Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Apologies to those who had to deal with an accidental omission of a chapter earlier. I had accidentally uploaded chapter 5 as chapter 4. Thank you, LadyinLA, for pointing it out. It should all be rectified at this point, so if you are one of those people wondering what happened to the Shuttlepod, take a look at chapters 4 and 5. Also, Crewman Ginsberg was struck in the head with a deuterium cannister, sadly a victim of an author who needed T/T'P to get some much needed alone time. Thanks for bearing with this novice. Without further ado...

Chapter 6

Captain Archer blandly regarded his Chicken Tetrazzini as it lay untouched next to the perfectly sauteed and artfully arranged vegetables on his plate. As he intently studied his PADD showcasing the status of the ongoing repairs, Chef could sense the darkness of the Captain's mood. It hung in the air like a looming storm cloud, threatening to burst. Chef was usually skilled at handcrafting a dish he felt the Captain would enjoy, but it appeared his efforts had been in vain this evening. The Captain clearly had other, more pressing matters on his mind. Chef could hardly blame the man. You could tell a lot about your commanding officer by their dining habits. From their time in the Expanse, Chef had learned that the Captain was prone to withdrawing from food when he was distraught or troubled. After some time had passed, Chef came to the conclusion that the occasion called for a different approach and motioned to clear the table.

"Shall I put this in stasis for you, sir?" he queried delicately.

The Captain turned to face him and Chef noticed his red-rimmed bloodshot eyes. From the looks of things, the Captain had not eaten or slept much in the past 24 hours. He inhaled with the breath of a man overburdened by his circumstances. "I'm sure it's delicious, Chef. I haven't had a chance to think about eating," he responded regretfully.

Chef had one responsibility on this ship–to ensure the crew was properly nourished. After all, as the Captain so eloquently liked to phrase it, "A starship runs on its stomach" and he was not about to allow his Captain to leave his domain hungry.

"Just give me one moment, sir. I think I can help" he suggested, and efficiently removed the original plate, quickly leaving the room before Captain Archer could protest. He returned swiftly, set a covered platter down on the table.

"Please ring if you require anything further sir."

With that he quietly left the Captain alone with his thoughts.

It had been 24 hours since Jonathan Archer was forced to abandon his First Officer and Chief Engineer along with two young crewmen on Theta Atlas IV. Seeking refuge in the nebula had achieved the desired effect, but the repairs to the Enterprise were proceeding at what felt like a snail's pace. To be fair, with four members of his crew unaccounted for, even the swiftest pace would be too slow for him.

As he sat brooding at the table that he shared so often with his two senior officers, their absence was keenly felt. He seldom ate alone in the Captain's mess, although in all honesty, the atmosphere in the room was far more peaceful now than it had been recently, save for his own restless conscience. While it was great to have Trip back, things had been altered between him and T'Pol. Ever since Trip returned from Columbia, he and T'Pol rarely attended dinner at the same time. When they did, their frosty demeanor permeated the room and made the dining experience about as pleasurable as a stay on Rura Penthe. Gone was the usual affectionate banter he had come to expect from the two and Archer could not put his finger on what the problem was, yet he knew they had always been able to put whatever differences they had in the past aside for the benefit of the mission. He felt sure if he could bring them together on this away mission, they might be able to bridge the rift between them. Now, they were stranded together on a harsh planet with no way to contact them with a hostile species lurking about and he was responsible.

Half-heartedly, he lifted the cover to his food to reveal a fragrant serving of Pok tar and a slice of pecan pie. Instantly, the intermingled scents of the Vulcan cuisine and pecan pie wafted up from the plate and he found the combination oddly comforting. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Separately, Trip and T'Pol were resourceful, but together, they made a formidable team. He hoped they could see that for themselves, he thought, lifting his fork as he began to eat his dinner.

In the white space, there was no concept of time. There was no Shuttlepod and no dead crew members. There was only nothingness, an otherworldly blank canvas of white stretching between the edges of her consciousness. Usually, she found the stark solitude conducive to meditation but that was before he began appearing in the white space. The last time he had been there, she had tried to force him away, not understanding why he had appeared like a daydream. Now, his absence was the only thing she could focus on and she struggled to find a rhythm to her breathing, frantically looking in all directions for him. The white void flowed infinitely all around her but she could not find the concentration she required. She plowed further ahead in the space, plunging deep into the snowy whiteness around her, but still found herself alone no matter how far she ran. She willed herself to quiet her racing mind. It was more difficult than it should have been. She knew she was beyond overdue for mediation and with the effects of her Trellium-D usage, her attempts were significantly less restorative than they used to be. When she was a child, T'Pol's mother, T'Les always seemed attuned to the times when her daughter was having difficulty entering a meditative state, Usually when T'Pol was overrun by volatile emotions, her mother would encourage her to use an ancient deep-breathing technique. It worked well for young T'Pol and eventually, she was able to manage her emotions more effectively. Why wasn't it working now?

