Rating: NC-17 for a little connubial bliss.
Spoilers: Sleeping Dogs
N.B.: Sequel to To Stay With the Living (which will be appearing in GFTTH2).
Believe it or not, I actually wrote
this well before "Stigma."
This one’s for Shanna, who wanted to see more of the boys’
relationship after the initial get-together. This may not have been exactly what she had in
mind, but y'all must deal with what my muse dishes out, same as I do.
The Latin phrase
means “with deed not words.” ~RB
A piercing shriek filled the air, and Malcolm cringed. Moments later a little
blonde girl ran into the room, clutching something to her chest protectively, shrieking and
giggling madly. Hard on her heels was a dark haired boy, only a couple of years older, but
with all of the arrogance of an older brother.
“Give it back, you little monster! Uncle Jon gave it to me. Go play with your own
toys!”
“Charles Tucker the Fourth!” The boy slid to a halt, attention abruptly refocused
on Malcolm. “You will not shout in the house, especially while I’m working.
Catriona,” Malcolm said to the girl hiding behind the sofa, “give your brother his ship
back.”
The girl marched around the piece of furniture and up to the boy, thrusting the toy
at him. Charles snatched it back from her, checking the precious little model of the NX-01
Enterprise carefully for any damage it might have sustained during its capture. The
model of his fathers’ former ship had been made expressly for him as a tenth-birthday
present by the ship’s former captain, Admiral Jonathan Archer, and he was intensely proud of
it. Satisfied that the little ship was unharmed, he walked over to the armchair Malcolm was
sitting in and crawled up into his lap. Charles peered at the PADD Malcolm was holding
inquisitively.
“What’re you workin’ on, Daddy?”
“It’s something called a photon torpedo. I saw one once on a Klingon ship, and I’ve
wanted to make one of my own for Starfleet ever since.”
“Let me see, too, Daddy!” demanded Catriona, wriggling up to join Charles in
Malcolm’s lap.
As his children pressed themselves to him, a thought occurred to Malcolm. “Weren’t
you two supposed to be watching your little brother?” Two pairs of little shoulders
shrugged. “Where is he?”
Two pairs of blue eyes gazed up at him, desperately trying to look innocent, and
Catriona said, “In the playhouse.”
“In the playhouse? You know you’re not supposed to leave him outside alone.”
“Oh, he’s safe enough,” said Charles.
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his offspring. “Charles Tucker the Fourth,
Catriona Tucker-Reed, what have you done with your brother?”
“Nothing.”
“Shhh, Connor. It’s alright. You’re okay.” He wiped tears from the four
year-old’s face, kissing the little cheek. Continuing to murmur reassurances to his
youngest, he looked toward the other two who were standing guiltily by the backdoor.
Malcolm walked back to the house, fully intending to give the two an earful about their
unkind treatment of their baby brother. Unfortunately, before he could say anything, a
voice wafted back from the front of the house.
“Mal, Charlie, Cat, Connor... Anybody home?” It was Trip; he had just returned from
supervising the final installation of his new warp six-point-five engine in Starfleet’s
latest flagship, the U.S.S. Henry Archer, at Jupiter Station. Malcolm and the
children had missed him terribly the two weeks he was gone, this being the first time either
parent had been away for more than a couple of days.
Being the children of one of Starfleet’s finest tactical officers, Charles and
Catriona knew a good escape when they heard one and ran into the house to greet their other
parent. Two little voices were raised in glee with cries of “the Cap’n’s home! the Cap’n’s
home!” as they bolted from the immanent lecture straight into the arms of Trip Tucker.
Exasperated, Malcolm had little choice but to follow his children in and greet his
husband.
“Permission granted, Captain Tucker.”
Mindful of the small child still wrapped around Malcolm’s neck, Trip didn’t let the
kiss linger for as long as he would have liked. “Missed you, Mal.”
“And I missed you, Trip. We all did. Didn’t we, Connor love?”
The tiny dark head bobbed in affirmation, tears now mostly forgotten, though he
still sniffled now and then. Trip turned his attention from his mate to his child and,
taking note of the signs of recent tears, asked, “Hey, little buddy, what happened to
you?”
