The BLTS Archive - Growing Pains
by Sue Christian (smc5597@waitrose.com)

---

This story is part of the last LJ Enterprise Ficathon. The
deadline was the beginning of June - so I'm a little late!

It was actually finished a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't
want to post it during Drown Malcolm month. And let's face
it, six months late, another two weeks isn't going to make
any difference!

Date: November 2007

Archive: Warp 5 Complex

Warnings: None

Series: No

Beta: Sal, who also nagged me to write, as required (which
was quite a lot <g>)!

Spoilers: Various for first season episodes up to and
including Shuttlepod One.

---
2139/40 – San Francisco
---

'Trip! Hold on there.'

Charles Tucker, Trip to his friends, turned towards the
caller, walking slowly backwards rather than stopping as
requested.

'No,' he said.

'Hey, Trip, buddy. No? No, what?' Tucker's friend Ed Parker
jogged up to him, stopping with his hands outspread, and
radiating an air of injured innocence.

'No, whatever you're going to ask me to do.' Tucker grinned
and adjusted the bag on his shoulder, his other hand
automatically moving to push back the hair falling over his
eyes even though, in accordance with his new employers'
guidelines, it was no longer long enough to do so.

'I'm cut to the quick,' Parker declaimed theatrically.

Tucker laughed and started walking again. 'So what is it
then?'

Parker laughed too, keeping pace with Tucker. 'You know I've
got stuck with showing this Brit around?'

They were both students at the San Francisco campus of
California Institute of Technology, Parker studying chemical
engineering and Tucker warp theory.

'Cultural orientation. Yeah. It's only a couple of weeks
isn't it?'

'It is. But two weeks come with a weekend in between. And
Saturday night Lindy and me were kinda hoping to do a little
'cultural orientation' of our own, if you know what I mean.'

'Bring him along; show him how Americans do it,' Tucker
suggested.

'Kinky. But somehow I don't think little Malcolm would
approve.'

'Little Malcolm?' At over two metres, Parker was nearly a
head taller than Tucker, and his friend was used to
good-natured ribbing about his own alleged lack of stature.
But the jibe at the British student's expense seemed more
pointed.

Parker shrugged noncommittally. 'He's just so... British. I
guess it's starting to get to me.'

'And you expect me to take this bundle of fun off of your
hands Saturday night?'

'He's not so bad. Just... '

'British?'

'Quiet, serious, straight-laced, pole up his ass.'

'You're not exactly selling him to me,' Tucker pointed out.
'Maybe he's shy.'

'I guess.' Parker sounded unconvinced. 'So will you do it?'

He turned what was undoubtedly meant to be a winning smile
on Tucker and fluttered his eyelashes, making his friend
snort with laughter again.

'Yeah, sure. Just let me know where and when.'

'Great! I knew you wouldn't let me down, ol' buddy.' He
patted Tucker on the head, then ran off back the way they'd
come, not waiting to see Tucker's rolled eyes and mock
exasperation.

---

Half seven Saturday evening Tucker strolled up to the small
outdoor seating area in front of the coffee shop on
Parnassus Heights. He wasn't best pleased at having to
travel to the UCSF campus – several miles from the Caltech
campus where he worked and even further from his apartment –
but it was where Parker's girlfriend Lindy was based and the
man had insisted. And irritated as he was, Tucker had to
admit it was a lovely location. Perched high above Golden
Gate Park and surrounded by woodland, the plaza with the
coffee shop was more like a holiday resort than a student
hang-out. Down in the city the fall day had been
blisteringly hot, but up here there was a welcome breeze and
the heady tang of the eucalyptus in the air.

He spotted Parker perched at one of the tables set up
outside the cafe chatting to a group of women; one of them
Lindy, the girl he was taking out that evening. Parker saw
him, made his excuses to the women and came over to Tucker.

'Hi,' he said, throwing an arm over Tucker's shoulder and
guiding him towards the shop door. 'Lindy says your boy's
inside. Come on, I'll introduce you.'

'He does know you're dumping him?' Tucker queried.

'Yeah, yeah, no problem. And you're in luck; he hasn't got
his daddy with him tonight.'

'What!' Tucker stopped abruptly, bringing Parker to a halt
too.

'Only joking,' his friend assured him with a grin. 'His dad
was here last week, helping Malcolm settle in he said. But
he never actually came out with us.'

'I don't care what I promised, I'm not taking your Brit out
with his papa,' Tucker said.

'Don't worry, he was set to go home this morning - I think.
Malcolm's all on his lonesome.'

'When Lindy saw him.'

'Relax. If daddy Reed was here, we'd know about it. Trust
me.'

'How come I don't find that reassuring?'

Parker just laughed and Tucker allowed himself to be steered
towards the door again.

The coffee shop was busy and there was a buzz of
conversation. Parker halted just inside the door and looked
around, searching for his quarry.

'Ed, hi. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me.'

The voice was quiet, with a distinctive British accent that
Tucker liked the sound of, but the appearance of the speaker
was not what he'd been expecting, and judging from his
friend's reaction, it wasn't what Parker had been expecting
either.

Tucker could see where 'little Malcolm' came from: the young
man who'd spoken was about half a head shorter than Tucker
himself, and therefore considerably shorter than Parker. He
was also slightly built, with narrow hips and a sharply
angled face. The angled face was currently framed by spiky
dyed blond hair, and the narrow hips clad in figure-hugging
faded denim. Only the white t-shirt let the image down: the
young man didn't have the upper-body musculature to carry
off the skin tight look. And there was something about his
body language, a sort of uncertain bravado, that made Tucker
think, not so much 'Rebel Without a Cause', more 'Rebel
Without a Clue'.

'Malcolm,' Parker managed. 'Didn't recognise you there for a
minute. Bit of a change.'

An understatement, Tucker thought, if Parker's description
of the Brit had been anything like accurate.

The young man laughed, a little self-consciously. 'New
country, new look, you know.'

'You can say that again. What did your dad say when he saw
the hair?'

'I'm guessing Malcolm's dad had left before the
transformation.' Tucker tried to keep the amusement out of
his voice, the sharp, suspicious glance Reed threw him
suggesting he hadn't fully succeeded. 'Hi. I'm Trip Tucker.'
He held out a hand. 'I'm afraid Ed has landed you with me
tonight. Hope you don't mind.'

There was an infinitesimal pause while the Brit took stock
of the man in front of him, then he grasped Tucker's
outstretched hand, and said: 'Malcolm Reed. And I rather
think you're the one who has been landed with me. Sorry.'

The soft voice and self-deprecating grimace were at odds
with the image, giving Tucker a glimpse of a younger
vulnerability before it was buried under brash
self-confidence again.

'Great. I'll leave you to get to know each other then. See
you Monday, Malcolm.' Parker clapped the Brit lightly on the
shoulder, then backed towards the door, shaking his head and
pulling faces at Tucker behind Reed's back.

Tucker was amused in spite of himself. As he turned his
attention back to the young man at his side he realised it
must have shown; Reed was eyeing him with suspicion again.

'Sorry,' Tucker apologised, 'just something Ed...' He left
the sentence hanging. 'So, you want to get a drink here, or
head back into town?'

'If by drink, you mean something alcoholic, which I hope you
do, then town it is,' Reed said. 'They don't run to anything
stronger than what passes for cider here.'

Tucker nodded and glanced at his watch. 'We should head for
the shuttle then. There'll be one leaving shortly.'

As they strolled the short distance Tucker covertly
studied the youngster at his side, slightly disturbed to
realise that that was how he found himself thinking of Reed
- youngster. Not wanting to cause offence he tried to think
of a way to broach the subject tactfully. Deciding there
wasn't one, he just came out with it.

'How old are you, Malcolm?'

There was that suspicious look again.

'Much the same age as you, I should think.'

Tucker said nothing, just tipped his head to one side and
raised his eyebrows.

'I'm eighteen,' Reed said defensively. Adding a little
ruefully, 'Next month.'

'So not quite twenty-two then.' Tucker hoped his grin took
the sting from his words. 'Eighteen the age you can legally
drink in Britain?' He acknowledged Reed's nod with one of
his own. 'Situation's a bit different here. Restaurants and
bars it's eighteen, but nightclubs it's twenty-one. So I
guess we'll be sticking to the bars.'

'Ed didn't think it was a problem.'

'Ed hasn't got an employer who'd get uppity if he got into
trouble with the law.'

'Employer? I thought you were a student.'

The shuttle arrived and they found two seats together near
the back. Tucker slid in by the window. Reed settled
alongside looking at him expectantly.

'Sponsored student,' Tucker clarified. 'And I'm not keen to
do anything to upset my sponsors.'

'That's a shame. I'm quite looking forward to upsetting
mine.'

'Huh?'

'Not how it usually works I know, but I have... issues with
them.'

''Them' being?'

'The Defence Technical Undergraduate Scheme or more
particularly, the Royal Navy.'

'What are you studying?'

Tucker knew he was in the engineering faculty because he'd
been assigned to Parker, but he'd just assumed Reed was also
doing chemical engineering. Now he wasn't so sure.

'Engineering, specialising in weapons.'

'This is our stop.'

On the sidewalk Tucker paused to get his bearings, before
saying: 'This way. You don't like engineering, or is it the
weapons?'

'On the contrary, I'm very fond of engineering, and I love
weapons. I am, in fact, a bit of a prodigy when it comes to
weapons. That's why I'm here.' The self-deprecating
insecurity surfaced again briefly, and then Reed smiled
sardonically. 'It's the Royal Navy I'm not keen on.'

'But if they're paying for your education...'

Tucker put his confusion aside momentarily as they entered
the bar he'd chosen, got drinks and found a table. Settled,
he returned to the topic.

'Why'd you join then? You do have to join to be sponsored,
right?'

'Oh yes. Signed up at sixteen and set on my way to become an
Incorporated Engineer, just like my father and his uncle
before him.' He took a long pull at his beer, making a show
of shivering as the cold liquid went down. 'Give me a warm
Guinness any day.'

Tucker was pretty sure Reed was trying to change the
subject. The polite thing would be to let him and move onto
a more neutral topic, but Tucker was nothing if not
persistent, and he hated an unanswered question or unsolved
puzzle. It made him a good engineer, but sometimes an
uncomfortable companion – as he'd been told more than once.

'We'll make the next stop an Irish bar,' he grinned. 'Your
dad wanted you to join up?'

'Mum, actually. My father too of course, but it's Mum who's
really keen. "The Reed's have been navy men for
generations."' He said in an affected voice that Tucker took
to be an impression of his mother. 'Not true, as it happens,
but why let the truth get in the way of ambition?'

His tone was bitter and he looked distinctly unhappy and
Tucker was regretting pursuing the subject. As he fished
around for something to say to lighten the mood Reed stepped
in.

'Who are the sponsors you're so keen not to upset?'

'Starfleet,' Tucker answered self-conscious himself now.
Starfleet was a comparatively young organisation, certainly
the baby of the services, and a source of amusement to those
of his friends with more lucrative commercial sponsorships.
Having been prepared to suffer more of the same ribbing from
Reed, with all the history and pomp of the Royal Navy behind
him, however much he professed to dislike them, he was
pleasantly surprised when Reed seemed to perk up at the
name.

'Starfleet? They're the reason I'm here. State of the art
weaponry,' he explained at Tucker's questioning look. Maybe
we'll get to work together.'

'I don't think so. Warp theory's my subject, I know next to
nothing about weapons. But I guess we'll be on the same
campus.'

Reed nodded, and let the subject drop.

'Ed's been showing me around a bit; the campus of course, a
couple of clubs,' this last was said with an apologetic
shrug. 'We hit a few bars one night, not this one though. I
like this place.' He gazed around, taking in the long
mahogany bar with its polished brass foot-rail and gleaming
patterned over- mirror.

'Yeah,' Tucker agreed. 'It's sort of old fashioned, but I
like it. Not many students come here.'

'And that's why you like it?'

Tucker laughed. 'In part, yes. The real student hang-outs
can get very... lively.'

'And being of advanced years, you prefer somewhere quieter.'

Reed grinned at him, and Tucker found himself grinning back.

'You got it,' he said.

The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly. Tucker
fulfilled his promise and took Reed to an Irish bar. The
Brit rolled his eyes at the clich้d Irishness of it, from
the shamrock- garlanded sign proclaiming it to be O'Malley's
Pub, to the rainbow and leprechaun lights strung over the
bar, complete with 'pot of gold' at one end. But he watched
with appreciation the drawn-out ceremony of the pouring of
his Guinness and, taking a drink, pronounced it to be as
good as any he'd tasted in Ireland. Privately, Tucker
wondered just how many, if any, real Irish Guinness the
young man had drunk, but said nothing.

They hit another couple of bars, grabbing hot dogs from a
street vendor en route between them.

Conversation flowed easily, ranging from the differences
between their two countries, to details about their
respective courses; touching on their home and upbringing,
and their hopes for the future – both topics Reed largely
skirted over.

Reed was good company, Tucker decided, especially when he
relaxed enough to forget the image he was trying to portray
and just be himself; with the brashness gone he had a quiet
confidence when talking about something he knew and a
shyness when on unfamiliar ground that Tucker found
endearing.

They parted not far from the campus, around the corner from
Reed's digs.

Tucker said, 'I'll look out for you on campus, maybe we
could get lunch one day or something.'

'Good. I'd like that.'

Reed's grin lit up his whole face, and Tucker realised that
he'd like it too.

---

For the next day or so Tucker found himself thinking about
Reed at odd moments: he'd catch sight of a guy with short
blond hair, or a text he was studying would have a note
about armaments, and his mind would drift to the young
Englishman.

He shrugged it off for three days before finally giving in
and engineering a meeting. He needed to see Reed again to
work out if this was just the memory of a pleasant evening
or the start of an infatuation.

Tucker swung both ways sexually. To his way of thinking
females wanted relationships and commitment, whereas guys
were more up for casual sex, the occasional buddy fuck.
Since his last girlfriend had dropped him, saying she
couldn't compete with his work, he'd decided school wasn't
the place for relationships, and had kept to guys.

Casual flings, of course, weren't normally encumbered by any
great depth of feeling for the other person: you didn't
spend three days mooning over someone you'd hooked up with
for casual sex. Which was just as well, he told himself,
because no way was that something this young man would be
interested in.

So he made it his business to find out where on campus Reed
worked and 'happened' to be passing the weapons lab as Reed
left.

They ate lunch at the cafeteria; Tucker making small talk
while trying to gauge how pleased Reed was to see him again.

The question was answered when Reed asked, 'I was wondering
if you fancied going out for a drink on Friday? If you
haven't got plans, or anything.'

'Nope, no plans,' Tucker said, immediately ditching his plan
to go to the Southern Belle. 'And I'd like that, yes. You
want to get dinner first?' As Reed glanced uncertainly
around the cafeteria, Tucker added, 'There's a new Chinese
place people say is good, or I know a Mexican if you
prefer.'

