February 3, 2387

Vulcan, alternate timeline

T'Lassa came awake slowly. Still hazy and groggy, she mentally checked her position in space. She was lying on the floor, with her head elevated at a 45 degree angle. Her head was resting on something soft and warm. Her vision slowly adjusted to the lighting. She was on the floor of a supply closet. A shadow fell across her legs as they stretched out in front of her. She tried to crane her neck up to view the face of the person creating the shadow, but the light on the ceiling was situated directly behind, creating a bright halo that darkened everything in front.

She had fainted, she suddenly remembered. Because she had seen Tom Paris, her brain screamed. She bolted upright, spinning quickly, too quickly, for her vision swam and she lost her balance.

"T'Lassa," she heard, a soft voice that was familiar to her.

She pulled herself up, supporting her weight with her palms in contact with the floor. Twisted the other way, she had a perfect view of his face. It was Tom. She had fainted when he had appeared…while she had been talking to a much older version of Tom Paris' daughter. The shadow behind her was Miral, she told herself, even as she found she was staring, unable to pull her eyes away. "Commander…Paris," she said slowly, sounding much more in control than she felt.

His blue eyes were misty, but he was smiling. "It's Captain now, at least where I come from," he said gently.

T'Lassa turned, more slowly this time, and saw the face of the young Klingon woman who had pulled her into this closet. The slight furrow of her brow was notable when she then turned back to Tom. "You aren't from the same timeline," she said, her logic quickly catching up with, and overtaking, her amazement. "You are…too young to be her father."

"You're right, T'Lassa. We're on a sort of…timeline hopping, Magical Mystery Tour, if you will. That's why we're here," Tom told her.

One of her eyebrows zipped upward as her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Pop culture from generations past, I take it?" she quizzed him.

"He's not my father, but he is still… my father," Miral added, her lips twisted to the side to disguise her mirth.

"Indeed," T'Lassa added, and her expression went back to neutral. "I await your explanation…s," she said, adding the plural notation almost as an afterthought, understanding there was more than one story here.

Tom looked up at his daughter from his position on the floor, crouched in front of T'Lassa. "We talked about this. It would be easier if you…mind-melded with me," Tom said, his trepidation evident in his hesitant tone. Her eyes widened in shock. "It's a very long story…and we don't have a lot of time."

"You specifically?" T'Lassa asked.

"It has to be me. Will you please trust me? I know the Tom Paris you used to know died about eight months ago…but before that explosion…he and I were the same. He was your friend, wasn't he?" Tom asked.

"He was," T'Lassa replied, her sadness leadening her tone.

He closed his eyes in resignation. Tuvok had initiated a mind-meld with him very early in Voyager's sojourn in the Delta Quadrant, in an effort to prove he was innocent of a murder of which he was accused. Tuvok had assured him then, it had been minimally invasive, considering he was only looking for specific information. This would be worse, he knew. It was everything…what had happened on Starbase 47, what had happened after, all that he knew about the sphere builders and his mission, and what he was now doing with a future version of his daughter.

He gasped when he felt her fingers on his face, warmer than his own skin, giving the illusion of fever. The heat extended from her fingertips, and he felt the sensation that warm tendrils were encircling his brain. He could hear her speaking out loud, but after a time he heard the words in her voice transition to only inside his head. He sensed his own urge to just speak to her, in a way to just think aloud to her.

Let me, he heard, in her voice. She was capable of absorbing all of it, without any words. He had been resisting, he understood, not conscious of it until she asked him to release his hold.

He heard what sounded like a moan, realizing that it was T'Lassa, caught in the onslaught of not only his memories, but his emotions. His sense of his own thoughts was lessened, like he was under anesthesia, but he wondered if another Vulcan in this situation would have had more control, presenting facts and having some ability to shield their emotions, or at least keep them orderly. She's part human…she was bonded to Aaron…He felt less ashamed somehow, accepting of the fact that she had anticipated this jumble of thoughts and emotions.

Let me, she repeated, her voice full of anguish in his head. He didn't think he was blocking her, but he obviously still was. You must allow the experiences to happen in your memory…no matter how painful. I am here.

Her reassurance was the only thing he had left to cling to, but he took it. He needed it, to go back there…to when the universe had swallowed his life whole.

He was in the triage area, exhausted, aching from the loss of his father, anxious about his daughter and terrified about his wife…His mind played it back from this point, one long anguished burst that T'Lassa took the full brunt of.

