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Chapter Text

“I’ve gotta tell ya, I won’t mind having an easy mission.” Trip reached to adjust one of the buttons on the flight deck, eyes on the controls in front of him.

“That would be a refreshing change,” Malcolm quipped from the copilot’s seat.

Trip chuckled. “This one should be easy peasy lemon squeezy,” he added.

“Pardon?” Malcolm asked.

“It should be easy,” Trip said, rephrasing. He waved a hand at the viewscreen, through which they could see the blue green orb of the nearby planet. “The planet’s unpopulated, the environment’s almost the same as back home, and we’re only going down there for a day, grab those samples, then back,” he added. “What could go wrong?”

“Please be careful what you say, Commander,” Malcolm said in an overly solemn voice. “This is, after all, Shuttlepod One.”

“True, true,” Trip said, hands glancing over the controls. He reckoned that everything that had ever gone wrong for them, which also involved a shuttle, seemed to have happened on Shuttlepod One. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the thing was cursed.

Trip could see Malcolm’s nod from his peripheral vision. “Don’t want to tempt the fates.”

“Sure don’t,” Trip said, eyes on the viewscreen.

The planet did look peaceful – very Earth-like, the majority of its surface being water, with some large land-masses. It would be nice to have a visit planetside, and he was glad it was with Malcolm, now that they seemed to be on the way to repairing their friendship. He’d kept Malcolm at some distance after his sister had died in the Xindi attack on Earth, and pushed him away even more after baby Elizabeth had died. Despite all that, Malcolm had persisted – it was like once you actually managed to make friends with the man, you couldn’t get rid of him. And thank God for that. Still, he wished he could step back into the past and undo some things, or at least un-say some of the things he’d said to Malcolm during his dark days.

Trip noticed a flicker of light, looked up, and frowned. “That’s odd.”

Malcolm’s head shot up to look at him.

Trip waved a hand to the scene before him. Where, a moment ago, there had been nothing but the view of the planet, now, there was some sort of… weird color wavy thing, semi-transparent but steadily becoming more substantial, screening their view of the planet beyond it. Weirder, he could see it with his eyes, but the ship’s sensors didn’t register it at all.

Trip’s hands flew over the controls as he heard Malcolm’s sharp intake of breath from beside him. Even at half impulse, they were moving too fast to avoid it. “Damn it,” Trip said as they went through the forward edge of the thing.

The ship shook violently. “Intertial –“ and that’s as far as Malcolm got before the ship jerked to the left and down, and Trip heard something impact the inside of the hull where Malcolm was sitting, cutting off what Malcolm was saying.

He didn’t have time to look to see what had happened to Malcolm. Eyes glued to the controls, Trip struggled to keep the shuttle from spinning out as they entered the phenomenon fully. He swore as the ship tumbled, then exited the back edge of the waves, spinning as they entered the planet’s atmosphere. They were falling fast. He saw sky, then the planet’s surface, then sky again. They were out of control. There was nothing he could do.

The surface of the planet filled the viewscreen. He knew this was it. Then when the shuttle hit the ground, he knew nothing at all.

x-x

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Chapter Text

Trip gasped himself awake, scrambling to a seat on his bed. “Lights,” he bit out, breathing harshly. Damn it all to hell, he must have been dreaming – but it felt so real. Wiping a hand across his eyes, he sat there, breathing hard, and let himself settle, grounding himself in the things around him: the grey ceiling of his quarters, the murmur of the engines, the smells of the composites used to create the walls around him, the softness of the fabric of his blanket. He rubbed his face with both hands and exhaled loudly. That was one hell of a dream.

He jumped when a voice came over the comm. “Trip?” That was Hoshi.

“Yeah?” he replied, voice coming out rough.

“It’s oh-eight-thirty.”

Still half preoccupied by his dream, he grumbled a “Yeah?” in response.

“Senior staff meeting was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.”

“Shit!” Trip replied in a rush, followed by a “Sorry,” then a “Thanks, Hoshi,” as he flew out of bed, covers flying, and stumbled to his closet. He was dressed in seconds – easy when his uniform was a jumpsuit. He was in his bathroom and out in minutes, then dashing through the corridor. He could have sworn his shift didn’t start until oh-nine-thirty today, he had no idea there was a staff meeting scheduled, and no idea how he could have missed knowing that.

