The BLTS Archive - Each Other to Forgive
by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com)

---

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em (but how I wish I did), and I make no
money off of writing these silly little things.

Archive: Yes to EntSTCommunity, Tim Ruben, BLTS, all others please
ask.

Beta: shakespearespot

Spoilers: Shuttlepod One, Rouge Planet, and Minefield

N.B.: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, more h/c. . .  a bit of humour at the end.
This fic was *supposed* to be so simple. Then, my plot bunny decided 
to take me for a ride. ~RB

----
"'Tis the most tender part of love, each other to forgive."

~John Sheffield
---

"Trip?"

Tucker groaned. He had no idea where he was, but it was  dark. His
body ached all over; he felt like he'd been put through  one of the
stone tumblers his sister had played with as a child.

"Trip?" The soft voice sounded again, and he carefully  turned his
head toward it. He reached out with an unsteady hand and  came in
contact with what felt like a padded bench.

Padded bench. Shuttlepod One. Once again, he'd been on  Shuttlepod
One, alone with Malcolm Reed, when something had gone  terribly wrong.
The last thing he remembered was the pod hurtling  toward a planet's
surface.

Trip levered himself upright, fighting back nausea. Time to  let Reed
know that he was still alive, and maybe get a few  answers. "Malcolm?
You okay?"

"Trip! Oh, thank God, you're alright."

"Alright's a relative term, but yeah, I'm in one piece.  You?"

"I'm fine."

Malcolm's tone was odd, off somehow, which made Trip rather  doubt the
veracity of that statement, but he pushed the issue to the  side for
the moment. "What happened? Why is it so dark in here?"

"All of the lights went out when we hit. . .  Life support does  seem to be
functioning, however."

"Hit? Hit what? Not the ground, obviously; we're still  intact."

"Water. . .  W-we hit a large body of water, a sea or a big  lake. I'm
pretty sure we've sunk."

Malcolm said the last barely above a whisper, and Trip  finally placed
the odd tone he'd detected earlier. Malcolm Reed,  the great martyr
and mister stoic himself, was terrified.

Trip didn't know what to do. He'd dealt with stubborn  Malcolm, drunk
Malcolm, pissy Malcolm, and aggressive Malcolm.  Never had he ever
thought to have to deal with completely terrified  Malcolm.

"Hey, Malcolm, c'mere."

"No."

"No? Whaddya mean, no?"

"I . . .  I can't."

"I thought you said you weren't hurt." Trip let his concern  be heard
and hoped Malcolm would be honest with him.

"I'm not . . .  not much, anyway. I just can't move from here."

"Where is here?"

There was a silence and then finally, "Under the piloting  console."

"You trapped?"

"N-no."

"Then why..?"

"Damn it, Trip, I just can't!"

Trip took a deep breath. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I feel safer here," Malcolm whispered. Trip almost missed  the words,
they were so soft.

"Safe from what?"

"Not safe. Safer. I-I'm more secure w-with more layers b- bet-tween
m-me. . . " Malcolm paused, and Trip could hear him sucking in  deep
breaths.

"Between you and..?"

"T-the w-wat-ter."

"The water?" Trip's eyes widened, though there was nothing  to see.
"You're an aquaphobe? But. . .  The Royal Navy? I thought you  grew up with
boats."

"I did."

"Did somethin' happen to you?"

"No. I've always been aquaphobic."

"Damn. That had to have been hard." Trip shifted to his  knees and
started crawling toward the sound of Malcolm's voice.

"I had always hoped that I'd just get over it some day.  Grow out of
it, you know?"

"Have you tried counselling? I've heard that there are some  programs
that c'n really help with that sort of thing." Malcolm was  sounding
more relaxed. Trip wanted to keep him talking, to keep him  focused on
something other than the water outside the hull, and so  that Trip
could locate him.

"Reeds do not seek counselling. They deal with their own  problems."

"Sure they do."

"What's *that* supposed to mean?"

"There ain't no shame in talkin' to someone about problems . . .   lettin'
'em help you figure out how to deal with 'em. Counsellors  c'n be
better than friends fer that – they're impartial,  objective." Trip
found the pilot's chair with one seeking hand and  moved around it,
searching out Malcolm in the small space. A small  sigh of relief
escaped him when his hand hit something solid that  felt like a leg.

"I don't like talking to anyone about my problems, Mister  Tucker. Not
so-called friends and most certainly not strangers."

"So-called friends? Malcolm. . . "

"Don't you *dare* use that patronising tone of voice on  me!" Malcolm
shoved Trip's hand from his leg, scrunching further  under the
console. "I'm not being pessimistic, or melodramatic, or  whatever
else you were going to call it. I've witnessed many a  friendship,
often very deep ones, like you and the captain, and I am  fully aware
that such a thing has never been enjoyed by myself. As  you never fail
to point out, Mister Tucker, I am a difficult  individual. Is it any
surprise no one has wanted to try and . . .  see  past my scales? I know
what I've got and what I haven't, so why  don't you just sod off?"

Silence descended on them again, and Trip tried to absorb  the flood
of words. It was more than he'd counted on when he'd  resolved to keep
Malcolm talking. Perhaps he should have expected  it, given the amount
of stress Malcolm was under because of his  phobia.

"Malcolm, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . .  you know. . . "

What was that sound? Trip cocked his head, listening. Was  Malcolm
crying? If he was, he was doing so quieter than anyone Trip  had ever
known. It disturbed him that anyone should have to learn  to conceal
the sounds of his grief so well.

Trip reached out until he touched Malcolm's shoulder,  running his
finger tips up to the man's face despite his cringing  away. The
cheeks were wet.

Carefully, he eased himself closer, ducking under the lip of  the
console. Now that he was close enough, Trip settled a hand on  either
side of Malcolm's face and caressed his cheeks, wiping the  tears
away. After a moment he slipped a hand behind one shoulder,  tugging
Malcolm toward him.

