Author's note: Okay y'all, here's the end. If you've been reading but not commenting, I'd love a comment here. Let me know what you think!

10. The Captain's Decision

T'Pol woke up in sickbay, in one of the recovery beds. Trip, looking somewhat the worse for wear, was sitting up on the adjacent bed, with his legs hanging over the side. He had a few bruises and contusions he had not had earlier; she wondered where they had come from. He smiled at her, with just a hint of sadness. Just because things were worked out between them did not mean that all else was well.

"Don't ever do that again," he said, and her breath caught, because she feared that she had dreamed their conversation in the white space. But of course she hadn't; he was only repeating himself because she had not given him any assurances there.

"I will not," she promised solemnly.

"Well well well look who's awake!" It was Phlox, annoyingly cheerful, reassuringly welcome. "Commander, I would recommend that from now on you let Commander Tucker deal with any maintenance issues in your quarters, hmmm?" She opened her mouth to correct him, but he talked over the top of her. "I'm sure if you're having any problems, he'll be happy to see to them personally." He smiled at her, the broad upturned corners of his mouth causing his eyes to squinch closed.

She glanced at Trip. "Oh, you bet, doc," he said. He looked at T'Pol with a mock-stern expression and said "If I find out you've been messing with the EPS grid in your quarters again, I may have to arrange to personally keep you under continuous surveillance."

She opened her mouth to protest, understood the implications of what he'd said, and closed her mouth again, perplexed. Was he serious? She could not tell for sure.

But then the Captain arrived, walking through the main sickbay doors, looking down at a PADD.

T'Pol exchanged one last, frightened look with Trip, before they turned to meet their fate.

Archer walked into sickbay and stopped. Ahead of him, T'Pol was lying in one bed, and Trip was sitting on the bed adjacent. Archer stopped and looked at both of them. They looked nervous. As well they might; their lives were in his hands now. "Doctor. How are our patients?"

"I think they will both be just fine!" Phlox affirmed. "Commander Tucker may return to duty when his next shift begins, and I will probably release Commander T'Pol sometime tomorrow."

"Glad to hear it," Archer said. "Can we have a little privacy?"

"Absolutely, Captain. I'll be in the lab. Just let me know when you're done." Phlox shuffled out, humming to himself.

Archer leaned against one of the counters. "At last report," he said, "She nearly killed you, and you made her cry. So where do matters stand now? Am I going to need more sedatives? Anybody need to be on suicide watch?"

T'Pol looked at Trip, who said, "I think we're feeling a lot better now, sir."

T'Pol nodded assent.

"Glad to hear it," Archer said. In fact, he was very relieved. He had feared that perhaps they had done each other too much harm — although Trip's reaction to T'Pol's close brush with successful suicide had been strangely reassuring on that score. The engineer had been combative and frantic, giving three of Malcolm's security people more than they could handle and requiring a full dose of Phlox's sedative on top of the two smaller doses from earlier before they stopped worrying that he would hurt himself or someone else.

Archer began pacing across in front of the two of them. "I wish the two of you had come to me sooner," he said. "It really bothers me that you both felt you couldn't confide in me."

"For a time, we were not certain ourselves what we were dealing with," T'Pol said. "I am not sure how we would have confided in anyone."

"Fair enough," Archer said. "Still. You could have come to me sooner." He glared at T'Pol. "Maybe when you realized the trellium had become an addiction?" He glared then at Trip. "Or before you transferred to Columbia, perhaps?" He waited, wanting the point to sink in. They had to come out of this trusting each other, or it would be worse the next time, not better. "But that's water under the bridge. Right now, we have to figure out what to do going forward."

He had agonized over this. He could have chosen to ruin them both. He would have been within his rights as their commanding officer to do so; Gardner might even have argued that he had a responsibility to do so. But what would the Illyrians say to him, if they had the chance? Nothing good, certainly. Rather like neither he nor Trip had found anything good to say to T'Pol, once they knew the full extent of her poor decisions in the Expanse.

Archer had always thought that if he could only have a chance, he would try to fix things with the Illyrians.

At least, he had thought so until T'Pol had tried, in the most direct and logical fashion available to her, to "fix" things between her and Trip. And very nearly made things so much worse for the person she wanted most to help.

Maybe, if there had been time, if they had been better able to understand one another, if they could have seen the future more clearly…maybe the Illyrians would have given their warp coil for the billions of lives on Earth. He couldn't know that, of course…but maybe if he could fix things for them, at Earth's expense, they would decide too late that the price had been too high.

Or, maybe not.

There was no way to know, now.

Maybe Phlox was right. Maybe sometimes the only fix, imperfect as it might be, was to go forward, not back, and try to do better in the future.

Apparently Trip and T'Pol had figured out some way to do that.

He had lain awake all night, trying to do the same — for himself, and for them.

He took a step toward Trip. "For now, Trip, I've smoothed things over with Admiral Gardner. I don't think you'd be a good fit for the Vostok. In addition, I think it could be a shame to waste your engineering talents on a ship that's bound for mothballing soon anyway. I can make better use of you right here." He held out the PADD to Trip, who took it. "The warp 7 engine project is still a few years down the road at this point, but I wonder if that might not be a better fit for you in the end. Take a look at it, and let me know what you think."