Trip gave a sheepish look to Hoshi as he passed her on the bridge, murmuring a quiet “Thanks.” He turned to enter the Captain’s Ready Room and nearly crashed into T’Pol in the doorway. Backing away quickly, he offered a sputtered apology.

T’Pol cocked her head, considering him carefully, as if unsure of how to respond. “Commander,” she finally said.

Trip frowned. T’Pol was standing there nearly at attention, wearing one of the tight outfits she used to wear early on in their journey. Her hair was also back to its shorter, more severe style. And – it was odd – the look in her eye, it just wasn’t the same as what he’d grown used to from her.

Trip’s thoughts were cut off by Jon who, from behind her, waved Trip forward through the open door with an “A moment, please.”

T’Pol nodded to Trip and stepped aside, allowing him to pass. As the door closed behind him, Trip started to apologize to Jon for missing the meeting when he stuttered to a stop, stunned by how different Jon looked. He seemed… lighter, somehow. The scowl he’d worn so often since the Xindi was gone, and there was an openness to Jon’s expression that Trip hadn’t realized had gone missing. Trip stepped further into the room, noticing that things in the ready room had changed as well – sure, there was still the desk, the small couch, the portraits of past Enterprises, but so were the photos that Jon used to keep as a slide show on his monitor, which he didn’t have up any longer – photos of him and Jon on the beach in Florida, photos of Jon with his dad, of Jon’s winning water polo team at Stanford… Trip had forgotten that Jon used to have those on show.

“Everything all right?” Jon said from behind him.

Trip turned to see Jon was now sitting at his desk. The Captain waved Trip to the nearby couch.

Trip used the moment of crossing the room to gather himself together. “Yeah, sorry, Captain. To be honest, I forgot we had the meeting. Won’t happen again.”

He stood in front of the couch, waiting for Jon’s new-normal, the stiff officiousness that was now the custom between them. What he got instead was a laugh. “Just don’t let it happen again,” Jon said with a smile. “T’Pol was not at all pleased.  Apparently, timeliness is an essential part of Vulcan culture.”

This was… odd. This was like the teasing they used to do from back when they first launched. Trip wondered for a moment if he was dreaming. But no. This felt familiar, but it didn’t feel like a dream, and it was not a memory – this was a new situation. But nothing here was quite right.

He had a suspicion. “What day is it?” Trip asked, keeping his voice steady.

“Erm… Monday?” Jon replied.

“I mean, what year?”

At that, Jon looked worried. “2151. Why? What’s going on?”

Trip sat down on the couch, hard. He tried to control his breathing. “I need a minute,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Suddenly, it all made sense, of a sort. He’d need to be careful. If what he suspected was true…

All the stuff they hadn’t been through yet – the Xindi. He gasped. He could try to undo… but no. Head in his hands, Trip thrust his fingers through his hair. He could not, even though he wanted to. What little he knew about time travel might come from sci fi novels and the few tidbits Jon had told him about Daniels, but even those lined up with what he’d learned from some of the theory courses back at the Academy – you undo one thing, and cause six others. If he undid the Xindi’s attack on Earth, or even just his sister’s death, who the hell knew what worse things would happen in their place?

“Jesus,” Trip muttered. His heart was racing; this couldn’t be happening. God, he was nauseous.

He felt Jon’s hand on his knee and looked up. Jon was sitting on the couch beside him, his expression showing his concern. “What’s wrong, Trip?”

“I don’t –“ Trip cut himself off, shaking his head. What’s done was done, no matter how fucking tragic, and no matter how much he wanted to change it, he knew he could not. What he could do was convince Jon of what was happening, and do everything in his power to get himself back to his own time, before he could mess things up too much here.

But no. He couldn’t let Jon know. Even that much might screw everything up. If he really had, somehow, gone back into the past, to the start of their mission out here, Jon didn’t know about Daniels, or time travel, or the Xindi, or anything like that yet, and telling him might alter – would alter – the timeline.

But wouldn’t it be better to alter it? To screw up the damned timeline? What was it about what he’d gone through that was worth keeping the same? The Xindi had killed millions of people on Earth. His sister was dead. His child, Elizabeth, was dead. His relationship with T’Pol had ended horribly. His life was a fucking hellhole. If he had a chance to change things, no matter what that change wrought, why shouldn’t he take that chance?

