The BLTS Archive - Sugar Daddy
by Gigi Sinclair (gigitrek@gmail.com

---

Archive:  For Kylie.  And anyone else who cares to ask.

Spoilers for: "First Flight", "The Expanse."

Summary:  The first of my three responses to the 'Just Add Water'
Father's Day challenge.

Notes:  Dedicated to whichever one of the Dynamic Duo had the most to
do with that Club 602 scene in "First Flight." (Possibly the same one
who did the infamous breakfast scene in "Minefield.") I watched it
upwards of two million times writing this, and it just kept getting
slashier.

---

Trip knew he should walk away.  Just get up and leave.  The worst
thing he could possibly do would be to get into a drunken fight with
this man.  Unfortunately, that was just what he did.

"You tryin' to say somethin', Sergeant?"  Trip looked at the commando,
not bothering to keep the venom out of his voice, or his eyes.

"Now, Trip," Malcolm broke in.  "I'm sure he was just..."

"I was just wondering," the sergeant continued for himself, "How you
got from Lieutenant to Commander in less than eight years.  Seems like
a pretty meteoric rise."  The sergeant smirked and Trip wondered how,
of all the commandos that had joined 'Enterprise' when they left for
the Delphic expanse, he and Malcolm had ended up having drinks with
this jerk instead of, say, that well-built female lieutenant, or the
muscular team leader.  "I mean, I don't know a lot about Starfleet,
but..."

"But you think you're an expert on my career?"

The man shrugged.  "I know you and Captain Archer seem to be real good
friends."

"Trip..." Malcolm warned.  Trip ignored him.  Sure, the commando was
built like a brick outhouse, but Trip could take care of himself.  And
he knew, whatever Malcolm said, that he would be on Trip's side in any
fistfight that might ensue.  Trip couldn't let this asshole sit there
and imply that he had slept his way up the chain of command.

"If you want to say something, sergeant, just say it."

He did.  "I think your sugar daddy got you your rank and got you on
board this ship."

Trip had forgotten how painful it was to punch someone.  It all came
flooding back when his fist connected with the sergeant's jaw.

---

Lieutenant Trip Tucker didn't date men in uniform.  It was one of his
main philosophies of life, along with 'If life hands you lemons, grab
a Corona', and 'Rejection is the sincerest form of flattery.'  He
certainly didn't date men in Starfleet.  There were just too many
problems, too many hangups, and too many hassles.  It was lucky, then,
that the first time he saw Jonathan Archer, Trip mistook him for a
civilian.

A really sexy civilian.  Trip was knocking back his third beer of the
evening, looking over to where this mysterious man was sitting alone,
knowing it would take one more beer, maximum, for him to walk over and
proposition the guy, when Lieutenant Paulson nudged him.

"You really into her, Trip?  Cause I hate to be the one to tell you
this, but she flirts with everyone she thinks is drunk enough to leave
a big tip."  Trip glanced at his friend, wondering what the hell he
was talking about.  Then he noticed Ruby leaning over in front of the
handsome stranger.  Trip watched her arrange her neckline in a less
than subtle manner, and smirked as the man tactfully averted his eyes
and sucked on his bottle.

"Not her, Mike."  Trip and Mike Paulson had been drinking buddies for
years, long enough for Mike to know that Trip went both ways and long
enough for Trip not to care.  It was the twenty-second century, after
all, and Mike was pretty open-minded, even for a military engineer.

Still, Mike laughed when he figured it out.  "Him?  Oh, you're
definitely barking up the wrong tree, buddy.  That's Jonathan Archer."

"Archer?"  Trip had heard of him.  Henry Archer's son, a test pilot
with a reputation as a high flier and an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
Still, Trip thought, he'd gone out with worse that weren't nearly as
good-looking.

"Yeah.  And I've heard Commodore Forrest doesn't take too kindly to
other guys setting up camp on his territory.  If you know what I
mean."

"Forrest?"  Trip repeated, stupidly.  "I didn't think..."

"Hey, a lot of guys want to be the first to fly at warp five.  Ol'
Jonny's gotta do something to boost his chances.  And," Mike wiggled
his eyebrows.  "From what I've heard, there's not a hell of a lot he
won't do."  This time, Mike's laugh was accompanied by a lewd wink.
Trip, feeling more than a little disappointed, looked away as Mike
made a hand gesture at Ruby.  When she arrived with two more drinks,
Trip flirted for grim death, downed the beer in one gulp, gave Mike an
excuse about an early shift, and left a sizeable tip behind.

