"As Morning Shows The Day"

Author: Sal

Author's e-mail: lak502000@yahoo.co.uk

Fandom: Enterprise

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Rating: NC-17

Category: Slash

Warning: Nonconsensual, AU

Summary: From the first day he had met him, he knew Malcolm Reed would do anything to protect his children. Trip Tucker had used that against him.

Disclaimer: This is a nonprofit fanfic. No copyright infringement is intended or should be inferred.

Comments: Thanks to a variety of people for helping me with this monster. Special thanks to Kyrdwyn for finding the title, my wonderful betas, not only for the betaing but for friendship, support, madness and DK stalking during a strange year (and add Stormy and Linsey to the above list for the stalking--and Kerstin for the first three on the list--sorry you missed the stalking!). You guys are the best!

Dedication: For Leah, in celebration of her wedding on July 10th (cough!). Just to let you know my clan motto is Sero Sed Serio--Late but in earnest! In thanks for all the wonderful fic you have posted, and in the firm belief that you are going to have a wonderful life together. Didn't manage to get many of the challenge items in, and the wedding plays a minor role, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Love and best wishes from Sal.

Beta reader(s): SueC, Moonmoth, Elf, and Zoe for the ego boosting part.

Archived to EntSTSlash on 10/20/2004.
Archived at Trip*Malcolm with the author's express permission.

PART 1

*The childhood shows the man, / As morning shows the day.*

Paradise Regained. Book iv. Line 220. John Milton

"Marika!" Trip Tucker's tone was full of fond exasperation as he yelled his daughter's name. "You're gonna be late if you don't--" His voice died abruptly as she came into view and began walking down the stairs towards him. He swallowed. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her dark, glossy hair was piled high, dressed in an intricate, traditional style and her almond-shaped eyes were twinkling with mirth as she stopped part way down the flight to let her father see her in her full glory.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Poppa?" And then her gaze shifted to the other man present. "Daddy?"

It was a long time since Marika had called them Poppa and Daddy, preferring the shorter Dad and Pop, and Trip realised that, in spite of her seeming poise, she was just a scared, excited young woman at the start of the biggest day of her life thus far. Trip tore his eyes away from her for a moment to look towards Malcolm Reed. His partner's expression was a reflection of his quiet, inner satisfaction, his usual mien when something was pleasing him. He was never loud in his joy or happiness, but it always showed in his gentle smile and the warmth in his eyes.

Malcolm walked to the foot of the stairs. "You look wonderful, darling," His voice was so full of conviction no-one could ever have doubted it, and certainly not Tucker as Marika smiled, her face lighting up with a woman's beauty as she moved once more, treading carefully down the steps while the floating material of her dress swirled around her ankles. Marika was dressed in dark blue, the colour worn by all women on their first bonding. Today she would be leaving their house for good--and Tucker swallowed at the thought--to move in with her new extended family.

