The BLTS Archive - Things Are Lookin' Up by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com) --- Date: Posted to EntSTSlash on 09/22/03 Archive: Permission to archive granted to EntSTCommunity, Reed's Armory, BLTS, WWOMB, Tim Ruben, Trekiverse, my own site, and whoever else wants it – just tell me where you've put it. Warnings: n/a Beta: shakespearespot Spoilers: The Expanse, Xindi, Anomaly N.B.: Believe it or not, this is post-"Anomaly" fluff. I've had enough angst for a while. The title is from a Gershwin song of the same title. "Things are lookin' up since love looked up at me." ~RB --- Malcolm stepped into the mess and habitually glanced around the room. As was also becoming something of a habit, his gaze settled on the lone figure hunched over a data PADD at one of the tables. Shaking his head, he got himself a cup of tea and made his way over. "It's oh-one hundred; I thought T'Pol was supposed to be helping you sleep." Trip looked up as Malcolm sat opposite him, and the Englishman had to suppress a wince at the tired lines that were becoming permanently etched in his friend's face. "Yeah, well, it's not helpin'. Don't tell anyone I said this, but it makes me kinda uncomfortable." Trip paused, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I end up leavin' her quarters more twitchy than when I got there." "And then you come here to wind down?" "Somethin' like that." "If you don't mind my asking, what does this Vulcan acu- pressure involve?" "Neuro-pressure. Phlox and T'Pol call it neuro-pressure. She makes me take my shirt off and presses at neural nodes along my spine. I don't think she wants to be doin' it any more than I want to be there havin' it done, but Phlox has been insistin' on it." Malcolm's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and he made a little negatory shake of his head, lips thinning slightly as he did so. "Neural nodes? Along your spine? Last I heard, Humans don't *have* neural nodes along their spines." Trip shrugged. "It makes Phlox happy and keeps him off my back. Maybe he figures it's like gettin' a massage and will help me relax. I don't know." "If all he wants is for you to get a massage before bed every night, *I* can do that. A proper, relaxing massage at that, not some strange Vulcan alternative medicine version." The Southerner sat back in sudden surprise. "You know how to give massages? Real ones?" At Malcolm's nod, he asked, "Where'd you learn that?" Reed took a sip of his tea, a smug expression on his face, before answering. "One of my many exes, Shauna, was a massage therapist. She decided that, at the end of a long day, *she'd* like to have a massage as well, so she taught me everything she knew." He looked down into his cup and frowned at the dark liquid. "I was just getting good when she left me for some tall blonde." "Ouch. Sorry." Malcolm looked up, forcing a grin for Tucker's benefit. "Not your fault. You weren't the tall blonde. I heard that they got married last year. That's the way it goes, you know." Trip narrowed his eyes at his friend. "What's the way it goes? People gettin' married, or people leavin' you to go get married?" Malcolm shrugged non-committally. *"Malcolm."* Trip's voice was a warning, and when he looked up, Malcolm found his friend glaring at him with a mulish expression. "Either. Both." He huffed in exasperation. "Do we have to discuss this?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because I don't like the idea of you wanderin' around with some fatalistic notion that you're always gonna be the loser in every relationship you're in." "What does it matter? You're the one who doesn't think we're going to be going home again. What'd you call this mission? A one- way ticket, I believe it was. If that's true, I won't have the chance to be in another relationship, failed or otherwise." Trip opened his mouth as if to reply, but he snapped it shut and looked away. Silence hung between them for a few minutes before Malcolm spoke again. "Now I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." "It's okay, Mal. It's the truth, after all." He looked up, smiling weakly at his friend. "I've been a real storm-crow lately, haven't I? Don't know how you've put up with me. I'd'a knocked me into next week a couple of times over for bein' such a jerk, if I was you." "Well," said Malcolm with a grin, "I'm a very tolerant man." Trip snorted at