'Chinese will be fine,' Reed smiled. 'It's a while since I
had a good Chinese meal.'

That Friday was the first of many such evenings out
together. Ed Parker ribbed Tucker mercilessly, but Tucker
just laughed it off, shaking his head and insisting that
they weren't dating, just friends out drinking together. And
it was easy to say, because it was true. No matter how much
Tucker would have liked their nights out together to be
dates he knew Reed didn't see them that way. Tucker might be
falling for Reed – heck, scratch might, definitely was, his
inner voice insisted – but he knew his feelings weren't
returned. To Reed they were just drinking buddies, and
Tucker decided he'd rather settle for that than risk doing
anything to scare the young man away.

That's how things stayed for the rest of the fall semester.
They got together once or twice a week, sometimes they just
happened to be drinking in the same bar, but often they
arranged to meet up.

One day at the beginning of September Reed called to say he
felt like going out for a meal, and would Tucker like to
join him, his treat? They went to Harry's Hamburger Hutch, a
particular favourite of Reed's. The place was busy, but
they'd been lucky to spot a party leaving and had grabbed
their booth. Tucker chose a cheeseburger while Reed opted
for a Hawaiian, with extra pineapple. The food and their
second beers had just arrived and Tucker was busy
rearranging the contents of his bun when he noticed Reed's
eyes widen in astonishment at something or someone over
Tucker's shoulder.

Before he could turn to check what Reed was looking at a
familiar silky voice spoke, and Tucker's heart sank.

'Who's the twink?'

The words were accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, too
near his neck for comfort and Tucker flinched away from the
unwanted touch as the owner of the hand slid onto the bench
besides him. The man made a show of looking Reed over whilst
rearranging the ruffles on the front of his silver
button-down shirt.

'Well, I can see why you've not been to the club lately,' he
purred, flicking back his overlong cuffs to expose the gold
bangles on his wrists. 'I don't blame you wanting to keep
this one to yourself.'

'Clear off, Pierce,' Tucker snapped, watching Reed watching
the interchange.

'Temper, temper,' the man said. He held a hand out to Reed
who took it reflexively. 'Hello. I'm Carlton. Don't mind
Trippy, he doesn't like competition,' he said archly.

Reed extracted his hand, looking as if he'd like to wipe it
on his pants but was too polite to do so. He remained
silent.

'I said, clear off.' Tucker punctuated his words with an
elbow in the ribs, almost knocking the man off the bench.

'Don't get you knickers in a twist, lover. I can take a
hint.' He got to his feet before delivering his parting
shot. 'When you get tired of him, you will bring him to the
Belle for us plebs to play with, won't you?'

As Pierce minced away, Tucker was amused to see Reed
surreptitiously wipe his hand on his shirt.

Realising he'd been seen, Reed grinned.

'Sorry if he's a friend of yours.'

'He isn't.' Tucker was emphatic.

'He's kind of creepy,' Reed admitted. 'Is he gay?'

Reed was tentative, as if 'gay' was some alien, exotic
concept he'd heard rumours of but never encountered before.
Could he really be that innocent, Tucker wondered. He'd been
to a British public school, and he was in the Royal Navy; it
was common knowledge that both institutions were rife with
homosexuality. And even if, as was usually the case, common
knowledge was wrong, it would be incredible if he had never
met a homosexual. But from what little the Brit had said,
his family were weird, perhaps this was just another example
of that weirdness. Or maybe he'd just never encountered a
flaming queen before.

'Bent as a nine dollar bill,' Tucker confirmed.

'And... he implied...  Are you gay?'

Tucker waggled his hand to show his ambivalence.

'You and he...have you...done it?'

'No way!'

Reed looked relieved.

'What's a twink?'

Tucker shrugged, reluctant to explain. 'Nothing, forget it.
You're right. He's a creep.'

'The Belle, is that one of the clubs you won't take me to?'
At Tucker's nod, he added, 'A gay club?'

'Not exclusively, no.' It was a prevarication; Friday
nights, when he usually went, were Gay Night, but for some
reason he didn't want to tell Reed that.

'But you see that man, Carlton, there.'

'He goes there. I go there sometimes, for a beer, to meet up
with friends. It's just a club, Malcolm, nothing special.'

Reed turned his attention back to his food, apparently happy
to let the subject drop, but Tucker had an uneasy feeling
that he was filing information away for possible future use.

In December, when his mom started organising the family for
the holiday get- together, he wondered if Reed would think
it odd if he invited him to join the Tucker clan. But before
he picked up the courage to ask, Reed announced he was
expected to join his parents and sister in Malaysia. He
didn't sound too keen on the idea, but it clearly wasn't
something he felt he could get out of.

Tucker said nothing, but it struck him that this would have
been an idea opportunity for Reed to show a little
rebellious spirit; something he talked about periodically,
usually when the Royal Navy was making its presence felt.

Reed had to report monthly to his superiors, usually via a
communications link with the UK, but occasionally in person
to an officer in the local consular office. For these visits
he had to wear his navy uniform, which he hated. Tucker had
met up with him once on his return, watching with thinly
veiled amusement as Reed stormed around his room, throwing
parts of the hated uniform as far as he could in the small
space and ranting about pompous authority in general and the
Royal Navy in particular. Eventually he had calmed down
enough to laugh at himself, and to hang the uniform neatly
in his closet.

Reed's determination to rebel, against his father and the
navy, worried Tucker; he could see nothing good coming from
it. To be fair to Reed, he didn't allow it to interfere with
his studies. The discreet enquiries Tucker had made told him
Reed had a flair for armaments, and that he worked hard. The
problem as Tucker saw it was that he also played hard, and
not always sensibly. So far he hadn't heard that Reed had
done anything too alarming, certainly nothing illegal, but
there was a wildness in his manner sometimes that Tucker
found disturbing.

---

Back in San Francisco in January they carried on much as
before, meeting up a couple of nights a week to go drinking
together and sometimes a meal. Tucker discovered that Reed
was a runner – and wondered how he'd not known before – and
they started going for a long run together Saturday
mornings.

In March Tucker tentatively tried to move things to another
level. He was spending a couple of days in Florida with a
group of friends, diving Ginnie Springs north of Orlando,
and he invited Reed to join them. He was disappointed when
the young man declined, and a bit hurt at the reason: it
seemed a thin excuse for someone who was, however
reluctantly, a navy man to say he wasn't keen on water.
Because of that, when Reed asked if he wanted to meet up on
the Friday evening he brushed him off, saying he wasn't sure
when he'd get back, and he'd be in touch if he couldn't make
their Saturday run.

The few days away smoothed over Tucker's hurt feelings.
Diving was his main hobby, more than that; it was his
passion – diving and boats. He'd once told Reed that all his
engineering expertise came from working on boats. It was a
self-deprecatory line he'd developed to help put people –
mainly women – at ease and to deflect accusations of big-
headedness. It wasn't false modesty. He knew he was
exceptionally talented; he also knew that people didn't want
to be reminded just how talented. But Reed had just laughed
and said that he wouldn't want to travel on a boat with a
warp engine. He was the only person Tucker could remember
who hadn't taken the statement at face value, and it gave
him a good feeling.

The weather had been kind to them, making camping a
pleasure. They'd dived the Basin and Ballroom, and the next
day the Three Devils – familiar territory to Tucker, but the
clear water ensured his camera was rarely out of his hand
for long.

Back in San Francisco late Friday afternoon he nearly got in
touch to see if Reed had made plans for the evening, but his
mood was too good to risk having it pulled down by a
rejection: he'd call in the morning and they'd go running
together. He decided to make the most of the free evening
and visit one or two of the clubs he couldn't take the
underage Reed.

It was after ten when he got to the Southern Belle and the
club was beginning to get crowded. Tucker elbowed his way to
the bar and got a beer before moving to lean against a
pillar where he had a good view of the room. He stayed there
for about fifteen minutes, watching the talent, taking the
occasional pull from the bottle, making the beer last: drink
wasn't the reason he was there.

A young man swung out of the crush on the dance floor,
heading towards the bar. About Tucker's height, slim, with
the defined musculature of a man who spends a lot of time in
the gym, he paused as if to catch his breath, pushing
sweat-slicked dark hair back off his face. He seemed to
sense Tucker's gaze, turning to meet his eyes and smiling.
Tucker smiled back, tipping his by now empty bottle in a
sort of salute.

Moving with easy confidence the man crossed the gap between
them, leaning against the pillar alongside Tucker, letting
his eyes run over his body.

'Hi. Can I get you another beer... or anything?' He pulled
back a little to take another long look at Tucker, the tip
of his tongue playing over his bottom lip. 'Preferably
anything,' he added lasciviously.

Tucker grinned at him, letting his gaze fall until it rested
on the man's denim-encased crotch.

'Sounds good to me,' he said.

They moved to a marginally more private place, a dimly lit
short corridor leading to the emergency exit.

Tucker was facing back towards the main room, sandwiched
between the surprisingly cold wall and a definitely hot man.
He'd pulled the man's t-shirt free from his jeans and slid
one hand inside the tight waistband, wedging two fingers
between his pert buttocks.

Enjoying the sensation as their burgeoning erections ground
into each other, Tucker used his other hand to push up the
man's t-shirt, finding a nipple and giving it a tug.

The man leaned in, biting Tucker's earlobe. As Tucker turned
his head slightly to accommodate him his eyes suddenly
registered a figure passing the end of the corridor, and he
stiffened in entirely the wrong way.

'Malcolm!'

He tried to take a step after the retreating figure, brought
up short by the body in front of him.

'I'm sorry,' he said, disentangling himself.

The man was looking over his shoulder nervously.

'Boyfriend?' he asked.

'No. Just someone...  I have to go.'

'Well fuck you.' The man was straightening his clothes
angrily.

'I said I was sorry,' Tucker said, defensively.

'Well that makes it just fine, doesn't it? Damn
prick-tease.'

'Oh, go fuck yourself,' Tucker snapped as he left, stung
into irritation because he knew the guy had every right to
be annoyed.

There was no sign of Reed when Tucker reached the main room.
In the greater light he realised that his own clothing was
in some disarray, and he took a moment to tidy himself up.
He was grateful that no lingering tell-tale of his erection
remained, but he still felt hot and bothered.

He made his way through the club, searching for any sign of
the young Englishman, and was just beginning to wonder if it
had been wishful thinking – or guilt – that had made him
think he'd seen Reed when he spotted him.

Reed was dancing with a man Tucker vaguely recognised – not
someone he knew, but he'd seen him at the club before. He
took a moment to watch, appreciating how good Reed looked on
the dance-floor: he was wearing an outfit Tucker hadn't seen
before - tight-fitting pants that looked to be leather, and
a plain dark red t-shirt, a short gold chain glinted at his
neck.

'Moves well, doesn't he?' a familiar, and unwelcome voice
said. 'I'm so glad you let him out to play on his own.'

Tucker refused to rise to Peirce's taunting. It was true
that he could be malicious if crossed, but Tucker judged
that he didn't have any serious interest in Reed; trying to
stir up trouble was just second nature to the man. Anyway,
Reed was unlikely to trust someone he'd described as creepy.

Far more dangerous was the man Reed was dancing with; his
attitude made his intentions clear – to Tucker at any rate.
He did wonder if Reed fully realised what he was getting
himself into.

There was a pause in the music and Reed's dance partner
slung an arm across his shoulders, leading him off the dance
floor, towards the bar. Ignoring another jibe from Pierce,
Tucker set off after them. As he pushed through the throng
of people who seemed determined to obstruct him, he saw the
couple stop at an alcove formed by a buttressing pillar. The
other man leaned down to say something, stroking Reed's neck
before heading to the bar.

Left alone Reed relaxed his air of bravado. Tucker thought
he looked a bit lost, and there was almost a touch of relief
mingled in with the guilty surprise when he spotted Tucker
heading towards him.

'Trip! I didn't know you were back.' Reed glanced nervously
towards the bar.

'What are you doing here?' Tucker was too annoyed to be
tactful. 'You're under age. You could get into real trouble,
heck, you could get arrested.'

Reed didn't reply, but looked away guiltily and suddenly
Tucker thought he understood what was going on.

'That's what you want, isn't it?' he demanded incredulously.
'You're trying to piss off your dad or the navy, or
something – is that it? You damn fool. And that guy you're
with; you have no idea what you're doing.'

'On the contrary, Mister Tucker, I know exactly what I'm
doing, thank you very much,' Reed said, with stiff
formality.

Neither of them noticed the dance partner return from the
bar until he spoke.

'This guy bothering you, Malcolm?'

Before Reed could answer, Tucker swung around and spoke with
barely contained anger.

'No, I'm not 'bothering' him, I'm taking him home.' Ignoring
both Reed's half-formed protest and the other man's more
vocal objections, he continued: 'He's too young to be in
here legal, and he's certainly too young to be legal for
what you've got in mind,' he snapped, too mad to care about
accuracy.

'Hey,' the man said, backing away, 'if I'm stepping on your
toes you just have to say. Sorry, kid. Come without your
daddy next time, eh.'

Tucker turned back to Reed, pulling up at the undisguised
fury that met him.

'What the fuck are you playing at, Trip?'

'I'm getting you outa here and outa trouble, that's what.'

'Think again, Mister Tucker.' Reed punctuated this by poking
Tucker forcefully in the chest with one finger. 'I'm old
enough to look after myself.'

It dawned on Tucker that Reed's formal carefulness, which
he'd taken for British stiffer-upper-lip annoyance was
nothing of the sort: Reed was drunk. Probably nervousness
leading him to take more Dutch courage than was wise rather
than a deliberate attempt by anyone to get him drunk, but
the effect was the same; it made him reckless – and
vulnerable.

They'd both raised their voices, and now were attracting
unwanted attention from people near to them. Tucker grabbed
hold of Reed's elbow with the intention of moving to a
quieter area. Reed dug his heels in and refused to be moved.

'Malcolm, you want to cause a scene, go right ahead, because
just now I'm mad enough to slap you.'

'Let go of my arm.'

Tucker took in the mulish set of Reed's mouth, but ignored
it. 'You're coming with me whether you like it or not.'

Reed capitulated. 'All right, all right. Just let go of my
arm.'

Tucker did so, but stayed close to the younger man as he led
them both back to the quiet corridor he'd so recently
vacated.

'So,' Tucker started. He was between Reed and the exit from
the corridor. The dim glow of the emergency exit signs
didn't throw sufficient light for him to see the younger
man's expression clearly, but the stiff posture and
defensively crossed arms were clear enough. Tucker caught
himself crossing his own arms, realised it shouted
'confrontational' and uncrossed them again, standing for a
moment not knowing what to do with his hands.