But no. This wasn’t about him.

He’d read a quote once, he thought it was from Hawthorne: “Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” This was time’s shadow: what he left behind would stay. If he changed any one thing, that change could evolve, grow, transform. Instead of three million people killed in the Xindi attack, he might destroy the entire planet. Or worse.

“I’m gonna call Phlox,” Jon said, standing.

Fine. Let him call the doctor. Maybe he could play all this off as not feeling well. That would be better than telling Jon the truth.

He needed to keep his interactions with this version of Jon as limited as possible. Jon was going to play a key role in their future, in the future of the whole damn Earth, even beyond Earth; and Jon knew him far too well, would know something was wrong, and Trip would end up telling him, and then they’d really be fucked. It was best if he could try to keep to himself, to let Phlox declare him off duty for the day due to illness, spend that day in his quarters, interact with as few people as possible, and try to figure stuff out.

What he wasn’t expecting was Malcolm.

x-x

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Chapter Text

Trip managed to play the illness card for the day, but that was about as far as he could stretch it. He’d used that time to evaluate, and discard, every theory he could come up with, only to settle on what he already knew to be true – he’d somehow been thrown back through time to the early days of their mission. He didn’t know how – that stupid wavy thing probably had something to do with it – and he had no idea how to get himself back to his own time, having found nothing about “stupid wavy things” in the computer, no matter how he searched it. He figured he’d need access to engineering to have a shot at getting himself home, and so when Phlox cleared him for duty the next day, he didn’t fight it. Instead, he tried to keep himself in engineering and away from the others on the ship as best as possible, although he nearly lost it when he saw Taylor, who’d died in his future, but was still here, happy and joking, now.

Which was perhaps why his guard was down with Malcolm.

Apparently, he’d promised Malcolm that he’d personally help him with something in the armory – which he only knew about because Malcolm commed him when he didn’t show up. Their conversation was all “Commanders” and “Lieutenants” and “Sirs,” and he figured he might be all right – this was very much the old version of Malcolm. Much more formal, and the friendship they’d developed over the years wasn’t there yet. It felt like he barely knew this man, which was good. He’d probably be safe around this Malcolm, so long as he focused on the work. He’d simply engross himself in the project, let that cover for the extreme lack of interaction he planned to have with Malcolm while they were together, and knowing Malcolm, Malcolm wouldn’t push things. Just stick to the facts, don’t try to socialize.

Malcolm greeted him with “Commander,” and Trip replied with a formal, “Lieutenant,” before Malcolm started explaining what they were working on, and Trip and he settled in to begin the project.  

As they worked side by side, Trip allowed Malcolm’s normal reticence to influence their interactions, and he kept their conversation focused on the basics. As the hours passed, Trip found himself relaxing. This was going well so far. Admittedly, he had no idea how he might get himself back to his own time, and no doubt he’d need to talk to Jon later about his behavior yesterday (he’d totally exploit the sickness excuse, that’s for sure), but at least he wasn’t, he hoped, doing much to change the timeline. But seeing all his crewmates before they’d been changed by what happened later in their mission; seeing Taylor, alive and happy… No, do not go there. Focus on the damn work, then on getting himself out of here and home.

He only realized how much time had passed when he felt, and heard, his stomach grumble. He checked the chrono to find that ten hours had passed. He yawned, suddenly feeling the effects of the past day, and his lack of food, hitting him.

“Any idea what Chef’s serving tonight?” Trip asked from where he was sitting on the floor.

“I think he’d mentioned nasi lemak,” Malcolm said from beside him, focus still on the machine in front of them.

“Oh, cool,” Trip said. “Be nice for you to have some home cooking.”

It was like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, and all Trip could think was Oh my God, damn it, damn it, damn it. He’d been doing so well, and now he’d gone and talked about Malaysian food as if he knew Malcolm had lived there, because in his own time period, he’d visited the damn place with Malcolm himself, even staying at his parents’ house and having this very meal; forgetting that back in the now, he most definitely had not – in fact, at this time, he didn’t even know that Malcolm wasn’t one-hundred-percent-from-England-British.