that. "Sure you are." "I should go. I've an early shift tomorrow." "What are you doin' here at this time of night, if you've got an early shift?" Malcolm stood and smiled down at Trip indulgently. "Why do you think?" He turned away from the engineer's surprised look, setting his mug in the dirty dish receptacle and moving toward the door. "Hey, Malcolm?" He stopped, one hand reaching for the door release, and looked back at Trip. "Yes?" "Would ... would you be willin' to give me a massage tomorrow night?" "Of course. Why don't you stop by my quarters, say at twenty- three hundred? You can pick what oil you like best." "Sounds good. Sweats okay?" "Whatever you usually wear for your sessions with T'Pol." Malcolm's mouth quirked in a half-grin. "I'll be making you take your shirt off, too." Trip returned the grin, chuckling tiredly. "Fine, fine. Night, Mal. I'll see ya tomorrow." "Goodnight, Trip." --- "Commander?" "Yeah, T'Pol?" "Should I expect you for a session this evening?" Trip didn't look up from the read-out he was studying. "No, I don't think I'll be doin' that anymore." "Commander..." "Look, T'Pol," he cut her off, turning to fix her with a glare. "I don't want to be doin' it, you don't want to be doin' it, and it's not doin' me any good, so let's j'st forget about it, okay? Malcolm's gonna give me a massage tonight, an' he'll keep doin' it if I find it helpful. If not, then I'm back to square one, but I won't be any worse off than I am now." "If that is what you wish..." "It is." --- At precisely 2300 that evening, Trip stood outside Malcolm's door, clad in a loose t-shirt, sweatpants, and slippers. After only a moment's hesitation, he pressed the chime to announce his presence, entering at Malcolm's subsequent invitation. Malcolm was wearing a loose pair of pyjama bottoms and a tight white t-shirt and was holding three bottles in his hands, two of which he held out to Trip once the door closed behind him. "Here, smell these and tell me if you like either." "What are they?" Trip asked dubiously. "Massage oils. One's citrus, and the other is almond. This one," he waved the third bottle in the air, "is unscented. I can use it, if you prefer, but I thought you might find it more relaxing if the oil gave off a pleasant smell." Trip took the two bottles in turn, dutifully uncapping and sniffing them. "Almond's nice. Reminds me of the almond klatches my grandma used to make when I was a kid." Taking the oils back and putting away the extra bottles, Malcolm smiled broadly at him. "Almond it is, then." He reached over to the control panel on his desk, turning on music and turning the lights down to half-strength. "Why don't you take your shirt off and lie on your stomach on the bed?" Trip kicked his slippers off and pulled his shirt off over his head, folding it neatly and setting it on the desk. He cocked his head, listening to the music for a moment, and asked, "This Bach?" Malcolm looked pleasantly surprised and flashed him another smile. "Yes. The Goldberg variations, arranged for violin. I've always found it soothing. If it bothers you, I can shut it off." "No," replied Trip, positioning himself on the neatly made bed, "leave it. It's peaceful. I like it." He felt the mattress dip as Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed and tried to concentrate on the music as he waited for the massage to begin. It was almost embarrassing the way he groaned at the first strong touch of Malcolm's hands on his back. "Shit, Mal, that feels good. Your hands are warm." "Of course they're warm. What good would the massage be if you tensed up at the beginning because my hands were cold?" "Not much, I suppose... T'Pol's hands are always cold. Mmm... Don't ever stop." He could feel Malcolm's soft laughter through the contact and he let his eyes fall shut, luxuriating in the pleasant atmosphere his friend had created for him. Even if he still couldn't sleep tonight, at least he would be limp as a rag. That alone would make the night better. Fifteen minutes into what Malcolm had planned on being an hour long massage, Trip Tucker was sound asleep and snoring lightly. Noting both the tension still left in Trip's muscles and the growing stiffness in his hands, he made a compromise with himself. He would continue the massage for another twenty minutes, and if Trip hadn't come awake by then, he would quit. Trip didn't wake. Even through