Tucker knew he would never fully understand the complexities of personal relationships on this planet where they had lived for so many years. Vantyra was a beautiful, earth-like world inhabited by a people who had learned to live with their environment and with one another. They had evolved without war but with the strength to protect themselves, as outsiders with conquest in their minds soon discovered. The Government adopted a policy of strict neutrality which had been successfully maintained for many generations. As a safe haven, Vantyra had developed into a busy trading post, a place where business could be transacted in security, as the Vantyrans' could--and did--guarantee the safety of all their guests. Visitors found a warm welcome awaited them but quickly realised there were restrictions on their movements, restrictions which ensured the well-being and security of the Vantyran population. Nor was it easy to settle in this place, for though the people were open to aiding refugees and any who were escaping tyranny, help generally meant resettlement on another planet in the system. To stay on Vantyra itself required the asylum seeker to have very specific skills. Trip and Malcolm, as an engineer and weapon's specialist, had been among the few lucky ones. Both worked for the planetary council, conducting research into defensive and offensive systems originating from many of the species the Vantyrans had met or traded with, and others from further away who may well approach at some time in the future. It was part of their role to reverse engineer the systems and then determine a defence against them or a way to penetrate them. It was a task they carried out gladly, happy to help ensure the continued strength and security of the world which had welcomed them and which they had quickly grown to love. Despite that welcome and the allegiance they had freely given, both recognised there were facets of this society to which they would never be privy, and other elements they barely understood. Most confusing of all was how this society worked so effectively. It was based on a loose network of clans which intermixed and intermarried without taboo, welcoming new blood, even alien genes, and delighting in the differences which resulted. Monogamy was unknown and family groups comprised any number of individuals who went through a bonding ceremony. On this world Trip and Malcolm were an oddity, an anachronism, and none of their friends or neighbours could understand how only two people could possibly be content together for the whole of their lives. Their relationship raised eyebrows and occasional smiles of disbelief, but it was still accepted, and if they were teased about it, it was always good-natured. Today, Marika was joining a settled group which already included three men and one woman. Reed and Tucker had met them all, pulled helter-skelter into a new, extended family and understood, with relief, their youngest daughter would be happy in their midst, just as Amy was happy with her family.

Tucker's eyes were drawn back to Malcolm, watching his focus shift to the top of the stairs once more. He grinned. Amy was standing there now, in the light blue dress of a bonded mother, their grandson settled comfortably at her hip. Tucker witnessed the long look that passed between father and daughter, before Malcolm turned his attention back to Marika, stepping forward to take her hand. Shaking himself from his reverie, he walked forward, too, reaching in to press his lips softly to her cheek.

"You're beautiful, baby," he whispered, feeling emotion rise to choke him, and a gentle hand settled at the small of his back as Malcolm offered his support.

By this time Amy had joined them as they stood clustered at the bottom of the stairs and was beginning to boss them in her own inimitable style, something they had grown used to over the years and accepted as one of the many ways she expressed her love for them all.

"Daddy, are you ready? And Poppa--tell me you're not wearing that shirt? Mari, have you got everything? We don't have much time, you know."

"What's wrong with this shirt?" he demanded, scowling as Amy rolled her eyes and the others laughed, but he couldn't be annoyed today. "For you, darlin', I'll go change," he said, good-humouredly, startled when she reached a hand out to stop him.

"Don't," she smiled, her grey eyes twinkling. "I actually rather like it--I was just teasing."

He grinned at her. "Minx," he accused.

"Amy, do I look right?" Marika's breathless, nervous voice broke in and Amy turned to scrutinise her sister, handing her son to Malcolm for a moment as she walked around her.

"You are perfect," she said decidedly, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Now we really *must *go!" And she settled her son once more, tucked her arm through Marika's, and walked her out of the door, leaving Malcolm and Trip to grin at one another, amused as always by Amy's propensity to mother them all.

The Vantyrans lived by simple tenets around personal choice and freedom, coupled with a deep understanding and respect for their land and their past. There were small shrines or temples--generally a symbolic arrangement of specific trees and stones--dotted all over the countryside, and a number of religious orders dedicated to the land and the veneration of those who had gone before. If either Malcolm or Trip had known anything of Earth's history, they might have recognised parallels with Native American or Aboriginal culture. However, that knowledge had been lost to the population at large and neither had ever known of any society other than the one they had grown up within. Following on generations of tradition, the bonding ceremony would take place at a local temple. It was close by and, though aircars were a usual mode of transport, it was traditional to leave vehicles some distance away while those attending the ceremony strolled to the site. There was never any rush or fuss, the ceremony began when everyone seemed to have arrived and there was a constant sense of celebration which made waiting just another part of the day. Tucker and Reed lived within easy walking distance anyway, and twenty minutes was all it would take to reach their destination.

Tucker watched his partner again as the man picked up some of the paraphernalia Amy and Marika had decided they could not manage without and prepared to follow the women. For the first time he noticed some strands of grey in the dark hair, the sight reminding him how long they had been lovers and how long he had been too afraid to ask one simple question. He was seized with a desperate need to pull Malcolm to him, to feel the strong arms slip around him and hold him. Malcolm looked up, his brow creasing at the expression on Tucker's face.

