Author's Note: Special Thanks to Middleman, for a slew of valuable suggestions and catching a few discrepancies that have hopefully been fixed.
T'Pol slept better than she had for weeks, a deep dreamless, Vulcan sleep. Trip, on the other hand, dreamt of Romulan Drone ships, hundreds of them heading toward Earth. He awoke with a start in the night, grateful to find himself safely on Enterprise. He looked over at T'Pol, who still slept quietly next to him.
Trip got up and silently made his way into the next room. As much as he would have enjoyed her company, she needed her rest. Instead, he sat down at the computer and began accessing the technical specs, what little they had of them, on Romulan Drone ships, Romulan Mines and Romulan Warbirds. It was all classified information, but since he had provided much of it, he had all the necessary clearances. Romulan technology outstripped the Vulcans and Andorians, never mind Earth's ships and weapons.
T'Pol's father seemed to think a war was inevitable. And he had warned them. Why? If he was so worried about them, he could have kept them there. It's not as though they would have had a chance in hell of escaping that place. Maybe he was hoping to convince them to sit out the war, go somewhere safe. Or maybe he just felt guilty for abandoning T'Pol and wanted to somehow assuage that guilt.
Trip started to feel angry again. He gazed over at the picture of baby Elizabeth. He had known her for such a short time, and yet he would have died before abandoning her - given just about anything to have her back.
Although, thought Trip, the man had gone through a whole hell of a lot of trouble to see T'Pol again. Trip didn't know much about Romulan regulations, but he guessed T'Pol's father had taken a spectacular risk by abducting them. On the other hand, thought Trip, the man also seemed arrogant to a fault. Maybe he didn't even care about the risk. Or maybe he was powerful enough that there was no risk. That was a hell of a summer cottage.
And, worse still, he had clearly been keeping tabs on T'Pol her whole life. That meant the Romulans had sources in the now-defunct Vulcan High Command and in Starfleet. Trip placed his face in his hands.
They look just like Vulcans. They can blend in anywhere. That's nearly as scary as their use of drone ships and minefields.
"These bastards are dangerous," whispered Trip.
****
The next day, Trip was in Jon's ready room, making his usual engineering reports. Afterwards, Jon leaned back in his chair.
"How's T'Pol?" he asked.
"Are you asking me as her fellow officer or as her husband?" asked Trip.
Jon shook his head. He hadn't spoken to Trip about the kidnapping, at least not without T'Pol or members of Starfleet Intelligence present.
"Both I guess. We both know she's been through hell and back the last couple of years. But this new revelation - it's of great concern to Starfleet. It's not that they don't trust her, they do. But the think this man - this ProConsul - his interest in her could put the ship at risk."
Trip exhaled sharply. He couldn't deny that. He didn't think the ProConsul would do anything to directly harm T'Pol, but just being on his radar didn't feel comfortable.
"That man doesn't give shit about this ship," said Trip, "Or the life of anyone aboard except her." Trip paused. "And to a lesser extent me because. . . because I think he wouldn't want to upset her. As strange as that sounds."
Trip puzzled on that notion for a moment. He didn't quite understand why T'Pol's father had been so polite to him. It had to be a Romulan thing.
"What was he like?" asked Jon, "Not what you put in the report. But what was your take on him, really?"
Jon reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. He poured two generous glasses and handed Trip one, who took a big gulp.
"Intimidating," replied Trip, "The people under his command seemed frightened of him. They weren't about to disobey his orders. Orders of a personal nature."
Archer took a sip of his own drink.
"We don't have much sense of their social hierarchy. It does seem that they haven't any prohibitions on sending their personnel on private missions."
"An entire warbird," said Trip, "was sent to retrieve us. But I did get the sense from the officer we dealt with - Ravel - that she found her mission unusual. But that she wasn't in a position to protest."
"I wouldn't like personal errands for Admiral Williams, especially ones that involved kidnapping" said Jon, "But what little intelligence we have indicates the Romulans have a rigid class system, which likely translates into their command structure. We also know that they have been spying on the Vulcans for years."
"And probably Earth," said Trip, "The man knew details of our mission. He knew all about our encounter with the Minefield way back when. . and the drone. . .he knew classified details. . .brought them up over dinner like he was mentioning football scores."
Jon thought for a moment.