"Hey, c'mere."

Trip was surprised when Malcolm acquiesced immediately,  burying his
face in Trip's uniform, continuing to sob quietly.  Tremors raced
through Malcolm's body, and Trip held him close,  rubbing his hands in
soothing circles along the Englishman's back.

"I-I'm s-sorry. I should have better control over myself  than this."

"You're only Human, Mal. A Human under a lota stress at the  moment.
Give yourself a break. You're allowed a good cry in  situations like
this. When was the last time you let yourself cry  anyway?"

"I don't know. When my grandfather died, I suppose."  Malcolm shifted,
trying to find a more comfortable position, letting  Trip gather him
in closer as he settled.

"How old were you then?"

"Eighteen, nineteen. Something like that."

"'Bout time, then."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Naw, I won't tell a soul. Y' have my word."

"Thank you," he whispered.


Malcolm must have been utterly exhausted. A few moments  later, his
breathing had slowed and deepened, his body becoming a  leaden weight
against Trip, leading the engineer to the conclusion  that he'd fallen
asleep.

Trip wished that there was some light in the pod. He  suddenly had an
intense desire to be able to watch Malcolm as he  slept. In their time
camping on Dakala, they had shared a tent, and  Trip had often found
himself sneaking glances at Malcolm's face, so  peaceful in repose.
He'd even spared more than one glance for the  unconscious Englishman
when the ship had been ransacked by those  large-eared pirates and he
was checking on the bridge via the  monitor at his workbench in
Engineering.

Of course, the habit had started the last time they'd been  stuck on
Shuttlepod One together. When Trip had finally been able  to force
Malcolm to take a nap, he'd been struck by the contrast  between his
wakeful features, pinched in pessimism that he later  realised was
grief, and his features as he slept, which softened  considerably. In
sleep, Malcolm lost a good ten years, looking  vulnerable and . . .  sweet.

Trip knew that it was less than strictly professional and  that
Malcolm would probably hate him for it if he ever found out,  but he
was being forced to admit to himself that his feelings for  the little
man were beginning to run deeper than friendship. Much  deeper.

Twin impacts jolted Trip from his thoughts, and the pod  shuddered
under them. Malcolm jerked awake, reflexively clutching  at Trip, fear
evident in his voice when he spoke.

"What was that? Is something attacking us?"

"Don't think so. I think it might be..."

The pod shuddered again and began to rise.

"...*Enterprise!* They've locked on to us with the  grapplers, Mal.
We're rescued!"

"Rescued?"

"Yep. Feel that steady upward pull? Gotta be Enterprise."

Malcolm's only reply was a ragged intake of breath and a  strangled
sob. Trip just resumed his earlier stroking of the  lieutenant's back
in an attempt to soothe. After a few moments, he  realised that he
could begin to make out shapes in the back of the  pod. The bench, the
auxiliary control chair, and soon the ladder to  the airlock became
visible as they neared the water's surface, and  sunlight filtered in.

The pod broke free of the water and accelerated upward  again. The
full light of day finally provided enough illumination  that Trip
could see Malcolm's face. It was pale, but not  bloodlessly so, a bit
of high colour returning to his cheeks. His  blue eyes were dilated,
and Trip caught them with his own, giving  Malcolm a reassuring smile.

"We're outta the water an' almost home. A right timely  rescue, if I
may say so myself."

"Sooner would have been better, but I shan't complain."

---

Malcolm was avoiding him. Well, to be honest, Malcolm  seemed to be
avoiding everybody these days, but Trip felt like  taking it
personally. He thought he'd got some real insights into  Malcolm's
psyche during their latest pod adventure and he wasn't  about to let
it go.

So, here he was, standing outside Malcolm's quarters,  preparing to
beard the lion in his den, as it were. Trip exhaled  nervously and
jabbed at the door chime. Permission to enter came  several long
moments later, and he palmed the door open, stepping  through quickly.
He looked around the tiny room, spotting Malcolm  at his desk. The
Englishman looked up at him with a neutral  expression, and Trip
suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

"Commander? Was there something you wanted?"

*Yes, you,* Trip's wayward mind supplied. He shoved the  naughty
little voice back and said instead, "I . . .  um, was wonderin'  how you
were doin'. You've been makin' yourself scarce lately, an'  I wanted
to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. Is that all?" Malcolm turned back to his  computer, leaving
Trip to fidget uncertainly.

"Uh, yeah . . .  I guess."

"Good night, then, Commander."

Trip took a few moments to digest the dismissal. He hadn't  really
said all that he had intended to when he came here, but there  was no
way now to stick around until he figured out exactly how to  say it.
He simply said, "Night, Malcolm," and left for his own  quarters.
Perhaps he'd try again in the morning, when he was fresh.

---

Trip was in the middle of the biggest row he'd ever the  displeasure
of having with Malcolm Reed, and that was saying  something. Malcolm
was yelling at Trip, Trip was yelling right  back; no doubt the
neighbours and people passing in the hall could  hear them quite
clearly. At the moment, however, Trip was too angry  to care.

The argument taking place in Malcolm's quarters centred  round Trip's
solicitousness, or interfering nature, depending on  which party was
asked. Certainly, the early morning visit to talk  to Malcolm was not
going so well as Trip had hoped.

"Did you draw the short stick, Commander, or did you get  suckered
into doing this because you're the captain's friend?"

"What?!"

"Poor little fucked-up Malcolm Reed. Somebody had better  befriend
him. . .  Looks like it's your job, Commander."

"Now listen here. . . "

"No. My private life is none of your bloody concern, and  I'd
appreciate it. . . "

"Not my concern?! I thought we were friends!"

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone. If my  duties are
affected you will have reason to reprimand me, but until  then you
have no cause. . . "

"No cause?? Malcolm, when I showed up at your door this  mornin' I
could hear you screamin'! You don't call that cause for  concern?"

Malcolm's jaw clenched convulsively, and he replied  carefully, "A
simple nightmare, that's all."

