The BLTS Archive - Rebel without A Bat'leth
Broadening Horizons Sequence Two
by Gigi Sinclair (gigitrek@gmail.com

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Archive:  If you want it, you got it.

Disclaimer:  I own nothing.

Notes:  The quotations are from, naturally, "Rebel without a Cause."
This one is dedicated to Leah, who asked that Malcolm be allowed to
express his James Dean-ness.

---

Trip was happy.  Frighteningly, scarily, crazily happy.  He thought
he'd done a reasonable job of keeping it to himself, though, until his
shift was almost over and Lieutenant Hess asked:

"What's with you, sir?"

"What?"

Hess smiled.  "You've been grinning all day.  And whistling."

"Whistling?"  Trip couldn't recall it personally.

"'Mack the Knife', I think."

Trip shrugged.  "Just happy, I guess."  And he was very happy indeed
that it had been 'Mack the Knife' and not 'Can't Help Loving That Man
of Mine'.

Truth was, he had good reason to be over the moon.  Tonight, after
months of chick flicks and boring special effects blow-em-ups, they
were finally showing a movie Trip loved.  Given the way Malcolm
reacted to explosion movies, Trip supposed he couldn't really complain
about them, but 'Rebel without a Cause' was a real movie.  Plot,
dialogue, character development.  James Dean in a leather jacket. That
alone would have been enough to put Trip in a good mood, but it wasn't
all.  Tonight, after nearly a year of strict secrecy, Malcolm was
going to let everyone know how they felt about each other.  He'd
promised to.

If flowers or chocolates had been readily available, Trip would have
brought them to Malcolm's door.  As it was, he had to settle for a
bottle of bourbon, which he decorated with a bow and presented to
Malcolm as he arrived at the lieutenant's quarters.

"What's this for?"  Malcolm looked at the bottle in that sweet,
confused way of his, the one that made Trip immediately want to
violate a dozen Starfleet regs and a few laws of physics.

"I'm a gentleman, darlin'.  And it is our first date."

"We've been together for ten months."

"But tonight's the night we tell everyone."  Trip reminded him, and
was then struck by a sudden, frightening thought.  "You haven't
changed your mind, have you?"

Malcolm reddened and turned away, and Trip's heart sank.

"Jesus, Malcolm."

"You don't understand."

"You're right.  You promised me."  Trip tried not to sound
disappointed, but it was difficult.  Because he was devastated.

"Trip, I love you."

"I know.  I love you, too.  What's so hard about letting everyone else
know?"

"Travis already knows," Malcolm put in, smiling.  Trip blushed a
little as he remembered the very graphic, unmistakable way in which
the ensign had found out.  Despite his bravado, Trip was essentially a
conservative man.  It had been the first time he'd participated in a
threesome, let alone initiated one.  But a zero-g three-way had been
Malcolm's fantasy, and Trip had given it to him.  And Malcolm had
definitely enjoyed it.  He clearly wasn't as uptight as everyone
thought he was, which made his steadfast refusal to 'come out' even
more difficult to understand.

"I'm not used to talking about these things," Malcolm continued.

"We don't have to talk."  Trip had, in fact, planned on sharing the
news in a more physical way, sitting right up front and putting his
arm around Malcolm's shoulders.  Then, in case that was too subtle for
some crewmembers, he'd planned on waiting till the end of the movie
before laying a big one right on Malcolm's lips.  Give them something
to talk about at the post-movie coffee klatch, anyway.

"I don't like sharing my feelings."  Malcolm's voice wrenched Trip out
of his fantasy.  Apparently, this scenario was just that, a fantasy.
And like all of Trip's other fantasies, Malcolm wasn't going to fulfil
it anytime soon.  "I wasn't brought up that way."

"I was."  In the Tucker house, it had been obligatory to share
everything, good, bad and in between.  Even now, he regularly sent
messages home, telling his family what he was up to.  They'd known
about Malcolm for months and, while they had been a little uncertain
at first (his mother had asked worriedly if Malcolm would take good
care of him, while his father kept repeating:  "But you like
football!") they had supported him.  As they always had.  Trip
couldn't imagine living without that support, but he knew Malcolm had
done so his entire life.  Which was one more reason Trip had to be
everything Malcolm's parents weren't.  Which meant crushing his
disappointment yet again and saying:

"Whatever you want, Malcolm."

"Are you sure?"  Malcolm looked at him with big eyes that nevertheless
made it clear he was asking a rhetorical question.

"Yeah.  I can wait."  Again.  Still.  "You're still comin' to the
movie though, right?"

"Of course."  Malcolm smiled and, right away, Trip felt his annoyance
subsiding.  "I'm dying to see the man who can make you drool."

"All you gotta do is look in the mirror, darlin'."

Malcolm punched him in the shoulder, but not before Trip saw him blush
again.  "I need to see if I should be jealous."

Trip smirked.  "You wanna talk jealousy?  You think I've never
wondered about you and some of those weapons?"

