A/N: THIS IS A REPOST OF AN OLD FIC. This was originally written for honeybee for the 2010 fic exchange per her requests: 1). a slash pairing, 2). a canon alien culture, and 3). Trip/T'Pol. She did not want: 1). angst, 2). Ferengi, and 3). meat. The word prompt was "shimmer." This little tale takes place a year after the events of "Terra Prime."

Special thanks to Kathy Rose for beta services.

CONNUBIAL NEGOTIATIONS

Sometimes a man just had to assert his manhood, and usually in the stupidest way possible.

Trip knew this fact, since he was a man, after all. He was even aware that what he was doing was totally nonsensical and would, in fact, prove T'Pol right, but he couldn't go against a cultural imperative that had been programmed into his genetics since conception. That, and he was still pissed about their argument last night.

He blamed the Tellarites for this.

Trip tugged at the collar of his dress uniform as he took a generous sip of his second glass of Andorian ale—a gift from Shran to Gral in celebration of his daughter's wedding. He studiously ignored T'Pol's eyes boring into him. He could sense her disapproval through the bond. Well, fine. She could get cranky all she wanted. Stubborn woman. He ignored the voice of reason in his head saying that he was being the stubborn one. Wait a second... He narrowed his eyes at T'Pol.

Damn bond, selling me out.

Of course he loved her. And he knew she loved him in her Vulcan way. As he took another drink of ale, Trip mused that, before the bond, a spat like last night's would have made him nervous that she was pulling away from him. Hell, they wouldn't have even had a spat like that before the bond. He no longer doubted her commitment to their relationship—despite the subject matter of their fight. Trip smiled darkly. Thank God for weird Vulcan mating telepathic links.

You are being irrational. T'Pol's thought pressed against his mind.

Trip raised his glass to her. I'm bein' human, darlin'. He drank deeply.

She pursed her lips ever so lightly. Trip knew that expression. It was her "if I weren't Vulcan I'd smack some sense into you" look. Later, he'd probably let her do just that. They both knew he'd cave—well, maybe he wouldn't cave, but they would resolve the fight. They always did, thanks to the bond. Right now, though, he was feeling passive aggressive. Trip was feeling every bit the human male—an illogical human male who wanted to have some kind of official ceremony to celebrate finally capturing T'Pol's heart for good.

Jon elbowed him. "Pay attention, Trip," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Aye, Cap'n."

Trip turned his eyes back to the Tellarite wedding. The guests were standing in a circle around the wedding party, the humans and Vulcan towering over the short and stocky aliens. Ambassador Gral had just arrived with his daughter and they stood opposite of the groom and his family. There was a stooped Tellarite male leaning on a cane that Trip guessed was some kind officiator. He vaguely remembered reading the protocol for the wedding. There was supposed to be some kind of debate between the families, and then the guests, which included Jon, Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol, were supposed to determine who won.

"What makes you think that you can adequately care for my delicate daughter?" Gral demanded of his potential son-in-law with a growl. Trip almost snorted as he looked over the bride, Agran. Delicate?

"What makes you think you've adequately taken care of her, yourself?" Davel, the groom, shot back.

Trip saw some of the Tellarite guests nod in approval. He thought the retort was pretty unoriginal, himself—definitely not as good as the kind of banter he'd had with T'Pol over the years. Maybe they should have a Tellarite wedding, he mused—if he could convince her to have a wedding at all. He smirked as he thought about them insulting each other in front of friends and family. That would be one for the books.

Trip looked down at his nearly empty glass and blinked. Maybe he should slow down. The stuff was stronger than he thought.

"How dare you insult my father!" Agran snapped. "You haven't proven yourself."

A murmur rumbled through the crowd.

"I know that I have an entire house to give my bride, rather than just a room," Davel answered.

Gral grunted. "You call your miniscule hovel a real house? I have to turn sideways to enter the front door."

"It is more than what you had to offer your wife," Davel's mother piped up. Trip couldn't remember her name. "My son is already more accomplished than you were at his age."

