The BLTS Archive - Down with Love
by Midnight Dove (crushed_midnight@yahoo.com)

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Disclaimer: I don't own of the characters, or the title. As far as
the various loves go, Deborah, Ruby and Rochelle were mentioned in
Shuttlepod One. Marine Natalie was mentioned in Silent Enemy. Alana is
from the novel What Price Honor? And Kemper was seen in The Xindi, I
think. Solenne is of my own design.

Happy V-day all. This is just something I cobbled together in honor of
the Most Depressing Day of the Year to Be Single Day.

Updated: Later on Feb14: I found my tape of Shuttlepod One and Silent
Enemy. It turns out that 'Marianne' is actually 'Marine' and I
accidentally combined 'Rochelle and Deborah' to come up with
'Danielle'. The names have been corrected.

---

It was a cold, cruel romantic who had insisted on the movie marathon
that night. Casablanca. Sweet November. An entire line-up of
centuries-old romantic 'classics', so that all the crewwomen could
drag all the crewmen to the messhall, just so they would sit there and
watch said crewwomen bawl while various attractive men confessed their
love to various attractive women. and visa bloody versa.

Down with love. It made him sick.

Malcolm Reed poured another glass of scotch and glared at it before
downing the contents. He sat alone- naturally, he thought- against the
farthest wall of cargo bay two. He had originally intended the night
to be productive, taking inventory of his weapons stock. . .  but when
he happened across the flask of liquor in one of the containers, he
figured he'd re-instate his old tradition of spending February 14 piss
drunk and alone.

He had always had a girlfriend for Christmas, to parade for his
parents. Sometimes they stayed through January, even. But no matter
what, no matter who called it off, he had always managed to end up
alone on Valentine's Day.

Boo-fucking-hoo, he decided, and poured himself another drink.

The doors slid open and a weary-looking Trip Tucker entered.

"Oh. 'Syou," Malcolm mumbled.

"What a welcome," Trip said dryly, coming to sit next to the
Lieutenant. Surprisingly, he did not accuse Malcolm of being a
cold-hearted bastardly love-hater, down here all by himself; instead
he leaned back against the wall and sighed. "I figured I'd be the only
one not at the show."

"I thought you were going to convince T'Pol to watch Casablanca with
you," Malcolm said without looking over at Tucker, his normal tact
gone out the window along with his sobriety.

"I was," Trip replied.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So: why aren't you?" Malcolm pressed. The room was beginning to spin
slightly; it was somewhat pleasant.

Trip shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his arm. "I. . .  I guess I ruined
things for us."

"What'd you do?" Reed slurred.

"I. . . " Trip sighed. "I. . .  well, it wasn't just me!" He shouted
angrily. "She went along with it."

Malcolm sat up slightly, fell back, and struggled up again, all the
while gaping at the Commander. "You. . .  you didn't?"

Trip nodded miserably.

"You dirty bastard," Reed blurted out, sounding all at once proud,
jealous, and drunk. It was quite a feat. "So. . .  what went wrong?"

"She's a Vulcan. That's what went wrong," Trip replied acerbically. He
considered things for a moment, then continued, "She said it was an
experiment. Testing a hypothesis or some bullshit like that."

Malcolm nodded, regarding all three Trips with as much compassion as
he could muster. "Woman do that. Down with love."

Trip looked up, cracking a humorless smile. "You're drunk."

"I'm not on duty!"

"I know. I'm not saying it like that, I'm saying give me some before
you drink it all." Trip explained.

"Oh." Malcolm, reluctantly, passed him the bottle. He wouldn't have
been willing, if he hadn’t known there were more just like it in the
canister a few meters away. Together they worked through a few more
glasses in silence.

"So," Trip said at last. "What's made you so cynical? 'Down with
love'?"

"Lesse," Malcolm slurred, the room spinning even faster by now.
"Deborah. Rochelle. Marine. Ruby. Alana."

"Malcolm. . . " Trip said, slightly more serious. "She's been dead
over a year now."

Reed didn't respond; instead, he went to drink his scotch and spilled
it down his uniform front in the process. He barely even noticed.
"Well, you asked me who's made me so cynical. What about you? Who's
your excuse?"

"Natalie," Trip replied. "Ruby. Solenne. Lizzie."

"You never told me you dated any girl named Lizzie," Malcolm replied.
Random passing Vulcans, if there were any to be found, would have been
almost delighted to witness such a supreme pressing of the laws of
Human intoxication.

"My sister, Malcolm," Trip said. Normally, he would've been angrier,
but the world was beginning to spin from his vantage point as well. "I
didn't know we were talking purely about romantic cynicism."

