The BLTS Archive - Xynobia
#2: I'm Having One Of Those Days
by MJ (mjr91@aol.com)

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Author Note: All filk from the lovely Westerfilk Songbook. There's a
longstanding tradition that every ST series has had at least one
fanfic that mentions Leslie Fish's infamous filk "Banned From Argo"—I
believe this is the first ENTfic to do so. Who cares if they've
actually heard of Argo yet? B&B have played faster and looser with
canon than I have.

---

Ensign Nancy Watkins, Armory second officer on Enterprise, fidgeted
nervously as she looked about her surroundings on the Xynobian
starship Garmandra. The official dinner the night before had been fun;
she'd never expected to be invited on an away visit with a friendly
planet's main battle cruiser. However, waking up this morning to
realize she'd actually agreed to have Garmandra's captain, Jamaya,
marry her off to her partner was giving her the biggest case of
butterflies in the stomach she'd ever imagined. It was even worse than
the first time she'd actually had to fire a phase pistol in combat.

The only thing that had kept her from losing control over her stomach
when she'd been fighting was the thought that her superior officer and
object of minor hero worship, Malcolm Reed, Starfleet's master of all
things weapons-related as far as she knew, was in the same fight with
her and that he would have been severely disappointed, she was sure,
if she'd thrown up in front of him. He hadn't blinked the entire time,
and she wanted to be just like that someday. Or to be able to look
like it, anyhow.

Now, she looked around for support from her idol once again. She'd
asked him to give her away at the ceremony, and he'd cheerfully agreed
once he'd gotten over his surprise. She couldn't have asked her
parents; they were galaxies away, after all, and besides, she wasn't
sure they'd have been all that thrilled about Lieutenant Nereida Patel
anyway. They'd have wanted her to get hitched with a male, certainly,
and almost definitely that idiotic space-agriculture broker who was
the son of her father's best friend from college. Dwayne was boring,
ugly, and male. Nereida was none of those things. Reed had been quiet
but supportive of her relationship with the junior engineer, and had
once or twice actually given her some good personal advice, although
she'd never realized just how close he'd been to the situation until
the day she'd nearly tripped over the God of Phase Cannons in a clinch
with Enterprise's captain. There couldn't have been a better person to
ask to give her away.

Unfortunately, unlike a phase pistol shootout, when her idol could be
counted on not even to break a sweat with phase fire going right past
his head, Malcolm Reed was currently looking even more discomfited
than she was. No one else might know that he was a nervous wreck at
the moment, but she worked with him every day. She could see that
little twitch at the side of his lip. Anyone else with a minor tic
like that might be only mildly worried, but it was as close as Reed
ever came to displaying outright panic in a presumably non-crisis
situation, and after working with him every day for over a year, she
knew it.

"How are you. Sir?" she asked, walking over to him as he stared out at
space.

"Me? Fine, Ensign. Nothing a few rounds of target practice wouldn't
cure. I'd really feel much calmer if I had something to shoot just
about now. How are you doing?"

"I'm starting to understand why shooting at inanimate objects is
therapeutic. I'm ready to faint."

"You'd better not; you'd disappoint Lieutenant Patel terribly. As well
as me, of course. I'm rather looking forward to this. Aside from the
privilege of marrying off my best shot, you're giving me some
practice. I might wind up doing this for my sister one day, so I'd
better learn the ropes now."

Watkins laughed. "I don't think my getting hitched is why you're
having the jitters, Sir."

Reed drew himself up to his full height and took a breath. "I do not
have, as you put it, 'the jitters,' Ensign. I am merely concerned, as
I have every right to be, as to all the possible ramifications of all
of today's events. Which do, of course, include, er, the fact that I
am, as everyone knows, umm. . . " He parted his hands, held them up in
a gesture indicating that he'd said more than enough, and took another
breath.

"Of course, Sir. My error." She smiled to herself. Reed had every
right to be on edge; after all, he wasn't merely giving her away, but
was being married himself. He might have been less nervous if
Commander Tucker hadn't nearly bludgeoned the Captain into proposing
to him in public just over twelve hours before. Not only had the
proposal been public—and at an official dinner on the Xynobian ship,
no less—but so had the bludgeoning. It was anyone's guess as to what
part of the whole incident was most likely to send Reed into a nervous
fit of obsessive decorum.

Reed turned and looked out the window again. "What on earth?" Another
shuttlepod from Enterprise was approaching to dock with Garmandra. Why
anyone was heading over was anyone's guess. Archer and Reed were
already on Garmandra, along with Trip Tucker, who was Archer's best
man as well as dogsitter for Porthos, whom Trip had thought deserved
to be along for such a major event for his master. Watkins and Patel
had traveled on the shuttlepod with the three senior officers and
Porthos.

Katama, the Xynobian woman who served as second in command on
Garmandra, came over a few moments later. "Lieutenant Reed?
Sub-Commander T'Pol has arrived from your ship. She wishes to speak
with you privately."

Reed turned to Watkins and shrugged. "I have no idea. Excuse me,
Ensign." He followed Katama down the corridor and into a small
conference room. T'Pol, in formal Vulcan robes rather than her usual
uniform, was seated at the table.

"Please, Lieutenant, sit down." Reed slid into a chair across from
T'Pol, who sat bolt-upright with her hands folded together upon the
table. "Thank you. I am aware that you and Captain Archer had not
anticipated the behavior of the crew this morning on the Bridge before
you departed."

"No," Reed agreed. "It was rather unexpected. It was rather
gratifying, actually; we had been a bit concerned with how the crew
would take the news, so to speak."

"I am aware, also, that I did not extend my congratulations to either
of you with regard to today's events. I, like the other members of the
crew, was somewhat surprised. I had not been aware that you and the
Captain had become a couple."

"Well, we hadn't exactly made a public announcement. Not until the
Xynobians asked him to bring his partner for dinner, and then I
suppose everyone got the news."

"The point is, Lieutenant, that I should not like my silence this
morning to be interpreted as a lack of congratulations in regard to
this ceremony. I do, in fact, wish you and the Captain well. I am not
familiar with Earth customs in regard to marriage, however, and had
some difficulty trying to understand exactly what was expected in the
way of offering such sentiments."

"That's quite all right, Sub-Commander. I understand perfectly."

T'Pol raised a hand for silence. "After you and the Captain left, I
was able to ask Ensign Sato some questions with regard to Earth
customs. I understand that you and the Captain are performing one such
custom for Ensign Watkins and Lieutenant Patel. Since their parents
are unavailable, apparently you are standing in for their parents as
their superior officers."

Malcolm nodded. "Right. Watkins is one of my Armory crew. I'm happy to
do it for her."

"I understand that the Captain has asked Commander Tucker, as his
friend, to be present for him. However, you do not have anyone with
you. Why is that?"

Malcolm looked at T'Pol and gave a slight shrug. "The reasons my
family aren't here should be obvious. As for anyone else. . . Hoshi
and Travis are friends, but I didn't feel quite right about asking
Travis for some reason, and Hoshi rather took off as social director
of this whole event."