Miral, dead in his arms…his premature son, dead in his arms…his wife's blank, frightened stare when she regarded him…hopelessness, despair…Aaron and T'Lassa's bodies together in the same casket…all of it a shock, all of it too soon, without a proper goodbye…

Information accompanied the emotions almost without his knowledge. The emotions were forefront and overwhelming him, but all the rest flowed underneath. He had no sense of time, mired in his misery in this non-place he now occupied with her.

Eventually, he could start to see images, hear voices and words that weren't from his memories. She was showing him the same, he realized, forcing himself to pay attention to her and not his own grief. As he had suspected, her ability to hold her emotions at bay while she showed him was superior to his own.

She was in the Infirmary, what was left of it, surrounded by shrouded bodies…so many funerals it boggled her mind. Where she stood now…in front of Tom and B'Elanna…blood had seeped through the covers, the sheets absorbing what was left on their bodies, because neither one of their hearts was beating any longer…also mottled with tears, where their young daughter had cried until nurses had pulled her away. Behind her…was Aaron. It hurt too much to turn around…it was more than she knew how to suppress, tears never very far from falling. She wished him peace, wherever he was, though she would never completely know it herself again…

That thought seemed to resonate, echoing in his head, as he felt himself slowly coming out of it, like he was waking from a dream. He blinked, feeling the room around him as he became aware of the physical. His face was streaked with tears. He opened his eyes first, watching T'Lassa with hers still closed, though her own cheeks were just as wet. Once she opened her eyes, and locked eyes with him, the temperature in the room almost seemed to change. Understanding. Not just with words, but intentions, emotions, methods…everything. She merely nodded, one single bow forward of her head as acknowledgment of that understanding.

"You loved him," Tom whispered, shattering the silence. He heard Miral's breath quicken as she overheard.

"I did," she confessed. "He never knew," she added, the regret more pronounced than the sadness. "He died alone," she whispered, with no trace of her Vulcan reserve in the last sentence.

The day of the explosion was the divergent point. Full of confidence, Tom told her, "He loved you, T'Lassa. He might have been afraid to let you know, to accept that he did, because of everything he lost, what he always feared he would lose again. But he did, I promise you, he did. You saved his life before. In every way that you could have."

She took in his words, the icy blue of her eyes softening as they permeated. It was so little comfort, but she accepted it just the same.

"The sphere builders wanted both you and I dead, it seems, Captain," she said, changing the subject quickly. "It also seems that more than once, to accomplish this, Aaron needed to die as well," she concluded.

"Incidences of him surviving are random, about 50 percent of the timelines we were able to examine," Miral added. "You survived here, in this timeline, because you weren't together."

Something occurred to her, something she hadn't seen in Tom's mind. "He's alive. In your timeline," T'Lassa said to Miral in awe.

"He raised T'Mira. And me, sort of…after my mother…fell apart," Miral said softly.

"Miral was recruited by Crewman Daniels, how he was referred to in T'Pol's personal logs and Archer's logs. A temporal agent from the 29th century," Tom told her, knowing that was the next question, based on what she had pulled from his mind.

"They created all of this," Miral said, waving her hand to encompass where they were, where they had been, where they were going. "To defeat the Federation in 2567."

"I tried to warn Starfleet," T'Lassa muttered. "The investigation…lagged in alacrity as well as direction. A direct result of your absence, Captain, or so it would seem."

"We don't know why exactly the sphere builders were after Paris and you. That's what Daniels sent me to find out, so we can stop them," Miral informed her.

"What are your plans?" T'Lassa asked.

"To bring you and my father back to my timeline in the future," Miral explained. "It's the safest place in time for us to be, and all together. The sphere builders have concentrated their efforts in the timeline I pulled Captain Paris from, but the sooner we move, the less chance we have of them finding us in the future."

"They have the technology, Miral," T'Lassa told her. "Each decision you make here creates alternate realities. They will be able to find us."

"I know. We just have to figure it out…before they start to disrupt anything. They can interact more with this realm than they could 200 years ago, but we still have the advantage in this galaxy. At least for now," Miral said.

"What about my daughter?" T'Lassa asked, scanning both of her companions. At least she sounded receptive, Tom thought as he examined her words.

"Our objective is to undo the damage done by the sphere builders. To keep these timelines cohesive, so none of these realities will exist if we are successful. It feels like you're abandoning her, but I assure you, this will disappear and none of it will matter," Miral assured her.

