whispered. "As long as I get an invite."

She returned to her seat and swiveled back around to the center of the room, only to nearly jump out of her skin when the T'Pol called out to her. She asked her to repeat herself, hoping she hadn't just caught a hint of their conversation.

"Has Captain Pritchard's shuttle returned?"

"Looks like she's just left the Maelstrom. She should arrive back at the Cochrane in fifteen minutes." Liz cut a furtive glance at the displays all around her. "We'll be ready to start synchronizing our long-range sensor grid once she returns."

T'Pol nodded, seemingly satisfied at that. "Ensign, open a channel to the Maelstrom."

"It's open, ma'am."

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her feet at the ankles, suddenly all business. "Admiral Gardner is relying on us to keep a strict schedule."

Trip's reply came a second later, and he sounded amused by her consistent needling. Her message was well and truly received.

"Stand by for final pre-launch checks, Enterprise." With that, Hoshi muted the transmission, and on the bridge of the Maelstrom, Trip gestured towards the science station.

"Sensors operational, sir. Initiating an hourly defensive sweep ahead of our present position." Ethan's hands danced across his console, shaking the metaphorical cobwebs off their systems after sitting in one place for over a month. "Engineering reports all warp drive parameters in the green."

"Connection established with Echo Three and Echo Two." They would be heading directly towards home, and due to the sheer number of attacks on ECS vessels in the past few weeks, Hoshi meant to maintain constant communication with Earth.

Travis activated the viewscreen, revealing the Cochrane and the Columbia directly ahead of them. "Inertial dampeners disengaged. Thrusters idling."

"Torpedoes?"

"All online," Alira said automatically, and was about to give the clearance for the phase cannons as well when an anomaly inexplicably blipped across the viewscreen.

Julia caught it before Trip could react. "Ensign?"

"Shields just went down." She made another attempt to provoke a manual jump start, then reached for the comm to contact her second. "Nguyen, do you have eyes on the rear deflector array?"

"I do now. Looks like it's stuck in diagnostic mode."

"Well, restore it to auto. We're fixing to get underway."

"I can't. Our command codes..." His reply was interrupted by the wail of the proximity alarm at the conn. Alira turned just in time to see a ship dropped out of warp.

It was flat and oblong, the hull plating black as the darkest night, with an interior frame that swayed and spun around a central axis. Trip looked towards Ethan for identification, but before he could respond, Alira rose to her feet, fighting the overwhelming sense of panic rising within her. She'd only seen such a vessel once before, and the last time she'd been aboard one, she and her husband had been hurtling into the Bowerman Nebula towards almost certain death.

"Xantoras," Ethan called out, then heeded the call of a different klaxon. "Something's wrong with Captain Pritchard's ship. The impulse reactor's gone critical."

"Hail them."

"The comm is down." Hoshi's hands were moving about frantically, and she had to do a visible double take before coming to the inevitable conclusion. "Looks like the transponder link has been severed from their main computer."

"Transporter?"

Ethan exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, watching out of the corner of his eye as the Xantoras ship grew closer. Their tactical officer was on her feet now, shouting into the speaker at her second to keep moving, hurry up, we need these back yesterday, this is life or death. "Too much interference. The radiation from Galorndon Core has started to drift."

Trip nodded, and fortunately for him, Hoshi anticipated his request. "Maelstrom to all vessels. Divert all power to the transporters. We've got to get Captain Pritchard and Ensign Osman out of there."

"Captain-"

"Not now, Taxa."

"Captain!" This time her tone was frantic, so desperate it gave him pause, and he looked up at her in spite of the imminent demise of one of their own.

She disappeared in a swirl of light that originated from her chest and spread out tangentially, engulfing her arms and legs. A split second before she vanished, they locked eyes, and he could see the absolute sheer mortal terror there, the recognition of what was going to happen to her.

Much too late, he managed to put two and two together.

The Xantoras ship jumped to warp instantly, and the shuttle from the Cochrane exploded, leaving it shattered irrevocably across the stillness of space.

End of Season Five

Next time on Enterprise…

Season Six, Episode One: Beyond the Veil

Pascal's revenge unearths a more far-reaching conspiracy. The Maelstrom receives thoroughly unsolicited help from some old friends. Meanwhile, Enterprise investigates a reported Andorian attack on Draylax.