Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything.

Spoilers: Brief references to multiple episodes.

Summary: Sometime in what would have been Season Five. Assumes TATV never existed. This addressed a rumor about something that might have occurred.

Rating: PG

Archive: None without author's permission.

---

 

The Vulcan transport headed toward Earth at Warp 4. There was no rush. Even its two most controversial passengers had weeks before rejoining their crew and resuming their mission. It couldn't come soon enough, thought T'Pol as her mind cataloged all the stares, whispers and eyebrow raises she had endured. The humans of the Enterprise, at least, were open minded.

 T'Pol glanced down out the ring around her finger. Strange, she thought. Years ago she would have been appalled at the idea of any Vulcan marrying a human, and now she had married one herself. What a difference five years had made. Five years of observing humans at their best and their worst. Five years of being fascinated by their emotions. Five years of coming to respect them.

 Moreover, marrying Trip had been the logical thing to do. There was no erasing the neural damage her adventures in the Expanse had caused. There was no erasing her bond with Trip. No erasing the death of Elizabeth. All of these things tainted her in the eyes of Vulcans, but she wouldn't change any of those events if she could. Since she would never be fully accepted among her own kind again and her mother was gone, there was no logic in returning to Vulcan.

 So many of Vulcans thought that Elizabeth's death should have been a relief.  The way in which she was created alone made that logical to them.  Had they know what it had been like for T'Pol just to hold the child, they would have understood. It hadn't mattered how or why she was created. At least some humans understood that.

 So her lot was among humans. And yes, a life with Trip would be logical. Especially now that he realized that Vulcans don't talk about their feelings. If her new husband wanted her to "share" as it were, he would have to do it in the Vulcan way - through their telepathic bond.

 It was that bond that told her that Trip was in the engine room with the transport's chief engineer hoping to glean any bit of information he could about the engine's efficiency. Until he was satisfied he had gotten all the information he could, T'Pol was left to entertain herself in the commissary.

A Vulcan woman about her own age, with long dark hair, approached T'Pol, who was sitting at a small table next to the window and sipping tea.

 "That tea smells unfamiliar. May I assume it is an Earth blend?" the woman asked.

"A correct assumption," answered T'Pol.

 "May I?" asked the woman as she gestured to the empty chair. The woman wore a traditional Vulcan robes of a slightly old-fashioned style.

 T'Pol searched the woman's face for any hint of derision or judgement or even morbid curiosity.

 "My name is Ravel," she said.

"T'Pol."

 "I am aware. You and your husband are the talk of the ship."

T'Pol remained silent.

"Vulcans," said Ravel, "rarely get a chance to be scandalized. And when they do, they seem to relish it. I doubt any of them would ever admit it, of course."

Silent, still.

"But I wanted to meet you for other reasons. I've been impressed by the tales of the Enterprise. Your Captain and yourself were quite relevant during the recent troubles. It's not many who can change the course of a people's history."

"We were two of many," said T'Pol, "But I'll express your admiration to Jonathan Archer when I see him."

Ravel raised an eyebrow, and T'Pol wasn't sure what to make of this woman. 

Something about her seemed off, as if her emotions were too close to the surface.

Everyone else on the transport treated T'Pol as if they would somehow become infected with an affinity for humans by coming near her. This woman seemed drawn to her.

"That would be gracious of you," replied Ravel.

Something about this woman just did not feel correct. She stood up, taking her tea with her.

"Excuse me, Ravel. I must return to my quarters," said T'Pol. She moved as slowly and deliberately as she could towards the exit. She didn't want this woman Ravel to know that she did not like her.

Once in the hallway and out of the commissary, T'Pol used her considerable mental discipline to put the strange woman out of her mind. No doubt the woman was just curious about the idea of a rebellious Vulcan.

She opened the door to her quarters and knew Trip was there. Even without the mental bond she would have know since she could smell him, even in the shower. Trip knew she was there and beckoned her to join him.

Who am I to refuse? replied T'Pol, this is our honeymoon. "Wow," said Trip, lying in his wife's arms, "Sexual relations with a telepathic bond sure is exhausting."