'Malcolm,' he started again. 'I'm not trying to embarrass
you or cause trouble, but you gotta realise how bad it'll
look if you get arrested, or just thrown out of the club.
Caltech are real hot on that kind of thing.' He lifted a
hand to Reed's shoulder, dropping it awkwardly to his side
again when Reed stiffened and pulled back just out of reach.

'This has nothing to do with Caltech,' Reed muttered.

'Of course it does!' Tucker paused a moment, reining in his
temper. 'School'll be the first to hear about any trouble.
Not the Navy, not your dad. Caltech throw you out, it won't
matter what the Royal Navy think.'

'They won't throw me out,' Reed said, his bravado back in
full force. 'I'm too good.'

'Fuck, Malcolm! It doesn't work like that. No one's going to
give a damn how good you are; you bring the name of Caltech
into disrepute, you'll be out before you know what hit you.'

Tucker finally found something to do with his hands, but
figuring that grabbing Reed and trying to shake some sense
into him wasn't going to help any, he settled for clenching
his fists tightly at his sides.

Reed noticed and clearly misinterpreted; his mouth twisted
into a sneer.

'What are you planning to do, Trip? Drag me out of the club,
kicking and screaming? I'm sure Caltech would love that.'

Tucker's grip on his temper slipped a notch.

'Forget being under age,' he said, trying for patient
reason, 'it's against the law, but not such a big deal, I
guess. But trying to hook up with some guy... and for what?
You know nothing about that guy you were with; you have no
idea what he's like, whether he's honest, if he's clean.
It's not safe, Malcolm. Forget trying to annoy the navy, get
even with your family, whatever. You shouldn't be here
behaving like that.'

'Why?' Reed snapped back. 'Because I haven't got your
experience, your expertise?' Uncrossing his arms, he took a
step towards Tucker. 'It's all right for you to pick up
guys. All right for you to be up against a wall with another
guy down your throat and in your trousers, but not for me:
is that what you're saying?!'

Shit. Tucker ground his teeth in frustration; shit, shit
shit! He knew Reed was sharp and observant; it just hadn't
occurred to him that when he'd first seen Reed, the other
man had also seen him. Before he could think of anything to
say, Reed went for the kill.

'Or is it jealousy?' he sneered. 'I know you like me, Trip.'
There was a world of meaning imbued in the word, like.
'That's why you're always hanging around; always trying to
get me to do things with you, go places, meet your family.
I'm right, aren't I?'

He took another step towards Tucker, his face a parody of a
lascivious grin, eyelashes fluttering with calculated
exaggeration.

'Stop it!'

Tucker moved forwards involuntarily, cutting the distance
between them until he was close enough to feel the heat of
Reed's body, hear his panting breath, smell the scent of sex
on him. Reed swayed slightly towards him, and Tucker
snapped.

'Shut the fuck up!' He planted a hand in the middle of
Reed's chest, pushing him sharply backwards, not caring when
he stumbled and almost fell. 'You have no idea what you're
talking about and no idea what you're doing,' he snarled.
'But you want to get fucked by some anonymous trick, fine.
There's plenty here'll be falling over themselves to take a
greenhorn like you out back. I'm sure it'll piss your dad
off real good!'

Shaking with fury, Tucker turned and strode away; fists once
again fiercely clenched – this time to stop him hitting
Reed.

---

He left the club, his thunderous expression enough to keep
the few people he knew from approaching him, and was two
blocks away before it occurred to him that maybe he'd done
exactly what Reed wanted.

He stopped abruptly, raising a hand in apology to the woman
who ran into him. Adrenaline coursed through his body,
leaving him shaky and on edge. Taking a series of deep
breaths to try and calm himself down he thought over what
had happened.

No matter which way he looked at it he came to the same
conclusion: Reed had deliberately got him mad, presumably
hoping he'd storm out. And Tucker had played right into his
hands.

Should he go back? Would he trust himself to go back? If he
went back and found Reed against the corridor wall with
'some guy down his throat and in his trousers', or worse
still, in the alleyway out back... he wouldn't let himself
picture that. What would he do? What did he have the right
to do?

Whatever he'd said to Reed's dance partner, the Brit was
over the legal age for homosexual relations – too young to
drink in the club, but old enough to get fucked! No matter
how far Humanity had progressed since their first contact
with the Vulcan, some things were still crazy.

He was still mad: Reed's words had hit a nerve. And that was
another thing: Reed had said he knew Tucker liked him. The
implication was clear; Reed thought Tucker was attracted to
him, sexually. Of course, it could just be something he'd
picked on, calculating it would be the one thing to push
Tucker's buttons. But Tucker didn't really believe that.
Reed, who may or may not still be a virgin with girls, was
certainly a virgin with boys. And, his behaviour in the club
notwithstanding, his reaction to Tucker's interest didn't
bode well for any hope the American might have been holding
on to that his feelings would ever be returned.

Reed had noticed Tucker's interest in him and, armaments
expert that he was, had used it as a weapon against him.
That hurt.

The door of a nearby bar swung open, and a boisterous group
spilled onto the sidewalk in a blast of country music.

Suddenly Tucker was overwhelmed by a need for company, and
the undemanding friendliness of a crowded bar.

'Fuck him,' he muttered to himself, and headed into the warm
anonymity of the bar.

---

March drew to a close and they were three weeks into April,
and still Tucker hadn't spoken to Reed. The pain he'd felt
when he realised how Reed had manipulated him at the club
had cooled to a dull ache, overwhelmed by the fear that
maybe that was all their friendship had been to the Brit;
that he had just seen Tucker as a weapon in his war against
the navy and his father.

He still saw Reed around the campus. The first time had been
the Monday after their fight; Tucker had walked into the
cafeteria and Reed, spotting him, had leaned close to the
boy and girl he was sitting with and whispered something to
them. They'd all laughed, got to their feet and left, Reed
with his arm around each of the others' waists, none of them
sparing a glance in his direction.

After that, whenever he saw Reed in a social setting there
was one of a string of girls with him. Sometimes it seemed
like Reed was deliberately flaunting his female company in
Tucker's face; other times he seemed not to know the
American existed.

Tucker found it depressing, and hurtful, and took to
avoiding the places the two of them used to frequent. He
hadn't been back to the Belle since that night; the last
thing he wanted was to give Carlton Pierce the opportunity
to tell him exactly what Reed had got up to after he left.
He told himself he wasn't avoiding Reed; he was just
reconnecting with the places and people he used to hang out
with before the Brit came on the scene, but there was a
Reed-shaped hole in his life that he found impossible to
fill.

Tucker hadn't been to O'Malley's since his row with Reed at
the Southern Belle.

A quick glance around the bar as he entered showed Reed was
nowhere to be seen, leaving him with a sense of relief
tinged with disappointment. He was heading out to Jupiter
Station on a three month attachment the next day and would
have welcomed an excuse to try and make his peace with Reed;
to let him know where he'd disappeared to and why.

He was at the bar with a group of friends; one stop on a
birthday pub crawl. They were trying to hit bars of as many
nationalities as possible within walking distance of the
campus. Irish was the sixth, or possibly the seventh.
Realising he'd lost count, Tucker ordered dealcoholised
beer, sticking to his guns despite protests and ribbing from
the rest of the group.

He was laughing over a risqu้ joke and didn't initially hear
the server when she spoke to him. Putting the last of the
drinks on the table, she tapped his arm with the edge of her
tray.

'It is you, isn't it?'

'Huh?' He blinked at her in confusion.

'The British kid,' she clarified. 'It's you he hangs out
with?'

'Used to, yeah.' Tucker was instantly alert, fighting off a
feeling of foreboding. 'Why?'

'He's in back.' She nodded towards the back of the bar where
there was a smaller, less popular room, not much more than a
corridor en route to the toilets. 'Drinking too much. We're
going to have to refuse to serve him any more. I thought
maybe you could get him to leave, save any trouble. He looks
upset over something,' she added as she left.

'That Malcolm she's talking about?' Ed Parker asked, sliding
back into his seat after a visit to the john. 'He's wasted,
didn't even see me. Glad he's not my responsibility any
more.'

Tucker sighed. If Reed was upset enough to get smashed
something really bad must have happened, and Tucker thought
he knew what it was.

'I better go see he's okay,' he said, getting to his feet.

'Relax,' Parker advised. 'He's not our problem.'

'He's not a problem, he's a friend.'

Worry made him curt, and Parker leaned back, raising his
hands defensively.

'Hey, no sweat. Go hold his hand if you want. You need help
getting him out of here, don't wait too long. We're moving
on after this drink.'

Parker was right, Tucker decided on seeing Reed; the
youngster was wasted. But possibly not as badly as first
glance suggested; his air of unmitigated despair made him
seem drunker than he was.

'Hey, Malcolm.'

Tucker sat on the stool opposite Reed, putting his glass
down on the tabletop and watching with growing concern as
grey eyes stared back at him, dull and unfocussed, and
bright with unshed tears.

'Trip!'

The word was a choked gasp, relief overriding panic, as if
he were drowning and had suddenly been thrown a lifeline.

'What's happened?'

Reed hung his head, running both hands through his hair to
leave the gelled blond spikes sticking out in all
directions.

'I've been chucked out,' he sighed, confirming Tucker's
suspicions.

The server passed the doorway and noticing, Reed waved at
her, scowling as she shook her head.

'Here.' Tucker pushed his untouched beer across the table.
'It's what you wanted, isn't it?' Tucker asked, adding,
'Being chucked out,' when Reed looked uncomprehendingly at
the glass in his hand.

'Oh. I suppose so. But I didn't mean... I didn't think... '

Reed's attitude changed from despair to annoyed in a flash,
his fist closing firmly around the glass and drawing back as
if to throw it.

'Whoa there!' Tucker reached over and grabbed the glass.
'Getting thrown out of here too, ain't going to make things
any better.'

He put the glass down out of Reed's reach and wiped the
spilled beer off his hand on his jeans.

'The bastards said they thought maybe I wasn't cut out for
military service,' Reed said in a tone of hurt surprise.
'That I was bringing the reputation of the Royal Navy into
disrepute.'

Tucker didn't feel he could argue with that, but as Reed
clearly expected him to say something, he asked again,
'Isn't this what you wanted, to leave the navy?'

'Yes, but... but... '

Despair overwhelmed him again, and for a horrible moment
Tucker thought he was going to burst into tears.

Scrubbing the heel of one hand across his eyes, Reed finally
got to what was really troubling him.

'They're sending me home,' he all but wailed.

Tucker toyed with looking surprised, but decided that it was
probably better to be honest.

'Yeah, well, they were paying for you being here: that's not
going to continue now you've been sacked.'

'You think they're right!' Reed accused.

'Not a matter of right or wrong, Malcolm. The navy isn't
going to pay for your education now you've gotten yourself
thrown out, are they?'

'I'll get a job – another job. I can pay my own way.'

Tucker pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and
thumb.

'Not going to work, Malcolm. You're here on a navy exchange
programme; they pull your funding, you're outa here.'

'But I don't want to go home! I'm good, everyone says so. I
need to be here; I need these weapons labs.'

'Maybe you can find another sponsor to send you back.'
Tucker didn't really believe it; who but the armed forces
had need of a weapons expert anyway? 'Or maybe your parents
can fund you.'

Reed dragged a padd out of one of his jacket pockets and
silently handed it to Tucker.

There was only one thing on it; a letter from an airline
informing Reed that his father had paid for his journey home
and expected him to adhere to the arrangements made. The
flight was in two days time.

'He's getting you home safely-'

'Yes. So he can tell me in person what a disappointment I
am, how I've let him and Mum down and besmirched the Reed
family name,' Reed interrupted bitterly.

He sounded so much like a character in an English costume
melodrama that Tucker was hard pushed not to laugh, and
quickly raised a hand to smother his grin.

'It can't be that bad,' he objected.

'It is! It will be. You don't know them.'

Tucker shrugged, acknowledging the truth of that.

Reed slumped forward, once again in the depths of despair.
The server came in and indicated Tucker's neglected glass.

'This finished with?'

'No. Get him another one,' Reed snapped. 'And a large whisky
for me.'

'I think you've had enough, kid,' she said gently.

'Bitch!'

'Hey,' Tucker stepped in before the server could say
anything. 'That's enough, Malcolm. Sorry,' he added to the
woman. 'I'll take him home.'

'You got five minutes. He's still here then, I'll get the
boys to remove him. Okay?'

'Five minutes. Got it,' Tucker confirmed.

Turning back to Reed he said, 'You heard the woman. On your
feet.'

'I don't want to go home.'

Unsure whether the plaintive wail referred to the current
situation or his imminent return to Britain, Tucker ignored
it and hauled Reed to his feet.

---

The night sky was clear, a few stars even winning the
battle against the city lights. The cool dry air hit Reed as
soon as they stepped outside, seemingly intensifying the
effects of the alcohol, and before they'd gone very far
Tucker, who'd started out merely guiding him in the right
direction, ended up supporting him. The walk to the student
block where Reed roomed took almost half an hour, twice as
long as usual, and by the time they arrived he'd reached the
maudlin, self-pitying stage of drunkenness, although, Tucker
admitted, Reed did at least have some grounds for self-pity.

Tucker managed to get him to concentrate long enough to key
open his door. Once they were inside the tiny apartment Reed
wanted to flop on the bed, but Tucker wouldn't let him,
pushing him into the desk chair.

'I don't want you passing out, Malcolm. I'm getting you some
water, okay?'

He let go of Reed's shoulder cautiously, ready to catch hold
if the young man showed signs of falling off the chair.
Grabbing a tumbler from the kitchenette, Tucker filled it
from the tap and handed it to Reed.

'Get that down you. Don't gulp it,' he warned. 'Drink it
slowly.'

Reed complied, protesting only when Tucker refilled the
glass.

'Just drink it,' Tucker ordered. 'With luck it'll help the
doozy of a hangover you're going to have in the morning. You
want something to eat?'

Reed, who had been making slow inroads on the second glass
of water, turned pale.

'Shouldn't have mentioned food,' he mumbled, one hand
clamped firmly over his mouth.

'Shit!'

Reacting quickly, Tucker hauled Reed to his feet and thrust
him into the bathroom. There was barely room for the two of
them in the confined space, but Tucker managed to get the
lid of the john up and Reed on his knees in front of it just
in time.

When he was sure Reed had finished throwing up, Tucker ran
warm water in the small basin and used a damp towel to clean
him off. Then he hauled Reed back on his feet and half
carried him to the bed, propping him up against the wall at
its back.

'Sorry, so sorry, Trip.'

The words were barely audible.

'Forget it.' Tucker recovered the dropped tumbler from under
the desk, gave it a quick wipe, and refilled it. 'Here.
It'll help clean your mouth, and I know you've just got rid
of most of whatever you were drinking tonight, but it'll
still help with the hangover.'

Reed took the glass reflexively, clutching it in both hands
as he rocked gently against the wall, all the while
murmuring apologies.

