It was Malcolm who had made the galaxy a beautiful place to be. He had thought they would grow old together out here, among the stars. Now, he couldn’t look at the starfield streaming past his window without breaking down. The little points of light seemed to mock him with their near-eternal fires.

Jon said something about a memorial service and shooting Malcolm’s body into space in a modified torpedo casing. It sounded appropriate, but Trip was too depressed to say so. He just laid there in silence until Jon got fed up and left.

It was too much of an effort even to lift his head as his friend walked out.

“Ah, what romantic fools these mortals be!”

The strange voice did what his captain’s presence could not, propelling Trip up off of his bed. Speech still did not come; he was too shocked by the presence of the black-robed man in his desk chair.

“That is the line of the song, is it not? ‘And the gods of Love look down and laugh at what romantic fools these mortals be.’”

The figure’s baritone struck him with its likeness to his deceased beloved’s voice. Malcolm had loved to sing, though few knew of it. Many nights, he would croon old love songs to Trip, as the engineer drifted to sleep in his arms. It had always rather pleased him that Malcolm sang for him and no one else.

Trip began to shake like a leaf.

“Not really appropriate as a whole to your particular situation, I’ll admit, but rather fitting in its way. You are acting quite the fool, Commander. Can you honestly tell me that Malcolm would have wanted you to behave this way?”

Trip felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and his voice caught in his throat. He gripped the railing on the shelf above his bunk for support. Whoever, whatever, that creature was, it filled him with dread.

“W-who are you?” he finally managed to force out.

“Who I am is not important.” The man’s face took on a haughty expression. “Let’s just say that I represent a very powerful group in this universe. I could do a lot for you - if you play your cards right.”

Something about the being irked Trip even as it frightened him, and he roused enough to reply, “Unless you c’n give me my lover back, there ain’t nothin’ you could possibly do for me.”

“And if I said I could?”

“I-I wouldn’t believe ya.”

“No? I’m hurt, Commander. Why don’t we play a little game, and I’ll prove to you that I’m as ... talented as I say I am.”

“I don’t want to play any games.”

“Too bad. We’re doing this for my entertainment, Commander, not yours. I’ve already decided what I’m going to do about this situation, but first, you are going to make it worth my while.”

The man snapped his fingers, and the room was washed away in a blaze of light.

“Mister Tucker,” the handsome young waiter tried to recapture Trip’s attention. “Your champagne is on the way, and Mister Reed asked me to give you this.”

Trip’s head snapped around at the name Reed, and he snatched up the little white envelope the waiter held out to him. He pulled out the card and read it to himself.

Trip,
Buy me a drink or three after my set. I might consider letting you take me home tonight. Preferably, to yours.

Love,
Malcolm

Tears threatened to spill down Trip’s cheeks, but he held them back, concentrating on what the waiter was asking him.

“Will you be wanting two glasses, then, Sir?”

“Yes, yes, thank you. Here,” he fished a fiver out of his wallet, “for your trouble. I appreciate this.” Trip waved the card for emphasis.

The waiter’s eyes bulged at the proffered bill. “Gee, thanks, Mister Tucker. You’re a real generous man.” He darted off before Trip could do more than wonder at the kid’s excitement over a mere five bucks.

His wonderment quickly shifted as an older waiter set up an ice bucket containing a full magnum of champagne next to his table. The man popped the bottle open, pouring Trip a glass.

“Here you are, Sir. Bobby will be by with another glass. Enjoy your evening.”

Trip slipped this waiter another couple of dollars, and turned his attention to the woman stepping out onto the stage. She looked like T’Pol. Or she would if T’Pol had bleached-blonde hair and human ears. She was wearing a creme-coloured sequinned gown that Trip was fairly certain T’Pol would never be caught dead in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my unqualified pleasure to ask you to welcome the pride of The Enterprise. The incomparable Malcolm Reed.”

His heart about stopped when Malcolm stepped onto the stage in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. The orchestra began to play, and Trip almost melted when Malcolm started to sing.

“Ask me again, who’s the one I’ve begun to adore. Ask me again, who’s the partner my heart clamours for.”

A tear did escape Trip’s eye this time. This was the first song Malcolm had ever sung to him. When it was over, Malcolm caught his eye and gave him a hundred-watt smile of the sort Trip had always thought too rare. Trip smiled back, and Malcolm’s own smile got impossibly wider.

Looking straight at Trip, he launched into You’re All the World to Me. Despite the couples out on the little dance floor, as far as Trip was concerned, they were the only two in the room. The beautiful Brit cycled through several songs, some Trip was familiar with, others he’d never heard before, and closed out the first half of his performance with an energetic rendition of Too Marvellous for Words.

