Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything.

Rating: R for sex and angst.

A/N: Brief continuity note: I remembered that The Columbia still exists at the end of Twilight (Malcolm is getting that as his command) but I have it getting destroyed along with the convoy here. I like how it turned out, so Malcolm will get a command, it just won't be The Columbia. Also, there will be a very NC-17 version of this chapter posted at TriS eventually.

Chapter 2

Trip finally woke up when T'Pol stirred at 05300 hours, her usual time to rise and dress. She said nothing as she quietly prepared for her day as if her first officer was not sleeping on her floor.

"You always get up this early, Captain?" asked Trip.

"Yes," she replied softly.

He sat up and stretched. He had had the same Florida dream that he had been having, but it was different. T'Pol had been there, and it had felt very real. She had comforted him and made the dream somehow less terrible.

"I suppose I should head back to my quarters," he said, "Thanks for letting me stay last night. I haven't slept that well. . .since. . .you know."

"I'll see you at 0800 for the morning briefing," she said.

Trip peeked out of her door to make sure no one was there, and he headed off to his own quarters. He didn't think anyone would care at this point if he and T'Pol became involved, as long as it didn't interfere with the running of the ship. But since they weren't involved - at least not that way - he was happy not to fuel whatever gossip was still floating around about them.

Once he was gone, T'Pol took a moment to sit down and contemplate the night before. Trip must have noticed there was something strange about his dream, but it appeared he hadn't understood what had happened. Her musings about their connection had been correct, confirmed by the fact that she had been able to share his dream and even comfort him in it. They were connected. Just how connected and what that connection would mean for them, she did not know.

Telepathic bonds. . .mating bonds weren't discussed in Vulcan society. She assumed their physical contact combined with the realization of her attraction must have allowed her to share his dream. She resolved to research the matter further when she had time.

But her personal life wasn't her highest priority. She had a colony to protect and a ship to run. . .and a former captain to care for.

****

"Goddammit," said Trip, pushing back his breakfast plate. He suddenly wasn't hungry at all. He instead felt sick.

Malcolm leaned back in his chair and briefly put his face in his hands, thinking this was the worst news he could imagine on his first day as part of the senior command team. During these morning breakfasts, Captain T'Pol informed her two senior officers of the status of the colony, any identified threats and the location of the other convoys that were to bring refugees to the Ceti Alpha V.

"Captain Hernandez put up a valiant fight," said T'Pol, "but all hands aboard The Columbia were lost."

"Did any of the 300 ships they were escorting survive?" asked Malcolm.

"None that we know of," said T'Pol, "The few Vulcan and Andorian ships in the area have been told to be on the lookout for any stray survivors."

The Xindi had a methodology that they all knew. Destroy the mother ship, and then chase down the small ships one by one, destroying each without mercy.

"Did the Xindi who attacked them know where they were headed? Could they have identified our position?" asked Trip.

"It doesn't seem so," said T'Pol, "They were still over 14 light years from here, but we should be extra vigilant Also, it appears The Columbia did significant damage to the Xindi fleet that attacked them. Three out of the five Reptilian cruisers that attacked them, did not survive the battle."

"The Columbia was nearly new and had better weapons systems than us," said Malcolm, "and they still didn't survive."

"Hopefully, if we are discovered, we'll have warning," said T'Pol, "but the best case scenario is still our position remaining undiscovered."

T'Pol felt it was illogical to dwell on the fate of The Columbia convoy. Instead, she turned their attention to matters regarding the colony and the maintenance of Enterprise. She had assigned Malcolm to develop a weapons training program for the colonists, so they could defend themselves not only against potential Xindi ground assaults but also any other invaders. Enterprise had already destroyed several pirate ships attempting to raid the colony, but it was only a matter of time before one managed to land on the surface. Trip had his hands full doing everything he could to extend the life of all the ship's systems, but they still needed a plan to obtain certain essentials. A few of the supplies would have to be obtained somehow, and T'Pol believed the best course of action would be for someone to take one of the smaller ships that hadn't been broken down to a nearby system.

The comm pinged.

"Captain," said one of the security officers, "Captain Archer is awake and asking questions."

"Thank you, I'll be right down."

"Dismissed, gentleman," said T'Pol formally as she rose from her chair.

Malcolm headed off to the armory, but Trip lingered.

"Let me go talk to him today," said Trip, "You've gone every day for the last six weeks. I'm still not over the last time it fell to me to explain. . ."

"We've discussed this," she said, "I'm far more equipped to handle his emotional outbursts. Besides, I'm the Captain, and it's my duty."

Trip sighed. She could be so stubborn at times. He resisted the urge to grab her arm as she turned away. Instead, he just looked into her eyes.

"Let's both go," he said.

She nodded her assent.

****

Trip looked down at the readout on the treadmill. Had an hour passed so quickly? He had come to the gym right after his shift, skipping dinner. Now, he was covered in sweat and didn't even feel tired, though his muscles ached. The day's grim events had apparently caused his adrenaline to kick in, and he couldn't think of another way to expend it. His mind wandered back to that morning.

It was always bad, telling Archer what had happened, but that morning had been very bad. Archer refused to believe them, and then security had to stun him as he broke out of his quarters and headed to the bridge. When he woke up, he'd lost his memory again, and they'd started all over. That time, he and T'Pol had pleaded with him to believe them. He did, but that didn't stop him from asking all the usual questions, which she had answered with all her Vulcan patience. She endured the tears and anger and shock. Finally, she suggested he take a walk with Porthos on the upper decks, where it was quiet and he would run into few crewman. He agreed. Trip had offered to go with him, but Archer said he wanted to be alone. Trip didn't blame him. He hadn't spoken more than three words to anyone in the days after Earth's destruction.

