SquidgeWorld Archive

Sons and Lovers
by MJ
mjr91@aol.com

    From fairest creatures we desire increase,
    That thereby beauty's rose should never die,
    But as the riper should by time decease,
    His tender heir might bear his memory;
    But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
    Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
    Making a famine where abundance lies,
    Thyself the foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
    Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
    And only herald to the gaudy spring,
    Within thine own bud buriest thy content
    And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
    —Shakespeare, Sonnet I

They hadn't expected the ambush. The mountainous territory had made it particularly hard for anyone to see who, or what, might be coming, and the Aswadi tribesmen in fact moved, as the Wavara had said, noiselessly. That the tribe's weapons had been high-power lasers stolen from the last visitors ambushed hadn't helped.

Archer and Reed surveyed the carnage as they helped the remainder of the crew who had joined them back onto the shuttles. Reed shook his head helplessly.

"This is entirely my fault, Captain. I should have had a third guard posted. And I should have trusted the report from the Wavara more thoroughly."

"Why? You never trust anything else you hear from an unknown group of aliens. These are aboriginal peoples with very primitive cultures and a lot of superstitions. I wrote that report off, too."

"I should have known better, Sir. I should have trusted my instincts. I didn't—I just followed the standard protocol." Reed helped another crewman into the shuttle he was closest to.

"We'll talk about that later. Malcolm—get over here!" Reed came running at Archer's call. One of the female crew was doubled over at the pod's doorway, bleeding heavily. It was one of the security team. Her hands were doubled over her abdomen. "Looks like we've got a serious one here."

Reed looked down at Crewman Wallace in alarm. "You have no idea how serious. She's pregnant. I think we've got a miscarriage."

"What were you doing bringing along a pregnant security team member?"

"Remember? This wasn't classified as particularly dangerous. And she's not that far along—check the regulations; it was entirely permissible. And she volunteered." Malcolm and another security team member lifted Wallace onto the shuttle. "I'll ride back with her."

"I already spoke to Phlox. He and Cutler have more help standing by. Get Wallace to them first. You take this shuttlepod up now."

"Understood, Sir." Malcolm took the helm of the shuttlepod as another crewman closed the door behind him.

»»»

Phlox came out of the area in which he was working on Wallace. "It's not going as well as I'd like," the doctor confessed to Archer and Reed. "Is she married?"

"Yes," Reed told him, "and that's a problem. Her husband's in Starfleet but he's not on this ship. Cam Wallace; he's a weapons tech on Cheyenne. I trained both of them." Cheyenne was one of the lighter cruisers. It had set sail six months earlier, and had been nowhere in the vicinity of Enterprise.

All three men recognized that fact. As well as the fact that Wallace clearly wasn't six months pregnant.

Archer winced, envisioning the complications; Phlox merely nodded. "And do we have any idea who the father is?"

"She's never mentioned it," Reed informed the doctor. "She only told me because of the effect it could have on her assignments."

"She's refusing to tell me," Phlox sighed. "That means I can't get any consents from the father, or check his blood type."

"What's that for?" Archer inquired.

"There's a procedure used on some planets…it should work with humans; in fact, I think it's been tried once or twice, but the man usually has to be the same blood type…"

"What?" Archer pressed.

"I can save Crewman Wallace. I could also save the child. I can't save both of them together. On some planets, it's customary when that happens for the child to be transplanted to his father. As a transplant, it's possible for a male to carry the child at least to near-term, if not full-term, rather successfully. But if she won't tell me who it is, I can't check his blood type. And of course her husband is nowhere nearby—and might not be pleased to cooperate if he were."

"What blood type do you need?" Reed cut in.

"AB positive."

Reed began pushing up his uniform sleeve. "You can check me or my medical records if you want, but I know I'm AB positive."

Archer turned and looked at Reed. "Malcolm, what are you—"

"Look, Jon, it's my fault she's here with this in the first place. If anyone ought to, it's me."

"You might ask me first," Archer chided.

Phlox watched the two men's faces. Their relationship was no more a surprise to him than it was to any of the rest of the senior crew. "You realize, Lieutenant," he volunteered, "that being pregnant is a strain on any relationship."

"Tell me something I don't know," Reed grunted. "Look, I presume there's not much time here."

"Not really," Phlox agreed. "I would need to do this very soon. A matter of hours at best."

Reed looked back at Archer. "Tell me we have a choice and I won't."

Archer relented. "You're right; we don't. This isn't going to be easy for either of us, Malcolm."

"Don't think I don't know that. We'll just have to adjust for a few months."

"From four and a half to six and a half, I believe," Phlox told them. "I do wish she had come to see me when she found out she was pregnant. It would be much easier for everyone if she had."

"She was probably afraid she'd have to tell you who the father was," Reed speculated. "I hear my crew talking to each other, and I haven't heard her discuss it with anyone. She's been very quiet about it."

"Nothing to be done about that now, I'm afraid, Lieutenant. Come on; you'd better hurry up."

»»»

Trip Tucker dropped his fork right into his spaghetti. His jaw appeared to be resting somewhere in the vicinity of the plate, as well. "For Gawds' sakes, Malcolm, what the hell didja do that for? Lemme tell you—and I should know, damnit—you're absolutely insane! I could barely handle that for a couple of weeks, and you…you're…" He did rapid arithmetic. "Another four and a half months till you've got one you could have delivered safely? What were you thinking?"

Reed calmly continued eating. "I believe I was thinking about Crewman Wallace and this child. I had the right blood type and I was there. And after what happened down there, it's at least partly my fault it happened. I really didn't think there was much choice in the matter."

Archer looked across at his lover. "The thing that concerns me is that I still think you're only doing this out of guilt about the Aswadi raid."

"That's as may be. However, you can't deny that there wasn't a better candidate immediately available to take over this job."

"We had a few hours. If we'd been thinking, we could have asked the female crew members," Archer said. "I'm sure one of them would have volunteered."

Reed stared. "Why should we have had to go dragooning the female crew into it? Because it's expected? Because women are the ones 'supposed' to get pregnant? Trip's already found out that's not a normal expectation everywhere else, and Phlox went straight towards trying to run a test on the father in this case. Female pregnancy is a human cultural expectation, that's all. The whole purpose of this mission is to get beyond those expectations. As I recall, it was back in the Twentieth Century that scientists realized that human males could have existing embryos implanted." He reached over for more spaghetti.

"That's your third serving, Malcolm," Tucker commented.

"I'm rather hungry." Malcolm looked around the table. "Did Chef say what was for dessert?"

"Ice cream, I think," Archer replied.

"I wonder if there's any peanut butter back there. I think I want a peanut butter sundae."

Archer and Tucker locked eyes. "You're in for it, Cap'n," Tucker laughed.

"I don't know, Trip. You were pretty bad, as I recall. God, when I agreed to take this mission, no one told me I was going to be surrounded by crabby, food-obsessed, pregnant officers. And that's just the men," Archer sighed.

"Really, Jon, if all you can do is sit around carping about me in the third person, would you mind waiting until I've left the room? Otherwise you can damned well bitch to my face."

Archer flinched. "Sorry, Malcolm. I was trying to be funny."

"Well, you weren't," Malcolm sniffed.

"All right. I'm sorry if I upset you," Archer replied solicitously. He'd never had to deal with a pregnant woman in his life, but he'd had to deal with a pregnant Trip, and he'd learned a few things about coping during that period. The fact that the emotional, irritable hormonal swings were coming from his lover rather than his friend made matters a bit more uncomfortable, but he'd live, he supposed. As he recalled from dealing with Trip, to a pregnant person, a non-pregnant male could never be right about anything. He resigned himself mentally to months of being wrong all the time. Apologizing before speaking might be the single safest course of action. "But please, Malcolm, try to stay calm when you're on the Bridge. I don't want to have you attacking other ships before we've even established who they are."

Malcolm stared blankly at his lover. "Jon, you know I'm a professional ordnance officer. I'd never dream of letting how I feel interfere with what I'm doing. Hell, I bloody well haven't let getting shot stop me from anything until I've gotten knocked over or passed out; why should this get in the way?"

Somehow, Archer wasn't as sure of that as Malcolm obviously was.

»»»

After a few months together, Archer and Reed had decided that excessive discretion regarding their relationship had been unnecessary. Covering up for one or the other's whereabouts, sneaking out of each other's cabins in the middle of the night, trying to conceal knowledge about the other's personal information, their schedule, and the like—all of this was ridiculous. On Earth, no one would have had the slightest concern about it. On the other hand, a public announcement seemed out of place after such a short time.

By the time they'd been together six months, however, with both men quite certain that they were a permanent item, confirming their relationship to the senior staff made a certain amount of sense. Knowing where to find the ship's captain and its security chief immediately only made sense, and it was becoming tiring to listen to Tucker, Sato, and even T'Pol sounding vaguely embarrassed at admitting they knew that Reed usually spent the night in Archer's quarters. By the time the Bridge had started buzzing Reed in Archer's quarters before checking in Reed's, the two concluded that honesty, at least among senior crew, was the best policy.