---

 

 She stroked his hair and looked down into his eyes. Humans had such a hard time not talking, even when they didn't need to. Luckily, she had come to find the habit charming in Trip.

 "But I'll get used to it," he continued.

 T'Pol slipped her hand into his. He closed his eyes. Now he knew why Vulcans never expressed love verbally. If they had this kind of bond, they didn't need to.

 He knew other things, too. Nobody would ever guess that she was bothered by the attitudes of her fellow Vulcans, but deep down she was. It's not that she wished her life was different, she just wished her species wasn't so conformist. Of course, the humans weren't exactly open to inter-species mixing either. Attitudes had changed since Elizabeth's death but T'Pol deeply regretted that it had taken their child's death for the humans to accept her existence.

 Trip felt the tinge of melancholy there. The one that would always be there because of Elizabeth. But thanks to the Vulcan bond, neither of them would ever be able to deny it or pretend it wasn't there. In a strange way, that made it easier for both of them to move forward. The pain would never go away, but it would become easier for them both to live with.

 "I heard from the Captain today," said Trip, "He says we might be headed back toward what was once the Expanse for our next mission. To check on things since the spheres were destroyed."

 T'Pol rose from bed and began to dress. She chose some human-style clothes. She still had plenty of Vulcan-style outfits, but she figured she would give some of the passengers more to gossip about.

 "It would be interesting to see that part of space under better circumstances," said T'Pol.  Privately, he knew that in addition to not being at war, better circumstances for her meant without half the ships in the area coated with Trellium-D.

 "I suppose that whole area of space will be filled with good and bad memories," he said.

Both of them would give up the life they had, the bond they shared if they could go back in time and stop the Xindi attack and its awful aftermath. But both also understood that it was during that those desperate days that their bond had formed. Both knew that it was at the times of tragedy and terror that Humans and Vulcans could find the best within themselves.

 "I assume you haven't told the Captain we're married, yet," said T'Pol. Trip had what she thought was a sentimental notion about wanting to tell the crew of Enterprise in person. He also had talked about having a human ceremony aboard for the benefit of their friends. T'Pol disliked the idea, as Vulcan marriages were deeply solemn and private affairs, but she had resolved that she would indulge Trip in a desire to celebrate in a more human fashion.

 The transport hummed just a bit. Trip sat up. A second later, T'Pol realized what he had realized -- they had dropped out of warp.

 "We're at least six hours from the next stop," said Trip, "Something must be wrong."

Both of them felt the frustration of being passengers and not being able to simply call up to the bridge for a report.

 An announcement came over the comm, in Vulcan. T'Pol translated for her husband.

"There were peculiar energy readings. Probably just subspace shadows, but the captain wanted to drop out of warp as a precaution," she said.

 "Perhaps we can lend a hand," said Trip as he too got dressed. "I'll bet you and me have more experience with peculiar readings that every single member of this crew."

 T'Pol was about to agree with him and suggest protocols for offering their help when she noticed something out the window. There was a flicker of energy and then a giant, bird like starship appeared. Trip felt for a moment that deep beneath the surface, she was frightened.

 "What is it?"

 "I believe that's a type of Romulan Vessel. And a well armed one at that."

 "What do you think it wants?"

 Before T'Pol could answer both she and Trip dematerialized. Within seconds, they found themselves in a large, spacious room aboard what they assumed with the Romulan vessel. Strangely, their luggage had also been transported over.

Trip had never seen any room on a starship so large -- except perhaps the mess hall on Enterprise. And this room was lushly furnished for comfort, not utility. There were woven carpets and low slung upholstered chairs and chaises. There was a table with a sumptuous spread of food -- some Human, some Vulcan and some Trip didn't recognize. In the corner was a bed, hung with think, woven tapestries with green letters that Trip thought were part of the Vulcan alphabet.

 "Those words aren't Vulcan, I believe they are Romulan."