The second half must have been Malcolm’s Gershwin tribute. He opened with Someone to Watch Over Me, followed by They Can’t Take that Away from Me, and Our Love is Here to Stay. The final song, For You, For Me, Forever More, was once again sung directly to Trip.

“What a lovely world this world will be, with a world of love in store. For you, for me, forever more.”

Had Trip eyes or ears for any but Malcolm, he would have noticed several women and men in the audience sighing heavily and giving him jealous stares. As it was, he was utterly lost in the intoxicating Englishman.

The song done, Malcolm stepped off the stage and walked directly over to Trip’s table. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but Trip stood to meet him, pulling him in for a kiss. Pouring all of his love for the smaller man into the embrace, he hung on until he absolutely had to step back for a breath.

“Hullo to you, too, Mister Tucker.” Malcolm’s high cheekbones were liberally splashed with red, but his sapphire eyes sparkled merrily, so Trip didn’t think he was in much trouble for his little display.

“Like a glass of champagne?”

“Yes, please. Such a thoughtful young man.”

“Hey, my mama raised me to be a gentleman.”

“And a fine job she did, too. Now, give me that drink.” Malcolm sat down, holding his hand out imperiously, into which Trip placed a glass he filled immediately. Malcolm took a sip and sat back. “Ahh, much better.”

“Happy now?”

Malcolm gave him another dazzling smile and replied, “I’m always happy when I’m with you, darling.”

At this point Trip was pretty sure he was dead, but if this was the afterlife, he found he didn’t much care.

“Speaking of being with you, why don’t you send word to Mayweather to have your car ready in say ... fifteen minutes. Love? Trip?”

“Huh? Whaddya say?” He’d been busy gazing at Malcolm and hadn’t heard a word the man said.

Malcolm looked exasperated, but it was a fond exasperation. “Lord, Trip, you are impossible sometimes. Bobby!” Malcolm flagged down the young waiter. “Go to the garage and let Mister Tucker’s driver know that he’d like the car brought around in fifteen minutes.”

“Sure thing, Mister Reed.”

Fifteen minutes was enough time for Malcolm to put away three glasses of champagne, and for them to leave without looking like they were in too big a hurry. Never one with a very high tolerance for alcohol, Malcolm was tipsy on the verge of giddiness by the time Bobby came back to let them know Mayweather was awaiting them out front. Trip didn’t mind Malcolm’s slight inebriation. The man was such a happy drunk, and it gave him an excuse to hold him close as they walked out of the club.

“Ah, the redoubtable Mister Mayweather!” Malcolm exclaimed as he and Trip stepped from The Enterprise and spotted the young chauffeur standing next to Trip’s black limousine. “How are you doing, Travis?”

“Just fine, Mister Reed,” Travis smiled at the singer, “and yourself? Did the show go well?”

“Marvellous, Travis. Of course, it always goes well when your esteemed employer is in the audience.”

“I’m sure it does.” He gave the two older men a knowing smile and opened the car door for them.

“So, tell us, Travis, what’s the gossip in the chauffeur’s lounge?” asked Malcolm once they were all in the car.

“Nothing much exciting. Mostly speculation about the two of you, actually.”

“What kinda speculation?” input Trip. He’d only been half listening to the small talk before, but this was of definite interest to him. If only so he’d have a clue as to what was going on.

“Oh, the usual, Sir. How long until you get tired of Mister Reed and throw him over for someone younger and prettier. Whether Mister Reed is just in it for your money, that kind of thing. Tell you the truth, Sir, I know it’s not really any of my business, but I was getting sick of hearing them talk about you that way, and I finally had to say something.”

“What’d you tell ‘em, Travis?”

“Well, Sir, I said that they were all wrong about you two. You’re not the average millionaire out to take what you can get, and Mister Reed isn’t some opportunistic singer looking to marry money. Before you get worried, I didn’t say a thing about Mister Reed being a lord and all -- I know that’s a secret.”

“God, can you imagine if that got out?” interjected Malcolm. “I’d go from respected entertainer to freak show. Come see the singing nobility of England! Ugh, makes me sick just to think about it.”

Trip patted Malcolm’s knee soothingly and motioned for Travis to continue his tale.

“Anyway, I told them that you two were meant for each other. You are the most perfect couple I’ve ever seen, and you love each other very much. End of story.

“I don’t think they really believed me.” Travis shrugged. “Mostly, they see me as this naive kid, but I don’t care what they think. I know True Love when I see it, and I felt better for having my say.”

“Well, Travis, we sure appreciate you stickin’ up for us, anyhow. Always good to know there are people a man can count on.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Ahh ... here we are: home, sweet home.”