T'Pol pursed her lips. "I do not think that it is right for you to be
the only one who does this without another officer present on your
behalf. If you do not mind, I should like to undertake this for you.
It would be a very great privilege. I do not understand very much
about how humans conduct these matters, but on Vulcan it would be very
wrong otherwise. Would you permit me to do this for you?"

Reed screwed his eyes shut and lowered his head for a moment. T'Pol
recognized that he was experiencing some strong emotion, although the
nature of it eluded her. When he opened his eyes and looked at her
again, his eyes were slightly moist.

"No, T'Pol. I am the one who is privileged. Thank you very much." »»»

"All of this," Jamaya, captain of Garmandra, explained briefly, "is
actually a very old ceremony. You'll hear a few parts that have been
in it since the days when they used to kidnap young adults and sell
them into slavery. Nobody likes to change it, though. Tradition and
all that." He pointed at some lines of text in a small handbook. "Most
of it dates back to when my own country, Ulmandria, had a clan system.
I don't suppose you have one these days, either?"

Jonathan Archer shook his head in a negative. "Not for a few centuries
in our larger countries."

"Good. I'll just leave out the dull part about the clan adoption,
then. We still have a few real traditionalists who dig up their
families' clan backgrounds for bondings."

"My God, this planet was settled by Scots," Reed sighed. "Please tell
me the clans don't play bagpipes at weddings, too."

"Bagpipes?" Jamaya mulled over the concept. "Oh, you mean those
horrible noisy things that people from Picara tuck under their arms
and squeeze?" He stared uncomprehendingly as Reed buried his face in
one hand for a moment. "And, of course, we still have a few smaller
provinces on the planet, like Picara, where the clan system is still
in effect. My crew from those areas usually insist on both the clan
adoption and those noisy things. Whoever's presenting the party being
bonded has a few questions to answer, but everything's fairly obvious.
It's not likely you'd give a wrong answer to anything and stop the
ceremony. I don't think it's ever happened."

"With my luck," Reed said easily, "I'll wind up accidentally selling
Ensign Watkins to a slave trader."

"Oh, I don't think so," Jamaya laughed. "The ceremony is fairly
simple, really. The entire idea is that bondmates are pledged to share
all things with each other; we represent that during the ceremony with
the exchange of some small loaves of bread, dishes of salt, and
goblets of wine. In the mountain provinces, some clans still have the
couple do a blood bonding over the bread, but. . . really. I don't
think that's been done in Ulmandria for at least two or three hundred
years. Any questions?"

"Uh, yeah." The response was from Commander Tucker, who was leaning in
a corner. "Cap'n, can I please put these blasted tin cans down yet?" A
string of tin cans festooned Tucker's neck. After Archer had removed
them from Porthos, who was now curled up at Tucker's feet, and after
he had quickly fingered Tucker as the culprit, he'd told Tucker
exactly what he could do with the decorations. The original suggestion
had been anatomically impossible, but Archer had remedied that by
dumping them on Tucker.

Archer glanced at Reed. Malcolm merely snickered. "Against my better
judgment, Trip, I'll let you trash them. Have you learned your
lesson?"

"Let's pretend I did and get on with it, okay?" It was doubtful that
Trip could have looked more sullen if he'd tried. It was close to the
expression Porthos had given Archer in the shuttlepod before Archer
had rescued the beagle from Trip's decorating.

A quick grin. "Okay, Trip, you're on reprieve." Gratefully, Trip
yanked the cans from his neck and deposited them in a corner. Archer
turned back to Malcolm. "Why is T'Pol here?"

Jamaya exited the room, preparing to perform his stated favorite duty
as a ship's captain. Reed had never seen anyone who enjoyed weddings
of any kind as much as Jamaya apparently did. He looked up at the
ceiling before answering. "I think I've been adopted."

Archer pondered the idea. "Okay. You both have pokers up your asses; I
guess you could be related."

"I most certainly do not have a poker up my arse, Jonathan Archer. You
ought to know damned well what's up there."

"Ow!" Trip called. "That's more than I need to know, you two." He took
Porthos and walked out to the corridor to clear his head and to get
away from the sight of metal cans. Seeing Garan, Jamaya's bondmate, in
the corridor, he walked over to say hello. The Xynobian bent down to
give Porthos a scratch behind the ears.

Garan, senior Communications Officer on Garmandra, prided himself on
his ability to decode other languages. English was incredibly simple,
he explained to Trip. Klingon had been much harder, and he hoped that
someday he could forget he'd learned it. He would be damned if he
couldn't translate canine.

As they stood in the corridor waiting for Jamaya and his assistants to
finish setting up in the auditorium, Garan began to wonder if defeat
might not be the order of the day. "I don't know," he explained,
looking at the beagle whose language eluded him. "It's a very limited
vocabulary. So far all I've been able to make out are the words 'fun,'
'happy,' 'go for ride,' and 'where's the cheese?' Does that last one
make any sense to you?"

"Uh, yeah. It does."

"And something, if I understand it correctly, about you looking better
in. . . " Garan scratched his head, "hmm. . . a tin garland than he
does."

Trip glowered at Porthos. The dog looked up and wagged his tail
cheerily at the chief engineer. "Thanks a lot, buddy," Trip growled.

Porthos made a series of yips. Trip looked over at Garan. "My, my,"
Garan clucked. "I do believe he's trying to tell a joke."

"What's that?"

"He wants to know if you know the difference between your leg and a
fire hydrant."

"Yeah, I do," Trip snorted, staring down at his best friend's other
best friend. "And don't you even try." »»»

The events on Garmandra, once Jamaya proclaimed that everything was
ready, were a series of blurs, of moments recalled by Reed in snapshot
imagery, which was in fact much how he remembered them occurring.

The crew of Garmandra in red Xynobian dress uniforms. T'Pol in her
robes. Jamaya wearing a sash over his uniform, covered with medals,
that vaguely reminded both Archer and Reed of their own Scout badge
sashes. Incense, of all things, which seemed to please T'Pol, but
which Reed sorely feared was going to trigger his allergies. The last
thing he wanted anyone remembering about the day was that he'd had a
massive sneezing fit.

Jamaya's voice booming. "Who brings this woman to be bonded?"

Reed, calmly. "I do." He always managed to look much calmer than he
felt. There wasn't a lip twitch in sight. And, thank the Lord for
small favors, no sniffling yet. The incense seemed not to be a
problem.

"Is she a free woman of your own people?"

"She is."

"Has she been brought among us by choice or by force?"

"By choice."

Watkins stepping forward, hugging Reed on the way, looking over at
Nereida Patel, who was radiant in a way she never was down in
Engineering, in a purple and gold sari and with gold ribbon twisted in
hair braided high on her head. Archer behind Patel, managing to look
excessively proud of the junior engineer. Watkins moving the small
salt dish as if she were carrying a vial of radioactive isotopes.
Patel nervously trying not to spill the wine goblet she was passing to
Watkins.