Now Archer was vaguely sorry about it. Reed slept fitfully now, usually mildly uncomfortable in almost any position, and very physically sensitive; Archer was having to be careful in how he moved in his sleep. The thought of asking Reed to take up sleeping in his own cabin again was fraught with danger, though. There was no way to do it without implying that Archer was cooling towards their relationship, and he didn't want that to happen. In Reed's state of mind, he was likely to conclude that Archer wanted to separate, when all Archer really wanted was a decent night's sleep. He hated to admit that it was easier to sleep when he and Reed were pulling different shifts; he'd always preferred having his lover with him.

Of course, Reed had never been a pregnant bundle of hormones and nerves before. Phlox had been giving Reed hormone injections to help with the pregnancy, which made the younger man as close as Archer could imagine to a walking bundle of permanent pre-menstrual syndrome.

With Reed pulling a double shift that day, Archer asked Tucker to join him for a couple of beers. "I hate drinking in front of Malcolm," he confessed. "Now that he can't, it seems unfair to do it. He says he doesn't mind, but I don't feel right about it."

"I remember when my sister was pregnant," Tucker mused, his legs propped up on Archer's bed. "Nothing you do will be right, no matter what he says."

"That isn't much different from when you were pregnant," Archer reminded his friend.

"Hey there!" Tucker snorted. "Watch it." He downed part of the bottle he was holding. "So, other than that, how are things going with you two?"

Tucker had known about Archer and Reed before anyone else had. The two men had been close long enough to have few if any secrets from each other. That Tucker was far more assertively interested in pursuing women than Archer normally was in going after the few men who had interested him enough to become serious about them had never been a hindrance to their friendship; each had always taken the other's preferences in stride, although not necessarily without a great deal of ribbing involved.

Archer shrugged. "I don't know. On the one hand, I want to tell him how amazing I think it is that he was willing to do what he's done. On the other hand, I have to live with him. And that's even worse than being around you a lot was."

"Now, now, Cap'n…" Tucker scolded.

"The thing that really gets me is the mood swings. Thank God he's held up on duty so far, because if he did then what he does when we're alone, he'd be a danger to the whole damned ship. I don't mind the morning sickness. Phlox says that'll go away anyway. I don't mind the physical changes, though I know that's going to be worse when he really starts showing. I hate to think what the crew's going to say, but Malcolm isn't worried about that, apparently. The annoying part is that—I guess it's the hormones—first he'll be hornier than I've ever seen him, and then he gets irritable when I touch him. It's like he'd like to have sex, but only if there's nothing touching him."

Tucker nodded. "I felt like that—'course, I didn't have anyone to bother with the problem. When I was carryin' that baby, I had these moments when all I wanted to do was have sex, but if anything touched me—hell, even my clothes—I just wanted to cringe. Phlox told me some of that body pain would've gone away in a longer pregnancy. Give him time for those hormones to settle down before you get too worried. Unless you want to break up with him, just take a lot of cold showers till it settles. Or make real good friends with your hand."

Archer stared at the opposite wall over his beer. "I know. I'm nowhere near breaking up with him. Breaking down, maybe—breaking up, no."

"You don't want to do that," Tucker told him. "No matter how much he gets to you right now, you don't want to do that. You know you're in love with him. And if you walk out on him while this is going on, he'll never take you back afterwards. Even if he weren't a stubborn mule to begin with, he wouldn't. And you may be my best friend, Jon, but I'd have to say he'd be right. You don't do that to someone who's pregnant, you know that."

"I know. It's not a question. My continued sanity's a question, but not that."

"Just hang in there. And look, if you're havin' problems, talk to me about it. There's not a lot of men out there who can talk to their friends firsthand about what someone who's pregnant's goin' through. I prob'ly know it better than anyone else."

Archer grinned. "The first human male pregnancy counselor?"

"Hey, it's a career move. Got another beer?"

»»»

"Jeez!" The yelp came from one of the security team members. Reed was running them through practice drills, and as usual was pairing himself off against the better hand-to-hand combatants. He'd seen to it when he'd picked the security squadron that he had a handful of black and brown belts among the ranks; squaring off against his own crew was a better workout than anything he could do on the machines in the ship's gym. The crew, alternatively, was used to getting put in their places. A man Reed's size didn't get to be a security chief without being far more lethal than anyone else, armed or unarmed. He'd proven that to this group early on, when he'd taken on three of the other black belts at once and left all of them on the mat in a few minutes, just to establish who was in charge.

The crewman at hand, who had taught martial arts to Starfleet officers himself, had made the mistake of trying to throw Reed from the side and had caught hold of Reed's chest. Right, in Reed's estimation, where he was sorest that morning, as if his whole chest and abdomen weren't a bloody mass of spasms. Breakfast had been the most repulsive thing he could contemplate that day, he'd thought, until the bloody bugger caught him there.

He'd seen stars, and that had been enough to make him forget he was doing practice sparring with the crew. It had been all he could do, when he'd caught himself, not to wind up with a kick to the man's jaw that would have done a relatively effective job of cracking his neck. He'd pulled back just in time for the crewman to duck out of the way and roll to the edge of the mat. Reed collapsed into a corner, covered with sweat. "Bloody hell, I can't do this." Another twinge in his abdomen. "You shut up," he said down to his internal sparring partner. He had to admit the little bloke was feisty. Maybe it was taking after him—and God help the rest of humanity if it did.

One of the other crewmen came over to him with a large glass of water, which he accepted gratefully. Not only was he sweating like a pig, but water helped the spasms and some of the intermittent nausea. Phlox had sworn to him that the nausea would go away eventually—but not, Reed feared, before he was too far along to be able to continue with serious sparring. Phlox had said something about having to give that up for a few months, yet what was Reed expected to do—go soft? He didn't bloody think so. This kid was going to have to learn how to roll with a few punches, or more, before it was born. Just as long as the tae-kwan-do experts in the crowd didn't kick for the abdomen towards the end—he was going to have to set that down firmly before taking any more of those boys on.

Wallace, in a keiko gi tied with a green belt, showed up in the training room. "What are you doing here?" Reed called over to her, shocked. "I didn't think Doctor Phlox had released you for training."

She stared him dead in the eye. "You're doing it, I see. As if you ought, yourself, Sir."

"That's quite enough, Wallace. I want to see a clearance from Doctor Phlox before you do anything more than basic katas."

"Fine." Wallace glared angrily at her superior officer, but said no more. Then she walked over to a punching bag hanging in a corner and took a hard side kick at it, as if to work off steam. To her own surprise, if judged by the sound she made, she crumpled onto the mat like a dry leaf, passing out as she landed.

»»»

"She's what?" Reed gaped as Phlox showed him the medical file and attending paperwork.

"I'm afraid that's correct," Phlox sighed. "I'm terribly sorry about this, but there's nothing to be done. I suppose it will be the Captain's duty to contact her husband about this. And then there's the matter of the child's father."

Reed reviewed the charts and the attachments. It all looked, unfortunately, far too clear. Wallace had two blood clots, apparently developed after her release from Sickbay that had moved dangerously close to her frontal lobe. Phlox was an excellent physician, but, in his own estimation, was no neurosurgeon. The ultrasonic device he would normally use to dissolve a clot could do brain damage in the location it would have to be placed, and Wallace had shown an allergic reaction both to the only Earth pharmaceutical the ship carried for such problems and to Phlox's favorite leeches. She was perilously close to having a stroke, in Phlox's opinion, and she had asked for medical leave pending separation from Starfleet. She had requested to be put off ship at the nearest starbase as soon as convenient.

She had also signed a document which Reed was horribly sure was perfectly legal, relinquishing all parental rights to the child. She had, essentially, put it up for adoption, apparently unwilling to deal with the matter now that she was returning to her home and her husband. No longer carrying the child herself, giving it up while on ship ensured that her husband would, unless someone else gave him the information, never know about whatever indiscretion she had committed.

It also meant that the child legally belonged to whoever the biological father was; barring that, Reed thought, the person carrying the child was the most logical candidate for enforced parenthood. A line Tucker had used while pregnant came to mind; Reed certainly had never planned to be a working mother. He'd anticipated that Wallace would have some desire to take back the baby after its delivery, some plan to try to explain the child to her husband. Asking her directly would have been out of the question, in his mind, and he had never done so. He'd certainly never expected…this.

"There's been no confirmation of who the father is," Reed pointed out to Phlox. "And she's still unwilling to name him. How do we deal with that?"

"I could take a tissue sample from the fetus and run a DNA test on it, correlating it to the DNA of every man on Enterprise," Phlox replied. Reed shuddered at the thought. "Yes, you might find that a bit painful," the doctor agreed. "I'm sure you will be much happier if I avoid that test. I think, however, that despite her refusal to name the father, I have an idea or two as to who it might be. Even though you've said you've heard nothing about it, you know her, and I think you might have some suspicions on the matter as well." Phlox looked into his friend's eyes, and Reed nodded slowly in agreement.

"Rather than forcing anyone to come forward on the matter, I think the best course of action might be for me to indicate that the father is unknown and probably not a Starfleet member. That would avoid my having to run a DNA match that would probably produce the very result that she is trying to conceal and that we quite rightly suspect. Of course, Lieutenant, that means that you would, as the parent at hand, be forced to assume responsibility for the child."