“Chawy ‘n Cat locked me ‘n the playhouse. Daddy wescued me.”
“Daddy’s real good at rescuin’ people. He certainly had to rescue me plenty when we
were on Enterprise.” Trip planted a kiss on Connor’s cheek and then turned back to
the older two. “Charles, Catriona, now I know you love your little brother, and would never
want to see anythin’ happen to him, so I gotta assume that this act of unkindness was j’st
an aberration that will never happen again. Am I right? Am I right?”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Glad to hear it.” Trip took a moment to gaze at his family.
Trip suspected the boy would be a tactical and armoury officer first. He was
constantly pestering Malcolm for trips to the munitions lab, and two weeks before his
tenth-birthday the rascal had built a small bomb, using it to demolish the old shed on the
back quarter of their property. Trip had been threatening to tear the thing down for
months, citing it as a hazard and an eyesore, then, one peaceful Sunday afternoon, it
exploded.
The whole fiasco had nearly given Trip a heart-attack. Malcolm had been amused and
quietly proud of his son’s “talent.” Charles had been quite pleased with himself, though he
pouted because the blast centre wasn’t symmetrical. Once Trip’s initial histrionics had
been calmed, Malcolm had gone to stand next to his son, observing the wreckage, and said
mildly, “Nice work, Charles. Don’t do it again.” Trip muttered darkly that the boy had
been named for the wrong parent. “Shoulda been Malcolm Reed the Second, not Charles Tucker
the Fourth.”
Catriona may have adored her Captain, but she loved her Daddy just as much,
mimicking his speech and drinking heavily sugared, milky tea with him on weekend afternoons.
With her lady-like ways, she managed what Malcolm had deemed the impossible, handily
wrapping her Granddad Reed around her little finger. The girl was Malcolm’s secret weapon
against his father, for all she had to do was smile at the old man and he turned into putty.
Princess she may have been, but grease monkey she certainly was. She was constantly
tinkering with things, and had built enough model ships to start her own fleet. Cat was the
one who had added the locks and latches to the playhouse, and she was currently working on a
simple transistor radio to put in it. Trip was confident in the knowledge that, even if his
girl didn’t choose to become a first-class engineer, she would at least be capable of fixing
her own transport.
A good natured child, Connor willingly sat through teatime with his sister and
accepted his post as starship navigator, “Ensign Connor,” when the children played space
explorers. More often than not, however, as soon as Malcolm came home the waif would attach
himself to his Daddy, staying at his side until bedtime. Trip had no idea how Malcolm
managed to walk with a four year-old attached to his leg, helping with dinner and
straightening up the house despite the hindrance.
Tonight was no exception. Connor’s trauma at being locked in the playhouse made him
more clingy than usual, and it took all of Malcolm’s persuasive powers to convince the child
to sit at his own place during dinner. Afterward, while the older two sat on the livingroom
floor and played with their ships, Connor had crawled up onto the sofa with Trip and
Malcolm, insinuating himself between them and resting his dark head on Malcolm.
Travis Mayweather was First Officer of the Henry Archer, and had done his
best to keep his old friend from getting lonely and homesick, dragging him out to dinner
every night and encouraging him to make daily calls home to talk to Malcolm and the
children. Trip thought that Travis must have been sick of his stories about the kids by the
end of the first evening, but the good natured younger man never let on if he was. He
listened tirelessly to tales of Charles blowing up the shed, Cat building some strange
contraption, and the look of total adoration on Malcolm’s face when Connor uttered his first
word, “Daddy.” Trip was grateful for his friend’s patience. Talking about his family was
the next best thing to being with them.
“I missed you too, Trip,” said Malcolm when they broke the kiss for air. “Why don’t
you get out of that damned uniform, and I’ll show you how much.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
By the time both men were out of their clothing neither was fit for anything
involving higher thought. Trip threw himself on the king-sized bed which had been a wedding
present from Jonathan Archer, fishing around in the drawer of one of the matching
nightstands for the tube of pineapple scented lubricant. Triumphant, he flipped over on his
back, tossing the lube to Malcolm who was still standing at the foot of the bed.
Trip spread his legs wantonly and practically purred, “Malcolm darlin’, I’m all
yours.”