 T'Pol noticed a paper card lying on the table. It was written in a rich calligraphy. In Vulcan. Again, T'Pol translated for her husband:

 "Welcome. You are now guests of the Romulan Star Empire. The Proconsul has requested an audience with you. You will not be harmed. We have been ordered to make your journey as comfortable as possible and will honor any requests except your release."

 T'Pol felt Trip's fear turn to relief, and his relief turn to anger. He walked over to the door and attempted to open it. He wasn't surprised when it did not respond.

 "We've been kidnapped," he said, stating the obvious.

 T'Pol took his hand and attempted to calm him, but he pulled it back.

 "I'll keep my anger, thank you."

 Trip examined the door mechanism and knew he could probably bust through. He also knew he'd probably find a bevy of heavily armed Romulans on the other side. He and T'Pol were traveling at what felt like Warp 6 on a cloaked Romulan vessel, heading into Romulan space and there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Just as long as you don't do anything . . . rash. Little is known about the Romulans, but I believe if they wanted to harm us we would already be harmed."

 T'Pol walked over to the table and picked up a pitcher of what appeared to be water.

 She poured a glass.

 "That could be drugged," said Trip.

 "Why would they drug us?" asked T'Pol, "We're already helpless."

 She inhaled the air above the water. Then took a small sip. It tasted fine.

 T'Pol pointed to an elegant bottle of a blue translucent liquid.

 "Romulan Ale. It's illegal on Vulcan. Highly intoxicating to us, with a slightly hallucinatory effect. Some Vulcan adolescents use it to test their emotional control."

 T'Pol noticed that gloves had been provided for her and Trip so they could pick up food. Clearly, the Romulans didn't know much about human eating habits. T'Pol leaned over and put on a glove and picked up what appeared to be an apple.

"It's an apple. From Earth, I think," she said and sat down on the low chaises.

 Trip joined her and picked up an apple of his own.

 "This may be the nicest place I've ever been held captive."

 "Romulans are reportedly very decadent," she replied.

 "Their drone ship wasn't very decadent," said Trip, remembering he and Reed's near disaster aboard that ship.

 "Any ideas on how we might get out of this? Do they have escape pods? Shuttles?"

 "We're very likely being listened to," said T'Pol as she removed her glove and slipped her hand into Trip's.

 He suddenly knew she wanted to escape as badly as he did and how unlikely she thought that was. She believed that they were being monitored and that any attempt to escape might result in their separation or worse. But she did need more information.

T'Pol stood up and walked to what she believed was the comm system. She spoke in Vulcan but after a few moments Trip could understand her. A UT had been activated.

"This is Commander T'Pol. I would like you to answer some questions. I realize escape is out of the question."

 A deep, masculine voice came over the comm.

 "One moment."

 Very soon after, the door swooshed open. In walked Ravel, dressed in a severe black jumpsuit that appeared military in nature. Her hair was no longer long, but short and also severe. She also wore a gold collar around her neck and what appeared to be a particle disrupter at her hip. She smiled.

"You look like a Vulcan," said Trip, "But let me guess. You're not a Vulcan."

 "I've been masquerading as one or so long, sometimes I forget I can smile," said Ravel. "But you're correct. I'm one hundred percent Romulan."

 T'Pol said nothing. Ravel stepped forward and looked her straight in the eye.

 "First, allow me to apologize. The Romulan Star Empire is usually not in the business of kidnapping. But we have orders from the ProConsul to bring you to see him. And if you want to know anything about us -- know this. We are in no position to disobey an order from him. He didn't know you were married, but when I informed him, he told us to bring your husband as well."

 Trip took a deep breath, relieved that they had brought him along. As frightening as this was, he wouldn't want to be back on that Vulcan transport wondering what happened to his wife.

 "Romulans respect family bonds," said Ravel, "And the ProConsul wanted me to congratulate you on your marriage as well as send belated condolences on the death of your daughter. Romulans believe death is only the beginning of journey and he hopes you take comfort in that."

 "Tell him thank you," said T'Pol, "Why does he wish to see me ... us?"

 Ravel looked down at her boots. Trip knew immediately that she knew the answer but wasn't going to be telling. She might look like a Vulcan, but she was far too transparent to be one.