When Malcolm didn’t move, didn’t say anything, Trip gave a choked laugh. “Sorry, that was in your file – that you’d lived in Malaysia. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He turned to Malcolm, trying to seem sincere. Malcolm’s hands had stilled, and he was staring forward, his breathing slow and even. “I had nasi lemak at a restaurant in San Francisco, and made the connection,” Trip said. He suddenly couldn’t remember if that bit about Malaysia had even been in Malcolm’s file, and he knew, from the look on Malcolm’s face, that he was in trouble. He doubted that anyone else would have noticed the change in the man’s expression. In this time period, Trip himself likely wouldn’t have noticed it, but now, knowing Malcolm as well as he did, he could see it.

Knowing he’s just got Malcolm, a former Section 31 agent (and he’s not supposed to know that, either), thinking that he… He wasn’t even sure what the man must be thinking, but Trip could see those defensive walls like they were physical objects surrounding his friend. Trip mumbled something about getting some food, and took off.

Maybe it was for the best, anyway. Making Malcolm so uncomfortable probably meant that Malcolm would leave him alone. That meant less exposure to people, and less risk of changing things.

But no; he just HAD changed things – what if this completely changed his relationship with Malcolm? What if this meant they never became friends? What if that meant that Malcolm never got close to anyone in the crew? What then?

Oh, fuck.

Chapter Text

Trip woke, only to freeze when he realized there was someone in the room with him. He could see the silhouette of the person in the dimness of the night light. He stayed very still, trying to buy time, pretending to be asleep.

“How did you know about Malaysia?”

Obviously, his pretending didn’t work. “Jesus, Malcolm, you scared me,” Trip said, exhaling. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the covers sliding down his chest.

“How did you know about Malaysia?” Malcolm repeated. Trip saw something glint in Malcolm’s hand, and realized it wasn’t a phase pistol; it was likely a knife; and Trip knew this was dangerous, and it was personal. “That’s not in my file, no matter what you said,” Malcolm continued. His voice sounded sharp, not quite like himself. “What else do you know?”

Trip decided that at this point, he’d screwed up enough that he might as well come clean; not that he had another option that might work. He sat up very slowly, careful to make no sudden movements. “I know you’re not going to believe this, but before I woke up this morning, it was 2155.”

“That’s bollocks and you know it,” Malcolm replied, face still in the shadows.

“I can prove it,” Trip said, making to lean forward before Malcolm signaled him back with the knife. He said the first things that came to mind. “You have a sister named Madeline, and you and your dad don’t get along. At all.”

“That’s nothing you couldn’t have found out via my personnel file,” Malcolm countered.

“You were in Section 31,” Trip said, knowing that THAT piece of information certainly wasn’t in Malcolm’s file.

That made Malcolm shift slightly so the light hit his face, and Trip could tell that, underneath the hard expression, Malcolm was completely freaked out. Trip could see it in his eyes, in the stiffness of his posture. Malcolm’s hand with the knife trembled, then stilled; and Trip was afraid that he’d just turned the situation from bad to dangerous.

“Can you put down the knife so we can talk?”

“No,” Malcolm said, voice flat. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how you know what you know. But in order to know those things, you certainly aren’t who you appear to be.”

Trip leaned forward. “I know these things because in the future – my future – we’re friends.”

“Friends,” Malcolm parroted, not a question.

Trip nodded. “I know that you’re afraid of drowning – that’s not only not in your file, but not something you’ve told anyone but Jon.” Trip saw something flicker in Malcolm’s eyes, and went on. “But you told me, Malcolm. You told me that you have this fear, and you told me that you told Jon about it, out on the hull when the mine had you pinned. You told me you thought you were going to die out there. You told me because we’re friends, in the future. That’s how I know all that.” Malcolm blinked rapidly. Trip went on, “You told me how your uncle Archie had drowned on that sub; how your dad had thrown you into the water to force you to swim, how you’d feared you’d disappoint him by not going into the Royal Navy; how you’d hoped, even knowing how he’d react, that he’d be proud of you for joining Starfleet; and how you’d felt once you saw his reaction. Because we’re friends, in that future.”

As Trip had spoken, Malcolm had backed away until he hit the wall. Now he slid down it with a loud exhale. Knees bent, arms wrapped around them, he left the knife dangling, seemingly forgotten, from his fingers as he stared at Trip.

“I’m sorry for saying all that,” Trip said softly. “I just didn’t know another way to convince you.”

Malcolm waved his free hand. “Nothing that isn’t true.” He looked down, then rested his forehead on his knees.