"His family's accomplishments are not his," Gral responded. He turned to Davel. "If you hadn't taken over your father's business, you would have nothing."

Trip felt T'Pol's disapproval of Gral's statement. It was illogical to debate "what ifs." Trip gave her a crooked smile before he remembered that he was still angry about their own argument. He downed what was left in his glass.

"Yes, I took over my father's business—successfully." Davel jabbed his finger toward Gral. "How is it that you became an ambassador again? You are a hypocrite to accuse me of relying on the successes of my family when it was your own family's bribery that gave you your prestigious position."

More murmurs rose from the group of spectators.

Gral huffed. "Bribery? You accuse me of bribery?"

Davel's mother spoke. "We accuse nothing. My son only states fact, unlike your specious arguments."

"What do you know of facts, Losaal?" Agran was joining the fight. "Do you have records to prove your slander? Of course not. We all know that you are abysmally unorganized."

Losaal crossed her stubby arms over her chest. "The real question is, why would I want a daughter-in-law whose shrill voice aggravates my poor ears?"

"It is no more shrill than yours," retorted Gral. "At least she knows how to keep a home."

Trip wondered just how long the debate was going to last. Did these people even want to get married?

"Only because she had to take over for her mother when she died." Losaal pointed out. "You couldn't even provide a proper servant to take over housekeeping duties. It's a wonder the child had time for any real education."

The audience liked this argument. A few of the guests even clapped.

"Agran was not coddled like your spoiled son," Gral said in a tight voice. "If I could be convinced to let her run off with him, at least I can take comfort knowing that when his business fails, she has the skills to survive. Davel, on the other hand, would spend his days sniveling in despair."

Agran turned to her father. "He would snivel no more than you did when mother died. I am the reason you are able to function today."

Whoa. Trip hadn't expected the bride to turn against her own father.

"How can I be asked take on a daughter who knows nothing of respect for parents?" Losaal threw her hands in the air.

Davel took a step toward Agran and looked back at his mother. "Respect for parents, mother? You say this knowing that you ran off with father and never visited your own aging parents again?"

Some kind of shift was happening, Trip was sure of it. He tried to recall the details in the summary, but there was a faint buzzing in his head now. Definitely too much ale, too quickly.

"Enough of your inane prattling!" the officiator injected in a gravelly voice. He turned to the guests. "Well? Did these fools convince you that they should spend the rest of their pathetic lives engaged in useless debate?"

There were hushed murmurs as the group turned to each other to commiserate.

"I can't tell if they even like each other," Trip whispered to Jon.

"I can't either, to be honest." Jon chuckled softly.

"If they did not," T'Pol replied coolly, "they would not debate. It is how they express their mutual affection."

Is that what we've been doing, darlin'? Showing our mutual affection for one another? Trip sent the questions across the bond with a hint of sarcasm.

She gave him the pursed-lips look again.

"I am going to expire from starvation if you dimwitted imbeciles cannot put two thoughts together fast enough for a decision!" the officiator exclaimed with exasperation. "Let's hear the verdict."

All at once people shouted their answers, and Trip involuntarily covered his ears.

The officiator banged his cane against the stone floor several times, quieting the crowd. "Good enough." He turned to the bride and groom. "You're married. Now let's eat."

Laughing at the abrupt ending to the ceremony, Trip clapped with the other guests as they made their way to the buffet tables. The four Starfleet officers hung back while the Tellarites started debating over who should be first in line.

"Well, that was…interesting," Jon said with a shake of his head.

"I'd say so," Malcolm replied. "It certainly didn't feel very official, did it?"

Trip shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I don't know what the hell just happened."

Jon glanced at T'Pol. "Any thoughts, Commander?"

She lifted a brow. "According to the Vulcan database, this was no different from any other Tellarite wedding."

"Good to know." Jon grinned at Malcolm and Trip. "I think I'm ready to sample some Tellarite cuisine. Care to join me?"

"Certainly, sir," Malcolm replied.

Trip thought Mal didn't look quite as enthusiastic as Jon to try out the alien food, though.

