Disclaimer: Still not mine, no matter how attached I've become to this story.

Archer watched his Chief Engineer pace.

Sickbay was quiet now except for Tucker's footsteps and the sounds of Phlox moving behind the curtain shielding one corner of the room. Even the Denobulan's many pets seemed to sense something amiss and were unusually silent.

Archer watched Tucker's face for any sign of the internal conflict he felt, but his engineer's anxiety seemed to be purely for the injured Lieutenant. Archer wished for a simpler time when his own thoughts could have been so straightforward. There were other factors in the balance now: there was T'Pol, who would probably be severely reprimanded and her service record permanently stained for her actions; there was his own career and Tucker's, both potentially destroyed through their collaboration with T'Pol; there was Reed's betrayal, of which Starfleet was ignorant; there was Harris, lurking intangibly just out of Archer's reach, waiting for the right moment to exploit his advantage. And to what end? Archer had the uneasy impression that he would get nothing from Reed on that score, even provided his Armoury Officer ever recovered. If Reed's loyalties were deep enough for him to desert, they were surely deep enough for him to conceal the reason why.

If Tucker experienced any such dissonance between concern and resentment, he didn't show it. Was he so naive as to think there was a good explanation for Reed's actions? Was he simply willing to extend the benefit of the doubt, regardless of circumstances? Did his friendship with Reed go so deep that he could accept such a betrayal without question? Or was it only that his concern for Reed's life was for the moment more pressing than his need to understand?

Anger swirled up again, as it seemed so apt to do these days. Archer swallowed it back with difficulty. He reproached himself for the extraneous emotion. Whatever the reason for his ability to set aside Reed's betrayal, Tucker was right. There would be a time for anger, but it was not now; not with Reed lying half-dead and mindless behind that white curtain.

"How's he doin', doc?"

Tucker hovered anxiously by as Phlox emerged from behind the partitioning curtain and went to wash his hands at the sink.

"He's alive," Phlox said, though he didn't sound particularly cheerful about it. He dried his hands and began to bring up information on a monitor.

"I set his shoulder and the break in his nose, which was quite severe," the doctor explained as he worked. "Most of his other injuries, while extensive, require time to heal rather than specific treatments. You may be pleased to hear that his injuries are less indicative of physical torture than of repeated fights."

That brought Tucker a small amount of satisfaction. Even if Reed was out of his mind, he'd kept fighting.

"There is one injury which gives cause for concern." Phlox displayed an image on the screen and Tucker had to supress a wince. Bared to full view, the infected wound in Reed's side looked terrible. It was swollen and red, especially around the edges, and yellow fluid oozed out in unnatural clumps. "This injury is about a week old," Phlox explained. "Initially it was a burn, perhaps from an energy weapon. It has been repeatedly opened anew, which allowed the infection to develop and grow deeper. I have started a strong course of antibiotics to counteract the infection, and I will monitor Lieutenant Reed carefully for signs of sepsis."

"He's gonna live, isn't he?" Tucker broke in impatiently. After all the hope lost and regained, he couldn't bear the suspense any longer. Phlox managed a small smile.

"I see no reason why he shouldn't survive, Commander."

Tucker let out a sigh of relief he hadn't realised he was holding. "That's good to hear, Doc," he said warmly.

"What about the neural damage?" Archer asked. "How bad is it?"

"I have not been able to ascertain that yet," Phlox admitted. "I have been more concerned about his physical injuries for the moment, and I am no expert on the kind of trauma S'Trep spoke of. I intend to consult with him as soon as possible, if you have no objections."

Tucker did not miss Archer's slight hesitation before his answer. "No, I don't object."

"There is another thing," the Denobulan said slowly. "Captain, I must request your permission to have Lieutenant Reed manually restrained, for both my safety and his own."

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Archer asked sceptically. "Can't you sedate him if there's a problem?"

"No, Captain." Phlox pressed a few keys on the computer, bringing up another image, this time a magnified animation of a molecule. "I found this substance and another in high quantities in Lieutenant Reed's bloodstream. One is comparable to a powerful opioid, while the other appears to be a stimulant. Based on where you found him, I suspect these chemicals were administered to keep him fighting in spite of severe injury and exhaustion. However, they are both highly addictive and his body has already formed a dependence. In light of this, it would be unwise for me to expose him to any similar substances, such as sedatives or painkillers."

Archer blinked. "He's addicted to drugs," he said bluntly, more a question than a statement.