"How am I supposed to deal with that?" Reed sighed. "I wasn't anticipating dealing with…um…"

Phlox patted Reed on the back jovially. How Phlox could always be so cheerful made Reed dubious at the best of times. This was not the best of times, and his cheer was downright repellent. "There's always a solution for everything, Lieutenant. The possibility that the ship might require childcare was not lost on me when I took this position. I believe that something might be arranged. You're not the only unintended pregnancy on board. I have already raised the matter with the Captain and with Subcommander T'Pol, since Crewman Wallace's baby is not the only one we are contending with. Of course, there are other solutions as well. Since Crewman Wallace does not wish to take her child, you might wish to put the child up for adoption."

Reed stared at Phlox. "I'm—I'm honestly not sure I could do that. Can you understand that?"

Phlox nodded. "Far better than you may think. I am as aware of the matter as you are, I believe. That is, however, far more than the Captain is. I believe you owe it to both of you to let him know how you are feeling about the matter, if not why. The whys of a situation like this can be very difficult to explain. If you like, I will try to discuss the pre-natal bonding issue with him. That might help him understand the problem."

Reed left Sickbay feeling far worse than when he'd entered. He was used to feeling as if he'd been run over by a lorry these days, but this was entirely different; this wasn't just his body, or a set of hormone injections, or the baby's development, getting to him. This was a bloody life crisis.

He bit his lip. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. And he was damned if any Reed male was ever going to be found having a good cry. It was entirely out of the question. Unfortunately, so was a stiff drink or three; Phlox hadn't had to bother to lecture him about that. He headed for his cabin, trying to decide how to raise the issue with Archer when he saw his lover that evening.
»»»

When Reed entered Archer's cabin that evening, Phlox had already spoken to him. That was clear as soon as Reed walked in; Archer looked up from his desk immediately when Reed keyed in the door's entry code and said to him, "There's nothing in the Boy Scout Handbook for this type of message. 'Your wife is nearly dead and leaving Starfleet, so come pick her up at Starbase-3' just doesn't cut it. Neither does, 'Your wife's leaving Starfleet, and don't ask her about the kid she abandoned because she doesn't want you to know.'"

Reed trailed a hand along Archer's back as he made his way over to the bed and sat down. "I don't think either of those is advisable."

"Nothing's advisable, damn it." Archer put the padd he was holding back on the desk and turned to Reed. "And I absolutely hate that she's forcing you to have to decide what to do about the child—although Doctor Phlox tells me you seem to have made up your mind already."

Reed nodded. "You must think I'm mad."

Archer took a good look at his lover. "No—I don't. I mean, Phlox talked to me about the pre-natal bonding issue, and I do understand that. But the other options—I can't see you choosing them to begin with. You'd be within your rights to terminate the pregnancy, of course, but I think I know you better than that by now."

"You should." Reed drew his feet up on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.

"And you could put it up for adoption, but if you're already bonding with the baby, I can't see you doing that." Archer propped his head on one arm, elbow on the desk. "It's not going to be easy, that's all I can say. But I want you to know I'm going to support you on it—both as your C.O. and as your lover. I'm not going to let you down on this, Malcolm."

Reed looked at his lover curiously. "You're really behind this?"

"I am. Of course, Phlox indicated to me that if I wasn't, he'd have me officially declared an insensitive, heartless clod who wasn't fit company for a refined and sensitive companion like Porthos, let alone you," Archer chuckled. "So I didn't have much choice. But I'd support you anyway. It's an enormous decision and you don't deserve to have to live with it by yourself—especially not if I have anything to say about it. I might be getting a little old to be a brand new father, but I'll do my best."

A hand passed over Reed's face. He had expected some degree of understanding, for which he'd been prepared to fight, but he hadn't expected this without even a word. It was possible that Phlox had presented everything to Archer in a way that made Archer have some idea of Reed's feelings, but it was rather more likely that this was Archer's sentiment in the first place. As much as he loved Archer, and as supportive as Archer had been in these couple of months, he'd always been such a loner in many ways that he'd still refused to trust Archer completely, even as far as their relationship had progressed. But, he reflected, when you hold secrets of the sort he and Phlox had discussed, your level of trust diminishes accordingly.

It hurt to feel that he couldn't tell Archer what he knew—at least, not quite yet. "Sounds like you and Phlox had quite a chat."

Archer came over to the bed and sat beside Reed. "Oh, I got the riot act. At least, his version of it." He ran a hand over Reed's face, looking first at Reed's face, then at his stomach. "You're really starting to show."

"And to think I've always prized my slender build."

"You'll get it back; I have no doubt."

"So what else did Phlox think you needed to know? I'm not exactly the little pregnant girl who got seduced and abandoned."

"You aren't? I'm pretty sure I seduced you…and I've seen you in action, and I think 'abandoned' just about covers it." Archer grinned down at Reed. "Speaking of abandoned, though, I guess Phlox told you that Wallace might not know who the father is?"

"Oh?" Reed wondered just how Phlox had elaborated on the fiction he'd told Reed he would use.

"I'm surprised you didn't realize it. She got pregnant right about the time you had that security team down on Terullian with the engineering crew. She's the one who spent the better part of a week alone with some of the colonists, isn't she?"

That was true, Reed realized. "Yes. Absolutely."

"It might be one of the colonists," Archer pointed out. "Maybe that's why she hasn't wanted to talk about it."

"That could be." Reed knew better, but the fiction fit the circumstances well enough to protect the guilty. "No point speculating, though. I'm carrying the baby; it's mine. That's quite enough for me." He paused, musing. "Or should I say it's ours? I wonder what Phlox is going to put on the birth certificate. I seem to be the mother hen…do you want credit on the other end?"

Archer blinked, stopping in his process of massaging Reed's chest. "I've been credited with superhuman powers I don't have before, but managing to knock up my very male lover is even beyond some of those other stories. Which is what that would look like. I hate to think we'd have to run the birth certificate question past Legal. I guess it's up to Phlox. He's the expert on this."

"I guess so." Reed allowed Archer to bend over him, plundering his lips for a kiss. "Mmm. Are you going anywhere with that?"

"I'd like to, if you're not feeling too sore or anything." Archer wriggled out of his uniform shirt. "Has Phlox said anything about having to quit having sex at some point?"

"No." Reed stopped for a moment. "That's no to both. I feel fine tonight, and no, Phlox hasn't told me anything about that, so I don't suppose it's a problem. Although we might have to be careful about positions." He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it onto the desk. "Right now, I don't think anything on earth could be a problem."

Archer, already out of his own clothing, gently helped Reed out of the rest of his uniform and under the sheets. He'd feared at first that making love with Reed while Reed was pregnant would bother him; he'd been astonished at how little it concerned him now, even though Reed was definitely starting to show. What Reed would tell everyone when they began asking seriously was a good question, although it was one that he didn't have time to let concern him just then.

Reed's back was against his chest. "Comfortable like this?" Archer asked.

"Mm hmm. It's been a while since we did it this way."

"In a month or so this may be the only way it'll work," Archer laughed, reaching for the lube.

It worked just then as well, all too perfectly, Reed sliding back against Archer afterwards, finally falling asleep wrapped in Archer's arms. Archer looked for a moment at his lover's face, impossibly high cheekbones highlighted in shadow, a ridiculously perfect British complexion actually glowing, the way you always heard that pregnant women's did, probably from the hormones. Malcolm Reed was not a typically handsome man. He was, however, incredibly gorgeous, particularly right now. He was absolutely brilliant. He was the most lethal human being Archer had ever met. And he was sleeping in Jonathan Archer's bed.

Sometimes, you got lucky.

Archer sighed to himself, uncertain of how to handle the problem of Malcolm keeping Wallace's child, baffled at himself by how willing he was to make the idea work. Two men, both starship officers—it didn't fit the picture he'd always had of two parents, a yard full of pets, and a swing set. At least there were two adults and a dog, he decided. He knew his vision was a fantasy he'd created of the childhood he'd wanted and not the one he'd had, raised singlehandedly by its end by a brilliant but obsessed engineer who'd rarely had time for his son.

Travis Mayweather had spent his entire childhood on a ship and he seemed normal enough…

Musing on the problem, questions still unanswered, Archer fell asleep.
»»»

"Ship approaching at Warp Three," Mayweather informed his fellow officers.

Trip Tucker bit his lip. Archer and T'Pol were still down on the planet; a confrontation here might well prevent their immediate rescue. But to rescue them at the cost of crew on board—no. Tucker hated these decisions, hated having to take command at times like this. Still, it looked as if there were no choice but to confront the enemy head-on. "Polarize hull plating, Mr. Reed."

"Yes, Sir." Reed adjusted the controls at his console.

"Malcolm," Tucker asked, staring at the opposing ship on the viewscreen, "any chance you can knock out their torpedo banks?"

Reed looked, bit his lip for a moment, then nodded. "I think we can do that." He signaled the Armory. "Starboard two, three, and four loaded. When do you want fire, Sir?"

"Now."

The hit was partly good; most, but not all, of the torpedo banks were down, and the hull polarization on the other ship was weakened. "Hoshi, hail their captain," Tucker ordered.

