"Black Coffee, Dark Roast," said T'Pol, and soon a cup of coffee appeared.

She inhaled the aroma, which was not unpleasant, even though she couldn't stand the bitter drink.

She instead took the cup down the hall of the medium-sized Starfleet transport shuttle and into the private cabin she and Trip had been assigned. One of the luxuries of being a Starfleet officer was travel on Starfleet transports rather than the commercial ones, which didn't have private cabins. The trip to Mississippi would take approximately four hours, thanks stops in Dallas and New Orleans.

Still, the sunny little cabin was comfortable, resembling an old-fashioned train car except with a more streamlined design. In the cabin, T'Pol found the new captain of Enterprise sprawled out, with a wet towel covering his head.

"I've brought you your coffee, Captain," she said.

Trip didn't move, but he spoke weakly. "I didn't ask you for it as my first officer. That would be a breach of protocol. I asked you as my wife and because I don't think I could have made it down the hall on my own."

"I still believe you should have seen a doctor for an analgesic," said T'Pol.

"Not if Admiral Archer didn't need one," sighed Trip.

T'Pol helped Trip sit up and handed him the coffee, which he sipped on gingerly.

"I'm beginning to understand why the 602 Club has started to serve Klingon Blood Wine. Human males have similar competitive sociological patterns."

Trip squinted in the bright light of the cabin.

"You ain't kiddin, sweetheart," said Trip, "but promise me if you ever see me reaching for that swill again, nerve pinch me before I take one sip."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow, and she was about to speak. Then, it dawned on her that he was kidding.

"Perhaps I will just remind you of this incident, and that shall be enough to deter you."

"Jon has the tolerance of a man twice his size," moaned Trip.

"I think we've both noticed his determination to build up that tolerance of late," said T'Pol, "and I am grateful you don't share his habits."

Trip shook his head, acknowledging that she had a point. Gradually, they began to speak of the situation. Jon had always liked a drink, but since they had first gotten back from The Expanse, he had been a little too friendly with the bottle. As his subordinates, they certainly weren't in a position to say anything unless it endangered a mission. But Trip was concerned.

The night had started out fun, with the three of them talking about the first couple of years aboard the ship. Jon had told T'Pol some stories of the early days preparing for the mission, including he and Trip's adventures in Alice Springs. In return, T'Pol told them of her intelligence training on Vulcan. But then Jon had discovered, through the waitress called Ruby, that the club kept a secret bottle of blood wine behind the bar. Jon had bragged about his drinking it while imprisoned by the Klingons, and soon the two men were trading shots of the highly concentrated drink.

For her part, T'Pol was grateful that her husband was mostly a quiet drunk. She had learned in the short time they were married, that it was rare that Trip had too much to drink and when he did, he simply stopped talking. Unless you spoke to him first, and then he babbled incoherently. By the time she had helped him back to their suite at Starfleet headquarters, she resolved to thank Lt. Commander Reed for not allowing her husband to throw himself out of the airlock of Shuttlepod One all those years ago. In Trip's intoxicated condition, Reed had to have been at least tempted to let him go.

"It's a tricky situation," said Trip, "but if I ever see the Admiral hitting the bottle on duty again…I'll have to say something."

T'Pol raised another eyebrow.

"We knocked back a few when you and Hoshi were being held…it seemed harmless at the time, but in retrospect…"

His voice trailed off, and T'Pol did not respond. She had no idea how to respond to this unnerving habit Archer had developed. She knew very well the dangers of addiction, and how sensitive it could make someone.

"There's medication you can take to curb your habit," said Trip, "but it's getting people to admit to having a issue and taking the stuff that's always tricky. The medicine kills some of the pleasure of drinking because it stops you from feeling the intoxication. If you're hitting the booze to kill the pain, there isn't much point to being on anti-intoxicants."

"Perhaps I will suggest meditation," said T'Pol, "if the subject ever comes up."

