The BLTS Archive -Hero One
by Marie Whi Mitshue (DriftingPetal@gundamwing.org)

---

Comments: This was my first "Enterprise" fic. Be gentle when you give
me feedback. Oh, and beware, I am Canadian!!! So, expect.anything!
MBWAHAHAHAHAHA! *good evil laugh? Or does it need more MBWAA?* This
fic takes place sometime after the episode "Shuttlepod One," just
because I felt like it! And thanks to "Stacey P" who read my fic on
www.fanfiction.net, emailed me to say it was good and told me about
the enterprise slash group. Thanks bunches!! //thoughts// *emphasis*
(the more **, the greater the emphasis)

Archived to the Web site on 07/01/2002.  Archived at EntSTCommunity
with the author's express permission.  

---

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sighed and slid into a chair. He put his
lunch-laden tray onto the table before him, one thin, strong,
long-fingered hand flying up to conceal a sudden gentle yawn. He shook
his head, hoping it would clear some of the weariness from his brain,
and lifted his fork. He paused, a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his
mouth, when sudden, cheery laughter broke through the muted
conversations all around the Mess Hall. The Englishman's storm-cloud
eyes--a deep, misty colour of combined greys and blues--flicked up and
around, unerringly locking on the source of the laughter, like a
torpedo locking onto its target.

The target being one Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker the Third, sat at
a seat three tables over, head still thrown back in laughter, soft,
blond-brown hair falling over his forehead.

Reed almost sighed at the unconscious grace and beauty of the
engineer, then caught himself, remembering where he was. His cheeks
reddened slightly, and the Armoury officer hastily turned back to his
meal. His mind was more on the thought of what Tucker's lips would
taste like than on what his pasta tasted like.

Across the hall, eating tomato salad and reconstituted raw potatoes--
with far more delight and enjoyment than a human would--Dr. Phlox
looked curiously from Reed to Tucker. The Englishman was now bent over
his meal, cheeks slightly flushed, eating his food with an abstracted
air. And now Tucker was glancing over towards the solitary armoury
officer, with a-wistful?- look on his face. The fair-haired engineer
quickly returned his attention to his dinner companions, Ensign Travis
Mayweather and Ensign Hoshi Sato. Neither the helmsman nor the
communications officer noticed Reed's or Tucker's unusual behaviour.

//Hmmm,// The Denublian mused to himself as he munched, vivid blue-
white eyes still flickering from Reed to Tucker, // this is
interesting.  Humans are so full of fascinating behaviour! I wonder..
it looks like there  may be unresolved or yet-to-be-revealed romantic
interest between  them..hmmm, if they mate, would they let me watch?//

---

Captain Jonathon Archer leaned back in his chair, resting his half-
full whiskey glass on his flat, T-shirt clad belly, and tilted his
head inquiringly at the other man.

Tucker, sprawled with the boneless grace of a cat across Archer's
sofa, dressed in civvies like the captain, scowled at his commanding
officer  and friend of years as he caught the questioning look.

"What?" He asked irritably, lifting his own whiskey glass and draining
it in one swallow.

Archer shrugged, and sipped from his glass. "Oh, I don't know. Just
sort of wondering when you're going to tell me what's bothering you,
Trip."

The engineer swivelled into an upright position. "Now, why, my dear
Cap'n, would you think there's somethin' botherin' little ole me?" he
drawled, and added a smile, but it was a lukewarm effort at best, and
not even remotely worthy to be on the face of Trip Tucker.

Archer lifted one dark brow at him, face a study in disbelief. "Trip,
don't insult me. I know you well enough and long enough to know when
something's bugging you."

Tucker shrugged uncomfortably. "It's.." He sighed. "It ain't nothin'
important, Cap."

"Bull." Archer said firmly. "You've been.. distracted and down in the
dumps for weeks now."

Predictably, Tucker flared up. "It hasn't affected my work, now has
it, Captain?"

"No, not yet.." Archer trailed off.

Tucker stiffened. "Is this worry about Trip from Johnny, or concern
over Commander Tucker's behaviour from the captain?" he asked.

Archer shrugged. "A little bit of both, I guess, but mostly the first.
What's wrong, Trip? Can't you let me try to help?"

"It ain't no matter, Johnny. You can't. No one can." He paused. "Well,
that's a lie. Someone can but.. that ain't ever gonna happen."