The communications officer hailed the other ship as requested, but the exchange was fruitless. Tucker cursed under his breath; these people were just plain stubborn and obviously had a death wish. It didn't do to have the fighting attitude of a rabid Klingon unless you had the capabilities to match. These people had technology, all right, but not of the level the damned Klingons had, nor did they have the strategy. What they did have looked to Tucker like a desire for mass suicide.

"Two more ships on the horizon," Mayweather told Tucker after Tucker broke off the attempted negotiation. "They're smaller, but they look like warships."

"What's their status, Malcolm?" Tucker asked.

Reed, wincing at a particularly uncomfortable move by the smaller Reed, ran a scan. "They're nearly as heavily loaded as the first ship."

"What's our status?"

"We're fine. We could take on all three of them easily, unless they've got something up their sleeve I've never seen." Reed politely avoided adding that he doubted they knew anything he didn't. He also stared at the control panel, knowing exactly what he wanted to do, and hoping Tucker had the balls to let him do it. Tucker, unfortunately, didn't have enough combat leadership training in Reed's opinion to know how this dance was going to play out.

"They're firing," Mayweather alerted Tucker and the meditating Malcolm.

"Ah."

"Malcolm—"

"I'm on top of this, Sir." And he was. One phase cannon blast to take out the torpedo, and another to disrupt their hull polarization further. "Next move?" He began adjusting settings, and keyed an order to the Armory. There was only one way to settle this properly in his book, and no acting commander was going to stop him from it.

Tucker stared at the viewscreen. He loathed moments like this; combat wasn't in his blood, or in his heart. There wasn't, however, any way to back out of this, or—better yet, if he could do it—to throw the question up to committee, with an "Anyone got a suggestion?" That was what he really wanted to do at times like this. It always amazed him that the Captain never broke a sweat when things like this went on. He knew that Archer wasn't any more thrilled by combat than he was, but Archer had spent a lot more time at it; maybe that made you calmer. How Reed always looked so cheerful about the whole thing was nearly as disturbing as amazing; the man thrived on causing maximal fatalities on the enemy. Right now, Reed looked positively enchanted with the situation.

What was the best way out of this one? There were a few possible moves, and he had to pick one of them. Archer would certainly pick the least combative move, the one that kept the most people on each side uninjured.

"Malcolm, give them one warning shot, then knock out their hull polarization. Travis, prepare to go to impulse."

"Belay that order, Mr. Mayweather," Reed called out, as he went straight for a phase cannon blast to the largest ship's hull.

"Malcolm, what the hell?"

"Let me at this," Reed growled. The second round of firing was directly at the closer of the two smaller ships, which weren't that far apart. The disintegration of its plating was apparent.

The third round was a torpedo attack directly at the second ship's engine housing, which was strikingly close to its visible torpedo bays.

The explosion was visual poetry, especially to Reed. The small warship went up in a blast that would have illumined half of Earth on Guy Fawkes' Day, and, even better, he'd pulled it off in one clean shot. These aliens had bloody rotten ships' designers, but it worked for him.

Trip was in shock. "Malcolm, you just—"

"They're hailing us," Sato cut in.

Of course they were; Malcolm could have told Tucker that. After all, Tucker wouldn't have had anyplace to go after his intended move but posturing for negotiations or taking out the larger ship itself. And this smaller ship had promised, and delivered, such a satisfactory and decorative conclusion. Although his lover would never understand it—though the junior Reed seemed to, judging by its current movement—moments like this were even better than sex. Even sex with Jonathan Archer. A brief vision came to his eyes of himself and his child, traveling across the galaxies, detonating things together. He wondered, equally briefly, if a market existed for parent-child mercenary teams.

A few moments of discussion with the commander of the other ship established what Reed could have told Tucker—that the matter was settled. The Captain and T'Pol were to be delivered to Enterprise within two hours. Tucker broke off the communication gratefully, then, with concern for his temporary command, turned on Reed. "All right, Malcolm, what the hell was that about?" He moved over to the weapons console and looked down at the Armory Officer.

"Respectfully, Sir, your plan was well-intentioned but strategically ineffective."

"What?"

Reed snapped. "You want it in English, Trip? You were wrong, got it? You were dead fucking wrong. Taking out the smaller vessel is standard playbook, damn it. Especially when the larger one's down. What the hell did you want—a two-day standoff with a ship with no defensive system? Taking out the main ship? Just where the hell did you plan to go with that move?"

Tucker held his breath. Reed was right, but this was on the Bridge, in front of junior officers and a few enlisted. "You're out of line, Malcolm."

Reed stood up, glaring. "I'm out of line? And what were you, trying to get either the Captain or us killed? I hardly think that's in line."

"I'm in command, damn it, Malcolm!"

"Then bloody act like it, for Christ's sakes!" Reed slammed his fist into the weapons console and turned on his heel, heading for the exit.

Tucker gaped. "What the hell was that?"

Sato looked over at the Chief Engineer. "That was pregnant, Sir."

Tucker leaned against the weapons console. "Oh, Jesus."

»»»

Jonathan Archer, moving stiffly from the bruises that still covered him, eased himself into the chair in his ready room the next day. "All I can say is, I'm not going to write either of you up. What I am going to say is that you were both wrong. Honestly, Trip, in a situation like that, you really don't know how to handle everything yet. There's no sin in asking a lower-ranking officer for advice when something's in his area. I do that all the time—especially with you. And if there's anyone here who knows battle strategy, you know it's Malcolm. He's not Tactical Officer for nothing."

"Yes, Cap'n." Tucker shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"As for you, Malcolm…" Archer sighed. "Of course you were right about the approach. But you didn't need to countermand Trip's order; you could have corrected him directly. It's very bad for discipline to belay a superior's order to the crew if you can give him an opportunity to change it."

"Sorry, Sir." Reed moved about, partly fidgeting, partly trying to find a comfortable stance that was vaguely attentive without overbalancing himself.

"As for what happened next—I don't even want to go there, but I will. Trip, you should have called Malcolm off the Bridge. Even if the entire crew could guess the two of you were going to have a go-round, you should never have actually let them see it. Malcolm, I don't blame you for snapping. I know you've got a temper—I know that better than anyone else on this ship. I'd normally order you to watch your language, but I think Hoshi was right. I've seen you lose your temper on the Bridge before and you're usually a little more restrained about your choice of language than that. However, that's not saying I want to see that from you again. I warned you about this early on—if you're going to get overwrought on the Bridge while this," he gestured to Reed's stomach, "is going on, I'd rather see you leave the Bridge than make—or finish—a scene. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, Sir." Reed fidgeted again, his color slightly paler than a moment before. Before Archer could ask him what was wrong, Reed had slumped to the floor.

Tucker was on his knees with Reed before Archer could work his way, painfully, out of his chair. "He's out cold, Cap'n. You'd better call Sickbay."

Archer called to Phlox, then turned back to his chief engineer. "T'Pol and I were down there for three days. Was Malcolm sick? He was fine when I left."

Tucker, checking Reed's pulse, looked up at Archer. "He seemed to be holdin' up, though I guess it was a lot more stress for him than it was for the rest of us—you two bein' together and all, and the baby, and what-not. 'Course, you know what happens when Malcolm gets stressed—he don't eat. I don't think I saw him eat a bite from the time we got word about you two till you got back yesterday. And you know how he'd been eatin' like a starved wolf when you left."

Phlox entered a few minutes later. Reed, his head propped on Tucker's leg, was slowly starting to come around. The doctor knelt down and scanned Reed, then clucked to himself before administering a hypospray. "I should have known this might happen."

"What?"

"Gestational diabetes. Fairly common in humans. I presume the Lieutenant's been in one of his non-eating moods again." Phlox watched as Reed began looking more conscious. "I want you down in Sickbay now, Lieutenant. I'm going to do a more thorough examination, and we're going to have a talk about your eating. And I want you reporting to me every morning from this point on; do you understand me?"

"Yes," Reed groaned.

"Mr. Tucker, could you help the Lieutenant down to Sickbay with me?" Phlox watched closely as Tucker helped a still-groggy Reed to his feet. Then Phlox looked over at Archer. "As for you, Captain, you might want to check in with me later if you're still in that much pain from the past few days' events. I don't want you to wind up back in Sickbay overnight; I think you need some time with the Lieutenant. Speaking of which, you might see me if you need anything. I understand that this sort of thing can be very hard on an expectant father's nerves."

Archer nodded. "Thanks. I'll consider it."

»»»

Reed, Tucker, and Archer sat together at dinner a few weeks later, the latter two watching in their usual amazement as Reed's restored appetite took over the table. Chef had indicated to Archer that Reed was eating enough for three; Archer could see that himself, although he had no idea where the food went when Reed finished eating it. Phlox had said, however, that some people simply didn't gain as much weight as others, but that Reed and the baby were perfectly healthy.