"If it's all right, Cap'n," Trip said, "I think I'll join you in a minute."

Jon's eyes flicked to T'Pol, then he nodded. "Suit yourself, Trip."

After the two men left, Trip turned to his bondmate to tell her how beautiful she looked in her formal robes. He realized that he wasn't quite as frustrated with her as before.

"You are still upset," she said before he could utter a word. "It is illogical."

Trip ground his teeth. So much for the ale taking the edge off of his anger. "Unless you've changed your mind, darlin'-"

"I have not."

"Well, then," he paused, pretending to think about it. "Yep, I'm still upset."

T'Pol stared at him with a face devoid of any expression. She had erected her mental shields, and he could only guess that she was very disappointed. "I must meditate." She turned without waiting for his reply.

"I'll see you later, then," he said a little too loudly to her retreating back.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Perhaps you should stay in your own room tonight.

He frowned. Fine by me, sweetheart.

Trip watched her leave and then headed for the bar. Yes, they would work this all out tomorrow—one way or another—but if he was going to be sleeping alone tonight, he was going to have some more Andorian ale.

Jon found him in a secluded corner of the hotel gardens, lounging in one of the cushioned chairs, sipping wine and seemingly lost in thought. Jon, smiling, hung back for a moment. It wasn't often that he saw his security officer so relaxed. Malcolm was wired to be on alert at all times, and Jon sometimes wondered what the stress of that did to him. The other man deserved to have some true downtime, and Jon was going to make sure he had just that tonight.

"Hey," he said softly as he sat down next to Malcolm. "It's a beautiful view."

Malcolm sat up, almost at attention. "I apologize for leaving you in there, sir," he said. "It was a little too noisy for my taste."

Jon held up a hand. "Relax, Malcolm. I didn't come here to scold you." He chuckled. "The captain has retired for the evening. It's just me—Jon."

Malcolm gave him a small smile as he leaned back into his chair. "In that case," he replied, turning his eyes back to the lush foliage before them, "I do find the view particularly breathtaking."

Jon studied the way Malcolm's gray eyes shimmered in the moonlight. "So do I."

Malcolm glanced at him and Jon could see his cheeks flush. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

Jon grinned and leaned forward. "I seem to recall that flattery gets me everywhere I want to be."

"Touche." Malcolm's mouth stretched in a lopsided smile.

Jon caressed his lover's cheek. "Stay with me tonight?"

"Always, love." Malcolm's voice was husky, stirring the desire in Jon's middle.

Jon wrapped his arms around Malcolm's waist and pulled him into his lap. Malcolm rested his head between Jon's neck and shoulder, and aimlessly rubbed his hand across Jon's chest. Jon sighed contentedly. He loved holding his partner this way. Malcolm was incredibly strong, he had saved Jon's life so many times over the years, but in quiet, vulnerable moments like this, Jon was his protector.

Malcolm's hand drifted downward, distracting Jon from his thoughts. "It would seem that something else is pleased to see me," the dark-haired man said with a smirk.

Jon leaned down and captured Malcolm's lips with his. "Always, love," he said, mimicking Malcolm's British accent.

The other man barked a laugh and straddled himself across Jon's lap. "More flattery, is it?"

"Hm-mm." Jon nodded and tugged at the front of Malcolm's dress uniform, pulling him down.

He kissed his lover again, deeply, showing Malcolm just how much he was turned on by him as he tugged on the zipper on the front of Malcolm's uniform.

"Oh. My. GAWD!"

Malcolm was off of his lap before Jon could turn in the direction of the surprised voice. Trip was standing unsteadily down the path, holding a bottle of Andorian ale and staring wide-eyed at both of them. As Jon stood to greet his obviously drunk chief engineer, he heard Malcolm zip up his uniform.

"Trip—" Jon started to say.

"You two…" Trip made a noise that was a cross between a belch and a hiccup. "Holy shit, you were gonna get it on!" He staggered toward them. "My two best friends…"

Jon tossed a glance toward Malcolm who looked back at him with an expression that said, "What now?"