"Trip?"

"Malcolm." The words were out before he had a chance to consider them. "Malcolm, are you happy?" It wasn't quite the question in his mind, but he realised as soon as he heard his own voice it was something he needed to know. For eighteen years they had lived together on Vantyra and brought up their children. Now Marika, the last, would be gone and the two men would be on their own for the first time. Malcolm had always been quiet unless he was protecting those he loved and, not for the first time, Trip Tucker wondered what Malcolm Reed truly thought of him and the life they had shared for so long.

"Why ask me now?" Malcolm was clearly puzzled.

"I--I don't know." Except he did but could not find the words. "It's just--with Marika gone I didn't know if you'd want-" he stopped abruptly, trying to decipher the expressions chasing across Malcolm's face, identifying a certain amount of shock and amusement, but he thought there was anger there, too, and a strange compassion. Malcolm put down the items he was carrying and padded across the room. Slipping a hand around Tucker's neck, he pulled him down for a swift, sweet kiss, before releasing him just as quickly. "We don't have time to talk about this now. We'll do it when we get home tonight. Don't worry," he added and smiled.

Tucker never could resist that smile, feeling his anxiety settle at the sight of it and at the emphasis Malcolm had placed within his sentence. Casting all worries firmly from him he moved forward to help the other man gather everything up. One final check was carried out to ensure they had all they needed and then he followed Malcolm out of the door, moving swiftly to catch up with the two figures in blue strolling arm in arm ahead of them.

As they walked Tucker acknowledged where his anxiety originated. From the first day he had met him, he knew Malcolm Reed would do anything to protect his children.

Trip Tucker had used that against him.

PART 2

120 YEARS BEFORE

The Vulcan Empire made first contact with Earth and found a people still reeling from the devastating effects of world war, pathetically glad of any help these new friends offered. With guile and deception, the Vulcans plotted the course which brought Earth and all its people under their dominion as part of the greater Empire. Those who were suspicious took the new opportunities offered through intergalactic trade to try and make their way off the planet, as shaky interim governments grasped the helping hands held out by the Vulcans without question.

The Empire had developed from the bloody aftermath of the Surak rebellion. Surak was a charismatic figure who had attempted to lead a movement using logic as the basis of Vulcan life. Despite being a proponent of peaceful negotiation, what was originally a religious sect degenerated into conflict when Surak was assassinated by one of his followers. The ensuing chaos developed into a civil war, until the victors emerged, quelling any resistance with ferocity, but with a new understanding regarding the inherent instability in their society. So they had channelled the destructive emotions Surak had encouraged them to sublimate and instead had begun a programme dedicated to expanding the area of their control throughout the Universe.

By the time anyone understood the full extent of the Vulcan nature and their treachery, it was far too late. Those who possibly could, fled, aided by the Andorians who were desperately fighting a terrorist war against this old enemy. Inside a generation the Vulcans controlled everything; media, governments, business, down to the basic ability of Humanity to reproduce, beginning a programme which would produce only those qualities they required. Children with special skills were hunted, taken from their families and brought up under strict discipline and order, the Vulcans providing an education second to none, but without the basic Human needs of companionship or familial support and love. Everything was done to further strengthen the Empire.

100 HUNDRED YEARS LATER

Sub-commander Charles Tucker, chief engineer of the Vulcan Empire War Cruiser Ti'Mur, walked through the door of the Cargo Hold and grimaced slightly at the fetid odour and scene of squalor which assaulted his senses. People were crammed into the small space--Humans and other races captured when the Andorian ship was finally overpowered. Annoyance coloured his features for a moment. They had not gone without a fight, and the Ti'Mur had suffered engine damage which meant he was itching to be in his engine room, rather than here. Ruefully he admitted he would rather be anywhere than here at this precise moment. Still, he spared a brief moment of admiration for the Andorian ship's tactical officer. Whoever it was had managed to hold off the Ti'Mur and inflict considerably more damage than any other ship had ever done. Tucker assumed the responsible party had already paid the price, knowing the Andorians on board had been summarily executed shortly after the Vulcans boarded the vessel as was the norm in such situations. All other races taken would be put to work--either for labour or pleasure--the price they would pay for defying the Empire.