"Don't give me that shit, Malcolm." Trip planted his hands  on his
hips and jutted his jaw out stubbornly, as he prepared to  stare
Malcolm down. "All things considered, I got me a pretty good  idea
what that nightmare was about, and it ain't like you t' wake up
screamin'. I'm pretty sure I'd've gotten complaints from your
neighbours by now, if'n it was. Now, you don't wanna talk to me  about
it, fine, but you gotta talk to Phlox at least. He's a  trained
psychologist after all. He can help."

"I don't need anyone's help!"

"Don't need help my ass." Trip exchanged glares with  Malcolm for a
minute, before a sinister grin spread across his  face. He had an
idea.

"You say you don't need help, don't have any problems.  Fine. Come
with me, then."

"What?"

"You heard me, Lieutenant. Let's go."

"I'm not even dressed!"

"I've paraded around this ship in my underwear often enough,  now so
can you. That's an order."

Trip could have wished that Malcolm had worn his t-shirt to  bed so
that he would have been able to grab a handful of the fabric  to
propel the Englishman out the door and down the corridors, but
Malcolm only had on his boxer-briefs, so he settled for placing his
hand between the man's shoulder blades and pushing him forward. He
shoved the recalcitrant lieutenant through the ship, past curious
crewmen, all the way to the launch bay housing the newly repaired
Shuttlepod One.

"What are we doing here?"

"Get in." Trip motioned at the pod.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The pod, Malcolm. Get in the pod."

"Why?"

"J'st do it, and yes, that's an order."

Malcolm stalked over to the small craft and opened the  hatch,
hesitating slightly over climbing in. "Happy?" he asked,  voice
caustic. He would have climbed out again, but Trip stopped  him.

"Not j'st yet. Move outta the way so I c'n get in."

He did as he was told, but Trip could tell from the set of  his
shoulders that he wasn't happy about it, especially when the  engineer
pulled the hatch shut and secured it.

"Tucker to Archer." Trip opened the comm from the pod's  helm, keeping
an eye on Malcolm.

"Archer here. What is it, Trip?"

"Cap'n, I'd like to take Shuttlepod One out to test her  repairs
before we break orbit this mornin'."

"Sure thing, Trip. Need Travis to give you a hand?"

"Nope. I've got Malcolm here already."

"Okay. See you when you get back. Archer out."

A few more calls were made to let Trip's staff know that he  was
working with the pod this morning and would be late getting to  Main
Engineering, and to arrange for someone to launch the pod. It  took a
total of five minutes, and they were on their way. Malcolm  sat in the
back of the pod, looking grim, until Trip ordered him to  come sit in
the auxiliary pilot's chair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Trip could see the white of  Malcolm's
knuckles as he curled his hand into a fist. He steered  the pod away
from *Enterprise* and noted the way Malcolm's breathing  shallowed.

"Where are we going, Commander?"

"J'st for a nice little drive 'round the block." Trip  locked in a
course heading into deep space and turned to look at his  companion.

Malcolm was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, both hands  in tight
fists and jaw clenched so tight it made Trip's teeth hurt  to look at
him. Gooseflesh pimpled his arms, and his nipples stood  out as hard
nubs, though Trip tried not to contemplate them too  much. As he
watched, Malcolm began to shiver, despite the fact that  he had turned
up the heat in the pod for his half-naked friend's  benefit.

His assessment done for the moment, Trip turned back to the  helm
controls and changed course. Even with his suspicions on the  matter,
Trip wasn't quite prepared for Malcolm's reaction when the  pod hit
the planet's atmosphere.

"What are you doing!? Take us back to the ship!"

Trip barely managed to deflect Malcolm's desperate lunge for  the
controls, shoving him back into his seat. He then watched as  the
smaller man began to hyperventilate. Terror shone from  Malcolm's
sea-storm eyes, and Trip swung the pod around, flying it  back to
*Enterprise*. Once they were safely in the launch bay, Trip  bought
them another few minutes by telling the crewman there that  they were
going to check over the systems themselves before leaving,  and that
he could go.

Malcolm was still shaking, gulping in air. Trip wanted to  hold him
and caress him until he calmed again, but he knew he had to  maintain
his hard-nosed stance if he was to get Malcolm to cooperate.

"Still wanna claim you don't need help? Look at you, you're  a
basket-case, Malcolm. What were you plannin' on doin' next time  the
cap'n ordered you t' go planetside, or anywhere in a pod for  that
matter? I'm willin' t' bet you've still got issues from our  last
misadventure in this pod. Now quit blowin' smoke an' talk to  me,
dammit!"

Malcolm glared as well as he could while battling his fear,  spitting
out three words between heaving breaths: "Fuck you, Trip."

"You know, Malcolm, if I didn't value my career, I'd slap  you right
now. I'm tryin' to prove somethin' to you, you stubborn  sonovabitch,
but you're too busy bein' a reclusive dickhead to  notice. You need
*help*, Malcolm. Ain't no shame in that. Now,  you don't wanna talk to
me, fine. I understand right now if you  never wanna talk to me again
after what I j'st put you through, but  you gotta talk to somebody.
You can go to Sickbay an' see Phlox, or  I c'n drag you t' see the
cap'n. Your choice."

---

In the end, Malcolm chose Sickbay and Doctor Phlox over the  captain.
Trip fished an emergency blanket from the pod's stores to  wrap around
Malcolm's shaking shoulders and escorted him up to  Sickbay.
Thankfully, there were few people in the corridors to see  their
commander herding the beaten looking Armoury Officer. The  rumour mill
would be churning as it was, they didn't need more  witnesses.

When Trip had deposited Malcolm in Phlox's capable hands he  made his
way to the bridge. Malcolm would be upset, but he needed  to tell the
captain what was going on. He wasn't looking forward to  Malcolm's
reaction. With any luck, the Englishman would forgive him  his part in
all of this someday. Trip just hoped that it would come  sooner rather
than later.