"Those are inanimate objects, Trip."

"Well, darlin', James Dean's been dead two hundred years."  He pulled
Malcolm into a hug.  "I think that qualifies him as an inanimate
object, too.

---

Unwilling as Malcolm was to do anything in public Trip had to admit,
in private, he was very demonstrative.  Less than an hour later, Trip
lay in his arms, recovering from yet another unbelievable,
incomparable and completely mind-blowing orgasm as Malcolm stroked his
hair and whispered into his ear.  He hadn't recovered enough to make
out individual words, but the sound of Malcolm's soft, accented voice
was enough.  Trip was dozing contentedly when the harsh trill of the
comm jarred him awake.  He was hit with a wave of cold air as Malcolm
got up to answer it.

"Bridge to Lieutenant Reed."

"Reed here."

"Have you seen Trip, Malcolm?"  The captain sounded concerned.  "I
know you were planning on going to the movie tonight. . . "

"Yes, sir."  Trip opened his eyes to see Malcolm looking over at him.
"He's right here."

"What's up, Captain?"  Trip rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself
back to reality.

"Sorry to disturb you, Trip.  Ensign Gates's out sick and there's no
delta shift supervisor."  'So what?' was the first reply to pop into
Trip's head.  Closely followed by, 'You weren't doing anything
tonight, were you, Captain?'  But they were fantasy replies and had
about as much chance of coming real as any of Trip's other fantasies.
"Normally I'd just ask you to be on call," the captain continued, "But
that Draylaxian freighter told us there were Romulans in the area. . .
"

"Gotcha, Captain."  Trip hauled himself to his feet.

"I really am sorry," the captain repeated.  "I know how much you were
looking forward to that movie. . . " He had been looking forward to
it, but not as much as he'd been looking forward to laying public
claim to Malcolm.  Now that was out of the question, he was
disappointed, but not heartbroken, at the thought of missing 'Rebel
without a Cause.'

"Can't be helped, Captain."

"I'll make it up to you," Jon promised, vaguely, before signing off.
Trip looked at Malcolm.

"We'll have to arrange a private showing later," Malcolm said.

"You could always go."

"I only wanted to spend time with you."  Malcolm smiled sweetly, and
Trip knew that would be enough to carry him through the extra shift.
Hell, he thought, a smile like that would carry him through a dozen
extra shifts, a serious mechanical crisis and a Suliban attack.  It
had before.

---

While it hadn't been the way he'd planned on spending his evening, the
extra hours did give him time to catch up on some paperwork.  Even
after the gamma shift showed up, Trip stayed another hour, tidying up
loose ends, things like time sheets and performance evaluations and
routine maintenance schedules.  Details he never seemed to be able to
fit in between first contacts and away missions and nearly getting
killed on a regular basis.

He arrived back at his quarters with a crick in his neck and a deep
sense of accomplishment.  He was about to kick off his boots and
collapse into bed when he was distracted by the sight of Malcolm.
Lounging against his wall.  In jeans, a white T-shirt and a leather
jacket, something hanging out the corner of his mouth.

"Malcolm?"

A strange, half-smirk on his face, Malcolm stalked towards Trip,
stopping at the desk.  "'You know something?  You read too many comic
books.'"  He jerked his head at the latest issue of Superman, lying
open on top of the pile of miscellaneous junk.

Trip knew about Malcolm's impressions.  He'd never heard them
personally.  Even after ten months, Malcolm refused to show Trip the
'Commander Tucker' impersonation that could reduce Hoshi to
uncontrollable laughter at the mere mention of it.  If this impression
was anything like that one, Trip could see why Malcolm was so
renowned.  Although he didn't find it particularly funny.

"Malcolm?"  He repeated, his voice at a near-squeak.  Clearing his
throat, he tried to regain some semblance of self-control as he
continued:  "I thought. . . " Malcolm wasn't into dressing up, role
play, or anything like that.  He knew about Trip's little James Dean
fantasy, and he tolerated it, but Trip had never expected him to. . .

"'You can wake up now.'"  Malcolm took the object, which looked like a
cut-down drinking straw, out of his mouth, and flicked it onto the
floor.  "'The universe has ended.'"

Grabbing him by the shoulders, Malcolm shoved Trip roughly onto his
bed, covering the commander's mouth with his own.  Trip couldn't do
anything but kiss back as Malcolm's hands tore open his uniform,
pulling the jumpsuit down and the T-shirt up.

"Malcolm," Trip gasped, when Malcolm broke the kiss, just long enough
to remove the T-shirt and correct, sternly:

"Jim."

"Malcolm," Trip repeated firmly.  He shivered at the feel of leather
against his bare skin as Malcolm lay on top of him.  "I love you,
Malcolm."

"'You're tearing me apart.'"  Malcolm punctuated the quotation with
softer kisses to Trip's cheeks.

