Star Trek and all its intellectual property is owned by Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no profit made.

"Ashal-veh!"

The words were out, and once out, they could not be recalled.

Nor, for the first few moments of passionate reunion, did T'Pol wish to recall them. The sensation of her Bondmate's arms around her was the sensation of the long dislocation of her katra coming to an end, and his mouth on hers in one long, frantic kiss was like a drink of ice-cold water after crossing the Forge.

Vulcan was a largely desert planet, and Vulcans had evolved to cope relatively well with heat and thirst. But although they had spent centuries learning to control their turbulent emotions – so much stronger than those of Humans – those emotions remained within; however closely caged they might be, still they were there, and woe betide anyone who unleashed them and then stood in their way.

Behind her, a reunion was in progress; with her help, a dying man had somehow turned back from the very gate of death in answer to his wife's call. But although the event would doubtless be seen as something close to a miracle as far as the hospital was concerned, right now it was very far from being the first of her concerns.

So long apart – so long–!

Trip released her, but only so that he could hug her to him again, and more closely than before if that were possible.

There should have been something absolutely abhorrent in being rocked and hugged and kissed without the slightest regard for the fact that they were not even alone in the room. It was completely inappropriate for her to melt against his strong body, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tasting again the flare of a passion that had ignited back on board Enterprise and lain dormant until now.

So it was, but that did not seem nearly a good enough reason to stop. The two of them were not the center of attention for anyone else in the room, but at that moment they were the center of the Universe for each other.

She had denied it. She had defied it. She had listened to the voice of logic and the dictates of her people, many of whom would have viewed a liaison between her and a Human male as something not a long step removed from bestiality. Even the most open-minded would have seen in it a recipe for disaster.

But going even further back than logic and tradition was the reverence accorded to a mating bond. Once formed it could only be dissolved by a trained priest, and even then the act was performed with sorrow and reluctance, for such a joining was a gift not granted to many. Married couples might spend years building and nursing such a connection of their minds and katras and still never come to such an intimacy of thought and heart as she and Trip had achieved.

For many reasons, few of which had stood the test of time, the two of them had never been fully honest with each other. The anguish of their unresolved issues had finally driven them apart, he to immerse himself in his work for Starfleet and she to take up service with the High Command, finally being granted captaincy of the K'Hatek the previous year.

Distance and the pressure of her career had gone some way towards numbing the pain she had refused to acknowledge. Regrets – there would always be regrets, and the sadness of parting from her old colleagues aboard Enterprise had been surprisingly deep; but she'd reminded herself that she was a Vulcan, and that to continue with a liaison that was ultimately doomed to bring the two of them more misery than happiness was illogical. Logic, she had told herself, was the ultimate arbiter of wise action.

Logic, however, had little to say about the joy of being in his arms again, and drinking in the scent of his unique body-smell infused with the sandalwood hygiene products he preferred. She remembered being able to pick up the faint scent of sandalwood in the corridors of Enterprise and knowing he had passed recently – there were times when a Vulcan's acute sense of smell was a benefit, even aboard a Human ship.

He was weeping. As she pulled back just a little to study his face, she saw it filled with an emotion that once she would have thought a disgraceful indicator of his species' lack of control. Now, with a gentle fingertip, she lifted one of his tears and joined it to her own.

"Don't you ever, don't you ever, do something that damned stupid, ever again," he whispered, shaking her slightly to reinforce the words.

"I do not plan to make a habit of it." She was quite sure that he had shared at least some of the awful experience she had just endured, and was as shaken by it as she was. Opening her mind to the terrible fear and grief of one friend and entering the abyss of coma in search of another had been so traumatic that it was likely that many nights of meditation would be necessary to restore her mental stability.

Quite probably, but for this event, the two of them would have somehow gone on with their separated lives. Maimed at their core, they would have lived with their disability and coped with it, as those missing a limb or a sense learn to do. He would most probably have mated and married, and raised a family, and found in these things some measure of contentment; and as for herself, even if Koss had never indicated an interest in reviving the betrothal and she would forever be somewhat of an object of speculation on Vulcan after her disobedience in remaining aboard Enterprise in the search for the Xindi weapon, it was probable that she would have received a number of approaches once her respectability had been established and her youthful indiscretions had been at least partially forgotten.