'Drink,' Tucker ordered. 'You can't have forgotten how
already.' He sat on the bed alongside Reed and, alerted by
the smell of vomit, said, 'You should get out of those
clothes.'

Reed looked at him as though the task was beyond not only
his ability, but also his comprehension.

Tucker carefully lifted the hem of Reed's linen jacket to
show the cause of the aroma. 'It's on your shirt too.'

Nodding his understanding Reed started to shrug out of the
jacket, tipping the glass of water over his legs.

'I guess the jeans are coming off too,' Tucker said,
mentally kicking himself for the image his words conjured
up.

With considerable help from Tucker Reed eventually got out
of his soiled clothes and into bed. The best thing for him
now was sleep, but Tucker was reluctant to leave him alone
while there was even the slightest chance he might vomit
again: he resigned himself to a possibly long and almost
certainly uncomfortable night in the room's only armchair.

Dimming the light, he first of all returned to the bathroom
and cleaned up the mess they'd left. Then he filled the
kitchenette sink with cold water and dunked Reed's jacket
and shirt in it to soak: he wasn't sure how good it would be
for the garments, but at least it helped kill the smell.

Settling into the easy-chair, he was surprised to see Reed
watching him through half- closed eyes.

'Thanks. Sorry about this... everything.'

Tucker shook his head and shrugged. He didn't want to start
a conversation: Reed was more than half asleep, the sooner
he gave in to it the better.

'Don't want to go home.' The words were so quiet Tucker had
to lean forward in his seat to hear them. 'Not just the
weapons lab; don't want to leave you, Trip.'

Tucker forced down the sudden surge of hope. Reed was very
drunk and almost asleep; he probably didn't really know what
he was saying, and even if he did, it probably didn't mean
what Tucker desperately wanted it to.

'Go to sleep, Malcolm,' he said. 'Things won't seem so bad
in the morning.'

'Stay?'

'A little while, yes, but not all night. I'm leaving for
Jupiter Station in the morning, on attachment. Hey, lay back
down,' he said, as Reed started to struggle to sit up. 'I'll
leave you my number. Call me and we'll sort something out.'

He knew he was promising what he couldn't deliver; it would
take more than his talents to sort out Reed's mess for him.
But the words seemed to calm the youngster down, and within
minutes he was soundly asleep.

Tucker stayed as long as he could, not even attempting to
sleep himself, just watching Reed in the reflected glow of a
nearby streetlight. When the eastern sky at last showed the
first stain of dawn he stood, stretching the kinks out of
his limbs. He found a piece of paper on Reed's desk, jotted
down his contact details at Jupiter Station and propped it
against the computer screen. Crossing to the bed he
carefully adjusted the coverlet that had slipped awry in the
night, and smoothed down the disordered blond spikes of
Reed's hair.

'You take care, Malcolm,' he whispered. 'I hope you find
what you're looking for.'

Bending down he placed a first – and last – kiss on Reed's
temple, took a last long look at the sleeping Englishman,
and then quietly let himself out.

---
2151 - Starfleet Headquarters
---

Jonathan Archer, recently appointed Captain of Earth's first
warp five starship, looked up from the padds spread over his
desk and pulled a face.

'Tactical Officer,' he said. 'I don't like the idea of
Enterprise needing a tactical officer.'

'Can't expect everyone out there to welcome us with open
arms. Just planning for all eventualities, Cap'n.'

Trip Tucker smiled as he said the word Cap'n. He and Archer
had been friends since they first met on the Warp Five
Project almost nine years ago. They'd put all their energies
and talents into seeing Enterprise built and now they were
about to reap the rewards; Tucker, now a Commander, as Chief
Engineer and First Officer, Archer as Captain. Tucker, with
no false modesty, admitted that he knew he was way ahead of
the rest of the field for the engineering job, but there'd
been real doubts for a time about who would get the
captain's position. The Vulcans had been pushing for
Gardener, but in the end Starfleet had gone for Archer - the
obvious choice in Tucker's - and many other people's -
opinion.

Unaware of Tucker's diversion down memory lane, Archer
continued their conversation.

'I guess not. But we're explorers. It shouldn't be
necessary.' He sighed and pulled the padds towards him. 'I
had a shortlist of four, but two of them got married - to
each other - and decided they wanted to stay on Earth.'

'You're kidding!' Tucker chortled. Still laughing, he asked,
'So who are the two left?'

'Angela Franks, 32, Canadian, good record. She's solid on
security; postings to Luna and Jupiter Station, two years on
Mars as Chief Investigator. She majored in criminology
before she joined Starfleet. Not so strong on weapons, but
knows her stuff.'

'Sounds more like a cop that a tactical officer,' Tucker
opined. 'Is that what you're looking for?'

Archer shrugged. 'She's qualified, more than. I guess I'm
just concerned that Enterprise isn't turned into a war
ship.'

'Not going to happen, Cap'n. Not with you in charge.'

Archer gave his friend a wry smile before picking up the
other padd.

'The other guy's British, from a military background. I
know, I know,' he said acknowledging Tucker's raised
eyebrows and pointed look. 'One extreme to the other.' He
turned back to the padd. 'Malcolm Reed, 28, like I said
British. Very strong weapons background. Good grounding in
basic security, unarmed combat... What?'

Tucker was sitting straight up in his chair, a stunned
expression on his face.

'Malcolm Reed?' he said. 'Can I see that?'

Archer handed him the padd. 'You know him?'

Tucker stared at the small screen trying to calm the
butterflies conjured up by the familiar grey eyes staring
back at him. Reed was older than the youngster he
remembered, and his hair was dark - it suited him better
than the dyed blond - but it was undoubtedly the same
person.

'Trip.'

'Huh.' Tucker could tell from Archer's tone that it wasn't
the first time he'd spoken, but he was still too surprised
to answer coherently.

'You know Lieutenant Reed?'

'Knew him, past tense. He wasn't in Starfleet then; I'd only
just joined myself. I was doing my masters at Caltech;
Malcolm was an exchange student.

'You were friends?'

Tucker grimaced. Knowing what Archer was really asking. He
couldn't blame the man, his own reaction made it obvious
that Reed was more to him than just someone he once met at
university. But wasn't that just what he was? Nothing had
happened between them. Tucker didn't even know if Reed liked
men, other than as a way to piss his dad off. They'd been
friends for a short time - that was all. But if that was the
case, how come his heart had leapt when he'd heard the name
and all those butterflies had started doing acrobatics in
his stomach when Archer handed him the picture? No, Tucker
conceded, as far as he was concerned it had been more than
friendship, even if Reed hadn't known. But he had no
intention of admitting that, not even to his best friend.

'We worked on the same campus,' he dissembled. 'Went out a
few times, had a few beers. Then he got sent home and we
lost touch. He's changed,' he said, eyes on the picture
again. 'I didn't know he was in Starfleet.'

'Do you think he's unsuitable?'

Clearly Archer was picking up something from Tucker, but
wasn't able to figure out what.

'No, no.' Tucker skimmed through Reed's record, marvelling
at how much he'd achieved. 'It was along time ago; he wasn't
much more than a kid when I knew him. Weapons mad even
then.' He grinned at the memory of a tipsy Reed
demonstrating the principles of ballistics, and how he was
much more concerned that his trajectory had been off than
about the damage his improvised missile had done to the
bar's mirror. 'He seems great, more what we need than
Franks, I'd say.'

Archer retrieved the padd with Reed's details, scrolling
through it. 'It doesn't say anything here about him being
sent home from Caltech.'

Tucker started guiltily. 'I didn't mean to say that,' he
admitted, and then rolled his eyes. 'And okay, I definitely
shouldn't have said that.'

Archer just sat back and waited.

'Malcolm was a bit wild back then. There was a situation
with his family, and the Royal Navy - it does mention the
navy, right?' At Archer's nod he went on. 'Yeah, well, he
got into some trouble with them. Nothing serious,' he
hastened to assure the captain. 'Just some stuff they were
too uptight to take. They pulled his funding and so he had
to go home. If you need more details I really think you
should ask him yourself. I don't want to tell tales. And
he's changed.' At Archer's sceptical look, he insisted: 'He
must have sorted himself out or he wouldn't be on your list.
And he really was brilliant with weapons even back then;
that's why he was at Caltech. Enterprise deserves the best,
Cap'n, and going on his record Malcolm Reed is the best
person for this job.'

'Hmm. I'm interviewing both of them later this afternoon.
I'll see what I think when I meet him. And maybe you'd
better sit this one out.'


As Enterprise's First Officer Tucker had been a party to
Archer's staffing deliberations, and had sat in on most of
the interviews, but he had no problems with Archer's
decision to leave him out this time. In fact he was rather
relieved. He didn't want his first meeting with this new
Reed to be in that restrictive, formal situation. He also
didn't want Reed to think that Archer's decision, whatever
it was, was influenced by Tucker's previous knowledge of
him.

That set him wondering if Reed knew that he was Enterprise's
Chief Engineer. Archer's captaincy had been the subject of
much media attention: other appointments hadn't garnered the
same public interest, but were common knowledge within
Starfleet. Surely Reed must know? Did he apply for the
position because of Tucker, or in spite of him?

Determined as he was to meet up with Reed again, on or off
Enterprise, Tucker found himself anticipating it with a
degree of trepidation.

---
2151 - Enterprise
---

The knock on the frame of Tucker's open office door was
almost diffident.

'Commander?'

Tucker recognised the voice immediately, the accent
unmistakable even after so long, and he was grinning as he
turned.

'Malcolm! Sorry, Lieutenant Reed, I should say.' He took a
good look at the man, taking in the changes. Reed was still
slender, but more muscular, no longer a skinny youth, and he
looked more...together somehow; there was a quiet air of
maturity and authority about him. 'It's good to see you
again.'

'You too, sir.'

'Trip. It's still Trip, Malcolm.'

He thought he saw a glimmer of pleasure light up Reed's
eyes, then the professional mask slid back into place.

'I don't think that would be appropriate, Commander.'

Tucker didn't agree, but he didn't press the point, cutting
to what was more immediately important to him.

'Until I saw your name on the captain's interview list I
didn't know you were in Starfleet. How long has it been?'

'Nearly seven years now. But different specialities; our
paths never crossed.'

'You could have gotten in touch.'

'I wasn't sure....'

There was the air of vulnerability Tucker remembered, and he
found it just as appealing now as he did back then.

'I didn't think you'd want...'

'I would have,' he averred, rescuing Reed from his
uncertainty. 'But you're here now. Welcome to Enterprise.'
He grinned, holding out his hand. 'Good to have you on
board.'

With just a slight hesitation, Reed took the proffered hand
in a firm, confident grip.

'Good to be here, Trip.'

Reed's smile lit up his whole face, momentarily transforming
him back into the reckless youngster of twelve years
earlier, and Tucker felt himself grinning again, forgetting
he still had hold of Reed's hand until the man let go.

'So how d'you like the armoury?' Tucker asked, returning the
conversation to business, where he reckoned Reed felt more
comfortable.

'Not as much as I would if the phase canons were installed.
I don't like the idea of leaving spacedock with only the
torpedoes operative.'

Reed displayed a new confidence when he spoke about the
weapons, Tucker noted.

'We're just taking a sick man home, Malcolm, not going to
war.'

'Still, we don't know what we're going to meet out there.
I'll feel a lot happier once this mission's over and we come
back to complete the installation.'

Tucker laughed, shaking his head. 'Ever the optimist.'

'Just being realistic, Commander. If Starfleet thought we
wouldn't need weapons, I wouldn't be here.'

'True,' Tucker conceded. 'You got time for a tour of
engineering?'

'I should report to the captain,' Reed demurred, and Tucker
was gratified to hear a note of disappointment in his voice.
'I really should have done that first, but I wanted to check
things in the armoury in case he asked for a report, and
when I got there the ensign on duty said you wanted to see
me.'

'The Cap'n can keep awhile; he's walking his dog.'

Reed gave him an old-fashioned look. 'Is that a euphemism
for something?' he asked uncertainly.

Tucker snorted with laughter. 'Nope, he really is walking
his dog.'

'On a starship?' Reed's voice telegraphed his disapproval.

'Yeah, and don't you even think of saying anything against
Porthos. Not if you want to stay in the Cap'n's good books.
Come on, I'll give you the ten cent tour.' And he dragged
Reed off to admire the warp engine, happy for the moment
just to spend time in his company.

---

Reed's fears about the need for weapons unfortunately proved
to be well-founded as their maiden voyage turned from an
eight-day round trip to take the wounded Klingon, Klaang,
home into a battle with the mysterious Suliban. And he was
far from pleased at Starfleet's decision that Enterprise
should set out on her mission of exploration without first
returning to Earth.

'You're not glad we're finally out here exploring?' Tucker
asked over lunch in the mess hall.

'Of course I'm glad. I just don't like the ship not being
properly defended. We need the phase canons. How long would
it have taken to go back and have them fitted?'

'I don't know about Starfleet, but I think Captain Archer
was worried if we went home the Vulcans would find a way to
stop us setting out again,' Tucker opined.

'I did suggest to the captain that we could build and
install the cannons ourselves, but he wasn't enthusiastic.'

'He doesn't want Enterprise becoming a war ship,' Tucker
said with a shrug.

Reed rolled his eyes, but let the subject drop.

---

The two men saw a lot of each other in the course of their
work. Reed spent a fair amount of time at the tactical
station on the bridge and Tucker was often to be found
hovering somewhere nearby, ostensibly manning the
engineering station. He was there partly because of the
opportunity it gave to be in Reed's company, but also
because of the sheer newness of being in deep space and the
buzz of excitement he got from watching the main viewscreen.

Their on duty interaction wasn't always smooth: Reed, keen
to get the armoury running as efficiently as possible, had a
tendency to act first, ask permission later, and Tucker had
had to put his foot down as chief engineer more than once.
Initially Tucker worried that the arguments this caused
would sour their friendship, and he was happy to find Reed
was adept at keeping work and his personal life separate and
held no grudges about the rank- pulling.

They met occasionally off duty - sharing a meal or going to
the gym together - but not as often as Tucker would have
liked. He was at a loss how get to spend more time with the
man without making it obvious, and then fate played a hand.

It was after midnight, long past the time when alpha shift
personnel would normally be in bed, but Tucker had been
called back to engineering to deal with a power fluctuation
just as he was about to turn in, and now, fault fixed, he
was too wired to sleep. He headed to the mess hall, figuring
a glass of warm milk might do the trick.

It was some time before beta shift would be turning up to
eat and the room was in semi-darkness, only the area by the
food cabinets lit. He got his milk from the resequencer and
was just contemplating whether a slice of key lime pie would
help or hinder sleep when he realised he wasn't alone. If
the man hadn't been sitting in front of the window Tucker
probably wouldn't have noticed him, but there was just
enough light from the passing stars to silhouette his
figure. Tucker recognised Reed instantly, despite the poor
light. He hesitated, wondering if his company would be
welcome, and then figured that if the lieutenant hadn't
wanted company he shouldn't have chosen to sit in a public
place.