"What if you are unsuccessful?" T'Lassa asked curiously.

"Then the Federation falls to the sphere builders in 2567. And everyone who died on the Enterprise NX-01 in the Delphic Expanse in 2153 died for nothing. Something I'm sure your great-grandmother would have found unacceptable," Miral said in a clipped, almost angry tone.

T'Lassa took a deep breath, her grandmother at the forefront of her mind. T'Lassa had never met T'Pol, but T'Mir spoke of her mother so often T'Lassa felt like she did. She had seemed larger than life, as did Jonathan Archer, in those stories. But T'Lassa had read T'Pol's personal logs as well. The Xindi mission had cemented Archer as the greatest hero of the 22nd century, while at the same time slicing out a huge piece of his humanity in the process. A sacrifice that had never left him, for the rest of his life, which was one of the longest human lifespans in known history. Aside from T'Pol's husband, Archer meant more to her than anyone else. Their friendship, their closeness, leaped from the page when she read those words. If T'Mir were here, T'Lassa knew she would have told her granddaughter to ensure, no matter what, that the mission was successful. There were no other options.

"Indeed," T'Lassa replied. "Time is of the essence, then."

March 3, 2246

Vulcan

"Good morning, Minister T'Pol," said the young Vulcan man standing at her door with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked stiff and uncomfortable, like everything including his posture was an effort to maintain.

She nodded deferentially to him. "You are Spock? Ambassador Sarek's son?" she asked coolly.

"Yes, Minister," he said crisply.

"Please, come inside," she said, stepping aside to allow him entry.

Spock walked slowly into the house, noticing how bright it was, how much sunlight filtered through the skylights. It was very austerely decorated, with unusually bare shelves and sparse wall decor. As he moved further into the living room, he noticed how strange the walls looked, as if pictures had been removed and objects taken away. Some shelves had circles left in the dust from what must have been displaced tokens. In the entire room, there was but one vase, perched above her hearth, a large purple ceramic jar with a lid. It resembled an urn.

"Are you in the process of moving, Minister? I did not wish to disturb you. My father's attache said you would–"

"Mr. Spock, I agreed to this meeting," she said sternly, instantly dismissing his regret. "I have been in the process of rearranging my home. My husband recently passed away," she added, the slightest hint of melancholy in her otherwise emotionless tone.

"My condolences," he offered softly, catching too late that he had used the human sentiment, as he had often heard his own mother use, rather than the traditional Vulcan words of sympathy. It passed over his face, a slight flush of embarrassment, unacceptable, before he reset himself to neutral.

If she noticed at all, she gave no outward sign that he had offended her. Strange, how her face seemed almost wistful, her large eyes betraying only a little hint of sadness. "When we spoke, you mentioned you were in the process of making a difficult choice. Does your father know you are here?" she asked.

"No, Minister, he does not," he said firmly.

She let out a quick, tight breath. "I see." She started pacing, slowly, her face calm but her eyes showed a thousand thoughts mulling in her mind. She stopped moving and turned back to him. "Please, sit down, and tell me why you wanted to see me."

He sat, ramrod straight, on the edge of her sofa. She sank in next to him, her small, withered frame enveloped in the many cushions adorning it. Vulcan decor was usually much more severe, he thought briefly. She was elderly, almost 160 years old, roughly estimated, for her true age was a private matter. Perhaps the cushions alleviated some old age pains.

"Minister T'Pol, I am at an impasse. About my future. You have a unique perspective, which is why I asked to seek your counsel." He looked at her, meeting her eyes. "My father wishes for me to attend the Vulcan Academy of Sciences."

"It is a fine place to further expand your knowledge. It would serve you well. I am a past graduate, and my mother was a professor as well," she said, proud as she could be without compromising her Vulcan-ness.

"I am aware, Minister. But you also had a commission with Starfleet. You served onboard a starship with humans for close to ten years," he replied.

"Ah," she said, shaking her head, finally understanding. "And therein lies the difficulty." She tilted her head to the side. "Your father wishes you to attend the Science Academy. And you wish to attend Starfleet Academy."

He looked down. "Captain April has agreed to sponsor my application."

"Captain April? His ship is the Enterprise…" she said.

Spock ignored the non sequitur. "You have experience with both of my options."

"I do," she began slowly, "but the decision is yours to make." She sat back. "I know what your father wants. What is it that you want?" she asked pointedly. One eyebrow lifted gently. "And before you answer, remember, you have already answered this question in context."