His own emotions were well under control, long and harsh training coming to the fore as he allowed none of his own distaste at this process show. Tucker was only there at all by order of his new captain. Soval had little time for any non-Vulcans, and took delight in irritating Tucker, the highest-ranking Human of the few in the ship's complement. The previous incumbent, Captain Vanik, had been a tough but fair CO and Tucker was finding it difficult enough to adjust to a new regime. Soval was both vindictive and cruel and all the sub-commander could do was stay out of his way as much as possible.

Today he had failed. Soval had called him to his Ready Room and proceeded to put him through an humiliating discussion of his sex life--or rather his lack of sex life. With false solicitousness, the captain insisted he take someone from the captured crew and use them to 'reduce his levels of tension'.

So here he was, standing just inside the door to the Cargo Bay where he could examine as motley and unprepossessing a crowd of frightened, shocked and desperate beings as he could ever imagine. The smell of fear was prevalent amongst other, equally unpleasant odours. It certainly did nothing to promote any desire within him to consider accepting one of them into his bed. As he scanned them he was surprised when his gaze was caught briefly by a pair of grey eyes. Human eyes. He stared at the slight man, who was now staring at the deck, recognising the strength in the lithe body. The captive was dressed in a featureless overall, which had clearly seen better days as it was dirty and torn, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. There was grime on the man's skin, too, as well as a number of bruises and at least two burns on the bare arms. Something long-buried within him stirred, the very beginnings of a desire he had not experienced for many years, and he called out to one of the guards.

"Bring him." His own reaction and general distaste for the situation in which he found himself generated an urgent wish to be out of the Cargo Bay as quickly and with as little fuss as possible. He turned to head back to the door, away from the smell, spinning as he became aware of bedlam breaking out behind him. The man was fighting, struggling desperately against the guard and, considering the guard was a Vulcan, was managing to put up a strong defence. As Tucker watched, the Human twisted and kicked, catching the guard firmly in the stomach, the force of the blow sending him sprawling to the deck. There was a slight hesitation, as if he was checking the Vulcan was not going to get up, and then his attention turned to two smaller figures who ran to him, to be gathered into his embrace briefly before being pushed behind him. The other captives were being kept in line by most of the remaining guards, leaving him to fight alone. He adopted a stance facing the room and the guards who were converging upon him, his expression a grim, implacable mask. Frowning, Tucker walked across.

"Wait," he snapped and instantly everyone was still. The captive was breathing heavily and now met his eyes, the grey gaze defiant and challenging, contempt for a Human in Vulcan service displayed openly. Tucker's attention shifted to those he was protecting; two young children, a girl and boy under ten years old, both with dark hair and grey eyes that would have proclaimed their parentage, even if the protective stance had not.

Tucker stepped forward, reaching out to raise the man's chin. For a moment he almost decided to leave them to their fate. His own instant reaction to the captive unnerved him, exhuming emotions he believed he had buried many years before, raising others he could not identify. For a split second he came close to walking away--until he thought of Soval. His eyes shifted to the two figures shielded so protectively by their father and then met the grey gaze once more.

"What is your name?"

"Malcolm Reed." It was a low, husky response, giving nothing away, but the very sound of his voice served to fuel this new desire. In that instant his decision was made.

"Come with me," he paused, "and bring them," He nodded his head at the boy and girl, seeing the wary relief in the captive's expression.

The Vulcan standing by hesitated and then stepped forward to protest. "Sir, the captain..."