"It's an old intelligence trick, reveal details of what you already know to intimidate. . .throw your target off guard."
"It worked," said Trip, "But there wasn't anything we could have revealed to him that he didn't already seem to know."
Jon downed the rest of his drink and poured another.
*****
T'Pol entered the armory and found Malcolm there, working alone.
"Good evening, Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol.
Malcolm smiled, still getting used to his new rank. He was still getting used to the sight of her in Starfleet blues.
"I wish to speak with you," continued T'Pol as she looked around the room to be certain no one else was there.
"Was there something in the armory report that concerned you?"
T'Pol approached him at the console.
"It's not about the armory. I wanted to speak to you in your capacity as an agent of Section 31."
Malcolm sucked in his breath.
"I don't work for them anymore."
"No more than I work for Vulcan Intelligence," said T'Pol, "But I believe that Section 31 has contacted you regarding Commander Tucker and mine's recent foray into Romulan Space."
Malcolm concentrated on the screen before him, entering data. He knew he was about to have a spook to spook conversation. He looked at T'Pol, standing in her Vulcan posture, wearing her Starfleet uniform. Once a spook, always a spook. It was the same on Vulcan as it was on Earth. Malcolm realized that T'Pol was probably the only person on the ship who really understood that.
"You mean your foray into Klingon space?"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow.
"All right," said Malcolm, "They sent me the report, but Starfleet Command isn't supposed to know I know."
T'Pol still said nothing.
"If it comes up, I'll tell the Captain I know. My loyalty is to him first."
T'Pol nodded. She empathized with Malcolm. At least serving on a human ship, such conflicts of interest rarely came up.
"I would like to know if Section 31 knows any more about the incident than myself," said T'Pol.
"You were there," said Malcolm, "It happened to you and Trip."
"But I wish to know whether or not Section 31 knows more about the man who abducted us."
Malcolm shook his head.
"No. This was the first they'd heard of him," he paused, "But they did ask me to watch you carefully. Be certain that your loyalties were still with us. . ."
T'Pol closed her eyes. It wasn't a surprise. It was expected.
"I responded that it was nonsense to think that you or Trip would cross over to the Romulan side - whatever the circumstances."
"But that didn't change their. . .request," replied T'Pol smoothly.
Malcolm shook his head.
"I suppose it doesn't matter. I wasn't trusted by my own people before this. Now I'm not trusted by the humans."
Malcolm wanted to reach out, put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He knew that wasn't right, not with a Vulcan. But still, he felt for her.
"You're trusted by Starfleet. And the captain. And everyone on this ship. We know you," he said.
"But you won't show me the report you received from Section 31?"
Malcolm bit his lip. He looked at T'Pol, knowing how important it was to her to see the report. How many times had she save his life over the years? He owed her. And Trip. And he owed Section 31 nothing. He had told them as much.
Malcolm tapped into his console for a few moments.
"I'm going to go work on the torpedo, over there," said Malcolm as he nodded toward his screen.
T'Pol nodded back and approached the console. She read carefully. All the details from her debriefing were included followed by a few paragraphs of analysis. These included one line about continuing to observe her behavior, in case she had been turned.
She stepped away.
"If his intention was to win me to their side," said T'Pol, "I believe they would have been more discreet," she said, "Our abduction was a show of strength on his part. And I got no sense that he was even interested in having me stay," she paused, "Thank you, Lieu. ..thank you, Malcolm."
"You're welcome, T'Pol," he said.
*****
The ProConsul stared out over the moon's ocean, watching the school of Reman whales hunt fish for their dinner. Behind him, he heard footsteps that he recognized. They weren't the footsteps of Ravel or any of his officers. They were undisciplined steps.
"Father?" said a young male voice.
The ProConsul turned around to look at his youngest child, Ston. The young man was tall and thin, with a mop of reddish hair and dark eyes. He had just finished his formal schooling, and the ProConsul was considering his future. The boy was exceptionally bright, but he did not seem to have an aptitude for combat. Unlike all his other children, Ston could not handle himself in a fight, which was probably due to the fact that his mother had come from a breakaway sect of pacifists that Ston had been sent to deal with some 35 years earlier.
"Ravel told me that you brought my sister here," said Ston.
