The BLTS Archive - Debriefing
Fourth in the Too Stubborn To Die series
by Hel Bee (hlb15124@yahoo.com)

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Spoilers: Set several months after 'These are the Voyages... '

Beta: Rakina and Charlene

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!

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The seconds ticked by like hours until Molec, relived beyond measure,
heard the words: "Be at the prearranged meeting point at 0600 hours."

He quickly closed the audio channel and gathered his clothes from the
floor. Molec knew he had to get out of the Senate building quickly; he
would only have a limited time to get out before someone came to find
the Praetor for official business. Throwing on the linen tunic and
trousers, Molec decided not to try and hide the body; it would waste
precious time and exert energy he could ill afford to use. He left the
Praetor's rooms, slipping into the corridor. Drawing on all his
Starfleet training he forced himself to walk at a normal pace back to
his quarters, desperate not to give out any signal that something was
awry.

A junior senator walked by and Molec averted his eyes as he was
expected to, and the presence of two guards making their usual rounds
caused his heart rate to increase, but outwardly he remained calm.
Once back in his room he changed clothes again, this time into normal
Romulan civilian clothing, the one set he kept at the back of his
closet. There was nothing here he wanted to take with him, certainly
no keepsake that he would want to cherish in the years to come.

It would be wise for him to have an excuse for leaving the Senate
compound if questioned. There were very few legitimate reasons why a
concubine would venture out into the city. His best hope was to
pretend he was on an errand for a senator, and hope that he was not
challenged or the person contacted to verify his answer.

He left his room, this time walking quickly, haste was important if he
really was on an errand for a senator. Good luck was certainly on his
side as the guards on the main entrance made no move to stop him and
he fought his desire to break into a run as he entered the city's
streets. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and turned into a side
alley. Although his chosen route out of the city was not direct it was
safe, avoiding as many people as possible. Molec was conscious that it
would only be a matter of time before the Praetor was discovered and
the manhunt begun.

The city limits gave way to spartan scrub-land which in turn ran to
dense woods. Molec covered the few kilometres quickly on foot; there
were hardly any other travellers around to witness him, and those that
were out and about paid him no attention. The dark undergrowth was
welcome as he headed into the cover of the trees, moving deeper into
the wood. Branches snagged his cloak and the ground was by no means
easy under foot, but he kept going. His destination soon came into
view, an old tree whose insides had been hollowed out. The gnarled
tree made a perfect refuge for the night and it was only a short hike
to the final rendezvous point. Molec curled up in the protection of
the trunk and pulled his cloak around him. All he had to do now was
sit and wait, something that he had never excelled at. At least now he
was on his way home: Home to Malcolm and Jon – if they'd have him. He
pushed any potential morose thoughts to one side and closed his eyes.


---

Malcolm's confession still haunted him, the disbelief still too
palpable to overlook. Maybe, Trip thought to himself, he really didn't
know Jon as well as he believed. He rounded the corner of what he
thought was a deserted corridor on D deck, but hearing soft whispers
he drew to a halt. He was about to clear his throat to announce his
presence when he recognised the voices.

"Jon, we have to tell him," said Malcolm Reed. "It's the only way
he'll understand what happened."

"But he'll think we've been deliberately hiding this from him. Trip
would be hurt that I hadn't told him about us from the beginning."

"More hurt than him thinking he's a plaything?" hissed Malcolm.
"Christ, Jon, you should have seen him. He thinks we were just messing
about with each other and he's part of our game."

Jon sighed. "I hear what you're saying, Malcolm, but Trip won't react
well to this revelation. He'll take the fact we've hidden us from him
for so long as a deliberate attempt to lie to him, he won't believe we
want him."

"Well, we have hidden from him...  he thinks we've only been together
since that last visit to Risa, not the one before."

Trip gasped – a habit that Malcolm seemed to be instilling in him. Jon
and Malcolm had been together for over six months, and they'd managed
to keep it quiet until a few weeks ago. Malcolm's claims of Jon's
devotion towards him certainly made more sense now; six months was
long enough even for the romantically inert Captain Archer to fall for
someone. However, if they could hide this from him what else could
they deceive him over? What did these two men really mean when they
said they wanted him?

---

The pleasant evening air was replaced by cool night. Molec huddled
further back into his hiding place. The dense foliage was good for
cover and some degree of heat retention, but now the drop in
temperature was really beginning to bite. The cloak's thick material
offered some protection but it did not keep out all the chill.

At least he was out of the city, closer still to getting home. With
little else to occupy him, his mind drifted back to his previous
thoughts, but this time to just how persuasive Jon could be.


---

He'd been avoiding them, swapping shifts or working overtime. The mess
hall was a no go, and apart from a direct order there was no way in
hell he was going anywhere near the bridge. Recently, minor repairs in
Jefferies tubes had become his priority and he was sending Hess to
deputize for him at interdepartmental meetings. Trip was hiding in a
Jefferies tube, fixing a faulty conduit, when Jon finally cornered
him.

