In answer to her playful suggestion, Malcolm strode across the room, and he pulled her into a hard, passionate kiss. He forced her mouth open with his tongue, and she responded with a small moan. She placed her hands on his shoulder to keep from swooning, and then let herself be completely overtaken. This wasn't friendship she was feeling from him, not this time.

His hands found the zipper of her jumpsuit, and he quickly pulled it down. He pushed the familiar garment off her shoulders, and then wrapped his hands around her small back — pulling her in closer to him.

"Malcolm…" she whispered, barely able to breathe.

"Quiet, love," he ordered.

Love, she thought. He called her love. That frightened her. In the abstract, the notion had always frightened her. Now, with the world falling apart around them, it was terrifying. And yet, she didn't want to run…not this time.

Malcolm pulled her grey tank over over head and pushed her on to his bunk, breaking their contact for a moment. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he slipped out of his own jumpsuit and boots so he was only in his Starfleet blues. Then, he pulled off her boots and the rest of her jumpsuit before joining her on the small bunk. He crawled on top of her, his lips finding her neck and nuzzling her. Hoshi wanted to speak, but she held back. He was clearly enjoying the silence.

His right hand found its way to the waistband of her grey shorts and gently pushed its way under the fabric. His finger brushed between her legs, before moving down and slipping inside her. Hoshi bit her lip and closed her eyes. Without removing his fingers, which were deftly stroking her, Malcolm crawled downward, planting kisses along the way. He then pushed down her shorts down her bent legs and off before he crawled up pressed his tongue right at the center of her. His fingers and tongue worked in concert with each other until he felt her muscles spasm, and she gave a soft scream.

He gently removed his fingers and licked them, watching her recover for a bit before climbing up on top of her. He gave her a deep, open-mouthed kiss, making sure she could taste herself on his lips. He pressed his erection, which was still confined in his briefs, against her taut stomach. She helped him pull his his tank over his head, brushing her hands over the bare skin of his chest.

He kissed her again, and she pushed his shorts down, finally freeing himself from his constricting clothing. She wiggled upwards and spread her legs, helping him slip inside her.

He locked his eyes with hers, and she felt the connection that happened that first, platonic night on the station. He started thrusting, then reached down to see if he could make her come again. His fingers moved with concentrated determination, until they found success and she became limp and quivering. He then pushed on until he joined her.

A few minutes later, she looked up and began to speak again but she stopped. Instead, she settled into his arms and soon fell quickly asleep.


Enme was bored out of his mind. He paced the small cabin where he was confined, and occasionally peered out the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of anything interesting.

Although he had been relatively well treated, he had decided that hearing a battle rage all around him and not being able to participate did count as a kind of torture. He also found himself rather conflicted. He was happy to be alive, that was certain. Yet, he was both disappointed and concerned that his people had lost the battle for the mining colony. Such losses were rare. It occurred to him that his people may have underestimated the Alliance that they were now facing.

If we, as a people have a flaw, he thought, it is overconfidence.

The chime rang.

"You may enter," he shouted.

His sister, dressed in her Starfleet uniform, walked in the door followed by a steward.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I would like to join you for breakfast."

"By all means," said Enme politely gesturing to the small table in the corner, "I could use the company."

The steward placed a bowl of Plomeek soup at T'Pol's place and a plate of pancakes at Enme's. He also served them each a cup of Vulcan tea, and glasses of orange juice. Enme had come to enjoy the human fruit juice and had requested it every morning. After the steward had left, the siblings sat down at the cramped table.

"Are you being treated well?" said T'Pol.

Enme sipped his orange juice.

"Very," he said, "Apart from the small confines."

"This cabin is larger than the brig," said T'Pol.

"I don't doubt it," said Enme, "and I'l wager it is more comfortable, too. I do love this orange juice."

"My husband grew up in an Earth region famous for its oranges," said T'Pol, "Even on Earth, they only grow in certain climates and are considered a great delicacy."

"I would love to try the fruit itself," said Enme, "Could you arrange that?"

"Commander Tucker has some in stasis. I will ask him to gift you with one," said T'Pol.

"Thank him for me, assuming he agrees."

T'Pol nodded, and she sipped her tea.