So Jonathan Archer was a whore as well as an arrogant SOB.  That
didn't make Trip feel any more charitable towards the Vulcans when
they started ripping into the engine he had worked on and Archer's
father happened to have invented.

Archer looked surprised when Trip came to his defence.  But he
couldn't have been as surprised as Trip was when, as Trip was leaving
the test complex a few hours later, he heard someone running to catch
up with him.  Trip stopped and turned, expecting to see Mike Paulson
or one of his other friends.  Instead, he came face to face with
Archer.

"Hi."  Archer smiled and Trip had to remind himself, very firmly, of
what Mike had told him.  Archer was bad news.  And not the alluring
kind.

"Sir."

"Thanks for sticking up for me like that."

"There's nothing wrong with the engine," Trip replied honestly,
deciding it would be best not to mention the many ways in which he was
sticking up for Archer.

"I know.  Robinson screwed up.  Doesn't surprise me, really."  Archer
smiled again and Trip felt his stomach flip.  He forced himself to
say, as coolly as possible:

"Is there something I can do for you, Commander?"

"Let me buy you a drink."  Trip's hesitation lasted until Archer
reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.  "It's the least I can do.
You may have just saved my career."

A free drink was a free drink.  That was what Trip told himself,
anyway, as he and Archer headed for Club 602.

As soon as they arrived, he made sure to engage Ruby in their ongoing
flirtation.  Trip knew Mike was right.  She flirted with just about
everyone who came into the bar.  Trip was nothing special to her, just
as she was nothing special to him., but he didn't need to tell Archer
that.

Archer didn't look amused at their banter about children's names.  He
watched them with a grim expression on his face, like he couldn't wait
for Ruby to leave.  When she did, he asked, gruffly:

"And what's your name, Lieutenant?"  Trip told him.  Archer thanked
him again and, again Trip could do nothing but repeat the fact that
the engine was fine, like, he thought, some kind of engineering
parrot.  Well, he defended himself, what else could he say?  That he
thought Archer was pretty damn attractive, that this brooding macho
act was pushing all of his buttons and he didn't care if Archer was
Forrest's bed buddy, he wouldn't have minded if the commander had
thrown him over the table right then and there?

Obviously, Trip told himself, loosening his collar a little, that was
out of the question.  He was racking his brains trying to think of
something acceptable to say when Commodore Forrest himself appeared at
the table.

Trip stood up automatically and Archer did the same, looking less than
pleased.

"At ease," Forrest smiled.  "May I?"  The question was clearly
addressed to Archer, and it was Archer who replied:

"Of course."  To Trip's surprise, instead of looking at his lover,
Archer shared a long glance with him before they sat back down.  In
that moment, Trip knew that Mike had been right: Archer was only
sleeping with Forrest to advance his career, and Archer knew Trip knew
that.  And he wasn't exactly proud of it.

The silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long moment, Forrest
looking between them.  It was Trip who finally spoke.

"Can I buy you a drink, sir?"

"It's the least you can do, after that outburst today."

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to..." Trip apologized automatically.
Forrest shook his head wearily and, for the first time, Trip wondered
if maybe Forrest was used to seeing Archer with other guys.  If so, it
was one more reason for Trip to run as far as possible as soon as
possible.  A whore was bad enough, but a promiscuous whore...

"I'll have a beer, Mr. Tucker."  Trip had expected him to refuse.
There weren't many superior officers who would let a subordinate,
especially one as far removed as he was from Forrest, buy them
anything.

Then again, Trip thought as he signalled Ruby, if Forrest thought Trip
was screwing his boyfriend, he would have been justified asking for a
magnum of champagne and a lobster dinner.  "It's been a while since
I've been in here," Forrest continued, conversationally.  "Hasn't
changed much."  He looked pointedly at Archer.  Trip felt like he was
in the middle of a domestic squabble, one that had been going on for
some time.

Archer looked at Trip again, then asked, rather snappishly:  "Is there
something on your mind, sir?" Trip wondered just how casually he would
be able to extricate himself from this situation.  He wasn't a
homewrecker and he hated to be treated like one, even if the home
didn't seem that peaceful to begin with.

Forrest sighed and leaned forward in his chair.  "I came here to tell
you, at the urging of the Vulcan Advisory Council, that Starfleet
Command has decided to put the NX program on hold."  Trip couldn't
believe it, and he couldn't begin to imagine how Archer must feel.
Trip had given several years of his life to the program: Archer had
given his entire life, along with his father's.  And God knew what
else.

