They talked long into the night, talked more freely than they had done in months.

At some point a couple of beers put in an appearance, and then a couple more, and finally Jon looked up from an account of an interview with Admiral Black to find that Trip had laid his head down on the pillow and fallen fast asleep.

"Glad you thought it was that interesting," he said dryly. Not that he could blame him; there had been moments during the talk when he'd had difficulty keeping his own eyes open, for Black could drone on for hours, apparently finding the sound of his own voice enchanting. Normally he'd never even have referred to the man, but there had been enough of interest in the conversation to provide a safe topic now, and one that might gently lead Trip's mind away from his own problems – at least for a while.

Resigning himself to sharing the bed for the night with a pal who'd occupy rather more space in it than Porthos did, Jon took the opportunity to study his old buddy more closely. The marks of fatigue and strain were dug into the younger man's face even in sleep; sure, accomplishing what he'd done on board Columbia had been a heck of an achievement, but mere tiredness could never have drawn those lines, or even smudged the shadows under his eyes. This was a deep exhaustion of the spirit more than of the body, and now that he knew the hopeless situation Trip was in, it was no wonder he was suffering.

But, hell – T'Pol, of all women! Sure, she had a gorgeous body, and her small face was perfectly lovely; he'd fantasized sometimes about kissing her himself, and had to work hard to suppress envy of whatever that 'incident' had consisted of. But she was a Vulcan, for chrissakes. If the old saying about opposites attracting applied – and it seemed in this case that it certainly did – then Trip could hardly have picked anyone more purely his polar opposite. Or, indeed, anyone less likely to return his feelings.

A one-off. That's what Jon had dismissed it as, because he couldn't imagine it being anything else, not between those two. It was far too sensitive a subject for him to delve for details, though his XO had told him that it had disrupted her relationship with Trip. That was too clearly proved now. Too clearly for anyone's comfort.

Jon heaved a sigh. His own situation was hardly enviable; though he and Erika were now no longer forbidden by Starfleet regulations to have a relationship, each of them being the commanding officer of a starship on active duty was hardly conducive to frequent romantic encounters. By comparison with Trip's plight, however, he had it positively rosy.

Since Trip's enforced return from Columbia, Jon had wondered somewhat wistfully if it might occur to him that he'd made a bad call in leaving his old ship. Erika – a hard-headed realist, and an excellent judge of character – thought it was only a matter of time before her Chief Engineer realized he was on the wrong boat. She was making use of his talent in the meantime, and made no secret of it, but she undoubtedly didn't know the real reason behind Trip's flight from Enterprise. It seemed that it might yet be that she'd gotten the deal of the century after all.

It was late by now, and way past time he caught some sleep himself, but he was sick with heartache over Trip and guilt and worry about Malcolm; it didn't feel likely that he'd sleep anytime soon. He paid a last visit to the bathroom, where he stripped off and pulled on a pair of sleeping shorts, and lowered the lights before he carefully climbed back into his half of the bed. "If you snore, Trip, I'll send you to sleep with Porthos," he whispered.

There was no response.

So – sleep.

Yeah.

Good idea.

=/\=

He lay awake for half an hour, staring into the darkness. Then he threw back the blanket and got out of bed again.

This was totally selfish, and worse, stupid. Even though she'd said she probably wouldn't sleep, she'd definitely still be meditating, and wouldn't need him butting in disturbing her. And his alarm clock was blunt about how few hours now remained before they all had to get up and report for duty on the Bridge; at this rate he'd be sleepwalking to his chair in the morning. He should be going down to Sickbay to get something to help him sleep, not pass on his damned problem to somebody else as well.

But he didn't go to Sickbay. He got dressed quickly and in silence, and his feet took him back to T'Pol's quarters, and he pressed the chime before he could tell himself what a heel he was being.

She answered the chime immediately. He couldn't tell from her voice whether she'd been asleep or not. When he asked to come in, there was the slightest pause before she said 'Certainly', but her tone was perfectly neutral.

For the second time that night she met him at the door. This time, however, she said nothing, but admitted him at once.

The gym mat took up a good portion of the available floor space near the door, but beyond it her cushion was positioned precisely in front of the low table where her meditation candle rested. The lights were low, but the soft light played on Malcolm, still asleep on the mat. In the intervening time, he'd rolled onto his back and one arm was upflung, half-bent; his face was turned towards that arm, so that his position appeared almost defensive, even sleep.

"He hasn't woken," she said in a low voice. "I would have called you immediately."

"I'm sure you would." His own was just as low. "But there's something else I want to talk about. I'm sorry if I'm intruding."

"It doesn't matter. Would you like some tea?"

Peppermint, he believed, was calming. And right now, he felt as though he'd take any calming influences he could get.

At her invitation, he sat down on her bunk. When she'd made the tea for both of them she carried the cushion over and sat on it in front of him, cross-legged. She'd changed her outfit; she was now wearing a long, loose turquoise robe with a line of gold lettering – probably Vulcan – down one shoulder. At a guess she'd showered too. He could smell her perfume, warm, exotic.

There was no way he knew of to ease into the subject. "T'Pol, I … I've spoken to Trip. About you and him. How he feels about you."

In the candlelight her face looked softer, younger. Nevertheless she kept her poise. "He was not to blame for what happened, Captain. It was I who made the first approach. I did not realize how he would be affected by it, and I regret the effect this has had on him."