Archer had also asked Phlox about the food cravings. Tucker had provided interesting but rather horrifying stories to Archer about Southern women's food cravings. Apparently some of them had been known, a few centuries before, to get cravings for dirt. Reed hadn't been that bad, fortunately. But he was putting peanut butter on everything now, not just his pancakes—Lord knew he'd done that before he was pregnant—and ice cream. And Phlox had advised that fruit juice was a good idea, but how much pineapple juice could anyone stand to drink? Reed's current fetish—a sudden distaste for tomatoes—was utterly inexplicable; neither Archer nor Tucker had ever heard of it before, and Reed normally liked them.

Tucker had no such compunctions; he liked tomato salads. Watching Reed refuse to look in his direction while he ate was amusing; Reed didn't even want to see a tomato. When the offending foodstuff was safely inside Tucker, he asked the other two men a question that had been plaguing him lately. "So…Phlox says it's a boy? You figured out what you're naming him?"

Archer laughed. "Malcolm's threatened practically anything as long as it's British. I'm afraid of having a son named Godric Nigel Reed, but it's Malcolm's pick."

Malcolm looked deep in thought. "Godric? I hadn't thought of Godric. It's even better than Cedric." He watched Archer squirm. "Sorry, love. Malcolm's bad enough, I've always said. I'd never give a child of mine anything quite that poncy. I've been tossing a few names around. Geoffrey, Stephen, and Dylan seem to be leading the list right now—though Dylan's a bit on the Welsh side, I'm afraid."

"Y'know," Tucker said, "I think I can help y'all here. Charles is a perfectly good name for a Brit—you've had a couple 'a kings named Charles and all that. I think Charles Tucker Reed's got a real nice ring to it." He watched as both men stared in horror. "All right, I'm jokin', okay? I already reserved that one for my kid—figurin' I ever meet a girl I can talk into it." A thought crossed his mind. "Unless, 'a course…say, Cap'n, you wouldn't get too upset if I borrowed Malcolm for nine months, would you?" The look on Archer's face answered that question. "Uh, okay, I won't even think about that any more. Sorry."

"You want a man, Trip, go find your own."

Tucker grinned. "I think I'll pass. No single men left on this ship that're good-lookin' enough for me now that you two are together." He passed a platter of shrimp. "You okay there, Malcolm?"

"I'm fine." Reed pushed the platter aside. "It's just—for some reason, the shrimp look like a problem tonight. I think I'll pass." He reached for a vegetable dish. "However, I do hope neither of you had your heart set on the asparagus."

The other two watched as Reed took most of the asparagus on the plate. He admired his handiwork and passed the remainder to Archer. Then he mused for a moment. "No…I think I can pass on the peanut butter. Do you know if there's any pineapple in the galley?"

Archer had discussed the pineapple issue with Chef when Reed had first had the baby transplanted. It had been a sure bet that if Reed was going to whine about anything, it would be that. Keeping pineapple in various forms stocked specifically for Reed for six months had been a major priority. The man could be critical and irritating enough, at times, when he wasn't pregnant; at least they could keep him placated on one thing. "There should be," Archer told him. "Chef knows better than to run out right now. In fact, I think he has pineapple ice back there for you."

"He does?" Reed might be pregnant, but he looked like a six-year old who had just seen Santa Claus. It amazed Archer at how little it sometimes took to make his lover ridiculously happy, and it amazed him even more at how foolishly pleased he was to be able to make Reed that happy with small things. Pineapple ice, giving the Tactical Officer a chance at blowing up a Suliban ship, swiping alien hand weapons during a fight and bringing them back for his lover's collection—little things like that put Reed into ecstasy.

"Absolutely." Seeing Reed's eyes lighting up in that absolutely flawless pregnancy-created skin was enough to turn Archer into a puddle on the floor, but he held himself together. An old friend of his had once commented that he'd thought that his wife had never been more gorgeous than when she'd been pregnant. At the time—and hardly that interested in women—Archer hadn't been able to comprehend the concept, but watching Reed over these last few months had made the truth of the idea apparent.

He'd never realized just how much he really loved Malcolm Reed, had he? And—this was definitely the weirdest thing, and he didn't quite think he could ever share this with Tucker—Reed had definitely never seemed more desirable sexually, even though that slender, muscular body had always been attractive enough to cause Archer sleepless nights for months before they'd become lovers.

Tucker, who had been struck by another thought, held off from speaking briefly, observant enough to realize that the exchange of a moment before had been more than a question about the food. He'd never felt like a third wheel when alone with the other two; after they had settled their initial territorial disputes over the ship, Reed had welcomed first Tucker's friendship, and then his position, through Tucker's closeness to Archer, as the closest friend of the couple. For his own part, Tucker liked Reed and enjoyed his company off-duty, and anything that made his best friend happy, Tucker was prone to appreciate. And, as nothing had ever made Jonathan Archer happier than Malcolm Reed did, Tucker was more than willing to credit Reed with any number of blessings from whatever deity Reed chose. The fact that the other two frequently had these silent moments of conspicuously adoring each other in front of him never embarrassed him; rather, he was happy as hell to see it.

Now Tucker was going to have to ruin the mood, but he had to make his point. He didn't think either of the other two was aware of what he'd learned. "Y'know, you two, you might as well have done with it and name the baby Jonathan Reed. It'd make life a hell of a lot easier than anything else."

"What?" The question was nearly simultaneous from both other men.

"Look, Cap'n, Malcolm," Trip sighed uneasily, "I think I need to clue you in on a few things, and then you two are gonna have to decide what y'all are doin'. It's no secret that Malcolm's pregnant. What nobody knows 'cept you two, Phlox, and me is how or why. Malcolm's admitted he's pregnant, and that's all he's told anyone about it at all. Now, I can't fault either of you for keepin' a lady's secrets, and I'm happy 'nough to do that myself, but all it's done is make the situation a big mystery. When you got a mystery, people try to solve it. And what's runnin' 'round the ship, frankly—I guess some enlisted heard Hoshi and Travis talkin'—is that you two, bein' together an' all, went to Phlox and had him pull off a nice piece 'a genetic manipulation, an' this is supposedly you two's baby." Trip paused to admire the sight of complete bewilderment on his friends' faces.

"Now, to be honest, gen'lemen, that's not a bad story they got there. 'Cause honestly, Jon, this past month or so, since Malcolm collapsed, you ain't been too subtle by half. Sure, the two of you've only come straight out 'bout your relationship to the senior crew, but you've been pretty damned obvious to just about anyone with eyes lately. Done damn near everything but hold hands on the Bridge and neck during the movies. It ain't that anybody cares—my take is everybody sounds pretty happy about it—but the thing is, first of all, you might as well just make a public announcement and be done with it, 'cause everyone's pretty much got you two pegged now, and second, if you want to give people what they think is some cleared air and kill any chance about rumors about Wallace, you might as well buy into the story they've thought up and claim the baby is yours. They've already figured out you two are an item, and they seem to be pretty pleased at the idea the happy couple's expectin'—why not roll with it?"

Reed and Archer looked at each other. "It's a thought," Malcolm admitted. "It's a good bit easier than anything else, too."

Archer tapped his fork on his plate. "You're sure the crew's comfortable with this story they've invented?"

"It's not all a story," Tucker pointed out. "They're spot on about you two. And they're already talkin' about a baby shower, I hate to tell you. People are happy for you two, but they're all apparently waitin' for something official so they can start tossin' confetti and congratulatin' you."

Archer frowned for a moment. "I suppose worrying about Malcolm in front of everyone's made it difficult for me to claim anything else is going on. He's pregnant and I'm biting my nails—logical conclusion, I'd guess. I suppose we haven't been as discreet as we could be lately. And it certainly avoids any hard questions about where the baby came from. It's the easy out, but it's also probably the safest one long term. And it's not altogether untrue." He turned to Reed. "Are you comfortable with it?"

"I'm not uncomfortable with it. I've been out and in relationships before while on a post; that in itself doesn't bother me. And I'd have to deal with the baby one way or another. You're the captain, however, as I don't need to remind you—the question is if you're comfortable with it."

"I can only say I think it would be nice if the whole of the story were true," Archer sighed. "I have to admit I'm a bit sorry the baby isn't really ours—it's Wallace's and whoever's—but it's the best thing to put out there, I think. I can live with it."

"Now that's settled," Reed muttered, "I don't suppose Chef has any pistachios back there. I'd like some pistachios with that pineapple ice." He had a firm grasp of what was truly important at that moment, and it was pistachios.

»»»

The freighter had sent a message requesting help fighting off Nausicaans who had landed on board in their cargo holds. Enterprise had been close enough to respond, and Archer had ordered Reed to get a security team together and send it down to the dilithium hauler. He'd issued a short series of orders, the last two of which had been, "You know Phlox only wants you working half-shifts right now, so if Phelon can't cover for you satisfactorily, go see Phlox before you do anything else," and "You know you don't need to go down there yourself, Malcolm."

Why did it not surprise Archer that Reed had completely ignored the last two orders? Reed had let one of the other team members pilot the shuttlepod, which meant that his voice hadn't been heard when departing—he must have realized that if it had, Archer would have jammed every airlock on the ship to keep him on board.

Archer hadn't realized at first that Reed had ignored him; Reed had merely verified from the Armory that he had a team together and that they'd be setting off momentarily. Archer hadn't demanded the team members' names. Of course, if he had, Reed might have chosen to lie anyway. To be honest, Reed had more familiarity with Nausicaans and their habits with freighters than any of his security team did, although even that wasn't much; he knew Nausicaans better from fighting their ships, not them.