"Tell me," he said, "How did you end up married to a human? My understanding is that Vulcans rarely couple with off worlders."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow at the very personal question.

"You can tell me. We are family, after all."

"It is simple," she said, "We served together on this ship, and we found each other's company agreeable."

"But according to your dossier, you were married to a Vulcan for a time."

T'Pol didn't react to the fact that he knew such personal information about her, she simply took a sip of her soup.

"That was in name only," she said, "and I had already bonded with Commander Tucker so the marriage was invalid from the beginning."

"How romantic," said Enme.

"It didn't seem so at the time," responded T'Pol.

"Our father wishes me to marry a Romulan girl from another patrician family in order to create a political alliance. She's practically a child."

"Have you met her?" said T'Pol, sympathetically.

"No," said Enme.

"Perhaps you will find her agreeable."

Enme chewed on a bit of blueberry pancake.

"Not likely," said Enme, "I tend to enjoy women…not girls."

"She'll eventually become a woman," said T'Pol.

"That's a good way of looking at it, sister," said Enme, "Of course, since I'm now a prisoner, I don't have to worry about it until this war between our people ends. Tell me, will I be kept on this ship for the duration?"

T'Pol shook her head.

"No," she said, "You will be likely taken to Vulcan and held there. They will treat you fairly."

"Maybe it will give me a chance to discover my people's roots before I am rescued," said Enme.

"You would do well to embrace logic," said T'Pol.

Enme sighed. The logical thing was to accept his situation, but Romulans were not logical.

"Congratulations on your victory, by the way," said Enme, "I have been pleasantly surprised to find myself alive these last few days."

T'Pol nodded.

"We fully expect to survive all the coming battles," she said, "In fact, the Alliance will no doubt approach you with idea of helping us open negotiations with your people. It will serve neither side to have a long, drawn-out conflict in which no territory is gained."

"Don't underestimate us, sister," Enme said.

"Your people clearly made that mistake regarding our side a few days ago," she said, "So it's good advice all around."

"On that we can agree," said Enme, "Now let's change the subject to something more pleasant. I've had blueberries and strawberries. I wish to try oranges. Are there any other human delicacies you can recommend?"


Archer sat back and looked at Malcolm.

"I'm not comfortable keeping this from her," said the captain.

"This interrogation will happen on a need to know basis. You need to know. I need to know. Phlox needs to know. Two of my security officers need to know and Hoshi needs to know. That's already too many people. Besides, he's T'Pol's brother. Vulcan or not, she's going to have sympathy for him. Both Vulcans and Romulans value blood connections."

Archer shook his head.

"She might be able to help," he said, "and I don't want her to think we don't trust her."

"It's your call, sir," said Malcolm.

"What about Hoshi?" said Archer, "She seemed to like the guy at dinner. Is she going to be okay with this?"

Malcolm showed no sign of personal interest when Hoshi's name came up. In this, he would have done any Vulcan proud.

"I've spoken with her, twice, and she is ready to do her job."

Archer nodded.

"When are you going to proceed?"

"1300 hours," said Malcolm, "The armory will be sealed off at that time."

"Keep me posted," said Archer, "and I want to see your report as soon as it is complete."

"Yes, sir."


T'Pol arrived in Archer's ready room a half hour later, and Captain and First Officer regarded each other like the professionals they were. He told her what he felt was her right to know, and she reacted to the knowledge that they would be interrogating her brother like a Vulcan. She showed no reaction.

"I know this can't be easy," said Archer.

"It's neither easy or hard," responded T'Pol, "It is necessary. I am sure Mr. Reed will behave according to Starfleet protocols."

Archer bit his lip, remembering his own bending and breaking of Starfleet protocols in The Expanse. He hoped that Malcolm wouldn't be pushed so far, although the stakes seemed just as high.

"I'm sure he will," said Archer, hoping she didn't hear the doubt in his voice. "Also, tell Commander Tucker about this — situation. He's the only senior officer not yet informed, and I want him kept in the loop as well."

"Yes, sir," said T'Pol, who was puzzled by this order. She thought perhaps that Archer simply didn't want to put her in the position of keeping a secret from Trip. Or perhaps he knew that they didn't keep secrets. Or maybe he just hoped Trip would be able to help her deal with the situation. In any case, she was grateful.