“Would you put down the knife?”

“What?” Malcolm’s head flashed up, and he seemed surprised that he still had the knife in hand. “Oh, yes.” He put the knife down on the floor, then slid it away. He stared at it for a moment, then at Trip. “What’s your last memory, before you ended up here?”

Trip looked directly in Malcolm’s eyes, seeing the shock there. “Last thing I remember, I was in the shuttle pod, just about to crash. And I don’t just mean crash; I mean this is it, end of story, crash.”

“Oh.” Malcolm gave a wry half smile. “Who was on the shuttle with you?”

Trip didn’t say anything, knowing that if he told Malcolm he’d been on that shuttle, too, it might change too much.

Malcolm nodded, obviously having read between the lines on that one. “So, did we crash?”

“I don’t actually know,” Trip said, figuring that he might as well go all-in. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “I think so. It was weird. I saw this light.”

Malcolm frowned. “You saw a light?”

“Yes, I know it sounds trite; but there was this light; a weird color wavy thing,” Trip said, motioning with his hands, “and we went through it, then we were about to crash, and then I woke up here.” He laughed without humor. “Maybe I’m dead?”

Malcolm shook his head. “Whatever happened on that shuttle, you didn’t die. If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Trip decided to go with that idea, because what else could he do?

“Although if you were sent into the past, why wasn’t I?” Malcolm asked. “Or was I sent to a different point in time, something that’s in your past but still in my future? Or –”

Trip held up a hand to stop him. This was one of the things that he’d considered during his “sick day” yesterday. “You were knocked out,” Trip said. “I was thinking that made the difference. Since you’re not conscious – or won’t be – I’m thinking you’re still there.”

“Still in the future.”

“I think so.”

“Stuck on the shuttle.”

Trip nodded.

“That seems unlikely,” Malcolm said.

That response was so much like Malcolm that Trip nearly smiled, but smothered it, figuring that Malcolm wouldn’t react well. Anyway, what Malcolm had said was nothing that Trip hadn’t thought of himself. “Yeah, don’t think I didn’t think of that. All day yesterday, I went back and forth between the idea of this being all in my head,” Trip leaned forward and waved a hand, taking in the room, “like I’m unconscious or something and dreaming all this – and this being what it actually seems to be, which was that I’ve been thrown into the past.” Trip looked around him, then at Malcolm. “And this is way too detailed for it to be a fever dream. I mean, come on; Chef making nasi lemak? Who’d think that stuff up?”

Malcolm huffed a soft laugh. “So we’re friends in the future.”

“We are.”

Malcolm raised a brow. “And apparently, you’ve been to my house,” he said wryly. 

Suddenly, Trip could see a hint of his friend, that future-Malcolm who was buried under there.

“And you made me dinner,” Trip said. “And mentioned that we were lucky your parents were away, because otherwise, I’d have been subjected to their attempt at entertaining an American guest with their interpretation of American food, which, and I quote you here, would have likely, based on what they had in the house, involved Oreo cookies, beans, bacon, tomatoes and toast.” Trip chuckled.

Malcolm shook his head. “You probably shouldn’t tell me anything else about the future.”

Trip swung his feet over the side of the bed, pushing his bedding aside. “I figure the details of the food we ate won’t mess things up too badly.” He pointed a finger at Malcolm. “Just remember that I actually liked the nasi lemak. Don’t go changing that to beans on toast or something.”

When Malcolm still seemed doubtful – Trip could only imagine what was running through his head about fraternizing with senior staff, and having friends on board ship, never mind one close enough that they knew about his past – Trip went on. “A lot changes, with time.”

“Apparently so.” Malcolm leaned forward. “Assuming that what you’re saying is true – about the time travel, not about the meal – and I’m unconscious on the shuttle, suspended in time…”

“Yeah, I think it’s like, no time has passed there at all. Once I go back – if I go back – things might…” Trip made a rolling motion with his hands. “Regardless, if I can get back to my time, we’ll know. If I get there and you still remember me as I am now, then we’ll know the time travel thing is true.”

Malcolm nodded slowly, seeming to consider that.

“Actually,” Trip added, “I’m hoping I might be able to go back to before the crash, before we even encountered the phenomenon.”

“Why?”

“That way; well, assuming I keep my memories, that way I might be able to prevent us from going into the thing at all.”

