The BLTS Archive - Just One More
first in the Just One More series
by Weebob (weebob@sunnyspittal.fsnet.co.uk)

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Spoilers: Terra Nova, Shuttlepod One; Shockwave II; Minefield, passing
nod to Unexpected.

Comments: Forgive me if you've seen this before--I'm brand new to
writing and I'm posting just about everywhere in the hope of feedback!

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"Just one more. Great! That's it: just one more, we're nearly
there. Go for it! Just one more..."

"Respectfully, Commander, would you please stop that! I'm trying
to concentrate and you're making me nervous."

Malcolm Reed was frustrated enough at not being able to master the
required rhythm for walking on crutches--he didn't need the grinning
engineer walking ahead, facing him, hands outstretched in case he fell
forward, egging him on faster than he could go! Distracted, he
misjudged his next move, got his feet all tangled up in the crutches
and flopped forward into Tucker's arms. "Bollocks!"

Commander Charles Tucker the Third guffawed loudly as he set his
disgruntled companion upright again "Easy, Lieutenant. That'll teach
ya t' go gittin' shot in the leg by some subterranean mud man then
piss Phlox off so much that he kicks ya outa Sickbay! We're almost at
yer quarters. Only a few more steps. Keep goin'. Jus' one more ..."

"Jus' one more, Malcolm," The inebriated engineer waved the
rapidly emptying bourbon bottle at his companion and leered "It'll
take yer mind off T'Pol's ass." He tossed back another mouthful
himself then handed the bottle to Malcolm, who was giggling
helplessly. "Gee, Lieutenant, ya sure are cute when yer drunk."

Alcohol didn't really agree with Reed but he drank it anyway-
usually to fit in, as much as anything. Today, he was drinking it to
drown his sorrows, of which he had plenty. He and Trip were stranded
in a freezing, almost airless, shuttlepod with little hope of rescue.
They'd jettisoned and detonated their impulse drive in the hope of
using it as a distress flare--but time was passing and they were still
alone.

Some time later, out of bourbon and almost out of hope, Trip had
tried to seal himself in the airlock to conserve air and buy Malcolm
more time. In his desperation to stop Tucker's suicide attempt,
Malcolm had lost his temper and threatened him with a phase pistol.
They'd sat in sullen silence for a while after that before deciding to
put aside their differences and huddle together under their blankets
to share warmth.

To Malcolm's surprise, Trip had kissed him: right on the lips: no
cheap imitations. To Malcolm's amazement, he'd kissed him back with
equal fervour. They'd cuddled and talked quietly for a little while
about the mutual attraction they'd never before acknowledged. Then
Malcolm had begun to fade. Trip had shaken him back to consciousness
several times, until he too was losing the fight against cold and
suffocation. Before he'd lost awareness, Malcolm had heard Trip's
voice, slurred with cold and alcohol and very close to his ear:
"Malcolm, I'd really like another kiss. Jus' one more ...".

"Just one more. I know it hurts, but ya gotta keep yer strength
up. C'mon Malcolm, fer me? Just one more mouthful."

Malcolm groaned as the spoon was eased between his swollen lips
and tilted so the custard ran into his mouth. He'd been badly beaten
by the Suliban during his interrogation and now he was propped up in
his bunk, looking and feeling like a punchbag, with the doctor's
orders to rest and let his treatment work still ringing in his ears.

Once the ship had been re-taken, a distraught Trip had come
looking and found him, barely conscious, on the floor of his cabin.
The engineer had been with him ever since. Of course the man was a
bloody nuisance, trying to jolly him along and pouring easily
digestible nursery puddings down his throat at every opportunity.

Trip seemed to have temporarily turned into his own mother, but he
was a good man and appeared to care deeply about Malcolm, even sitting
with him through the night, reassuring him when pain or bad dreams
wakened him. Malcolm couldn't bear to imagine how he'd have got
through this ordeal without him. Come to think of it, he couldn't even
imagine getting through his daily life without Trip...

The re-loaded spoon approached again "Open up, Malcolm! Just one
more ..."

"Just one more, Malcolm ..." Memories of another occasion flooded
his mind as he limped towards his quarters to the dulcet tones of Trip
Tucker's encouragements. This time, however, he had been discharged to
his quarters after being speared through the thigh by an anchoring
spike from a Romulan mine stuck to the Enterprise hull. And, this
time, there were no crutches; just Tucker's strong right arm wrapped
firmly around Malcolm's waist while his left hand was caught in the
Armoury Officer's vice-like grip.