'Hey,' he said quietly as he approached, not wanting to
startle the man.

'Hey yourself,' Reed replied. He was slouched comfortably in
his chair, hands clasped around a mug on the table in front
of him. There was nothing to give an indication of why he
was here; the sweat pants and t-shirt looked like those
Tucker had seem him wear to the gym, but equally they could
be his sleep-wear; either way he was clearly not on duty.

'I couldn't get to sleep, thought some milk might help.'
Tucker held up his glass as evidence. 'You mind?' He half
pulled out a chair, waiting for Reed's approval before he
sat.

'You're in uniform.'

It was all Reed said, but he shifted slightly in his chair
and Tucker chose to take the movement as a shrug of
permission, and sat down.

'Huh? Oh, I get you. Yeah, I got called to engineering, now
I'm wide-awake. Hence the milk.' He tried to look closely at
the Englishman, but the light was too dim. 'What about you,
you been working too?'

Reed's mouth twisted in a smirk and he made a noise that
told Tucker his casual question had been seen through.

'No. I couldn't sleep either. I came for chamomile tea.' The
mug he pushed to one side was still half full, so Tucker
guessed it hadn't helped. 'I was thinking about those
people, the Axanar, the fifteen we found dead.'

Tucker knew that Hoshi Sato, Enterprise's communications
officer, had panicked when the boarding party had discovered
the bodies; he'd also seen how the Axanar crew's fate had
troubled Captain Archer. He was surprised now to realise
he'd never considered that Reed might be disturbed by the
alien deaths, gruesome though they were; surprised that,
despite their history, he'd been fooled by the fa็ade of
detached professionalism the armoury officer habitually
maintained.

'You want to talk about it?' he offered.

Reed shrugged, unforthcoming.

'Come on, Malcolm. It's obviously bothering you. It's just
the two of us - friends. Talk to me.'

Reed rolled his eyes and pulled back a little from the
table. Tucker held his breath, afraid he'd pushed too hard
and Reed was going to make his excuses and leave. Then the
tension left Reed's frame as quickly as it had arrived, and
he slumped forwards, arms resting on the tabletop again.

'Are the Vulcans right?'

'Huh?' The question caught Tucker unprepared. 'About what?'

'Our being out here. It's just so...alien. I mean, people
killed like cattle, their bodily fluids harvested - it's
like something out of one of your science fiction films. And
we just have no idea. It's so damn dangerous, and we're so
unprepared.'

'It's new, strange; we're bound to hit a few problems.'

'A few problems!' Reed snorted. 'We haven't been out here a
month and already we've made enemies of the Klingons, the
Suliban, and sundry other people, not to mention today's
aliens.'

Tucker was puzzled; this doubt didn't seem like the Reed he
knew.

'It's not that bad,' he protested. 'We were helping the
Klingons, and the Axanar were real friendly once the
realised we were on their side.'

'Just as well! If they hadn't turned up, if Hoshi hadn't
been able to convince them, we'd be hanging upside down now
being drained of useful compounds.'

'Ah, you'd have given them a good fight.'

'With torpedoes that are only on target half the time and no
phase cannons - I don't think so! We're just not equipped to
defend ourselves.'

'That's what's really bothering you, isn't it? That the
phase cannons aren't fitted?'

'I know Captain Archer's a friend of yours, Trip, but...'
Reed bit off his words, clearly conflicted about continuing.

'He's an explorer, an idealist,' Tucker said. 'He doesn't
like to think of Enterprise as a war ship.'

'Good, because it isn't,' Reed retorted.

'Would it help if I talked to him? Maybe I can persuade him
to let us start work on the installation.'

'Could you? I don't want to cause any difficulty between
you.'

'No problem. I'm not promising anything, mind.'

They talked, about all sorts of things, for another hour,
before a massive yawn from Tucker persuaded them both to
head for their beds. Tucker went to sleep happy that Reed
had relaxed his military demeanour a little, and begun to
treat him like a friend again, rather than just a superior
officer.

---

Another late-night meeting took place not much more than a
week later. This time Tucker was alone in the dimly lit
lower observation lounge. His heart sank when the door slid
open, throwing a swathe of bright light across the small
space. He hunkered down against the sofa cushions, hoping
the unseen intruder would change his mind and leave, but no
such luck; the door closed again, and footsteps approached
his position. Should he let on he was there, or just wait to
be discovered? Either way chances were it'd scare crap out
of the newcomer. He waited too long, and the decision was
taken out of his hands.

'Oh, Commander. Trip. Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you.'

Reed didn't look like he'd been scared, but he did look
uncertain of his welcome. Tucker hastened to reassure him,

'Malcolm, hi. Sit.' He swung his feet to the floor, making
room on the sofa, running a hand over the seat in case his
boots had left any dirt.

'I don't want to intrude.'

'No, you're not. I'll be glad of the company.' And he meant
it, his earlier desire for solitude disappearing in the
Englishman's presence.

'If you're sure.' Reed sat, relaxing into the cushions with
a quiet sigh. 'I like to watch the stars when we're at
warp,' he said. 'I find them calming.'

'I came in here to hide,' Tucker admitted.

'Really?'

The genuine surprise in Reed's voice touched Tucker.

'I've been feeling like a fool; seeing stone people, trying
to shoot T'Pol and all.'

'You were hallucinating. It wasn't you, it was the pollen.'

'Yeah, but all that suspicion, the lack of trust - that had
to come from inside of me.'

Reed shrugged.

'I doubt any of us would have done better; we none of us
really trust the Vulcans, do we? And anyway, Phlox thinks
the paranoia was a side-effect of the pollen; an inevitable
side-effect, I mean. Introducing paranoia is what it does,
to Humans at any rate.'

Tucker knew that the discussion with the doctor was part of
the security officer's job, but he still couldn't quite
dispel the feeling that Reed had sought him out to give him
that information. The thought cheered him, and he grinned.

'You should'a seen those stone people though - they were
really something.'

Reed laughed.

'Tell me about them over dinner?' he suggested, and Tucker,
who not five minutes ago would have claimed not to be
hungry, suddenly discovered he was ravenous.

---

The weeks passed, and each of them had occasion to be glad
the other was there to talk to, to offer comfort or support.

Tucker's pregnancy was the cause of much gossip and hilarity
throughout the ship - most of it wisely well hidden from the
engineer. Even Archer, once he had ascertained his friend
hadn't done anything he shouldn't have, couldn't resist the
temptation to make fun at his expense. Reed, on the other
hand, and in spite of the occasional smirk when Tucker's
raging hormones got the better of him, was unerringly
supportive.

Tucker had a worrying time when Reed was shot and taken
hostage on Terra Nova; Phlox's cheerful assurances that the
lieutenant would be fine during his captivity doing more to
set his back up than his mind at rest. Then, when Reed was
back on Enterprise and laid up in sickbay, he had his work
cut out convincing him that he'd done a good job, and that
Captain Archer didn't see it as a failure on his part that
he'd been wounded.

A fortnight later Tucker was himself confined to sickbay
after being held hostage. He, Archer and T'Pol, while
visiting a Vulcan monastery on P'Jem had stumbled into a
situation with a group of Andorians. Suffering from
concussion, having been hit in the face with an Andorian
rifle, Tucker had difficulty concentrating on the details of
Reed's explanation of where he'd planted charges and his
description of the resulting explosions, but he was content
just to lie back and bask in the warmth of Reed's
enthusiasm.

It was Reed who suggested that perhaps they should arrange
to get together occasionally without one or the other of
them being injured or indisposed.

'If you'd like to, I mean. I don't want to impose.'

Reed looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself, and
Tucker jumped in, keen to deflect any attempt to retreat
behind military correctness.

'Good idea. I enjoy our talks.'

'So do I.' Reed smiled. 'I'd just prefer that they didn't
take place in sickbay.'

They kept things informal, just making a point to eat dinner
a couple of times a week. Sometimes the talk was all of
work, other times it ranged more widely, but never delving
too deeply into the personal. Much as Tucker would have
liked to know what had happened to Reed when he left San
Francisco, he didn't want to invade Reed's privacy and was
content to let the matter lie for the time being.

Tucker laughed over Reed and Mayweather's snow Vulcan, full
of admiration for the delicately sculpted ears, and shared
as much as he felt able of the misunderstanding over T'Pol's
letter.

He poured out his enthusiasm about the Akaali's
pre-industrial society, and his anger their exploitation by
alien miners.

Reed shared his disquiet at the Boomer Ryan's willingness to
torture his Nausicaan prisoner.

July moved into August, and Enterprise found itself in
company with a group of alien pilgrims en route to watch the
Great Plume of Agasoria.

Tucker had his hands full when plasma lightening severely
damaged the warp manifold, starting an antimatter cascade.
He was still puzzling over the disconnected conduit, which
had fortuitously stopped the cascade in its tracks, when he
got news from Captain Archer that stunned him. Crewman
Daniels, one of the mess hall stewards, was in reality a
soldier from 900 years in the future, and had been put on
Enterprise to track down the Suliban, Silik, whom they had
clashed with on their first mission. The day ended with
Daniels dead and Silik escaping.

It wasn't Archer's best decision, Tucker conceded - leaving
Reed out of the loop about Daniels. The lieutenant was
royally pissed, and Tucker couldn't blame him. How could the
captain expect his armoury officer to do his job without
full information?

Despite anything Tucker said Reed was inclined to think the
captain's omission signalled a lack of trust. He had a
tendency to obsess about anything that worried him, and
they'd had more than one temporary falling out when Tucker,
driven to distraction, had said the wrong thing. This time
Tucker bit his tongue and put up with Reed's continued soul-
searching; because this time he thought Reed was right. Not
that he thought for a moment that Archer didn't trust Reed;
but the man definitely should have been told what was going
on.

September 2nd, and Tucker, finding it was Reed's birthday,
remembered another September twelve years earlier; Reed
inviting him out to dinner, not giving a reason. Tucker
collected his dinner, steak and salad and a glass of water,
and crossed to the table where Reed was sitting. Reed's
empty pasta bowl was pushed to one side and a side plate
containing a piece of the birthday cake was in front of him.
He looked up, fork poised over the cake, as Tucker sat down.

'Good birthday?' the engineer asked.

'We got the repairs completed and the phase canons working
again, so yes, I'd say so.'

'That's your idea of a good birthday - repairing canons?'

Tucker grinned, but Reed answered seriously.

'Having the ship's defences at full strength is always good,
even when it's not my birthday.' Then he smiled. 'The cake
was a nice touch, ' he admitted. 'Unexpected.'

'You got the Cap'n to thank for that. And Hoshi; she did all
the poking around to find out what your favourite food was.'

'Don't remind me,' Reed groaned, adding at Tucker's puzzled
look: 'Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.'

'We're off duty now. You want another drink, to finish off
the day? I've got a bottle of bourbon in my cabin waiting
for a good excuse to open it. For old times' sake,' he added
as Reed hesitated. It seemed to swing it.

'I'd like that, thanks. I have to check with the armoury
when I leave here. Twenty- one hundred hours okay?'

'Great.' Tucker grinned again, and then forced himself to
concentrate on his steak as Reed slid a cake and pineapple
laden fork between his lips, closing his eyes as he savoured
the mouthful.

---

Tucker checked his hair in the bathroom mirror, realised
what he was doing and grimaced.

It's not a date, he told his reflection. No, his reflection
answered back. It never was a date with Malcolm, and you've
been kicking yourself ever since. It was never a date
because Malcolm wasn't interested, not really. He was just
trying to piss his dad off, or the Navy, or something. Calm
down, his reflection ordered, play it cool, just see what
happens. Let him take the lead. You don't even know if he
likes guys.

'And stop talking to the mirror!' he said aloud, and then
jumped guiltily as the door chime sounded. He hurried to let
his visitor in, shaking his head as he caught himself
checking his appearance one last time.

'Should I have changed?' Reed stopped just inside the door,
sounding concerned as he took in Tucker's jeans and t-shirt.

'Nah, I'd gotten some grease on my sleeve, else I'd be in
uniform myself,' Tucker lied. He'd changed in the hope it
would help him feel more relaxed. 'Unless you'd be more
comfortable...?'

'No, I'm fine.'

They were both still standing - just like an awkward first
date, Tucker thought, smiling wryly to himself.

'What's amusing you?'

There was a hint of defensiveness in the question, and
Tucker was reminded of the younger Reed's suspicion of being
laughed at.

'Nothing,' he hastened to assure him. 'Sit, make yourself
comfortable.'

His broad gesture took in the whole of the small cabin.
'I'll get the glasses.' So saying, he disappeared into the
bathroom, hiding the smile that threatened to resurface when
he returned to find Reed sitting almost at attention in the
desk chair.

'Here.' He handed poured a generous shot of bourbon into one
of the tumblers and handed it to the Englishman. 'Get that
down you. You did good today - the last few days. You can
afford to relax now.'

Conversation ranged from general work topics to the
specifics of the previous day's action. Both men relaxing as
the level of the bourbon sank in the bottle.

Eventually, alcohol emboldened, Tucker said: 'You never did
tell me how come you ended up in Starfleet. I came back from
Jupiter Station to find you were gone, not even a message.'

It came out more forcefully than he intended, more
accusatory, but Reed didn't seem to notice.

'You know what happened,' Reed shrugged. 'The Navy decided
they and I weren't compatible, that I wasn't officer
material.

'I suppose I'd always expected that my parents would step in
and fund my education. In retrospect I don't know why I was
so surprised when they refused; I'd gone against everything
they wanted for me after all. They sent me the fare home -
you know that - and a note saying that since I'd decided to
squander my opportunities, they expected me to get a job and
stand on my own two feet. I didn't want to go home with my
tail between my legs. Stupid, I know, but I think I just
expected things to carry on as they were; I just wouldn't be
in the Navy any more. Well, you know that too.'

He looked at Tucker, ruefully. Reed finished the whisky in
his glass and Tucker refilled it for him.

'Thanks. I wanted to talk to you about it.'

Tucker schooled his features not to show his surprise, and
pleasure, at that admission. He didn't want to do anything
to stem the flow of reminiscence.

'I had your note. I did nearly call, but it didn't seem
right; you were working, and anyhow there was nothing you
could have done. Too many people had already made that
perfectly clear.

'I'd already been thinking about Starfleet,' he continued,
surprising Tucker again. 'You were always so enthusiastic
about it, made it sound so interesting. There aren't that
many organisations with a need for talents like mine, but
Starfleet was one. And of course I knew they were sponsoring
you. I suppose I had some idea that I could just change
sponsors and stay on in San Francisco.'

He gave a sardonic laugh at the naivety of his youthful self
and took another long drink. Silently Tucker topped up both
their glasses.