Archer sat back in his chair, sighing heavily. "Trip, she's a Vulcan.
T'Pol isn't going to fall for your charms no matter wha ." He stopped
as Trip, staring at him, burst into laughter. "Trip?"

Trip was laughing so hard he had to hold his sides, and tears were
leaking from his light blue eyes. "You-t..thought I -w..was talkin'
about..T..T'Pol? Oh, sweet pete, no!" Trip wiped at the laugh tears on
his face. "Oh, that was great. No, Cap, I don't want T'Pol--not that I
ain't sayin' she's not a fox, 'cause she is one hot lady, make no
mistake. But I don't-I feel kinda bad for her, ya know, always the one
out. At least Dr. Phlox shows his emotions, so he fits in easier with
the crew. And there's no animosity between Humans and Denublians like
there is between Humans and Vulcans, for holding us back for a hundred
years. I just think T'Pol needs a friend, that's all."

"Oh." Archer frowned, puzzled. "Then, what.." He trailed off as Tucker
leaned back in the sofa cushions.

"You did guess right about one thing, Cap. It is because of someone. I
-I kinda-geez, Johnny, I fell in love! Isn't that the most stupid
thing I could do?" Tucker rose and ran a hand through his short
blond-brown hair, and started to pace. Porthos jumped up from his
doggy bed and paced away happily on Tucker's heels. "I mean, here we
are, the first Human ship out this far, the whole galaxy is full of
dangers and perils unknown, and who knows when one of us might get
hurt or take hostage, or killed ! And he's already been take hostage,
and shot and beaten up, and we've only been out here nine months! He's
the one in charge of keeping this ship and crew safe! That puts him
directly in the path of danger! That's his job! Most of the time, he's
going ahead of us, weapon drawn, or throwing himself in front of us,
or trying to sacrifice his life to save one of ours!"

Archer didn't even lift an eyebrow at Tucker's revealing use of
masculine pronoun. They'd been friends for a very long time, and while
the  captain's taste ran only to women, he was well aware that Trip's
taste ran to  both women and men. And the details Trip had spilled had
also revealed the identity of the man he'd fallen for.

"Does Malcolm know?" he asked quietly.

Trip made an incredulous face at him. "Yeah, right! You know how hard
it is to get Malcolm to be even a little less formal than he usually
is!  Look at the man! He's British, for one, one of the most reserved
and stuffy people on the face of the planet, he's rather shy, and I
was in that damned shuttlepod with him, remember? When we thought
Enterprise had been destroyed, and we had no hope of rescue and little
air? I heard all those letters he was dictating, to Rochelle, to
Debra, to Caitlin he's straight, okay? He never mentioned a single
guy, and dying or not, I was not going to spill my guts. He may be
short and compact, but it's all muscle and Malcolm is a dangerous man!
That's why you recruited him! I didn't think that getting my head
ripped off by the man I love, because I told him I loved him, was a
more acceptable way to die. I'll take the slow suffocation any day."

"There's a first time for everything. And there have been bisexual and
homosexual Englishmen before, you know." Archer offered. Trip flopped
back down onto the sofa. Porthos jumped up beside him, sensing the
man's low emotion, and the beagle whined and licked anxiously at
Trip's face. The engineer smiled weakly at the dog and petted him
softly.

"Look, Cap, thanks for letting me vent. But it ain't ever gonna
happen. Malcolm's not bi or gay, and if he ever is attracted to a guy,
it sure  as shit won't be me. I have it on good authority that he
finds me irritatingly and overly-optimistic, among other things.
Just.." Tucker stood and sighed. "Just forget it, Captain. Eventually,
I'll be able to, too. It's just.."

"You two do work together a lot." Archer mused.

"Kinda have to, Cap. Weapons are his forte, machines mine. Together we
keep the defensive and offensive systems at peak efficiency, and all
that jazz. It makes it hard sometimes, but I'll do my job, make no
mistake about that, Cap. I.. sometimes find myself a little too close
to him, smelling the scent of his cologne and his skin, feeling the
heat radiating from his body... He has the cutest little yawn he gets
when we're working late, although he always tries to hide it. And his
eyes, they're like tempest-tossed clouds and oceans, all blues and
greys mixed together, and his smile! Ya ever notice that endearing
little half-smile he gets? It's just so damned sexy and..." Tucker
caught himself, blushing.