"Dismissed," said Archer.


T'Pol got up and wordlessly returned to her post. Before she knew what was happening, her mind wandered to her time being held by the Suliban and the torturous drugs that had coursed through her system. She hadn't given them any information, but that was primarily due to the fact that she had none to give. She hoped Section 31 had more humane methods, although even if they did, she had great sympathy for her brother.


At noon, T'Pol met Trip in the mess hall for lunch. They dined in a quiet corner, where no one could hear their conversation.

"Why wasn't I told about this before?"

"At first, it was a need to know operation. However, Captain Archer believes all senior officers need to know," she replied.

Trip didn't respond, just kept eating.

"How'd it go at breakfast?" he asked a few minutes later. He stared down at his food, knowing full well that he wouldn't find the truth in her face. He needed to access her mind while she spoke to find what was going on inside her head. He had started to learn to do that without even touching her.

"He was in an agreeable mood," she said, "but I do believe that he would escape if he could. However, I don't believe he would destroy the ship with himself on it. He seems to value his own life too much."

"We'll see if that changes," said Trip, "I'm sure Malcolm will put extra people on security after today."

Trip sensed concern for her brother behind the Vulcan mask. It was deep in her mind, but it was there. A combination of her Vulcan sense of honor and a budding familial affection for the Romulan was buried under all that control. Trip had not sensed any affection for her father or the other brother, so this was a new development.

As his wife changed the subject to the status of the warp drive, he decided to ask the the captain to get the Romulan transferred off the ship as soon as possible.


Hoshi arrived at the armory fifteen minutes before the procedure was to begin. She saw a bio bed had been placed there, and Phlox was monitoring some equipment. Malcolm didn't look at her as she walked into the room.

"The two guards have gone to get our subject," said Malcolm, without meeting her eyes.

"Hello, Phlox," said Hoshi.

The doctor smiled at her, reassuringly. Although Phlox would not be performing the procedure and was only there if something went wrong, she knew he had the strictest of medical ethics. He wouldn't be here if it was going to be like it was with the Xindi. She believed that.

She looked down at the hyposprays that were lined along a tray next to the biobed. They were a series of drugs designed to heighten serotonin levels and intoxicate the patient. The idea was that he would simply answer any questions asked, and hopefully the experience would be pleasant for him. But the drugs were powerful, and Vulcans were very adept at resisting them. Malcolm was operating on the assumption that a Romulan would also be resistant.

Hoshi looked up when she heard the door open. Enme stood there between the two guards. He saw the set up, and since he was no fool recognized what was about to happen.

He made a move against one of the guards and quickly subdued him, but the other already had reached for his phase pistol and soon stunned the prisoner. They carried him to the biobed and strapped him down. Malcolm immediately picked up a stimulant hypospray and revived him.

Enme's eyes fluttered open.

"I knew your politeness was just a facade," he said to Malcolm, and then he turned to Hoshi and looked her straight in the eye, "but you I am disappointed in, my dear."

Hoshi felt herself choking up. She reminded herself that while what they were doing was a violation, the procedure was designed to be painless. She sucked up her reservations and guilt, and she sat down at the recording station.

Malcolm administered the first round of the drugs.


Late that night, T'Pol, wearing civilian clothes rather than her jumpsuit, strode forcefully through the halls clutching a small bag in her hands. She found her way to her brother's room, and she asked the guards to open the door.

"We don't know if he's awake, yet, Commander," said one of the guards.

"I shall see for myself," she stated.

She walked into the dimly lit cabin, and saw her brother sprawled on the bunk, most of the green gone from his complexion. He appeared to be sleeping. So, she carefully approached the table and removed an orange from her bag. She placed it there, but it rolled toward the edge. So, she returned it to the bag, and she placed the bag on the table with the orange inside.

"How are you, sister?"

The voice was a whisper.

"I am well. May I ask how you are?"

"Groggy," he said, "and I don't remember anything after the first hypospray. I'm curious to find out if I was helpful to your cause or managed to resist. Do you happen to know?"

T'Pol turned around, the bag in her hand.

"Mr. Reed has not yet completed his report," she replied.