Apparently, Reed had been looking for a good fight. It had been a while, a few months, since there had been any serious need for Enterprise to send anyone directly into an existing combat situation of any kind, and if there was anyone damned fool enough to be the first person to volunteer to get himself killed in person, it would be Malcolm Reed. The man seemed to think he was invulnerable, which was no doubt why he held the ship's record for number of days spent in Sickbay. It didn't help that on various occasions he'd proclaimed that it was his job to be expendable. That made Archer grit his teeth. The ship's Tactical Officer was not expendable. The man who had designed the phase pistol was not expendable. Jonathan Archer's lover was definitely not expendable…and was far too pregnant to be doing something this incredibly stupid.

That Reed had led the boarding party himself was discovered not when Reed climbed off the shuttlepod on its victorious return, valiantly waving the latter-day equivalent of the foreskins of his enemies, but when the crewman who'd piloted the shuttle called the ship from on board the freighter for the second time. The first time had been a communication to let Archer know that they'd arrived. The second contact was more serious. "Captain, it looks as if we've gotten this all under control. Three Nausicaans dead, four injured. About five freighter crew injured, none severely. We've got a few bruises and scrapes and one man shot in the arm, except for the Lieutenant, Sir—he's down."

Archer went pale. "Lieutenant Reed's there?"

"Yes, Sir. He led the party—killed two of the Nausicaans himself. He wound up in hand-to-hand with one of them, though, and he took some really bad blows before he got him down."

For a second, Archer wondered if he were going to be ill on the Bridge. "To the abdomen?"

"Yes, Sir. He was doubled up pretty badly; it looks like he's having some serious spasms. We've got him in the infirmary here but he's not holding anything down. The medic here isn't sure how to handle this."

"Get him back here on the double. Hoshi, tell Phlox to meet me in the shuttle bay. T'Pol, take command for the rest of the day—and maybe tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir." T'Pol moved up to the command conn, her eyes following Archer as he headed for the lift. She doubted, based on logic and what she knew of Vulcan reproductive technology, that the child Reed was carrying was really Archer's, but Archer clearly had taken responsibility for the child, so it was her duty to accept the fiction. She could not fault the Captain, in this instance, for his action; she suspected that a Vulcan would have done the same thing. It would be illogical, if adequate support were at hand, not to check on one's injured partner who was carrying the couple's child. She moved into the chair and directed Mayweather to maintain position until further notice.

News traveled fast on a ship the size of Enterprise. When Archer reached the shuttle bay, Phlox, Cutler, and a medic were already there, as was Tucker. "Trip—what are you doing here?"

"I heard Malcolm led in the cavalry like a fucking idiot. Came to see if there was anything I can do. I kinda figured you'd be here."

"I'm here all right," Archer sighed, "and I don't know which to do first—kiss him or kill him."

"Ah, that's easy," Tucker responded, throwing an arm over his older friend's shoulder. "Kiss him. Just be thankful he's alive. Malcolm's gonna be the first officer killed on duty if he don't watch it."

"That's what frightens me," Archer said, shuddering. "I ordered him not to go out there. I'm really worrying about the baby right now, even more than Malcolm," he confided. "Apparently one of the Nausicaans saw fit to take Malcolm right in the gut, hard."

"Oh, shit." Tucker squeezed his friend's shoulders, hard. "Do me a favor, Cap'n. Sit down and breathe 'til the shuttlepod gets back here. Aint' nothin' worryin's gonna help square away."

"You're right." Archer located a work bench and eased himself onto it.

"Deep breaths, I told ya," Tucker told him, coming around to work Archer's shoulders. Archer leaned back into his friend's touch. The contact wasn't erotic—it was nothing like the back rubs Malcolm gave him, that made his back feel better but always wound up with their grappling in the sheets as a result—but it felt wonderful; Archer hadn't realized how tense his whole body was.

"Thanks, Trip."

"Looked like ya could use it." Tucker laid a hand on Archer's shoulder as the shuttlepod came into visual range outside of the windows, closing in for docking.

Phlox, Cutler, and the medic were watching as the shuttlepod docked, anticipating anything. Archer and Tucker headed over, trying to stay out of the medical crew's way, although Archer was visibly restraining himself from forcing his way to the front with Phlox. Phlox turned for a moment and cast an eye on Archer, acknowledging him with a brief nod. Tucker stood just behind Archer, almost as if expecting to have to pick Archer up in short order.

The shuttle docked uneventfully; it was when the pod opened and the security team exited that the earlier events became clear. One crewman, as the pilot had suggested, had his arm in a sling; he exited first. The others showed unsurprising cuts and bruises, and none of the uniforms were going to be worn for anything official again. The medic began reviewing the crewmen's injuries as Phlox and Cutler stepped into the shuttlepod. "Mr. Tucker," Phlox called out, "your assistance would be useful here. Captain, the best thing you can do at this moment is stay where you are; I'll have the Lieutenant out of here in a moment." Cutler clambered out of the shuttlepod and spoke to the medic; she took over some examining of superficial cuts and abrasions as the medic went for the stretcher Phlox had ordered.

Tucker climbed into the shuttlepod, letting out a "Malcolm!" that nearly knocked Archer, already shaken, onto the floor. "Commander," the doctor continued, "I'd be obliged if you could help us get the Lieutenant on this stretcher and into Sickbay." Archer looked around quickly, then leaned against the nearest interior bracing to steady himself.

Phlox emerged from the shuttlepod first, carrying a hypospray. He walked over to Archer. "Captain, I'm going to have Mr. Reed taken to Sickbay. I presume that you will wish to accompany him. First, however, I am going to have to insist that you let me give you this."

Archer stared at Phlox. "Why?"

"It's merely a fairly mild sedative. I just administered a slightly stronger dose to the Lieutenant to help him relax and control his abdominal spasms; I should like to do the same to you simply due to the level of anticipatory panic you are experiencing. In other words, I should like you to be calm enough to come along and be coherent—because I am going to need to discuss a few matters with you when we get to Sickbay—without your feeling compelled to overinvolve yourself in what I am doing to Mr. Reed."

Archer shook his head. "Just tell me two things."

Phlox nodded. "Of course. The Lieutenant will live; in fact, he'll be fine in a week or so. I can also say the same for his son, which I presume is the other question." Archer nodded weakly, his color improving slightly. "I still need you to come with me to Sickbay, however, and I should still prefer giving you the injection."

Looking at Phlox, Archer shrugged. "As long as you're not trying to sedate me into glossing over bad news…"

"Not at all, Captain. However, I'm afraid Mr. Reed looks rather worse off than he is, and I do believe that you would be capable of losing a certain degree of composure at the moment." Phlox administered the hypospray quickly and patted Archer's shoulder. "Ah," he said, watching Tucker and the medic lifting Reed out of the shuttle, "We're off to Sickbay."

»»»

"The baby is at seven months," Phlox explained to Archer. "Although that would normally be premature, it is relatively safe to deliver a seven-month human child. I had already suggested that Mr. Reed might have the baby removed at seven months, if you'll recall. It would be fairly difficult for human male anatomy to expand comfortably for the last two months, and the Lieutenant is hardly a large man to begin with. At this point, I'd like your permission to do just that. After the injuries he sustained in the fight on the freighter, I do not believe him to be in any condition to continue the pregnancy any further safely. The internal bleeding alone concerns me, and I have not had time to do a full check on his spleen."

"My permission?" Archer asked. "Why do you need mine?"

"Because I have Mr. Reed fully sedated, and because as his lover you would be as close as I can get to an authorization to perform the equivalent of what you humans seem to call a caesarian section."

"Oh." Archer sat down on a biobed. "You did say they'll both be all right."

"They'll be fine," Phlox assured him. "I'd suggest you might want to stretch out on that biobed you're on. This will take a while, and you need the rest. If you'd like another sedative, I can authorize Cutler to administer one to you should you need it."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Archer sighed, toeing off his boots and stretching out uneasily. "I'd rather have Commander Tucker bring me a drink, but that's probably not a good idea."

"Not with that injection I gave you," Phlox replied, dimming the lights near Archer as he headed for Reed's biobed.

»»»

Tucker entered Sickbay looking as if he had run a marathon. "I swear, the whole damn crew's out there, Cap'n," he complained. "Someone let out that Malcolm was havin' the baby delivered, and Hoshi and her baby shower crowd had hysterics. They were gonna try to do it next month," he explained. "Now everybody just wants to get in on a piece of the action."

Archer, on a stool beside Reed's biobed, shook his head in amazement. "Incredible. Tell them to get a life."

Reed looked up groggily. "Someone around here needs to get some work done. If none of them are going to do any, I suppose I should—"

"Absolutely not," Archer snapped at his lover. "You're not going back on duty until Phlox says so."

"Anything I should report to the mob?" Tucker asked.

Phlox came from around the corner, carrying a rather small bundle. "You might tell them that Geoffrey Stephen Reed seems to be doing very well. Unlike his father, he does an excellent job of following my orders."