"In a manner of speaking, Captain. Without exposure to further addictive substances, the dependence should resolve itself in time."

Archer sighed tiredly. "Thank you, Doctor. Call me if he wakes."

Tucker watched Archer leave, unwilling to abandon Reed's side.

"Is he gonna be okay, Doc?"

It was a very different question from his previous one. This time, Phlox did not smile.

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Tucker."

The buzz of the door chime roused Archer from his exhausted stupor. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the dirtied and blood-stained uniform yet. He couldn't be sure how long he had been sitting at his desk, staring blankly at the dark computer screen before him.

"Come." His voice was hoarse. His mouth felt dry and cottony, as if he had slept.

T'Pol stepped in, looking neither tired nor harassed to the casual glance. Archer's more practiced gaze told him that she, too, could use sleep or meditation.

"What is it?"

Archer couldn't bring himself to put any energy into the words, and they came out flatly. He was drained – tired and overwhelmed, both glad and sorry that the troubles of his ship were, for the moment, off his shoulders. T'Pol scrutinized him carefully. He saw her eyes rest on one of the larger bloodstains on his arm.

"Are you quite well, Captain?"

"I'm not the captain," Archer pointed out wearily. "And I'm fine. It isn't mine," he added, glancing down at the blood.

"Have you been through decontamination?"

Dammit. There hadn't been time in the moment, and afterward he hadn't thought of it. A stupid oversight: if indeed Reed was at risk for sepsis, his blood could contain dangerous toxins, not to mention the drugs that Phlox had found.

"I'll see to it, T'Pol."

Another half hour before he could sleep, at least. He'd have to shower, dispose of the bloodied clothing, and get some kind of disinfectant to clean the things he'd touched in his quarters. Have Phlox inoculate him, possibly. Get Tucker to do the same, if he hadn't. He frowned at his own carelessness. It wasn't like him to miss such a basic detail as decontamination.

"You may be pleased to hear that the communications array is fully functional again," T'Pol said.

"That's good to hear." His sarcasm sounded bitter. He wasn't pleased to hear it, actually. That meant conversations with admirals, and reprimands, and very possibly a court-martial. At the moment, all he wanted was to sleep.

"Indeed. I have spoken with Ambassador Sural."

"I expect he's thrilled to hear we have Malcolm."

"The High Council is displeased with my decision," T'Pol admitted. "They believe that I have allowed emotional attachments to compromise my priorities."

Archer appreciated her openness. "What did you tell them?"

"The preservation of life, when possible, is only logical."

"That's true," Archer said softly. "Although preserving his life may be all we did. Phlox can't say if he'll ever recover."

"Lieutenant Reed is remarkably resilient."

"Resilient?" Archer smiled humourlessly. "I suppose so."

"The Council considers my actions to be directly contrary to my orders. I believe, were it possible, I would be relieved of command."

That was actually funny, in its way. "But they don't have a choice. There's no one else on board who answers directly to them."

"That is correct." T'Pol seemed to appreciate the irony of the situation as well.

"Are they going to remove you from the Enterprise?"

"Unlikely, Captain. I suspect that the High Council still sees the advantage in having a Vulcan on Earth's primary vessel of exploration. My situation is unique; were I removed, it would be difficult for the Council to justify to Starfleet why I should be replaced with a different agent."

"That's something, at least."

"Admiral Criech requests that I relay his desire to speak with you as soon as possible," T'Pol said. "Admiral Gardner also expresses his eagerness to contact you."

"I'm sure he did," Archer muttered. "It's my turn to get chewed out."

"I believe you have something to attend to first," T'Pol reminded. "Your decontamination, Captain," she added at his blank stare. Archer smiled weakly. The time decontamination bought would allow him to start formulating his responses to the inevitable barrage of questions he would face. He had a few more blessed minutes of peace before the storm descended upon him.

"Thank you, T'Pol. I don't know what I would do without you."

"It is likely," T'Pol said gravely, "that the Enterprise would be contaminated with a deadly pathogen."

"You were under orders not to leave the Enterprise!"

"Respectfully, Admiral, I was relieved of command," Archer pointed out to the furious Admiral Gardner. "I was formally off duty. I did not act against a direct order."