Tucker shrugged as he responded. "Tell the captain. He knows where to find me." He was betting on his belief that none of the guards would dare to do so. "Let's go," and without looking back he strode from the room, glad to be leaving the scene of so much suffering and misery and tried not to think about what was in store for those left behind.

A tired little boy's voice broke the silence of their walk. "Where we going, Daddy?"

Reed answered gently, "Hush, Joey. Come here."

Tucker suddenly realised there were no footsteps behind him, stopping and turning in time to see Reed swing the boy into his arms and hold him close against his chest, kissing the dark head before he smiled down at the girl by his side. "Okay, Amy?"

"I'm fine, Daddy," she replied sturdily, her voice wavering slightly and she reached up to grasp a handful of his shirt. Tucker caught the suspicious glance she threw at himself.

Reed met his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir." The title seemed to be forced out. "It's been a trying few days."

Tucker had no response for him, unaccountably shaken by the obvious bond, grunting slightly and striding through the corridors once more, cataloguing the man as English judging by the smooth accent. Eventually he entered his quarters and Reed stopped just inside the door to stare around. As a sub-commander and chief engineer, Tucker received a suite of rooms, rather than just one cabin. This large central lounge contained a comfortable seating area facing the windows with a view of the stars streaming by outside. Behind, on a raised platform, was a small kitchen area. Another corner was filled by a desk and monitor and was clearly a study. There were three doors leading from this central space. Tucker strode to one and opened it. "Put them in there."

Reed brought the children across, glancing warily at him as he took them into a fair sized room with one large bed and another door. Quickly, he moved to it, finding the small bathroom and Tucker did not miss the relief on his expression.

"You have fifteen minutes to get them settled," Tucker warned before he left them alone.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Malcolm Reed walked into the main lounge and moved to stand before the small sofa where Tucker was seated. If he was aware of the way the sub-commander's eyes raked over him he gave no sign of it, and despite himself Tucker was impressed by this evidence of control.

Tucker knew many of the officers on Vulcan ships availed themselves of the captives they took in the course of their duties. It was never something he had felt comfortable about, however, and he had always avoided it in the past--until now his captain had given him no choice in the matter. In consequence, he was not sure how to act and began brusquely, hiding his own unease. "I prefer living alone but my captain has decided I need companionship. You're it. If you co-operate, the children stay here with you. If not, they go. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Malcolm's face was chalk white.

"I don't like disruption. I don't like noise. They can use the rest of the space when I'm not here. When I am, they're in there," he indicated the bedroom the children currently occupied, "and they do not--ever--disturb me."

"Sir," Reed hesitated and then spoke. "I will need some things for them--we lost everything."

"Make a list." He tried not to notice the way the dark man swallowed, clearly fighting back some strong emotion. He tried not to wonder who had been lost who meant so much to this man. A wife? A lover? He shook himself free from the speculation, suddenly angry at this interest. He had spent years cultivating the Vulcan approach to interpersonal relationships, which basically ran along the lines of say nothing and ask nothing. He did not intend to alter that approach now. It kept him safe, and yet he watched Reed deal with his distress and worked hard to ignore the stirring of sympathy, the urge to ask what had happened and perhaps to offer some comfort, however unwelcome that might be.

After a long pause Reed, his voice husky, finally asked: "When you say companionship, sir...?"

There was no point in beating about the bush. "I prefer men," he stated, baldly. "Companionship means you are in my bed and for my pleasure. You got that?"

Reed seemed beyond speech, his skin leaching to pasty grey, but he nodded his understanding.

"You accommodate me and your children stay with you. That's the deal. But remember, in the end I guess I only need to keep one of 'em around. I'm betting that would still keep you in line." It was a moment of cruelty alien to his nature and he was angry with himself the moment the words were out of his mouth. For a moment there was sheer unadulterated hate in the grey eyes, before the long lashes swept down and shut him out. He wanted to indicate to Reed the precariousness of his position, but that had perhaps not been the best way to do it. He hardened his heart. The man was lucky to be alive at all--never mind the children. He concealed a shiver at the thought of the fate that might have befallen them, unaware of an incisive grey gaze fixed on his altering expression, or how the hate had been replaced by something that was almost interest.