---

Trip had watched Malcolm during the past month with feelings  so mixed
they approached scrambled. The Englishman's twice-weekly  appointments
with Phlox seemed to be doing him some good. His  interactions with
the rest of the crew had returned to normal, save  for with Trip
himself, whom Malcolm avoided religiously when off  duty.

He knew he deserved it and he couldn't blame Malcolm for  hating him.
That knowledge didn't stop it from hurting, however,  whenever he saw
Malcolm laughing with Hoshi or Travis and he knew  that he wasn't
welcome to join them. At the same time, he was glad  that his
interference had had the desired effect. After all, wasn't  Malcolm's
mental health more important than his own happiness?

Trip loved Malcolm, he could admit it to himself freely now,  and for
Trip that meant that the other man's well-being took  precedence. Over
everything.

---

He stood, unmoving and barely breathing, in the gym  doorway. Malcolm
was sitting on one of the weight benches, Hoshi  next to him. They
were close, too close for Trip's liking. Their  conversation was quiet
and intense, causing a surge of jealousy in  him. He had to bite his
tongue when she slid an arm around Malcolm  and kissed him on the
cheek. When Malcolm returned the favour, Trip  had to fight down the
urge to throw himself into a warp core breach.

What he did do was turn on his heel and slink back to his  quarters.
Malcolm's happiness might have been important to him, but  he was
damned if he was going to work out while the man he loved got  all
kissy-faced with a woman a few metres over.

Trip stayed in his quarters until it was time to eat dinner  with the
captain and T'Pol. His walk through the crowded mess hall  was made
with his eyes firmly in front of him. He had no desire to  see Malcolm
and Hoshi repeating their earlier performance just  before he had to
eat. It wouldn't do, after all, to be sick at the  captain's table.

His appetite was still not as hearty as usual, but he  managed to
deflect the captain's concern with an excuse of having  eaten a late
lunch. While the company was pleasant enough, Trip was  grateful when
dinner was over and he could retreat to his room  again. He planned to
finish up the reports he'd been putting off  for the past few days.
With any luck it would keep his mind off  of ... other things until he
was too tired to do anything but sleep.

The plan was thwarted when none other than Hoshi Sato showed  up at
his door when he'd barely been at the reports for a half an  hour.

"Commander, could I talk to you for a moment?"

Trip wanted to say, 'No. Go away,' with every fibre of his  being, but
Hoshi looked worried about something, and she was a sweet  woman. She
had, after all, done nothing to him, save for stealing  his man, who
was never his man in the first place. Despite himself  he said, "Sure,
Hosh. C'mon in."

"Thanks."

"Have a seat and tell me what's on your mind."

"You're probably going to tell me that it's none of my  business, and
it probably isn't, but please listen to what I have to  say before you
throw me out."

Trip stiffened, going on the defensive, and asked with an
apprehensive tone, "What is it?"

"It's about you and Malcolm. I really think that you two  need to talk
to each other."

"Malcolm doesn't wanna talk t' me, Hosh. End of story."

"Malcolm misses you. He's just too stubborn to admit it."

"He won't admit it, but you know it anyhow? You one of them  gals who
always has to act as her boyfriend's social facilitator,  whether he
likes it or not?"

"What? Boyfriend..? Oh no," Hoshi's eyes widened in  understanding,
"Commander, Malcolm and I aren't dating. We're just  friends."

"But I saw you kissing in the gym this afternoon," Trip  blurted.

"On the *cheek!*"

"Well, yeah, but. . . "

"No buts! There is nothing of that nature going between me  and
Malcolm. You'd better not have been feeding the rumour mill  with that
one. I'm seeing someone else entirely, and I don't need  to have to
diffuse *that*."

"Oh. I didn't tell anybody 'bout it, don't worry."

Hoshi exhaled sharply. "Thank you."

"So who *are* you seein'?"

"That is none of your beeswax, Mister Tucker. And changing  the
subject will not help you."

"Gotta try, don't I?"

"Exactly. You have to try talking to Malcolm."

"That ain't what I. . . "

"I know what you meant, Commander. I'm simply using your  own words
against you." Hoshi leaned toward Trip, placing a light  hand on his
arm. "All he wants is for you to say you're sorry, you  know. He
understands why you did what you did to him, but he needs  a reason to
forgive you. All you have to do is ask. The sooner the  better. He's
really upset about this rift between you."

"You sure 'bout this, Hosh?"

Hoshi nodded sagely.

"Okay then. I promise, next chance I get, I'll talk to him."

---

"Malcolm, I j'st wanna say: I'm sorry." Trip frowned at his
reflection in the bathroom mirror. "That ain't enough. I oughtta  say
somethin' else. . .  How about: I never woulda done it, if I'd  thought
you'd listen to me otherwise, um . . .  I lo. . .  er, I care about  you and
couldn't stand to see you sufferin'.

"Oh yeah. That'll go over *real* well. Better j'st stick  to 'sorry,'
Trip m' boy." He finger-combed his hair to make it look  more
spontaneous and then threw his hands up in disgust. "Wouldja  look at
yerself, Tucker! Yer actin' like a teenager on a date,  fluffin'
yerself up fer 'im. Git a grip! Yer *apologisin'* to a  *friend*, not
askin' 'im t' marry ya. Arrgg!

"Deep breath. . . " Trip inhaled and exhaled slowly, counting to  ten, to
calm himself. "Keep it simple. Say you're sorry. If he  forgives you,
ask him if he wants to have lunch together tomorrow.  That's when
you'll really start workin' at bein' friends again  anyway; talk
then."


Thus resolved, Trip left his quarters in search of Malcolm,
eventually finding him in the mess hall with Hoshi and Travis. The
one facing the doorway, Hoshi spotted him first. She smiled
invitingly and waved him over, leaving him no other choice but to
join the little group.

