The BLTS Archive- With One Smile
by Pretzelduck (pretzelduck@yahoo.com)

---

Length: about 4230 words Fandom: Star Trek: Enterprise Pairing:
Reed/Mayweather Type: Slash M/M Rating: PG-13 Status: Complete

Feedback: Yes

Series/sequel: No

Archive: Yes to EntSTSlash Archive, Tim Ruben, and WWOMB

Spoilers: Rather vague references to "Vox Sola" and "Dead Stop"

Disclaimer: Guess what?  I don't own the Star Trek franchise.
Paramount does. I also don't make any money from writing this.  I
don't make any money, period.

Author's Note:  Malcolm's first rule of tactics is borrowed, with the
greatest respect, from Q, the gadgetmaster of the James Bond world.
Bond isn't quite the same without him.

---

I suffer from occasional bouts of temporary insanity.  That would be
the only explanation for why I do the things I do.  Why else would I
smile at him?  I know full well he'll smile back.  And then I'm lost.
Sinking ever deeper into him.  It's like delightful quicksand.  One
cannot escape but who would want to.

I've known Travis for years, since before our mutual posting to
Enterprise.  We met during one phase or another of training.  Slowly,
we became friends.  One of my very few.  It was a cautious maneuver on
my part.  I've known other attractive men and have never had this
problem before.  A problem of not wanting something else besides
friendship.  Friendship in itself is rare enough for me.  But a
romance?  Those odds are too low for even a hardened gambler.
However, in my experience, underneath a good-looking exterior lies
very little, if any substance.  But Travis blew that modest theory out
of the water.  I soon learned that behind those velvety brown eyes was
a keen mind and a quick wit and that easy smile reflected a
compassionate and caring man.  I should have walked away.  I should
have kept my distance.  But my control fails me with one glance into
those eyes.  My long-held discipline fades with one little smile sent
in my direction.

That's how I ended up here.  That's how I always end up here.  Sitting
at a table in the mess hall, across from my personal magnet, picking
at my food.  I'm not exactly hungry.  I don't think about eating or
sleeping when there's work to be done.  Those types of things just
drop to the bottom of the priority list.  The targeting system for the
torpedoes is malfunctioning again.  I should be down in the armory
doing my job.  Never mind the fact that it isn't my shift.  It's my
job, nonetheless.  Ten minutes ago, Travis showed up in the armory and
with one smile convinced me to leave the work alone long enough to eat
a fairly late dinner.

I know that he knew it wasn't my shift.  This isn't the first time
that Travis has pulled me away from my work to insure that I've eaten
or slept.  He's a good man, a concerned friend.  But these systems
require my attention.  As always, though, I relent.  I am a trained
tactical officer, after all, and I should know when to surrender to a
superior force.  In this case, a smiling, caring, gorgeous Travis
Mayweather.

He's talking about the last away mission.  It's the second in as many
as he's been on.  He's practically glowing with enthusiasm and I can't
help but smile at him.  Then, of course, he smiles back.  Travis
always seems to be smiling but this is just noticeably wider.  It's my
downfall every time.  I aimlessly push the peas and carrots around my
plate.  An abstract artist would probably find some sort of pattern in
the vegetables.  I just see a pictorial representation of my inability
to eat right now.

It's not just that I have still have work to do.  The targeting system
requires at least three more hours of adjustments and testing.  But
there's more to it than that.  I'm well aware of my personality.  I've
been told I radiate the infamous British reserve.  It comes down to
this:  There are moments, like this one, when I'm around Travis that I
feel stoic.  His energetic nature is part of who he is but sometimes,
it depresses me.  I wonder if I was as relaxed and open…I wonder if he
would have realized long ago that I care for him.  Perhaps, if I were
different, he would be interested too.

"It's a good thing that you're the armory officer, Malcolm."

My mind quickly shifts all of its attentions back to my dinner
companion.  The fork in his hand isn't moving.  He's been gesturing
with it for most of our one-way conversation.  I'm itching to make a
clever comment in return.  We have a rapport that I honestly enjoy.
His sense of humor is always enough to brighten my day and Travis
appears to think that I possess one of my own.  A rare opinion among
the rest of the crew.

"I suppose so.  I wouldn't want you to be out of a job."