"Would you do me the favor of telling me what's in it?" he asked, "I want to know if I should throw myself out the airlock."

"That would be a painful way to accomplish one's own death," she stated, "and besides, I will not be able to inform you of the contents of the report."

Enme sat up.

"It's all a blank…you know, I wasn't prepared for this. Normally, we Romulans don't bother interrogating prisoners."

"That seems foolish," said T'Pol, "and illogical."

Enme shrugged.

"Not if your strategy is outgun everyone and pound them into bloody oblivion until they surrender…that's not a state secret by the way. And in any case, the airlock will be far more pleasant than whatever awaits me if I gave any key information to your people."

T'Pol stepped forward, taking the orange out of the bag.

Enme recognized it immediately. "Thank you, and thank your husband for me," he said, taking the fruit.

"I will do that," she said, "He was happy to oblige my request. You don't consume the outer peel, only the wedges inside."

Enme broke open the peel and inhaled the fresh citrus scent.

"It's acidic, like the juice," he said.

"Yes," she replied, "if there's nothing else…"

Enme didn't say anything for a moment. He just carefully ate one of the wedges, savoring each bit.

"Would you stay a bit longer and keep me company?" he said, "I'll share with you."

He held out the fruit toward her. She thought of telling him that Vulcans didn't eat food with their hands, but instead she took a wedge and sat down at the table.

"Would you like me to tell you what our father was like, when he wasn't pretending to be a Vulcan?"

T'Pol nodded, and her brother smiled at her.

"Well, as you can imagine…he was quite a powerful figure. . .once when I was about eleven Romulan years old. . .just a little thing, he showed up at my school for a conference. . well, apparently he didn't like what the teacher said because the next day . ..the poor man was transferred to an outer colony….can you imagine? That's when I figured out how different our family was…"

T'Pol sat back and listened for a long while. Eventually, Enme drifted back to sleep.


T'Pol returned to her quarters a few minutes later, knowing Trip waited for her.

"You were gone way too long," he said.

He clearly had been pacing their quarters the entire time. He wore the t-shirt and boxers that he usually slept in, but he hadn't honored her request to go to sleep without her.

"He wished to have company," said T'Pol, "I provided it until he fell asleep again."

If Trip had been worried earlier, he was more worried now. She sensed it.

"That was kind of you," he said, beckoning her toward the bedroom.

He laid down on the bed, and she changed into her silk pajamas. She crawled up next to him and put her head on his chest. He traced the outline of her ear with his fingers.

"He believes that whatever he revealed, he will be killed if he returns to the Empire."

Trip continued to stroke her ears, but he applied more pressure.

"It's because of things like that that we have to fight this war so hard," said Trip, "The Romulans are barbarians, no matter how polite they are or how good their ale is. All of us in this alliance are better than they are. We would never kill one of our people for talking the way he did…probably did. We would have compassion. Think about what happened to Hoshi. Did anyone blame her? Everyone admired her for resisting as hard as she did."

T'Pol nodded. Everything Trip said was true. He was a wise man, and he had made her feel better. She reached up and kissed him on the mouth, sweetly at first and then more aggressively.

"Are you too tired to engage in sexual relations, husband?" she inquired.

He grinned.

"I'm never too tired for that," he said, his hands migrating down to her rear end.

"I'm glad of it," she said, as her hands migrated to the waistband of his shorts and then lower.

No, he didn't seem too tired at all.


Hoshi was alone in her quarters, curled in her bunk and staring out at the stars. She had not even asked to see Malcolm, whom she knew was working on the report. Everything had gone perfectly. Romulans, it seemed, lacked the mental discipline of their Vulcan cousins. Enme had appeared un-traumatized by the procedure and had answered every one of Malcolm's questions in vivid detail.

As much as she was glad that he hadn't been physically harmed, Hoshi knew the mental damage they had done to him. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't regret giving the Xindi reptilians the code information, despite the fact that they had stopped the weapon in time. She still regretted that she hadn't been able to take her own life that day, and on her worst days, she considered doing just that to make up for what she had done.

So, she understood that, torture or not, she had destroyed a person that day — a person who had saved her life. As the tears came, she hoped that it was worth it.