"For how long?"  Archer was obviously struggling to keep control of
his emotions.

"Indefinitely," Forrest admitted, sitting up almost defiantly.

Ruby, showing impeccable timing as always, appeared, and Trip ordered
the beer.  When she'd gone, Archer asked:

"What do you mean, indefinitely?"

"They want to go back to the drawing board, Jon," Forrest answered, as
if Trip wasn't even there.  Which, Trip realized, he shouldn't really
have been.  The feeling only got stronger when Archer, apparently also
forgetting Trip's presence, snapped:

"We have an engine that works now.  If we start over now, it'll be
decades before we get into deep space."

The commodore looked back at him coldly.  "Starfleet's made its
decision."

Before Archer could continue the argument, Trip decided to remind them
of his presence.

"Permission to speak freely, sir."  Forrest stared at him like he was
something that had just crawled out from under the floorboards, and
gave a sort of half-nod, which Trip took as permission.  He looked at
Archer.  "It's your father's engine.  His life's work."  And the work
of a hell of a lot of other people had gone into it, too.  Trip, Mike,
Captain Jeffries.  Jonathan Archer.  "You can't let 'em do this."

For a moment, Archer was silent.  Then, looking at Forrest, he said:

"You should have sent me up there."

Forrest stood.  "You can't have everything, Jon."  The commodore
glanced at Trip.  "And, as I said, Lieutenant Tucker," he emphasized
his rank more forcefully than Trip thought necessary, or even polite.
"Starfleet's made its decision.  I'll leave you to your...drinks."  He
left just enough of a pause before the word to make it clear that
drinking was the last way he thought they'd be spending the evening.

When he'd gone, Archer called Ruby over and ordered another round. She
brought them over and Trip was about to say something about leaving
after this one when Archer said:

"It's not the way you think."  Trip didn't need to ask what he was
talking about.

"You don't owe me any explanations, Commander."  In any case, he would
just as soon not hear them.

Archer looked at him over his glass and, for the first time, Trip
noticed he had green eyes.  "Call me Jon."

"All right.  Jon."  He looked so downtrodden that, no matter what Trip
thought about him, he had to give the man a smile.  Jon's returning
smile was a little less than enthusiastic.

"I thought..." Jon sighed heavily and started over.  "The NX program's
never been secure.  I've had to do...a lot of things I'm not happy
with to keep it alive this long."

"It's your father's engine," Trip repeated, hoping he sounded
non-committal.  He couldn't say he understood, he didn't, but he could
see why Jon would be doubly upset now.  Not only was the program
finished, all of his efforts-whatever they might have entailed-had
been wasted.

"It was.  But it's guys like you who perfected it.  It's your engine
as much as it is mine.  Or his.  And now it's all going to be thrown
away because fucking Robinson can't follow fucking orders."  Jon
sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands.  "It's not fair."  He
looked up again, and Trip saw so much pain in the man's eyes that he
didn't know what to do.  He knew what he wanted to do, of course. Kiss
Jon, take him home, make him forget his problems, at least for a
while, with some good old-fashioned sex.  But that wasn't a good idea,
so Trip remained silent.

Jon ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock.  "Do you
have an early shift?"

He did, but he didn't want to leave.  "I think I can stay a few more
minutes."  Trip was rewarded with a more sincere smile.

"Good.  I hate getting drunk alone."

A few more minutes turned into a few more hours and before Trip knew
it, it was nearly last call.

"I was still wearin' the skirt when her daddy walked in."  Jon laughed
and Trip smiled into his latest drink.  That had possibly been the
most embarrassing incident of his life, but it had made up for it in
entertainment value over the years.  Of course, it always seemed more
amusing when both Trip and his audience were drunk.

He and Jon were very drunk.  Trip didn't know how, or  if, he was
going to make it to his shift the next day, but at the moment, he
didn't particularly care.  "Never saw Lisa again," he admitted.

"Her loss."  Trip froze and watched, paralyzed, as Jon reached across
the table to put his hand over Trip's.

"Jon..." His mind knew it was a bad idea.  His body, on the other
hand, refused to be convinced, and made a very persuasive case itself.
It was used to getting what it wanted.

Suddenly, before Trip had to make a decision, Jon pulled his hand away
and A.G. Robinson sat down beside them.