That, at least, was true, although it was a severe bastardization of the intent of Starfleet policy. Command of the Enterprise was currently in the hands of the High Council, meaning that the crew was under orders from Starfleet to obey the Council, through T'Pol as the acting captain. It was a bureaucratic nightmare, which gave Archer plenty of room to bend regulations in his own defence. At the moment, he technically wasn't a member of the Enterprise's crew. His only position aboard the ship was as its Captain, a job of which he had been temporarily relieved. It sounded a thin excuse even to him. Blame had to rest somewhere, and dodging too deftly the blow against himself would allow the brunt of it to land on T'Pol. A delicate balancing act was in order. However, by the growing ire on Admiral Criech's face, Archer had the uneasy feeling that his best efforts would barely soften the consequences, even if he was willing to offer up the Vulcan as a sacrifice. Criech wasn't in the mood for excuses.

"Captain Archer," Criech said quietly, instantly silencing Gardner's continued bluster, "do you believe that the responsibility of following orders disappears when you are off duty?"

And there it was. Archer resigned himself to the admittedly deserved dressing-down. "No, sir."

"And yet you considered it acceptable to act against the direct orders of the High Council."

"I was trying to save my officer's life. As I understand it, Sub-Commander T'Pol attempted to contact the Council for permission, but the communications array malfunctioned. She believed that urgency was necessary, given the situation."

"Very convenient timing for the communications array to break down, isn't it?" Gardner asked sharply. Criech ignored him.

"Did Sub-Commander T'Pol order you to undertake the away mission?"

"Absolutely not, sir. It was entirely my decision."

Criech sighed. "I expect your Chief Engineer had nothing to do with the decision either."

"That's correct."

"Your communications array seems to have been fixed quickly. Was there a particular reason you could not wait a few minutes to contact Starfleet?"

"As I said, Admiral, we believed urgency was essential," Archer explained. "Which turned out to be true. Had we arrived a few minutes later, Lieutenant Reed would probably have been dead."

"You take care of your people, Captain," Criech said brusquely. "That's the only reason that a ship with a replacement for you isn't on an intercept course with you as we speak. Your actions were insubordinate and show disrespect for the chain of command. You're treading on thin ice. However, you did successfully retrieve your officer without any loss of life – this time. See that there is no next time. Please ensure more careful maintenance for your communications array in future."

Archer blinked, startled by the sudden reprieve. "Yes, sir. I'll have it seen to."

"If you can't obey orders, there is no place for you in Starfleet," Admiral Criech reminded sternly. "Keep that in mind, Captain. You are not a law unto yourself, and there is far more at stake in your mission than one man's life. I will expect your full report on my desk and Admiral Gardner's within two hours. You may not officially be the Enterprise's captain, but a diplomatic technicality is no excuse not to conduct yourself as such. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Good." Criech nodded to Gardner. "Admiral." He moved out of the frame, leaving Gardner alone facing Archer. Gardner waited until the commander in chief had left the room.

"You're extremely lucky, Jon." Much of the anger had faded from the admiral's face, replaced by something akin to relief. "He could have fired you on the spot. I'm surprised he didn't."

"So am I."

"He probably would have if you hadn't got your man back," Gardner said. "How is Lieutenant Reed?"

Archer wanted to shout in his face, I told you he was alive, you bastard. Do you believe me now? He didn't. If Gardner wasn't dealing with Harris, then it wasn't his fault he'd doubted – he'd been given faulty information. If he was dealing with Harris, there was nothing Archer could do about it and he would get nothing for his finger-pointing. Instead of taking out his anger, Archer spoke calmly.

"He hasn't woken up yet. He's badly injured, but Doctor Phlox says he'll pull through. Phlox is still assessing neural trauma."

"Do you have any idea what happened to him?"

"S'Trep's story is the only explanation we have, at present. So far we've found nothing to contradict what he said."

"And you have no idea how it is that Lieutenant Reed initially came to be in Romulan hands? How he somehow turned up light years away from where he's supposed to be dead?"

Archer swallowed back the accusations that rose in his throat. Harris's smug grin floated, disembodied, in his mind, like the smirk of a Cheshire cat – a bodiless omen.

"None at all, sir."

After cleaning himself up and changing into a fresh uniform, Tucker returned to Sickbay. He really had nothing better to do; he wasn't on a shift at the moment, and he might as well sleep in Sickbay as in his quarters. This way he could be on hand if anything changed.

He lay on a biobed, dozing to the sound of Phlox and S'Trep conferring in low voices behind the white curtain. He felt oddly relaxed, given the circumstances. Probably it was just exhaustion and relief. In his doze, he dreamed that Phlox was standing by the bed, telling him he needed an amputation and that it wouldn't take long. Tucker woke, vaguely disturbed, as T'Pol and Archer entered Sickbay. Archer looked surprised to find him there.