Carefully setting the lube down on the mattress within easy reach, Malcolm kneeled
on the bed between Trip’s legs. Kneading the blond’s muscular thighs, he whispered,
“What’s the rush, lover? Given your long absence, I think we should make this last as long
as possible.”
“As long as possible?” Trip’s voice quivered with excitement.
Malcolm’s hands left Trip’s thighs, one resting on the back of his head and the
other running up the length of his erect phallus as he stretched, replying, “As long...
as... oh... possible.”
The sight left Trip breathing heavily, his own hard length aching in response. He
barely managed to get his next words out. “Anythin’ y’ say, darlin’.”
Trip watched in aroused fascination as Malcolm continued to play with himself, the
hand behind his dark head snaking down along his neck to idly trace patterns around his
nipples. To keep from reaching down to touch either himself or his lover, Trip clasped his
hands behind his back, pinning them in place with his body weight. If Malcolm wanted this
to last, he was going to do his best to make it so, even if it took every scrap of willpower
he possessed to do it.
“Want you inside of me,” Trip said between heaving breaths. “Want you to come in
me. Want us to come together.”
Malcolm’s reply was a growled out, “As you wish,” and the popping off of the
lubricant cap. The sweet scent of pineapple filled the air, and slick fingers began to play
at the cleft between his buttocks and swirl around the opening they found within. The
fingers quested into the opening, first one at a time, and then several together, greasing
it up and stretching it into readiness. As he pushed back against the fingers, Trip’s own
hand wandered out, closing convulsively on the tube of lubricant.
He squeezed the slick substance into his hands and, tired of the wait, reached down
to grasp Malcolm’s cock, spreading the lube along its length. With one last squeeze and tug
on the slippery organ, Trip released it and growled, “Enough, Mal. Facto non
verba.”
“Ooh, I love it when you speak Latin.”
Suddenly, Malcolm was inside him. Trip gasped, arching his back, and a voice
whispered in his ear, “Nice Classical accent, by the way.”
Wrapping his long legs around Malcolm, Trip kissed the beloved face in front of him
and replied, “Ah aim t’ please.”
Kissing each other deeply, the two men began to move together, Trip pushing down as
Malcolm thrust up into him. As far gone as they both were, it didn’t take much to finish
them. Trip came the first time Malcolm struck his prostate, Malcolm seconds later as Trip’s
body tightened around him.
Too exhausted to bother cleaning up afterward, they burrowed under the blankets
together, Trip’s cum sticky between them. Nuzzling the dark head tucked underneath his
chin, Trip murmured sleepily, “If this is the welcome I get, I oughtta go away more often.”
This earned him a poke in the ribs and a mumbled reply that he thought sounded like, “Don’t
you dare.”
Depositing his PADD on the side table, and his children on the floor, Malcolm stood
up and strode out into the backyard. Once out of doors and headed for the playhouse he and
Trip had built for the children, Malcolm could hear the wailing of a small child. Lifting
the simple hook latch, he opened the door. The little boy inside looked up with red-rimmed
eyes as the light poured in on him and hurled himself into Malcolm’s arms.
“There you are, Captain Reed,” said Trip as Malcolm walked into the livingroom. He
disentangled himself from the eight and ten year-old, moving to greet his spouse.
“Permission to kiss my husband, Sir?” Malcolm had only been promoted the week before Trip
took off for Jupiter Station, and the novelty of Malcolm sharing the same rank as him had
yet to wear off.
Charles Tucker IV was the eldest son and an absolute hellion. He was what his
Granny Tucker referred to as an “unholy amalgamation of his fathers.” His dark brown hair
had one stubborn lock of gold at the left temple. He inherited the high cheekbones of one
parent, the sloping nose of the other, and the piercing blue eyes of both. Both
grandmothers sagely predicted that the boy would be a heart-breaker when he was older. For
now, however, he desired nothing so much as growing up to be a starship captain, just like
his “Uncle” Jon.
Their second child, and the second heart-breaker of the family, was Catriona
Tucker-Reed. Fair skinned, fine boned, and golden-blonde, she was Trip’s little princess.