"Here you are, Commander. I thought you'd left the ship," Jon called
out.

Trip looked up from his repairs and almost dropped the spanner he was
holding. "Cap'n," he greeted Jon. "How can I help you?"

"I think we should talk, Trip. Somewhere private."

Trip waved at the repair he was working on. "I'm kinda busy here."

"Even I can see that's minor; get someone to do it and come with me.
No arguments – your shift ended two hours ago."

The argument lost, Trip stood and followed Jon out of the Jefferies
tube. He called out to an ensign to finish the abandoned repair and
left Engineering. They weren't heading for the captain's ready room,
he could tell that by the direction they had taken, and Trip realised
quickly that they were on their way to Jon's quarters. Jon filled the
relatively short journey with small talk: ship's business and water
polo, but his tone changed completely once the door to his quarters
shut behind them.

"If you don't want to be with us then all you have to say is no," he
said coldly, arms crossed over his chest. "We're all adults here."

"Adults," spat Trip. "Adults don't keep the truth from their friends.
Adults don't play games with their friends' feelings."

Trip saw the look of guilt in Jon's eyes, but the flicker disappeared
as soon it had arrived. "You know about me and Malcolm," he stated
calmly.

"Yes."

"Did he tell you? I told him you wouldn't take it well."

"I suggest, Captain," growled Trip, emphasising the rank, "that when
you and your lover discuss your private business you don't do it in a
corridor."

Jon's stance softened and he rubbed his face with his hands. "Trip,
you have to believe me, we didn't want you to find out this way. I
didn't want to give you any reason to doubt what you mean to both of
us."

Trip snorted in disbelief and turned his back on his friend.
"Bullshit!"

"We didn't set out to hide anything; we never thought our first
encounters would last, we thought the passion would fizzle out," said
Jon softly. "We got together just how Malcolm said, but it grew into
more and before we knew it we'd been together months, not weeks. But
the attraction towards you did not diminish, and once we decided to
stop hiding our relationship we both began to notice that you looked
at us differently. With a hunger that you thought you'd never be able
to satisfy."

Trip refused to turn around, he couldn't look at Jon at the moment.
"That's a real nice story, Jon. Real Nice. But it don't wash with me.
You say you're in a long lasting relationship with Malcolm, but here
you are trying to convince me that two should become three. Shouldn't
you be concentrating on what you've already got?"

"Please, Trip. What Malcolm and I have is strong, we are good
together, but we both know something's missing. And the night we all
spent together confirmed that. We both want you, and not just in the
biblical sense. Your personality compliments us perfectly, a foil to
Malcolm's sarcasm and an antidote to my, sometimes misplaced, pride."

"Jon, this isn't easy for me... "

"I know, but we've been friends for a long time. Do you really believe
I'd sacrifice that for a quick fling, a meaningless fuck? We want you.
Not for one night or one week – but forever."

Trip couldn't stop the humourless laugh from escaping. "Pretty words."

"For fuck's sake, Trip!" snarled Jon. "I know you're angry. Hell, I
guess I would be too, but I thought you knew me well enough by now to
know that I say what I mean."

Anger was only part of it, thought Trip sourly. But it was the huge
helping of uncertainty that went with it that wasn't helping matters.
"Look, Jon, even if I said yes – not that I am – what happens if this
goes wrong? You two can retreat back to being a couple and where does
that leave me? The risk's too big."

Trip felt Jon's hands rest on his shoulders. Their weight felt good,
and he couldn't bring himself to knock them away. Even with the false
truths he couldn't deny that he wanted Jon, and wanted Malcolm as
well. Jon turned him around, and Trip stood staring into the warm
green eyes he'd known so long. "I never took you as a coward, Trip."

The words were aimed perfectly and Trip didn't know how to answer.
"I... "

Completely lost in the moment Trip didn't realise Jon had leaned
forward until he'd kissed him, his friend's hands roving over his
back. His body felt awash with liquid fire, his nerves tingling
excitedly as Jon kissed him thoroughly.

Jon pulled away slightly breathless. "So, Trip, what do you say? Shall
I call Malcolm?"

Trip knew that this was a pivotal moment, one word potentially
changing his life. Tuckers, he told himself, were explorers – they
didn't run from the unknown. "Yes," he whispered, and leaned forward,
melting into his lover's embrace and waited for Malcolm to arrive.

---

Molec stared mournfully up at the clear night sky, the stars appeared
brighter than normal, their luminescence almost haunting. He thought
he should be happy at the thought of returning home; it had after all
been his goal for the last few months. But what if there was no home
to go to? It would be better if he stopped thinking of home, of the
apartment they'd shared, the study he'd commandeered much to the mock
outrage of his husbands. Their bed.