"Are you alright?"

Tucker slid off the biobed, managing a rueful grin. "Jes' fell asleep."

Phlox emerged from the curtained corner of Sickbay upon hearing them, followed shortly by S'Trep. "Ah, Captain. T'Pol."

"How is he?" Archer asked.

Phlox sent a quick glance at the Romulan before replying. "He's awake, but I'm afraid Medic S'Trep's earlier predictions were accurate. Lieutenant Reed is unresponsive, and the scans we've performed do show an extensive level of neural trauma."

"His condition is quite serious," S'Trep agreed gravely. "Perhaps if he could have been retrieved earlier…"

"Well, he wasn't," Archer said sharply. Tucker felt as if the air had gone out of the room. Both doctors' faces bespoke the worst; they didn't have a way to fix Reed.

"Ain't there somethin' you can do?"

The two doctors shared another look. "It might be possible to repair the damage, with the right equipment," S'Trep said cautiously. "Unfortunately, your ship doesn't have anything that would provide the psychological link that the probe creates."

"I thought this is a physical issue, not a psychological one," Archer observed. "Is a surgical solution possible?"

"The line between psychology and physiology is very blurred when it comes to the brain, Captain," S'Trep explained. "The neural network is far too extensive and delicate to be repaired with surgical procedures. The best way to approach repairing it is to have it repair itself. The mind moulds the brain – a new memory, for example, can create a new neural connection. What I have suggested would be an experimental treatment, I admit, but I believe there would be at least a chance of success. However, I have no access to a mind probe."

"Medic S'Trep," T'Pol said calmly, apparently immune to the pall of hopelessness spreading through the room like a poison, "please describe this psychological link."

"It was developed based on the limited telepathy found in some species," S'Trep explained. "It temporarily bonds the mental pathways of two beings into a single functioning unit, while still allowing one to control the link."

"Doctor," T'Pol remarked to Phlox, "what Medic S'Trep is describing bears extraordinary similarity to a mind meld."

"What are you suggesting, T'Pol?" Archer asked impatiently.

"Perhaps an agent other than a mind probe could be used to establish such a connection," T'Pol explained. "I do not know if it is possible for a Vulcan to serve as an intermediary between two individuals with no telepathic capability, but I am willing to make such an attempt." She turned to the Romulan. "As a Vulcan, I possess the ability to perform a procedure called a 'mind meld.' It is a mental bond very similar to what you have described, except that the participants share equal control over the link. It may be possible for me to establish such a connection between you and Lieutenant Reed."

"Fascinating," S'Trep said softly. "However, it could be extremely dangerous. Without the control which the probe provides to the interrogator, both of us could be subject to the same damage that Lieutenant Reed has experienced. The mind is not a toy to be shaped at will. Even injured it is a powerful force."

"I am well aware of the power of the mind," T'Pol assured the Romulan.

"Are you willing to try this, T'Pol?" Archer asked. "I can't ask you to do it. But if Phlox and S'Trep believe it's worth a try…"

"I betrayed my own people to save Lieutenant Reed's life," S'Trep said. "I am willing to suffer risk to do so again."

"I am not familiar with such a process," Phlox said, "but I agree that it could be extremely dangerous. Please consider this with caution, T'Pol."

"I appreciate your concern, Doctor," the Vulcan said. "However, if restoring Lieutenant Reed's neural pathways is possible, I believe that warrants some level of risk."

Archer leaned against the wall in Sickbay, watching the final preparations for the meld. T'Pol, deep in meditation, was seated between two biobeds, one of which held S'Trep and the other, Reed. Phlox had insisted that Reed remain under restraint during the procedure, and seeing him now, Archer realised it had been the right call. Reed was not exactly thrashing, but he kept twitching hard against the bonds holding his thin body. His empty grey eyes were open and unmoving, fixed on some undefinable point above him. It was easy to imagine him lashing out at an unwanted mental intrusion.

Archer found it extremely disconcerting to see his former officer changed so. Even after receiving treatment, he looked like a corpse. While not exactly skeletal, he was badly underweight. Much of his skin was dark with bruises. And his eyes – they were so vacant. Archer found it difficult to look at him. This was the man on whom rested all the anger and guilt for the past few weeks? Those eyes looked barely sentient. And yet, somewhere inside there, deeply submerged perhaps beneath a tangle of damaged mental function, was the man who had sworn his allegiance and broken his word for the second time. Somewhere in there was the only person Archer had left to blame besides himself.