"Damn, Trip, I haven't heard you wax poetical like this in a long
time. You really do love him..." Archer exclaimed.

"Yeah...but it ain't gonna happen, Cap. I'd... appreciate it of you
kept this to yourself. It's hard enough to be around him now. I
couldn't  stand the horror and pity I'd see in his eyes if he knew how
I felt."

"You have my word, Trip." Archer rose as Trip walked towards the
hatch. "But, Trip..." The engineer turned back, "How do you know if
you don't try?"

Trip smiled, a sadly bittersweet smile. "If I don't try, at least I
won't lose his friendship. At least I'll can still be near him. That's
the  best it's gonna get, believe me. Now, goodnight, Cap.
And...Johnny?  Thanks."

"Anytime, Trip." Archer watched his best friend and engineer leave,
then repeated softly, "Anytime."

---

Captain Archer stood in the doorway to the armoury, silently watching
Reed, certain that the other man's full attention was on his task. The
Englishman had one of the weapons lockers open, and was methodically
checking each phase pistol, stun grenade and EM-33 sidearm in it. A
lock of dark brown hair fell over his forehead, and his
strongly-chiselled, handsome face wore an expression of content
concentration, not that that was a surprise. Reed's predilection for
'things that go boom' was well known. Indeed, one of the reasons
Archer had handpicked Reed for his Armoury officer (which meant, by
default, he was the ship's Chief of Security and Chief Tac officer)
was the man's knowledge, familiarity and liking of munitions. As he
had said before, he hadn't recruited his tactical officer to sit on
his butt when he was threatened.

Without looking up from the phase pistol in his hands, not even
stopping his safety check, Reed suddenly asked, "Is there something I
can do  for you, Captain?"

Damn. Well, of course he should have expected Reed to know he was
there. The man's forte was fighting and weapons and hostile
situations, and  you had to be highly aware of the environment around
you at all times in  that kind of profession. And Reed was one of the
best.

"Not really, Lieutenant. Just taking a walk around the ship."

"Surveying your domain, Captain?" Reed said with his characteristic
half-smile, finally looking over at the captain.

Archer grinned back. Although he was only sexually attracted to women,
he had to admit, Trip was right about Malcolm's usual little smile. It
was rather endearing. "Something like that." He stepped inside the
Armoury. "I didn't want to interrupt you."

Reed shrugged and slid the last EM-33 back into it's rack. "All done,
sir."

Archer tilted his head as a thought occurred to him. "Wasn't this
assigned to Ensign Johnson? For next shift?"

Reed shifted from foot to foot. "Well, I had some spare time, sir, and
I felt Johnson's time could better be spent on something else."

"Ah, so you didn't want to waste the ensign's time on a sidearm safety
check, but you felt it alright to waste the chief armoury officer's?"
Archer asked, with an inquiry lift of one brow. Reed shifted again,
looking uncomfortable. "Um, no, sir. I am off- shift. I'm not
disrupting any of my assigned duties."

Archer leaned against the torpedo loading cradle. "If you're off-
duty, Lieutenant, why aren't you unwinding in the Mess Hall, or the
Gym, or  in your quarters? As hectic has its been around here the last
few days,  I'd figure you'd be like the rest of the crew, glad of the
chance to  relax."

Reed looked away, running a hand through his soft, chocolate-dark
hair. "I...I'd rather work, sir."

Archer looked closer; Reed had the beginnings of sleepless dark
circles forming beneath his eyes, and despite his spotless appearance,
the  Brit looked weary. And he looked liked he'd lost a little
weight...

"Are you alright, Lieutenant? Is there something bothering you?"

Reed stiffened to attention, all expression fading from his face. "I'm
perfectly fine, Captain. I've... just been having a little trouble
sleeping." He admitted under the captain's scrutiny.

"Oh? How come?" Archer asked casually. //I wonder if he and Trip are
having the same problem: being in love with someone they think they
cannot have.//

"Oh...I don't know, sir."

"Nothing on your mind?"

Reed was beginning to look a little worried. "N... not really, sir."

//Malcolm, you are not a good liar.// "You know, you can always talk
to me if there is something bothering you, Malcolm. I may not be your
father, but I am your captain." Archer smiled.

"Sir, I'm fine. I...have a personal issue, but it is of little
importance, and it will not affect my duties on this ship. Now, if you
will excuse me, I do believe I will avail myself of some relaxing
sleep." He waited only long enough for Archer's nod of dismissal, then
strode from the Armoury.