"Hey, all. Nice evenin'?" Trip fidgeted nervously. Travis  and Hoshi
were both smiling at him now, but Malcolm's back was still  to him,
the lieutenant intent upon his food. "Um, would you mind if  I talked
to Malcolm? Alone?"

"Sure," said Travis, looking excessively relieved, and Trip  began to
suspect the helmsman of having been in collusion with the  linguist
over the decision to approach him about making up with  Malcolm.
"Hoshi and I needed to leave soon anyway. Right, Hosh?"

"Right. We have very important . . .  things to attend to."  Travis shot
Hoshi a disparaging look, and the woman shrugged  apologetically as
she stood, shooing him along in front of her.

Once the ensigns had absented themselves, Trip sat down in  the chair
next to Malcolm, who still had not acknowledged his  presence.

"Malcolm, I need to tell you. . .  I need to say. . .  I'm sorry."

There was no response from Reed other than the twitching of  the
muscles in his jaw.

"Look at me, will ya? Say somethin'," Trip pleaded.

"What would you have me say?" Malcolm asked, not looking up.

"Anythin' you want. That you can't forgive me. That you  want to
forgive me, but you need more. That you forgive me, *carte  blanche*.
J'st somethin'."

"You humiliated me."

"I know and I'm so, so sorry. I'll do whatever it takes to  win your
forgiveness, Malcolm. I'll . . .  run around the ship naked,  get down on
my knees and grovel right here. Anythin' you want."

Malcolm looked thoughtful for a moment, then finally turned  to face
Trip and said, "From Main Engineering to the bridge and back  to your
quarters."

"Beg pardon?"

"Running naked through the ship, Commander. That's what it  will take
to secure my forgiveness. I want you to run naked from  Main
Engineering, up to the bridge, and back to your quarters. You  did
offer."

Trip covered his face with his hands, then looked back up at  Malcolm.
He could see a smile tugging at the corners of the  Englishman's
mouth, and began to feel better despite the demand.

"I'll have to ask the cap'n's permission on that one."

---

Jon had said yes. Trip couldn't believe it, but there it  was. Jon had
actually given him permission to run around his ship  nude. What was
most irking was the little comment his old friend  had made about it
being good for morale. The entire ship was to be  entertained at his
expense it seemed.

Oh well, it would get him his friendship with Malcolm back.  That was
all he cared about. At least, that's what he told himself  as he
stripped in his little office in Engineering.

He tried to sneak out of Engineering without his crew seeing  him, to
no avail. Hess spotted him making for the door and whistled  at him,
drawing the attention of everyone else. Ears flaming, Trip  darted
through the hatch, shutting it firmly behind him, and  sprinted for
the nearest turbolift.

Unfortunately, he had to wait for a car to arrive, and when  it did,
four crewmembers filed out. He did his best to be  nonchalant about
it, but their stares, appreciative though they  were, only made him
blush harder. When he finally got in the car,  he cheated a bit,
punching in an emergency code so that he'd be  taken directly to the
bridge without stopping to pick up other  passengers.

The solitary ride had one regrettable effect. It allowed  his mind to
wander. Predictably, it wandered straight to Malcolm  Reed. Wondering
how Malcolm would react to his unclothed state was  not the best
subject to linger on given said state of undress and  the adrenaline
pumping through his system. The result was the fact  that, when Trip
stepped off the lift onto the bridge, he was  sporting a rather
impressive hard-on.

His entrance was ruined by Jon's aborted snort of laughter,  though
the look of shock on T'Pol's face almost made up for it.  Certainly
the shit-eating grin on Malcolm's did.

"Fancy yourself one of the Gaesatae, Commander?" Malcolm  snickered.

"Say what?"

"The Gaesatae were a band of ancient Celtic mercenaries who  were
reputed to rush into battle naked and aroused." He indicated  Trip's
erect phallus.

"Funny, Malcolm. Real funny. Can I go now?"

"Take a turn around the bridge, please."

"You're kiddin' me."

"No."

Trip rolled his eyes and sighed. He dutifully trudged by  T'Pol and
Hoshi's stations, in front of the helm where Travis was  keeping his
eyes firmly on the controls, through his own engineering  station, and
up behind Malcolm at Tactical. His next steps were a  beeline for the
lift. He was looking forward to getting back to his  quarters.

He was never going to live this down.

---

Trip looked across the back of the shuttlepod at Malcolm and  smiled.

"What are you grinning at, Tucker?"

"You. You look cute like that." He did. Phlox was a  genius with
cosmetic applications, and the double-pointed ears,  delicate spots,
and gold-flecked green contacts he'd applied to  Malcolm made the
Armoury Officer look decidedly puckish.

"Thanks ever so," Malcolm responded  sarcastically. "Besides, with
that nose of yours, you're cuter than  any of us."

"Even Hoshi?" Trip winked at the ensign, seated at the  front of the
pod with the captain. She smiled back at her two  friends, but didn't
join the conversation.

"Cuter even than Hoshi."

"Aww. . .  You're so sweet."

Malcolm snorted and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling the  whole
while, so Trip wasn't worried.

---

Archer settled the pod in the early-morning dusk at the edge  of an
unpopulated forest. The away team would walk into the pre- industrial
town, stay overnight at one of the inns, and then return  to the
landing site the next afternoon. They each had a native- style duffel
with a change of clothing, a hidden zippered pocket to  secure their
communicators in, and Hoshi carried the cosmetics for  touching up
their disguises in the morning.

The hike into town was a long one; they only barely made it  to their
chosen inn before midday. Two rooms were arranged for,  Hoshi and
Archer taking the larger of the two as the  group's "married couple."
Trip grumbled playfully about why he and  Malcolm should be stuck with
the small room for a bit, but he was  quickly distracted by the
promise of lunch.

After they ate, they split up to investigate the town. Trip  and
Malcolm wandering off to the craftsmen's quarter, Hoshi and Jon  for
the market. Malcolm found the armourer's shop endlessly  fascinating,
and Trip had to drag him out before he ended up buying  a small army's
worth of daggers and swords.