Phlox had placed bio-monitors on all three of the participants – not, Archer knew, that it would do much good. If one of them became unstable, Phlox could sedate T'Pol to break the bond, but such a sudden severance could potentially cause just as much damage as the procedure gone wrong.

"Whenever you're ready, Sub-Commander," Phlox said softly, careful not to disturb her concentration.

T'Pol drew and released a long, steady breath. Her hands moved with smooth assurance to settle on the faces of Reed and S'Trep. Reed tried to jerk away. T'Pol's fingers held him there, hard enough to bruise.

"My mind to your minds," T'Pol whispered. "My thoughts to your thoughts. Our minds are merging. Our minds are one." She repeated it softly, steadily, with growing force though she did not raise her voice. A prolonged shudder ran through Reed. He had stopped struggling. T'Pol stiffened suddenly and fell silent.

"Did she do it?"

"I believe Sub-Commander T'Pol was able to establish a meld," Phlox told him, examining readouts on his screen. "Whether it will work – and how long it will take – we won't know until they come out of it."

"Captain."

Phlox's voice roused Archer from the half-doze that he had fallen into, sitting against the wall of Sickbay. He climbed to his feet to find the Denobulan still at the computer monitor, watching biosign readings.

"I believe the meld is ending, Captain. Sub-Commander T'Pol's heart rate is increasing back to a normal level, as is Medic S'Trep's."

"And Malcolm?"

"No change yet, Captain."

T'Pol shifted slightly. Her hands slid off S'Trep and Reed to hang limply at her side. Archer crouched in front of her.

"T'Pol?" She opened her eyes without response. "Did it work? T'Pol?"

Archer moved aside to let Phlox in with a hand scanner. "Is she alright?"

Phlox scanned the Vulcan carefully and examined her eyes. "T'Pol? Can you hear me?"

T'Pol blinked up at him, and for a second Archer experienced a twist of horror in his gut. Those blank eyes… Then she blinked again, and the image dissolved.

"Doctor." T'Pol's voice was slow and a little slurred.

"Are you well, Sub-Commander?"

"Yes." T'Pol shook her head slightly to clear it. She didn't look ill, Archer thought, just exhausted. "My condition is adequate."

"Did it work?" Archer asked again. T'Pol glanced down at Reed, motionless on the biobed beside her.

"I do not know, Captain."

"The procedure went as planned," S'Trep said. He was sitting up, looking more awake than T'Pol. Archer hadn't even noticed him waking. "I don't know if it worked."

"He is unconscious, but not comatose," Phlox reported, of Reed. "Minimal neural activity, so it's difficult to measure any change at the moment."

T'Pol seemed not to have heard or understood the conversation. "Captain Archer. What time is it?"

Archer anticipated the reason for her question. "We're due to rendezvous with the Vulcan vessels in three hours. Long-range scanners just picked them up."

The Vulcan nodded slowly. "I require rest, Doctor. May I be released to my quarters?"

"I can't find anything wrong with you that a few days of sleep and meditation won't cure," Phlox admitted. "It's up to you. If you think that's wise…"

"Thank you, Doctor." T'Pol rose to her feet and stumbled slightly, catching herself on the edge of Reed's biobed and politely ignoring Archer's proffered hand of assistance.

"Perhaps it would be best if Captain Archer accompanied you to your quarters," Phlox suggested mildly. It was a testament to T'Pol's weariness that she accepted without protest.

Archer stood by the airlock, waiting for the lead Vulcan ship to dock. There were five ships in total, all warships and each one at least twice the size of the Enterprise. It seemed overkill to Archer, but perhaps the High Council intended to make a show of force to the Orions – or to the Enterprise.

S'Trep stood across from Archer, looking nervous but resigned. Phlox had explained the situation to him several days ago, and although he'd protested being handed over, he had understood that his rescuers had little choice in the matter. T'Pol had assured him that he would be treated with civility. Archer himself wasn't so sure. If the High Council was willing to threaten Starfleet to get their hands on the Romulan, they might be willing to employ other dubious methods to retrieve any desired information from him. He'd kept his suspicions to himself and hoped to avoid interacting with the Vulcans. He didn't want to be the one responsible for handing over a Starfleet guest to the questionable care of the Council.

Unfortunately, T'Pol had failed to appear at the pre-arranged time and Tucker – the acting first officer – had requested Archer's presence to greet the Vulcans as a substitute diplomat. At the moment, Archer felt anything but diplomatic toward the Vulcans.