"I'd gladly switch with you for a day but I'm talking about your food.
Or at least the remnants of your food.  What do you call that?  The
Vegetable Disaster?"

Looking down, I see exactly what he's talking about.  Somehow in
picking at my dinner, I managed to eat everything but the vegetables.
They're now in various stages of mush, swirling together to create a
rather nauseating color.  I can feel a smile tugging at the corners of
my lips.  Travis came to the same conclusion as I did earlier
regarding my dinner being artwork.

"I prefer 'Inedible' myself.  However, what does my dinner have to do
with my position on this ship?"

He's smiling again.  Pleased at his own humor.  I like the look.  He
reminds of a painting I saw once called the Mona Lisa.  The woman in
it was smiling as if she knew something I didn't.  It suits Travis
well.

"Your…uh…fondness for destruction shows up even when you eat.  I was
thinking about it when I noticed your plate."

Travis was thinking about me while he was talking before?  That seems
rather odd.  I don't have any idea why he would be contemplating my
other infamous characteristic, either.  He isn't looking at me
anymore.  His eyes are focused somewhere just to the right of my head.
I certainly hope he doesn't think that I'm going to be upset with him.
However, his comment does give me an opening.  I can't avoid my duties
all night.

"Speaking of destruction, I should return to the armory so I can
ensure that the Enterprise is capable of it."

His marvelous eyes dart back to me.  He looks crestfallen; surely he's
not disappointed by my leaving.  There are plenty of other better
dinner companions.  As soon as I've registered that emotion, his eyes
light up and that smile returns.

"Would you like some help?"

An offer to help me?  We're friends but why would want to spend his
off-duty time with me?

"You just finished a double shift on the bridge, Travis.  You should
finish your meal and get some rest."

I've stood up by now.  Looking down at him, I can see the return of
the disappointment on his face.  Once again, it doesn't stay long but
this time it's replaced by something I can only describe as
unyielding.

"And I suppose that double shift and then rest business doesn't apply
to you?"

He's kept his voice low.  For some reason, he doesn't want the rest of
rather empty mess hall to hear what he's saying.  So I do the same
when I reply.

"Not at the moment, Ensign."

I consider my instinctive responses to situations to be rather
predictable.  Being fired at, shoot back.  Unknown planet, bring
security.  Unfamiliar situations such as Travis' unusual degree of
concern about me, retreat behind discipline.  Hence, the 'ensign' bit.
I usually only refer to Travis by his rank when we're on-duty or
occasionally with others.  If it's just the two of us, I try to call
him by his name.  We've been friends long enough to warrant it.  Also,
when I call him 'ensign' on those occasions, he always seems to look a
tad sad for an instant.  I'm expecting that look now.  But instead, it
goes beyond that.  And beyond the previous disappointment I saw on his
face.

He looks...dejected.

This knot starts to form in the pit of my stomach.  I feel like I just
kicked Porthos.  The distance I'm famous for is reflected in his
glassy eyes as he looks at me long enough to say, "Of course, sir,"
before turning away and going back to his dinner.

I walk away from the table and dispose of my tray.  As I leave the
mess hall, I can feel the knot in my stomach get larger and larger.
And I have the horrific feeling that I've just ruined my friendship
with Travis.  The little piece I did have of him.  My closest friend.
And I have no idea what I did wrong.

---

It doesn't take long before I've entered the armory.  By the string of
whispered curses I hear suddenly stop when my presence is noticed, I
know that the targeting system still isn't functioning.  I look over
at Crewman Weber, the night-shift engineer who's been splitting her
time between engineering and the armory.

"I take it none of the adjustments are holding."

She stands up at the sound of my voice.  "No, sir, they aren't.  The
upper left quadrant of the grid is still drifting and overlapping the
right one, sir."

"Go take a break, Crewman.  I expect you back here in thirty minutes."

"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir."

Weber heads out of the armory at a record pace.  I suppose I should be
questioning as to why but at the moment, I don't care.  I'm alone for
the time being and that's exactly what I want.  I don't want to deal
with others right now.  I walk over to the main targeting console and
start to look over the adjustments that Weber made.  All competent,
none successful.  I try to begin working on other solutions to the
problem but that's also ineffective.  The image of Travis looking so
miserable haunts me.  I can see the detachment in his eyes with mine
closed.  I open my eyes and see his shoulders uncharacteristically
slumped.