He spoiled her terribly, causing Malcolm to have remarked once, “You realise that you’re
ruining her for other men, don’t you? No one will ever be able to live up to the standards
set by her Captain.”
Connor Reed, at four years of age, was the baby of the family. While Trip had,
admittedly, used somewhat underhanded tactics to get Malcolm to agree to a third child,
making the request on their anniversary, just after a heated love-making session, he knew
that his husband adored the shy little boy. Of all the children, Connor looked the most
like Malcolm, so much so that Trip was occasionally given to wondering if the lab hadn’t
lost his genetic material and simply decided to make a Malcolm clone instead of producing
offspring of the both of them. Even Malcolm’s mother was given to commenting on the
resemblance between Connor and Malcolm when he was that age.
It was nice to be back home. Installing his warpdrive into a real ship of the fleet
was a thrilling experience, but he often found himself wishing that Malcolm was there to
share it with him. After serving on the same ship together for ten years, and then having
both been posted to R&D in San Francisco for the past eleven, Trip was unused to having such
a large distance between himself and his husband. The two weeks all the way out at Jupiter
Station had seemed interminable.
Now that he was back, and the children were safely tucked into their beds, Trip
planned on showing Malcolm just how much he had missed him. Shutting the bedroom door
firmly behind him, Trip pulled Malcolm to his chest and kissed him hard, pouring all of his
love and need for the smaller man into the embrace.
Tiring of his masturbatory display, Malcolm let his hands wander back to Trip,
tracing patterns along the insides of his thighs and up across the flat expanse of his
stomach, deliberately avoiding the man’s weeping cock. His husband was writhing under his
touch, moaning incoherently, and he shifted so that he was straddling Trip’s abdomen. Hands
slid up to play with nipples as he moved, and he leaned over to capture that gasping mouth
with his own. Ever so slowly, Malcolm worked his way, kissing, nipping, and licking, back
down Trip’s body. He marvelled at the self-control Trip was displaying by passively taking
whatever he gave him and decided that he needed to do something to change that.
Trip’s eyes flew open, hips bucking forward, and hands finally freeing themselves to
tangle in dark hair as the full length of his penis was engulfed in one swift movement by
Malcolm’s talented mouth. The reaction was anticipated, and his hips were held firmly to
the bed as Malcolm’s tongue caressed his aching member. The wet suction of his husband’s
mouth was almost more than Trip could handle, and he frantically signalled for Malcolm to
stop before he came.
“Yeah, Charlie, wha’ is it?”
The door swung open, admitting the ten year-old boy. His nose twitched at the unfamiliar smell in the room, but he didn’t comment on it, saying only, “Cap’n, Uncle Jon’s here to see you an’ Daddy.”
Trip was momentarily grateful for his son’s restraint of his curiosity and the fact that the children’s rooms were all well away from his and Malcolm’s own; he did not relish the idea of having to explain to the small child what had been going on in this room the night before. Then, his sluggish brain registered what Charlie had said to him, and he screwed up his face in confusion. “Your Uncle Jon’s here? Did he say why?”
“No. He j’st said that he wanted to talk to you an’ Daddy, an’ would I please go fetch you.”
“Alright. You go back down and tell Uncle Jon that Daddy an’ I will be down as soon as we’ve showered an’ dressed. Offer him something to eat while he waits, why don’t ya.”
“Okay.” With that, the boy darted from the room and back down the stairs to bring the news to his beloved Uncle Jon.
“Mal... Hey, Mal, wake up.” Trip shook his husband’s shoulder gently to wake him.
At the first sign of consciousness, he said, “C’mon, Mal. We gotta git movin’. Admiral’s
here to see us.”
“Bugger the admiral.”
“I’d rather not, thanks. I prefer buggering you.” Trip grinned boyishly as Malcolm glared at him.
“Cheeky, aren’t we?”
“That’s why you love me.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Trip swung his legs over the edge of the bed, slapping at one of Malcolm’s blanket-covered legs as he stood. “Up!” He paused in the doorway to the bath that adjoined their room and cast a seductive glance over his shoulder at his husband, who was still lying in bed, watching him. “If you get up now, you can join me in the shower, lover.”