"Not fair," Malcolm sighed. "I'm fine."

"You are not," Tucker replied. "Sorry, Cap'n, I know that's your line." Archer grinned and nodded in assent. "Hey, Phlox, mind if I get a peek at my godson?"

"And who said anything to you about that?" Malcolm queried as Phlox displayed an armful of new baby to Tucker.

"He's so cute—can't be yours, Malcolm. Who told me? Nobody. I'm tellin' you two. This boy here needs someone to be a good influence on him, 'cause sure as hell he's gonna need one with you raisin' him."

"Very funny." Malcolm propped himself up carefully as Phlox brought Geoffrey over to him.

"I'm gonna go out and placate the crowd," Tucker announced. "I'll bring booze later." He made his way to the door, whistling.

Archer watched Tucker's exit, then turned his attention to his lover and the baby. "I wonder what Geoffrey's going to look like," he wondered aloud.

"Remarkably like his father, unless I miss my guess," Phlox replied.

"We don't know what he looks like," Archer protested.

"I mean Mr. Reed," Phlox answered.

Reed blinked up at Phlox, but said nothing.

"But Malcolm only carried him," Archer pointed out. "That shouldn't have an effect…"

Phlox and Reed exchanged glances. "Jon," Reed said, "I am his father."

"After four and a half months of bonding, I can understand you feel that way, but biologically…"

"Jon, you're not listening. I just told you. I am Geoffrey's father."

Archer looked stricken. "What?"

"I knew you'd have to find out eventually, but I've had excellent reasons for not telling you."

"I can't even imagine."

»»»

Terullian was the largest dilithium mining operation in three galaxies. Its geography contained five continents, each one with more dilithium resources than the last. It was harsh, unpopulated territory on most of the continents, mining colonies springing up wherever new veins were found, most of the colonies with a strange resemblance to what an Earther would think of as Dodge City in an old movie western from the Twentieth Century. They were rustic, to be polite; primitive, to be more exact, except for the mining operations themselves. And all of the mining operations weren't the most modern, either.

Halara was a fairly new mining colony, settled mostly by aging boomers tired of running ore and their children who wanted to experience life planetside. The settlement had been plagued by mine construction difficulties and by raiders from Dendala Colony who thought that Halara's borders had crossed into theirs. Enterprise had responded to a request to lend a few structural engineers to examine some of the mines, and for a security team to run border patrol while the mines were being repaired.

Tucker and his crew had enjoyed the challenge of working out the structural difficulties in the Halarian mines and in helping teach the mining operations staff how to make the repairs. It wasn't their usual line of work, but it was two weeks of planetside work in a wide-open frontier town, and most of them looked on the assignment as vacation.

Security was less enthused. Night patrols in the local weather conditions were less than pleasant; the shifts were outside, the temperatures were low at night, and evening rain was regular. The night shifts in the mines, where raiders sometimes set traps for the Halarian miners, were also unpleasant—the mines were dark, cold, and reeked of whatever was in Terullian's soil besides the dilithium. No one in security wanted to know just what that might be.

Reed had taken several of the night shifts himself, because of the complaints. He was less than thrilled, having had to give up the comforts of the bed he'd begun sleeping in; he and Jonathan Archer had become involved a few months before Enterprsie had reported to this miserable planet. The separation was making it painfully clear to him that the involvement had become much more than a temporary antidote for boredom, or one more shipboard affair; he had quite obviously fallen in love with the Captain. Worse yet, for it added to the irritation of the separation, Archer's private messages to Reed from the ship were abundantly clear in shared sentiment. Reed would have given his right arm to be warm, dry, and sleeping curled up against the broad expanse of Archer's muscular chest, to have been able to wake up looking into eyes greener than the waters his father had expected him to sail. Instead, he was on the furthest side of Halara, away from the rest of the Enterprise crew, tiredly waiting for unlikely danger to strike. Evelyn Wallace, who had joined Starfleet after marrying Ensign Cameron Wallace, who was stationed elsewhere, was with him, equally tired and cold.

"Damn," Wallace spat. "Did you hear that?"

"I did." Thunder, loud, promising a miserable Halarian rainstorm and endless mud at any minute. Reed rose and grabbed his pack. "There's a mine about thirty yards ahead. Maybe we can wait out the storm there."

"Sounds like a plan." Wallace picked up her pack and followed him.

The mine was damp and cold, but it wasn't muddy, and it was shielded from the rain. They put their packs near the front, looked around briefly, and found perches on some outcroppings of rock. "Should we start a fire?" Wallace asked.

"I wouldn't risk it. Dilithium's not the most stable thing known, and judging from the gases we've smelled in these mines, I'd venture to say we have some other constituents in here that I don't want to test for flammability by blowing us up."

"Check."

Reed looked about, then pulled a canteen and light from his pack. "If we're about to get rain, let's head in a few yards. I'm not certain what direction it's coming from; we might get soaked staying up here."

Wallace looked around. "Good idea. That thunder's getting closer; it's going to break any minute."

They left their packs and headed for a nearby section of the mine shaft, under an outcropping of some unidentifiable silicate. Reed settled down under an overhang, Wallace under one across from him. There was still a faint trace of light from the opening of the mine, no need to use the light.

A bright flash, probably the glow of some lightning nearby, and an almost immediate response of thunder. The rain started, clouds dampening what little light came into the shaft. Reed looked over at Wallace. "You comfortable, Evvie?"

Wallace looked over at Reed, grinning. "You haven't called me that since I married Cam."

"That's because that's when you enlisted, and then I didn't see you from training till you got assigned here. Knowing you from when you were at school with my sister doesn't count on duty."

"We're on duty right now," she laughed.

"More like an enforced break from it. I put that storm at about half an hour until things settle down." Reed shifted his position. "I wonder if we ought to—"

He never completed the thought. The mine shook incredibly, chunks of silicates falling from position as Reed and Wallace ducked, trying to avoid serious injury. The noise, something like an explosion, was deafening, and it echoed down the mine, followed by the noise of the falling rock around them. "What was that?" Wallace called over to Reed, shaken.

Reed turned on the light he had brought over. "Damn, I think lightning struck the mine." From his position he shone the light over the whole area. "It looks as if we've had a rock slide."

Wallace peered out into the mine. "Isn't that the way we came in?" She pointed to a pile of debris that blocked what should have been the mouth of the mine.

"I'm rather afraid so."

Wallace grabbed hold of a large rock and struggled to her feet, stepping over more debris on the floor of the mine. She approached the pile. "It figures that this was one of the mines Commander Tucker didn't have shored up yet." Reaching out, she attempted to dislodge some of the matter in front of her. There was only more behind it. "Blast it, Malcolm, we'll never be able to clear this rubble out from in here. Can you reach the ship?"

"My communicator," Reed sighed, "is in my pack. Which I believe is on the other side of that pile of rubbish." He looked over at Wallace. "If I were you, I'd find a comfortable spot and sit down. It's going to be a while."

Wallace wandered around for a few moments, looking at the damage to the mine. "Sit down, Evvie," Reed told her. "I'd like to kill this torch; I don't want it to run down yet." Wallace moved a few feet away from Reed and hunkered down under the same rock outgrowth as Reed killed the light. "Get comfortable; we'll be here for a bit, till the storm breaks and they do damage assessment."

How long they sat out the storm, neither was sure. All either was really sure of was that the dilithium mine was cold enough and damp enough to chill a Vulcan into a statue; Reed considered the possibility of rheumatism arising, as his grandmother had claimed, from cold and damp. The darkness didn't help in the least. Reed and Wallace passed the time partly in silence, partly discussing Reed's sister Madeline.

"That storm's been over for at least an hour," Wallace finally said. "If anyone was in this area, they had to notice that lightning strike. I'm starting to think that no one was in the sector besides us."

"Possible," Reed said, "but unlikely. I'm sure this was noticed. My concern is with the gas buildup—I don't know if there's less oxygen in here now, but it's beginning to smell rather worse than it did. I'd like to know how the oxygen supply in here is."

"No way to check that without possibly blowing us up. I'd like to go home to Cam in one piece, not an assortment." A pause. "I'm absolutely freezing."

"That's because you have even less meat on your bones than I do. Get yourself over here," Reed told her.

"I'm already here," she observed.

"No, right over here, up against me. We can't risk a fire, so we're stuck with body heat. Cam can settle with me later if he doesn't like it." Wallace moved over and settled in against Reed, her head up against his shoulder as he threw an arm around her. "That any better?"

"Some." Wallace was silent for a while. "I'm worried about Cam. What he'll do, you know, if anything happens to me." She paused. "I know he'd miss me. But I wonder what he'd do, how he'd get by." Another pause. "We're working together, Malcolm, but I've lost track of you. I know Madeline would miss you."

"You shouldn't be thinking like that, Evvie." He tightened his grip around his old friend-turned-subordinate. "It won't do you any good."

"How am I supposed to think?" she protested. "Do you have anyone, Malcolm? Besides Madeline? Thinking about Cam…it makes me feel better, even if I am worrying. You've never told me, Malcolm—please don't tell me you don't have anyone."