What have I done?  The more time I spend with Travis, the more I feel
that I've come to grips with my attraction to him.  He's intelligent,
funny, stunningly attractive, passionate...he's everything.  But we're
friends.  I've long since told myself that wouldn't ruin our
friendship by suggesting that my feelings for him go deeper than that.
Although, it seems that I've managed to do that anyway.

I still can't figure out why Travis reacted the way that he did.  I
expected him to be bothered by the use of his rank but not as badly as
he obviously was.  He knew I would go back to the armory eventually.
By his reaction, one would think that he was the one interested in me,
not the other way around.

Ouch!  I've just managed to startle myself into kicking the bulkhead.
What was that?!

He was...the one...interested...in...me.

The words tumble over and over through my mind.  They're rattling
around up there aimlessly and painfully hitting the sides of my skull.
He came to the armory to make sure that I took a break.  The offer to
help.  The sadness in his eyes each time I used his rank.  The time he
badgered me until I went to movie night with him.  The smiles.  The
meals taken together.

Is it possible?  The thought that it could be passes through my
jumbled mind but I clamp down on it insistently.  What if Travis is
attracted to me as well?  The very idea makes me light-headed and my
legs a bit quivery.  I sit down on the deck and open the panel next to
me, just in case Weber returns early.

What if he was...is interested me?  All of a sudden, my actions at
dinner are fully present in mind.  I tried to leave dinner early.  I
refused his help.  I avoided his concern over me and used his rank.
Now not only have I managed to ruin our friendship but there is the
slightest possibility that I've destroyed any chance of having Travis.
Dating him, kissing him, holding him, making love to him.

The cover to the panel that I removed a moment ago hits an adjacent
wall with a resounding thump.  What have I done?

Actually, I have no idea what I may or may not have done.  To my
friendship with Travis and let alone to any slightest chance of
something more with him.  And I won't know.  Not yet, anyway.

Standing up, I walk over to pick up the covering that I just threw
against the wall.  After putting it back into place, I take a quick
look around the armory.  The targeting system will just have to wait.
I don't care much for uncertainties.  One this large and this
important takes precedence.  I just need to remember not to make this
a reoccurring event.

One more detail to take care of...

"Reed to Weber."

"Weber, here."

"You need to report back to the armory immediately, Crewman."  At the
moment, I don't particularly care whether or not she's thinks
Lieutenant Reed is a daft taskmaster.  As long as she gets back here
on the double.

"Yes, sir.  On my way."

It will take her a few minutes to get here so I find myself pacing
across the length of the room.  I have no idea what to say to Travis.
This is assuming, of course, he'll talk to me.  A voice inside my head
keeps telling me that I'm making a mistake.  If I didn't ruin my
friendship with Travis earlier, I'm going to now by acting on some
misguided assumption that he might have a romantic interest in me as
well.  This is, after all, the notion that I've acted on for years.
Or more precisely, not acted because of.

But the image of him looking so distant troubles me deeply.  I have to
know if I'm right about its cause.  It's odd, I suppose, that I want
so badly to have hurt him.

The door opens behind me.  The sound of Weber's footsteps on the metal
deck echo in the room.  I whirl around to meet her, trying desperately
not to appear to impatient.

"I have something else that needs to be taken care of.  Continue to
work on the targeting system.  Perhaps another member of the
engineering staff is available to help you."  I wait for her to nod in
understanding before I continue.  "I'll be busy for the rest of the
evening.  Only contact me if it's an emergency."  I have to stop
myself from adding, 'And by emergency, I mean a bloody Suliban
ambush...'

"Understood, sir."

I simply nod before leaving the armory behind and walking out into the
corridor.  The mess hall would be the obvious first place to start.  I
walk in and find nobody there but a few various crewmen, grabbing
something to help them sleep.

Next on my list is Travis' own quarters.  I really don't want to go
there.  I have only been to them for duty-related purposes.  The last
time was utterly painful.  I was assigned to go through Travis'
belongings when we thought he was dead.  I'd never felt more drained
or despondent than when I overrode the lock on his door and stood in
the empty cabin.  Everything had been so gray.  I had forgotten how to
see color.