And then T'Pol was nudging Reed in the back with her hand, urging him
to move forward, and his stomach dropped several feet below the
flooring of the room. How he could be vaguely nauseated when his
stomach had left his body eluded him, but it was happening. He
remembered that his mother had once said something about being nervous
enough to faint when she'd married his father; undoubtedly, this was
the same thing. But Archer looked—no, not calm, that wasn't quite it.
Not calm—no, smug. Intensely self-satisfied, the way Porthos looked
when he'd stolen a large bite of cheese from his master's table before
anyone could stop him. And all of that personal satisfaction seemed to
be aimed, quite possessively, directly at Malcolm. Malcolm couldn't
recall anyone ever having looked at him just that way before, but it
really was rather pleasant.

He kept himself together, fighting nervousness he'd never noticed when
facing off against angry Naussicans, by pushing himself into a
Zen-like, nearly robotic state, trying to observe himself and his
actions. His best martial arts instructor had taught it to him,
primarily for dealing with multiple-opponent hand-to-hand combat. He
might have to write a letter to Sensei, who had probably never heard
of one of his students using the discipline to stay in one piece for
something like this. Breathing slowly, Malcolm watched himself in
action, focusing on his hands as he lifted a small, rounded loaf of
bread from an engraved bronze plate, trying not to look at Archer's
hands, and trying even harder not to think of what those hands were
capable of doing to him, of what they'd been doing to him only two
nights before. . .

. . . and saying something, which apparently wasn't the wrong thing,
whatever he was saying, and trying to look at his lover without
looking directly into his lover's eyes, which would have been
absolutely fatal; no way to keep focused at all on anything around him
other than those impossibly green eyes of Jonathan Archer's if he
looked anywhere near them. . .

. . . and Archer had a hand in the small of his back, the other hand
in his hair, and Malcolm wasn't sure if that was a kiss, or if it was
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, because it occurred to him that he had
to have quit breathing minutes before, and whatever Jon was doing to
him, it was certainly shaking him back into present reality.

The reality—oh, mother of God—was that he'd just gotten himself
married. To Jonathan Archer. The captain of his frigging ship. In
front of several officers from Enterprise, any number of very friendly
aliens, and his lover's dog. Things like this did not happen to Reeds.
Things like this were too major to happen to a Reed. . . and, if he
ever lived through it, possibly too pleasant.

Porthos shook free of Trip and bounded over to Archer and Reed. Archer
bent down to pick Porthos up and dangle him in Malcolm's face. Malcolm
grinned weakly. "Almost forgotten I'd married a man with a family."

"Love me, love my dog." Archer nuzzled Porthos and set him back down.

"Not a problem," Malcolm smiled. "My God, we're married."

Archer grinned widely. "Yeah, I think so." »»»

"By the way, Captain Archer," Jamaya said, drawing him aside as Archer
and Reed attempted to make their way back to the shuttlepod, "I've
spoken to Starship Command. They would very much like to meet with you
while you are visiting. I explained the purpose of your own visit, and
they have seen fit to book you and Lieutenant Reed a suite at a hotel
near Starship Command Headquarters. It's really one of the nicest
hotels in the city. Vice Admiral Denoria sends her compliments and
hopes you'll accept the hospitality."

"That's really very kind of you," Archer responded, "but it's not
really necessary." The attempted refusal was no more than a courtesy.
An actual attempt to argue the matter would have been pointless and
would have created ill-will; besides, the Xynobians, he suspected,
probably had a better idea of luxury accommodations than did most
people, and the thought of spending several days with Malcolm in a
plush hotel room had its undeniable charms.

"Nonsense," Jamaya snorted. "Consider it a diplomatic perk from
Starship Command. They're quite beside themselves that we've made
contact with such a very similar planet and that you're taking
advantage of what we offer. In fact, Vice Admiral Denoria says she'd
love to hear more about this Starfleet business your people have.
Mixed crews from different planets? We've been contemplating something
of the sort with some of our neighbors, but no use reinventing the
wheel when you're starting up, is there?"

"I suppose not," Archer agreed.

"Lovely. We'll see you back at your ship, then." »»»

The luncheon plates were being removed from the mess hall tables by
galley crew pressed into waiter service. Trip took the opportunity to
clang a spoon against his water glass to attract attention. As people
around the room quieted, he rose to his feet. "Thank you, everyone. I
s'pose everyone knows why we're here today, what with these two happy
couples an' all. And, of course, also to meet with our new friends
here from Xynobia, where we'll be able to take shore leave in a couple
of hours. Now, first off, mainly because he's in too good a mood to
think clearly, I kinda took advantage of the Cap'n and I conned him
into givin' us all extended shore leave. We'll be in orbit around
Xynobia for a week, folks." That provoked massive cheering. "Before
y'all leave, please check your schedules; most of us will be on ship
for a few days during the leave period, and we're doing a rotation."
That received no response, to no one's surprise. Booing at the
announcement of a work schedule during shore leave would hardly have
been appropriate for the occasion.

"Now," Trip continued, "before anything else happens 'round here, like
hittin' that bar over in the corner, I have to take care of a couple
of important administrative duties as best man. The most important
one, usually, is gettin' to kiss the bride. Which I guess kinda makes
me one lucky bastard because there looks to me like there's more than
one here. Ensign?" Nancy Watkins gave Trip a huge peck on the cheek.
Trip grinned. "Lieutenant?" Nereida Patel smooched Trip firmly, to
applause. "Hey, Nereida, I gotta work with you every day—don't get
Nancy jealous yet!" He turned around, smirking. "Hey, Malcolm, you
don't think you're gettin' off that easy, do you?" Bending down, he
planted a short, loud kiss right on Reed's lips, an act that seemed to
draw more applause than bussing Patel had.

Reed looked up. Gauging his voice, he grinned and retorted loud enough
for the crowd, "If that's all the better you can do, Trip, no wonder
you're still single."

"Forgetting anyone, Trip?" Archer called from beside Malcolm, to
laughter from the better part of the room.

"No, Sir," Trip announced. "You outrank me, and I ain't kissin' no one
who can bust me down a rank for makin' an ass of myself." He accepted
the continued laughter as his due. "And with that, I think we can get
directly to havin' a party," he announced as the people around him
began to regain control of themselves. "That bar over there looks
kinda lonely."

Archer and Malcolm began working the crowd; or, perhaps, the crowd was
working them over. If Archer had feared any backlash from the crew, he
certainly wasn't seeing it; of course, anyone who had any serious
problems had probably skipped out on the event, and he, at least,
wasn't about to count heads. Besides, whatever anyone might think the
next day, or the next week, about the matter, if anything was certain
on a starship it was that any excuse for a party would do, and no one
was going to complain about a party.

Where several crew members had managed to obtain presents and wrapping
paper was beyond anyone's guess, but Watkins and Patel were being
loaded up with boxes. Archer and Reed were receiving fewer items, but
were astonished to see just how many bottles of really good liquor had
apparently been stashed away on the ship. A bottle of very old Saurian
brandy that Mayweather's family had acquired during the course of
trading was the most fascinating of the lot, however. Several officers
pressed up to the two men to ask if there was anything they wanted;
apparently there were plans for massive shopping expeditions while
they were visiting the Xynobian capital. The phrase "no, not a toaster
oven" slowly began turning into a mantra as gift suggestions were
offered by determined shoppers.