Although he'd had surgery, an overnight stay in Sickbay and every
drug imaginable pumped into him, it still hurt like hell and he could
hear himself whimper as, with each step, the pain got a little too
much to bear. Trip had offered to carry him but it was such a damned
embarrassing thought that he was determined never to let it happen!

Tucker stopped when Malcolm cried out, and leaned over to wipe
away trickles of perspiration that were making their way into the
injured man's eyes. "Hey, Ah know, its bad. But its yer own fault.
Although ah wanna, ah'm not gonna carry you, 'cause you'd get real
cranky 'n sulk for days."

The engineer paused suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath, and
Malcolm saw that his blue eyes were moist with tears "Ah thought ah'd
lost ya, this time but yer still here and still a pain in the ass. Ah
almost missed mah chance to say this, so ah'm say'n it now. Ah love
ya' Malcolm." Before Malcolm could respond, Tucker sniffed loudly and
composed himself. "Now, git movin', there're only a few steps to go.
That's it Malcolm. Just one more ..."

"Just one more, Malcolm. Breathe deep, that's it. I know ya
haven't done this before, tha's why ah'm makin' real sure ah don' hurt
ya." Trip leaned forward to kiss the anxious man below him. "Jus'
relax. Won't hurt ya."

Malcolm was trembling. This was so far out of his existing frame
of reference that he couldn't quite believe it was happening. Tucker
had been cautiously courting him ever since their experience in the
shuttlepod: wearing him down and breaching Malcolm's self-erected
barriers with his southern sweetness.

They'd kissed, cuddled and petted, even shared a bunk for over a
month now, but it had always stopped short of this. Now Malcolm wanted
it though: wanted to give Trip--his beloved--everything that he was.
No more holding back. He was celebrating being head over heels in love
with a man who felt exactly the same way about him--but his courage
was waning. He had to speed things up.

"Now Trip. I'm ready." He sounded nervous and could feel himself
starting to tense, so he tried again, hopefully sounding more casual:
"Get a move on Yank, I .. OH!"

There were a few moments of searing pain then a glorious feeling
of fullness. He heard himself groan then felt Trip gather him close.
"S'okay Malcolm. It's all up to you. We can stop here or go right on
t' the finish line." Malcolm hesitated, panting a little, then shifted
slightly and tightened his legs around Trip's waist "Keep going. I can
do this."

With every languorous move he made, Trip kissed his partner,
whispered endearments and encouraged Malcolm until he felt overwhelmed
by his love. All those wasted years when he thought he was perfectly
straight but just pretty damned dysfunctional!

The pace was picking up a little now and Trip was breathing
harder. Malcolm moaned loudly and saw his lover smile. It made him
feel wonderful and it certainly looked like he wasn't the only one
enjoying himself. Muscles he didn't know he had were beginning to
twitch and spasm and he writhed in delight, screaming as the feelings
reached a crescendo, whilst Trip continued his frenzied movements a
little longer before he too crossed the finish line.

They made love again and again that night and each time, after a
decent interlude for rest, Trip would turn to his lover: "God,
Malcolm, I need you so much. Just one more ..."

"Just one more, Malcolm... that's it! He'll be here any minute.
They're flying him down right now. Hold my hand when the pain comes.
That's it, just one more ..."

"Aaaarrgghh! Trip! Oooh God! Whose bloody bright idea was it for
me to have a baby? We should have taken another tour of duty on
Enterprise instead."

The engineer rolled his eyes at his dishevelled, sweating partner,
red-faced and irritable as hell in a mint-green examination gown. "All
yours, darlin'. Ya knew Phlox said ah couldn' do it 'cause ah still
have some of that weird Xyrillian shit floatin' around in me but ya
wanted t'go ahead anyhow. Ya even threatened to divorce me if ah didn'
give in."

Another agonising spasm seized Malcolm and he grabbed at Trip's
hand, digging his nails into the palm as he squeezed. Tucker said
nothing, but his eyes were beginning to water. Malcolm screamed:
"Bastard! 'Just one more', you said and now its happening again."
Panting, he buried his face in Trip's shoulder and tried to smother
the sounds he was making as the wave of pain rose, crested and fell.

Abruptly, the door opened and Phlox bustled into the room. The
Denobulan grinned widely "Good afternoon gentlemen. How are we?"

