Work Text:
It's Raining Men
by MJ
mjr91@aol.com
"New torpedoes, huh?" Trip Tucker inquired, watching the armory staff working. "Oh, yes," armory officer Malcolm Reed sighed, running his hand gently along the length of the top one in the shipping unit. "Photonic torpedoes. I'd suggested it to Starfleet after we met with the Vissians. I'd used them on that Klingon ship that one time, to try to boost altitude, but it wasn't until I met that Vissian armory officer that I found out much of anything about them. And now," he grinned, "I finally have them."
"You look happy," Tucker told him.
"I'll be happier when I get to fire them. You know how much I love firing my torpedo, Mr. Tucker."
Tucker winced. "We all know, Malcolm. Get a grip."
"I'd love to grip them, but I'm a bit disappointed in the shape of these." The photonic torpedoes were somewhat flat, slightly oval, and a bit squat in design. "I like my torpedoes the way I like my men. you know. Longer…" Reed stared at Tucker as if he hadn't eaten for a week and Tucker were a slab of prime rib. "Thicker around…" His hand ran along the side of the torpedo with more emphasis. "But as long as I can get it to explode properly, I don't suppose size really matters that much, does it?"
Tucker, who was beginning to sweat slightly, stepped back. "Look, Malcolm, I'll see ya at lunch. I gotta go clean up here."
"You look perfectly fine to me, Commander…" Reed suggested.
"Sorry, Malcolm, I'm gonna go take a cold shower. By myself."
»»»
"Did you say commandos, Captain?" Reed stared at Jonathan Archer in wonder and delight.
"I did."
"Hmm." Reed pondered. "Will we have many of them on board?"
"A number of them. I don't know quite how many yet."
"Commandos," Reed purred contentedly. "Nice, young, muscular Special Forces types. As Tactical Officer, Captain, may I presume it will be my duty to be in charge of them?"
Archer raised an eyebrow at his lieutenant. "Aren't you enjoying this idea just a bit too much?"
"Captain!" Reed looked shocked. "I assure you, I've barely even begun to enjoy it. Give me a little time to warm up to it!"
A grin. "Ten seconds."
"All right, sir, now I'm positively ecstatic." Reed smirked. "I don't know how well they've been trained, of course, so I'd like permission to give them all personal training sessions on hand-to-hand combat."
"The trainer isn't supposed to allow himself to get pinned face-down on the mat all the time, is he?" Archer inquired.
Reed pressed a hand to his chest. "Now, really, Captain, you know you're the only person I always deliberately lose to."
"Is that because you always want me to spank you for being a bad tactical officer when you lose?"
"And you're always so happy to oblige me," Reed replied.
"You did tell me I needed to exercise a bit more discipline."
"Always happy to help you practice, sir, I assure you. Now, these commandos…none of these young men have been away from Earth before, have they, sir? I thought it might be a nice gesture if I brought each of them cookies and milk each night at bedtime. As a kind of morale thing. I'm sure Chef would be happy to help with the food."
"Malcolm, no."
"No?" Reed was crestfallen.
"I am putting my foot down there, Malcolm. You can't try landing every single one of them each night. This mission's too important. I want you awake and alert in the morning, not up all night doing every man on the ship."
"I have not done every man on the ship, sir! Lieutenant Rostov turned me down cold. And Phlox's bat is right out of the question."
"Porthos isn't?"
"Respectfully, sir, Porthos did hump my leg once."
"Then he's the only one around here who's only humped you once, Malcolm."
"I consider it a matter of crew morale, sir," Reed said respectfully. "Anything I can do in that regard, you know, I'm happy to oblige."
"Understood, Malcolm. Now, quit feeling me up and go calibrate some cannons."
"Are you sure I can't adjust your cannon for you, sir? It looks a bit…misaligned at the moment."
Archer shifted in his desk chair and spread his legs slightly. "Well, you're the expert, Malcolm, so if you insist…"
»»»
"Whatcha doin', Malcolm?"
Reed looked up from his work station in the armory. "Hullo, Commander. I was just trying to memorize all of the new crew names. Those commandos and all. So I got their pictures, and now I'm trying to match those to their names."
Tucker looked over Malcolm's shoulder. "I guess it is true."
"What is?"
"You really can identify every man on this ship from his rear, huh?" The engineer stared at the pictures of the various commandos' posteriors Reed had assembled before him.
"It's a security officer's duty to be able to tell who everyone is at all times. You'd be surprised who I can recognize from what parts of their anatomy, but let's just say that the captain lives up to being the big man on this ship." Reed blandly picked up and stacked the pictures. "Actually, I can identify every person on board by their bum. Very important, you know."
"Yeah, I guess it's a talent." Tucker bit his lip. "So does T'Pol really have the best ass on the ship?"
"It's a very nice bum," Reed assured Tucker. "Is it the best? Wouldn't know—I haven't actually tried it. Now, yours, on the other hand, Mr. Tucker…"
"You like it, huh?" Tucker grinned.
"Oh, I'd say it's a tossup between you and Ensign Mayweather," Reed drawled.
"Can I do anything to improve my ranking?"
"Of course," Reed sniffed. "What are you doing before dinner?"
"Nothing, but wouldn't after dinner be better?"
"I can't. The captain tells me I've been an absolutely dreadful tactical officer again and he's got to punish me severely," Reed said with a happy shiver. "I can't wait to find out how. And then I have some cookies and milk to deliver."
"Cookies and milk?"
"Someone has to tuck these poor boys into bed at night, Commander. Can't let them get homesick, can we?"
"Want some help?"
Reed perked up. "Well, the captain did tell me I shouldn't take all this work on by myself…"
end