"I am really fascinated by the Xynobians, Captain," Phlox beamed at
Archer about an hour after surviving the gauntlet. "Their biological
structure is almost exactly like that of humans, with a few minor
exceptions. They are the only humanoids I have ever encountered who
reproduce by parthenogenesis. Completely non-sexual reproduction. It's
quite amazing."

"Fuck," Trip cursed. He looked at Archer. "Here I was, gettin' ready
to hassle you and Malcolm about which one of you was gonna wind up
with mornin' sickness in a month or so. Guess I'll never be able to
get even with you two."

Archer turned around with a jerk, nearly spilling his champagne. "What
the hell is that ruckus?"

Trip peered through the crowd in the Mess Hall, over human and
Xynobian heads. "Nothin', Cap'n. Looks like a few of the boys had a
bit much to drink. They're teachin' the Xynobians some old Starfleet
drinkin' songs. No harm there."

"You want to bet? Listen to what they're singing." Trip listened;
then, like Archer, he winced. Every Starfleet officer and virtually
all enlisted crew knew the song; most cadets were sick of it by their
second year at the Academy. The crowd might have been singing off-key,
except that no one had ever known just what key it was in. They
weren't all together on the words. . . although no one could remember
just how some of the verses went.

"The pay out here in Starfleet they say is mighty fine; they give you
a hundred dollars and they take out ninety-nine," someone warbled.
"Oh, I don't want no more of Starfleet life; gee, ma, I wanna go.
Vulcan's the place, you know! Gee, ma, I wanna go home!"

Trip shrugged. "Could be worse. They start singing 'Banned From Argo,'
you could have Malcolm throw them all in the brig for a week."

"The engineers in Starfleet they say are mighty fine; they live on
Scotch and water and just a drop of wine. Oh, I don't want no more of
Starfleet life; gee, ma, I wanna go. . . " Trip gave the crowd a look
that suggested Malcolm could round them up anytime, anyway.

Another group had started up across the room from the first, louder
and even more off key. "The crewman she got stewed. . . She danced in
the corridor nude. . . They had to send for Security to take her away.
. . Oh, what a waste; she didn't get chased. The captain really missed
out on something that day. . . So start up the starship drive. . .
They're roasting the engines alive. . . "

Phlox rubbed his hands together joyfully. "Oh, if I'd only brought a
recorder with me!"

Archer rolled his eyes. "Where's Hoshi? I think this crowd's had about
enough to drink. Where's Malcolm, anyway?"

Trip looked around more carefully, then grinned. "Check it out." He
pointed across the room. Malcolm, glass in hand, had his free arm
thrown around Garmandra's navigator, Latana, and, with the help of a
couple of ensigns wearing red trim, was clearly trying to teach her
the words of another song. Garan and Kamata appeared to be taking
notes. "I ain't heard that one in a coon's age."

"Security. . . What the heck came over me, to sign on in Security?"
one of the ensigns with Malcolm sang into his own glass. Malcolm was
snickering. "I believe in immortality. . . Suddenly, I'm not half the
man I used to be. Some asshole has just phasered me. . . Oh, I serve
in Security. . . "

Archer set his glass down. "I think it's time Malcolm and I escaped
from this party. I'm going to round up my husband, and I think we'd
better get our things and get planetside."

Trip looked alarmed. "You're going to your cabins? Now?"

"That's where our things are, isn't. . . uh, Trip, what else did you
do today?"

"Um. . . " Trip stood at attention, hands straight at his sides, upper
lip quivering slightly. "Uh, Cap'n. . . Sir. . . I took the liberty,
of. . . um. . . thinkin' as how you wouldn't mind, Sir. . . "

"Out with it, Trip."

"Uh, I had all of Malcolm's stuff moved to your cabin, Sir. It's a
little cramped, I admit; I was gonna see about doin' a few cabin
reassignments and spendin' some of my leave time seein' if I could
take down part of an interior wall and try to get you two a little
more space, an' all that. . . but you might have a bit of a rough time
gettin' packed."

"Uh, thank you. I think. Sounds like you'll be spending your whole
shore leave up here, Trip."

"Not if I can help it. I'd like to see the planet a little, just to
say I did if nothing else. 'Course, the more leave time I spend up
here, the safer my ass is, though." Trip grinned. "Seriously, Hoshi
says the capital's a pretty mixed town, so most of us oughta be fine
down there. But if I am up here most of my leave fixing things up, I
deserve it for everything I've pulled the past couple of days. I'm not
settin' foot off ship until I've got your cabin re-done for you two.
It's the least I can do to apologize for everything." Trip smiled
awkwardly.

Archer slapped him on the back. "Don't apologize. I'm still going to
kill you, but don't apologize. I have the feeling this is probably the
best way everything could have worked out." »»»

The hotel suite was fabulous, one of the sort that a Starfleet officer
could never afford left to his own devices if it had been on Earth.
There was no clue as to what it might have cost here on Xynobia. Since
Xynobia's Starship Command was hosting them, however, as a diplomatic
nicety, Archer—who had a clue about how these things worked back at
Starfleet—was fairly certain that the government got a substantial,
probably contracted, discount that he would never have gotten if he'd
asked for the room himself.

Not that either he or Reed were going to complain. Malcolm had
actually let down his guard so far as to bounce on the extremely
comfortable, and admittedly huge, bed. "Jon. You have to try this
out."

"Sure," Archer told him, smiling at his lover's idiocy. "Get undressed
and we'll see if we can break it."

"Really," Malcolm snorted. "Is sex all you can think about?"

"Considering that we just got married this morning, I'd say it's a
reasonable thing to have on my mind, wouldn't you?"

Malcolm seated himself upright on the edge of the bed, his feet over
the edge, boot heels dragging into the carpeting. The carpet was
nearly as thick as the bed, or so it felt. So were the towels, which
was useful, because the room also had a whirlpool in it. Xynobians
clearly knew how to have a good time in a hotel room. "Look. . . Jon.
. . I know this sounds completely insane. . . "

Archer bit his lip. It was only to have been expected, given Malcolm,
wasn't it? He should have known this would happen. "Second thoughts?
Regrets?" Archer seated himself on the bed beside Malcolm. He hated to
do it; it was the last thing he wanted, but he was going to have to
make the offer. "I'm not going to deny that we got shoved into doing
this. It won't thrill the Xynobians, but I'm sure there's some kind of
procedure for annulments on this planet, too."

"Jonathan Archer." Malcolm's voice was so sharp it could have cut
steel. "I thought I was the lunatic, but if that's what you thought I
meant, I wonder!" He laughed. To Archer's relief, the laugh was
considerably warmer than the reprimand. "No, of course not." An arm
snaked around Archer's waist, pulling him alongside the length and
warmth of the younger man. "Believe me, if I hadn't wanted to do this,
it wouldn't have happened and we wouldn't be here right now." The
laughter had thawed Malcolm's voice to its normal tone. "What I was
going to say. . . and I'm sure this is completely demented. . . is—I'm
actually a little nervous about things. The. . . um. . . sex."
Malcolm's face was sheepish.