Well, that didn't come as any surprise in one way. Whatever Trip felt, he'd never have acted on it – not without a whole lot of absolutely unmistakable encouragement, and it was somehow unlikely that the Vulcan database would have been all that forthcoming on the subtle art of Human sexual dalliance. In another, however, it was beyond surprising – it was out on the far horizons of 'jaw-dropping'. Why, above all the available Humans on board, she should have singled out Trip Tucker, her absolute antithesis, was a mystery that he'd probably never figure out the answer to; he'd pigeonholed it eventually as the Vulcan equivalent of one of those damned 'anomalies' that peppered the Expanse, and now it was clear that it had been as destructive to the harmony of his crew as the real things were to the structure of his ship.

Still, the bottom line was that 'who started it' wasn't what he'd come here to talk about. And despite what she evidently thought, he hadn't come here to launch an investigation into a breach of the regulations.

Nor, indeed, to look too closely into an ache that had opened up very deep inside him.

"He loves you, T'Pol," he said quietly.

For a moment she didn't reply. Then, finally, "That is … regrettable."

Clearly, she wasn't surprised.

"I … realize this isn't something Vulcans go in for much. And I also realize it's something that's bound to cause a lot of problems. You and he –" He summoned up a smile from somewhere – "well, 'East and West' doesn't come anywhere near it. As a matter of fact, when you told me about it I was just surprised it ever got going at all.

"Not that that's anything to do with me, of course," he added hurriedly, in case she thought he was prying for the details – which he most emphatically wasn't, for more than one reason. "What I want to say is, just …" what the heck did he want to say, considering he knew next to nothing about it? … "just that if the regulations are any part of the problem, they don't have to be. And if … Trip's a good man, T'Pol. They don't come any better."

Her beautiful brown eyes looked back at him calmly. He knew he was flushing with embarrassment at probing so intimate a subject, but she showed no sign of discomfiture.

"I know that he is a good man," she said at last. "But he is not Vulcan and I am not Human. What happened, should not have happened. For his sake."

"And how about for yours?"

"I think I have done enough damage to Commander Tucker."

"Have you told him that?"

"I do not perceive in what way discussing the situation would improve it."

Jon grinned wryly. "But you're not dealing with a Vulcan, are you? T'Pol, from Trip's point of view, not talking things through makes them worse, not better. Humans aren't good at dealing with things they don't understand. He didn't say a whole lot, but I sure got the impression he was incredibly upset about the whole thing.

"If you really feel there's no chance you two could make a go of it, well, I guess you know best. But what I do know is that he needs some kind of closure. And the only person who could provide that for him is you."

"I was under the impression that his departure for Columbia came into that category."

He shook his head. "That was Trip running away from something he couldn't cope with. It was never going to solve anything for him. Maybe if you two just have a talk, it may sort a few things out."

For the first time, he thought he caught a glimpse of uncertainty. "Do you think he will wish to talk with me? On one occasion he specifically said that 'Romeo and Juliet would have stood a better chance' than a relationship between the two of us."

"You haven't studied your Shakespeare. The only problem between Romeo and Juliet was the fact their families didn't get along. I'm not saying Starfleet and the High Command are exactly bosom buddies, but they're not exactly mortal enemies." He spoke a little dryly; events back on Vulcan were still in a state of considerable flux since the overthrow of V'Las and the discovery of the Kir'Shara, and he wasn't sure what her home planet's governing body now consisted of, or even what it should properly be called. "I think there's one thing you need to get ahold of about Humans, T'Pol: sometimes they say things not because they're true, but because they're actually hoping for them to be contradicted."

She frowned. "And how does one establish when this is 'one of those times'?"

A shrug. "That's a tough call. Sometimes you only find out when the person gets angry when you don't."

"Humans are very difficult," she said severely, like he was personally responsible for it.

"I won't argue that, and I'm one myself."

There was a pause. The next question, when it came, was as cautious as it was inevitable. "Do you think that the observation about Romeo and Juliet might have been one of those times?"

Jon grinned. "Like I said, sometimes it's a tough call to know. But from what I know of Trip, I'd say it was more than possible."

"And that if I had contradicted him, he might not have applied for a transfer to Columbia."

"I guess not."

Another pause. "The chances of a relationship between a Vulcan and a Human being successful must be regarded as remote."

"Almost as remote as the chances of the crew of a single starship finding the Xindi and managing to persuade them they'd made a mistake."

"That persuasion was down to the personality of one man."

"And the success of a relationship is down to the personality of two people – and how much both of them want to make it work."

She sipped at her mint tea and said nothing, but her gaze was abstracted.

There was more he could have said, but in his book that would fall well outside the bounds of authorized interference. Even as far as he'd already gone was probably much further than he should have, particularly given the fact that whether any of them liked it or not, fraternization was forbidden by Starfleet regulations. Still, on a professional level he wanted the best Chief Engineer in the business for Enterprise, and on a personal level he still hoped that somehow things between him and Trip could be properly straightened out – something that was far less likely to happen if the two of them were serving on separate ships.

It had been difficult to refrain from saying as much to Trip, earlier on, but that was a right he felt he'd forfeited. He'd contented himself with trying to show that no grudges remained on his side, that it was still possible for the two of them to connect, even if it wasn't on the old, easy footing. Maybe, just maybe, if T'Pol came to the decision that he thought and hoped she was contemplating, his friend would rethink his decision to leave. That, however, was something he'd have to leave to fate, as little as he'd ever enjoyed that kind of resignation.

He'd just decided that it was time for him to leave and make the most of the couple of hours' sleep he'd get if he was lucky, when T'Pol turned her head sharply. He'd heard nothing, but then Vulcan hearing was more acute than the average Human's. Or maybe she'd employed a sense other than auditory.

"I believe that Lieutenant Reed is waking up," she said softly.

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a review!