"I do," he acknowledged, realizing just how much he wished he were with Archer, damning the luck that had thrown him this shift, this night.

"What's she like? Tell me about her."

Discretion counseled saying little or nothing; reality, however, suggested that disclosure made no difference if neither party was alive to mention the fact, and for all his insistence otherwise, Reed was no more hopeful by now than was Wallace. "Poor choice of words, I'm afraid. She's a he."

"I'm sorry; I didn't know."

"No more you should have known. We've not been together that long, and we've been trying to keep it a bit on the quiet side."

"Do you love him?"

He'd never said it to Archer. If he got out of the blasted mine alive, he'd tell Archer every day for the rest of their lives. "Yes. Very much."

"Does he love you?"

"I think so."

"I'm glad. It's hell being separated from Cam like this. Is your friend on ship with you?"

"Yes."

"You're lucky. Do I know him?"

It really didn't matter; every factor Reed could consider was against their getting out of there. "I should think so. The last name's Archer."

"The captain? Malcolm, you lucky dog. That man's a catch."

"Thanks."

He held Wallace a while longer, in total silence. It was difficult to judge the length of time that was passing, only that the air in the mine was worse yet. Finally, Wallace shifted position against him, letting out a sob.

"Are you all right?"

He hadn't heard the sound from her since she'd been ten, when she and Madeline had been following him in the empty house down the road, and the wind had blown through the curtains and made her jump. "Oh, Malcolm, I'm so scared…" He could picture the entire event as if it had only been a week before.

That had been his undoing. He pulled her against him in both arms, kissing her hair. "It's all right, Evvie, it's all right." And with no belief that anything would be all right, he'd tried comforting her, which progressed into something that neither of them had expected, but that both of them suddenly, quite desperately, needed.

A mining crew managed to tunnel in and found them two hours later, asleep.

Malcolm Reed carefully avoided putting any hint of the incident in any of his reports from Terullian. No one else from Enterprise knew about the mine collapse, and it was best, in his estimation, if no one ever did hear of it.

»»»

Two months later, Wallace had asked to speak to him privately. He'd thought nothing of it, expecting that she had news about Cam. They had never acknowledged the night in the mine; both of them had wanted nothing more than to deal with the relationships they'd made for themselves well before that event. Wallace had a husband she loved; Reed had Jonathan Archer, and a relationship that was becoming more involved than any he'd been in before. That Archer had begun talking seriously about making a commitment, had invited Tucker to dinner with Archer and Reed and had chosen to level with his best friend about the two of them, made Reed's head swim. He'd never been loved like this, and he had no desire to lose it.

When Wallace entered his cabin, however, a look of blind panic on her face, Reed knew the meeting had nothing to do with Ensign Cameron Wallace.

The door had barely closed behind her when she threw herself onto Reed's bed. She looked up at her superior officer. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh, Lord." He felt as if the floor were collapsing under him. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

"And it's…"

"I've never cheated on Cam," Wallace moaned. She didn't have to say more; Reed had no trouble believing that the night in the mine had been the only time anything of the sort had ever happened. He sat down at his desk, seeing everything in slow motion. "What do you need me to do?"

Wallace shrugged. "Right now? Nothing. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'd love a child…but Cam would know it's not his, and I don't know how I could explain. I could terminate it, but that feels wrong, but I don't know what else I can do." She paused. "I don't suppose you'd be up to the challenge?"

"I don't see how I can. How would I explain it? Look, Evvie—if I admit that child's mine, I could get hung out to dry. Fraternizing with an enlisted woman, adultery, conduct unbecoming—I'd either get busted down to civilian or get sent to lockup on Jupiter Station. Even if I didn't—you have a husband who won't understand; what makes you think my lover's going to take a better view of it? Especially when he's the one who'd get to sign my discharge papers."

Wallace shuddered. "Oh, God, that's right. Look, Malcolm, I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet. I only know I can't keep it. I'm about two months, I think; I've still got a month to decide what I'll do. I haven't told anyone I'm pregnant yet, just you. Whatever I decide, I promise you—I won't tell anyone who the father is. I can't let you get in that kind of trouble. I won't let you get into trouble over this. Believe me."

He'd known her since she was eight years old. His sister had always said that Evvie would rather jump off a bridge than hurt her friends. "I do believe you. What I want you to do is to take care of yourself, and to let me know what you're going to do. I'll understand if you feel you have to…you know. You're the one who has to decide about that. I don't want to see anything happen to you and Cam. If that's what it takes…you're the one who knows best about it."

Wallace gave Reed a peck on the cheek. "Thanks. You're the best."

Two weeks later, he'd brought Wallace along on a simple mission involving the Wavara tribesmen. She'd been taken back to the ship with a miscarriage, and with the sudden chance for Reed to take claim of his son.

»»»

"You should have told me." Archer spoke quietly, facing away from his lover. The pain in Reed's gray eyes during his confession had been too much to witness.

"I couldn't. I can hardly believe I did just now." Reed looked down at his son and shifted Geoffrey's weight in the crook of his arm. The baby curled against his father. "I wasn't even sure which was worse—admitting I'd slept with someone else, or winding up confessing to a good three grounds for a court-martial." He paused. "Now that you know…would you prefer I submit my resignation? It might save some embarrassment if I did. I could recommend David Grumbacher to replace me on ship. It would take a few weeks to have him picked up from Starbase-4 and have me set off, but he's the best man for my job, other than me. He's a good trainer, and the best battle tactician I've seen; he wrote the strategic manual for orbital defense maneuvers."

Archer wiped a hand over his face, then turned to face his younger lover. "Malcolm…you should have told me," he sighed. "I can't believe you've been carrying this around with you for nearly five months."

Reed pushed himself further up in the biobed. "Really?" he asked bitterly. "And just what would you have done when I'd told you? Thrown the book at me? Or thrown the book out so you could try to pretend it never happened? Jonathan Archer going about covering up so he wouldn't have to write up his lover? Tell me you could do that."

"If I did, you'd never have respected me again, and you know it," Archer said quietly, perching on the edge of the biobed. "But let me tell you something. You ought to know by now; you've been there before. When you think you're going to die, things happen. You think, you do, a lot of things you'd never do under any other circumstances. Anything to convince yourself you're not dead yet, that you might just live." Archer shuddered, remembering a few all-too-close calls of his own, and the difficulty he'd had more than once trying to hold himself, or other crew, together. "You nearly shot Trip on the shuttlepod; remember? You'd never have done that any other time. Of course, he'd never have tried throwing himself out an airlock if he'd been thinking rationally, either." He paused to let the words sink in.

"You were trapped alone with a woman you'd known for years. She was panicking, and you weren't exactly at your best. Things happen. You and I—we hadn't made a commitment at the time. Whatever there is between Wallace and her husband, that's something they have to deal with…but no, I'm not going to fault you for what happened. As your lover, I—I can forgive that. I know it didn't happen again, I know there's been nothing since then. I'm all right with that. How could I not be?" Archer asked, reaching down to cradle a hand around Geoffrey.

"As regards the regulations…I won't say that rules were made to be broken; that's certainly not true. They're there for a reason, and no one knows that better than you do. But the rules aren't entirely one-sided. You—you're a literalist with them. They mean what they say, and that's it—you never allow yourself any room. They're written to manage a large number of people, not to run every detail of your life. They don't officially allow for a crisis like that, they don't officially allow for times when all bets are off. That's when human beings have to come in to decide how—or if—the rules even fit. You've gone ahead, charged yourself, and found yourself guilty without ever asking if the rules fit at all. I've sat on some of these panels, Malcolm. I've had to make actual decisions about what other officers should, or shouldn't, have done in some very bad situations. Even if we weren't lovers, I'd be hard pressed to say that the regs applied in force here. Officers have gotten off with a slap on the wrist, or less, for worse than anything you've ever even imagined. If you'd asked me then, I'd have explained that to you."

He locked eyes with his lover. "Carrying all of that guilt around with you for so little—you shouldn't have done that. I can't even imagine what kind of strain that must have been for you. And have you stopped to think about me?"

"You?" Reed stared at Archer, now curious.

"Malcolm, you know I've been happy for you because you wanted to have this baby. I've been…well, let's just say I've been a little pleased myself, and you know that, because he's been my chance at being a father, too. Ever since I knew you wanted to keep the baby, I've wished that he really could have been ours, not a child that someone else simply didn't want. Can you imagine how much more it would have meant to me to know that Geoffrey really was your child?" Archer leaned over and gently wormed Geoffrey out of Reed's arm and into his own grasp.

Reed was thunderstruck. "I'm not sure I'm hearing this. I don't know why, but I don't quite believe it."

"It's only because you've been forcing yourself to feel guilty about something you could have let go of. Please let go of it. Geoffrey's a miracle, and he's yours." Archer felt gently at the baby, sniffing. "And he also needs changing."

"This isn't going to be easy for us," Reed observed quietly.

"No, but we've done harder things for less reward, haven't we?" Archer kissed Reed's forehead. "This isn't about work, Malcolm, this is about life. Our life, if that's what you still want. I've told you it's what I want. Are we in this together?"

Reed nodded at his lover, reaching up to his son's face. "Always, Jon. Always."

end