"Look, there's an open-air tavern over there. Can't we j'st  stop for
a rest and t' get somethin' t' drink. I'm parched." Trip  turned wide,
pleading eyes on Malcolm, who was being quite the stern  task-master.

"Oh alright. I could use a sit down. First, though, I need  to relieve
myself. You get us a table and order our drinks. I'll  be back in a
moment."

When he did return, Malcolm found Trip unsuccessfully trying  to fend
off an amorous waitress. Trip again turned pleading eyes on  him,
mouthing, "Help me."

Malcolm was honour-bound to assist, besides, he didn't like  it when
alien women honed in on his engineer.

"Ah-hem. Would you mind terribly leaving him alone?"

"Yes, I would," the cheeky young woman replied.

"Let me rephrase that, then: Get away from him. Now."

Trip watched in awe as Malcolm faced off with the waitress.  He'd gone
from cute to downright menacing, the contacts making his  eyes sparkle
with green and gold fire in his irritation.

"Who gave him to you?" the girl spat.

"His mother," Malcolm responded evenly, only a hint of  sarcasm
colouring his voice.

The words had an unexpected affect on the girl. Her eyes  went wide
and she began to grovel. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea.  If I had, I
would never... *Please forgive me!*"

Other people in the tavern were starting to turn and stare  because of
the commotion, making the two Humans decidedly  uncomfortable.

"Yes, yes. I forgive you. Just don't do it again."

"No, of course not!" She looked at Malcolm, obviously still  worried
about something. "Aren't you going to kiss him?"

"What?"

"I know, the priests say it's just superstition, but I  couldn't bear
to think I've created a rift that is unhealed. Please  kiss him and
heal it."

The girl was practically in tears, and Malcolm realised that  she
wouldn't calm down until he did as she asked, so he walked over  to
Trip and planted a kiss on his friend's lips. When they broke  apart
he found Trip's hands resting on his hips, and the man himself
looking rather dazed.

"Oh, thank you! I'll go get your drinks now." The waitress  scampered
off, and when she returned with their mugs of beer, she  refused to be
paid for them. Both men were subdued and provided no  more than a
token protest at the generosity.

After they'd rested sufficiently, the two continued their  appointed
sight-seeing, scattering a few small coins on the table  top in
payment for the drinks, despite the waitress' earlier  refusal. Both
were happy enough, though, when it was time to rejoin   Hoshi and
Archer at the inn for dinner.

---

"The market was wonderful!" said Hoshi as she tore off a  piece of
bread to dip in her stew. "It was set up in a courtyard in  front of
the temple, and there were flowers everywhere."

"Mmm... I'm glad I didn't go, then," said Malcolm.

"What, why?"

"Allergies. I'd rather not experiment with large amounts of  alien
pollen, thank you."

"Oh, I suppose not. So what did you boys get up to?"

"Not much, though we did have an odd experience at an open- air tavern
in the craftsmen's quarter. I think it's official: Trip  is flypaper
for alien women."

Archer snorted and said, "Okay, what happened?"

"Well," began Trip, "Malcolm went off to find a bathroom  while I got
us a table and ordered beer. The waitress was a pretty  little thing,
but way too friendly, if you get my drift. I couldn't  get her to
leave me alone, and then Malcolm came back and he tried  to get her to
leave..."

"And she wouldn't. Things got rather heated, then she asked  me who
had given Trip to me. I said the first thing that came to  mind and
told her that his mother had. That seemed to horrify her  and she
started begging my forgiveness. I gave it to her, and then  she
insisted that I kiss Trip. It's apparently some superstition  these
people have. She was almost in tears when I didn't to it  immediately,
so I gave in and kissed him.

"That seemed to make her happy, and she went to get our  drinks,
refusing to take any money for them. We left change on the  table
anyway when we left. All in all, a very strange experience."

The linguist and captain were both wide eyed and trying not  to laugh
as Malcolm finished the tale.

"What?" asked Trip. "What's so funny?"

"In this culture," replied Hoshi, "when your mother gives  you to
another person, it means that you're married."

"Oh Lord..."

"It gets better, Trip," Jon gasped out. "You know we went  into the
temple today? Well, we noticed while there that these  people give
special significance to same-sex marriages. Heavy  religious
significance."

"Oh *Lord*..."

"That's why she was so horrified. And why she wouldn't  accept
payment... The blessing of having such a couple in one's
establishment is supposed to be enough compensation."

Trip and Malcolm looked at each other in shock.

"And I kissed you in full view of at least fifteen people."

"Thank goodness we're leavin' tomorrow. I don't think I  could stand
bein' treated like a saint or somethin' for very long."

"Oh dear. Don't look now, but guess who just walked in."

"Our waitress?"

Malcolm nodded. "She's walking over to the barkeep... Oh  no, he's
just pointed to us."

"Don't let her come over here."

"She's not. She just gave the barkeep something and is  leaving.
*He's* coming over here."

The barkeeper stopped next to their table, holding his head  down
submissively. "A wait-girl from Marton's came by with this for  you
gentlemen." He deposited the coins Trip and Malcolm had left at  the
tavern on the table. "If you'll forgive my asking, why didn't  you
sirs tell me this morning that you were married? My wife and I  would
have happily given up our own rooms to you, and I would not  have
accepted payment from any of you."

Thinking quickly, Trip replied, "That's exactly why we  didn't say
anything. We're trying to travel quietly, without  receiving special
treatment."

"But you must take our rooms and your money back..."

"The room we've got is j'st fine, but we'll take the money  back if
it'll make you feel better."

"If that is what you wish..." He looked at Malcolm for  confirmation,
and the Englishman nodded. That settled, the man  walked quietly away,
leaving the group alone for the rest of the  evening, save for the
serving boy who was constantly hovering to  fill their needs.