"Let's hope it doesn't, darlin," said Trip, closing his eyes again.

T'Pol decided it was best to change the subject, since the situation with the Admiral could not be solved at the moment. Besides, her immediate concern was her husband.

"Do you believe you will be recovered by the time we reach Mississippi?"

Trip glanced up at the chronometer.

"I hope so," said Trip, not wanting his mom to recognize his ailment.


The ProConsul's cottage was normally his private retreat. Only his children and Reman servants ever came there, and he preferred it that way. Why he had offered it as the site of Bala and Ston's wedding, he didn't know. The wedding was planned quickly and the various family members had arrived on two separate warbirds and had spent a day mingling awkwardly.

Her family had long been rivals of his family, going back centuries. This wedding would unite them, and hopefully provide an alliance that would allow them all to dominate the senate and obtain the largest share of the spoils that would no doubt result from the current conflict.

Thankfully, however, the elaborate Romulan marriage ceremony did not have a role for the father of the groom. So, The ProConsul watched from a high balcony as the son he despised married the girl, instead of the son he loved.

You are lucky, Ston, he thought, if this marriage wasn't necessary, you would not be breathing.


Enme heard the chime at his door. Since his sister would be on Earth for a few more weeks, he figured it was either a steward or Hoshi. He was sitting in the chair at the window, watching the storm of Jupiter rage.

"Come in," he said.

He was surprised to see the intelligence officer, Malcolm Reed, enter his rooms.

"Hello," said Malcolm.

"Good Morning," said Enme, "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to help you," said Malcolm.

Enme laughed, unpleasantly.

"We're looking to open deep back-end negotiations with your people. Starting with your father. Our aim is to make them understand the lack of wisdom in trying to invade this quadrant. Can you help us?"

Enme stood up. He walked over to the much smaller man and glared at him. The officer didn't back down. He glared right back.

"No," said Enme, "You may go now."

Malcolm laughed at that.

"You're hardly in a position to give me orders," said Malcolm, "but think about what I said. When the war is over, you'll be free to go. Anywhere you like."

Enme turned and faced the window.

"Only cowards negotiate," he sneered.

Malcolm smiled.

"Well," he said, "I shall then leave you to your solitude."

Enme turned his head.

"Well, I'm sure Hoshi will stop by later."

"Don't count on it."

With that, the man left.


T'Pol drove the rented electric car with Trip riding shotgun from the Gulfport transport pad to the newly built Tucker home, which was tucked away on ten acres in the lush pine forests of Southern Mississippi.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better," he said. It wasn't a lie, but it was a matter of degrees.

"I suggest you ask your family for an analgesic when we arrive. It would not be dishonest to simply state you have a headache. You need not elaborate on the reason."

Trip sighed. She was right. He nodded. The house which sat in a sunny clearing was new and contemporary, but it was built from brick in a style that suggested the early twentieth century houses of the region — two stories with a large porch and a big, stained glass window above the door. Down a back path was a guest bungalow, built especially for Trip's brother's family and their frequent visits with their adopted son. Trip's brother's husband was Irish and the family lived in Ireland, so when they came it was for extended visits.

The red garage was an outbuilding about fifty meters before the house, and T'Pol parked the vehicle there. Trip flipped open his communicator.

"Mom, we're here," he said.

"Be right out," drawled Elaine Tucker through the device.

Trip and T'Pol headed for the main house. Trip glanced at his wife, who had been wearing human clothes since their arrival on Earth, but that morning she had dressed in Vulcan civilian robes of patterned silk. Rather than use a scarf to hide her ears, she had used one to tie her long hair back and make her ears conspicuous.

"The air is humid here," said T'Pol, looking up at the tall trees.

"Welcome to the Gulf Coast," he replied. "Let me know if you have any trouble breathing, okay? This is a long way from a Vulcan desert, and I know your body didn't evolve for this kind of humidity. The good new is that the mosquitos will likely leave you alone. They're only interested in old-fashioned iron blood."