Trip also thought of Captain Hernandez and The Columbia. He had met her a few times, back during his time at the Warp 5 Complex. He remembered a tough, focused woman who also happened to be attractive and funny. Hadn't she and the Captain once been an item? Images of them together, laughing together in the mess hall and sharing drinks at the 602 Club, popped into Trip's head. He thought they had dated for awhile, though they kept it discreet. Although, thought Trip, everyone on this ship thinks T'Pol and I. . .and we never. . .

Trip sighed. It was a shame. They sure could have used another NX class ship to guard the colony, and they sure could have used another experienced captain. More and more, Trip was starting to understand just how grateful he should be to T'Pol for getting them this far. Erika Hernandez was the best Starfleet had to offer, and she and her ship were gone.

Trip headed back to his quarters and found himself in the shower. His mind continued to race and wander. He thought of the previous night's strange dream. Although it was less of a nightmare than what he had been experiencing, the memory of it left him unsettled. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought she was actually in his dream.

****

T'Pol sat in front of her meditation candle, dressed in her blue pajamas.

The chime on her door rang. They hadn't made a specific plan to continue his treatments, but she was not surprised that he had come. That had been their old, unspoken routine.

She needed to stop the treatments, especially given what had occurred the previous night. They were connected telepathically, more than she had ever been with her betrothed, Koss. If they continued to be in physical contact, the bond would only grow stronger.

She briefly thought of lying to him, simply telling him that she no longer wished to treat him. However, that seemed unfair. He had a right to know the truth. She was both his captain and his friend, and she owed him that.

"Come in," she said formally.

Trip appeared in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He strode in and sat down before her.

"I slept better on your floor last night that I have in my own bunk recently," he said.

"I'm glad I could help you," she said earnestly.

She bit her lip.

"What's wrong?" he said.

She drew a breath. She was about to tell him something that Vulcans did not discuss with outsiders.

"Your dream last night. . ." she whispered, "I was in it."

"How did you know?" he asked.

He didn't like the look on her face or the vibe in the room.

"What I am about to tell you isn't widely known outside of Vulcan society, and even among ourselves it is rarely spoken about."

"Go on."

"Vulcans are touch-telepaths. When we have physical contact with someone, we can sometimes access their thoughts or transfer our thoughts to theirs. This is considered very intimate. This is why we avoid casual physical contact," she said.

Trip digested this information, and he realized what it possibly meant.

"You were in my dream last night. But it was really you."

She nodded.

"I believe over the course of our treatments, we've developed a light telepathic bond that allowed me to appear in your dream. I remember telling you that the beach in your mind could not ever be destroyed."

"That's amazing," said Trip, scooting toward her.

T'Pol swallowed.

"I never would have agreed to the treatments had I known it was possible to form even a light bond with a human. I violated your privacy without intent. . .but I still. . ."

Trip smiled at her.

"I was glad you were there. I had been having those nightmares for weeks. . I think you helped me."

He reached out to take her hand, and she snapped it back.

"You don't understand. This connection we have . . .it's likely the precursor to . . .to a mating bond. If we continue to be in physical contact with each other, it will only grow stronger."

Trip thought about this for a moment.

"You mean it's a romantic thing?"

"It's more than that," she whispered, "It's . . it's . ."

She couldn't continue, she closed her eyes.

He wanted more than anything to reach over and hold her, as he had done the previous night, but he knew somehow he shouldn't. But he really, really wanted to.

"It's okay, T'Pol," he said, "It's okay."

Before the captain's illness, Trip had just started to admit to himself that he was romantically interested in T'Pol. Certainly, he had been physically attracted to her since day one - that was a given. All the straight men on the ship were attracted to her. But he had started to really. . .like her on top of that. His anger at the world had fogged up those feelings over the past few months, but he now realized they still existed.

"It's not okay," she said, "as I said, telepathy is considered deeply intimate, more intimate than sexual relations. . ."

Sexual relations. The words knocked around in his head. He looked at her. Really looked at her. The way her pajamas clung to her body. The bee-stung lips. The adorable ears. He remembered the first night she had approached him for neural pressure. He thought she had been coming on to him. Now, he couldn't recall why he had wanted to rebuff those imagined advances. He tried to remember the last time he'd been with a woman. . had it really been before the Xindi's first attack?

T'Pol had stopped speaking, and before he knew what was happening he leaned over and took her face in his hands. She said nothing and was still.

All we have is right now, he thought. Somehow, he knew she had heard it.

He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. At first, she didn't respond, but gradually she began to return the kiss. She tentatively opened her mouth, and he thrust his tongue inside. She gasped then moaned.

T'Pol had never experienced anything quite like this. Vulcans didn't kiss or show this kind of affection at all, so she was unprepared for the sensations that raced through her mind and body. She knew she should tell him to stop, but the bond had somehow ignited the moment he had touched her. She felt what he felt and was unwilling or unable to suppress it. She felt all his sorrow and devastation of the last months course through her mind, as well as how alive she was making him feel. How exhilarated he felt as he held her.

She knew it wasn't logical to allow him to continue, but the mating bond wasn't a logical thing. It was a vestige of a far more primitive time in her people's history.

Trip found himself surprised that she hadn't tried to stop him, pleasantly so. However, he broke their embrace. He searched her face for any objection or worry, and he saw none.

"T'Pol," he whispered, "if I don't go now, I don't think I can stop. . .I . . ."

What Trip didn't realize is that that while she didn't understand his gentleness or his concern for her, she could comprehend his need. Vulcan mating cycles were all about primal need.

She lay back on the floor, taking him with her. He knew then, they had passed the point of no return.