"Jesus, Malcolm."  Writhing in ecstasy, Trip threw his arms around
Malcolm, trying to draw him even closer.  Malcolm froze and for one
brief, terrible moment Trip did the same.  "Malcolm?"

"I'm sorry, Trip."  Malcolm returned to his own voice.  His heart
hammering, Trip sat up.  Malcolm rolled off his body and sat beside
him, looking remorseful.

"What for, Malcolm?"  The question frightened Trip, but not as much as
the potential answer did.

But then, Malcolm replied, and everything was all right again.  "I
don't know any more lines.  I. . . " His cheeks turned red.  "I fell
asleep halfway through the movie."

Trip laughed.  "That's OK."

"But I wanted to give you your fantasy.  You're so great to me, and I.
. . "

"I love you," Trip repeated.

"I'm sorry about the other thing, too."  Malcolm glanced away, then
back at Trip, staring into his eyes.  "One day, I promise. . . "

"I don't care, Malcolm."  He lay back down, Malcolm straddling his
hips.  It was true.  Having Malcolm was enough.  He didn't need to
show him off.  "We don't need to share this with anyone."

Malcolm grinned down at him, squeezing Trip's hand and bringing it up
to the pillow beside Trip's head.  The last thing Trip was conscious
of for some time was the whispered, American-accented reply:  "'I
wouldn't make a hasty decision. Nobody can make a snap decision.'"

---

"I have sent this information back to the Vulcan High Command, who
were most grateful to receive it."

"Great."  The captain grinned at the senior bridge staff, who were
sitting around the briefing table, looking more or less alert.  Trip
stifled a yawn.  In the three weeks since Malcolm had done his little
James Dean impersonation, their relationship had become even more
intense.  Now, they were spending every night together.

Not always having sex, either.  In fact, he was tired this morning
because they had been up until 0300 laughing and teasing each other
about past relationships.  Malcolm had far more ammunition, but Trip
had done what he could with Caitlin, the sword-collecting weapons
expert, and Philip, the tropical-fish-breeding librarian Malcolm had
met in a chip shop.

"Nice to see them appreciating us for once," Jon continued.  "Anyone
got anything else to share?"

"Yes, sir."  Malcolm spoke up.  "I've assigned a team to work on the
recalibration of the phase cannons.  They'll be working on that today
and tomorrow.  It shouldn't disrupt anything."

"All right, Lieutenant."  Jon gathered up his PADDs, an indication the
meeting was over.  "Have a good day, everyone."

"There was one more announcement I wanted to make, Captain," Malcolm
broke in.  Trip rubbed his eyes and wondered if he had time to grab a
coffee on his way down to Engineering.

He was just figuring that, if he didn't take his usual 1100 coffee
break, he could justify stopping for a Danish, too, when Malcolm said:
"Commander Tucker and I have been involved in a romantic relationship
for some time now.  As he is not my direct superior and it has not
affected our work, I do not believe it is necessary for us to make it
public knowledge, but I thought the senior staff should be aware of
it."

You could have heard a pin drop.  So, when Trip dropped his PADD, it
made an ear-splitting crash as it bounced off the deck.  By the time
he'd retrieved it, with as much dignity as possible, from under the
table, Jon had recovered enough to say:

"Thank you for that information, Lieutenant.  Although I am surprised
you didn't share it sooner."  Jon turned to Trip, looking like he
didn't know whether to be crushed or thrilled.  Trip felt a vague stab
of guilt at not telling him, but he was more immediately concerned
with Malcolm.  And whether he had lost his mind.

"Indeed."  T'Pol agreed, glancing between Trip and Malcolm.  "Am I to
understand that congratulations are in order at this time?"

Malcolm looked back evenly.  "I certainly think so, sub-commander."

"In that case, congratulations, commander.  Lieutenant."  T'Pol
inclined her head graciously as Hoshi, apparently on some sort of
time-delay, squealed and clapped her hands.

"I can't believe it!"

Neither could Trip.  As soon as the meeting broke up, he dragged
Malcolm into the turbo-lift with a curt:

"If I could see you for a second, Lieutenant."  As soon as the lift
doors slid closed, he continued:  "Are you out of your mind?  I
didn't. . . I mean, you. . . "

"I thought you'd be happy."

Trip leaned against the back wall of the lift.  "Of course I'm happy."
Happy didn't begin to describe it.  "You just took me by surprise."

"Naturally."  Malcolm nodded.  "It's not a fantasy if you expect it."

"Malcolm. . . " Trip didn't know what else to say.  So he stuck to
non-verbal communication instead.

He made sure to break the kiss well before the turbo-lift doors
opened.  Malcolm stepped off at the armoury, straightening his uniform
in a way that would have been all but imperceptible to the untrained
observer.  Trip was trained, though. Very well trained, he thought, as
he got off at the mess hall, whistling 'Can't Help Lovin' That Man of
Mine' and wondering if Travis would be willing spend some more time in
zero-g.

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The End