"I suppose you heard."  Somewhere during the evening, they'd given up
on glasses and taken to swigging directly from the beer bottles. Which
meant that, instead of simply telling himself it would be bad idea to
take Jon home, Trip had to think it while watching Jon fellate the
bottle.  With considerable skill.

Ruby brought Robinson his bourbon and asked if they wanted anything
else.  Since Trip didn't know where to begin answering that one, he
said nothing.  Robinson, though, apparently thought he had something
to prove, because he downed his drink in one gulp and immediately
asked for another.

"Where have you been all day?"  Jon took another swig from his bottle
and, for a moment, Trip wondered if Robinson was one of Jon's other
playmates.  He hoped not.  The guy had always been a Grade-A asshole
to the engineering team.

"Debriefing.  After the flight surgeons were done with me, I got
hauled in front of the Starfleet senior staff, and the Vulcans."

"What did you tell them?"  Trip had a hard time focusing on Robinson's
face, but he tried anyway.

"What do you think?"  was Robinson's answer.  Grade-A asshole indeed.
"The subspace field destabilized at warp two point two.  Primary
flight controls failed, resulting in the loss of the vehicle."

It may have been the alcohol, or his confusion about Jon, or simply
the fact that he was about to lose the job he loved, but suddenly,
Trip felt an intense dislike for Robinson.  "Aren't you forgettin'
something?"

"What?"

"The possibility of pilot error."

"I'm not interested in your opinion, Lieutenant."  Robinson said it
the same way Forrest had, like it was an insult.  Immediately, Jon
jumped to Trip's defence although, Trip had to admit, that was
probably because Jon was pretty pissed off at Robinson, too.

"You should be.  The Vulcans have been leaning on Starfleet for years
to rein in this program.  You walked in there today, ruled out pilot
error, and told them just what they wanted to hear: our engine doesn't
work."

Robinson was unimpressed.  "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,
Archer, but it doesn't work."

"The engine's sound," Trip countered, again.  "We just need more time
to balance the intermix."

"We need more than time."

"I agree."  Once again, Jon sounded like he was trying very hard not
to explode.  "We need a pilot who listens to orders.  If you'd
aborted, we'd still have a ship, and probably another chance."

"Another chance to what?  Get killed?"  Robinson asked.  It didn't
sound like such a bad idea to Trip.  Maybe this time, he thought,
they'd succeed.

"At the first sign of trouble, you should have throttled down."

"It wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference."  This was worse than
the argument with Forrest, but this time, Trip didn't feel like
slinking away.  He wanted to stay there with Jon, to defend the
engine.  To defend Jon's abilities as a flight director.  To
defend...Trip sighed and decided he may as well admit it.  To defend
Jon.

"I guess we'll never find out."  Jon snapped.

"You weren't in that cockpit."

"There's nothing wrong with that ship."

"There's plenty wrong.  You just refuse to see it," Robinson said
smugly, as if that closed the argument.

Of course, it didn't.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"  Trip had a pretty good idea.
And, when Robinson said that Henry Archer had designed a lousy engine,
it was fortunate that Jon clocked him before Trip had the chance.  As
a lieutenant, he would have been in a lot more trouble.

Like a professional hockey referee, Ruby let them go a few rounds
before she started shrieking at Trip to do something.  He was about to
say, "Like what?  Sell tickets?" when Robinson landed a good one on
Jon, and he had to step in.


"Are you sure you're gonna be OK?"  Once Jon had managed to unlock his
front door, Trip manoeuvred him over to the couch, collapsing beside
him.  Jon wasn't light, and Trip wasn't in the best of shape. Dragging
him all the way from Club 602 in the rain hadn't been an easy task.
"You don't want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine.  Although I'll have to stop by the dentist in the morning."
Jon touched his tongue to a tooth.  "I think I cracked a molar."

"You might have a concussion."

"There's nothing up there to damage, Trip."

Trip smiled.  There had never been any question of him seeing Jon
home, but for a moment, he'd been worried that Jon's home might also
be Forrest's home.  It was a baseless fear.  Whatever their
relationship was, it clearly wasn't that.  The apartment was small,
and there was no indication that anyone apart from Jon lived there.

An assumption which was validated when Jon leaned in and murmured: "Of
course, if you wanted to stay and make sure..."