Archer sighed. //It was too much to hope or expect Malcolm to spill
his heart to me like Trip had. For one, Malcolm hasn't known me that
long,  and two, he's a very private person. And three, if his problem
is the same thing that's bothering Trip, the last person he's going to
tell is Trip's closest buddy!//

---

Malcolm leaned against the door to his quarters after it slid shut
behind them. He let a soft sigh escape. He'd have to be more careful,
have to figure out a way to hide or get rid of these feelings and
dreams he had involving the ship's chief engineer. If Archer had
noticed the side effects from it--and his gentle probing had made it
clear that he had--then someone else was bound to notice as well. Like
one Charles Tucker the Third. He had to stop thinking about him. The
brash and bold Southerner would never want someone like him, so
insignificant, so beneath notice, even if by some miracle Trip turned
out to like men.

Malcolm had terrible self-esteem about himself, if it had anything to
do with personal issues. He was shy about anything other than his job
and  his beloved munitions, and his people skills were, well, less
than  refined, shall we say. He considered himself inferior, a poor
imitation of the  real heroes of this mission. Captain Archer, Sub-
Commander T'Pol, Trip,  they were the real heroes, genuine
larger-than- life individuals that would figure greatly in whatever
histories were eventually written. On the other hand, he would be
barely a footnote, and only that for being Enterprise's armoury
officer. He certainly wasn't worthy to be loved by Trip!

He straightened, frowning sadly at the direction his thoughts had
taken, and slowly made his way into the bedroom area of his quarters.
He  quickly shed his uniform and went into his lavatory, turning on
the shower. He stepped inside the shower stall and raised his face to
the spray. Eyes shut tightly, arms braced against the wall, he bowed
his head beneath the hot water.

Unbidden, thoughts of Tucker rose in his mind. Almost unconsciously,
his hand lifted to flatten against his own chest. Slowly, as the
thoughts  of the Southerner turned erotic, his hand slid down his own
muscled  chest, and flat, muscled belly, to curl around his own
erection.

"Trip..." He groaned as his hand started to stroke himself, imagining
it was Trip's hand on him, Trip's mouth. The images of him and Trip in
his mind became more and more erotic and sensual, and his motions
became faster, harder, as pleasure knotted in his gut. He came with a
breathless cry, and the hot water coursing over him washed away all
traces of his passion.

Malcolm lifted his head, pushed water-soaked hair out of his eyes, and
sighed heavily.

"Trip...God, Trip..."

He straightened, frowning at his loss of control, and pushed the
engineer out of his mind. Well, attempted to push the engineer out of
his mind. With a grim, lonely set to his mouth, he reached for the
soap.

Ensign Travis Mayweather turned from the buffet-style line with a tray
full of food, and his dark eyes flicked over the mess hall's nearly
full tables.

//Man, did all of the alpha shift decide to eat lunch at twelve
hundred thirty hours today?!// He thought with a sigh. He didn't want
to eat  all squeezed up to some crewperson he didn't know all that
well.

His dark, handsome face lit up with a relieved grin as he saw
Lieutenant Reed sitting at a small corner table, two empty seats
beside him. The compactly-muscled lieutenant's dark head was bent over
the bright screen of a Personal Access Data Device, absently eating
while he read. There were no other senior staff in the mess hall
yet--Trip and T'Pol were eating with the captain again, Dr. Phlox
hadn't surfaced from some gene-sequencing research he'd been
conducting in Sickbay yet, and Hoshi was finishing up a diagnostic on
her translator array before coming down from the bridge--and the rest
of the crew had obviously decided not to bother a senior officer (and,
incidentally, the most dangerous man on the ship) until the rest of
the seats were taken.