 "The ProConsul wishes to tell you his reasons in person. But I can tell you this - he means neither of you any harm. And he is not going to stop until sees you . . .I know a little bit about both your histories -- especially yours Commander Tucker. I'll wager if you two put your heads together you could escape in a shuttle, send a message to Earth or Vulcan and get yourselves rescued. But then he'll have us come after you again . . . and the next time it won't be so comfortable. Plus we've been ordered not to harm either of you -- but we can kill anyone who tries to rescue you on sight. Do yourselves a favor. Meet with the ProConsul and you'll be free to go. No one will get hurt."

 "What does that title mean, ProConsul?" asked Trip.

 "I'm not authorized to give you details of our government structure. Suffice it to say -- that there are very few Romulans that would refuse an order from a ProConsul. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to inform him that we are on our way."

 Ravel pivoted and exited. Both T'Pol and Trip did their best to get a look at the hallway outside their room. It appeared dark and far more utilitarian than where they were.

 T'Pol grasped Trip's hand and closed her eyes. The next thing he knew they were standing in the white space.

"I think we should meet with this ProConsul. Unless you have a better plan. We are probably very close to Romulan space by now."

 "I don't trust these people. They are dangerous."

 "Agreed. But I don't believe we have a choice. If you see options, tell me."

 "Agreed."

 T'Pol dropped his hand and they were back in their lush prison. She sat back down on chaise and poured herself a generous glass of Romulan Ale.

 "Are you sure you want to do that?"

 "Back in school I was quite adept at keeping control," she said as she poured him a much smaller glass. "Be cautious. I have no idea what that will do to you."

---

A slight shiver in the engines awoke Trip. They had dropped out of warp. T'Pol felt the same thing and also awoke. They were both fully clothed, lying on the bed. This was the fourth day of their captivity -- and they both had an instinct they had arrived at their destination.

 Out the window, they saw a green gas giant.

 "I think we're orbiting a moon," said Trip, "It looks habitable."

 There was a ring at the door. That was how it had been for days -- polite rings at the door. Ravel or one of her attendants brought them whatever they requested. Their clothes had been cleaned, meals had been prepared. They had listened to Romulan music and read translated Romulan.  They even requested a message be sent to Earth and Vulcan saying they were unharmed. Ravel said that request would be honored. Neither Trip or T'Pol knew if that was the truth.

 "I suppose we have arrived," said T'Pol. Her face appeared completely serene but very deep beneath the surface Trip sensed anxiety.

 "At least we'll get to solve the mystery of why we are here," said Trip.

 Ravel's voice came over the comm.

 "We've arrived. The ProConsul runs a formal household. Wear your best," said Ravel.

 Trip and T'Pol changed accordingly. He into a Earth-style suit and her into one of her many Vulcan-style dresses. Trip couldn't help but admire his wife's sense of fashion, even under the circumstances. The spun Vulcan silk of her dress shimmered blue under the lights as she wrapped a silver scarf around her head.

 "It isn't everyday we meet a ProConsul of the Romulan Star Empire," she said.

A voice came over the comm.

 "Would you prefer to transport or take a shuttle to the surface?"

 "Shuttle," said Trip.

 "Very good. Someone will arrive to escort you shortly."

 "We might as well sight see while you're here," he said.

 "And get a look at Romulan shuttle technology," said T'Pol.

 Ravel arrived, this time in an even more formal looking uniform.

 "Come this way," she said.

 Soon they were in a sleek shuttle, heading to the surface.

 "Obviously, this isn't Romulus," said Ravel, "Even the ProConsul wouldn't be foolish enough to bring outsiders there. This is his private retreat. We are quite near the edge of the Empire."

 Out the shuttle window, Trip saw a bright, green topography -- different from Earth -- but beautiful and somewhat surreal. The surface appeared to be mostly water, with some small continents.  

 "This moon is Minshara class?" asked T'Pol.

 "Nearly so," said Ravel, "It had a little help from our atmospheric processors. But it is completely habitable now. The ProConsul even keeps a herd of Romulan deer and a school of Reman whales here . . . as he enjoys hunting."