the sounds of Malcolm cleaning up and turning off the music, he didn't wake. Now, Malcolm stood next to his bed, looking down at the prone figure on it. He couldn't in good conscience wake the man, so he retrieved an extra blanket from his locker and, lying down on the narrow strip of unoccupied mattress, covered them both with it. "Goodnight, my friend. Sleep well." --- "Good morning, Mister Tucker." Trip blinked stupidly at the sound of the voice and looked around his quarters for its source. Correction: not his quarters. *Malcolm's* quarters. The man himself was standing by the tiny room's desk, dressed in his uniform and looking as impeccable as ever. "Shit. What time is it?" "Six." "Six? In the *mornin'?* Damn, Malcolm, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kick you outta your bed last night." "It's alright, and you didn't really kick me out." Malcolm gave him a sheepish look. "I hope you don't mind, but I crawled in with you. I didn't want to wake you, but I wasn't prepared to sleep on the floor, either." "I don't mind. Your bed, Mal, your prerogative. I appreciate you not wakin' me, though. Seven hours. I got nearly *seven hours* of sleep." Trip scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled beatifically up at Malcolm. "You are a miracle worker." "Your body was more than ready to shut down, Trip. All it needed was to put your brain on idle and to get rid of some of the muscle tension. I just helped with that is all." "Malcolm, I can't remember the last time I slept through an entire night, or woke up because of somethin' other than a nightmare. Call it what you will, I call it a miracle and I thank you for it from the bottom of my heart." Malcolm looked down at the floor, embarrassed, his ears and cheekbones pinking. "If I can keep doing it, does that make me Saint Malcolm?" He looked up again with a tentative grin. Trip laughed. "If you want. Cap'n and Phlox might start to wonder about your sanity, though." "Well, we wouldn't want that." Malcolm fixed Trip with a direct gaze, pleased to note that the man looked a very great deal better than he had in days, thanks to the wonders of sleep. "There are two hours until Alpha shift starts. You'll probably want to head back to your quarters for a shower, shave, and a uniform." Trip scratched self-consciously at the stubble on his chin and looked down at his bare chest. "Yeah, good point." He struggled to his feet and looked around the room. Malcolm tossed him his t- shirt and pointed out his slippers. "Meet me in the mess in an hour and a quarter?" "Sure. I'm starvin'." --- Malcolm was conflicted all throughout his breakfast with Trip. The Southerner kept prattling on about how wonderful it was to sleep without nightmares, and Malcolm didn't know if he ought to tell the man that he had, in fact, had more than one nightmare that night. The difference was that Trip's unsettled movements in sleep had woken Malcolm, and Malcolm had soothed the bad dreams away before they could wake the blonde. He wasn't certain that Trip was ready to hear that he had been cuddled and whispered to by the stoic Malcolm Reed. He was even less certain that he was ready to admit to having done so. "So," Trip's voice cut through Malcolm's reverie, "can we do it again tonight? Same time, only I'll try to stay awake long enough to drag my carcass back to my own bed this time." Trip turned a bright, winning smile on Malcolm, one which the Englishman hadn't been favoured with in far too long, and he smiled back. "Of course, Trip. For as long as you like." He couldn't say no to that smile, never had been able to. --- Trip didn't see Malcolm in the mess when he went to lunch that afternoon, but he spotted Phlox settling in with his tray of food and made his way over with his own meal. He was feeling cheerful and needed to share the mood with someone. If it couldn't be the person who had caused it, the doctor would do as well as anyone. "Afternoon, Doc." "Good afternoon, Commander. You seem to be in a good mood today. Did you sleep well last night?" "Like a baby." "Good, good! Now, aren't you glad you gave T'Pol's neuro- pressure a chance, hmm?" "Maybe I would be, if that had been what did it for me, but I didn't go to T'Pol last night." "You didn't?" Phlox looked surprised, and Trip enjoyed the Denobulan's discomfiture for a moment before replying. "Nope. Went to Malcolm's quarters