Malcolm’s mouth quirked into a grin and, eyeing Trip’s naked form appreciatively, he replied, “Well, if you put it that way...”
Somehow, despite the distraction of sharing, they managed to shower and dress in a record ten minutes and padded downstairs, still towelling dry their hair. They found Jon in the kitchen with all three of the children, sipping on a cup of coffee out of the pot he’d brewed during his wait. Connor detached himself from the group around the table when they walked in. He went straight to Malcolm, holding his arms up to him and saying in a demanding tone, “Daddy!”
Jon chuckled as Malcolm hoisted the little boy up into his arms, smiling broadly and kissing the little face. “Who ever would have thought it? Mr. I-much-prefer- shooting-back Reed, enslaved by the charms of a small child.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Sir.”
“No, that’s okay, Malcolm. I don’t need any kids of my own. I’d rather just come in and spoil yours on occasion.”
“Speakin’ of comin’ in an’ spoiling our kids,” said Trip, accepting a cup of coffee from Malcolm and seating himself at the table, “what brings you here at this early hour on a Sunday mornin’?”
“Early? Trip, it’s almost eleven-thirty. I was surprised to find you still asleep.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise it was so late.”
“Obviously not.” Jon paused a moment, staring into the depths of his coffee before speaking again. “I have bad news to impart, I’m afraid.” Another deep breath. “I got a communiqué from Vulcan yesterday. T’Pol is dying.”
“What!? How..? Why?”
“She’s got some degenerative neurological disease that I can’t pronounce. It’s incurable.” He looked up to see Trip’s shocked expression and the Malcolm’s ashen complexion. “She has requested our presence on Vulcan. She wants to see us all while ... while she can still recognise us.”
“Jon, Mal and I can’t go to Vulcan! That’s a long trip, an’ I’m not leavin’ the kids without us for that long.”
“Bring them with.”
“What?”
“It’s summer. They’re not in school. T’Pol hasn’t been on Earth since Cat was two ... I’m sure she’d like to see them as well. Please, Trip, Malcolm.”
Trip exchanged a look with Malcolm, who nodded slightly. “Alright. When do we leave?”
“Thanks, guys. We’ll catch the shuttle to Jupiter Station tomorrow afternoon. The Henry Archer will be taking us to Vulcan.”
Despite the sombre mood that had pervaded the ship most of the time, the children
had enjoyed their stay on the Henry Archer to no end. Partly it was because the crew
and other passengers had lavished attention on them. It had impressed them considerably to
have Commander Travis Mayweather, one of their fathers’ old crewmates and current First
Officer of the Henry Archer, give them a guided tour of the ship. Catriona was
delighted to see her Captain’s warp engine, and Charles seemed to think that he had died and
gone to heaven when the tour lead into the Armoury, fully stocked with weapons his Daddy had
either designed or supervised the design of. Connor simply took everything in with
wide-eyed amazement from his perch in Malcolm’s arms.
Having nothing to do with running the ship, their fellow passengers, Jon and Hoshi, had spent a great deal of their time keeping the children occupied. Missing her own daughter, whom she had left on Earth with her husband, Hoshi doted especially on Catriona. She put the time to use by teaching the children to speak Vulcan. Being young, they absorbed the new language like little sponges and were equipped to carry on simple conversation by the time the ship reached its destination. They considered it a great game, which was a tribute to Hoshi’s teaching skills, and insisted that the lessons continue while they remained on Vulcan, as well as on the way home.
Jon told the children stories. He alternated between pure fantasy and tales of the Enterprise’s exploits. Not surprisingly, they seemed to mostly prefer the latter type, and of those the ones which featured their parents. Little Connor seemed especially entranced with ones which involved Malcolm having to rescue Trip for one reason or another. Malcolm found it funny, but Trip complained that Jon was deliberately skewing events so that Trip came out sounding like more of a helpless damsel-in-distress and Malcolm more of a brave knight-in-shining-armour than they had really been.
These romanticised stories prompted Catriona to ask for the tale of how their parents had fallen in love. After a great deal of himming and hawing, Jon finally gave in. Hearing about how one’s Daddy had been severely depressed and had attempted to kill himself by slitting his wrists was not something Jon had really felt a ten, an eight, and a four year-old ought to hear, so he ended up telling an edited version in which Malcolm was simply “sick.”