“All right,” Malcolm said, seeming to slip back into his formal “Lieutenant Reed” persona. “Let’s see what we can do to get you back.”

“How?” Trip asked. “Because so far, I’ve got nothing.”

Malcolm paused, seeming to ponder something. “We’ll need T’Pol.”

Trip shook his head forcefully. “It’s bad enough that you know. We can’t involve anyone else in this.”

Malcolm raised a hand to stop him. “You know that I was in the Section.”

Trip nodded.

“Through my… connections, I know that T’Pol also has…” Malcolm hesitated, seeming to give thought to his phrasing, “…certain experiences in her background which may allow her to be of use to us. Based on that, I believe she can be trusted to help, and not to further contaminate the timeline.”

Trip held up both hands in supplication. “If the Captain finds out we’re doing all this behind his back, he won’t like it.”

“I know. We’ll just need to make sure he doesn’t find out.”

“Sure we can do that?” Trip replied.

Malcolm raised one brow. “One thing I am very good at, Commander, is keeping secrets.”

x-x 

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Chapter Text

“Vulcans do not have proof that time travel is possible,” T’Pol said just as Trip had expected, and he nearly laughed in relief at the normalcy of her response. They were in T’Pol’s quarters, Malcolm having figured that this location was likely be one of the most secure places on the ship; and Trip had, after a moment, agreed.

He hadn’t wanted to go to T’Pol’s quarters. He hadn’t been there since after Baby Elizabeth. And although T’Pol had changed a ton since this time period, her quarters really had not – they were as austere now as they were in his time, and yet despite that, comfortable, if extremely dry and warm, as befitted someone from a planet like Vulcan. He could smell the tea she liked… Being here was bringing back memories that he’d rather not revisit.

As for T’Pol herself, it had been surprisingly easy to convince her to join them in their efforts, once Malcolm had revealed that he knew something of her background, and exactly how he knew of it. Apparently, she had heard of Section 31, and reacted with less surprise to Malcolm’s involvement in it than Trip had expected. Maybe covert ops being a part of someone’s background was a normal Vulcan thing? Or maybe, as Malcolm had known of her background, she had known of his. If Jon knew any of that, he would not be pleased.

“I understand that Vulcans don’t believe in time travel,” Trip said. “Putting that aside for now, let’s pretend that time travel does exist.” As T’Pol opened her mouth to argue, he held up a hand. “Consider it a theory. If it does exist, how would you go about getting me back?”

T’Pol gave that some thought, and Trip was glad to see that this aspect of her personality hadn’t changed; she’d always been willing to give even his least logical-seeming theories actual consideration, when he’d asked her to. “Technically,” she said after a moment, “we have no proof of backward time travel, and no theories that can be successfully argued to allow for it. Forward time travel, however, is posited to be possible – as in your own theories of special and general relativity. The only limit is in terms of the technology – in terms of how far into the future something can travel.”

Trip nodded, reflecting on what she’d said. “But theoretically,” he said, “time travel, at least to the future, might be possible.”

“With spacetime geometries that permit faster than speed of light travel,” T’Pol corrected.

Malcolm nodded. “The warp drive - this ship travels faster than the speed of light.”

“The warp drive does not allow for time travel,” T’Pol said evenly. She looked at Malcolm. She hesitated, and Trip could swear she looked a bit embarrassed as she admitted, “We have tried.”

“Do we need to know how he got here for what we do to work?” Malcolm asked after a minute.

“No,” T’Pol said. “As it is unlikely we can reproduce the phenomenon that sent him here, or if we could, to turn it such that it sends him, precisely, back to his time.” She turned to Trip. “If you were sent back in time.”

Trip nodded in acquiescence.

“So, we need something that can return him to his time with precision; but which doesn’t need to do anything else,” Malcolm replied.

“A Tipler cylinder?” Trip threw out. He started pacing the small space. Movement helped him think; always had.

T’Pol countered that with, “Cannot be constructed with modern materials.”

Trip thought a minute. “How about an Alcubierre drive?”

“Merely theoretical,” T’Pol said.

“But not impossible,” Trip added. “Could we use one to create what is basically a wormhole, and use that wormhole to get me back home?” he asked.

“A wormhole – a constructed wormhole – can only, in theory, control time within its lifespan,” T’Pol replied.