last night. He gave me a massage. I was out like a light after fifteen minutes and I slept for almost seven hours straight." "Really? How remarkable. Well, by all means, continue with this ..." Phlox waved one hand around in the air as if trying to conjure the appropriate words, "Reed therapy as long as you need." "Oh, I plan to. Malcolm's agreed to keep doin' it until I say 'quit.' Even though I kinda took over his bed last night," he added with a guilty grin. "That was very generous of him. I know how much he values his privacy. I wouldn't have thought that he would have allowed anyone into his space so ... intimately." Trip lowered his fork, pursing his lips as he glared over the table at the doctor. "You make 'im sound like some kinda anti-social hermit. Sure, he probably wouldn't do this for j'st anybody, but I'm not anybody. I'm his best friend. Best friends rate special favours like this. Anyway," he said, pausing to take an aggressive bite of his lunch, "Malcolm's a real caring person. He j'st doesn't like everybody to see it, that's all." Phlox gave Tucker a conciliatory smile and replied, "The lieutenant does worry a great deal about *Enterprise* and her crew." "Exactly!" Trip crowed, perhaps a little louder than he'd intended. He dropped his voice back to normal conversational levels to continue, and the curious crew who had looked over focused once more on their own business "If he didn't care so much, he wouldn't be such a worry-wart. People don't give 'im a lotta credit for that. Most times they think he's a fusspot j'st for the sake of it." Trip shook his head. "Too bad, too. They miss-out on gettin' to know a great guy 'cause they can't see past the anal officer." "Well," said Phlox, standing and gathering his empty dishes together, "on that note, I shall leave you to finish your meal. I've an experiment running that I need to get back to check on." He gave Tucker a wide grin, adding, "I will be sure to remind you of this little ode to Lieutenant Reed the next time you're ... what's that phrase Ensign Sato uses? ah yes! ... the next time you're *bitching* about his anal-retentive nature. Good day, Commander!" --- Malcolm woke, not certain what had roused him, and tried to clear the fog from his mind enough to figure out what was wrong. The mattress shifted, followed by an indistinct murmur, and he realised what it must have been: Trip. The man had fallen asleep in his bed again, this time after only ten minutes. He sighed and glanced at his clock as Trip thrashed again. Quarter past midnight; he'd been asleep for less than an hour. Trip was becoming more and more restless, his mumbles punctuated by little sobs. Malcolm slipped his arms around the nightmare ridden man and, tucking the blonde head under his chin, began whispering reassurances to him. "Shhh... It's just a dream, just a dream, Trip." He stroked the broad back, still oily from the earlier massage, with one strong hand and traced little circles on the nape of the Southerner's neck with the calloused fingertips of the other. Trip responded instinctively, burrowing against him with a tiny whimper and clutching at his shirt in a needy gesture. "It's alright, love. You're safe. It's only a dream. Let it go; relax. Shhh..." After a few moments, Trip went limp with a heavy sigh. He burrowed against Malcolm a little more before slipping back into a deep sleep. Malcolm left his arms looped around his friend, only shifting to make himself a little more comfortable. Then, he closed his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that it would be a long night. --- The shrill of the alarm forced Trip into a confused state of semi-consciousness. He had been deeply asleep, with the result that he felt as though every cavity in his head was packed with cotton. The first thing he noticed was a slick dampness between his cheek and his pillow which, after the hamster in his head had taken a few turns on its wheel, he identified as his own saliva. That confirmed that he must have been very deeply asleep indeed, because he didn't usually drool at night. His next observation was that his head wasn't actually resting on his pillow. Though white, his pillow wasn't this hard and warm, nor did it move. Trip wrestled one hand up onto the erstwhile pillow directly in front of his face and pushed down to lever himself up. It was only when it grunted in protest and