Archer turned the younger man to face him and slid his own hand over
Malcolm's shoulder. "We've done this how many times? And as I recall,
the first time we did, you nearly shredded my uniform."

A grin lightened Malcolm's embarrassment. "I know. But we've never
been married before, have we? It's just. . . it all seems different."

His lover chuckled, running a hand along Malcolm's cheek. "Good Lord,
I think you just turned into a blushing virgin."

"I am not blushing," Reed protested. "And I am most certainly not —"
Continuing the protest further was impossible, however; as Archer's
mouth covered his firmly, lips parted, hungry with need. Archer could
feel Malcolm relaxing in his grasp as the younger man's lips opened
wider, Reed's tongue meeting his, challenging it, then withdrawing,
waiting for Archer to take over again. The kiss went on, longer,
deeper yet, and it was like everything Archer had ever thought would
overwhelm him in his life was happening at once—his acceptance letter
from the Academy; the water polo championships; his first view of
Earth from a ship's viewscreen; the first time he'd taken a cruiser
into orbit.

Archer broke it, with a grin, when he heard the moans coming from
Malcolm's throat. "Still nervous?"

"Hell, no," Malcolm growled back at him, reaching over and using a
sparring maneuver to throw Archer against the bed. He shifted position
and clambered on top of Archer to pin him down. "Do I look like it?"

Archer lay against the bedspread, his hair disheveled against the
alien fabric, framing his own flushed face. "Not in the least." He
reached up and clutched Malcolm's hips. "And thank God for that." His
hands began rocking Malcolm against his waist and his rapidly
hardening erection. "I love you, Malcolm. I wish I knew how to tell
you how much, but I'm a ship's captain, not a writer. The only way I
know how to tell you is to make love with you. Will you let me?"

Malcolm smiled ferally, eyes darkened with lust. He pinned Archer's
shoulders to the bed. The sound Archer could have sworn he heard was
closest to a lion preparing to roar. "Let you?" Malcolm purred evilly.
"I think you need to take a look at things here, Mr. high-and-mighty
starship-captain thinks-he's-the-boss Jonathan Archer," he teased.
"You're mine, you hear me?"

"Oh, yeah." Archer could feel his erection beginning to throb nearly
painfully at Reed's roughhousing. The idea of dropping the mantle of
rank and enjoying letting Malcolm take complete control of the
situation was turning him on incredibly. And in the small part of his
brain that was still processing thought rationally, it occurred to him
that perhaps the best gift he could give both his lover and himself
that evening in particular was the absolute certainty that Jonathan
Archer's ability to control anyone else's life in any way ended at the
bedroom door. "Believe me, I hear you." He let go of Malcolm's hips
and dropped his arms against the bed. "Anything you want, love."

"You. Naked. Now." Malcolm issued the order without any heat, moving
his hips so that Archer could sit up to undress. Reed began shedding
his own clothing as he watched Archer's movements. Archer took the
opportunity to stand up and strip off his clothes slowly, well aware
of the other man's gaze upon him. Being the object of his lover's open
desire was an aphrodisiac all by itself.

Their clothing was strewn on the floor of the room in a way that
neither officer, particularly Malcolm, could ever have borne under
ordinary circumstances, even the many times they'd made love in
Archer's cabin. Right now, neither one cared much about the condition
of such useless items. Malcolm was oblivious to the piles of fabric
heaped on the carpet; he was engrossed in watching Archer place
himself back down on the bed inch by inch, muscles rippling slightly
with the movements, drawing one knee up to leave himself glaringly
exposed to Malcolm's view. Archer drew his lover's attention away from
the sight with one huskily whispered question. "How do you want me?"

Malcolm eased himself onto the bed, surveying the vast expanse of nude
male in front of him. Watching Archer stroking his erection gently,
and swallowing audibly at the sight, he managed to get out, "Just like
that, Jon. I want to see your face when you come."

"Do we have any lube handy?"

Reed brandished a small tube in the palm of his hand. "I had more
merit badges than you did, remember? I'm always prepared."

"Well, don't just show it off, use it."

"God," Malcolm sighed, "there's nothing worse than a pushy bottom." A
series of kisses trailing along Archer's side as he uncapped the tube
indicated his lack of actual concern. Archer gasped as he felt
Malcolm, fingers slightly cold with the lubricant, reach around, and
then into him. As Malcolm continued to work gently at penetrating his
lover, he slid up slightly, and licked at, then gently bit, Archer's
nipple.

"Jesus, Malcolm, hurry up!"

Malcolm merely chuckled from the back of his throat as he ran the edge
of his teeth across the erect nipple again. The fingers that had first
caught Archer's attention disappeared from his ass as Malcolm applied
the lubricant to himself. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he
purred at his partner.

"Malcolm. . . " Archer trailed weakly.

"Very well, then. . . " Slithering over Archer's leg, he arranged
himself between Archer's thighs, taking in the sight of his older
lover's writhing and running a hand down his own chest. Suddenly,
Malcolm grabbed Archer's hand. "Oh, no. Not yet," he chided, as he
removed the hand from a spot far too close to it's owner's rigid
flesh. "Hang on for the ride."

Archer groaned with pleasure as his lover entered him. Malcolm began
slowly, then thrust more vigorously as Archer responded to his
efforts. They moved together, bodies slick with perspiration, both now
vocalizing their passion as Malcolm reached down to begin pumping
Archer's length. The end, when it came, was nearly overwhelming,
Archer bucking against the bed, then sinking into it, Malcolm
collapsing on top of him, bodies sliding against each other from their
perspiration. Too exhausted to bother cleaning up from their exertion,
they fell asleep against each other, one of Malcolm's arms thrown
possessively across Archer's chest. »»»

"Some honeymoon," Archer chuckled as he and Malcolm walked down a
street in the capital, a block from Xymandria's Starship Command
Headquarters. "We could stay in bed all day—or in the whirlpool—but
no, you have to go get culture. Why are we going to a museum?"

Malcolm's face looked like that of a small child on Christmas morning.
"Because," he explained as patiently as he could—-which wasn't very
patiently at all, since he wanted to be there already, "this is
Xymandria's military weaponry museum. They have a complete collection
of everything used in this part of this galaxy. Can you imagine?" He
tugged eagerly at Archers hand. "Come on!"

Archer had known perfectly well where they were heading; he had merely
been teasing his lover. Malcolm was acting exactly like an overeager
six-year old, and Archer loved it. It was rare to see Malcolm actually
let himself go, even in bed, although Malcolm had certainly managed to
do that just that the night before. Malcolm's reserve, however, was so
natural to him that it was a pleasure to see him drop it entirely
during the day, in public, and allow himself to be excited. Knowing
Malcolm, of course, it was no surprise that something to do with
weapons would be the ticket. "To see a pile of rusty old laser
cannons?" Archer sighed. "Very well. But I'd never do it for anyone
else; I just want you to know that." The tiny smile he was trying to
hide at the corners of his mouth belied the misery he professed.