'So I took myself off to Starfleet recruitment and offered
myself to them.' He grimaced at the memory. 'That was a
humiliating experience. Lieutenant Middleton conducted the
interview - she's Commander Middleton now. With hindsight I
think she tried to let me down gently, although it didn't
feel that way at the time.' He gave another short, bitter
laugh. 'What it boiled down to was, go home, grow up, and
then maybe - only maybe, mind - they might consider my
application. Once I'd completed my degree.

'I was mortified and embarrassed. And incredibly angry; with
Starfleet, with my father, anything and everything. That's
when you found me drowning my sorrows.'

Tucker nodded, remembering their last - their only - night
together; wondering how much of it Reed remembered. Not much
probably, if his own few experiences of real drunkenness
were anything to go by.

'My interview had been that afternoon, and I had no idea
what I was going to do. I had to go home, of course. I
realised that eventually. But the more I thought about it to
more I wanted to join Starfleet. You may have noticed that
telling me 'no' makes me dig my heels in.'

He looked up with a wry smile and Tucker snorted in
amusement.

'Yeah, I think I've noticed that! When you say you went
home, you mean to your parents'?'

'Initially, yes. After two or three months I managed to find
a job with an engineering company who were willing to pick
up the tab for my degree, provided I studied part-time while
working. They weren't really looking for an armaments
specialist of course, but at least I got my engineering
degree. That took three years, and then another two for my
Masters. By that time I was back on weapons and the firm
knew they'd lose me once I qualified. They were
exceptionally good to me, all things considered.'

'They got five years work out of you, damn good work, I'm
willing to bet.'

'I suppose so,' Reed conceded. 'I know I owe them a lot. I
was with them six years in total, at three different plants.
Living away from home of course, supporting myself.

'At the end of it I felt I'd grown up, and it seemed
Starfleet agreed. I reapplied in 2146, and this time I was
accepted.'

'I was a Lieutenant by then,' Tucker interjected. 'On the
Warp Five Project.'

'I know, I checked.'

Again Reed's admission gave Tucker a warm glow of pleasure.

'That's how I first heard about Henry Archer's ship, and I
knew then that was what I had to aim for. Earth's first
starship was going to need a good weapon's officer, whatever
the idealists thought. I made up my mind that weapons
officer was going to be me.'

'I'm glad,' Tucker said.

'To be honest, with my talents and training it was going to
be Enterprise or R&D, and I wanted to be out here, not stuck
in a research facility on Earth.'

Reed reached for the whisky bottle, surprised to find it
almost empty.

'What time is it?' he asked.

'Nearly midnight.'

'I should go,' he said, replacing the bottle.

Tucker thought Reed sounded reluctant; certainly he made no
move to rise.

'Might as well finish this.' Tucker shared the remaining
bourbon between their two glasses. He didn't want Reed to
head for his bed still thinking about the mistakes in his
past. 'Still time for one more birthday toast, so here's to
a happy day, and to many more happy birthdays.'

They clinked glasses, and Reed smiled the rare full-wattage
grin that lit up his whole face.

'And to sharing a drink with old friends,' he said. 'I hope
I get to end all my birthdays as happily.'

Tucker's heart did a little dance as he basked in the glow
of Reed's happiness. He knew it was alcohol-fuelled, the
slight lack of focus in the other man's eyes was evidence of
that even if he hadn't known how much they'd put away. He
tried to hope there was more to it than that, but
acknowledged it wasn't the time to put it to the test.

---

'Don't bring that anywhere near me!'

Travis Mayweather paused, still gripping the tray he'd
placed on the table, and looked uncertainly from Sato to
Reed and Tucker.

'Ignore her, Travis,' Reed said, pulling out a chair for the
helmsman. 'She's just not keen on food that looks like worms
at the moment.'

Mayweather laughed, understanding. 'I chose the linguine
especially.'

'Why do I think you're not joking?' Sato queried
rhetorically. 'If I never see food moving on the plate
again, it'll be too soon.' She reinforced her point with a
dramatic shudder before dipping her spoon into the dish
before her. 'Vanilla ice with chocolate sauce: that's what I
call food.' She put the spoon into her mouth, humming
appreciatively as she savoured the dessert.

Tucker winked at the two men then said: 'I don't know,
Hoshi, that sauce looks a lot like --'

'Don't say it!' Sato waved her spoon threateningly at
Tucker. 'I've had a very bad day. Chocolate sauce is one of
my comfort foods; I don't need you spoiling it for me. Sir.'
The 'sir' was a definite afterthought.

Tucker laughed and sketched her a salute. 'Yes, Ma'am.'

It felt good to laugh, Tucker thought, after the harrowing
events of the previous day. Sub-Commander T'Pol, Reed and
Sato had taken a shuttlepod to investigate a ship trapped in
the atmosphere of a gas giant. On discovering the vessel was
Klingon, T'Pol had wanted to leave, but Reed had refused to
abandon the ship's unconscious crew to their deaths. He had
paid for his philanthropy when a Klingon who had managed to
avoid the fate of her crewmates attacked him and stole the
shuttlepod, stranding the Enterprise officers on the sinking
ship. Waiting on Enterprise, impotent to help, had been one
of Tucker's worst days for quite some time. In the end
Archer had managed to persuade the Klingon woman Bu'kaH to
work with them to save her ship.

'So,' Mayweather asked, tucking into his pasta, 'apart from
the food, how was the *Somraw*?'

'Smelly, at least I'm told it was,' Reed said, 'and hot.
Interesting weapons though.'

Tucker rolled his eyes, and Mayweather grinned.

'Hoshi?' he prompted.

'Nothing to add,' the linguist replied. 'Like the Lieutenant
said, smelly and hot - and with food that moved!'

She returned to her ice cream, before looking up suddenly.

'But on a different, much happier note; have you guys heard
about Saunders and Fielding?'

'Sally Fielding?' Tucker was surprised; the woman was one of
his engineering staff. 'What about her?'

Sato nodded. 'Yes, Sally. And Mike Saunders from
astrometrics. They're an item; serious I hear.'

'Get away! For how long?'

'Far be it from me to spread gossip...' She paused while the
men groaned theatrically. '...but, I believe three months
now.'

'You're kidding! How come I haven't heard about it?' Tucker
demanded.

'Well it's not the sort of thing you casually tell your
boss, is it? "Oh, by the way, sir, I have a new boyfriend."

'It should be,' Reed said. As the others looked at him with
varying degrees of disbelief, he elaborated. 'The
regulations are quite specific regarding fraternisation:
it's forbidden.'

Those regulations don't apply to missions like ours,' Tucker
objected.

'Where does it say that?'

'I don't know, Malcolm,' Tucker retorted, rolling his eyes,
'but it stands to reason; you can't stop people hooking up
when we're in space for years.'

'I know Lieutenant Reed doesn't approve of onboard
relationships,' Sato said, earning a glare from Reed at the
reminder of their embarrassing misunderstanding while she
was trying to discover his favourite food: they both missed
Tucker's quickly covered up crestfallen look. 'But Sally and
Mike are both crewmen, so surely it's not a problem? I hope
I haven't gotten them into trouble.'

'No worries, Hoshi,' Tucker reassured. 'I know the Cap'n
will be pleased for them, whatever the regs say.'

Reed started to speak, but was caught by a bout of coughing;
a hang-over from the cold that had compounded his misery on
the Klingon ship. Tucker, with no more than a cursory glance
to check Reed was all right, took advantage of the
situation.

'Regulations are just guidelines; new situations call for
them to be reassessed and amended. And you can't get a much
newer situation than ours. I know what you're going to say,
Malcolm, and I know what the regs say. But I also know the
Cap'n, and I'm sure he sees the anti-frat regs as being long
overdue for change.'

'Nevertheless,' Reed said hoarsely, 'the regulations are
there for a purpose. Relationships between crewmembers can
cause all sorts of problems, and there's the possibility of
abuse of power to consider--'

Tucker interrupted with a rude noise. He dropped his head
for a moment to control his exasperation.

'Okay, I grant you, abuse of power is theoretically
possible, but how many times has it happened?'

'Historically--'

'Historically, be damned. We're in the twenty-second
century, Malcolm. How many times has it happened recently
that you know of?'

'Just because I don't know of an incidence doesn't mean
there haven't been any.'

Tucker tried another tack. 'So you're saying that if there
was someone on board you were really stuck on you wouldn't
do anything about it, because the regs forbid it?'

He stopped, suddenly aware of just how important the answer
was to him. Schooling his features into impassivity, he
looked straight at Reed waiting for his answer - knowing
what it would be.

The brief, quickly masked flash of pain he saw in Reed's
eyes made his heart leap, but his urge to grin was quickly
quashed by the lieutenant's reply.

'That is exactly what I'm saying, yes.'

Nothing Tucker or the other two said altered Reed's opinion:
regulations were regulations; they were there for a purpose
and it was everyone's duty to adhere to them.

In the end Tucker allowed the subject to be changed, while
privately determining to speak to Captain Archer. He'd need
to talk to him about Fielding and Saunders anyway, after
he'd checked discreetly that Sato's information was
accurate; on that point he conceded Reed was right. But he
reckoned if he could keep it casual and start up a general
discussion about fraternisation he could sound out Archer's
view of the regulations, and maybe get him to mention it in
daily orders.

---

He got his opportunity a week later. They were in the
Archer's quarters watching a recording of a recent water
polo game. The captain's team, Stanford were winning; they'd
each had a couple of beers and were pleasantly relaxed;
things had been quiet shipboard for the past few days;
Tucker decided the time was right and took the plunge.

He was pleased when Archer confirmed that he found the
anti-fraternisation regulations unnecessarily restrictive in
their circumstances. It wasn't quite so pleasing to learn
that Starfleet felt the same way and were hoping to use the
Enterprise crew as guinea pigs for a more relaxed attitude
towards onboard relationships: Tucker didn't find the idea
of being a test specimen appealing. But he pushed that to
one side as the least of his problems; getting Reed to
accept that relationships were permissible was the first
hurdle to tackle. And finding out if the Englishman was
actually interested in him that way the second.

By the end of the evening Archer had agreed to the idea of
putting something in daily orders, provided he could come up
with the right wording, and Tucker had to be satisfied with
that. He had no intention of letting the matter rest and
planned to remind the captain of his promise, but events
conspired against him.

---

They were orbiting the planet Coridan, and Tucker had been
looking forward to visiting their famed shipyards, when
Captain Archer dropped the bombshell that T'Pol was being
recalled to Vulcan following the destruction by the
Andorians of the monastery at P'Jem. Archer, wanting a last
mission with T'Pol, took her to Coridan with him instead of
Tucker, only to have their shuttlecraft attacked and brought
down by a dissident faction. The kidnapping of the two
senior officers left Tucker captaining Enterprise; a
position he didn't really relish in spite of having trained,
and originally been assigned, as first officer.

Reed was eager to take down a rescue team, and while Tucker
sympathised with the desire, he reluctantly had to refuse.
The armoury officer who, whatever his private feelings, very
rarely argued against Captain Archer's decisions, apparently
didn't feel the same constraints with Tucker. Fortunately
the early arrival of the Ni'Var, detailed to collect T'Pol,
averted any major disagreement, and Captain Sopek's
surprisingly gung-ho attitude to the situation forced
Tucker's hand, resulting in him and Reed mounting a two-man
rescue mission.

All would have been well, in spite of their having been
ambushed by the Andorians, if Sopek and his people hadn't
attacked the dissident's compound at just the wrong time.

Splitting up, Tucker went with the Andorian commander Shran
to find Archer and T'Pol, while Reed stayed with the rest of
the Andorians to provide rearguard cover. The fighting was
briefly fierce; the Vulcans seemingly unable, or possibly
just unwilling, to distinguish between the dissident
kidnappers and the Andorians and Enterprise officers.
Tucker, emerging into the compound yard after a final huge
explosion, had a few heart- stopping seconds before he
spotted Reed amongst those still on their feet, half hidden
behind two of the Andorians. It was those same two Andorians
who blocked Reed's aim when the dissident Traeg fired at
Sopek, and T'Pol, who threw herself at the Vulcan captain to
push him out of the way, was badly injured by the plasma
bullet.

Much later, well into evening ship-time, when the Ni'var had
finally left - without T'Pol - Tucker sought out Reed.

He stood a little uncertainly in the hallway before ringing
Reed's bell, aware that he might not be a welcome visitor:
it always took the armoury officer some time to come down
after action, and the adrenaline left him tetchy. After what
seemed like a long time the door slid open, and Tucker found
himself holding out the two bottles of beer he'd brought
like a peace offering - or a shield.

Reed gave him a wry smile, and stepped back to allow him to
enter.

'Come in. I won't bite.'

'Pity; you might like it.' Tucker spoke without stopping to
think, and when Reed looked at him askance, he shrugged and
gave a apologetic grin. 'Sorry.'

Reed shook his head and produced a bottle opener from a
drawer.

'Do you need a glass?' he asked, flipping the bottle caps
expertly into his waste bin.

'Nope, thanks.'

Tucker took a long pull at the cold beer, snorting a little
as the bubbles got up his nose. He made himself comfortable
on the small sofa, and Reed settled into his desk chair.
They sat not talking, drinking occasionally, each apparently
lost in his own thoughts. Eventually Reed straightened in
his seat and stretched.

'So, did you want something in particular?' he asked.

Tucker, a little startled, replied: 'No. Just to have a beer
and chew the fat.'

'Oh.' Reed took another drink. 'I thought you did well
today. As captain, I mean, as well as planet-side.'

'Really? Thanks; it means a lot.'

He meant it; he valued Reed's opinion, both as a friend and
professionally. And Reed had picked up on something Tucker
hadn't even acknowledged to himself yet; his unease that his
performance wasn't what it should have been, and his need to
talk about it with someone he trusted.

'You did good too,' he said.

Reed rolled his eyes and made a moue of dissatisfaction.

'I let us get jumped by Shran, got into a fire-fight with
the Vulcans, and let T'Pol get seriously injured. Not
exactly a good day's work.'

Tucker, distracted, said: 'You were shooting at the
Vulcans?'

'They were shooting at us,' Reed clarified.

'And it wasn't your fault T'Pol got shot. Those Andorians
were blocking your view.'

'I notice you're not claiming it wasn't my fault we got
ambushed,' Reed said, dryly.

'I didn't mean...oh...bastard!' he finished as he took in
Reed's smirk.

He raised his bottle, and then realising it was empty,
lowered it again.

'I don't have any beer, I'm afraid,' Reed said. 'I can offer
you a Scotch if you like?'

'It's late; we shouldn't.'

'You're right; we shouldn't,' Reed agreed, opening his
locker and taking out two glasses and a bottle half full of
pale golden liquid. 'But where's the fun in life if we don't
do what we shouldn't occasionally?'

Tucker laughed, accepting the proffered glass. He raised it
in a toast.