Mayweather made his way towards Reed, weaving in and out between
occupied tables. He didn't blame them for leaving the lieutenant
alone; he'd  caught some of the slightly intimidated looks some of the
crewmembers threw Reed's way. The armoury officer didn't socialise
much; Travis had realised that was because he was almost desperately
shy about anything outside his job, but most of the other non-senior
crew, or those not in security or munitions, though it was because he
was a cold, distant, aloof sort of man. And it didn't help their
impressions that they had seen him in the gym, fighting against other
security men, training them in hand-to-hand combat, or seen him
working out alone, doing solo routines. Once, Mayweather himself had
seen Reed unleash enough strength in that lean, whipcord body to bust
clean through a punching bag and simultaneously rip it from it's
mooring in the ceiling. And Reed hadn't even been breathing hard after
he'd done it! And he was such a little guy, compared to your idea of
the ideal security officer: the big, overly-muscled bruiser- type. So,
of course, if you hadn't gotten to know him, at least a little, Reed
could seem to be a cold, hard, scary sort of man. He stopped beside
Reed's table. "Anyone sitting here?" He asked. Reed looked up,
blinking, mind obviously still lost in whatever weapons manual or
technical spec he'd been engrossed in, and before he could say more
than "Hmm?", Travis had dropped into a seat across from him.

"Oh, no, no one's sitting there, Ensign." That typical half-smile of
his curved his mouth, and he added wryly, "Please, do join me."

"Thanks." Travis grinned at him, and poked his fork at his dinner.
"So, whatcha reading, Lieutenant?" He asked idly as he speared a piece
of Chicken Kiev and popped it into his mouth.

"Umm?" Reed had already returned to his PADD. "Oh, it's the specs for
the phase cannons. I was just...going over them."

"Just seeing if there was any possible way to improve them, a way you
haven't already found, since you've improved those cannons four times
and made them ten percent more efficient already since you installed
them." Travis teased, just to see if the Englishman would blush. He
had discovered that Reed had a low blush factor, and the helmsman
considered it his duty to tease and kid him. It was, after all, a
friend's duty to help a man get over his shyness, wasn't it? Ah, there
it was. Reed's pale cheeks turned faintly red and he hit the PADD's
power button, the screen's brightness fading, then dulling to blank
blackness.

"Alright, Mister Mayweather. I'll take the hint and concentrate on
eating instead of the impossible." He said in a mildly exasperated
tone, but  the little half-smile that popped back up, and the twinkle
in those grey- blue eyes, belied the expression of irritation.
Mayweather nodded. "Good.  You look like you've lost a bit of weight.
Forgetting to eat again?"

Reed blushed again, much harder this time. "Thank you Ensign, but I've
already had a lec--a talk with the doctor about my eating habits." He
said irritably.

Mayweather grinned. He just bet he had! Dr. Phlox took his job
seriously, and Reed had a tendency not to eat enough, or to skip meals
to work.  The doctor had already lectured him more than once on the
fact that he  wasn't taking in enough fuel for his body's needs,
especially considering his physically demanding job. Mayweather knew
for a fact that Phlox had told Reed to gain at least two kilograms
((A.N.: roughly a little less than five pounds, I think)) of weight.

"Looks like you lost those two kilos instead of gaining them."
Mayweather said casually.

Reed sighed. "Why is it when I eat with you, I feel like I'm eating
with a maternally-inclined uncle who never had any children and must
focus  his attentions on his nephews and nieces?" He asked, voice just
slightly sarcastic.

Mayweather shrugged and took another bite of his meal. "Dunno. Must be
some strange British thing." He grinned.

Reed glared at him, then lost the look to smile back. "Tell you what,
Travis. You back off a bit, and then I won't feel so pressured. With
both you and Phlox on my back, and the trouble I'm having sleeping--"
He cut off abruptly, making at face at himself for letting slip that
little fact.

"What's wrong, sir?" Mayweather asked, dropping the teasing. His
expression was serious, and his dark eyes ran over Reed, paying closer
attention. He caught the tired circles forming under Reed's eyes this
time, the weary melancholy ghosting in the back of Reed's eyes, the
weight loss... "You've lost a bit more than two kilos. What's wrong,
Malcolm? Anything I can do for you?"

Reed shook his head. "It's nothing serious, Travis, and it's nothing
you can help me with, although I appreciate the offer." He smiled
slightly  and rose, taking both tray and PADD. "I'll see you later."

Mayweather watched Reed go, frowning worriedly. Whatever was bothering
Reed wasn't nothing, and he was damned well going to find out what it
was and how to fix it!

---

Trip stepped out of the captain's private dining room and looked
casually around the mess hall as the hatch closed behind him. He saw
Mayweather frowning worriedly, and turned to look in the direction of
the helmsman's gaze. Reed was just going out the mess hall door.

Unable to help it, curiosity and his hidden feelings for Reed eating
at him, he strode over to the still-worried-looking pilot.