"What business is that of yours?" asked The ProConsul, though he knew the answer to that question. The ProConsul had 3 children by his Romulan wife, all sons. He had one half-Vulcan daughter, and he had one illegitimate son, Ston. Ston had always been fixated on the notion that he had a sister somewhere, one he imagined would be kinder to him than his brothers had been.
The ProConsul looked his disheveled son up and down and wondered if he had made a mistake by even acknowledging him. Sometimes, he thought boy would have been better off being raised among his mother's miserable people. He had brought the boy to Romulus because he didn't want to make the same mistake he had with T'Pol, but instead it often seemed he made a bigger mistake with Ston.
The ProConsul thought of his daughter, T'Pol and how proud he could have been of her had she been raised properly. She was a true Romulan at heart - a warrior, a scientist and a woman who did not suppress her passions. He should never have left her to be raised by Vulcans, and her unorthodox life seemed to prove that. The ProConsul thought of his daughter and the choices she'd made, ones that would taint her in the eyes of any Vulcan - or Romulan for that matter. Marrying a man from an inferior species was, well, unacceptable. On the other hand, the ProConsul knew exactly was it was like to love someone who was inferior - it had happened to him twice. And neither time he had had the courage to . . .well, that was past.
Over the years, he had read of her joining the intelligence service and then leaving for the diplomatic service and then finding her way into service on the human vessel.
The ProConsul had never heard of Earth or humans until he got the report of his daughter being stationed there. He had then learned everything he could about the race, and he had been impressed despite himself. These humans, he thought, had come a very long way in a short time. And they had had the good sense to chafe against the Vulcan High Command. Certainly, they were weak and they were unsophisticated. But under the right tutelage, humans could become valuable servants of the empire.
In any case, it was a great regret that he did not take T'Pol with him to be raised on Romulus. Ston, on the other hand, proved to be more problematic. The ProConsul was always proud of his academic abilities, which were always the highest in his class. But the boy was over-sensitive to violence - refusing to hunt and botching any combat lessons he was given. He wasn't physically weak, on the contrary, Ston was a fine athlete. He just didn't seem to like killing. Much like his mother.
"What was she like?" asked Ston.
"She carried herself with admirable grace," said the ProConsul, "And she is a woman of great accomplishment."
Ston nodded.
"Is she pretty?" asked Ston. He wanted his big sister to be pretty.
"Yes," said the ProConsul, "But then again her mother was beautiful, so it is not a surprise."
Ston gazed out at the school of whales, standing next to his father.
"I want to meet her. Can I meet her?" he said.
The ProConsul laughed.
"You're a fool, Ston," he said, "Of course you can't meet her. She's a Vulcan. Moreover, she lives among the out-worlders. She's married to a human. She serves on an Earth vessel. I am fortunate to have even been able to bring her here once."
Ston looked down at his feet in shame, but he was also angry.
"She's only half-Vulcan. You could have kept her here," spat Ston.
"I am not in the habit of keeping my children prisoner," said The Proconsul loudly, "And even if I were to have kept her here, she would have hated me for it. I do not wish for her to hate me," said the ProConsul, surprising himself with his own words. He also couldn't help thinking how indifferent he was to Ston's hate.
"You should have let me meet her," said Ston, "I would like to know about Vulcan - what it's really like. And Earth."
The ProConsul shook his head. He had no idea what he was going to do with his son.
****
T'Pol returned to her quarters late that night and found that Trip had already gone to bed. She quietly removed her uniform and got into the shower, allowing the hot water to massage her skin. She closed her eyes and felt the stress of her situation well up. She knew she needed to meditate. Quietly, she dried herself off and made her way into the living room and lit a candle.
She closed her eyes and gently concentrated. The swirl of emotions that had gripped her since her visit with Malcolm slowly subsided and drained out of her. The familiar peace overtook her. She breathed in and out, calmly and in a steady rhythm. Serenity filled her, body and soul. But when she went deeper, she sensed something was wrong with Trip. Images of the drone ship filled her head.
She got up and went into the bedroom. Trip was asleep, his breathing erratic. She knew he was dreaming about the Romulans. She knelt next to him and slipped her hand into his. She sent whatever serenity should could to him, through their bond. The dreams calmed, as did his breathing. She slipped in bed beside he and watched his face as he slept.