The boy's presence kept them all on edge, not wanting to say  anything
that he shouldn't overhear, and they all slunk gratefully  up to their
rooms when they were done eating. Malcolm plopped down  onto the bed
immediately and pulled off his shoes to rub at his feet.

"Sore?" asked Trip.

"A bit, yes. These shoes were not designed for much  walking, so far
as I can tell. Makes me appreciate my own boots."

Trip opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by a light  knock at
the door. He opened it to reveal two young boys. One held  a lit
candle, and the other a small tripod and bowl with liquid in  it.

"Compliments of the master, Sir," said the boy with the  tripod.

"What is it?"

"Shirra oil, Sir. For you and your mate. May we set it on  your
bed-table?"

"Sure. Go ahead." Trip watched as the boys set up the  little tripod
with the candle underneath to warm the oil. He smiled  at the kids
when they scurried back out into the hallway, and they  ducked their
heads shyly. Closing the door behind them, he walked  over to sniff at
the oil. "Huh, kinda smells like roses and . . .   somethin' else."

"What are we going to do with it? They'll probably consider  it an
insult if they find it hasn't been touched when we leave."

Trip looked thoughtful for a moment. "Finish gettin' ready  for bed,
and I'll give you a foot massage."

Malcolm did as he was told, sighing contentedly as the warm  oil and
Trip's hands worked their magic on his sore feet. "Oh,  bless you,
Trip Tucker. That feels marvellous."

"You like it well enough to return the favour when I'm done?"

"Mmmm. . .  Seems only fair. Though I don't know if I'll still  be awake
then." Malcolm yawned, eyes drifting shut.

"Malcolm?"

"Hmm?"

"C'n I ask you somethin'?"

"Suppose so."

"Why'd you kiss me this afternoon?"

Malcolm's eyes popped open. "You know why. You were there."

"Was that it? It was j'st because you felt you had to?"

"I don't understand, Trip."

Trip set down the foot he'd been rubbing, and ran his oil- slicked
hands up Malcolm's muscular legs. He scooted up so that he  was
directly over the smaller man and then leaned down to capture  his
lips in an intense kiss.

"Oh." Malcolm looked surprised, then his face lit up with a  smile.
"I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine."

"Yeah?"

"When you were running around the ship naked last month,  what gave
you that erection?"

Trip blushed. "That'd be you. Or the thought of you, t' be  precise."

"Good. That's why I kissed you, by the way."

"'Cause of my hard-on?"

"Not precisely, though it was very nice." Malcolm  grinned. "No, it
was because you were willing to humiliate yourself  to get me back as
your friend. I still would have forgiven you, you  know, if you hadn't
done it, but that said something profound about  your . . .  depth of
feeling for me.

"I've been thinking impure thoughts about you ever since.  This
afternoon was a good excuse to act on them."

"How impure," asked Trip, nipping at Malcolm's jaw between  words, "is
'impure?' Are we talkin' the occasional wet-dream and  heavy-sigh, or
full-fledged naughty fantasies?"

"Naughty fantasies."

"Like what? Sex in the torpedo tubes? On top of the warp  core?"

"Those and better. . .  Sex in the captain's chair."

"Oooh. . .  That is naughty." Trip kissed Malcolm gently on the  lips. "You
know what I'm fantasisin' about right now?"

"No, tell me."

"Sex on an alien world, with an alien man who's no alien,  but the man
I love."

"Do you think the prosthetics will stand the abuse?"

"Guess we'll j'st hafta find out the hard way."

"Guess we will."

---

In the room next door, Jon looked up from his spot on the  floor,
startled by the yelp coming through the wall. His eyes  widened and he
exchanged an astonished glance with Hoshi, who had  sat up in bed at
the disturbance, when it was followed by the  words, "Oh yes, Malcolm,
that's it. Keep movin', darlin', keep  movin'." This was the precursor
to the rhythmic sound of a bed  rocking against the wall.

"I so did not need to hear that," said Hoshi with a pained
expression. "I don't suppose you thought to pack earplugs, Sir?"

"No. I hadn't thought I'd need any."

"Damn."

---

"Trip."

"Malcolm."

"Trip, stop it." Malcolm tried to push his new lover away,  but the
man moved back in to slide his hands under Malcolm's shirt  and to
kiss his neck.

"Don't you like this?"

"Of course I like it, but we're in public, Trip."

Trip glanced around the inn's public room at the other  guests, most
of whom were giving the couple sidelong glances and  smiling. "They
don't seem t' mind."

"Well, I mind." The response to that was a sound kiss on  the lips,
stopping further protests.

"Uggh. . .  Didn't you two get enough last night?"

Hoshi's voice intruded on their happy little bubble, and  they
separated quickly, startled. Malcolm's ears were burning at  having
been caught, and he was intensely grateful for the latex  covering
both them and his shame.

"Next time," continued Hoshi, "I want a room well away from  yours. I
have a lot of mental images that I don't really need now."

"Well," replied Trip, looking smug, "the newlyweds on our  other side
didn't mind. In fact, they thanked us this morning.  Said they hoped
they were able to conceive last night 'cause then  their kid'd be
blessed."

"Too much information. I begin to regret my part in  reconciling you
two."

"Naw, you don't, Hosh. You're too much of a romantic for  that. You
know you'll be tellin' this story for years. Forty years  from now,
we'll all be at some reunion or Starfleet shin-dig  goin', 'Do you all
remember the time when. . . '"

"Maybe, but right now, I just want an uninterrupted night's  sleep."

"Fair enough. Where's the cap'n?"

"Getting dressed. He'll be down in a moment. Try not to  let him catch
you necking in public, okay, guys? After last night,  he'll probably
be tempted to start instituting those obsolete anti- fraternisation
regulations."

"Cap'n wouldn't do that."

"Don't try me."

Trip looked up at his old friend sheepishly. "Hey, Cap'n.  Sorry 'bout
the noise. Didn't realise the walls were so thin."

