A/N: I've been wanting to write this for quite some time, a second attempt at a chapter fic proper. I've taken it upon myself to reboot Home with a bit of sleight of hand and a twist of fate. Pairings include Troshi and RTP, so please, if those couples do not appeal to you, I implore you to hit the backspace button and keep searching for your next read. However, if you have an open mind to experimentation with canon, I welcome your opinions with earnest!

I've already outlined this story, so there will be fewer stoppages than there were in RDWO. I'm graduating high school in a matter of weeks, so we'll have nothing but time! This is an attempt to return to my humbler beginnings as an angst and hurt/comfort writer, before the fluffy plot bunnies took over. That is to say that plenty of inner monologues and introspection await you in subsequent chapters.

Many thanks to BonesBird for her eternal patience and beta services. As a disclaimer, I do not own these characters. But you already knew that.

Haven

Chapter One

"I've been told that people are calling us heroes."

The Captain's words were reverberating around in Trip's head, and not just because the microphone on his lapel was tapped into every loud speaker within a half mile radius. Sandwiched between his best friend Malcolm and Commander T'Pol, he could make out a few faces of the crowd some distance away. They were enthralled, hanging on Jonathan's every word.

Perhaps if they knew what these supposedly heroic acts entailed, they wouldn't be so supportive.

"I think it's important that we remember the heroes that aren't with us—the twenty seven crewmen that didn't make it back."

Yeah, like Crewman Taylor. If Trip concentrated, he could still see deep brown eyes and her honeyed blonde hair as she had appeared in his dream, shaming him for his struggle in writing her parents the letter announcing her passing. But for all of his self pity, Trip knew that Jane would not have spoken as harshly to him as the apparition had. She was gentle, devoted; hell, she had left her quarters in the middle of a firefight to report to her station. And she had almost made it.

If only she had gone a few more meters.

"Without their sacrifice, I wouldn't be standing here right now. None of us would."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Malcolm and Travis exchanged a pained expression. Both had lost valuable members of their department in the battle. It was naïve of him to think that he was the only one suffering.

"But I'm sure I speak on behalf of my entire crew when I say it's good to be home!"

Home. That was the word that stuck out to Trip as thunderous applause erupted around him. The Tucker home on the beach had been destroyed by the Xindi weapon less than a year beforehand, killing his sister and rendering him bereft. Luckily, his parents had been visiting friends in Georgia that weekend, and that's where they remained. It was almost as if they were scared to visit the wreckage, to stake claim to the land where every single one of his childhood memories had been evaporated in an instant.

He didn't have a home. Not anymore.

-0-

The sun sets on San Francisco, leaving the stadium awash with a crimson and auburn glow. Much of the senior staff has returned to the ship to prepare for shore leave, but not Trip. He had drawn his lots, and while the other winners of the first rotation had celebrated, he had only stared at the form with despondence.

It was a hell of a thing, to have a weary body coupled with a restless spirit. As his fellow crewmembers had mingled with the crowd, signing autographs or accepting congratulations, he had strayed to the balcony in order to watch the unceasing waves of the Pacific Ocean lap up against the rocky shoreline far below. Funny how the world kept on turning and the tides kept rising regardless of what was transpiring in the heavens far above.

Jonathan had invited him to the 602 Club for a drink. He always went there during his Academy days, he said, in order to clear his head. While the offer was tempting, Trip knew that he wouldn't be much in the way of company. Just as he was thinking he would be alone for the evening at his post by the sea, an older couple approached him.

He should have known who they were immediately.

Their greetings were quiet and rushed, the niceties forgone for something of a bit more substantiality. Within moments, he has their address, and a worn house key pressed into his palm.

In a few days, they'll expect him at their guest house on the northern shores of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.

Trip's not usually one to accept such a favor, however forceful it might be, but one look at the intensity and emotion in their eyes and he decides that it would be unwise to refuse. Now, he's thinking about what the next week might hold and looking forward to dipping his toes in the sand for the first time in years.

It's well past sunset when a familiar form steps out of the shadows, clad in little more than an inky blue sundress and a shawl drawn tight over her shoulders. It's Hoshi, dressed for leisure, and she's clearly been drawn back down to the surface by Trip's failure to meet her for their standing dinner date.

If anyone comes close to sympathizing with Tucker's plight, it's Hoshi. She's had her fair share of long nights in the map room, and was even held captive and tortured by the Xindi for some time. And while she's not quite in the position to offer solace to his troubled soul, she can at least emerge from these trials with him.

"I was getting worried," she says, leaning up against the railing next to him.

"You shouldn't have," he mumbles, before reaching over to squeeze his friend's hand. Over the past two and a half years, they've grown inexplicably closer, drawn together by the need to share their burdens with someone else.

"That hasn't stopped me before," she replies, "Come back aboard. You can get a good night of sleep for the first time in months." Hoshi smiles tenderly. Like her, he's also been suffering from frequent bouts of insomnia. Tonight, as in many other nights, sleep will prove inescapable. He's going to be trapped inside his head, mulling over this strange new idea until he eventually convinces himself not to go through with it.

And that's why, at that moment, Trip Tucker decides to go all in.

"I want you to come with me on shore leave."

The invitation is decidedly sudden, so she can't help but hesitate. "Where?"

"North Carolina. I've been there once or twice since I was a teenager. Beautiful beaches, great night life. I'm sure you'd love it."

The idea of spending a week alone with a man she's not currently in a relationship with seems…intimate. But she does trust Trip, and after weeks of anticipating and plotting her every next move, she's ready to jump into something unexpected.

"I'll be there."