 "There are definitely not Vulcans," said Trip, noting his wife's eyebrow.

 They were approaching a green, marshy island that had what could only be described as a palace constructed on it. It reminded trip of a cross between Versailles and the Acropolis, only bigger.

 "This is the ProConsul's summer cottage," said Ravel.

 Trip didn't think the UT was translating the word cottage correctly.

 Soon they set down on a landing pad on the far edge of the palace. Several Nosfertu-like Remans greeted them. But there were no other Romulans to be seen. The place appeared deserted.

 Ravel led them down a path and around to the front of the palace. It was empty and cold. Trip would have thought it was a ruin, except everything was pristine condition.

At the top of the stairs, they could see the outline of a man.

 "I'll leave you now," said Ravel, "But no this. Even though you can't see them, there are guards everywhere. Do nothing foolish."

 Ravel slipped away. When Trip turned around to see where she had gone, there was no one there.

 T'Pol began up the stairs, intently staring at the shadow figure at the top.

 "I thought Vulcans had a flare for the dramatic. Apparently they have nothing on Romulans."

 As they ascended, the man at the top appeared more and more Vulcan to Trip. The same silhouette, the same pointed ears. By the time they reached the top, he looked entirely Vulcan. A middle aged, supremely harsh looking Vulcan. Yet, there was something familiar about the slight indentation on his nose and the shape of his face.

Trip also sensed shock bubbling deep inside T'Pol. Her face was serene as ever, but she was not calm underneath.

 "Welcome, T'Pol," said the man, "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."

 "Father?"

 T'Pol said nothing else. Every bit of energy she had was going toward keeping control of her emotion. She even slipped her hand inside of Trip's to borrow some of his -- something she had never done before.

 "You must be Commander Tucker," said the ProConsul, "It's a pleasure to meet you. My daughter is naturally shocked to see me, as she believed I died in an accident some years ago. She was also under the impression I was a Vulcan, and not a Romulan. These two bits of information would challenge even the most controlled of Vulcan minds."

Trip looked at the man and immediately saw the resemblance. If this was some sort of a trick, it was a damn good one. The ProConsul politely led them onto a massive balcony overlooking the green sea. He took T'Pol's hand and led her to a comfortable chaise much like one that had been on the ship.

"Do you need water, dear one," he asked, "You look a shade too pale to me."

T'Pol looked up.

 "That's what you used to call me when I was a child. Dear one."

 "You remember. Please Commander, have a seat. There's no simple way to explain this. But I'll try and be brief."

 Trip sat down and put his arm around T'Pol. She was fighting desperately for control. The ProConsul continued:

"When I was a young man, I craved adventure. So I joined Romulan intelligence. As you might have surmised, my family is somewhat well-connected."

 The ProConsul gestured modestly at their surroundings.

 "I was given an assignment to go deep uncover on Vulcan -- taking the place of a research scientist that had been killed by a Romulan drone. That scientist was the man who was engaged to your mother. I lived as a Vulcan for over fifteen years. Married your mother. Had you. But eventually, I was called home. A large military campaign was beginning on the other side of the empire and my father and uncles felt it would be more profitable and politically expedient if I helped with that campaign. So, the Vulcan that was your father 'died' in an accident."

 T'Pol looked the man straight in the eye. Trip felt shock turning into unadulterated rage, though to him the pinched look on her face was hardly a tip off. She stayed silent.

 "Dear one, I thought very much about taking you with me. But by then you seemed like such a Vulcan child. I didn't think you'd fit in among us Romulans. Little did I know that you would spent your adulthood getting as far away from Vulcans as you could."

 The ProConsul's eyes met Trip's. He seemed friendly, but Trip sensed that this was a man who could command armadas and armies as easily as he could get a distraught woman a glass of water.

 "It doesn't surprise me at all that your Romulan side would be attracted to humans. We don't deny are passions the way the Vulcans do. I understand we Romulans have that in common with humans."

 "Mother.  .  . she died believing you were dead," whispered T'Pol, who was suddenly thinking about her mother's stoic Vulcan grief in the face of this man's "death."