I suppose I am the captain. Jon sighed. He hadn't planned on making his relationship with Malcolm public—not as long as Malcolm served under him. "Trip—"

"It's not just for sex, right?" Trip interrupted, his speech a little slurred. "You two're in a real reshal…reshash…goddammit! You two're together together, right?"

Jon opened his mouth to answer when Trip poked him in the chest with his finger.

"'Cuz if one of you breaks the other's heart…or the other way 'round, I'm gonna have to kick somebody's ass."

Malcolm snorted. "Trip, you know you could never beat me in a sparring match."

Wobbling, Trip turned and looked at Malcolm. "Yer right." He glanced back at Jon. "That means yer the only one that can do the…breaky heart thing. And I'm gonna kick yer ass when you do."

Jon bit back the laugh that was bubbling in his throat. "Trip, you can rest easy. I don't plan to hurt Malcolm."

Trip flashed him a toothy grin. "In that case, I'm so goddamn happy for you two." He held up his finger to his lips. "Don't worry, Cap'n. Your safe is secret with me." He snickered. "I'm a little drunk."

"You think so, Trip?" Malcolm asked with a chuckle.

Jon slipped his arm around Trip's waist when he started to fall over. "Maybe we ought to get you to your room."

"Probably a good idea." Trip nodded. "The ground here is unsty…er, shaky." He draped his arm across Jon's shoulder and held his other one out. "Come 'ere, Mal. Join the party."

Malcolm shook his head and joined them. He took the bottle away from Trip before he'd let the engineer lean on him. "Why the devil did you drink so much, Trip?" he asked as the three started walking slowly back to the hotel.

"Can't remember."

Trip's expression was so guarded that Jon was sure that it had something to do with T'Pol. After they had discovered baby Elizabeth, it was hard not to notice that something was going on between the pair, but they hadn't been exactly forthcoming about the nature of their relationship. Not that Jon blamed them, but since Trip knew his secret now, he decided to go for broke.

"You and T'Pol having problems?" he asked.

Trip whipped his head around and blinked at Jon. "You know?"

Jon considered saying "yes," but lying to his old friend didn't seem right. "I assumed," he answered honestly.

Trip looked at him, then Malcolm. "I guess you two know how to keep secrets quiet and stuff."

"So, it is T'Pol. Did you…" Jon hesitated, unsure how to ask his question delicately. "Did you two break it off?"

"What?" Trip's eyes widened. "Hell no! We're in it for the haul long." He groaned. "You know what I mean."

"A squabble, then?" Malcolm interjected as he held the door to the hotel open.

"Yep." Trip nodded clumsily.

Malcolm shook his head. "But you two are always at it, and I haven't seen you on a bender like this since we were trapped in the shuttlepod years ago."

Jon was reminded that the other two still owed him a bottle of bourbon from that incident—not that this was the time to bring that up. "He's got a point, Trip."

Once inside the hotel, they made for the lift, where Jon pressed the call button. When lift doors opened, the three men stumbled inside. Trip let go of his companions and leaned against the wall. A Tellarite crossed the lobby toward them, but Jon waved him off. He wasn't up to dealing with a drunken chief engineer and a rude alien at the same time. Fortunately, the short man took one look at Trip's haggard appearance and nodded his understanding before stepping back and letting the lift doors close.

"I like it when we fight, ush'ly." Trip said. "It's fun."

It took Jon a minute to realize his friend was talking about T'Pol. "I'll take your word for it."

"But this time?" Malcolm prodded.

"Ah hell." Trip stood up and pressed the emergency stop. "What floor is she on again?" he muttered to himself.

Jon and Malcolm exchanged looks. "Do you think that's a good idea, Trip? Considering the state you're in at the moment?" the Brit asked.

Trip didn't reply right away. He studied the control panel for a moment, then pressed a button. "That's the one."

Jon frowned. "Trip, maybe you should sleep this off before you talk to T'Pol."