'November first tomorrow. Make that today,' he amended
having caught a glimpse of Reed's clock. 'Here's to a month
of peaceful exploration - no abandoned ships; no trigger-
happy Vulcans; no time-travelling aliens; just a quiet,
uneventful four weeks. We've earned them.'

'You're tempting fate,' Reed warned, raising his glass and
drinking the toast anyway.

'Nah. Have faith: November's going to be a good month, I can
feel it in my bones.'

---

Their breath sparkled in the cold air, every exhalation a
little puff of icy smoke. It felt as if the cold of space
was seeping through the shuttlepod skin in a race to kill
them before their air ran out.

It had been an emotional couple of days; what should have
been a routine mission spiralling into disaster. The two of
them had taken a shuttlepod to test the targeting scanners,
but damage to the sensors and communications had forced them
to return to their rendezvous point early, only to find what
they thought was the wreckage of Enterprise spread over an
asteroid. Their elation at finding they were mistaken, and
that Enterprise was safe, was short- lived as they realised
that their punctured oxygen tank meant they didn't have
sufficient air to last until the ship arrived. Unable to
communicate their predicament, they'd detached their engine
and blown it up, hoping Enterprise would see the explosion
and read it for the mayday call it was.

The meagre warmth of Reed's body alongside him was a
comfort; the only comfort Tucker had now the bourbon was
gone. He looked at the younger man; sitting hunched up,
hands tucked into his armpits for warmth, the phase pistol
lying on the floor alongside him where he'd dropped it after
their fight.

If they were going to die - and Tucker admitted that
possibility to himself, even if he wasn't willing to
vocalise it - if they were going to die, would he die
happier if he'd told Reed how he felt about him? Hardly, if
the result was knowing his feelings weren't returned. And
what about Reed - what effect would a deathbed confession of
love have on his last hours?

They'd been quiet for some time, sitting alongside each
other, wrapped in thought.

'All those girlfriends,' Tucker said, throwing caution to
the wind. He didn't have to tell Reed, he just needed to
know if it could have been possible. 'I guess you decided
you're not gay then.'

Reed turned to look at him, his movements stiff and awkward
because of the cold. He turned back, slumping against the
bulkhead again before replying.

'No.'

In spite of having steeled himself for the possibility,
Tucker felt as if he'd been slapped and he hitched in a
breath in what was almost a sob, letting his emotions
surface a little, knowing any change in his breathing would
be hidden by his constant shivering.

'I mean, no I never decided. I never gave it a try.'

Reed's head was bowed and Tucker had to strain to hear the
words.

'Huh?' It was all he could manage.

'I left the club - that night - I left after you did. I
never went back.'

'And you never...experimented again?'

'I never found anyone else I wanted to experiment with.'

It took a moment for the meaning of Reed's quiet words to
penetrate Tucker's frozen mind.

'Anyone else?' He tried to keep his voice casual, but found
it wasn't only the shivering making speech difficult; he had
to force the words past the lump in his throat.

Reed shifted his position slightly, bringing them more
firmly into contact.

'I know you like me, Trip. I think I've always known, I was
just too dumb in those days to know what to do about it.'

'And now...?'

'And now I've left it too late.'

Reed leaned into Tucker, his words slurred, more from the
effects of the all pervading cold than the alcohol they'd
drunk, Tucker reckoned. Suddenly it was vitally important to
understand exactly what Reed was saying.

'You mean...I thought you didn't...the fraternisation regs.'

'Bugger the fraternisation regs.' The weight against his
shoulder increased as Reed slumped against him, and Tucker
had to strain to catch his next words. 'Better still, bugger
me.'

With difficulty Tucker eased his arm around Reed's
shoulders, pulling the now unconscious man as close to him
as he could.

---

By the time Tucker surfaced sufficiently to take in sickbay
and his immediate surroundings properly the bed alongside
his was empty. He lay as patiently as he could while Doctor
Phlox ran a series of tests and checks, but apparently
failed to hide his eagerness to get away.

'I'll try not to take it personally that everyone is so keen
to escape from sickbay,' the Denobulan said as he ran a
medical scanner over the engineer.

'Sorry, Doc.' Tucker had the grace to look abashed. 'I just
want to check on Malcolm.'

'Lieutenant Reed should be resting in his quarters. As I
expect you to be if I release you. In your own quarters.'

Tucker was thankful the doctor had turned away to consult
his computer as he felt a blush steal over this cheeks.

'Neither of you has suffered any lasting damage. Now your
body temperature is within normal parameters there's no
reason to keep you here. Anything you have to say to Mr.
Reed will keep until morning, I'm sure.'

'What time is it?' Tucker asked, realising he had no idea.
'Should I be asking what day?'

'Twenty-two thirty hours, and it's still November 11. You do
remember waking earlier?'

'Yeah, sure,' Tucker hastened to assure him, concerned not
to give the doctor reason to detain him any longer. 'Malcolm
was still here then, right?'

'Hmmm.'

Tucker couldn't tell if that was a good hmmm or bad, but
hoping it was the former he sat up and swung his legs over
the edge of the bed, taking pains to conceal the resulting
headrush.

'You might want to avoid any sudden movements until you've
had something to eat,' Phlox said, still with his back to
the biobed.

Experience, Tucker wondered? Or maybe something showed on
the screen Phlox was still studying.

'A light meal and a good night's sleep, Commander. Get in
touch immediately if you suffer any adverse effects of your
ordeal. Apart from a hangover, of course,' the doctor added
dryly. 'You can catch up with Mr Reed over breakfast.'

It was the late hour rather than doctor's orders that
convinced Tucker not to disturb Reed. He hesitated a long
moment outside the lieutenant's quarters before admitting to
himself that likely neither of them was in any condition for
the conversation he wanted to have.

He headed to the mess hall, where the duty steward rustled
him up a toasted cheese sandwich. Possibly not the most
sensible meal to have immediately before retiring to bed,
but it was comfort food - just what he needed - and he
convinced himself that the warm milk he collected from the
resequencer would counter any adverse effects from the
cheese.

In the event, the meal didn't disturb his sleep, and he woke
surprisingly refreshed - and ravenously hungry.

Dressing in jeans and a t-shirt he headed for the mess hall.
Once again he hesitated in front of Reed's door; this time
eventually deciding to ring the bell. There was no reply.
Either Reed was still asleep, or more likely he had already
gone in search of breakfast.

Entering the mess hall, Tucker saw he was right: Reed, in
jeans and a baggy sweater, was at what had become 'their'
table near the window. It looked as if he shared Tucker's
hunger, if the heaped plate in front of him was any
indication. Certainly it was more than his usual pancakes or
poached eggs on toast.

Tucker filled a plate with bacon, hash browns, scrambled
eggs and toast, and grabbed a glass of milk - wryly
acknowledging that he was still comfort eating.

'Hey, you're up,' he said, sliding into the seat opposite
the armoury officer while mentally berating himself for the
banality of his opening.

'Evidently.'

Reed's arched eyebrow and dry comment immediately relaxed
Tucker, and he huffed his own amusement.

'Yeah. Not at my brightest,' he conceded. 'How about you?'

'I've been brighter.'

Tucker laughed again. 'You know what I mean. How are you
feeling?'

'Glad Enterprise arrived in time and found us alive. Found
both of us alive.'

Tucker looked up from his plate, alerted by the sudden
flatness of Reed's tone, and worried by what he intuited
behind the other man's carefully controlled fa็ade. He
searched for a way to acknowledge how his actions on the
shuttlepod - trying to sacrifice himself to give Reed extra
air - had hurt the other man, while not saying anything to
crack that fragile control. He settled for: 'I'm sorry. I
know that was stupid.' knowing Reed would understand what he
was talking about. Reed shifted in his chair, but before he
could say anything, Tucker added, 'More than stupid; cruel.'

Reed gave a small nod and a sigh.

I couldn't have...wouldn't have wanted...' He stopped,
looking away as the words caught in his throat.

'It's all right, Malcolm.' Tucker reached across the space
between them, and without thinking took Reed's hand in a
supportive grasp. 'We're here, that's what matters. We're
safe.'

Reed at first returned the grip, then, appearing to realise
what he was doing, he broke the contact, and pushed abruptly
to his feet.

'I have to go. I'm needed in...' He stopped, looking around
as if searching for inspiration, a slightly panicked
expression on his face. 'Sickbay. Phlox. I need...he
wants...' he stammered, picking up his tray and stepping
away from the table.

'Malcolm!'

Reed turned back, his eyes meeting Tucker's briefly, before
settling on a focus somewhere over the engineer's left
shoulder.

'We need to talk.' Tucker stayed seated; he didn't want to
spook the other man any more than he already had. 'Can I see
you later?'

'Later?'

'Eleven o'clock, your quarters?' he suggested.

'My quarters?'

'Or somewhere else, if you prefer.'

'No, no, you're right, we need to talk.' Reed swallowed and
straightened his stance, seemingly pulling himself together.
'My quarters, eleven-hundred hours will be fine, Commander.'

With that unpromising reversion to formality he turned and
walked away, leaving Tucker in little doubt as to the course
Reed had decided their talk would take.

Eleven o'clock exactly Tucker was once again hesitating
outside the armoury officer's door. He knew Reed was inside;
having agreed to the meeting, it wasn't in his nature to
back out of it. He also knew that this was going to be his
one and only chance to tell Reed how he felt, and to get the
other man to admit he felt the same, which after their
experience in the shuttlepod, Tucker was pretty sure was the
case. If he let Reed retreat behind his barricades of rank
and formality, there'd be no getting him out again.

Tucker knew what he had to do; hit Reed hard now, while he
was vulnerable, while his barriers were still down. It was a
dirty trick, and it didn't sit well with Tucker, but it was
for the best in the long run. He had to believe that.
Muttering, 'He'll thank me for it one day,' under his breath
he finally reached up and pressed the door chime.

The door slid open immediately, revealing Reed now wearing
his uniform.

'Come in, Commander.'

'Trip.' Tucker eyed the uniform as he passed Reed. 'It went
well then?' At Reed's blank look he clarified: 'Your meeting
with Phlox. He cleared you for duty?'

'Oh. No, I just thought...'

Reed trailed off, and Tucker thought: yeah, you just thought
you felt safer in uniform; the first line of defence in your
barricade.

Tucker crossed the small room, and without waiting for an
invitation, sat in the desk chair, leaving Reed to choose
between the lower small sofa and his bed. After hesitating
for a moment Reed perched in the edge of his bed, clearly
ill at ease.

When it became obvious that Reed wasn't going to start the
conversation, Tucker spoke up.

'What you said on the shuttlepod--' he started, only to have
Reed jump in.

'I'm sorry about that. All my talking, recording messages I
mean. I realise now how distracting it must have been for
you.'

Mentally Tucker rolled his eyes, while trying to keep his
reaction from showing on his face.

'You telling me that's all you remember? Because I've seen
you drunker than we were, and you remembered every damn word
everyone said'

'That was different. The cold, and lack of oxygen,' Reed
protested.

Tucker raised his eyebrows a little, looking at Reed, but
remained silent. There was a tense pause, maybe a full half
minute, then suddenly Reed seemed to deflate; his military
stiffness drained away and he slouched forwards to rest his
elbows on his knees, his eyes firmly on the carpet between
his feet.

'I don't know what you want me to say, Trip.'

He looked and sounded lost, and it took all of Tucker's
strength of purpose not to close the gap between them and
take him in his arms.

'I want you to remember what you said on the shuttlepod, to
admit you remember it.'

'Why? What good will it do?'

This time Reed's quiet despair was too much for Tucker, and
he moved to sit alongside him on the bed; close, but not
touching.

'Malcolm.' He waited until the Englishman turn his head to
face him, noting with concern the unusual pallor and the
dark circles under his eyes; forgetting that, after their
all too recent ordeal, he probably didn't look much better
himself. 'You said you knew I liked you, and I kinda got the
impression you liked me back. Am I right?'

'But...'

'No buts, Malcolm, just, am I right?'

'Yes.'

Only one word, and so quietly spoken he had to strain to
hear it, but it made Tucker's heart leap. The defeat in
Reed's voice and manner though was something that needed to
be tackled.

'Then that's all that matters.'

'It can't be. Regulations--'

'Don't say it!' Tucker ordered. 'You know the regulations
can't apply to a mission like ours. I know the Cap'n
believes that, heck, he told me even Starfleet believe it.'
He stopped himself just in time from blurting out the part
about using the Enterprise crew as guinea pigs - not
something he could see going down well with Reed.

'But...'

Reed stopped, almost as if he expected to be interrupted.
Tucker allowed himself a small smile.

'But what?'

'You like the Malcolm you met in San Francisco. I'm not that
person any more.'

Now Tucker did reach out and take hold of one of Reed's
hands.

'Malcolm, how long have we known each other?'

'Twelve years.'

'No,' Tucker contradicted. 'We met twelve years ago and we
knew each other, what, nine months? And a couple of them we
weren't speaking. We've been serving together on Enterprise
since April; same time, just about. Yes, I liked you in San
Fran, but the person I like now, the person I want to be
with now, isn't the boy I met twelve years ago. It's
Lieutenant Reed; the irritating, opinionated, argumentative
sonofabitch I've been serving with for the last seven
months.'

For a long minute they sat silently, Reed studying Tucker's
face as if trying to read something there. Then he pulled
his hand free and got to his feet, restlessly pacing over to
the desk chair and sitting heavily.

'I know you don't think the regulations matter--'

'Jesus, Malcolm!' Tucker exploded. 'I don't remember you
being so god-damned keen on regulations back at Caltech.'

'No, and look where it got me,' Reed snapped back. 'Thrown
out.' He bounced to his feet again, radiating nervous energy
and tension. 'I'm a different person now.'

'We're both different people now. Who's to say what would
have happened if we'd hooked up then? You'd have left at the
end of the year anyway.'

'Maybe that would have been for the best. I'd've gone home
and you'd have forgotten me,' Reed muttered.

He prowled to the door and back, clearly needing movement,
action of some kind, but hampered by the lack of space.

Feeling at a disadvantage on the bed, Tucker rose, and Reed
almost collided with him, coming to an enforced halt well
within Tucker's personal space. They stood, not quite
touching, Reed breathing heavily, his gaze focussed
somewhere on the front of Tucker's shirt.

Tucker held his breath; frightened of doing or saying the
wrong thing, he did nothing at all. He could feel the heat
of Reed's breath on his chest, and see the pulse throbbing
at his temple. It felt as though there was a force, an
attraction like an electric charge between them, that
prevented them moving.

Reed's breath hitched in an almost-sob. Tucker said,
'Malcolm?' quietly, gently, and as if the word was a signal,
Reed stepped forward and into Tucker's arms.

Reed had his head buried against Tucker's shoulder, and a
tight grip around his waist. Wrapping his own arms around
Reed's shoulders, Tucker said again, 'Malcolm?'

'I'm sorry,' came the muffled reply. 'I didn't mean to do
this.'