Dully she had supposed that logic would dictate she accept one of these. If she had been able to find a suitor whom she could hold in respect, then affection would doubtless follow; and the pon'farr when it came would enable her to accept his body with eagerness, even if on other occasions she would have been able to offer little more than wifely submission, keeping her mind carefully from that other time…

No Bond would have formed, of course, but this did not always happen. If she chose carefully – chose a mate whose career would keep them separated for long periods of their lives – then maybe he would accept that this was simply a result of that separation. Clear-eyed, she had accepted that such a choice would involve her in a life-long deception, unless she might be fortunate enough to find someone open-minded enough to accept her for what she was and still be willing to marry her. The deep trust and togetherness that marriage was supposed to create would otherwise be flawed from the start – yet another item on the long and terrible list of consequences of that one utterly irresponsible act that had followed her addiction to Trellium.

But now, in Trip's arms, she could no longer remember that it had been irresponsible. She could no longer remember that it would have scandalized both Starfleet and the High Command if it had become known. The only consequence that mattered was that they were bound together, body and heart and katra, and that she had torn the last two apart when she had sundered the first. He had wanted to stand and fight, to defy both Starfleet and the High Command, and it had been she who had prided herself on her clear vision in seeing the defeat which then had seemed so utterly inevitable.

"'M I seein' wha' I think I'm seein'?" The mumbled English voice from behind her recalled her briefly to a knowledge of the reaction they could expect, but that no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but that they were together again.

Trip wiped his eyes, and steadied himself visibly. "T'Pol, we've got to talk," he said in a low voice, meant for her ears alone – though there was small chance of anything he said being heard or heeded by anyone else in the room at that moment. "And I mean talk. On our own. And preferably not anywhere there's a bed available."

She nodded reluctantly. Any conversation held in the proximity of such an extremely tempting item of furniture would probably be of extremely short duration.

She would have pulled away, but he was having none of that; he guided her head firmly down to rest against his shoulder, where she was more than happy to let it lie. After so long of being strong, there was something unutterably satisfying in relinquishing control just for a brief time, and opening herself to the wash of relief and joy and welcome coming through the Bond like a dammed river finding its course again.

Duty was calling. She had an appointment with Ambassador Soval, and her plan had been to perform this unpleasant and unexpected favor for Hoshi before resuming her original schedule as soon as possible. But a couple of subsequent (and in all honesty not very determined) efforts to break away were foiled by her Bondmate, who evidently had no intention whatsoever of allowing her out of his sight before they'd had that conversation. Moreover, events soon intervened in a fairly emphatic way of their own: Hoshi went into labor, and it would have taken a man with a heart of stone to leave Lieutenant Commander Reed alone in his hospital room to endure the waiting for his child to be born.

So, perforce, she waited too. And gained a new insight into the warmth of the relationship between the two men, as Trip teased his friend unmercifully in between gently helping him to move in search of a more comfortable position, fetching him cups of tea which had to be administered orally by syringe, and reassuring him constantly that both Hoshi and the baby were in the safest possible hands and that the waiting would be over before he knew it.

To all of which the Englishman responded to with an acerbity hardly moderated by his limited ability to speak, but which Trip accepted with unruffled composure, as well as an exasperating grin when his teasing was particularly effective.

An unspecified number of hours would necessarily pass while Hoshi was in labor. Malcolm having rejected with loathing the suggestion that he might want to watch a film (even one featuring almost innumerable explosions), Trip went to the Recreation Room and obtained the loan of a board game involving the testing of the contestants' general knowledge. After she had roundly defeated both of them twice they had united in declaring that she should miss a go every other turn; two more defeats later and she had cause to inform them that 'Vulcans don't smirk' (or even 'mirk', as one of her accusers phrased it).