Malcolm stopped short under a tree alongside the sidewalk. "Of course,
Captain." He slid his arms around Archer's waist. "Look at this," he
said. "This is incredible. Everyone here is really exactly like us."

"We landed on a planet full of clones?" Archer deadpanned. He knew
what Malcolm meant. It didn't take sharp observation to see that the
area was full of same-sex couples walking around holding hands, window
shopping, stopping at the outdoor cafes, and sitting on the grass at
the park across the street. "No, you're right. There aren't a lot of
places back on Earth where we could go around like this without being
pretty noticeable."

"I know. People would stare if we did this." Malcolm slid one hand up
Archer's back into his hair and pulled his head down for a kiss. "I
think I like it here."

"Me too." Archer returned the kiss. "I could get used to this pretty
fast."

"Watch out, then. If we were any more popular, the Starship Command
here would be offering us commissions in their fleet."

"Don't even joke about that," Archer sighed. "I'm halfway expecting
it." He gave Malcolm a peck on the cheek. "Come on; you're the one who
wanted to rush to the museum." They continued the walk to the museum,
Malcolm checking quickly to make sure that he had a scanner and a padd
tucked into a small pack he was carrying. Leave it to Malcolm to be
taking notes on the museum.

Malcolm, once at the museum was. . . what? Archer couldn't quite
decide. "A kid in a candy store" came to mind, but so did "criminally
insane" and "obsessive". It was entirely possible that Malcolm should
simply have brought a sleeping bag and rations and have prepared to
stay in the museum for a week. The sidearms display intrigued him
mightily; he stood sketching the design on several guns and pistols of
various sorts, fondling the ones that were left out for public
inspection with a decided air of what was either awe or lust; it was
hard to tell.

But it was the heavy artillery that really tested Malcolm's ability to
control himself, and, for once, he was failing miserably at that
self-appointed task. Far too interesting to scan in every torpedo and
cannon, to record specs, to reach out and fondle the public display
pieces and start muttering about modifications. Had he begun rolling
on the floor, writhing and speaking in tongues, Archer would hardly
have been surprised; his lover was having a religious experience right
in front of his face.

"Photon torpedoes?" Malcolm suddenly muttered sharply. "Whoa
there—there was a panel for these on that Klingon ship, but I never
got to find out what they were. . . " He dug an old-fashioned sketch
pad out of his pack and began diagramming on it. The muttering became
more erratic the longer he worked. Archer left a display of ships'
cannon banks to watch Reed at work with his new find. Archeologists,
he thought, must have looked like this when preparing to excavate the
Pyramids. "If I can just figure how. . . " came out audibly as Malcolm
talked pointedly with himself. Plainly, there would be models being
built in the ship's armory until Reed, Watkins and company figured out
just how these worked and if they could duplicate them.

Finally, Malcolm sat down on the floor, finished making notes in his
padd, and placed everything on the floor with a sigh. Archer
suppressed a grin. "Having fun?"

"This," Malcolm proclaimed with solemnity, "is serious work. I told
you we needed to get here." He pulled himself to his feet and propped
himself against a small display cannon, absently running a hand across
its finish.

"No." Archer shook his head at his lover. "I know you, Malcolm. You're
enjoying yourself."

"Think so, hmm?" Malcolm continued running his hand along the cannon,
suddenly just a bit more deliberately. "Maybe you're right." The arm
motion was beginning to hold Archer's attention. "I like weaponry. You
ought to know that much by now," he purred in a voice that went
directly to Archer's groin. "I like things that are long. . . and
hard. . . and explode when I set them off." Malcolm's hand began
trailing to the end of the cannon, his slender fingers running their
way around the rim. Archer bit the inside of his lip, hard, and hoped
that no one was about to walk around the corner. "Do you think there's
anything around here that would match that description?"

Archer could feel everything Reed's hand was doing to the cannon
directly on himself. Malcolm had used his hands on him just that way
more than once. Nonetheless, trying to remain calm seemed a good idea.
Seeing Malcolm coming on to him like this in a public place was
exciting, to say the least, but what he felt like doing with Malcolm
just then and what he was actually willing to let anyone catch them
doing were two very different things. "I'm not sure. There might be
something under wraps somewhere around here. . . "

Malcolm shot Archer a look that could have melted the hull of the
ship. "Well, you'd better help me find it soon. . . because I've got
half a mind to have you throw me over this baby and have at me right
here."

Archer had to grin. "And you say I'm a pushy bottom?" He crossed the
display area, only to have Malcolm grab him by the waistband and rub
his own leg between Archer's thighs, right up against the partial
erection he'd been sporting for the past few minutes watching Malcolm
in action. "People are going to see us."

"There hasn't been anyone else in this exhibit area for nearly an
hour," Malcolm growled. "Now, how long is it going to take for me to
get you to fuck me senseless?"

"About as long as it takes for us to get back to the hotel," Archer
told Malcolm, holding him by the shoulders, "because we're not doing
it here, sorry."

Malcolm gave Archer his best "wet puppy" look. It didn't match
Porthos, but it packed a punch anyway.

"I'll make it up to you," Archer promised, leaning into Malcolm's
insistent leg.

"Really?" Malcolm drawled out the word. "Can I lure you into the
Armory some night and show you what I've been thinking about you, me,
and the torpedo tubes?"

"Are you serious?"

Malcolm grabbed Archer by the ass and pulled him in even further. "Oh,
am I serious. You'd be surprised what a body can do with some of the
things I've got."

Archer nuzzled Malcolm's neck. "Mmmm. You'll have to show me what
you've got. Get that stuff you put on the floor. We're leaving. Now."

"Some captain you are," Malcolm teased. "Takes you forever to get
around to issuing orders."

They walked back from the museum to their hotel at a considerably
faster pace than they had used to get there. Despite Archer's best
intentions, they nearly didn't make it back to the hotel anyway. He'd
never realized just how much Reed really enjoyed weaponry—he'd known
that his lover was obsessive about the subject, but getting that
turned on by it. . . At least it was providing Archer some serious
thoughts about what to give Malcolm for Christmas.

By the time they made it into their hotel room and to the bed,
Archer's shirt looked nearly like the uniform Reed had all but torn
off of him the first time they'd made love. "Maybe I should bring a
phase pistol to bed with me," Archer laughed as they began throwing
off clothing.

"No need. That phase cannon of yours is more than enough. Lube's over
there," Malcolm pointed as he threw himself onto the bed. "Let's see
you fire that thing at me. . . "

They fell asleep quickly afterwards, tangled in sheets that they'd
left well the worse for wear. They woke, groggily, when Archer's
communicator went off. He reached over to the nightstand for it.
"Archer."