"That's a funny word," Malcolm decided, chuckling.

Trip scowled as Malcolm got himself under control. "If," the
Englishman said finally, "if we're talking about everything that's
made us cynical, then: life."

"Life?" Trip echoed.

"The whole fucking lot of it," Reed confirmed. "My father. My mother.
All the kids who used to beat me up. . . " Malcolm continued, his
voice wavering dangerously as he listed the reasons why his life
sucked to the surrounding air.

Trip jumped in, thinking it a good idea to change the subject. "I've
heard of Alana, Deborah and Rochelle. Definitely Ruby. Who was
Marine?"

"Marianna Rosana Boulevardez," Malcolm replied wistfully. "Brown eyes,
brown hair, only came up to my chin but she made up for it in other
ways," he commented impishly. Then he sobered as much as was possible
given how drunk he was. "She was a gorgeous waitress at this fish
place in San Francisco. . .  I eventually got her to go out with me,
at least for a little while. I left her February twelfth of my last
year at Starfleet."

"Harsh," Trip agreed. "Why?"

He realized the instant he said it that it was a mistake. Malcolm
launched into a long, maudlin tale of commitment phobia during which
he finished the bottle of scotch and directed Trip to the rest of the
'supply'. Luckily, before Trip was forced to slap him, the door slid
open again and Hoshi Sato entered. Her hair was out of its normal
ponytail, but instead of being carefully arranged in some other way,
it hung about her shoulders limply.

"Shit," she said passionately, upon seeing the two of them. "I thought
I'd at least be alone down here."

When his eyes finally focused enough to register a female presence,
Malcolm nodded courteously. "Good evening, miss."

"You're drunk," Hoshi told to two of them, and immediately plopped
down on Trip's other side. "As is my goal for the evening." Tucker
obligingly handed her a drink, which she drained instantly, proffering
her glass for a refill. Trip tried to pour it again and missed the
cup. At last, Hoshi seized it from his shaking hands and tipped the
opening to her lips directly.

"Go Hoshi!" Malcolm shouted, then dissolved into giggles.

At least ten seconds later, Hoshi lowered the bottle and wiped her
mouth on her sleeve. "So," she said as though this was nothing out of
the ordinary. "What're your excuses?"

"For what?" Trip replied. Malcolm began to laugh again, harder this
time.

"For being social incompetents," Hoshi replied immediately.

"In chronological order, for the Commander and I respectively, the
excuses are: Rochelle, Deborah, Marine, Ruby, and Alana, and Solenne,
Ruby- same one, Natalie and T'Pol," Malcolm said proudly. The effort
of stringing together a complete sentence was too much for him,
though, and he fell back against Trip's shoulder, laughing until his
entire body was trembling.

"T'Pol?" Hoshi repeated inquisitively.

"Trip shagged her," Malcolm offered helpfully, still laying against
the man who currently wanted to punch his lights out.

"You. . .  what? Commander?" Hoshi was sitting up straighter, her eyes
full of laughter.

"It's 'Trip' when we're drunk," Trip replied sullenly, retrieving the
scotch from her and taking a drain.

"You slept with Sub-commander T'Pol?" There was wonder in the Ensign's
voice.

"T'Pol and Charlie sitting in a tree," Malcolm began. Trip pushed him
away, and he overbalanced and fell to the floor. He stayed there.

"Down with love," Trip quoted.

"Well put," Hoshi agreed, wisely not pushing the T'Pol subject any
further. "Down with love."

"So whass your excuse?" Tucker slurred at last.

Hoshi sighed. "All MACOs are bastards."

"Thass right," Malcolm said, managing at last to push himself up off
the floor. "Weren't you going to the movie with that Kemper bloke?"

"All MACOs are bastards," Hoshi repeated by way of reply.

"Well said," Trip muttered.

"Whass your problem with them?" Malcolm wondered.

"Amanda Cole," the Commander replied.

"You shagged her too?" Reed exclaimed. "You dirty bastard!"

"It don't matter how many people you shag," Trip philosophized.
"You're always gon' be alone on Valentine's Day." He lowered his head
miserably. Malcolm nodded in all directions.

Hoshi considered them, deciding that if they began to cry, she would
take the scotch and run.

"You're very drunk," she told both of them. But, she had to admit, as
did her two companions, that somehow it was better than being alone
and miserable on Valentine's Day to be alone and miserable on
Valentine's Day, surrounded by people just as miserable as you.
Particularly if they had scotch.

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The End