Trip opened his mouth to say no.  That was the intention, anyway.
Unfortunately, before he could get the words out, Trip's mouth was too
full of Jon's tongue to say anything.  Although he was able to confirm
that Jon had, indeed, cracked a molar.  His bottom left.

When he pulled away, Jon leaned his forehead against Trip's.   "Please
stay, Trip."

"Commodore Forrest..."

Jon backed off just enough to meet Trip's eye.  "Forrest doesn't own
me."

"But he rents you."

Jon's expression changed immediately.  He stood up straight, the model
of the distinguished Starfleet officer.  Except for the black eye and
the bloodstained uniform.

"Thank you for your assistance today, Lieutenant.  Good night."

"Good night, Commander."  Trip hesitated until Jon prompted:

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Trip left before he could regret it.  And spent the rest of the night
lying in his own bed, doing just that.

---

"Where's your friend, Tucker?" Ruby smiled as she set a beer down in
front of him.

"His girlfriend dragged him off to Hawaii for a romantic weekend or
something." Trip wasn't too disappointed. He didn't really feel like
trading innuendoes with Mike all night.

"Not Paulson, your other friend. Commander Rocky."

"Oh. I don't know." Trip had half-expected to see Jon during the day.
He didn't know why. They'd never crossed paths before, and there was
no reason for him to think Jon would seek him out. Trip was still
disappointed that he hadn't.

"He was in here earlier, you know. Asking about you."

"What?" Trip looked up. She shrugged.

"Wanted to know if I knew where to find you. Seemed pretty excited."

Trip had spent most of the night reminding himself why it was a
terrible, ridiculous, and completely moronic idea to get involved with
a man who was involved with a commodore. Especially a man as handsome,
sexy and wonderful as Jon was. Because, despite the image he tried to
present, Trip had never been into casual sex and Jon clearly wasn't
available for anything else.

"Did he say what he wanted?"

Ruby rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask, and I don't want to know. Just
remember, Wednesday's gay night. Keep it to yourselves the rest of the
time or some of those jerks'll complain." She picked up some empty
glasses from the next table and put them on her tray. "Oh, and Trip,
it was Gervaise and Delilah."

"What?"

"The names. You'd never have guessed them."

"No," he admitted. And it was just as well. He could imagine his
father's reaction if he'd presented him with Gervaise or Delilah
Tucker. It was pretty much the same reaction Trip would get if he
brought an older man, who just happened to be Henry Archer's son and
Commodore Forrest's lover, home and asked to share the spare bedroom.

---

"Lieutenant Tucker!" Trip didn't think he was particularly hard to
find, but it was two days before Jon showed up at Trip's cubicle, in a
far better mood than when they'd last seen each other. "Nice place."
He looked around the cubicle, decorated with workplace cartoons and
dozens of old coffee cups in various stages of decomposition. Trip,
like most of the department, had decided not to start packing until he
knew for sure where he was going to end up. From what Trip had heard,
they'd earmarked him for research into the new food replicators. Dairy
division.

"Commander." Trip pushed back his chair to stand, but Jon waved him
down.

"It's OK. Listen, A.G. and I have come up with a plan to get the
program back on line."

"I. . . " Trip didn't know which part surprised him more. That there was a
plan, or that Robinson and Jon had come up with it together.

"But we need your help."

"Of course."

Jon looked at him carefully. "It's kind of. . . unconventional. We're going
to get into a lot of trouble."

Trip smiled. It was that or spend the rest of his career figuring out
how to replicate really good cottage cheese. "I'm up for it."

"Great!" Jon slapped him on the back. "We're going to steal the NX
beta."

"What?"

Jon smiled, and Trip noticed he was practically hopping with
excitement. "Told you it was unconventional."

Trip thought of spending the rest of his career studying the molecular
composites of cheese, yogurt and skim milk. "I'm OK with
unconventional."

Jon hit him on the shoulder. "Good. Come on, A.G.'s waiting for us."

---

Trip wanted to go with him, but he understood why Jon had to
refuse.

"I need you down here. But don't worry, you'll get up there. If I had
my own ship, I'd sign you up in a second."

Trip smiled. "I'll hold you to that."

Disappointed as he'd been at the time, when Jon and Robinson came back
to Earth, Trip was glad he hadn't gone with them. Trip only got an
official reprimand for his part in the stunt: Jon and Robinson were
grounded for three months and told they were lucky to retain their
jobs.

"Small price to pay." Jon grinned, raising his glass to Trip. He was a
different man when he was happy, Trip noticed. He even joked with Ruby
when she brought the drinks over. "It'll give me a lot more free time,
that's for sure."