The door behind Archer opened to admit T'Pol herself, dressed not in her usual form-fitting uniform but instead in a traditional Vulcan outfit – not quite as long and cumbersome as ceremonial robes, but certainly the dressiest outfit he'd ever seen her wear. She looked quite regal, and very Vulcan. Archer knew it must be intentional. If her government believed her compromised by attachments to humans, showcasing her Vulcan side as prominently as possible could only be an advantage. Presumably first impressions, even with Vulcans, went a long way. He examined her face for signs of the exhaustion she had displayed only a few hours previously. She still seemed weary, but she wasn't falling asleep on her feet, and Archer felt that was all he could reasonably ask, given that she'd had less than three hours to recover from a clearly taxing ordeal.

"I regret my tardiness," T'Pol said quietly to Tucker and Archer.

"I'm jes' glad yer here," Tucker said, visibly relieved. "I don't fancy dealin' with these Vulcans. No offense, o' course."

"Nor do I," T'Pol replied, just loud enough for the two of them to hear her. They had no opportunity to speak further, for the airlock door slid open at that moment to admit a trio of Vulcans in military uniform. Archer felt a brief satisfaction that T'Pol was clearly the best dressed of any of the four Vulcans present.

"I am Falok," the first Vulcan introduced himself to T'Pol. "Captain of the Vulcan flagship Surak."

A Vulcan warship, the flagship of the Vulcan war fleet no less, named after one of the most famous advocates of peace. Archer could have laughed if the situation had been less serious.

"I am Sub-Commander T'Pol, acting Captain of the Starfleet vessel Enterprise. This is Captain Archer." T'Pol nodded him forward and Archer fixed his features in an expression of polite good graces.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Captain Falok."

The Vulcan inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned toward the Romulan. "You are Medic S'Trep of the Romulan Star Empire?"

"Formerly of the Romulan Star Empire," S'Trep corrected stiffly. He seemed as little disposed to the Vulcans as Archer. One of the men flanking Falok stepped forward towards him.

"Medic S'Trep, I will escort you to your quarters on the Surak."

"Captain, before I release this man to you, I require your word that he will be treated as an honoured guest," T'Pol told Falok firmly. "By your crew and by the Vulcan High Council."

Falok studied her with interest. "Very well," he agreed. "You have my word."

"Thank you," Archer told S'Trep. "Thank you for everything you've done. I'm sure we'll meet again."

"I hope that is so, Captain. Please relay my well wishes to Lieutenant Reed."

"I will."

S'Trep followed the Vulcan escort through the airlock and out of sight into the Vulcan ship. Falok turned back to T'Pol and Archer.

"Effective immediately, the High Council relinquishes control of this vessel. Sub-Commander T'Pol, you are relieved of your temporary command. Captain Archer, please accept the apology of the High Council for any inconveniences you experienced due to Sub-Commander T'Pol's command."

These damn Vulcans, Archer thought. Were they insulting T'Pol, or merely observing human courtesies? It was like dancing with a snake. Every word had a double meaning.

"Sub-Commander T'Pol is never an inconvenience," he said, more coolly than he felt. "Her work is of the highest calibre."

Falok's eyebrows quirked upward. "Indeed. Captain, I trust that your ship can operate adequately without her presence for a few hours? I require a private conference with her aboard my ship."

Archer felt Tucker twitch beside him, with either frustration or amusement. Falok's words expertly twisted Archer's compliment of T'Pol into an accusation of human incompetence.

"I think we'll manage."

"Please contact us if you require assistance," Falok shot over his shoulder as T'Pol followed him and the other Vulcan from the airlock into the Surak. The door slid closed behind them.

"Damn," Tucker said in amazement. "I've never seen such bad-tempered logic."

The relief from tension proved too much. Archer found himself grinning helplessly at Tucker's astonishment.

"If we require assistance…"

"I'm not even mad, Cap'n." Tucker was beginning to chuckle. "I don't wonder T'Pol's so stuffy, havin' t' put up with that."

"Don't insult her," Archer scolded jokingly. "I think our friend Captain Falok has that covered for you."

"Poor T'Pol."

"Indeed," Archer said gravely, mimicking the sombre Vulcan manner. Tucker shook his head, laughing.

A/N: Well, that took me long enough. I'm still hoping to finish this story in the next two weeks or so while I'm on leave, but if the remaining chapters are as difficult as this one, that may not happen.