She was responsible for his concerns about the Romulans. If she weren't his wife, he would not have have been kidnapped, and he would not be burdened with the knowledge of what was coming. Although she knew better to regret their bond, she still resolved to protect him as best she could. The least she could do was give him the gift of a dreamless Vulcan sleep.
****
Trip woke up early, as was his habit. T'Pol was also an early riser, and she was already awake and dressed. He could see her through the door. She heard him stir and brought him a cup of coffee - just the way he liked it. For someone who didn't drink coffee, she had gotten good at making it.
"Thanks," he said.
"I believe you will need the caffeine since your dreams were troubled last night," she said, returning to the living room to fetch her cup of mint tea.
Trip sipped on his coffee.
"You could tell I was having nightmares?"
"Yes," she said, "And I feel responsible since they are about Romulans."
Trip restrained himself from rolling his eyes. It was just like her Vulcan mind to blame herself for the current situation with the Romulans. He beckoned her to come and sit down with her. She acquiesced and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You're right that I'm worried about the situation with the Romulans. . .but if anything I'm grateful to you. It seems to me that without our recent visit to Romulan space we'd have a lot less information than we do. I'm sure the Vulcans and Starfleet are grateful for the information. . "
Trip leaned over and caressed his wife's hair.
"They are grateful. They are also worried I might join my father's people. Betray the alliance."
"What?" he snapped.
She felt a burst of anger coming from him, so strong that she had to fight for emotional control. She was about to answer him, but he interrupted.
"I can't believe that. . .after everything you've done. . .after all that we've done. . .after you've saved their Vulcan hides and . . . and after you all you've done on this ship. . I . .I ought to . ."
She raised that familiar eyebrow, simultaneously pleased at his outrage and irritated by his outward expression of it.
"They are merely concerned," she said, "And rightfully so. I would imagine my father could offer a great deal to me. . .to us. . .if he wanted to. But it seems he didn't want to."
Trip shook his head. He had his own ideas on this subject.
"Darlin'," said Trip, "He wanted to, he just knew you wouldn't accept. Your Daddy seemed like a man who wouldn't take rejection well. And if he has been keeping tabs on you all these years, he'd at least know where your loyalties are. . .I doubt he'd ever betray his people or his family and no doubt he saw the same quality in you."
T'Pol was silent for a moment.
"Then why do you think he brought us there?"
"He brought you there - I was just tagging along. I think he just wanted to let you know who he was - before this trouble that's been brewing busts up into a full blown war. Just in case you needed him."
T'Pol said nothing. She couldn't think of a scenario where she would need him, but then wars were not logical endeavors.
****
Later that day, Trip was working in engineering when he got word of a personal, subspace call. It was from his father. Dammit, he thought. I suppose I've been avoiding this long enough. He retuned to his quarters and flipped on the screen to see a very annoyed looking Charles Tucker II.
"Hi Dad," he said.
"Hello son," said his father.
"Thanks for the letter of congratulations," said Trip, "T'Pol and I appreciated it."
Charlie Tucker shook his head at his son.
"You're mother and I would have sent a gift, if that were possible. Of course, even if it were, we wouldn't know what was appropriate. Given that you married a Vulcan - one that your mother and I haven't even met."
Trip bit his lip. His parents were good people, but they weren't exactly comfortable with the idea of their son stepping outside the mainstream. They were traditional.
"I've told you about her. You've gotten my letters."
"Yes. You did talk about her often enough for your mother to get the hint that you two might be - involved. But we didn't think anything would come of it. Don't Vulcans have rules against this kind of thing?"
"Not precisely. They do frown on it. But T'Pol doesn't care. And neither do I. You know what happened to us - what Terra Prime did. Well, I wouldn't gotten through that without her." Trip paused, "Our daughter Elizabeth. . .she . . .well, you know what happened."
"I never got to thank you for naming her after your sister," said Charlie, "Your Mom and I were real happy you did that."
"I didn't do it. T'Pol did," said Trip, "It was her idea."
Charlie seemed genuinely surprised at this news.
"Is she around? Can I meet her at least over this comm?"
"She's on the bridge. You've called in the middle of the day. Next time I'll make sure you get to talk to her. You'll like her. . .I promise."
Trip hoped that was true. He loved his parents, but the thought of them actually liking a Vulcan stretched credibility. At best, he hoped they would tolerate her.