He bit down hard on his lip to prevent his sob escaping. Phlox would
surely have told them by now he was still alive, and with that would
be the details of his mission. It was likely they would be as
disgusted with his role as he was: nothing more than a willing vessel
for the Senate to expunge their sexual frustrations. He'd been
unfaithful, multiple times. Even though he knew he was protecting
Malcolm, his own revulsion for the act of betrayal made him nauseous,
hot bile burned inside him and he tried to control his gag reflex. And
what if they did forgive him, did he really think he was worthy of the
love Jon and Malcolm? He was dirty, soiled and unclean. No longer of
worth or consequence.

Silently he cried, the night encroaching him and his dark thoughts of
self-loathing and disgust chased away any attempt of sleep. First he
must get home; if nothing else he must complete his mission and
debrief his commanding officers. Whatever happened next he couldn't
bear to think about. His mission over, Section 31 would probably find
use for him somewhere, but in the eyes of the Earth he was dead – and
it would probably be best for Jon and Malcolm that he remained so.

The rising sun reminded him that he had to move, as much as his body
protested Molec had to get further into the forest. The rendezvous
point was very specific; a small area where the minerals in the rocks
prevented the Romulans scanning for a transporter signal. However, it
did mean that he had to be at the precise spot to get off the planet
as the scanners of the ship that would whisk him back to Earth would
not be able to pinpoint him exactly. He had to hope that the operator
in charge of the controls knew what they were doing.

His watch told him he had only a few minutes to wait as he entered the
ring of stones that marked the meeting point. Although he was now more
exposed than at any point in his hiding there had been no sign of
Romulan guards or a search party. He listened keenly, but heard
nothing except the twittering of the dawn chorus. The once familiar
sensation of the transporter beam slid over his skin and Molec was
free of Romulus.

Molec blinked away the unsettling feeling as he reappeared on the
transporter pad. He staggered forward and a strong arm stopped him
from falling over his own feet. He looked up. "T'Pol?"

"Welcome aboard, Commander," she said. "I think a visit to sick bay is
in order."

"Please, don't call me that," he begged.

"I ... "

"Call me Molec."

---

The view screen beeped and Malcolm looked up from the pile of papers
on his desk – no, Trip's desk, he was merely borrowing it until his
husband returned home. He reached over and answered the call. The
familiar face of Dr Phlox appeared and his heart clenched in
anticipation. "Doctor, have you news?"

The smile on the Denobulan's face said it all. "Good day, Commander
Reed. I believe I do indeed have news – good news. He's on his way
home."

Malcolm felt relief flood his body. "When?"

"He's on a ship heading back to Earth as we speak. There will be
debriefing before he is released by Section 31, but I imagine Admiral
Archer would be able to use his connections to be present," said Phlox
wryly.

"I can't believe this is really happening. I can't wait to see him
again."

Phlox's smile waned a little. "I must caution you that Commander
Tucker has been through a significant ordeal; you might have to be
patient."

Malcolm nodded. "I understand, doctor. We can't wait to have him home,
everything else we can deal with together."

---

In the end Jonathan Archer didn't have to shout that loud or call in
too many favours to make sure that both he and his husband would be
present at Trip's debriefing. It helped to be the man who'd saved the
planet. He'd debated whether he should wear dress uniform but this was
not an official reception, and no matter how much Trip liked him in
it, today was not the time or the place.

Malcolm shifted uneasily in the chair next to him. They were seated
around a large table with twenty other Starfleet officers. A door to
the right opened and Trip entered. Jon's eyes followed him as he
walked to the head of the table. Despite the wrong skin tone and hair
colour he was still the man he'd married. Trip had lost weight, but
that was nothing they couldn't fix, and he was dressed – surprisingly
– in civilian clothing. Jon saw Trip's cursory look around the room,
and his reluctance to meet his eye.

The meeting began, Trip calmly working through slide after slide of
the information he had brought back. Jon noticed his husband's lack of
accent and it was a little strange to hear Trip talk without the
Floridian drawl, and he found it hard to concentrate on the content of
the presentation. However, he did notice that Trip made no reference
to how he had acquired the detailed weapon plans or fleet manoeuvres,
but there was a definite tremor in Trip's hand as he worked the
computer or pointed out engineering weaknesses in the Romulans' plans.

---

Trip shut down the computer, the session was over. Jon and Malcolm
were on their feet, heading towards him. He'd tried his best not to
look at them during debriefing, but now it was over he couldn't keep
his distance. Both Malcolm and Jon wore the same expression of concern
and relief but Trip knew now was not the time. He needed to retreat
and recover. To give himself time to be himself once more, to lay
Molec to rest. He wanted to become wholly human again, have Phlox
remove the implant and give him back his normal appearance.

Jon was reaching out to him, but he stepped back and saw pain flashing
through his husband's eyes. Malcolm tried to approach him but Trip
stepped back again. "Please, give me some time. Let me become your
Trip again." His voice trembled, cracking with emotion. "I don't want
you to think of me like this."

No matter what he'd done over the last few months, the hardest thing
he had to do was to turn and walk away now. For the sake of his sanity
and, in his own mind, any hope of rekindling his marriage, he turned
his back on his husbands and left the room without another word.

---

to be concluded in 'Reunion'