"Lucky for you, I'm a forgiving man. Just don't do that to  me again."

"Yessir."

"Of course not, Captain." Reed ducked his head in  embarrassment, red
tingeing his pale skin.

---

Breakfast was eaten quickly after that, and the innkeeper's  wife
packed lunches for them all to take with them when they left  town.
They reached the pod mid-afternoon, sitting down to eat their  lunch.
Archer contacted the ship to let them know that they were on
schedule, although the pod would not be taking off until after dark
to reduce the risk of being seen.

In the meantime, Jon and Hoshi both opted for naps inside  the
shuttlepod, leaving Trip and Malcolm to entertain themselves.  Malcolm
picked up the emergency blanket they'd been using as a  picnic blanket
and laid it back out in a patch of sunlight. He then  sprawled out on
top of it like a large cat, sighing contentedly at  the warmth of the
alien sun.

"You're gonna get sunburned if you fall asleep in the sun  like that."
Trip sat down next to his lover, reaching out to play  with the man's
hair.

"With all this makeup on? Hardly." Malcolm swatted gently  at Trip's
hand. "Leave my hair alone."

"But I like your hair. It's soft, like silk."

"That doesn't mean I want you playing with it. Now, stop  it."

"What else am I supposed t' do t' keep myself entertained,  if you're
gonna cat-nap?"

Malcolm cracked an eye open and smiled at the blonde. "You  could lie
down and cuddle with me while I nap."

"I could." Trip stretched out on the blanket and shimmied  closer to
the smaller man. He draped one arm around his waist,  tucking the dark
head under his chin. "Like that?"

"Mmm. . .  nice." Malcolm shifted so that they were spooned  together,
twining his fingers with Trip's, which is how they fell  asleep.

---

"You've all picked up a few parasites – small things, rather  like
Earth fleas. Once you've removed your cosmetics, please move  on to
the decontamination chamber and apply the gel I've put in the
compartment, and make sure you get it everywhere. We wouldn't want
any of the little blood-suckers to escape. Thank you!" Phlox's  cheery
voice was cut off as he closed the commlink, and the four  officers
began to do as they were told.

Much to Malcolm's dismay, Trip began by pulling the  prosthetic ears
off of his lover and using the cleaning wipes to  remove his spots.
Phlox would be removing all of their contacts  himself.

"Trip, I can do that myself," Malcolm insisted with  annoyance as
Trip, once again, swatted his hands away.

"I know, darlin', but I wanna do it for you."

"Why?" he asked, sounding pained.

"I dunno. J'st do."

"Sir," Malcolm appealed to Archer, "make him stop."

"He's almost done, Malcolm. Let him do it if it makes him  happy. I'd
advise taking revenge by making him clean himself up,  though." Archer
grinned at them. "I suspect he's hoping you'll  return the favour."

Malcolm did as his captain suggested, moving directly on to  decon
once Trip was finished cleaning him. He spread the gel down  his arms
and chest, slipping his gel coated hand into his briefs to  spread it
there as well while there were no witnesses. By the time  Trip entered
the chamber, Malcolm was finishing spreading the gel on  his legs.

"C'n I get your back for ya, Mister Reed?"

"Of course, Mister Tucker. I would be most grateful if you  would."

Trip scooped up a handful of the slick substance and began  gleefully
rubbing it into the skin on his lover's back. Jon and  Hoshi exchanged
a look and, without a word, simultaneously turned  their backs on the
couple. Noticing that Malcolm's hair was  uncontaminated by the gel,
Trip ran his hands through the dark  locks, massaging the goo into
Malcolm's scalp.

"What are you doing, Trip?! Don't put that stuff in my  hair!"

"Doc said everywhere, darlin'." Trip rubbed more gel on  Malcolm's
ears and face for emphasis, grinning all the while.

Malcolm frowned at him and said, "Turn around. I'll get  your back."

Trip did as he was told, leaning into the Armoury Officer's  firm
touch. He was just beginning to fully relax when the sensation  of
having a large glob of the cold gel spread down the cleft of his
buttocks jolted him into full awareness.

"Malcolm!"

"Doc said everywhere, darlin'," responded Malcolm in a  disturbingly
accurate impersonation of Trip. Neither Hoshi nor Jon  turned to look,
but they could both be heard snickering on the other  side of the
chamber.

Malcolm's deft fingers kept spreading the gel around in  Trip's
underwear, working their way slowly to the front. Trip  sighed,
leaning back against Malcolm, enjoying the feel of his  love's arms
circling him as his hands smoothed the gel over his  balls and rapidly
hardening cock.

His sigh turned to a mightily disappointed groan when  Malcolm gave
the organ one last squeeze and stepped away, handing  Trip the gel
container with a cheerful, "There, now you can finish  yourself."

This time Hoshi and Jon did turn around, laughing openly at  the
slack-jawed expression on Trip's face and the prominent arousal
tenting the fabric of his briefs. Later, when they were alone in  one
of their quarters, he would make Malcolm pay for that.

---

"Mmm. . .  That was nice, Mal."

"So, I'm forgiven then?"

Trip shifted closer to the naked man in his bed, kissing  him.
"Definitely. And if that's the sorta apology I get, you c'n  embarrass
me in decon whenever you want, lover."

"No doubt Phlox will appreciate that. I hear he was quite
disappointed to have missed our antics today."

Malcolm laughed as Trip rolled his eyes and groaned at the  thought
and then rested his head on Trip's broad chest, hooking one  leg over
the blonde, and reaching out to play with his chest hair.

"I'm glad I forgave you," he whispered.

"Me too, darlin'. I woulda hated to miss out on this with  you." Trip
placed a kiss on top of the dark head, wrapping his arms  around the
smaller body. He let his eyes fall shut as he revelled  in the feeling
of warmth suffusing him, drifting off to sleep,  content in the
knowledge that they would always be able to forgive.

---

The End