"We planned on coming to see you," continued Trip, "Had we gotten back to Earth. But we got sidetracked."
"I read about your run-in with the Klingons on the news wire," said Charlie, "You just keep running into trouble out there."
Trip nodded.
"It's all part of the job," he lied, "But we made it through. We've both been through worse."
"Well, take care of yourself son."
"I will, Dad."
Charlie disappeared from the screen. Trip supposed the conversation had gone as best as it could have, under the circumstances. But he found himself wishing it could have gone better.
****
Before returning to Engineering, Trip stopped off in the mess hall and found Malcolm there. Malcolm looked tired and skinny, and he was pushing unfinished food around his plate. Trip realized that he had been so caught up in T'Pol's problems, he had nearly forgotten that other people on the ship were also dealing with an impending war. And thanks to his bond with T'Pol, he knew that Malcolm knew the truth about the kidnapping, not to mention other pieces of intelligence. Malcolm, unlike others, wasn't in a position to be in denial about the coming conflict.
"How are you, Malcolm?" asked Trip casually.
"Exhausted," replied Malcolm truthfully.
Malcolm didn't know about the bond between Trip and T'Pol, per say. He did know, however, how close the two were. Closer than most human spouses, he thought. And that meant that Trip knew about Section 31's report to Malcolm.
"Thanks for helping T'Pol out yesterday," said Trip, casually confirming what Malcolm already knew.
"It was the least I could do," said Malcolm, "Given the circumstances, we're all going to have to stick together."
Trip glanced over at Malcolm. He hated when Malcolm got cryptic.
"Meaning?"
Malcolm didn't look Trip in the eye.
"Meaning we're going to be on the front lines of a war. And my guess is sooner rather than later."
"We've been there before," said Trip, "And we survived."
Malcolm shook his head.
"This is going to be different. Very different. We're not going to be dealing with one doomsday weapon. The Romulans have hundreds, maybe thousands of warbirds and drones. Conquest is what they do. . .it's in their nature," replied Malcolm. As an Englishman, he knew all too well what lust for conquest could do once it gripped a civilization.
"I've got to believe that we can stop them," said Trip, "That the alliance will hold. . .after everything that happened on Earth. That better angels will prevail. . . .besides, nothing unites people like a common enemy."
Trip looked at Malcolm, who he knew to be a natural pessimist.
"And that may be what saves us," replied Malcolm glumly.
****
Far away, on the edge of Romulan space, Ston had made a decision. He wasn't going to sit on the sidelines and let life happen to him anymore. He was going to get what he wanted, before it was too late. After his father had left for Romulus, he stayed behind at the cottage. He had told his father that he planned to consider options for further schooling - but that was a ruse.
Instead, Ston contacted a school friend whose father owned a fleet of cargo ships. He inquired as to whether he could hire one out for a trip outside the borders of the empire.
"Now, why would you want to do that Ston?" Maleek had asked curiously.
"Soon travel won't be safe," replied Ston, "And I want to see that part of the galaxy before men like my father pound it into oblivion."
Ston had chosen Maleek for this on purpose. Maleek had a sense of adventure, always dashing off to climb mountains or visit far flung sections of the empire. A trek into the out-worlder's zone would be irresistible to Maleek, he knew. Especially if Stron, who Maleek thought was somewhat weak, suggested the adventure.
"I think I can get a crew together," said Maleek.
"Make sure it's a ship equipped to masquerade as something other than Romulan. Maybe Vulcan, if you can manage. In case we're contacted. . ."
Maleek nodded. Romulan cargo ships often masqueraded as Vulcans or Klingons when they were transporting contraband outside the empire.
"I think we can manage that," said Maleek, "But the crew is going to have to be well paid."
Ston nodded.
"I have plenty of money," he said. After all, his father could be generous to a fault.
"Well, then," said Maleek, "I'll have to get back to you when I've put together a crew."
"I want you here in four days," said Ston. "Four days."
Maleek nodded and disconnected communications.
Ston felt excitement well up inside him. He had always wanted to do something - anything interesting. And now he was headed into what would soon be a war zone to - well, he didn't quite know what he planned to do yet. But whatever it was, he knew it would be wonderful.
He brought up a photograph on the screen. The image was of T'Pol, from her Starfleet file.
"Soon," he whispered.