"Unfortunate, as I had grown to care for her, but it could not be helped." The ProConsul spoke intently, and Trip thought that it wouldn't be wise of T'Pol to lay a Vulcan guilt-trip on this man.

"Anyway, as you both know, there have been incidents lately between the Empire and you out-worlders. A few of these incidents -- I know for a fact -- you both were involved in. I've grown concerned. Concerned not only about you T'Pol, but about the future. Opposing the Romulan Star Empire is a fool's game -- and the humans and their new allies ought to realize this. But there will be time enough to talk about that later . . . Did you dine aboard the warbird? If not, I'll have my chef prepare anything you'd like. He hasn't any experience with human food I'm afraid but he does a fair bit of Vulcan cuisine."

 T'Pol pushed her rage down. Thankfully, she had meditated every day of their captivity aboard the ship. She took a deep breath.

 "I've had my genome studied extensively. I'm a full-blooded Vulcan."

 The ProConsul raised an eyebrow and smirked in a very un-Vulcan-like way.

 "I'll let you in on a secret. The Romulan and Vulcan genomes are nearly identical. They can't be distinguished unless you know what you are looking for."

 T'Pol, like many Vulcans, had heard the rumors that Romulans and Vulcans were distantly related. She had never believed them.

 "Ah, you have some of your mother's skepticism, I see. Well, I do remember the stars on your bedroom ceiling. When you were just tiny thing we used to count them together and then imagine equations that would determine their distance from one another . . . it doesn't surprise me that you would find a career as a science officer.  That came from your mother. The intelligence officer part, I believe you got from me. Along with your bravery in battle, I think I'll take credit for that, too. More than once I've read reports of your endeavors on the Enterprise, only to assume they had been enhanced by an intelligence officer looking to flatter my ego. Then, I get verification. I'm particularly impressed with your destruction of the Delphic Expanse spheres. Fine work there. Both of you. I doubt a Romulan squadron could have done better."

 The ProConsul looked very intently at his daughter.

 "I think you would have fit in very well among your cousins and half-siblings on Romulus. But there's no use in wondering what might have been. . .I simply wanted you to know the truth of who you are and who I am. There's a darkness coming -- and I fear there's nothing you or I or anyone can do to stop the inevitable . . ."

 A Reman arrived with bottle of Romulan Ale.

 "Please, Commander Tucker, have a drink. This isn't ordinary Romulan Ale. It's the finest vintage there is."

 Trip stood up. He reached out and took a glass that was offered to him by the Reman.

"It's the least I can do for my new father-in-law," said Trip.

 The Proconsul raised his glass and clinked it with the first human he had ever met. "Family is the most import thing to Romulans," said the ProConsul, "And the fact that you're now family supercedes the unfortunate fact that you are not Romulan."

 "And I'll try not to hold it against you the fact that you abandoned my wife when she was a child," said Trip, "Now, may I ask how long you plan on keeping us here as your guests? We have to rendezvous with our ship in two weeks."

 Trip downed the Romulan ale and then worked hard not let it show how much the liquor was affecting him. He'd be damned if he'd give this man the impression that human's were weak. The ProConsul took a deep breath and stared out over the green water. T'Pol looked up at him.

 "You're free to go at anytime," he said, "And I do apologize for the dramatic way I brought you here. My position does not allow me to leave Romulan space unaccompanied by less then ten warbirds. As you can imagine, that would make a visit to Vulcan or Earth . . . tense. I also believed T'Pol would require proof and would dismiss a message as some kind of deception. Plus, I confess, I wanted to impress upon her -- and you Commander Tucker -- the nature of my position within the empire. I expect that in the coming years, I might be of use.

 The ProConsul sat next to his long-lost child on the chaise but made no move to touch her. T'Pol sat up straight, and her face became a mask of Vulcan serenity.

That's the most Vulcan I've seen her look years, thought Trip, but she's in danger of unraveling.

 The ProConsul took a ring off his finger and placed it in T'Pol's hand. It was made of some sort of alloy and had an elaborate Romulan design -- like a vine -- woven all around it. It also had a white, ghostly stone embedded it.