Even altered as it was, the men found listening to the story of the beginning of their relationship an emotional experience. Trip held Malcolm close during the telling, absently running his fingers along the scar on the inside of one of Malcolm’s wrists. That night the two engaged in passionate love-making, made awkward by the small size of the starship’s bunks. Trip deliberately gave Malcolm a hickey under his right ear “in memory of our first time together,” which caused a good deal of snickering when they ate breakfast with Jon, Hoshi, and Travis the next morning.
“Desert. I hate deserts.”
The sound of Trip’s voice broke in on Malcolm’s musings, forcing him back to the
present. Malcolm looked at his husband, who was staring out at the desolate landscape
beyond the landing pad with disgust.
“Nobody better expect me to so much as set foot outside the city. I ain’t settin’ m’self up for another bout of heat-stroke.”
“Don’t worry, Trip,” said Jon. “We came here to see T’Pol, not to do survival training. Her house is in the middle of the capitol city -- nowhere near the desert.”
“Good.”
A transport was waiting just off the landing pad for them. It was a tight fit, but
they managed to squeeze all eight of them in by having Connor and Catriona sit in their
parents’ laps during the ride. They were delivered directly to T’Pol’s door, where they
were greeted by a familiar old face.
“Phlox!” exclaimed Travis, breaking into his first genuine smile of the day. “How’re you doing? It seems like forever since I’ve seen you. How are your wives and co-husbands doing?”
“It’s only been eleven years since the end of the Romulan War, Mister Mayweather,” Dr. Phlox replied with an answering smile. “You exaggerate the length of time.
“I am well, as is my family. And you? I hear you’ve been promoted. Congratulations on your new post.”
“Thanks. I’m doing good. Nothing terribly exciting to report, but I’m doing good.”
Satisfied with this response, Phlox turned his attention to the other newcomers. “Admiral Archer, Professor Sato, Captain Tucker, Comm... Captain Reed ... When did that happen?”
“About a month ago. Starfleet decided that, after eleven years, they could afford to promote me.”
“Oh, well, congratulations to you as well, then. I take it that these little ones are your and Mister Tucker’s children, am I correct?”
“Sure are,” said Trip. “This handsome young devil is Charles Tucker the Fourth, the little princess here is Catriona Tucker-Reed, and the little fella tryin’ to blend in with Mal’s pantleg over there is Connor Reed. Charlie, Cat, Connor, this is Doctor Phlox. He served on Enterprise with your Daddy and me.”
“Hello, children. Mister Tucker, Mister Reed, forgive me for asking, but why do your children each have different surnames? I thought it was customary on Earth to give children of the same parents the same name.”
“It is, of course,” said Malcolm. “Trip is simply perverse.”
“The thing is, Doc, Charlie was named after me, and then we agreed that the next one would be hyphenated, equal time and all. When Connor was born I figured: what the hell, I’ve got a Tucker, we’ve got a Tucker-Reed, why not let Mal have a Reed?”
“Never mind the amount of entertainment he derives from utterly confusing the children’s teachers and sitters with the three names. As I said: he’s perverse.”
“Who is there?”
“Ah, T’Pol,” responded Phlox, “Archer and the others have arrived. Reed and Tucker have brought their children.”
The Vulcan woman stepped into the front room. Dressed in traditional flowing robes, she looked as regal and self-possessed as ever. Only her eyes seemed haunted by her disease. “Children? Where are they?”
Trip and Malcolm pushed the three forward. “Right here, T’Pol,” said Trip.
Stepping closer, she kneeled in front of the children. “Charlie, Cat, I have met you before, though you likely do not remember.”
“I remember,” said Charlie defensively.
“That is well. This one, however, I have not met.” She drew Connor over to stand in front of her. “You are Connor Reed, are you not?” The little boy nodded, wide eyed. “Your fathers sent me baby pictures of you along with your birth announcement. I did not realise then how much you will look like Malcolm when you are grown. A beautiful little boy.” Pulling the child close, T’Pol stood in a smooth motion, lifting him in her arms.