rolled away that he realised that he'd been sleeping on Malcolm Reed's chest. "Malcolm?" he said stupidly, staring down at the mussed armoury officer who was fighting to remain unconscious. "Turn the fucking alarm off and let me sleep," was the Englishman's reply, or what Trip thought it was, anyway. It was difficult to make out the words when Malcolm had his head buried under the bed's real pillow. He turned the increasingly obnoxious alarm off as he was told, but spoiled his obedience by pulling the pillow away from Reed. "Don't you need to get up?" "Probably," came the slightly acidic reply, "but I don't give a shit right now. I just want to sleep." "Such language, Lieutenant. And here I thought you were a morning person." His smile faded when Malcolm just glared back at him. "Um, you might want to get up to shower at least. I kinda drooled on your chest in my sleep." He pointed weakly at the wet spot marring the other man's white tee. Malcolm poked at the spot and grimaced. He sat up long enough to pull the shirt off, wad it up, and lob it in the general direction of the laundry before reclaiming his pillow and laying back down. Trip took that as something of a dismissal and extricated himself from the blankets. In a few moments, he had found his shirt and slippers, putting them on as he ducked out of Reed's quarters to return to his own. --- The sound of his door closing behind Trip startled Malcolm into full wakefulness. He swore profusely at the need to get up, at the clinging bed sheets which made it more difficult, and at himself for driving Trip away. He rushed through his morning routine, going so far as to leave his hair slightly damp so that he could get out the door a few minutes sooner. Malcolm wanted to get to the mess hall early to be sure of catching Trip during breakfast. It was important to him that he apologise for his behaviour before the day could intervene. As it was, he was just striding through the mess doors as Trip put his empty tray in the receptacle. The Southerner nodded to him and started to pass, but Malcolm reached out to grasp one strong bicep, staying him in his flight. "Please don't go. Could..." Malcolm looked around the room nervously, "could we talk?" Trip gazed at him with understanding eyes and said, "I could use another cup of coffee. Go get your breakfast, Mal. I'll snag us a table." Malcolm made his selections in record time and was soon sliding into a seat across from Trip, starting the conversation without preamble. "I'm sorry about this morning, Trip. I didn't sleep well last night and was feeling tetchy when I woke. I didn't mean to be such a bastard to you." "It's okay. I'm probably the reason you didn't sleep well, so I figure I kinda had it comin'." "Trip, I didn't say..." "I know. But I'm not completely thick, either. I can put two and two together to make four. Maybe we ought to move the massage sessions to my quarters. I can fall asleep and toss 'n turn in my own bed, and you can get a decent night's sleep, too." Malcolm didn't say anything, didn't trust himself to say anything, and just nodded his acquiescence. "Great. I'll see you tonight, then. Twenty-three hundred. My place." --- When Trip woke, it was one in the morning, and he was surrounded by the empty darkness of his own quarters. He gasped in breath and pressed a hand against the spot left of his sternum where it felt as though his heart was trying to rip its way out of his body. In between gulps of air, he let go one heart-felt expletive. *"Shit."* He'd thought he was past these nightmares of Lizzie's death. Two nights of unbroken slumber had lulled him into a false sense of security and left him unprepared to deal with the tide of emotion swamping him now. "I don't believe this! Two nights, two god-damned nights I slept fine. No nightmares. Now this! Why? The only thing different is... Oh shit. Oh *shit.*" Trip pounded his forehead with the heel of his hand. "No wonder Malcolm didn't sleep well, he was prob'ly too busy makin' sure I did. Fuck. Now what am I gonna do?" By lunchtime, Trip knew what he had to do. Stepping through the mess hall doors, he squared his shoulders and marched directly to where Malcolm sat eating with Travis and Hoshi. He nodded at the ensigns and turned to Reed, letting his shoulders sag as he began to fidget. "Malcolm?" "Trip." Concerned blue eyes gazed up at him, and he fidgeted some more while his voice stuck in his throat. "Is everything alright, Trip?" "Um..." *Say it, damn it! If you don't do it now, you'll lose your courage.