Trip Tucker looked back and forth down the curved corridor, then ducked back into the engine room and went to the equipment bay. He stowed the tools he'd used, saving the welding mask for last, and making sure he had an NX-01 baseball cap handy to thunk down over hair he'd let grow out from Starfleet regs. He didn't wash it as often as he'd like, either, since the grime of the work tended to make it darker.

He couldn't do much about the color of his eyes except work so many damned hours that they were always shadowed.

He looked over at the shiny new warp engine housing half built over the dormant engine, and sighed, curling his hand into a fist to keep from walking over there to stroke it.

He didn't have the authorization to do that. He was just a menial laborer; one of the guys who welded what he was told, fastened the screws, and swabbed the deck plating a hell of a lot more often than he wanted to.

He hated every second of it – but at least he was here, with the engine that ought to have been his, except for those damned accusations.

"Hey, buddy, get this area cleared. Top brass is coming through in ten minutes with the Vulcan delegation, and any grunt caught loitering is likely to get shoved out the airlock for good."

"Gotcha, sir." No point telling the ensign he was actually Commander Charles Tucker the Third, Captain Archer's best friend and only choice to be the Chief Engineer – well, until that night he'd not-quite-met the woman who'd taken over his dreams, and his whole world had fallen apart.

Instead he kept his head down, and got the hell out of there. He didn't want to see Ambassador Soval and his delegation, anyway. There was only one Vulcan he was interested in seeing, and the chances she was one of that delegation were about as good as him figuring out who the hell had taken out those five men and getting his name cleared and his dream job back.

But that didn't mean he had to leave the engine room altogether. He'd been studying the schematics since Jon first gave them to him, and he knew a couple dozen places he could hide out. He'd picked three, and rotated between them, letting Jon think he was with Natalie, and not letting on at all that it had all gone way south with her that same night he'd met Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl.

Well, he might not be the Chief Engineer anymore, but he could tuck himself in under the housing, where no one, even a Vulcan, would know he was here. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something.

And maybe, if he was lucky, he would dream of her again tonight.

"I expected Captain Archer to be present for this tour." Ambassador Soval's voice was measured, but T'Pol detected the suggestion of disapproval in it.

"He had to go to Brazil on urgent business. He sends his regards." The human designated as Admiral Forrest replied. His scent intensified, and she wondered if there was some significance.

T'Pol walked behind Soval and T'San, concentrating harder than she should need to on maintaining a calm bearing. It was advantageous that she was behind the senior members of the delegation. Perhaps they would pay her no attention, and Soval, who was strongly attuned to such matters, wouldn't notice her agitation.

If he did, perhaps she could attribute it to the strong human scent. Most members of the diplomatic staff were issued nasal numbing agents when among humans, but she had been required to substitute for Merel at short notice when he was taken ill. There had been only time for reviewing the protocols.

They entered the area of interest, where the Warp Five engine was located. T'Pol had studied the schematics, and, though it would be unwise to state her opinion, found it impressive. The space seemed equally so, with an efficient and visually appealing design -

One scent rose up so swiftly she was forced to repress the urge to gasp. No one was attending to her; Admiral Forrest was speaking on the engine's specifications.

T'Pol dared to lift her head, turn toward the section of engine casement where the scent originated, and flick out her tongue to taste the air.

It was him. Here. On this ship.

Could he see her? Would it please him to do so?

Trip waited it out, surrounded by greasy linkages that were good for his disguise even if he was sure he was never going to get the grime off him. Forrest went on for about five minutes, sounding defensive. With the arrogance of the two Vucan voices, it was no wonder.

He gave it another hour after they left, to be sure, and then snuck out to stretch his legs –

Something didn't smell right.

He took a nice deep breath. Well, it smelled right – wonderful even. Sandalwood and oranges. Just not something he'd ever smelled in an engine room before.

He'd only ever smelled that combo once before. On that night.

From Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl.

Did that mean she'd been here? Right here, in this engine room? Steps away from where he'd been hidden?

If only he'd still been Chief Engineer, he would have been able to guide the tour. He would have met her. Had a chance to at least learn her name, what she did – maybe even get some shred of contact information -

But he wasn't Chief Engineer. He was just another lowly manual laborer.

And that meant that no matter how close she'd been, she was way out of his reach.