"Nuh-uh," Trip said as he leaned against the wall again. "My pop always said, 'Don't you ever go to bed angry at your wife, boy.'" He wagged his finger. "I'm not sleepin' 'til we make up." He grinned.

If you don't pass out first, Jon thought as he looked Trip over. Trip was definitely three sheets to the wind—maybe four. "That's good advice, but since T'Pol is only your…girlfriend, maybe it's better if you go to your room. You're not angry with her anymore anyway, right?"

Trip glared at Jon. "She's not my girlfriend. She's my bondmate, an' that's almost a wife." He looked up, suddenly thoughtful. "That Surak fellow says we're married, I guess. That's what T'Pol told me, anyway. But I still wanna make it offishish… offilash…sonuvabitch! I wanna have a weddin'." Trip's head dropped and he seemed startled to see Jon and Malcolm. "Shit! You weren't supposed to know that."

Jon tried to hide his shock. He'd guessed it was serious between his two senior officers, but not that serious. Bondmates? He knew exactly what that meant thanks to sharing his mind with Vulcan's most revered philosopher. Jon felt a little hurt that his closest friend hadn't felt safe confiding in him when their relationship had reached that point. He brought his eyes to Malcolm's, wondering if his own lover was aware of any of this. Malcolm shook his head as if he understood the unspoken question.

"Sorry I didn't tell either one of you," Trip said. "It just sorta happened." The lift doors opened and he nearly fell trying to get out. "I gotta tell her I'm sorry too."

Guiltily, Jon realized that he'd kept things from Trip as well. "We'll help you get there," he offered after Trip crashed into the wall.

Trip smiled brightly as the two other men took up positions at his sides. "I love you guys." He snorted. "Not as much as you love you guys, apparently." He tightened his arms around them, causing their heads to bump his. "I'm just so damn happy for you guys an' me."

"At least he's not a belligerent drunk," Malcolm said in a low voice when they reached T'Pol's room.

Trip pressed the door chime. "Baby, it's me. Open up." When there was no response, he pushed the button again. "Come on, darlin'. The Cap'n's here an' Mal too."

The door slid open to reveal T'Pol standing on the other side with her hands clasped behind her back. She was wearing a gray silk robe over pajamas. Trip whistled appreciatively, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He laughed and placed his finger over his lips. Jon was certain there was some kind of communication passing between the two of them, especially now that he knew they were bonded.

"Sorry, babe. I'm drunk as all get out. They had to help me get home," Trip said as if he were answering question.

She remained silent, still giving him her Vulcan version of a glare. Jon felt a little uncomfortable.

"Hey, my brain's all messed up, so I gotta talk loudish…in the loud way…I mean, with my mouth." Trip shrugged. "See? I told you I was drunk." He stepped forward and brushed her cheek with two of his fingers. "We gotta talk, hon," he said as he passed by her into the room and plopped onto the bed.

Jon looked at T'Pol and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but he insisted."

She raised a brow. "He can be quite single-minded."

"I know." He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "Listen, Trip said some things and I just want you to know that none of it will go farther than Malcolm and myself."

The tightness around her eyes relaxed. "Your discretion is appreciated, Captain."

"Woman, get your pretty little backside over here!" Trip hollered, now splayed on the bed with his arms stretched upward. "Let's make up!"

T'Pol studied Jon and Malcolm with her dark eyes. "Very appreciated," she said just before the door closed.

Jon and Malcolm laughed as they walked farther down the hall. This was definitely turning out to be a memorable day. "I think I've had about enough for one evening," Jon said after he caught his breath.

Malcolm slid his hand into Jon's. "Is that so, love?" He gave Jon a mischievous grin. "I was thinking that perhaps we should head back to your room and finish what the commander interrupted. But if you're too tired—"

Jon stopped him with a kiss. "I'm never too tired for you, Malcolm."

T'Pol sat, cross-legged, in front of the flickering candlelight. For the better part of an hour, she had been attempting to achieve the serenity of her white space, but it had remained elusive. Taking a deep breath, she focused again on the orange flame. A loud snore erupted from the bed, shattering her concentration. She suppressed a sigh and blew out the candle. Meditation would be futile.