For once, Malcolm didn't bother trying to convince anyone he was
fine: "GET HIM OUT OF ME. NOW!" Phlox serenely approached his
increasingly agitated patient scanned him, then gently prodded
Malcolm's swollen abdomen. "Well done, Mr Reed, you've nurtured a
fine, healthy baby and he's just itching to come out. Before I go and
scrub up, I'm going to inject something into your spine to deaden the
pain and then give you a slight sedative to relax you. Don't worry,
you'll be wide awake when the little fellow arrives. Over on your side
please ... good." Within seconds, Malcolm felt much better. From the
chest down, his body seemed to be fading out and taking the awful
agony with it.

The embryo implanting procedure Phlox had developed from his
research during his time with the Inter-Species Medical Exchange was
still new and risky, but was the only way Trip and Malcolm could have
a child utilising their own genetic material. The doctor had warned
him that he'd be unable to carry the child to its normal term--but
Malcolm had been determined to keep going as long as possible, to make
sure it had every chance to grow and develop before birth. In the end,
he'd let himself get quite ill, as his slight frame tried to support
their quickly-growing son, and a worried Trip had summoned Phlox from
a conference he was attending on Jupiter Station.

The birth itself went more smoothly than expected. Trip sat
holding his hand, stroking Malcolm's sweat-dampened hair and making
sure he couldn't see the rather gory procedure Phlox was carrying out
further down his body. "Is he here yet Trip? I don't hear him crying?
Nothing's wrong, is it?"

It was Phlox who answered Malcolm's anxious question "Everything's
fine, Mr Reed. Nurse is just checking him over and clearing his
airways while I, umm, tie up a few loose ends, as it were." Right on
cue, a piercing wail issued from the other end of the delivery room.
Phlox smiled: "Ah! There he goes now!"

Malcolm had begun to cry along with the baby: Trip waited until
the red, wrinkled, noisy little bundle was placed in Malcolm's arms.
Suddenly, the months of sickness, discomfort, mood swings, hormone
injections and continual exhaustion fell into perspective for Malcolm.
The numbness was wearing off and he felt like he'd been kicked in the
gut by a horse but he couldn't have been happier than he was watching
Trip's face as he admired their new son.

A short time later, worn out and still cradling the now well-fed
and silent infant, he let his head fall back on the pillow, vaguely
aware of his husband's concerned frown. He sighed and nuzzled the
downy little head tucked against his shoulder. "I'm OK Trip. I was
just thinking that, now Charlie's here and we know we can do this, I'd
really like us to have another baby soon, you know, as company for
him."

Trip's mouth fell open "Malcolm! Yer kiddin'! There ain't an ounce
of flesh left on ya and yer whole body was startin' to give out under
the strain. This little guy just about killed ya. No way, darlin'.
He's stayin' an only child."

Malcolm smiled and closed his eyes. He knew he'd get round Tucker:
he always did. "You're saying that now, Trip. But once he gets a
little older and I'm back on my feet you'll see the sense in my
argument. I'm not asking for much ..." He yawned hugely and snuggled
down further into his pillow as Trip gently took their son in his arms
to let Malcolm rest, "... just one more, Trip. Just one more."

---

Just one more... but it had been one too many and Malcolm knew
he'd pushed himself way too far with the second pregnancy. There was
no point in crying over spilled milk, though. It was his own fault and
he was reaping the consequences.

Laughter drifting up from the garden spurred him into action. He
forced himself out of bed, slowly showered, shaved and dressed, then
stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom to
scrutinise his handiwork. His clothing hung on him: he looked lank-
haired, dull-eyed and scrawny and felt terribly unattractive and
unlovable. "Ugh! I don't know why I bother. Trip would need to be
blind..." He squelched the thought before it took root.

Holding grimly onto the handrail, he made his way down the stairs
and, purposely avoiding the kitchen, shuffled out onto the sun porch,
where a recliner was placed halfway in the shade. He sank down on it
with a grateful sigh. At the far end of their garden, he could see his
gorgeous, full-of-life husband rampaging around after their boisterous
three-year-old son, Charlie. Nearby, in a crib they'd put in the sun
porch, and sleeping for a change, was their younger child,
four-month-old Jon-Henry.