"How are you going to spend it?" Trip smiled back.

"You have to ask?" Robinson raised an eyebrow. He had been marginally
less jerkish lately. But only marginally.

"I have a lot of water polo matches to catch up on," Jon answered,
although Trip was reasonably sure that wasn't what Robinson had been
implying.

"I don't know much about water polo," Trip admitted. Or, in fact,
anything about it. "Seems kinda complicated."

Jon shrugged. "It's like football. Once you understand what's going
on, it's great." He looked at Trip. "Want to come over and watch
some?"

"And so it begins." Robinson rolled his eyes. Jon looked over at him,
smiling. Trip had noticed that they seemed to be much better friends
now. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"I take it you're not interested in joining us."

Robinson barked a laugh. "Thanks but no thanks. I've got a real date.
With a woman." He looked over Trip's shoulder and gave a coy wave.
Trip couldn't help himself. He turned, and choked when he saw Ruby
simpering back. "Relax, Tucker." Robinson grinned. "It's not like you
ever had a chance."

---

"So when those guys in the blue hit it over the line, they get to
throw it in from the corner?" Trip struggled to retain something,
anything, of the detailed description Jon had just given him.

"Right!" Jon slapped him on the back, which was less than advisable
after half a dozen beers, a little whisky, and a whole lot of
pretzels. Trip swallowed hard to keep from ruining Jon's white Berber
carpet. "Sorry, Trip."

"It's OK." He looked at the clock. Nearly three in the morning. "I'd
better get going." There were, after all, only five hours before he
was expected back on shift, and Captain Jeffries hadn't exactly been
forgiving lately.

"I play on a team," Jon continued. "It's not too competitive. We're
having a practice after work tomorrow, if you wanted to stop by."

Trip smiled, and got a smile in return.

"Maybe."

---

Thanks to an incident with his alarm and an encounter with a
sticky zipper, Trip ended up being fifteen minutes late for work
anyway. It was that or risk arrest for indecent exposure, but Captain
Jeffries wasn't impressed by this explanation. It was after six by the
time Trip finally got away from work.

He stood outside the Fitness and Recreation Complex for a good five
minutes before a woman in Starfleet workout gear came and asked if he
needed help. Since the answer to that seemed painfully obvious, he
smiled at her and went inside.

While they were planning their stunt to save the NX program, Trip had
spent nearly 24 hours a day with Jon. And A.G. Robinson, of course,
but Trip didn't count him. It had been enough time for Trip to confirm
that it would be very easy to fall in love with Jonathan Archer. He
would already have done it, if not for the ever-looming spectre of
Commodore Forrest.

Trip wasn't crazy about getting hurt, and it had happened to him more
often than he wanted to think about. He tried, very hard, but he just
couldn't conceive of any situation in which he could get involved with
Jon and not end up with a broken heart.

On top of that, Trip had his own career to consider. Rumour had it
that, before the incident, Jon had been on the fast track for captain,
and Trip didn't think this would hold him back for long. Trip himself
had been a lieutenant for a few years and was hoping to make
Lieutenant Commander sooner rather than later. What if, Trip
speculated, he got his promotion soon after Jon received his? Jon was
clearly used to going about things in a certain way. What if Jon saw
them the same way he saw his relationship with Forrest? Could Trip
ever be sure Jon hadn't put in a good word or two for him? Would he
ever be able to live with himself?

Trip had almost convinced himself to turn around and leave when he
looked through a window and saw Jon in one of the complex's swimming
pools. He was by himself, treading water and idly batting a ball into
the air. He looked good in a bathing suit, Trip noticed, although it
didn't really surprise him.

He was, however, surprised when, entirely of their own accord, his
feet brought him around to the glass door, his hand pushed it open and
he ended up standing on the deck without his brain having played any
part in the journey.

"Hey, Trip!" Jon grinned and tossed the ball at him. Trip missed and
had to retrieve it from behind a pile of wetsuits. "You're a little
late." Trip threw the ball back to Jon. To Trip's great embarrassment,
he caught it easily and made an effortless three-point shot into the
basketball net at the other end of the pool.

"Sorry. Captain Jeffries kept me late."

"Detention?"

"I guess you could say that." Trip grinned.

"Well, you're here now. Where's your suit?"

"I. . . forgot it."

"Forgot?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

"I'm having kind of a rough day, Jon."