She stood and gathered her meditation pillows as another snore rumbled from her bondmate. The night before, shortly after the captain and security chief left, Trip had stripped and immediately fell into an involuntarily slumber. T'Pol shook her head. He was utterly irrational, and at times, she wondered how she had concluded that they were a good match. As she watched the rise and fall of his chest, and the peaceful expression on his face, a familiar warmth spread through her middle.

Yes, her bondmate was irrational, impulsive and often incomprehensible, but she would have no other.

She climbed into bed with him and laid her head on his cool chest. The slow, rhythmic thrumming of his human heart drummed against her sensitive ear, and she found it comforting. She would like to believe that, of the two of them, she was the one who steadied him, but that was fallacious. She was the storm and he was her calm. It had taken her a while to understand, but the older version of herself from the alternate timeline had been correct: Trip was her outlet.

He stirred, began to sit up, then groaned and fell back down. "Oh, my God. I'm alive." He rubbed his hands over his face and moaned.

T'Pol straightened and lifted a brow. "You desire to be otherwise?"

Trip winced. "I love you, darlin', but please stop yelling."

Her other brow joined the first. "I assure you, I'm not raising my voice."

He looked at her askance. "You sure about that?"

T'Pol reached for the hypospray on the nightstand. "The doctor sent this for you." The hypo hissed as she pressed it against his neck. "It should alleviate your symptoms."

Relief flooded through the bond as he sighed. "Yeah. Much better." He blinked several times, then turned to her. "So, about last night…"

She said nothing, wondering how much of the evening he was able to recall.

"Most of it's a little fuzzy," he said, "but I know I was kind of an ass." He propped himself up on his elbows. "I think I might've spilled the beans about us to the Cap'n."

"He is aware of the nature of our relationship." She crossed her legs. "Fortunately, he has agreed to be discreet."

Trip smirked. "I'm not surprised." An image flashed through the bond of the captain and Lieutenant Reed engaged in an intimate act.

Stunned, she raised her brow. "That is…unexpected."

"You're telling me." Trip snorted. He glanced at her and blew out a sigh. "I'm sorry, hon. I was being a little immature yesterday."

T'Pol inclined her head. "I accept your apology, though I am certain it will not be the last time." She sent her amusement through the bond to avoid any miscommunication.

He grinned. "You're cute when you're teasing me." There was a long pause while he sucked the insides of his cheeks. "We still need to talk about the fight we had."

T'Pol's middle tightened in response. "My thoughts on the matter have not changed," she admitted.

"I know, I just…I just need you to set aside your logic, and try to see where I'm coming from." His expression was pleading.

She canted a brow. "Trip, I am Vulcan. What you ask is impossible."

He rolled his eyes. "Improbable, darlin'. I don't think it's impossible." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips briefly before resting her fingers against the side of his face. "I need you to understand, t'hy'la. Meld with me."

T'Pol considered his request. She was curious as to what more he could show her through the meld that he could not through their bond. However, seeing no reason not to grant his wish, she placed her fingers on his cheek and temple. She murmured the appropriate words and delved into his mind.

Abruptly, she experienced one of his more vivid memories:

He follows T'Les out of the room, his heart flutters in his chest. Is he really going to do this, watch the woman he loves marry another man? Koss is ringing the gong and each tone leeches away everything Trip wants. At the end of the hall, T'Les steps aside and, like the sun on a clear morning, there she is—the woman who is his universe. His T'Pol. She takes his breath away in her lavender gown.

He swallows as he steps up to her. "You look amazing." Those aren't the words he wants to say. He wants to say, "Don't do this. Don't do this, I love you," but they stick in his throat.

"I'm grateful that you're here." There is so much emotion in her voice—too much and he feels his heart constrict. She doesn't want this any more than he does, he knows it.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he lies. He wants to run. He wants to hide and pretend none of this is happening. He looks into her dark, pleading eyes and licks his lips. He decides he's going to say it. He's going to tell her that he loves her, and that she should tell Koss to go screw himself.