Malcolm smiled wearily at the idyllic scene playing out around him
and lay back on the recliner with some relief. Although Phlox had been
pleased with his recovery after producing Charlie, he'd been reluctant
to let Malcolm go ahead with another pregnancy. However, after a great
deal of pleading and pestering by the former Armoury Officer, and in
the knowledge that Trip's experience with the Xyrillians had left him
incapable of carrying a child, he'd had a long talk with the couple
then finally agreed to perform the required procedure--only on
condition that Malcolm had daily check-ups and followed doctor's
orders and a strict programme of nutrition and rest.

The first half of the pregnancy had gone very well but, as the
baby grew and became more demanding, Malcolm had begun to struggle. To
his dismay, he'd been confined to bed for the rest of the gestation
period and Trip had resigned from Starfleet to nurse him, working from
home as an engineering consultant to keep the bills paid.

Despite his dogged determination to reach his due date, Jon-Henry
had been born a month early, when Malcolm haemorrhaged and needed
emergency surgery. Shortly after the birth, he'd begun to bleed again
and was rushed back into theatre, Trip's distraught expression the
last thing he saw before the anaesthetic took effect.

Jon-Henry had thrived from the beginning but Malcolm's life hung
in the balance for several days after the birth. He couldn't remember
much about that time, only a foggy recollection of his husband's
constant, comforting presence as he urged him back to health and, for
short but frequent periods, brought their new child to his birth-
father and laid him in his arms where he could see him.

Although the Reed grandparents had remained stubbornly silent and
remote, having fired their broadside when notified of Malcolm's first
pregnancy, disowning him as being "Queer and subverting the laws of
nature", Momma Tucker had willingly come to look after Charlie while
his parents were preoccupied. As soon as Malcolm's condition was
sufficiently improved, she brought the toddler to the hospital for
brief visits and stayed on at their home for a few weeks after his
discharge, fussing over him as if he too was her natural son. She'd
finally returned to her husband, and the rest of her brood of
grandchildren, leaving the larder stocked, the house spotless, the
laundry done and her son-in-law eternally grateful for her help.

Trip had taken up where she'd left off, Malcolm mused, juggling
work, shopping, chores and children as if born to it--not to mention
doing just about everything for his useless invalid of a husband.

Accustomed to being strong and self-sufficient, Malcolm had balked
at his condition and grown increasingly irritable, snapping at Trip
for imagined offences and throwing him out of their bedroom when he
suggested Malcolm might be needing psychiatric help. Eventually,
unwittingly proving Trip's point, he'd lost interest in everything:
his husband, their children, his own appearance . nothing seemed to
matter anymore. They'd been having a beautiful summer that year but
Malcolm felt like he was encased thickly in ice.

At last, in the early hours of one morning, he'd needed it to be
over. He'd literally dragged his emaciated body downstairs to the
kitchen and begun rummaging for the small, sharp knife he favoured for
food preparation. He hadn't heard Trip come after him and had just
nicked the artery on his arm, his blood spurting everywhere, when he
was wrestled to the floor. Too weak to resist, he'd lain sobbing in
misery and humiliation while his husband staunched the bleeding then
called Dr Phlox. All he could think of was the mess he'd made and how
cleaning it up would give poor Trip even more work to do.

Phlox had come and put him to rights then he'd been carried back
to bed. He'd needed a fair bit of regular counselling and medication
then, and Momma Tucker had come back for a while so that Trip could
concentrate on caring for Malcolm. In fact, the engineer was with him
round the clock, administering drugs, seeing that he ate and even
attending to his personal hygiene. When work demanded his attention,
he bundled his sick, lonely partner in blankets and carried him to
their office's overstuffed couch, placing him comfortably where he
could watch over him. Even in the fuzzy haze of sedation, Malcolm had
felt hateful and undeserving of such overwhelming devotion.

As the medication gradually settled his body chemistry, Malcolm
began to feel a little better. The slight improvement and Trip's
constancy had given him the courage to go on and now he was almost
drug-free and just about holding his own against the periodic puffs of
despair which still occasionally assailed him. Although never for long
periods, Trip was even letting him out of his sight now and again.

A soft buzzing brought him out of his reverie and he saw a bumble
bee drifting lazily towards him and settling on the bright floral
fabric of the recliner. He leaned forward to look more closely at it
and, in doing so, noticed that he'd buttoned his shirt wrongly. Damn!
How had he managed to miss that when he'd glanced in the mirror?