Trip is taken aback. Obviously, he didn't expect her to buy into the idea so quickly. Recovering speedily, he says, "Great. I'll arrange a transport for tomorrow-aw, hell, why not bright and early? Say seven-ish? Meet me at the Sausalito terminal station."

She turns to leave, mumbling something about needing to pack her bags, but stops in her tracks. "Trip, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can." He finds it ludicrous that she even feels like she has to ask.

"Why North Carolina?"

A lump rises in his throat. He's not about to let Hoshi in on the real circumstances behind his decision, and he's certainly not going to let her know that he's still consumed by thoughts of a crewman that died months ago. But the simplest answer is usually the best one, so he only asks, "Why not?"

She ponders this, her tongue working in her cheek. Seconds later, she shrugs with amusement and begins to make her way back to the shuttlepod, her steps now a thousand times more purposeful.

-0-

T'Pol returns to her quarters on the first transport back to Enterprise, her eyebrows furrowed together and her posture that of an individual deep in thought.

Her days of shore leave were spoken for, as her mother would be expecting her at the ancestral home on the outskirts of Shi'Kahr within the conclusion of the following day. They had many important matters to discuss, matters she could not conceivably evade for much longer.

And that's why she had called for him. She needed a distraction, someone who could guard her virtue, someone who she had no immediate attachment to.

Well, that final part might have been a bit of a stretch.

Ever since her poorly advised sexual encounter with Commander Tucker, she had had a great deal of time to think. It was her Trellium addiction that had caused her to have a passing infatuation with the Chief Engineer. And while she did care for him, it was in a way that a sister might. Although T'Pol did not have any siblings of her own, she had read enough literature on the subject of familial relations to know that this was the most accurate comparison.

She had been jealous of the way Tucker had looked at Corporal Cole, how he had doted on her and provided her an undue amount of attention. The more she pondered this, the more confident she became that was she had desired was not Tucker, but the emotional security that came with having someone that cared for you.

Once T'Pol had separated her rash impulses from her true desires, it was only a matter of choosing the most likely candidate. Really, there was no comparison.

He had shaken her from her haze mid-battle, guiding her in the right direction that displayed his want to do good for both the crew and his people. Later, he had rightfully expressed concern for her during a damage report that evening when they had still been convinced that all was lost. Yes, even in the face of tragedy, he had proven to have maintained his morality.

She wasn't surprised when the door chime sounded precisely on schedule. Lieutenant Reed was nothing if not punctual. He enters a few seconds later, stepping into the room as if it were a minefield that might explode at any moment.

T'Pol is tempted to tell him to stand at ease, but they are not on duty. If she wants to foster anything more than a working relationship with this man, she's going to have to go about it in a more subtle manner.

"You wanted to see me, Commander?"

She flinches at his consistent assertion of propriety, but says nothing of it. "I understand that you were selected for shore leave for the next ten days."

Malcolm is confused. Everyone knew that; the crew manifests were posted all over the ship for all to see. But because he wishes to dispel the tremulous sense of unease in the room, he decides to confide in her. "I offered to stay aboard and supervise crucial upgrades to command systems, but Captain Archer suggested not so subtly that I take a break."

So it had indeed been more like an order. She raises a brow, pretending that this is the first time she's heard this information. "This is surprising, considering how your last turn of shore leave resulted in such shameless acts of debauchery."

She silently kicks herself for bringing it up, but it escapes from her mouth before she can stop it. There's something about this man that always sets her on edge. Perhaps it is in the way that he is stoic, but not in the same way she is. Malcolm's wound up every second of the day, something she finds eerily familiar.

He's not about to argue that. Thanks to several gossipmongers aboard that preferred to remain nameless—Hoshi-everyone had learned about his and Trip's run in with the shapeshifters within the week it had happened. It had taken months—nay, a year—for him to feel as if he had sufficiently regained enough face around the crew.

Malcolm opts for the conversational route. Cautiously, he asks, "What are your plans?"

"I'll be returning to Vulcan and staying in my mother's home. It will be…pleasant…to see her again," she pauses, before picking up on the obvious social clue that the correct response would be to ask him the same question. "And you?"

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure." Reed's a little more comfortable now, leaning against her cabinet and crossing his legs. What he doesn't say, though, it that his father had relayed to him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be welcome at his home were he to come back to Britain. But that was a concern for another time.

T'Pol hesitates. "If you would prefer, you could stay in the guest room of my family's home."

To say that he had been taken aback by the invitation would be an understatement. The gears in his head begin to turn as he formulates the most even keeled response to that, but she beats him to the punch. "Need I remind you, Lieutenant, that it is very important as an officer to be familiar with alien cultures. From what you have relayed to your peers, I understand that you have never been to Vulcan."

She turns to him, and in that moment something nearly indiscernible flashes in her eyes. Could that be…expectation?

"How will you introduce me?" Surely she's never mentioned him in her increasingly sparing letters home.

Her head tilts to one side. "A valued colleague."

The science officer's expression is now imploring. The last time Malcolm saw her this vulnerable, the world was crashing in around them. His internal desire to protect and to serve tells him that he can't possibly disappoint her. Besides, how bad could it be to spend shore leave in the company of one of the most flawlessly beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on?

"I suppose I could see the sights," he says casually, although he's never been one for idle tourist activities.

T'Pol returns to her chest of drawers. "The transport leaves at eleven hundred hours." It's about as profound of a hint that he's ever going to get.

It's very near midnight. Nodding briskly, he replies, "I'd better pack by bags."

Because her back is turned to him, T'Pol doesn't notice how a boyish smirk crosses his face as he steps into the corridor.

(to be continued)