Tucker shook his head, aware that Reed couldn't see it.

'What are you sorry about?' he asked, genuinely puzzled.

'This,' Reed said, briefly squeezing Tucker in a tighter
hug. 'I tried so hard not to give in, to...to resist your
charms.'

Tucker huffed in amusement, taking advantage of being unseen
to roll his eyes.

'I'm glad my charms proved irresistible in the end.'

'You don't understand.' Reed lifted his head and pulled back
a little, but made no attempt to free himself from Tucker's
arms. 'I know you think it isn't important, but it goes
against everything I've been taught.'

'I do know it's important, Malcolm; I just don't think it's
insurmountable.'

Reed turned his head away a little and nibbled his lip.
Tucker took a gentle hold of Reed's chin and turned the
man's head until their gazes locked. There was a small red
mark on Reed's lower lip where he had bitten it, and without
stopping to think what he was doing, Tucker pulled Reed a
little close, and kissed him.

He felt Reed's sharp intake of breath, and the instant
rigidity of his slender frame; then, as suddenly as it had
come, the tension melted away; one of Reed's hands found its
way to the nape of Tucker's neck and Reed returned the kiss
with a passion that equalled Tucker's own.

When eventually they were forced to come up for air they
stood, foreheads touching, both panting.

'That was unfair.' Reed spoke without looking up. 'All's
fair in love and war, Malcolm.'

There was a pause, and then Reed straightened, looking at
Tucker with sudden realisation.

'You planned this,' he accused.

Tucker shrugged, with a self-conscious grin. 'Had to get you
to admit how you felt somehow. And it will be all right, you
know.'

He was almost sorry he'd added that rider, as Reed's face
fell and his tension returned.

'I mean it, Malcolm.' He gave the man a little shake to be
sure he had his attention.

'I know, and I believe you. It's just, all my life there've
been rules I've been expected to live up to and one that was
forever being drummed into me is, no fraternisation between
ranks. I had a friend in primary school, my best friend I
suppose, but because his mother was a non-commissioned
officer I wasn't allowed to go to his house. It wasn't such
a problem in boarding school because the other boys were all
officers' children, but even then my parents vetted my
friends to make sure they were 'suitable'. It's not easy
changing the habit of a lifetime.'

'You just have to take it one step at a time.'

'I suppose so.' Reed sounded doubtful.

'Consider this the first step,' Tucker suggested, and he
pulled the other man into his arms again and kissed him. He
was once more rewarded by an enthusiastic response as Reed
eagerly parted his lips to allow Tucker access, his own
tongue exploring the engineer's mouth in return.

'We've done that step twice,' Reed complained coyly when
they parted. 'I think I'm ready to try step two.'

'Hmm.' Tucker pretended doubt. 'It doesn't do to rush these
things. Maybe we should try step one again, with you taking
the lead, just to be sure you've got it.'

Reed rolled his eyes, and reached out to take hold of the
front of Tucker's t-shirt in both hands. 'Damned American
perfectionist,' he muttered, pulling Tucker yet again into a
lip-crushing clinch.

This time, as they kissed, Reed pulled up Tucker's shirt,
sliding his hands over the engineer's strong back.

'Mmm, precocious, I like that in a student,' Tucker managed
to say. Then he was distracted as one of Reed's hands moved
to explore his chest, sliding upwards over his ribs before
reaching one of his already hardened nipples. He moaned into
the kiss as nimble fingers stroked and tweaked the sensitive
flesh.

Finally Tucker grasped Reed's hands, stopping their
exploration. He pulled back a little, casting a critical eye
over the armoury officer.

'You know, I reckon you've got too many clothes on to try
the next step.'

'And here's me thinking getting me out of the clothes was
the next step.'

Tucker laughed, pulling down the zip on Reed's jumpsuit. He
unfastened the buttons at the neck of the black uniform
shirt, pushing the fabric apart to slide his had in and
caress Reed's neck.

'I've always loved your neck,' he said. 'Not as much as your
cheekbones, of course,' he added, planting a quick kiss of
each of Reed's cheeks.

The hand on Reed's neck slid sideways, over his shoulder,
and Tucker became aware of Reed fidgeting, trying to shrug
out of the top of his jumpsuit.

'Impatient,' he said, helping Reed extricate his arms from
the sleeves.

'My middle name,' Reed confirmed with a smile.

He made to take the black shirt off, but Tucker stopped him.

'I like to unwrap my own present, Malcolm.'

'Me too,' Reed agreed. 'I'm just evening things up.'

Tucker gave an amused snort, and, taking hold of the hem of
the black shirt, pulled it off over Reed's head, leaving the
man clad in his blue singlet.

'There, now we're even,' Tucker said, two fingers tracing
the hard nubs of Reed's nipples through the cloth; he smiled
as Reed arched into the touch.

'Except, since you pulled the zip all the way down, if I
were to wriggle my hips, my trousers would fall down,' Reed
said, suiting action to words.

The jumpsuit slid down over his ass, but no further.

With a grin, Tucker said, 'Looks like it's caught on
something in front here. Wonder what it can be?'

He carefully eased the jumpsuit over Reed's erection, which
was straining against the fabric of his blue underpants, and
allowed it to pool around the man's ankles.

'Nice,' Tucker said, staring appreciatively, and Reed's cock
twitched in response.

'Your turn,' Reed said, taking a step towards Tucker.

He'd forgotten about the uniform at his feet, and he
stumbled, only to be caught by Tucker, who held him steady
as he divested himself of boots and jumpsuit.

'Here,' Tucker said, guiding Reed towards the bunk. 'Let's
take this somewhere more comfortable.'

Tucker sat on the bed, expecting Reed to join him, surprised
when the man knelt on the floor instead. He relaxed with an
understanding smile as his legs were pushed apart and Reed
reached to unfasten the button at the waist of his jeans.

Tucker watched as Reed slid the fly zip down, unable to hold
back a groan as his rigid cock was moved carefully out of
the way. Without being told, he leaned back on his elbows,
lifting his hips. Reed pulled the jeans down and off and
then turned his attention to Tucker's underwear.

'Lovely. My favourite.' Reed flashed Tucker a grin before
ducking his head and taking a long lick at the pineapple
emblazoned on the front of the engineer's non-regulation
boxers.

Tucker groaned again, and, balanced on one elbow, used his
other hand to try and free his erection, only to have the
hand taken in a strong grip.

'My job, I think,' Reed said.

Taking hold of the fabric in both hands he lifted it out and
over Tucker's cock, and then pulled down sharply, dragging
the cloth over Tucker's ass. The cock, released, sprang
proud. Reed gave a huff of appreciation and the warm
exhalation drew another moan from the engineer. When Reed
took hold of his cock Tucker nearly lost it; letting his
head fall back, eyes closed, he gave yet another long groan.
He was brought back to earth by Reed's voice.

'I've never done this before, Trip,' he said diffidently.
'You'll have to tell me if I do something wrong.'

'You're doing great, Malcolm,' Tucker gasped. 'Just go with
what you like yourself.'

He wondered at the wisdom of that advice when he caught the
sly glint in Reed's eyes, then all coherent thought deserted
him as Reed took his balls in one hand, and firmly gripped
the base of his penis with the other.

Tucker watched through half-closed eyes as Reed's tongue
circled the head of his penis, slowly, languorously, as if
he was savouring his favourite ice cream cone. With one
final twirl of his tongue, Reed closed his mouth over
Tucker's cockhead, paused for a moment, and then in one
swoop slid down the whole length of the saliva-slicked
shaft. Up again, just far enough for his lip-shielded teeth
to pop over the ridge at the top, and then another firm
downward plunge. Reed set up a rhythm; two or three strokes,
then a break to breath, swirling his tongue around the tip
as he did so.

Tucker again let his head drop back and his eyes close,
concentrating on the sensation of Reed's mouth on his cock.
For someone who'd never done this before, the man was
amazing; enthusiastic, skilled, and with an amazingly agile
tongue.

Reed changed his tactics, and the sudden removal of mouth
from cock had Tucker whimpering in disappointment. The
whimpers changed to a deep sigh of satisfaction as Reed's
tongue explored his navel, before laying a hot, wet trail up
his chest.

Tucker, lifting his head to watch, realised that Reed was
still wearing his blues, and grabbing hold of the singlet
with one hand he tugged at it until the man stopped what he
was doing long enough to shrug it off. Tucker threw the
garment over his head, and Reed took the opportunity to bury
his face in the engineer's armpit, making small appreciative
noises as he licked and nibbled at the sensitive flesh. When
Reed's hand found one of his nipples Tucker began to make
appreciative noises of his own.

Reed was lying along Tucker's body, and his cloth covered
erection was like a bar of heat against Tucker's belly. Reed
slipped a hand behind Tucker's head and pulled him into a
kiss. Reed's mouth was hot and dry, and tasted of Tucker.

'Fuck me, Malcolm?' he heard himself ask.

Reed pulled back just far enough to look at him properly,
breathing heavily. 'You sure?'

'Yes. We'll need lube.'

Reed nodded, sliding off Tucker to open the drawer in his
nightstand. He held out a tube for Tucker's approval,
smiling self-consciously.

'Great. Come here.'

Tucker stood, pulling Reed to his feet. He kissed the man
thoroughly, then knelt and removed his briefs. It was his
first sight of Reed's naked penis, and he sat back on his
heels for a moment to admire the view, then impulsively he
leaned forward and planted a kiss at its base.

Reed's breath hitched. 'God, Trip, I'll come if you do that
again.'

Tucker grinned up at him, and, keen not to over-stimulate
the other man, moved away, saying prosaically, 'Fingers
first, until I'm loose enough. Lube on fingers and cock.'

He climbed on the bed, arranging himself on hands and knees,
peering at Reed over one shoulder to say, 'Easiest position
for a beginner.'

Reed chuckled and settled himself on the bed. Tucker heard
the top of the tube pop open, and a moment later felt a
slick finger slide between his cheeks and push carefully but
firmly against his anus.

'That's it, babe,' he said, and he relaxed his arms, letting
his shoulders sink lower.

Reed was a quick learner, and soon had three fingers inside
Tucker's ass, probing and exploring.

Tucker wriggled, and Reed asked, 'Ready?'

'Yeah, go for it.'

The fingers withdrew, and there was more fumbling with the
lube, then Reed's cock was pressing at his hole; cold lube
and hot flesh. Steadying himself with one hand on the small
of Tucker's back, Reed pressed forwards steadily until the
head of his penis slipped past the ring of muscle. Tucker
sighed noisily.

'You okay?' Reed asked.

'Yeah. You?'

Yes. It feels...different. But good!'

Tucker's snort of amusement finished in a startled yelp as
Reed pinched him hard on the buttock.

'That's for laughing at me.'

In reply Tucker pushed backwards, impaling himself further
on Reed's cock, and Reed gasped.

'I'm not going to last long,' he warned.

'Just do it,' Tucker said, trying to make it not sound like
an order. And failing.

'Yes, sir,' was the amused reply, and as he spoke Reed
thrust all the way in.

Now it was Tucker's turn to gasp; and he did so again as
Reed's lube-slicked hand reached around to take his cock in
a strong grasp, pumping it firmly to the rhythm he was
setting behind.

True to his word, Reed only managed a dozen or so strokes
before, with a wordless cry, he climaxed; and the convulsive
tightening of his grip on Tucker's cock sent him over the
edge just seconds later.

Tucker let his legs slide out from under him as he collapsed
onto the mattress. He heard Red grunt, and felt the man's
cock slide out of his ass. They lay, Reed on top of Tucker,
for a minute, both panting heavily as they recovered from
their exertions. The armoury officer was slightly built, but
even so Tucker was glad when, with a little shuffle, Reed
slid himself onto the bed, between Tucker and the wall.

Tucker slung an arm around Reed's waist, and turned to look
at him.

'You all right,' he asked, although the happy grin on Reed's
face told him the answer anyway.

'Never better,' Reed said, snuggling up a bit closer.
'Knackered though.'

'Yeah,' Tucker agreed. 'Here.' He dragged at the coverlet,
squirming around until he managed to free it. He offered a
corner of it to Reed, and shrugging at the man's
disapproving expression said, 'We made a mess of it anyway,'
as he cleaned himself off with another section of the cloth.
Reed, shaking his head, followed suit, sighing as, once they
had finished, Tucker dropped the coverlet on the floor.

With yet more squirming around, Tucker managed to loosen a
blanket sufficiently to pull it over the two of them. Taking
Reed in his arms, Tucker spooned behind him.

'Go the sleep,' he said.

'It's midday!'

The objection might have carried more weight if Reed hadn't
immediately followed it with a jaw-cracking yawn. Tucker
laughed and snuggled in a bit tighter, revelling at having
the Englishman in his arms, and in his bed. No, in Malcolm's
bed, he thought, as his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

Movement eventually woke him, and he cracked open one eye to
see Reed propped on one arm, inspecting the room.

'You better not be thinking of tidying up,' he muttered,
trying to cuddle up again.

'The place is a mess. What if the captain knocked?'

'Finding your uniform on the floor would be the least of his
surprises,' Tucker said, stifling a laugh at the expression
on Reed's face when he caught Tucker's point.

'Come back here,' he said, tugging on Reed's arm. 'What woke
you anyway?'

Right on cue, Reed's stomach rumbled noisily. Tucker bit his
lip, trying not to laugh, then he caught Reed's eye and the
two of them fell in a heap, giggling uncontrollably.

Recovering first, Tucker swung his feet out of bed and got
up.

'Come on,' he said, holding out a hand. 'Shower, and then
lunch.'

'Mmm, a shower sounds fun,' Reed said lasciviously.

'Just a shower,' Tucker said, firmly. 'You left most of your
breakfast, remember. And you need your strength.' He waggled
his eyebrows suggestively, and Reed laughed again.

A short while later showered - just showered - and dressed,
Reed in civvies again, they were ready to head out to the
mess hall.

Reed went to open the door, turning questioningly as Tucker
lifted a hand to stop him.

Tucker stepped close to Reed, embracing him and kissing him
gently on the lips. He pulled back a little, to look Reed in
the eye.

'It will be okay, you know. The fraternisation thing, I
mean.'

Oh, I know,' Reed said. 'It's just...it'll take me a little
time to get used to it.'

'I can wait,' Tucker said. 'You're worth it.'

Reed gave him a calculating look, and Tucker was suddenly
forcefully reminded of their first meeting, and the teenage
Malcolm's spiky defensiveness when he suspected he was being
made fun of. Emotion threatened to overcome him as he
considered just how lucky they were to have found each other
again, and unconsciously he tightened his grip on Reed;
reluctant to let go of what had been so hard won.

'Trip?'

Reed's voice was worried, and Tucker hastened to reassure
him.

'Nothing, just memories. I'm okay. We're okay,' he said.

And as he leaned in to kiss Reed again, he knew it was true.

--fin--