Tucker met his eyes suddenly and felt a pulse of desire begin deep within him. It had been a long time since he had wanted anyone and his previous encounters had been short-lived--one or two nights--more a response to the need for sexual release. He had convinced himself he possessed a low sex drive and his preference was to live alone. In consequence he was puzzled by his immediate reaction to this man, unable to reconcile it with his own picture of himself. He was confused and excited, drawn to and intrigued by this slight figure. He stood and stepped forward, his fingers sliding under the stubbled chin, raising his head, and he leaned in to kiss him. After a moment of stillness Reed turned his head away, his whole body trembling.

"Take a shower," Tucker ordered, nodding his head in the direction of the main bathroom. "Don't bother getting dressed." He hesitated and then remarked: "There's a burn spray in the cabinet."

With a swallow and a nod, Reed stumbled away.

A thousand disparate, fractured thoughts whirled through Malcolm Reed's mind as he stripped out of the fetid uniform he was wearing, drank thirstily from the cold faucet and then stepped gratefully under the warm stream of water, wincing as it flowed over the forgotten burns. The children were safe for now, too thirsty to be bothered about food and he had let them drink their fill before washing them sketchily. Then they had tumbled into the bed and fallen almost immediately asleep, tired out by the events of the previous 48 hours. Sighing, he leaned his head against the glass of the stall and tried to work out what to do. He was hungry, tired and--if he was completely honest--desperately frightened. Who was this man, he wondered, who had not even bothered to tell him his name? Would he really allow Amy and Joe stay if he let him use his body? Would that keep them safe? And for how long? Standing trembling in the water he wondered what his chances might be if he killed the man and tried to make it to the Launch Bay to steal a shuttle. He closed his eyes and tipped his head to let the water pour over his face. If it was only his own life at stake, then he would make a bid for freedom and happily die in the attempt. But if he could not guarantee success, if he was not one hundred per cent sure he could get the children to safety, then he could not take the risk. In the meantime, he decided, he would play the whore for this Human--and bide his time.

By the time the Englishman returned, clean, freshly-shaven and naked, Tucker had shed his clothes and was reclining on the large double bed which took up most of the space in the room. His eyes travelled over Reed's form, noting the play of muscle under skin as the man walked towards him. Reed had obviously taken the time to find some composure as his face was calm and reflected nothing of what might be going through his mind.

"Come here," Tucker's voice was low and husky, his own desire clear in the tone of his voice and his quickening flesh. He waited until the other man had joined him before rolling onto his side, unconsciously checking the burns had been treated before sweeping his hand down the warm skin, feeling the strength and able now to feel the slight tremor. He reached up to claim the man's mouth but Reed turned away, his breathing shallow and rapid.

For a moment Tucker was angry at this reminder of the reality of their situation and then remarked. "A bargain, Reed," he waited until the grey eyes were fixed on him once more. "Two kisses every day--two kisses you get fully involved in. One for each child--to remind you why you're doing this." He wasn't sure why it was so important to be able to kiss him, he simply wanted it and was using every weapon at his disposal to ensure the man co-operated, though he despised himself for the cynical manipulation. But not enough, he realised, to recant and he awaited the response. There was a pause and then, as expected, Reed nodded. He really had no choice, although he could not hide the flash of angry fire in his eyes.

Tucker leaned forward, pressing his mouth to the fine lips. There was a heartbeat's pause and then the kiss was returned. Tucker took his time exploring, slipping his tongue into the warm, wet cavern and feeling his need escalate, the kiss becoming hungry, desperate, and Reed matched him until he almost believed it was real. He broke off eventually, moving down to suckle on one nipple, hearing the shocked gasp and then he pulled back, stroking the lithe body again. His voice now rough, he ordered:

"Suck me."