He turned to T'Pol. "I also pointed out to Admiral Gardner that it would look odd — perhaps to the point of an interspecies insult — for Trip to be promoted over you. Unfortunately, for domestic political reasons, offering you a command would probably be unwise right now, which means that for the time being, you're both stuck. So, T'Pol, if Starfleet doesn't come around and offer you your own ship, well, maybe you'd rather look at the possibility of teaching at the STC in a few years? After things calm down a bit, of course; I doubt you want to go to Earth right away. So for the future, I think there might be better opportunities for both of you there — but for the present, I get to keep you both here, which is fine with me." He looked at both of them in turn. "Assuming, of course, that you want to stay?"

T'Pol looked at Trip, who nodded. She looked back at him. "I believe we would both like to remain aboard Enterprise, for the time being."

"Good." They would stay together, here, for the short term, and he had offered them at least one option that might work in the long term.

But there were still practical considerations to address. "Since I have you both here, there are a couple of other things I'd like to go over. T'Pol, I know you were doing some research into Vulcan mate-bonds, after the annulment of your marriage to Koss. If I remember correctly, there wasn't a whole lot of information available, due to taboos that existed under the Vulcan High Command."

T'Pol looked confused — there had been no such sequence of events. He hoped she knew him well enough by now to follow his lead.

"Yes, Captain," she said.

"Thanks to Surak's katra, I may be able to fill in some of those blanks for you," he said. "For one thing, the bonds form exclusively between married couples" — he looked hard at both of them; they had to understand that there was not and never would be an easy out, if they didn't already — "although not all marriages result in the formation of a bond. The formation of a bond seems to require a strong attachment between the two parties. It could happen, I suppose, that two people could be married without being strongly attached to one another, but I very much doubt that two people could be bonded without a very strong attachment to one another."

He paused.

"I see," T'Pol said, without inflection. Archer guessed that she didn't see at all. That was okay; he wasn't done yet.

He continued. "Given the strength of the attachment involved — all of the information available to me suggests that a bond, once formed, is lifelong — I feel quite certain that there would be no need for jealousy or possessiveness on the part of either party. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if any true bond turned out to be more powerful than, say, the pheromones of Orion women."

T'Pol glanced at Trip, who was trying not to look smug — and failing. "I am certain you are correct," she said.

"Something else I've learned," Archer said, "is that a bonded couple requires regular close contact, for the sake of their mutual mental health. Prolonged or long-distance separations are not recommended. I understand that T'Pau is changing the rules in the Vulcan fleet to reflect this reality. Married couples will be permitted to serve together to accommodate it."

He read confusion in their faces. Was he suggesting that they should serve in the Vulcan fleet?

"Now, I don't see that happening anytime soon in Starfleet, but there aren't any married Vulcans in Starfleet that I am aware of. If there were, I suppose they could probably continue to serve together provided they were suitably discreet about the nature of their relationship."

"If the subject ever arises, I will be certain to pass that information along," T'Pol said soberly.

"Good. See that you do." He turned to Trip. "Commander Tucker."

"Sir?"

"I understand that there was some discussion of suspending your neuro-pressure sessions with Commander T'Pol, in order to quell the persistent rumors regarding the true nature of your relationship."

"Um —" Trip cast a confused sidelong glance at T'Pol.

"I don't think Starfleet should concern itself overly with sensationalist tabloid rumors," Archer said. Not even if there is some truth to them. But it was only a half-truth, with no nuance, and no complexity, and no hope of doing anything but harm to the people involved. "And I certainly don't intend to do so aboard my ship. And now that I know that Commander T'Pol has herself suffered serious, combat-related injuries in the Expanse — the exact nature of which is, of course, between her and her doctor — and for which Dr. Phlox has recommended regular neuro-pressure sessions…well, I was a little concerned about how exactly to provide the treatment she needs, while she remains on active duty. But from what I understand, she had been teaching you how to perform neuro-pressure. So that probably makes you the only person aboard ship capable of providing the treatment T'Pol needs on an ongoing basis." He gave Trip a measuring look. "If, of course, you're willing."

Trip was having difficulty maintaining an appropriately serious demeanor. "Always happy to return a favor when I can, sir."

"Glad to hear it. T'Pol, this arrangement is acceptable to you?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Good. Then that's settled. I will leave the, um, scheduling details up to the two of you." He looked again at both of them. "But let's get something straight." This was a critical point if things were going to work. "I don't want anyone, on or off the ship, to see either one of you behaving in anything other than a completely straitlaced, professional manner. Do I make myself clear? Starfleet's reputation, my reputation, and both of your careers are riding on this."

"Of course, Captain," T'Pol said.

"Yes sir," Trip said, sounding very subdued.

"I'm pleased to know that you will be taking good care of one another." Archer said. Because he had decided, in the end, that was really all that any of them could hope to do: take good care of one another.

Maybe if they did that, well enough, for long enough, in the end it would be enough. Enough for Trip and T'Pol. Enough for the Illyrians, wherever they were, whatever had become of them.

Enough, even, for him.