 "Inside this ring is a beacon that can travel quickly through subspace. Turn the stone three times and the signal will find me where ever I am. And it will let me know where you are and that you need my help. But I would caution you not to abuse it. There are limits to even my power within the empire."

 T'Pol looked at him.

 "No," he said, "I promise you. I only sends a signal when you ask it to do so. I won't be able to track you unless you activate it. Go ahead. You can study it when you return. Oh . . . and one more thing."

 The ProConsul pulled a knife out from under his belt. Trip was about to try and take it when the Romulan simply cut off a lock of his hair. He wrapped the hair in a cloth from on the table and gave that to T'Pol, too.

 "Genetic tests don't lie," he said, "You'll be able to confirm my identity when you return to your ship. I understand your Dr. Phlox finds interspecies mating quite fascinating."

 Trip felt sadness deep inside T'Pol. His words reminded her of Elizabeth. T'Pol searched this man, this stranger's face for some hint that he knew what she was thinking. But he said nothing.

 "Please, if you stay one night, it will be much easier on the crew of the ship. Some of them are taking leave on the dark side of this moon. There are fascinating caves on the lower continent . . . One night. That's all I ask. Then you may return to home. . .Earth, that is your home, is it not?"

 T'Pol stood up and tucked the ring and cloth into her bag.

"Enterprise," she said, "Enterprise is our home."

 "It's up to you," said Trip.

 She nodded.

 "We'll stay one night," said Trip.

 The ProConsul smiled broadly, something Trip found eerie and incongruous in such a Vulcan-looking person.

 "Good. I've had your things brought to your room. We'll dine on my yacht this evening. The planet puts on quite a show this time of year. . . oh, and dear one, the longer you stay the longer and more detailed a report you'll have to make to Vulcan . . . and I would imagine Earth's intelligence. I hear they are very curious about us Romulans."

 A Reman appeared and led Trip and T'Pol to their room.  Hand in hand, they followed him toward one of the staircases.

 "Oh . . . and dear one," said the ProConsul, "Congratulations on your wedding."

---

Nearly a week later, Trip and T'Pol found themselves on an Andorian space station orbiting a multi-species colony.

T'Pol sat at a desk, ostensibly working but really staring down at the odd, harsh-looking terrain of the planet below. She thought of all the various species she had heard lived on that colony. Including Vulcans, Andorians and Humans. Even though their governments' didn't always get along -- these pioneers and traders did. Somehow, that was comforting in the wake of her recent and unexpected visit to Romulan space.

"I just heard from the Captain. Enterprise is coming here to pick us up. They'll be here in about three days - assuming they don't get into to trouble on the way. . . Have you finished your report?"

T'Pol pushed a pad towards him. Trip knew how hard it must have been for her to write. Vulcans did not like getting personal and both of them agreed that it was absolutely necessary to be truthful about what happened. Although, Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command both agreed that this would be kept top secret. The details would be kept hidden even to everyone on Enterprise, except for Captain Archer. Trip knew T'Pol was having a hard enough time being known as the Vulcan with a human husband everywhere she went. Being known as the half-Romulan with a human husband might be too much even for her.

 "Do you think that if the doctor's who created her had known that I had Romulan in my genome -- that Elizabeth would have survived?" asked T'Pol.

 Trip knelt down next to her and grabbed her hand. They were in white space.

 "There's no way to know that," he said.

 "No," she said, "But I'm beginning to know what her life would have been like. Torn between two worlds, not belonging anywhere."

 "You belong with me. And you belong on Enterprise."

 She let go of his hand.

 "Thank you," she said. Her face was a mask again. No hint of the pain inside.

 "You know, I can't wait to get home." Trip kissed her lightly on the lips before standing up and beginning to pack.

 She said nothing but she reached into her bag and pulled out the ring her father had given her. She knew and Trip knew what the results of Phlox's DNA test would be. And both understood that what may be coming in the days ahead and that Enterprise and its crew had not seen the last of dark times.

---