"Somethin' wrong, Travis?" He inquired--and was pleasantly surprised
that he'd managed to keep his voice casual.

Travis looked up at him as he slid into a chair. "Oh, hello, sir.
Nothing's wrong with me, it's just..." He paused. "It's Malcolm, sir.
There's something bothering him. He accidentally let slip that he
couldn't sleep, and the doc told him he'd better start eating and stop
skipping meals--you know Malcolm!--and gain some weight, but he's lost
some! And he looks so tired, and there's something in his eyes, like
he's anxious, or sad, or something! I'm getting worried about him,
Commander. He doesn't have much to do with anyone outside of his
department and the senior officers, and none of us are that close to
him. He won't let anyone get close!"

Tucker swallowed, managing to keep most of his dread off his face.
//Malcolm had to have noticed my feelings. That's the only
explanation: Malcolm's realised I'm attracted to him, if nothing else
about what I feel for him, and he's disgusted and worried that I'll
hit on him or something, and it's affecting him seriously. Not
sleeping and losing weight?! That's more than serious! Aw, hell...//

"Sir, are you alright?" Mayweather asked, now looking worried over
him.

"Yeah, Travis, I'm fine. I gotta go, though." He rose and hurried out.

Mayweather shook his head. What in the world was going on? First,
something was bothering Reed. And now it was evident that something
was bothering Tucker too.

The dark-skinned pilot sighed and took a disinterested bit of his
dinner, his mind on the two officers who had fled.

---

Captain's Personal Starlog, Dec. 1st, 2151 I can't help but want to
play matchmaker for Trip and Malcolm. Trip is suffering because he
loves  the good lieutenant--I've known that good old Southern boy for
a long,  long time, and he does truly love Malcolm. And I know for a
fact  something's bothering Malcolm, and I think it's the same thing
that's ripping Trip apart. But I'm not sure and Malcolm won't open up
to anyone. Dr. Phlox reported the Malcolm's lost weight instead of
gaining it, and he asked him if he'd like to talk, but he just brushed
the doctor off. And Travis came to me this morning. He ate lunch with
Malcolm last night, and felt it was his duty to report that something
is seriously bothering Malcolm, although he wouldn't talk about it.

And, he added, that he saw Trip just after Malcolm left, and he's
fairly sure something is bothering him, too. This has to be resolved.
Both officers are doing their jobs, and there's no problem there, but
they're turning hollow inside. Trip is becoming more and more
withdrawn, NOT a natural phenomenon in the least, and Malcolm's not
the biggest guy in the world; if he loses much more weight he'll look
like a skeleton! Archer leaned back in his chair and hit the off
button for his log. He sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair.
The communications grid on the wall beeped. He rose and tapped the
channel open.

"Archer."

"Captain, a ship just dropped out of warp beside us." T'Pol's voice
said calmly.

"Friend or foe?" Archer asked.

"Captain? I am unfamiliar with the configuration, but its weapons are
not powered, and it appears to be suffering damage."

"I'm on my way. Call all senior staff to stations." He ordered, then
hurried out of his quarters. He paused as Porthos whined. "Stay, boy."
He soothed, and hurried out. The turbolift doors snapped open at the
bridge and Archer swiftly surveyed his bridge, noting that Mayweather
and Sato were at their stations, Reed at his, with Trip hovering over
his left shoulder--that was the engineer's customary spot, come to
think of it, if he wasn't sitting at the bridge's engineering station.
Did Trip like tormenting himself with Reed's closeness?! T'Pol had had
the conn, but Archer's command chair was empty, the Vulcan at her
science station, bent over her viewer.

"Report." Archer snapped as he slid into his seat. T'Pol smoothly
swivelled up and around from her viewer. "The ship had made no hostile
moves, but their propulsion and weapons systems appear to have been
damaged by weapons fire."

"I recommend polarising the hull plating and bring weapons on line."
Reed said briskly from his station. Hoshi shot him a look. "They're
not in  any shape to fight, Lieutenant." She protested.

"Even if they're not, what if whoever damaged them comes to damage
us?" Reed shot back, and the slim Asian comm officer flushed.

"Do it, Malcolm." Archer told him.

"Aye, sir. Hull plating on-line, weapons coming up." Even considering
the circumstances, Trip had to hide a smile. Malcolm had sounded
slightly...pleased to bring his beloved weapons up.