“T’Pol!” The exclamation was the first thing Archer had said since arriving at the Vulcan’s house.
One eyebrow raised, she gave him a withering look. “I am becoming senile, Jonathan, not decrepit. I am perfectly capable of carrying a small child.”
“Sorry.”
“You are concerned. You have always been prone to overreacting when concerned. It can be endearing. It can also be extremely irritating. Please endeavour to curb that tendency.”
“Yes, T’Pol.”
“If you all will follow me, dinner is waiting.”
Archer followed on T’Pol’s heels, pausing briefly to scoop Charlie up into his arms. Malcolm and Trip exchanged a speculative look before Trip picked up Cat and the two followed into the dining room.
Dinner was uneventful. T’Pol interrogated everyone on their recent activities.
They all happily filled her in on their lives since last they’d met. She doted especially
on the children, chatting with them in Vulcan once she learned that Hoshi had been teaching
them the language.
Malcolm couldn’t quite fathom her sudden attachment to his children. He could only guess that some part of her was lamenting that she would never have any of her own now and was enjoying them while she could. It was only speculation, of course, but he was glad, in any event, that they were getting to know her.
Watching Archer dote on T’Pol as they all sat talking after dinner, Malcolm found an old suspicion renewing itself in his mind. He leaned over and whispered into Trip’s ear, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“’Bout what?”
“The admiral and the Vulcan.”
“Prob’ly.”
“So are you going to corner him while I set Hoshi on her?”
“Suppose I’d better. Sooner the better, too, huh?”
“Quite.”
T’Pol was excusing herself for the evening, and the two took the opportunity to
swing into action.
“Jon, join me for a bit of fresh air?”
“Desert air?”
“Ain’t goin’ far.”
“Alright.”
Trip noticed Malcolm putting his head together with Hoshi as he ushered Jon out the
door. Not in the mood for playing word games with his old friend, Trip cut to the chase as
soon as the door closed behind them.
“You gotta j’st tell her how ya feel, Jon. If you don’t, you’ll be kickin’ y’rself for the rest of your life.”
“Damn you, Trip. When’d you get so perceptive?”
“Since I’ve known you for forever an’ served with you, an’ her, for a good chunk of that. You two were alw’s snipin’ at each other, but there was an affection there as well. Never mind your possessive streak. It was alw’s ‘my Science Officer’ this, and ‘my Science Officer’ that. She was alw’s yours. Ev’rybody else was the ship’s at least half the time, but not T’Pol.”
“What good will it do if I tell her now?”
“You can enjoy what time you’ve got left with her. Don’t throw that away, Jon. I came face to face with what it’d be like to lose Malcolm without him ever knowin’ I loved him. Don’t do that to y’rself, Jon. It’s not a nice place to be, an’ you know you won’t be gettin’ a second chance here.”
“Your right, of course.” Jon scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “I’ll talk to her. Tomorrow, I promise. First thing in the morning, before I lose my nerve. Again.”
“Good.”
“Well?”
“He promised me that he was gonna talk to her in the morning.”
“Mmmm... Good.” Malcolm snuggled up to Trip as the other man climbed into bed. “Those two are more boneheaded than we were. I’d hate to see them miss out entirely.”
“They would have, too. Jon would’ve waffled until it was too late, an’ T’Pol would have remained inscrutable until her disease was so far along that it was impossible to tell what was her and what was the senility talking.” Trip kissed the dark head tucked under his chin. “Let’s get some sleep, been a long day.”
“Mmmm hhhhmmmm...”
Trip stood at the edge of the landing pad, saying goodbye to his friend. “You take care of y’rself now, Jon. An’ take care of T’Pol. She’s gonna need your strength.”
“And you take care of yourself, Trip. Keep Malcolm happy, raise those adorable hellions of yours.”
“Will do.”
The two stood silently for a moment before pulling each other in for a hug.
Releasing his friend, Jon said, “Go on now. Your family’s waiting for you.”
“Yeah. See you around, Jon.”
Trip turned toward the shuttle waiting to take him to the Henry Archer. Time
to get back to Earth, back to the business of living his life with Malcolm and the children.
It was nice work, and he was so glad he’d got it.
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