"Captain? This is Ensign Devers." Devers was Hoshi's backup on
Communications. "Xynobian Starship Command has asked if you and the
Lieutenant can be available for dinner at Vice Admiral Denoria's home
this evening."

"Sure," Archer sighed into the device. He would rather have thrown it
out the window, but it was too late now. "Tell the Admiral that we'd
be honored to be her guests at dinner. Call me back with the details.
Archer out." He shoved the offending piece of technology back on the
nightstand. "I hate to tell you this, but we're going to have to
shower and get dressed."

Malcolm rolled over sleepily. "We have to go out?"

"Command performance." Archer eased himself off of the bed. ""Believe
me, it wasn't my idea to schedule this right now." »»»

They arrived at the Vice Admiral's home, located near Starship Command
Headquarters, to find a moderately large crowd gathered there.
Fortunately, Vice Admiral Denoria had a large home, but the rooms were
still crowded. Judging from the reception he and Malcolm were
receiving, even if they weren't the guests of honor, people had still
shown up to get a look at the visitors. Denoria herself was wearing
something that didn't look like either the duty uniforms or dress
uniforms that the crew of Garmandra had worn; she and her bondmate,
Canalia, were wearing matching outfits that looked much like Vulcan
robes. These appeared, from what Archer could gather, to be the formal
robes from Denoria's native province.

A look around the room established that Jamaya and Garan were there as
well. Jamaya greeted the two men cheerfully and began introducing them
to everyone in the room. Archer muttered a silent prayer of thanks
that Trip wasn't there to talk them into anything. The last official
Xynobian dinner Trip had attended had resulted in Archer's having to
issue a public proposal to Malcolm; he couldn't begin to imagine what
Trip would do for an encore.

Denoria swept over to the group. "Hello. You must be Captain Archer
and Lieutenant Reed. I am so pleased you could make it this evening.
I'm sorry dinner is on such short notice, but I just received orders
to leave for a meeting on Aegaeria—one of our neighboring planets—in
two days. I wanted to have the opportunity to meet you before I left.
I have a few ideas I'd like to bounce off of the two of you at dinner.
I hear you do like our food?"

"It's delicious," Malcolm told her.

"Good; I'm pleased to hear it. My cook is wonderful. Captain Archer,
would you care to take me in to dinner?"

Denoria's "few ideas" were an interesting concept. She was interested
in a series of joint military exercises with Starfleet, followed by an
exchange of cadets for military studies. "Frankly," she sighed at one
point, "I have no idea why we, and you, and Aegaeria, and a few of the
other more or less civilized planets don't simply form some kind of
cooperative organization. We all have to deal with Klingons, and the
Suliban, and—have you met those dreadful Ferengi yet? They're quite
impossible. But nobody's gotten together on this. There ought to be an
organization for joint defense, if for no other reasons. Perhaps you
might propose to your Starfleet that we should have a joint task force
looking into this kind of thing. Some kind of military or diplomatic
federation. Do you think there might be any interest in that on your
end?"

Archer took a drink from his water glass. "I think there might be a
great deal of interest, especially if it's presented properly. This is
just the sort of thing that we've talked about, but we're new to
space, we don't really know that many other planets. We don't really
have anyone to ask to join us yet, and the Vulcans don't really think
we're ready to grow up."

"Oh, don't let them worry you," Denoria fussed. "We can introduce your
people to several other planets in this galaxy that would love to make
contacts further towards your sector of space. They're interested in
working with anyone that has experience in dealing with the Suliban.
I'll see to it that you have contacts set up with them before I ship
out." She nodded towards a uniformed steward, who began clearing
dinner plates.

"Thank you. That's very kind."

"No thanks required, Captain. I'm sure you'll be able to arrange a
conference call for our Starship Command with your Starfleet admiralty
for introductions?"

"That won't be a problem."

"There's just one more thing to discuss before dessert," Denoria told
Archer and Reed. "Military attaches. I presume that's customary with
your people as well." As she introduced the topic, servers emerged
from the kitchen with huge trays of desserts. "Try the yellow ones,"
she told the two men. "The filling's one of our tropical fruits. I'm
really quite fond of it."

Malcolm laughed as he took a bite of the recommended pastry. "My God,
it's the next thing to pineapple. That does it, Jon. We're moving here
when we retire. Or sooner."

Discussion after dinner, some political, some cross-cultural, but
mostly the sort of social shop-talk that was common to all ship's
officers and fleet officers, no matter where, went well into the
night, moving from the dinner tables to the Vice Admiral's living
room. Trouble, or what looked very much like it, arrived as the
after-dinner conversation was wrapping up and as Reed and Archer were
preparing to depart from Denoria's home. A Xynobian Starship Command
security guard arrived at the door, and was shown in by a household
staff member. After a few brief words with the Vice Admiral, the door
opened again. Two more military police entered, propping up a
disheveled, drunk, and dripping-wet Trip Tucker between them.

Archer and Reed looked at each other. "Oh, God," Malcolm sighed. "We
just get these people warmed up for discussions with Starfleet, and
Trip creates an interplanetary incident."

"Calm down," Archer whispered soothingly. "We'd better see what
happened first." He left Malcolm's side and walked into the hallway,
where the Vice Admiral was in discussion with the leader of the
security detail. Trip was propped up against a wall, the two other
MP's observing him, though looking more alarmed than wary. "I see
you've met my Chief Engineer, Admiral. I gather there's a problem."

Listening in, Malcolm headed to the door leading into the hallway,
wishing he had bothered to bring a phase pistol. You never knew just
what a situation like this was going to lead to.

"Yes, Captain Archer," Denoria chuckled. "It seems your officer here
had a good time in town tonight."

"I sure did, Cap'n," Trip slurred cheerily. "Nardanus—he's the Chief
Engineer on Garmandra—invited me out with him an' his bondmate, who's
an engineer too, an' a couple of Garmandra's other engineers, an' we
all kinda went out to see the town." He grinned up at his host. "Nice
town you folks got here, by the way, Ma'am. Gotta tell you that. Real
nice place." Trip turned back to Archer. "Sooooo. . . we had a few
beers at this one bar, Cap'n, Sir. An' we left an' we had a few more
beers at this other bar his buddy Kliatus knew, an' then we went to
another one, an' we ate there, an' the beer there was really good."
Trip grinned again. "An' that place is over by the Starship Command
Headquarters, y'know? Where there's this biiiiig statue, in the middle
of this biiiiig fountain. An' it's got this biiiiig fence up aroun'
it. So we kinda all took our clothes off, y'know, and we climbed up
the fence, an' lemme tell you, that is one damn fine fountain they got
here."

The leader of the security team looked slightly embarrassed. "We
responded to a call that there were fountain jumpers. When we arrived,
we found your Chief Engineer mixed in with the crew from Garmandra. We
got everyone out of the fountain, got them dressed, and escorted the
rest of them back to their ship. Understanding, Sir, that you were
down here," the officer addressed Archer, "we thought it best if we
got hold of you directly."

"Has he been charged with anything?" Archer asked, frowning.

"No, Sir. Since he was a visiting officer on military property, we
thought it would be more appropriate to leave that up to you."