"Swimming's the best way to relax." Jon winked. "Well, second best,
anyway." Jon ran a hand through his hair, then used the pool ledge to
pull himself out. He sat on the edge, legs in the pool, water running
down his well sculpted, hairy chest and his muscular back. Trip
gulped. "Take your boots off," Jon advised. "You can at least stick
your feet in."

Feeling like an idiot, Trip nevertheless complied, taking off his
boots and socks and rolling his pant legs up to his knees.

"You must have done a lot of swimming in Florida," Jon commented as
Trip sat beside him, trying to keep his ass dry.

"Some," Trip admitted, sliding his lower legs into the water. It was
cool, but not cold, and it did feel refreshing.

"Are you a good swimmer?"

"I passed that part of my fitness test with flying colours." Unlike
some of the other parts. It had been more than five years, and Trip
still had nightmares about the shuttle runs. Not to mention the flexed
arm hang.

"Good," Jon's grin took on a dangerous quality. Before he could
contemplate what that might mean, Trip was yanked off the poolside and
completely submerged in the water.

"Shit!" Trip spluttered to the surface, wiping water out of his eyes.
"What the hell, Jon. . . "

"You OK?" Jon's laugh sounded very close. When Trip opened his eyes,
still blinking away pool chemicals, he saw that Jon was beside him.
Right beside him, his bare chest pressed against Trip's sodden
uniform, his arms around Trip's body. Jon, Trip noticed, was the
reason they were afloat, his powerful legs cycling and easily keeping
them both above water.

Jon clearly had that situation well in hand. Which meant that Trip was
free to focus on other things. Like bringing his hands up to Jon's
shoulders and kissing him hard.

Jon was an excellent swimmer but, Trip realized, he wasn't Superman.
Not even he could make out and tread water simultaneously. Trip didn't
mind when, without breaking the kiss, Jon pushed him up against the
side of the pool. As long as he kept moaning like that, Trip thought,
Jon could do whatever the hell he wanted.

What he wanted, apparently, was to inform Trip, in between gasps:
"Forrest and I split up. Well," he licked Trip's mouth. "We were never
really together."

Trip didn't care. Forrest could get pissed off. Forrest could fire
him. Hell, Forrest could even watch, for all the difference it made to
him. "Fuck me, Jon."

Jon responded to Trip's order with a very insubordinate chuckle. "I
thought you'd never ask."

Trip slipped one hand under the water, gripping Jon's erection through
his flimsy swimsuit. Jon growled and pushed Trip harder against the
wall, intertwining their legs and sucking on the side of his neck.
Trip decided not to mention that the corner of a tile was jabbing into
his left kidney. Instead, he ran his left hand up Jon's back while the
right tried to navigate the bathing suit waistband. As Jon bit his
earlobe, Trip opened his eyes. And found he was looking directly at a
stunned-looking woman standing on the other side of the glass.

That, Trip had to mention. "Jon, we have to get out of here."

Jon glanced over his shoulder. "Shit." "It's OK." Trip disengaged
himself from Jon's grasp and battled the weight of three layers of
soaking fabric to pull himself out of the pool. He didn't know the
woman's name, but she was one of Mike's engineering ensigns. Who was
suddenly about to find herself with a lot of weekends off.

"Sorry," Jon got out of the pool behind him. "I don't usually go nuts
like that." A glance at the window showed that the ensign had
disappeared. Trip took advantage of this and pulled Jon to him for
another wet kiss.

"That's too bad. I really enjoyed it."

Trip was very glad that Jon had his own transport. He couldn't imagine
waiting for the bus in his current state. It was bad enough having to
travel on a towel in the front seat of Jon's flitter.

By the time they got to his apartment, Trip was shivering, a fact
which did not go unnoticed by Jon.

"Wait here a second." Trip stood obediently, dripping onto Jon's
carpet. He perked up a little when he heard water running in the
bathroom. He perked up even more when Jon emerged, wearing a navy blue
bathrobe and carrying a white towel.

"Here." Jon unzipped Trip's jumpsuit, then Trip pulled off his boots
with an audible squelch. The T-shirt followed, and the undershirt and
boxers came after that, until Trip was standing naked six inches from
Jon's front door. Wrapping the towel around Trip's waist, Jon pulled
him in for another kiss. Then, taking his hand, he led Trip into the
bathroom.