Cards were the next form of entertainment, the players gambling with bars of imaginary latinum kept track of on a PADD, and here she enjoyed more limited success. Although there was naturally a great reliance on mathematical probability, still there was the chance factor at work through the cards she was dealt, and she had not had much opportunity to acquire any expertise at poker. Part way through the second game Reed fell into a light, restless doze, and Trip shamelessly appropriated half of his winnings and divided it between the two of them, disregarding her severe whisper reproaching him for his dishonesty. Of course, as soon as Reed woke up again he realized what had happened, appropriated the PADD and took his winnings back, along with an extra three latinum bars from each of them which he claimed was ''nt'r'st'.

"I fail to realize how we have ultimately benefited," T'Pol observed disapprovingly, as she took note of her newly reduced total.

"Aw, there was always a chance he wouldn't notice," Trip said, kissing her.

Reed snorted. "'S my job t' no'ice things."

"Sure. The way you noticed–"

Trip came to a sudden halt, evidently thinking better of what he'd been going to say, but there was little doubt that the lieutenant had followed his train of thought. The restriction to the patient's jaw prevented him from delivering what sounded like a vehement rebuttal in anything like a coherent form, but his face was a study in embarrassed indignation and his glare indicated that this reminder of his failure in observation was distinctly unwelcome. T'Pol, observing his embarrassment, thought it best not to enquire exactly what this had been; the patient's heart monitor was already indicating that his pulse had been adversely affected, and the hospital staff had been adamant that he should not be agitated. Besides, she was sure that it had not led to any very serious consequences – Reed was so exacting in the performance of his duty that he would regard even the smallest failure in it as mortifying.

Commander Tucker had clearly also realized the unkindness of raising what the lieutenant obviously considered a painful topic. He began attempting to close the subject, but at that moment the door opened to admit the young woman who should by all rights have still been in the labor ward downstairs, closely attended by a highly disturbed Ms St Clair, who had probably attempted without success to exercise proper control over her charge. No longer being Hoshi's superior officer, T'Pol abandoned the idea of ordering her to behave in a sensible manner, even though this development could hardly fail to agitate her husband in a way which the hospital staff would certainly deplore. Entering into a dispute would have a low expectation of success and probably exacerbate the patient's agitation still further, so the Vulcan bowed to the inevitable and concentrated her energies on supervising events.

Given the fact that she had never seen a Human give birth before (or, indeed, a Vulcan), and nor apparently had Hoshi's aunt-by-marriage, they were reduced to relying on Trip's expertise, which apparently rested on the fact that he'd once seen someone have a baby on television. T'Pol couldn't help but feel this was extremely inadequate, but apparently the labor had been monitored up to this point and was proceeding normally. Still, it was probably wise for someone to be informed, and so she took advantage of a momentary lull while Hoshi was being settled into cushions on the floor, and slipped out to waylay a passing nurse, who paled and ran off to fetch competent help.

Content that her duty had been done, T'Pol returned to the scene of the crime, where she remained an interested but passive observer while Hoshi continued the process of bringing baby Sherrie Jessa into the world, which she presently accomplished without mishap.

When at last it was time to leave the new parents to bond with their infant, Trip offered to take herself and Ms St Clair out to get something to eat; but as they arrived at the restaurant, the Englishwoman said that she would prefer to take a little stroll in the park nearby, and maybe get herself 'a little something' later. It was entirely probable that she was simply being tactful, and T'Pol suffered a twinge of conscience as they escorted her to the front doors, but her explanation that she was a little overwhelmed by events rang true enough.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, Ma'am?" Trip asked dubiously.

She patted his arm reassuringly. "I appreciate your concern, Commander, but I'll be fine. Now, you have limited time and probably a great deal to discuss. I suggest you make the most of it." And she set off with a determined stride towards the park.

T'Pol too had a great deal to discuss – with Ambassador Soval – but felt not a flicker of guilt as she followed Trip back to the restaurant. It was not the place she would have chosen for their discussion, but at least it had the advantage of having no beds in it.

If you enjoyed this, please leave a review!