“Which would limit its use from the day it’s constructed forward,” Malcolm said thoughtfully.

“Which would be perfect,” Trip added.

T’Pol considered that. “Yes.” She turned to Trip. “It would take some time to construct. And some time to alter Enterprise’s sensors so that she does not pick up on it. And we’d need a vehicle or device to traverse the wormhole.”

“I can handle the sensors,” Malcolm said.

Trip almost laughed. No doubt he could.

“And you can handle translating the theory to the practical,” Malcolm said, indicating them both. “As for a vehicle…” Malcolm added, “Could use a shuttle.”

Trip stopped moving. “Anything except Shuttlepod One.” He gave a slight laugh, then directed this next bit to Malcolm, “I’ll tell you why later.” He turned to T’Pol. “The wormhole would need to be large enough.”

“Would the shuttle survive?” Malcolm asked. “Would Commander Tucker?”

T’Pol paused, then said, “We’d need to reinforce the shielding; and the pilot would have no control over the ship during transit. But yes.” She hesitated again. “There is one issue.”

“What?” Trip asked.

T’Pol turned to fully face him. “We can only return you to the exact moment when you left.”

Trip looked at Malcolm. “Damn.”

Chapter Text

It took them a good four days to construct the drive, and three more to reinforce the shuttle (under the cover of repairs). But they managed to get it done to the point where it was either going to work, or it wasn’t going to work, and he’d either end up back at home, or… not.

If he did make it back, he’d likely end up at the exact time he’d left – which means he’d be seconds from crashing into the surface of the planet. But he couldn’t stay there – the longer he stayed, the more chance he had of messing things up even more than he already had. At least he’d (hopefully) managed to contain the damage to only Malcolm and T’Pol. And T’Pol, he knew could be relied on to mitigate his – this future “his” – influence in her life. Malcolm…? Malcolm was human, and thus… he wasn’t quite as sure how all this would impact Malcolm. All he could do was hope that if – when – he made it through the wormhole, he’d find that future version of Malcolm, and their friendship, unchanged.

“When I leave, do you think things will reset like I was never here?” Trip asked T’Pol. “I mean, future me not being here; the me, me. Not past… me.” He groaned. “You know what I mean.”

“It is impossible to say,” T’Pol said. “I… suspect that ‘past you’ will exist here again, with no knowledge of current events.”

“But you’ll remember?”

“I believe so,” T’Pol answered. “As well as Malcolm, as we both interacted with this version of you.”

“I’d better thank you now, then,” Trip said, “in case I can’t do it later.”

“There is no need,” T’Pol said. “It is likely that this will not work, as there is –“

“No such thing as time travel,” Trip interrupted. “I know.”

He stared at Malcolm, unsure of what to say. He wished that he could tell him not to let that whole “Section 31” thing mess him up too much, that he could tell him that it was okay to let people in, that it was okay to let people get to know the real him. But he couldn’t. Stupid timeline. Instead, he said, “You, I’ll thank when I see you in a few minutes.”

“I hope so, Commander.”

Trip nodded at them both, then entered their altered shuttle. It was now or never, and this would either work or… No, it had to work. There were no other options.

x-x

Trip sat in the shuttle, hands off the controls. He was just along for the ride on this one – the actual work was being done by Malcolm and T’Pol back on Enterprise. He could see the wormhole that T’Pol had triggered, then felt the “whoosh” as he was thrust forward into it – or more like sucked into it. Then it was all pressure, light and movement.

And he was falling fast. He saw sky, then the planet’s surface, then sky again. He was back – he was back! But he was still crashing. He glanced to the side, seeing Malcolm unconscious there, a hint of blood on his face.

He could but hope that they’d survive the crash, but even if they did not, he could hope that his having managed to get back here at this very moment meant that he’d managed to disturb as little as possible in the past.

He felt a massive pull, then a push, and he thought, “that was new” just as his head hit the back of his seat hard enough that the shuttle went dark around him.

Chapter Text

Trip sat on the biobed, letting his legs dangle off its edge. He’d been poked and prodded by Phlox and his corps, and other than a headache and “a mild concussion, off duty for the next two days, and I mean that, Commander,” from the Doc, he was fine. He squinted against the bright lights of sickbay. Or he was fine enough, anyway.