Archer looked surprised. "I have to say, that's not quite what I'm
used to. I've had to send legal officers out more than once in my time
to have crew bailed out for pulling that kind of stunt."

"Nice folks they got down here, Cap'n," Trip explained patiently.

Denoria merely smiled and waved a hand. "I don't want you to think
either that we're a wide open town, as it were, or that we're making
some kind of special exception for visitors. Well, maybe we are, just
a bit. But the fountain's on our Officer Candidate School property,
and fountain jumping's an old sport with the cadets. In fact, it's
supposed to be a solemn cadet obligation to do it the week prior to
graduation, whether you've done it before or not." She shrugged and
grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid a fair number of old grads who come
into town and have a few too many drinks try it pretty regularly. We
don't bother booking them; what's the point? I guess your Chief
Engineer's an honorary Starship Command OCS graduate now."

"I always did good in school," Trip volunteered.

Archer shook his head, doing his best to suppress a laugh. "You're
going back up to the ship, Mr. Tucker." He turned to the security
guard again. "Can one of your men take him up, or shall I get a team
down here?"

Malcolm stepped forward. "Suggestion, Captain? Please, please let me
take him into custody. I can have our boys let him sleep it off in the
brig and then let him out when he wakes up tomorrow. I'm just sorry I
won't see his face when he wakes up and sees where he is."

Archer deliberated. "That's awful, Malcolm."

"Jon? Please?" Malcolm pleaded, a laugh playing around his eyes.

"Go ahead, Captain," the Vice Admiral suggested. "You just got bonded;
you might as well get used to doing what your bondmate asks you to
do—or tells you—right now. If you start doing what he wants now, he'll
have you pretty well trained by your first anniversary." A wink. "Once
I just gave up and started doing everything Canalia wanted, life got
much easier for me." She looked around the room. "And in this case, I
have to say, I think the Lieutenant has an excellent point."

Archer nodded. "All right, Malcolm. Just hurry back down." He looked
over at Trip, who was busily engaged in holding up the wall with his
body. "Trip," he moralized, "I do hope you've learned something from
this experience."

"I certainly did," Trip nearly sang.

"Good. I hope you understand from going out and spending the evening
getting yourself shitfaced with some people who are very different
from you, and whom you were practically afraid of a few days ago, that
people are really a lot alike everywhere. No matter what our apparent
differences are."

"Whatever you said," Trip agreed, dismissively. "I learned real
important stuff, too. The beer on this planet is damn good stuff.
Kinda sneaks up on ya, but it is truly fine brew. Gotta make a big
note on that for the bloody Vulcan database."

Archer rubbed his face and began to laugh. "Malcolm, let's have this
security detail deliver Trip to the brig and get ourselves back to the
hotel. I think we're having one of those days." »»»

The senior staff sat in the Captain's Mess, talking about their leave
and working their way through several recipes Chef had proclaimed to
have discovered planetside during the leave. Archer spent most of the
meal contributing little, mostly listening to Hoshi and Travis recount
their adventures for the week, and trying to avoid gazing stupidly at
Malcolm, who was seated directly to his left. By the time dessert
rolled around, however, he cleared his throat and announced, "There's
something I think we need to discuss." Eyes around the table turned to
face him. "The Xynobians are anticipating an official attache from
Starfleet to arrive in three weeks to a month. They've requested,
however, that a liaison officer stay here until the attache arrives.
That means that someone from the ship's going to have to stay behind
for about a month, and that we'll either be passing back in this
direction to pick them up, or having the ship bringing the attache
rendezvous with us to return our officer."

There was a mild display of interest at the seats; who was it that
Archer had in mind? Looking around at them, Archer continued. "I
should probably tell you right now that it was specifically requested
that Malcolm and I stay."

"Now, you just can't do that, Cap'n," Trip pointed out. "Bad enough
not to have one of you here for a month, but I ain't gonna try runnin'
this ship without both of you for that long."

"True," Malcolm observed, "but considering that I just got married
this week, Trip, would you like to ask me what I think of splitting us
up for a month?"

"That, too," Trip agreed. "So, Cap'n, it looks to me like the
proposal's out. You delegatin' someone else?"

Archer smiled. "Well, Trip, since you mention it, I was thinking that
you seem to be getting along pretty well with the Starship Command
crowd, especially the engineers and the MP's. And I know you like the
beer." There was general laughter; Trip hadn't been stingy with the
others in the details of his misadventures. Only T'Pol looked at all
askance at the reference.

"Now, y'know, that'd be a fine idea 'cept for one thing. I ain't
worried anymore about the guys down there checkin' me out; I've kinda
worked my way past that business, which ain't hard when you been drunk
and naked with 'em in MP custody." Trip pushed his plate aside. "But
there just ain't enough gals there willin' to check me out to balance
things out. The odds just ain't in my favor for the long term."

"Well, well," Malcolm sniped. "Now you know what I think it's like
back home."

Trip snorted. "You got no business goin' there now, Malcolm. You're
married; you're not allowed to worry about bad odds for meetin'
anyone."

"Just making a point, Commander." Malcolm took a sip of water and
caught a nod from Hoshi.

"I know, Malcolm. I had my head up my ass and it was pretty dark up
there. I think I've kinda jimmied it out, okay?" He began fidgeting
with his napkin. "Seriously, though, Cap'n, what's your game plan?"

Archer leaned back in his chair. "Trip? Malcolm? Can you do without
Patel and Watkins for a month?"

Reed and Trip looked at each other. "Sure," Trip said slowly. "I'd
rather not if I didn't have to, but it's better than no Captain and no
Tactical Officer."

"I can manage for a few weeks, certainly," Malcolm deliberated, "as
long as you promise me not to get us into anything requiring major
weapons repairs. Or another shootout with angry Naussicans."

"Good. Because I already asked Patel if she'd do it. They seem to be
delighted to have the temporary assignment." He folded his napkin
carelessly and placed it on the table.

"That's swell," Trip said. "Now that we've got that squared away,
Cap'n, I was just thinkin'—"

Archer cut in. "Trip, could you do me a big favor?"

"Anything, Cap'n."

"Don't. Think. Okay?" Archer held a hand up. "Just give me a week or
so where you promise me you won't think."

A week was probably Trip's limit. Alas, Archer thought, for him, and
for Malcolm, to recover from the events that his best friend had put
them through for the past week, a week of Trip's not having ideas might not be nearly enough.

Years might not be enough.

"Sure, Cap'n," Trip proceeded, uncannily as if he had not heard a word
Archer had said. " 'Cept for just this one thing, okay?" He began
prattling on about his latest brilliant insight.

Archer contemplated for a moment whether Starfleet regulations
prohibited stabbing his subordinate officers with a dessert fork, or
whether he should just have Malcolm arrest Trip for disobeying an
order. Malcolm's recent unholy delight at suggesting that Trip should
be hauled to the brig just for breathing was obviously starting to rub
off on him. He passed a hand over his forehead. Yes, it certainly was
one of those days.

---

The End