He smiled at her. He had gently searched her mind to see if she was nervous, but she wasn't. She was accepting. She had married Trip, and it was her duty to meet his family. She intended to endure the visit like a Vulcan.

Elaine Tucker appeared on the front porch, and she immediately rushed down the stairs and pulled her son into a bear hug, which he returned. She wasn't as tall as her son, but she was thin and well-formed.

"Good to see you, Mom," said Trip.

"I'm just glad you made it here in one piece," she said. "You know, I sometimes avoid the news just because I don't want to here what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into. Next time I see Jonathan Archer, I'm going to give him a good talking-to about risk-taking."

She reached up and brushed a hair out of Trip's eyes. Then, she turned to look at the Vulcan woman standing next to him.

"I'm glad to finally meet you in person, T'Pol," said Elaine, tentatively.

T'Pol reached a hand out.

"It is very agreeable to finally meet you in person, Ms. Tucker," said T'Pol.

Elaine glanced at Trip.

"I didn't think Vulcans shook hands," she said, taking T'Pol's hand.

"Most Vulcans don't," replied T'Pol, "but I'm endeavoring to adapt to human customs. And since you are family, physical contact is not inappropriate."

"Well," said Elaine, "that's very sweet of you. And we're going to adapt to some of yours. Charlie has made sure there will be plenty of veggies and tofu on separate vegetarian grill tonight. We're throwing party to celebrate your arrival. All the aunts, uncles and cousins will be here. Plus a good number of the neighbors. Oh, and we've got a zydeco band coming up from NOLA, and Uncle Jim is going to make a batch of his famous white russians. Plus there's going to be a keg…and I've ordered a wedding cake from town"

Trip bit his lip, trying to repress a laugh at the look on T'Pol's face.

"Don't either of you look at me that way. I was robbed of throwing you two a proper wedding. So you are to consider tonight a belated reception. I just wish your brother was here. But Bert doesn't want to take my grandson out of school…says the boy's getting too old…so, that means you two can stay in the guest quarters."

Trip nodded.

"I'll get our bags," he said.

"Nonsense. Your Dad will haul them out. It will insult him you don't let him do it. Not another word…he's out back setting some things up for tonight. Now come in. . I've got tea brewing in the kitchen. Trip told me that you drink tea…I've got some chamomile."

"Thank you, Ms. Tucker," said T'Pol, "Trip requires an analgesic for a headache. May we trouble you for one?'

Elaine looked at her son with concern, and put a maternal hand on his cheek.

"Headache! Ah, you did mention something about the 602 club didn't you? That place seems to deal in headaches. I hope he didn't embarrass you too much, my dear. Tuckers generally hold their liquor well but tend to babble…I guess you'll just have to go easy tonight, kid."

T'Pol blinked and shot her husband a look. He just grinned and led his wife into his parents house.


Hoshi arrived at Enme's door to find the guard there, as usual. This time, however, she was not allowed in.

"I have full clearance, Ensign," said Hoshi.

"Not any more, Lieutenant," said the nervous Ensign.

"It's my job to study the prisoner's language," said Hoshi.

"Orders have come down that you are no longer allowed access to the prisoner."

Hoshi wanted to argue, but she knew it was hardly the young ensign's fault. She knew exactly whose fault it was, and she was going to hold him responsible.

How dare he not trust me. How dare he think I couldn't handle my job. How dare he read anything more than sympathy in my concern for…

Hoshi stomped all the way to Malcolm's temporary office, and she blew straight past the assistant and right into the office where Malcolm sat reading an intelligence report.

"I suppose you didn't come here because you wanted to take me to lunch," said Malcolm, doing his best not to smile.

"You had no right to ban my access-"

"I had every right," said Malcolm, "and you know all the reasons why. Even the ones I didn't put in my report."

Hoshi's glared, folded her arms and sat down. She stared at him for the longest time without saying anything. Then, she spoke.