"I am uncertain. My parents–"

"Do not have to live your life," she interjected sharply. "You do. You wish to attend Starfleet Academy, do you not?" Her attitude startled him. Vulcan family obligations were paramount in their culture. He didn't answer immediately. "You would not have sought Captain April's recommendation did you not wish to do so."

"A logical deduction, Minister," he conceded. She looked on patiently, waiting for him to elaborate. "It is the fact that I would be the sole Vulcan, amongst mostly humans."

"There are ships that are solely Vulcan, despite the diverse nature of the Federation," she countered.

"There is a higher probability that I would be posted on a ship with mostly humans. Serve with primarily humans. You did. How did you find such a predicament?" he asked.

"You are half human, are you not, Mr. Spock?" she asked. He was legendary among Vulcans for that, being the first Vulcan human hybrid. To have survived anyway, she thought with a pang that still reached inside her even after all these years. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, knowing she already knew the answer to her question.

She continued. "I know you are. Your birth was a momentous occasion. But you weren't the first," she said softly.

"You refer to the binary clone," he replied blandly.

Her eyes flashed, dark with pain that he could see there, tangible like a color. He wondered at her slip in composure. "Elizabeth Tucker," she said sharply, perhaps a bit too harshly. "She was my daughter." She folded and refolded her hands in her lap several times before continuing. "Terra Prime had an operative on board our ship. He chose our DNA for a reason. She was a binary clone, but there was no reason why Elizabeth could not have been our biological child." The intensity on her face told him the truth.

Spock was speechless, not expecting the conversation to have progressed in this direction. There had always been rumors, of course, but it seemed to him T'Pol had just confessed to having an intimate relationship with Charles Tucker.

"Humans are…unpredictable. Illogical. Sometimes even irrational. It can be difficult to live among them. They often rely on something called intuition rather than facts," she explained.

"Intuition?" he asked, compelling her to clarify.

"They sometimes make decisions, even critical ones, based on feelings or ideas that have no basis in fact," she explained. She looked up, one eyebrow raised. "The irony is, more often than not, this intuition is correct. It defies logic. But it is true."

"You wrote that the humans resented you, even distrusted you. Constant adversity cannot be conducive to success," he told her.

"At that time, the humans were correct to do so. This was before the time of T'Pau. Vulcan was very different a hundred years ago. I thought like that at first, but the longer I was among them, the more I saw how unfairly Vulcans treated humans…as well as how the humans rose above despite the criticism and distrust." She sighed, and changed the subject. "It could not have been easy for you, your life up to now. Not Vulcan enough for the Vulcans. Too Vulcan for the humans."

She leaned in, touched his arm, something that shocked him so profoundly he almost let his composure slip. Vulcans rarely touched each other, most certainly not total strangers. She continued as if she had done nothing. As if she was human, he thought wildly.

"You seek a place where you will belong," she said. She had cut to the very soul, he felt. He looked down, unable to answer her.

"I, too, have felt out of place with my own kind," she admitted. Her milky eyes set on something far away. She was quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, she almost startled him in the stillness. "Vulcans embrace IDIC. But not all practice it, as I'm sure you have experienced. Prejudice will always exist. However, the humans I knew worked to eliminate it wherever they could. They idealized IDIC in everything they did, and didn't even know it." Almost too quietly for him to hear, she added softly, "Your mother was not the first human to fall in love with a Vulcan."

"Commander Tucker?" Spock asked automatically, remembering her earlier words and demeanor.

"Trip," she said softly. "He taught me the best of what humanity could be." She sighed again, blinking to bring herself back to the present. "Expect them to be as they are. Humans are not logical. Know that, accept that. Do not judge them for it. That is the best advice I can give you."

He nodded slowly, absorbing all that she had said. "Thank you, Minister T'Pol," he said, standing suddenly. Human connotation again, but this time it didn't disturb him, now that he knew her thoughts. He reached out an arm to help her stand from the sofa. She gripped his forearm tightly and pulled herself up.

She bowed her head gently. "I'm glad I could offer you some perspective. I haven't thought about that time on the Enterprise in a long time. It was so little time, compared to the rest of my years. But it was the most important."

"Indeed," he said as she walked him to the door.

She raised her hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock."

He raised his hand in return, never meaning the traditional words he'd said more than now. He had already made up his mind before arriving, he knew. Just as she had predicted. Speaking with her hadn't given him a way to make his choice–only a reason to accept it.