My fingers are centimeters from his door chime, by now.  Taking a deep
breath, I press the button.  The door starts to slide open and I feel
myself fall helplessly into old routine as I take the classic 'at
ease' position.

"Hello, Malcolm."  Travis's voice is flat and emotionless.  At least
for him, anyway.  I can feel my mouth go dry and the age-old instinct
of fight or flight is getting stronger.

"I'd like to talk to you, Travis."  The use of his first name is
deliberate.  Why do I feel like I'm asking permission to go in front
of a firing squad?

He steps aside from the doorway and gestures me inside his quarters.
Everything looks exactly like I remember it looking.  I take a slow,
expected glance around before returning my gaze to him.  He's standing
up straight and there's a purposefully blank look on his face.

I can't believe what I'm seeing.  He reminds me...of me.  With a
barely audible snicker, I smile at him.  His posture relaxes slightly
and a baby version of his usual luminous smile replaces the pressed
lips.  But now I don't have a single notion of what to say.  Or where
to begin, for that matter.

"I'm attracted to you."

Did I just say what I think I just said?  By Travis' rapidly blinking
eyes and vaguely gaping mouth, I'm fairly certain those were the words
that exited my mouth.  Bloody hell.  Of all the times to lose control,
I have to pick now.  That fight or flight response is definitely going
full force now.  I take a step back toward the door.  Depending on the
words to come out of his mouth or lack of words, I can be out of here
in one motion.  As I long ago devised, my first rule of tactics is to
always have an escape plan.

Travis' mouth is still gaping.  Time to implement the escape plan.
One hand hits the button, door slides open, take a step, go out the
door, and the door closes behind me.  My feet feel like lead and I'm
fairly certain that I've forgotten how to walk.  All these years of
wondering and now I know.  I should have listened to that damn voice
after all.  I should start walking.  Back to the armory, I suppose.
Even if my most sacred wish was blown up like an asteroid by one of
the phase cannons, I still can get the very smallest bit of happiness
from confusing that poor crewman.

Out of nowhere, I feel myself being pulled backwards.  Something has
grabbed the back of my uniform.  My feet quickly recover from their
previous leaden state but it doesn't seem matter.  I'm back in Travis'
quarters and two strong arms are wrapped around me.  There's someone
breathing heavily next to my ear.  Someone?  I know who it is but I
can't quite comprehend it yet.

Travis.

"I'm attracted to you, too."

I turn around in the embrace.  Travis is looking down at me ever so
slightly.  What isn't so slight is the tenderness in those brown eyes.
Smiling softly at him, I slip an arm around him so I'm holding him as
well.  He's trembling a bit.  We're both trembling, as a matter of
fact.  With my free hand, I gently run my thumb across his cheek.  His
skin feels so soft underneath it.  I've wondered for so long.  I let
my eyes close for a moment before opening them again.

"Yeah, I'm still here, Malcolm."

My response is a laugh that sounds embarrassingly similar to a snort.
How did he know?

"How did you..." Am I truly going to get into this habit with him?
Blurting out things like that.  Could be interesting.  Or dangerous.

"We've been friends for a while now, remember?"

Friends.  The word hangs in the air like a heavy fog.  A veil between
us.  I've wanted more than friendship from the first time I met
Travis.  As for him, I haven't a clue.  What if this doesn't work out?
What will happen to our friendship?  I've tried the "let's be friends"
way before.  It doesn't work.  As a fact, my results with it have been
somewhere between disastrous and tragic.  To be honest, I'd rather be
Travis' life-long friend than an old boyfriend from some past
short-lived relationship.

I really should have thought of all this a long time ago.  But I
didn't.  To consider the consequences would require the possibility of
some foolish action like blurting out that I was attracted to him.

"That's right.  Friends."

He just shakes his head at me, in a manner I think is meant to be
somewhat impertinent.  Before I realize it, Travis is kissing me.  His
beautifully full lips are pressing against mine.  Not in any way that
could possibly be called aggressive.  The texture and motions of those
lips are lost in the wake of the utter serenity that they evoke.  It's
a reassuring kiss.  Meant to calm me.  I'm calm, certainly.  Too calm,
perhaps.  I should be feeling something.  Kissing back...something.
But the impulses in my brain have passed the overheated phase.
They've crashed one right after another until all I'm capable of, at
the moment, is tranquility.