"It's time." T'Les' announcement steals the moment away.

He steps back, knowing that this is the end but not quite able to believe it. As he follows T'Les and the elders, he feels T'Pol's hand on his arm. His heart leaps and for a moment he irrationally hopes that she's changed her mind. Instead, she kisses his cheek and walks on. He stares after her, feeling a pain he's never experienced before.

He watches the ceremony, unable to take his eyes off T'Pol, his T'Pol, kneeling across from another man, being bound together not by love, but by the pressures of family. He sees how blank her expression is, how hollow her eyes are as she looks at Koss.

Trip has lost everything.

T'Pol gasped as excruciating pain ripped through her insides. Before she could gather herself, she was immersed again as another memory collided into her.

He sees her brow furrow as they lay in bed together, and his smile wanes. "Well?" he asks, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"A wedding would be illogical."

His heart is sinking. "Why?"

"We are already bonded, Trip. Any ceremony, Vulcan or human, would not deepen the connection we share, or make it more permanent." Her face is impassive, as if he should already understand.

But he doesn't. "It couldn't hurt, though," he argues, hoping that her logic will allow for that.

"On the contrary, Starfleet would not condone our marrying. If we choose to go through with it despite their wishes, we could receive separate postings, or we both could lose our commissions." She looks up at him with her dark, olive eyes. "I cannot agree to something so illogical."

The pain, old and familiar, flares up and presses against his chest. "It's what I need, T'Pol," he says. "It's important to me." Words are failing him. He can't make her understand how deeply she's hurting him. He can't tell her why it matters, he just knows that it does. The bond doesn't properly convey the feelings from his human heart—feelings that are alien to her.

"It is what you want, Trip." She places her hand on his in a placating gesture. "I am yours forever, t'hy'la. You do not need a ceremony to be assured of my commitment to our relationship."

He jerks his hand away. She doesn't get it. He's angry at her inability to comprehend and at his inability to explain. "We'll talk about this later." He doesn't want her to hurt him further.

She raises a brow and he knows that she thinks he's being irrational. He doesn't care. He's only human. He turns away from her and pretends to sleep as pain and anger war within.

He realizes, now, that the only wedding with T'Pol he's ever going to be a part of already happened. The only time he's going to see her in a ceremonial gown, taking vows, will be when he watched her marry Koss. He'll never have a new, happier image to replace the one that crushed his heart.

She loves him, he knows, but not enough to give him that. Koss, she didn't like, but she married because it was logical. Trip, she loves, but won't marry because it's illogical. Trip wants to holler in frustration. How did the universe get so upside down?

T'Pol drew back her hand. Her finger was damp from a tear that had escaped Trip's eye. She looked up at him. "I…I was unaware."

He gave her a rueful smile. "I kinda had a hard time explaining myself."

She could feel his apprehension through the bond. She knew he was worried that she would still reject his wishes, even after understanding his motivation.

"Now that I have been fully informed," she said in a gentle voice, "I believe that your proposal has some merit."

The tension in the bond dissipated. His smile widened. "Some merit, huh?"

T'Pol pondered his question. "It will be difficult to execute this plan successfully."

He bit his lip and nodded. "But you will marry me."

"Once we have formulated an adequate method of execution, yes, I will marry you, Trip." She was startled by a sudden jolt of pure joy through the bond.

He gathered her into his arms. "We can work out the details later, darlin'." He kissed the top of her head. "Right now, just knowing that it'll happen someday is good enough for me."

She looked up at him, letting his happiness wash over her. His smile was radiant as he leaned down and kissed her with fervor. Trip slipped his hand under her top and all thought fled from her. There was only the fire he ignited in her, the need to be consumed by him and his human blood-fever. She inhaled sharply as his cool lips traveled down her neck and lower.

She knew she would always be lost in him, just as she knew he would always bring her back—her fiancé.

Her sa-kugalsu.

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this bit of crack!fic. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts. XD