"It's not what you think," she said, "I'm not interested him in that way. You have no need to be jealous."

Hoshi realized that she wasn't lying, to her surprise. Enme was handsome and charming, but he wasn't exactly boyfriend material. She just felt sorry for him, and she felt guilty about his situation. It was possible to find someone attractive and know it wasn't possible to act on the attraction.

"Truly," she continued, "I pity him is all. Would you rather I pitied you and fucked him?"

Malcolm stood up, walked over to Hoshi and got nose to nose with her.

"Irrelevant, since we haven't fucked…in awhile."

Before she could react, Malcolm pulled her into a deep, long kiss. She had expected it to be hard and harsh, reflective of the anger she felt. But it wasn't. It wasn't precisely soft, either. It was just enough pressure to make her swoon slightly as she felt her anger drift away. She put her arms around him, genuinely happy to be there.

He pulled away, leaving her surprised.

"Are you in or out?" he asked.

There was no anger in his voice. It was just a simple question.

"You're either my girlfriend or you aren't. I'm not going to live with an open ended question," he continued.

She reached up and tried to answer him with a kiss, but he pulled away.

"Say the words," he said.

"I'm in. You're the one. You're my…boyfriend."

"So there will be no one else? We're exclusive?"

She sighed, hating these kinds of conversations but also recognizing his position.

"Yes," she sighed with a soft smile, "We're exclusive."

For the first time in a long time, Malcolm smiled at her and then pulled her back into the kiss.


Charlie Tucker looked around at the eighty or so guests that mingled in his lush backyard. The band played a lively old tune, heavy on the fiddle, and a few couples were even dancing. The smells from the grill filled the air, and a few children played tag across the back hill. People were having a good time.

Everyone, except his new daughter-in-law. She had simply shadowed his son the whole evening, saying little and reacting to nothing.

Charlie reminded himself that she was from a completely alien culture. For all he knew, she was having a great time.

His wife of nearly forty years approached him and handed him a glass of beer.

"So what do you think, Charlie? For real?"

"Well," he said, "She is beautiful, and they do seem rather attached. He can't keep his eyes off her."

"She's sexy as all get out, too," replied Elaine, "and no doubt presented a challenge. You know how our boy loves a challenge."

Charlie smiled at that and looked over at his son and daughter-in-law. Elaine's brother Troy was talking to them both, no doubt telling them about the local frog jumping contest that he'd recently won. Frog jumping was a tradition in Jefferson County, going back about 200 years.

"He is completely over the moon, isn't he? It's nice to see him happy…and she, well, she must care about him. She can hardly go back to her homeworld now. Vulcans are less on board with interspecies marriage than us humans. I do hope that Trip isn't upset with us for having a cake…I know we were supposed to keep quiet about their wedding," Elaine said.

"He's in such a good mood, you could probably post a global press release and he'd only be mildly irritated. But remember, he insisted there be no cake rituals. Vulcans are persnickety about their food habits, especially in public. Apparently, they don't even touch their food with their bare hands. Trip thinks having to stuff cake in his mouth would be mortifying for her."

"I heard that," said Elaine, "Did he tell you about the wedding? A long Vulcan ceremony with no reception."

"Vulcans aren't big on fun, that's for sure. We're not supposed to ask her to dance. Vulcans don't dance. At least, not the way we do."

Charlie saw that Troy had run off to the grill, no doubt to pile up another plate of food for himself. In doing so, he briefly let the newlyweds alone. Trip whispered something into his wife's pointed ear, and he very quickly brushed the palm of her hand with his finger. Even from a distance, Charlie sensed an electricity between them.

Charlie had noticed that his son almost never touched his new wife, especially when they were in view of others. Considering the way Trip used to unabashedly and very publicly make out with his previous girlfriends, even in eyeshot of his parents, Charlie assumed that it was out of respect for her culture that they didn't touch. And yet, that one little brush seemed far more intense than anything Charlie had ever witnessed between Trip and his other girlfriends.