She was on the brink of exhaustion as she stopped at once in the center of the seemingly never-ending stark space, shoulders heaving as she attempted to regulate her breathing. She assumed a cross-legged posture on the floor, closed her eyes and began the familiar rhythmic breaths; an ebb and flow that had no beginning and no end, but it was of little use.

T'Pol.

She felt rather than heard her whispered name. Opening her eyes in frustration, she was surprised and relieved when she saw him there, her bondmate, sitting on the floor of the white space, his eyes searching her face desperately for her to show some sign that she was alright. Upon noticing her recognition of his presence, he outstretched his hands towards hers. Taking her hands in his, he firmly held them and rubbed the back of them in soothing circles with his thumb and at once her breath began to slow.

"I was beginning to worry," he spoke seemingly without moving his lips. T'Pol realized the conversation was happening in their minds which must have been a by-product of their nascent bond. Ordinarily, T'Pol would find this fascinating as a scientist, but in this moment, it was not the satisfaction of scientific discovery that she felt. His mere presence had put her at ease and rather than question this, in this moment she was simply relieved as the turmoil she had been experiencing began to recede.

"You are here," she observed, skeptically. Her mind had deceived her before where Trip was concerned, and she found herself stiffening as images from a past dream turned nightmare flashed into consciousness. What had begun as a dreamlike state of a warm and passionate shower with Trip had ended in a horrifying instant with her turning into one of the soulless wraithlike beings of the Seleya. In that moment, she believed she had hurt him in the haze of the subconscious somnolence until she had woken to an almost harsher reality. She could not be the cause of harm to him of all people. After what had transpired with Sim, she knew her Vulcan heart could not bear it if anything happened to the original Charles Tucker III.

"Where else would I be?" he pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow. When she did not respond, he prodded, "T'Pol."

"You have been avoiding me. And you left." she said, a barely detectable strain to her voice.

He looked deeply into her eyes.

"I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere" he promised earnestly, stroking her cheek. God, she was beautiful.

"Then why did you transfer to Columbia? You left us–left me." Her tone was both shaky and pointed.

He paused, carefully considering how to respond. She was finally talking to him. He needed to tread delicately so as not to frighten her. He knew whenever they became too intimate for her comfort level, she pushed him away.

"I had to leave. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't pretend this thing with you wasn't consuming me. It was too much, but I still couldn't get you out of my head."

"What if you leave again?"

"I won't," he countered. "But you need to talk to me. I don't understand what you want from me. One minute you kiss me. Next, I don't exist. Now we have this bond and I have no idea what that means. Help me understand."

Trip's frustration was palpable. There was so much that he didn't know–couldn't know. T'Pol did not know how to find the words but she owed him an explanation. That much was certain. Making a decision, she placed a hand on his face gently. She could feel the roughness of his beard on his cheek as her fingers slid to the correct places for what she was about to do if he allowed her.

"Trip, may I join our minds together?" She asked. Following the discovery of the Kir'Shara and her mind meld with T'Pau, she had been studying the ancient ways. For the two of them who were so prone to miscommunication, this might be the only viable path forward.

Trip considered what she had said. "Aren't we already bonded? You can hear me now and I'm not even speaking apparently."

She did not blame him for his hesitation. She had told him about the bond, but nothing else about its implications. Her behavior had been egregious. He deserved to know. All of it.

"A mind meld would allow us to connect more deeply. We would know each other's thoughts and feelings and have access to the other's memories," she hedged.

As vulnerable as the thought of the full extent of his feelings for her being exposed made him feel, he also yearned to release them. He had already attempted to run from them unsuccessfully. He ended up returning to her but they had not found a way to bridge the divide that separated them. He knew she felt something for him, but everytime he thought their relationship might progress, she found a way to sabotage it. He knew she was a Vulcan and her feelings were complicated but this was more than that. She was afraid of their relationship and he needed to know why. His reluctance began to melt away, overpowered by his need to finally understand.

There was no other path to take. Looking deeply into her eyes, he slowly nodded his consent, not daring to speak or even to breathe lest she lose her courage. With his affirmation, the words softly flowed from her lips "Our minds are merging. Our minds are one." Trip could feel his defenses give way and he surrendered to her fully.