* "I got a favour to ask you, Malcolm. Now, I'll understand if you say no, there'll be no hard feelin's, I swear, cause it's a pretty big favour." Malcolm, Travis, and Hoshi were all looking at him with curiosity now, and he forced the final words out in a rush. "Would you sleep with me?" Hoshi spewed tea back into her mug, and Travis was almost too stunned to pound her on the back in an attempt to clear her airway. Trip didn't spare a glance for the choking linguist. He just kept talking, trying to clarify his admittedly questionable sounding intentions. "Or let me sleep with you... I mean like when I fell asleep in your bed before. Nothin' inappropriate. J'st, you know, sleep," he finished lamely, waving his hands around helplessly. Malcolm's face was unnervingly blank, and Trip began to wonder if this had been a good idea. It was a tremendous relief when the brunette sighed and motioned him to sit. "So, you've figured it out already, have you. How long did you sleep before your nightmares woke you?" "Hour and a half, two hours." Trip shrugged, taking his seat. "I know I shouldn't be askin' you to do this. It's not fair to ask you to give up your sleep so that I can get some, but I'm desperate. Those two nights with you were the best sleep I'd had in *months;* I'm gettin' punchy, and I feel like I'm danglin' on a thread. Please, *please* say yes, Malcolm, if only to a couple of nights a week." Reed gave him a disapproving look, all thinned lips and flared nostrils, and said, "Don't beg, Trip. It doesn't suit you. Of course I'll do it." The breath Trip has been holding escaped in an explosive whoosh, and he sagged against the back of the chair. "Thank you, Malcolm! I'd kiss ya, if I didn't know you'd deck me for it. You definitely deserve that sainthood." "It'll never go through," Malcolm informed him indulgently. "I've been falling behind on my self-flagellation lately." That made Trip laugh, and he laughed even harder when he saw the confused expressions on Hoshi and Travis' faces. --- Are you sure you're okay with this?" Malcolm glared across the small space of his quarters at Trip, who was hovering next to his bed. "Trip," he said evenly, "if you don't take your shirt off and lie down on that bed, I'm going to stun you to put you to sleep rather than give you a massage." Trip pulled his shirt off with gratifying speed, though he mumbled, "You can't do that to a superior officer. I could have you court-martialled." "Ah, but if you did that, then our little arrangement here would come out. While Captain Archer may not mind that we're technically fraternising by doing this, I can guarantee that Command would, and we'd *both* be drummed out of the service." Trip pulled a face at his friend before he turned away to lie down. "You *would* bring up the fraternisation regs. They're hardly worth bothering with anymore. Cap'n told me that Command's thinkin' about scrappin' them. The thought is that it's *inappropriate* to have rules like that on ships where people aren't gonna be home for five, maybe more years at a stretch. We all gotta live in each other's pockets anyway; why deny people a little happiness?" "Especially out here, in the Expanse," Malcolm added quietly, sitting down on the bed. "Am I right?" "Yeah, I expect that's about the jist of the argument Jon made to Forrest. Not sure why he bothered makin' the specific argument. The only people really affected by those regs on *Enterprise* are me and him." "It effects all of us, Trip," he chided. "Did it ever occur to you that I, for instance, might not want a relationship with Lieutenant Hess, or McFarland from Sciences? Those are my options under those regs, you know." "Hmm... You and Doug McFarland? Maybe..." Trip laughed as an oily hand thumped gently into his shoulder blade. "Naw, you're right. That's j'st scary." He shuddered melodramatically, winning a chuckle from Malcolm. Trip sighed as the lieutenant's capable hands began kneading his tense back muscles, melting into the mattress at the touch. He was just able to get out a murmured, "Thank you so much, Malcolm," before falling asleep. --- By the time Trip had been sleeping with Malcolm for a straight week, the Englishman had become so used to the other man's disturbed sleep patterns that he was chasing away nightmares without coming fully awake himself. Most nightmares were dispelled by the simple act of holding the Southerner close and mumbling something indistinct into his ear. A week and a half in, however, brought one Malcolm could not conquer so easily. Malcolm was just waking enough to realise that this nightmare was worse than the others when Trip surged up out of his arms with a strangled cry, wild eyed and shaking. And not entirely awake. "Lizzie! Oh God, no... *Lizzie!