Painstakingly, he began unfastening the buttons again but started
when his eye caught the still-livid scars on his abdomen. Since his
surgery, he'd been too ill to undergo the lengthy regeneration process
to remove them and it hadn't been a priority anyway. Now, though, the
disfigurement was just another reminder of how undesirable he was.

Things had grown quiet at the end of the garden and Malcolm peered
over to see Charlie sprawled asleep on a blanket in the shade of the
trees while his father strode purposefully towards the sun-porch. Trip
grinned broadly when he saw him: "Hey there, han'some. Don' undress on
mah account. Li'l Charlie there's got me all worn out."

He dropped to his knees beside the recliner and, noticing with
concern that Malcolm was trying to hide his bare stomach from him,
tugged the shirt wide open. Tracing the scars lightly with his
fingers, he saw his partner flinch and turn away. "They're not
hurtin'ya, are they?" Malcolm shook his head silently and stared at a
point somewhere over Trip's left shoulder. "That's great, 'cause they
ain't hurtin' me either. I still get palpitations every mornin' when
ah wake up next t' ya and there's nobody else but you who can get me
all hot an' bothered just by lookin' at me."

Dipping his head, he began dropping gossamer-soft kisses on
Malcolm's stomach, then traced the path of the scars with the tip of
his tongue, right to where they disappeared into his trousers. Malcolm
caught his breath and wound his fingers into Trip's fair hair, unable
to articulate what he was feeling.

The engineer straightened and pulled him closer for a long, loving
kiss, only breaking off when they both needed to breathe. A faint
flush had crept into Malcolm's pale cheeks and Trip caressed them
affectionately before switching back to mother-hen mode. "Darlin' its
so good t' see ya out an' around but ya shouldna tried the stairs on
yer own. Y'ain't up ta it yet. An' have you had breakfast?"

Still a little flustered from Trip's ministrations, Malcolm
couldn't think of an evasive enough response and tried to avoid the
question completely: "For God's sake, Trip. I'm not that bloody
delicate!" Trip raised his eyebrows "Y'are from where a'hm sitting.
Phlox told me yesterday that yer still way underweight and need t' eat
more." Those expressive eyebrows were now lowered into a stern frown:
"He also said he'd caught ya tryin' ta tidy mah office while ah was
out for a walk with th' kids. Yer supposed to be restin' darlin'!"

To his disgust, Malcolm's emotions, although mending, were still a
bit haywire and he suddenly realised his eyes were filling with tears
at the gentle admonishment. He didn't blink fast enough to hide them
from Trip, though, and found himself engulfed in a hug. "Aw Malcolm, I
ain't angry at ya." He felt his husband nuzzling his hair then he was
held at arm's length and scrutinised lovingly "We've been together a
long time now, darlin', and ah want us to be together a hell of a lot
longer. I just worry about ya. Yer so hard on y'rself."

His tenuous control crumbling, Malcolm, at long last, blurted out
his deep-seated fears: "I'm sorry Trip. Its just taking me so long to
get back to normal. I love you more than I can ever say but I've left
you with so much to do, and I don't want you having to support me as
well. I've cost you your career and your freedom--and you've given it
all up so willingly--but I can't give you anything back. I haven't an
ounce of energy and I look like hell. Its all my fault for wanting us
to have another baby and now I don't even have the strength to pick
him up and feed him ."

Trip silenced the long string of negatives with another kiss.
"Hey! Enough. Ah love ya too, Malcolm an' ah don' regret any of it.
You an' the kids mean more t' me than anythin' else in the Universe.
Which reminds me: ah talked to Phlox yesterday and he's due over here
in a few minutes to take them off our hands for the day--he's gonna
take Charlie to the zoo for a treat. Ya know how the little guy adores
him and seein' all those alien animals'll be real educational too. An'
if Phlox is lucky, Jon-Henry might even sleep through it all!"

He pressed his forehead against Malcolm's and lowered his voice
conspiratorially "An' once they've gone, ah'm gonna carry ya inside,
force-feed ya breakfast, then ." his eyebrows were waggling
suggestively now, ". ah'm gonna lay you down on that blanket over
there, strip ya naked and make ya do a few little exercises that'll
help build up yer stamina again!"

That got Malcolm smiling for the first time in weeks. Trip grinned
with delight and gently kissed him on the nose. "Y'see Malcolm, now
I've got ya, I really can' think of one more thing I could ever want.
Not one more."

---

continued in the second story in the Just One More series 'Pregnant Pause'