Trip had thought Jon's apartment was pretty pedestrian for a
commander. Usually, the higher your rank, the swankier your place, and
Jon's was decidedly un-swanky. It wasn't until he saw the
bathroom-and, more accurately, the Olympic-sized bathtub-that he
understood why Jon lived there. By the time they'd finished their
bath, he could gladly have moved in himself.

"Trip?" Trip raised his head from Jon's chest. His bedroom wasn't too
bad, either, Trip noticed. He particularly liked the dark red satin
sheets.

"Yeah?"

Jon ran a hand through Trip's hair. "About Forrest. . . "

Trip kissed his collarbone. "Don't say anything, Jon."

"I want to." He sighed heavily and Trip pressed himself against Jon.
"The NX program's been my whole life for so long, I kind of. . . lost
sight of everything else." Jon looked up and Trip knew he could spend
the rest of his life looking into those green eyes. When he wasn't
looking at other parts of Jon's anatomy. "Like integrity."

"You did it for your dad."

Jon shook his head. "I did it for myself, Trip. I wanted to be the
first man to captain a warp five ship."

"And now?"

"I still want it. But if I get it, I want it to be because I deserve
it." He smiled. "For my work. That's the way it always should have
been."

"If you don't get it. . . "

"At least I can look at myself in the mirror again."

Trip moved so he was straddling Jon's waist. "I never had trouble
looking at you." And now, he didn't have trouble doing anything else
with Jon, either.

---

"I can't. . . " Captain Archer began, then stopped, clenched his fists,
and paced back towards where Malcolm and Trip were standing uneasily
at attention. "I don't even know where to begin."

Despite that, he gave it a try. "What the hell were you thinking?
Don't answer that." He paused for a moment, then continued pacing.
Trip's head was pounding and he thought his hand was probably broken,
but he didn't dare move. "It's clear that you weren't thinking. If you
had been, I would hope. . . no, I would expect that two of my senior
officers would have known better than to start a fight with a fucking
commando!"

Jon rarely swore, and never when he was in his 'Captain' mode. It was
an indication, although not Trip's first, that he was very annoyed.
"We're trying to save the goddamn human race." Jon lowered his voice a
little, but it didn't get any calmer. "We're heading into God knows
what, and I am doing my damndest to get us ready to face it. I thought
it was obvious, but plainly, I need to spell it out. It doesn't help
when you start fights with the people we have to live with."

"Sir, the sergeant. . . " Malcolm began, and was immediately silenced.

"I don't care, Lieutenant. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing that
man could have said or done that would justify you," he turned his
gaze on Trip, "Socking him in the jaw and you," he looked back at
Malcolm, "Joining in on the act."

Trip sighed and looked at his lover of the last ten years. "He called
you my sugar daddy and said you're the only reason I got my promotion.
And this job. Sir."

For a long moment the only sound was the circulation of the air and
the hum of the warp core. Finally, Jon stopped pacing and turned to
look at them.

"And you only socked him in the jaw?"

Trip tried to smile, but it was too painful. So he satisfied himself
with enjoying the expression on Malcolm's bruised face as the
lieutenant asked: "What would you have suggested, sir?"

Jon looked at him and Trip knew that, while they weren't going to get
off scot-free, at least he and Malcolm wouldn't be facing a
court-martial, or even a week of KP. "I'd have put the bastard in
traction."

"In that case, Captain," Trip smiled. "I'll invite you to join us next
time."

They were dismissed shortly after. Trip hung back, letting Malcolm
leave first.

The last few weeks had been the most stressful Trip could remember.
Not only had he lost his sister, but, in addition to representing
humanity, Jon had now been made responsible for saving it. And saving
the world took up a lot of time.

When Trip had gone to Florida to see for himself how Lizzie had died,
it was Malcolm who had gone with him. Jon was too busy. He'd been too
busy ever since. They'd barely exchanged ten off-duty words since
they'd left for the expanse.

Trip glanced over his shoulder, but Jon was already absorbed in his
work. Trip sighed and headed out, looking forward to another night
alone with his memories and what was left of his liquor supply. He was
almost at the door when Jon said:

"Of course, Commander, if you would like a little. . . sugar tonight, I
could probably assist you with that." He turned around. Jon looked up
from his PADD, his eyebrows raised.

Trip smiled. "Want me to call you Daddy?"

"I'd rather you didn't." A lot of people thought Jon had no sense of
humour. Those people, Trip knew, had never seen Jon with that
expression on his face. "'Captain' will be just fine."

---

The End