Home was a modest sized mansion, the sort of place Trip had gone on tours of as a school kid. He’d always wondered what it’d be like to live in such a beautiful house. Now, he supposed, he’d finally get the chance.

“Mmm,” said Malcolm as he tumbled from the limousine, “much better than my flat. Though, I do hope we can evade your parents. They’re charming people, but I don’t really feel like socialising tonight.”

“They’re out tonight, Mister Reed,” offered Mayweather. “Rostov was taking them to a party at Admiral Forrest’s. They won’t be back until quite late, I’m told.”

“Excellent. They’re going back to Florida soon, aren’t they, dearest? No more getting waylaid on the way to bed for tea and a chat?”

Trip had no clue when his parents were leaving, of course, or even where this was, so he answered with a noncommittal, “Think so.”

The door of the house was opened by a butler who looked a lot like Crewman Novakovitch, and Trip went out on a limb, assuming that he, like the others, was named for his Enterprise counterpart.

“Thanks, Novakovitch. Anything I should know?”

“Mister Archer stopped in earlier to see you, Sir. I suggested to him that he call your office and arrange for an appointment to see you on Monday with Miss Sato, as you were unlikely to wish to be disturbed by business over the weekend.”

“Good. Have a good night, Novakovitch. Let everybody know that I don’t want to be disturbed until I surface in the morning.”

“Very good, Sir. Good night, Sir, Mister Reed.”

It was a good thing that Malcolm was rather impatient to get Trip up to his bedroom, because otherwise the engineer would have had the embarrassing choice of bumbling about the upper level until he found his room or asking to be shown the way. As it was, Malcolm simply grabbed his hand and dragged him there.

Trip was astounded by the luxuriousness of his bedroom. The carpeting was a thick navy shag, the walls and ceiling painted to match, but with sliver clouds and golden stars to give the illusion that it was suspended in the a night sky. Trip was no expert, but he was fairly certain that the king-sized bed and matching desk were Chippendale. A fingering of the sliver sheets revealed them to be silk. Not just satin, silk.

By the time Trip recovered from his shock, Malcolm had stripped down to his pants and was tugging at Trip’s own tuxedo jacket. He let the smaller man remove the jacket, along with his shirt and tie, before wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in for a kiss.

Intense didn’t describe that kiss. Everything Trip felt was poured into that kiss. All of his anguish at Malcolm’s death, his loneliness in the time following, his delirious joy in this strange reunion; it was all there. This time, the embrace didn’t end when they pulled back for air.

They fumbled with each other’s pants, letting them fall to the floor and then tumbling into bed. Malcolm curled his fingers around the waistband of Trip’s boxers, pulling them down and off, tossing them, Trip’s pants, shoes, and socks all off into a corner. He stood and slipped off his own boxers then.

“Top or bottom, love?”

“I think I’d really like you in me right now, Mal darlin’.”

Malcolm’s tongue flicked out over his lips, and Trip shivered in anticipation. “Missionary style?”

“Oh, yes.” He wanted to see Malcolm’s face. Wanted to be able to kiss him, while they made love.

“I’ll just go get the lube.” Malcolm stalked, naked, over to the dresser, giving Trip an eyeful. The blond squirmed impatiently on the bed, playing with one nipple, while he fished about in the drawer for the type of lubricant he wanted. “Here we go. The tingly stuff.”

Malcolm crawled onto the bed then, draping himself on top of Trip and nuzzling at the engineer’s neck while rubbing their erections together. Trip was almost panting by the time Malcolm slid down his body to trace tingling designs on his cock and balls with the lubricant. He moaned and lifted his legs when Malcolm’s slick fingers began teasing at his entrance. The lubricant continued to stimulate him even after Malcolm removed his fingers, and he heard his lover gasp as he spread the stuff on his own shaft.

Next thing he knew, Malcolm was pushing into him, leaning down for a kiss. He moaned into the Brit’s mouth, and they moved together in a slow dance of pleasure. It was pure perfection, and then Malcolm pulled back. The other man adjusted his angle and began to pound into Trip’s prostate. Then, it was bliss. Trip was too lost to realise he was crying.

They came together. Trip clung on to Malcolm when the man collapsed on top of him, not allowing him to slip out of him. He craved the contact, and placed lazy kisses on Malcolm’s face.

The seduction was arousing them both again, and Trip carefully flipped them over so that Malcolm’s hardening member remained inside him. He sat up, clasping his hands with his lover’s, and rode the man to another climax. After that, Trip fell into the first decent sleep he’d had since Malcolm’s death on Enterprise, wrapped in his beloved’s arms.

He was in his quarters on Enterprise. Alone.