"I've always wanted you, Malcolm."

And then that simple sentence jumpstarts my addled brain.  I release
my hold on Travis and cup both my hands on his face.  One corner of my
mouth skews itself into a smirk.  A heart beat later, I return the
favor of a soothing kiss.  I let my hands drift down to comfortable
positions on each side of his waist before I break the kiss.  As I'm
pulling away, I whisper in his ear, "And I, you."

We stand there in his quarters like that for many moments.  His hands
caressing my back.  Mine gripping his waist.  Both of us just smiling,
albeit inanely, at each other.  My heart is beating loud enough for
him to hear.  I swear I can hear his.

"Now what?"  We say it at exact the same time.  Travis starts to
laugh; it's an almost musical sound to my ears.  I join in with the
same unrestrained laughter.  He abruptly stops and looks at me like
I'm an insect under a microscope.

"You haven't done that since we first met."  I can feel myself start
to blush.  Bloody pale skin.

"I know."

He rolls his eyes at me, takes a step back, and crosses his arms in
front of his chest.

"Why?"  He enunciates the word very slowly, like he's speaking to a
small child.

I have to glare at him for a second before answering his question.
It's rather entertaining, glaring.  People are either afraid of me,
which is the majority response, or...

"Cute."  The irritating word is accompanied by a snicker.

They laugh at me.  They actually translates into only Travis, who for
one reason or another, has never been all that afraid of me.  Not that
I've minded.  It is high up on his list of charms.

"I was merely physically attracted to you when we first met.  Then we
became better acquainted and I grew to care for you and..." There are
other words that are supposed to complete that sentence but I can't
quite seem to get them out.

"And you were scared."  Close enough.  Besides, he said it.  Not me.

"I suppose."

Travis unfolds his arms and puts one around me so he can guide me over
to the bed.  We sit down on the edge of it, side by side.  We're so
close to each other that I can't get a clear look at his features.  I
am rather partial to the sensation, though.  We're well inside each
other's personal space but the warmth spreading out and surrounding us
far surpasses any discomfort.

"Why did you refuse my help at dinner?  If you're attracted to me..."

I can hear the doubt in his voice.  This is incredibly surreal to me
and I suspect that it's the same for him.

"I am attracted to you.  Very much.  So why didn't I want to spend
more time with you?" He nods briefly.  The motion ruffles my hair
slightly.  "Like I said, I care about you.  You'd worked a double
shift."

Travis backs away somewhat so he can see me better, I assume.  "So had
you.  And when I mentioned it, you called me 'Ensign'."

"I was confused.  You sounded truly concerned and I didn't think that
you cared for me that way..."

"I do."

Smiling at him, I can't resist the retort.  "That's twice now you've
interrupted me."

"I haven't interrupted.  You can't finish a statement."  He waves his
hand in the space between us.  "You were confused because you didn't
know how I felt so you..." A look of sudden understanding appears on
his face.  "Oh.  I get it."

I know without asking that he's discovered the secret to one of my
defense mechanisms.  The reliance on rank.  I know this because he's
got that Mona Lisa smile again.  He wraps his arms around and pulls us
down so we're spooned up against each other on his bed; my back
against his chest.  Once again, I can feel his breath against my ear
as he speaks.

"No more Ensign.  Only on duty."

"I promise."

Lying down on the bed has reminded my body of the hours I've worked
today.  The exhaustion of a hard day's work has finally caught up with
me.  I can feel a yawn threatening.  I don't want to leave.  But I
need to sleep.

One of my shoes hits the floor before it's followed by the other.
Travis' has apparently kicked them off with his own feet.  Both of his
shoes quickly follow suit.  One of his hands travels up from my chest
before softly stroking my cheek.

"Ready to rest now, Malcolm?"

I don't have a clean uniform here.  I have an early morning shift.
The targeting system is probably still out of alignment.  I'll look
rumpled and rather improper when I return to my quarters in the
morning.

"Definitely."

The certainity behind my words surprises me.  But that's what I
wanted, wasn't it.  I can feel Travis pressed up against me.  I know
he'll be here all night and when I wake up in the morning.  Definitely
certainity.

---

The End