*" Fully awake now, Malcolm bolted upright and grasped Trip's shoulders, shaking him. "Trip, snap out of it! You're on *Enterprise.* It was just a dream." Trip turned toward him, and Malcolm could see the glitter of tears rolling down the Southerner's cheeks in the low light. "It's not real, love." He felt Trip's hands fisting in his shirt and a heartbeat later Trip's mouth was on his own. Malcolm knew that he should stop it. Trip was so far from reality that he probably thought Malcolm was an old girlfriend. There was just one problem: Malcolm didn't want to stop the kiss. With a tremendous effort of willpower, Malcolm tightened his grip on Trip's shoulders and shoved the Southerner away. "Trip, stop it!" Trip stared back at him with an expression of growing horror. "Oh shit. Malcolm, I'm sorry. I thought... I j'st wanted ... wanted to lose myself." "I know," he said sliding one hand up to cup the side of Tucker's face. " But I won't take advantage of you that way. You'd hate me for it, and *I'd* hate me for it." "Take advantage?" Tears beginning to be forgotten, Trip furrowed his brow in growing confusion. "You mean you *wanted* that? The kiss didn't freak you out?" "No! No, it didn't. And yes, I wanted it. Very much." Trip was silent for a moment, focusing on his hands, still clutched in Malcolm's shirt. Slowly, he released his grip, flattening his hands so that they rested gently on the smaller man's chest. "Well then, I don't see a problem." He slid one hand down and around to come up and press between Malcolm's shoulder blades, pulling the man toward him. The other hand remained on the firm chest to toy with a nipple through the shirt fabric. Malcolm tried to keep his voice steady in protest even as he allowed Trip to bring him closer. "I don't want you to hate me in the morning." "I won't hate you, Mal. Even when you make me pissed as hell, I can't hate you." Trip darted in, stealing a brief kiss. "You're the only one, Mal, who can make me forget ... all of this. The only one who can make me remember the man I used to be. Please let me lose myself in you. I *need* to lose myself in you." "Well," Malcolm responded, a trifle breathlessly, "when you put it that way..." Then, he kissed Trip, and neither was able to say much of anything for some time. --- "It was real, you know." Trip lay next to Malcolm, his head pillowed on the other man's chest, his arms locked around the masculine form. "What was real?" asked Malcolm, voice thick with fatigue. The pair had slept only fitfully after their impromptu love-making session, and it was now nearly time for them to get up to ready themselves for work. "My nightmare. You said it wasn't real, but it was. In the way that counts: Lizzie is dead." "I know and I'm so sorry, Trip." He kissed the top of the blonde head and pulled the Southerner tighter to him in a one-armed hug. "You don't have to deal with it alone. I'm always here to listen to you, whether you want to rail at the injustice of it all, or just want to reminisce about her. Just don't internalise it anymore, Trip. You're not a man suited to dealing with life that way." "Heart on my sleeve, huh?" "Precisely." "I can do that," he said assertively. "And when we get home, I'm gonna find a way to thank you for being here for me. A way," he added meaningfully, "that involves a tiered white cake, rings, and a certificate. 'Cause that would have made Lizzie happy, but mostly 'cause it'll make me happy." Trip craned his neck to look up into Malcolm's surprised blue eyes without lifting his head. "Always assumin' that's somethin' that'd make you happy ... Love." Malcolm swallowed convulsively, nodding vigorously in the sudden absence of his voice. "What... what happened to this mission being a one-way ticket?" "Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn't, but I kinda feel like things are lookin' up." --- The End