Tears sprung up in his eyes, and after smacking a fist into it, he buried his head in the pillow. He was sure the tears would never stop now they’d started, but his eyes dried eventually. Malcolm was gone. Really gone. No mystical being could bring him back.

“Oh, but I can. And I will.” Trip lifted his head and gaped at the robed figure sitting, once again, in his chair. The creature kept talking, either ignoring, or unaware of Trip’s stupefaction. “His death changes too much. That’s why those Suliban did it, of course, but I liked things the way they were before. More fun, for everyone. That shadowy leader of the Cabal is getting too arrogant anyway, I need to take him down a few pegs. No one messes with omnipotence.”

“Y-you gonna make it so it never happened?”

“No. Where’s the lesson, the fun, in that? I’ll just bring him back to life.” The being grinned. “Like so.”

A snap of the creature’s fingers and a flash of light, and there stood a living, breathing, if very confused, Malcolm Reed.

“Trip? What am I doing in your quarters? Why do you look so awful? Are you alright?”

With a strangled sob, Trip launched himself at Malcolm, crushing the man to him. “A’right??... ‘course Ah’m a’right, y’r alive!”

In the background, the being giggled. “I can’t wait to see what happens when that doctor of yours discovers he’s not in the morgue any more.”

Malcolm tried to spin around to look at the one who’d just spoken, though Trip made it difficult. “Morgue?! Who the bloody hell are you?”

“Moi?” It placed a hand to its chest, eyebrow rising. “Oh, just your local god. Feel rather like Cupid at the moment.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it, mon ami. Lover boy there will explain it to you later.”

The being raised a hand to snap his fingers, and Trip had the feeling it was going to leave. “Wait!” he said, still cradling Malcolm to him. “What was that whole fantasy you put me in all about?”

“It was for my own entertainment. I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“What I’d do? That couldn’t have been that interesting. I mean, who wouldn’t take the chance to be with their recently dead lover like that? Even if it was all set in some weird fantasy world.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the self-righteousness of some people. Picard never would have played along like that. Not without throwing up a lot of fuss first. No, no, you’re quite a good sport, Commander. Congratulations. You got your dead love back and got to enjoy a nice fantasy romp with him in the bargain.

“Now, I really must be going. Places to go, people to torment. Au revoir.”

The being snapped his fingers and was gone in the same flash of light that had brought Malcolm back. Both men stared at the chair the creature had vacated for a while before Malcolm turned to Trip.

“Trip, what just happened? What’s going on? He ... it said you could explain.”

“I don’t know how much sense I’ll make,” he paused to kiss Malcolm’s cheekbones reverently, “but you were dead. There was a Suliban attack while we were on an away mission. They seemed to target you, for some reason. We got you back to the ship alive, but you died in Sickbay. I-I j’st fell apart. Jon’d come by to talk, but I’d ignore him... Laid in bed all day.

“Then, that ... being showed up. He said he could bring you back. I said I didn’t believe ‘im. To prove it, or j’st to play wi’ me, I guess, he put me in this fantasy world. I was a millionaire, and you were an English lord moonlighting as a singer in an American nightclub called The Enterprise. I don’t know what the era was; it was a jumble, nineteen-sixties, forties, thirties even.

“Anyway, Travis was my chauffeur. That creature owned the club. T’Pol announced your act, Cap’n musta been a business associate, and Hoshi was my secretary. You and I were in love.”

“We’re in love now, silly.”

Trip nipped the tip of Malcolm’s nose. “I know that, but this was make-believe. It coulda been our first meetin’, if that guy had set it up that way.”

“I see your point. Continue please.”

“Well... You sang your set, and I nearly lost it seein’ you there and all. After you were done we drank champagne at my table -- had a whole magnum! -- and then Travis drove us to my mansion. Man... Mal, you shoulda seen my ... our room. The bed had silver silk sheets! It was decorated so it was like makin’ love on a cloud in the middle of the night sky.

“We fell asleep together after some helluva good sex, and I woke up back here. I was more’n a bit upset at that turn of events, let me tell you. Then that bein’ brought you back to life, and you know the rest.”

“And what do we do now, beloved?” asked Malcolm. “If I’m supposed to be dead, won’t everyone be a bit ... shocked to see me up and about? What’s Starfleet going to say about this?”

“I don’t know, Mal. What say you we take it one bit at a time, hm? First bit bein’ us, naked in my bed there, provin’ your continued existence.”

“Mmmm, and what happens, my dear,” said Malcolm, stretching his neck while Trip nibbled on it, “when the captain walks right in here, because you haven’t been responding to him, and gets a double shock?”

“I tell him to git the hell out, and then carefully explain it all to him later.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Works for me.”

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