Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek Enterprise. This story is just a labor of love, with no

intention of providing financial gain to the authoress.

Note: This story takes place the night of the final scene in E2, and is rife with Season 3
Spoilers, so be warned! Also, I know this part has been over 2 years in the writing,

but I got sidetracked since then. So sue me.

When the Morning Light Has Come

Part 3

By Arianwen P.F. Everett

"Tell my parents… I'll see them soon," T'Pol could still hear Lorian's last words in her mind. Illogical. The man who had uttered them had never existed, so mourning him, even in the privacy of her own meditation, the only place Vulcan culture permitted any display of grief, was illogical. And yet, she mourned.

In her imagination, which with her emotions had become stronger these past few months as a result of her Trellium D experimentation, she could envision a baby Lorian, lying in his crib, his bright, bluish-green eyes, staring up at her in awe, as babies, both Vulcan and Human inevitably did with their mothers. The mental fiction made her heart race with happiness, and then, almost as instantly, brought her crashing sorrow, as she knew she would never know that joy in this reality. She also knew that the data from the second Enterprise was still available in Enterprise's computer. Downloading real baby pictures, which Lorian had briefly mentioned were numerous due to his father's irrational obsession with visually recording his son's life for the fourteen years he'd been in it, was completely within the realm of possibility. She could watch Lorian grow into a teenager, and many other photographs taken by other clans within the generational crews' families would undoubtedly fill in the 99 year gap between the other Trip's death and Lorian's appearance a few days ago. Even before coming to Enterprise, she'd born witness to the human fervor to document their lives then pass around photographs among friends and colleagues.

To the Vulcan mind, it was extreme narcissism, but that narcissism had placed her here, with the possibility of connecting with the child she had only met as a middle-aged man a few days ago, and at the same time, cause her excruciating pain, her logic unable to protect her from in her Trellium-damaged brain. She was parted from Lorian by death, just as Trip had violently insisted in the medical bay, and despite the illogic of it, she was helpless to stop herself from rising from her meditation pillows, approach her computer, and downloading Lorian's files from Enterprises' databanks onto a pad.

However, before she could review them, her door chirped, and T'Pol instantly knew who was waiting on the other side. A lingering worry began in the back of her mind about just how she could be so sure it was Commander Tucker that was waiting to speak with her behind the door that separated them. Logically, the there was a 93.875 probability that her visitor was Trip, due to the late hour, her uninviting reputation with the crew, and recent events over the past few days. Still, she knew logic didn't allow for this level of certainty. Only one thing in Vulcan experience did, and examining that possibility might take her to a place she couldn't afford to go right now, in the middle of fighting a war to protect the lives and continued existence of several sentient species. Filing it away, she closed her eyes briefly, pulling up as much of her emotional shielding as she could still muster, and called out "Enter."

As Trip steped over the treshold to T'Pol's quarters, all his previous thoughts ceased. He had been memorizing a speech, expressing point by point how he felt, why he needed her to trust him with whatever medical problem she was afflicted with, why she could not logically blame Phlox, as he had not delivered any information to him, nor confirmed any suspicions in a direct manor, and lastly, and most importantly, why they needed to hang on together in light of Lorian's death and the absolute emotional hell-ride their time in the expanse was proving for both of them. But all that fell away when he looked into her brown eyes and saw the confusion and pain she was hiding, even beyond her Vulcan mask. He didn't know how the heck he knew what she was feeling, but he did in this moment, alone and unguarded, and his mind went blank, not knowing how to address all that he needed to tell her.

"You wish to speak with me?" T'Pol stated, realizing that Trip had not said anything upon entering her quarters, and was just standing there, silently.

"I'm sorry. I was out of line in Sickbay. If you want to report me to Captain Archer, go ahead…"

"You are a man of strong emotion and currently under extreme, inordinate amounts of stress. Your outburst caused no permanent harm, and loosing your services to a minor infraction of Star Fleet protocol could endanger the success of our mission. Under those circumstances, it would be illogical to report what transpired in the medical bay." T'Pol stated, beginning to regain her calm. They were communicating about events and procedure, both safe and stabilizing subjects.

"Illogical or not… ah hell, I've gotta be honest here, none of this polite pussyfooting we're both very good at. T'Pol, I know you're not feelin' so hot, medically I mean. I don't know anything specific, none of the how's or why's or even what's wrong with you. Phlox wouldn't say a peep on the subject, and I respect that, but I need you to know I understand what it's like to be ill, and I want to be there for ya, to help you get well. I need to be there for you as surely as I need food or oxygen. Please quit shuttin' me out," Trip begged, completely abandoning any semblance of pride. They couldn't afford it. If he had to get anything across to her, it was that.

T'Pol thought for a second before she spoke. Illness. She could admit to illness without supplying her own weakness with Trellium D, and truth be told, she wanted and needed support in dealing with the fall out from her shameful lack of control. "Your… deduction is correct. I have suffered neurological damage due to my exposure to Trellium D these past few months, and as a result, my emotional control has been compromised. I did not wish to burden you with this… unfortunate situation."

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Trip took several steps towards T'Pol, then tentatively took one of her hands in his. Remarkably, she did not pull it back. "I would much rather have been burdened than running around, worrying, 24/7, like I've been doing. You have no idea how scared I've been for ya. You were slipping away, right in front of my eyes, not even permitting me to try and help you, the way you helped me right after Lizzie died. As bad as it may seem, as bad as it may be, this 'burden' is a blessing. It means there's hope for both of us to get through this war, together."

"Blessing," T'Pol repeated the word, almost sounding as if she didn't understand its meaning. The truth was she didn't understand how Trip could view what was happening to her, or to himself, as a blessing. If Jonathan Archer were successful, Degra might be reasoned with in a few days. The war might end for Earth without further bloodshed. Those were blessings. Looking at the pad she still held in her right hand, the object that held so much torture for her if she studied it, but which a part of her still felt fatalistically bound to do, she couldn't see any blessings for them in the near future.

Trip's eyes followed hers to the pad. Whatever was tuning him into her feelings tonight, that simple object was giving him one hell of a red alert klaxon. It was the epitome of the worst her illness represented; it was painful emotions beyond the ability to cope or recover. Somehow Trip knew all this, but he also knew that he'd come here tonight, to be with her, to offer her support. Whatever data was on that pad, they could handle it, together. The pain would be bearable, even if he had to feed her, dress her, bathe her, and get her to the bridge daily, he would do it. They would bear it together, and they would move on. Stealing himself before jumping into the breech, he took a deep breath.

"So, what's on the pad?"