It seemed like it had worked. Sickbay was sickbay. Phlox was Phlox. The ship, the people, seemed unchanged. He was amazed. Somehow, he’d made it back, and Enterprise had saved him, pulling the shuttle out just before it had… it would have… crashed.

And all Jon had said in explanation was that someone had left him a note.

“Left you a note?” Trip had asked.

“Yup,” Jon said. “Left me a note, more or less, in my log.”

“In your log.” Trip said with surprise. “Thought that was supposed to be secure?”

“So did I,” Jon said, not seeming overly pleased. “Nonetheless, someone left me a note, saying your shuttle would crash, when and where; the message triggered in just enough time for us to get to you and pull you in.”

“Damn.”

“No kidding,” Jon said. “And of course, that ‘note’ is already gone, with no trace of it ever having been there.” A look crossed his face, and Trip braced himself as Jon asked, “I suspect I know who inserted the note; and I’ll take care of that.” Trip winced, thinking that Malcolm was in for it, yet again. “But how they knew about the crash… is that something that you can explain?”

Trip sighed. “Yeah, I can, and I will. But I need to talk to that someone first. Okay?”

Jon said nothing at first. Then, not seeming pleased about it, he said, “Okay.”

Once Phlox dismissed him, Trip asked Malcolm and T’Pol to meet him in T’Pol’s quarters. Entering, he found he didn’t feel quite as – whatever he’d felt – about being in her rooms as he’d felt a few days ago. Maybe it was because he could see the little changes she’d made, which he hadn’t noticed before his “trip”. Or maybe it was that through being forced to make the choice to keep this timeline intact, he’d changed, just a bit, just enough to make being there a bit more bearable.

That said, Malcolm looked somewhat the worse for wear, and Trip remembered the tumble he took in the shuttle. “How you doing?” he asked, noting the bruise that ran along Malcolm’s temple, the faint remains of a cut flowing up into his hairline.

“Fine,” Malcolm said. He sat, gingerly, on the floor pillow that T’Pol indicated, and that action alone showed that he wasn’t feeling quite as fine as he’d said.

As T’Pol settled to the floor to join him, Trip lowered himself to a seat beside her. “Do you both remember…?”

T’Pol nodded, an affectation that Trip suddenly recognized as one she’d picked up from her time with humans. It was amazing, the difference between the T’Pol he’d just spent four days with, and this T’Pol. “We do,” she said. “Although we were quite careful not to allow our meeting with you to influence our actions once you left.”

Trip directed to Malcolm, “Even having an idea that something was coming, you weren’t able to stop yourself getting knocked around up there?”

Malcolm almost nodded, then seemed to reconsider the movement. “I didn’t try.” At the look on Trip’s face, he went on. “I didn’t want to disturb the timeline any more than we already had done.”

“Ouch,” Trip said.

“Indeed,” Malcolm replied, a hint of pained amusement in his eye.

“But what about the note in the Captain’s personal log?” Trip asked.

Malcolm didn’t react; continuing to look at him as if he’d said nothing.

“Come on,” Trip chided. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t you. Sneaking a note in there and triggering it just in time to arrange our rescue? That’s sooooo much like something you would do.”

Malcolm considered that, then nodded. “We tried not to alter things up to the moment when you were thrown into the past. However, after that… I figured our future beyond that point was up for grabs, unwritten, so what the fuck.”

Trip burst out laughing at that unusual (for Malcolm) expletive. Sobering, he said, “You know that Jon’s already asking.”

Malcolm nodded, turning serious. “And you should tell him the truth.”

“Including that it was you who altered his logs?”

“Including that it was me.” At Trip’s hesitation, Malcolm went on, “If you don’t tell him, I will.”

Trip took a moment. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Nothing I’m not used to.”

Trip huffed a laugh. He turned to T’Pol, who appeared perfectly poised, sitting serenely on a nearby pillow. “I imagine you had no trouble not letting what you knew influence your behavior.”

“It was only logical that it should not,” she replied. “After all, time travel is impossible.” She seemed thoughtful. “Although I agreed with the Lieutenant about the note.”

“Right,” Trip replied. “Thank you.”

T’Pol nodded. “You are… welcome. I am pleased that you have survived.”

That warmed his heart a bit more than he’d expected it to. “So am I, T’Pol. So am I.”

x-x

End

x-x

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this.