"Captain, we're receiving a transmission from the alien ship." Hoshi
reported suddenly, one hand cupped over her earbug. "Audio only."

"Put it on speakers." The captain ordered.

"....ashtic malooy nataric
sevanfe...tioence...eocjoert...sofvjpsdd,...." The alien voice was
raspy, and sounded masculine, but his language was unfamiliar.

"Hoshi?" Archer asked. The slim ensign was busy at her station. "Just
a little more, sir." She said absently. "There!" She crowed, and hit a
switch. The alien transmission cleared up, and the universal
translator kicked in, rendering the language comprehensible to the
bridge crew. "This is the Tellurian freighter Star Freedom, hailing
the unidentified vessel off our port bow. We are an unarmed cargo
vessel, and have been attacked by Nassicaan pirates. We are badly
damaged, and appeal to you, please assist us."

Mayweather turned from the helm. "Sir, I recognise the ship's design
now. We saw a rare one or two of them on the Dreylak run. They are a
very non-violent species, and the only weapons they'd have is a pop-
gun laser to deflect asteroids and other debris. They tend to carry
valuable cargoes and usually travel in numbers for safety."

"What's it doing by itself, then?" Ever suspicious in his duty to
protect the ship, Reed muttered to himself at his station. As Captain
Archer opened a channel and returned their hail, Trip leaned close to
Reed, wanting to test his theory of Malcolm knowing about his
attraction; he wanted to see how Malcolm reacted to him being close.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. With you guarding our backs, we'll be fine."
He whispered in Reed's ear, so as not to disrupt Archer's conversation
with the Tellurian captain. Reed's shoulders tensed, and he leaned
subtly  away from the lanky engineer hovering over him.

"Well, yes, thank you." He murmured back, voice uncomfortable. Trip
leaned back, twisting to look at a display behind them, to keep from
showing the despair he was sure was visible on his face. He was right.
The way Malcolm had stiffened up and edged away proved that he knew
Trip wanted him and didn't like that at all.

"Trip?" Archer's voice called, and he forced an attentive, normal
expression on his face and turned.

"Yo, Cap?"

"I want you and Dr. Phlox to head over to the Star Freedom, to check
out her damage and her casualties. When you've assessed the situation,
we'll send over all the parts and engineers you need to fix her, and
ship  their casualties back to Enterprise. The captain's name is
Derot, and he's expecting you."

"Aye, sir." Trip trotted around the tactical station, heading for the
turbolift doors, when Reed's voice rang out.

"Sir, you can't mean to send them to an alien starship without a
security escort?" There was a touch of polite disapproval in the
Englishman's voice. "Oh?" Archer lifted a brow at him, but there was a
twinkle in his dark blue eyes that suggested he'd known how Malcolm
would react.

"No, sir. With all due respect to the Tellurians and Ensign
Mayweather's rather sketchy information, we don't know anything about
these  people." Reed half-stood, voice rising slightly, and Archer
caught the almost imperceptible flicker of the armoury officer's eyes
towards Tucker.

"Then I guess you'd better go with them, Lieutenant, in case the
Tellurians decide they'd taste good with a little white wine." Archer
ordered with a grin. If Reed was worried about Tucker, then who was
Archer to let him worry? Besides, maybe they'd get stuck together in a
Tellurian version of a maintenance access way and spill the beans to
each other. Reed's cheeks reddened faintly at the captain's indulgent
tone, but nodded firmly. "Aye, sir!" He looked to Tucker, who was
looking at him with an odd expression. "I'll get my gear and meet you
and the doctor in Launch Bay One, Commander."

"Yeah, you do that, Lieutenant." Tucker told him. He headed down to
Sickbay, Reed heading to the Armoury, and the engineer wondered why,
if Trip's presence bothered the Englishman so much, he was so adamant
about going on this mission. Then a thought occurred: Malcolm was just
doing his job, and being cautious. It had nothing to do with Tucker
going off to an alien vessel without him.

Tucker sighed at his own pathetic imagination. Imagine thinking Reed
wanted to come, not only because of his professional paranoia, but
because he wanted to be there to protect him, to be close to him. As
the 'lift doors opened and he strode down the corridor and into
Sickbay, Tucker thought, //You've got to get over this. Especially
since it seems Reed has some idea of it, and doesn't like it. If
you're not careful, you're liable to get your ass kicked by the most
dangerous man on the ship! //

---

TBC