Reed displayed no emotion, none of the disgust he was feeling at the thought of what he had been ordered to do, simply moving down the bed until he was faced with Tucker's erection, taking it into his mouth and beginning to suck. Tucker's head thumped back onto the pillow and he let out a growl of satisfaction. Reed was unpractised but Tucker had no doubt this particular aspect of his life would only get better. Wet heat surrounded hard flesh and part of him wanted to leave it at that, to let himself go into the moist cavern of Reed's mouth. But tonight he needed to mark his territory, to ensure Reed knew exactly what was required of him. He placed his hand on the man's head, panting slightly. "Enough." He waited until Reed was facing him again and in the wary expression saw the Englishman also understood what was about to happen. "Turn over."

Reed stared at him, his mouth tightening in distaste, as if he seriously contemplated refusing, and again Tucker witnessed the contempt, the hate in the grey gaze. For a moment he wavered, almost deciding against demanding sex immediately, but then Reed complied, turning onto his front and the sight of the muscled, toned form before him swept all of Tucker's doubts and concerns aside. He spent a few moments arranging the unresisting body, then applied some more saliva over his aching cock, having to take some deep breaths to calm himself. The figure spread out before him was beautiful and he was desperate to sink into that heat. Eagerly, he sucked on his fingers, forcing one into the puckered opening, feeling the body tense against the invader. After a second or two he inserted another, sliding them in and out of Reed's body a few times before pulling out and settling himself between the muscled legs, positioning his cock at the man's anus. He looped an arm around Reed's torso to hold him still and pushed in, grunting as he shoved his way past the ring of muscle.

There was a whispered: "Oh God," torn from the man under him and then nothing.

It had been a long time since Tucker had been with anyone and he had wanted Reed since the first moment he had set eyes on him, so he knew it would not take long as he thrust fast and hard into the unresisting figure. Reed's hands were clenched in the bedclothes, his knuckles white, his face buried in the pillow and even on such a short acquaintance Tucker knew he would not cry out. The man had far too much pride and he experienced a sudden surge of emotion he did not recognise. He felt his orgasm build and flood through him, a frenzied final moment startling him. "Sonova bitch," he groaned, as his release left him gasping and trembling. He collapsed on top of Reed, lying spread-eagled over his body for a few moments while he caught his breath, before pulling out and rolling off to the side.

Reed lay in the same position, his eyes squeezed shut, until Tucker's fingers tangled in his hair and pulled his head around, capturing his lips once again. When he released him he asked, his voice dry and containing a hint of self-mockery that drew the grey eyes to his face. "Well, was it a fate worse than death?"

The Englishman was shaking and looked shocked, and Tucker was surprised how much the answer mattered.

The fine mouth quirked up at one corner, the expression wry. "No," he responded, then echoed it quietly. "No." And it was true, Reed considered. It had been painful and humiliating, but he could bear it. He could bear it, he reiterated fiercely. For Amy and Joe and the thought of eventual retribution. He could bear it.

Tucker didn't know what else to say. "Get some rest," he managed, palming off the light and plunging the room into darkness. From the man beside him he heard a shaky sigh and movement as he turned away from him to put space between them on the bed. For a second he was seized with an urge to pull Reed close to him, to fall asleep wrapped in his warmth, but instead he turned his back, letting his breathing even out as if he had dozed off and pretended not to hear the gasping, hitching breaths as Reed fought to retain his control, trying to ignore his own shame. The sounds gradually eased and Reed finally slept, clearly emotionally and physically exhausted by his recent experiences. Tucker lay awake long into the night, growing used to the strange presence in his bed and the warmth it generated. Once or twice Reed stirred uneasily, whimpering as nightmares tried to take hold. The sub-commander reached out, sifting his fingers through the dark hair, his voice a quiet reassuring murmur as it eased the Englishman back to peaceful sleep. He had no idea of the tenderness in his touch.

Tucker woke first, smiling gently at the tell-tale feeling of well-being as he stretched his limbs and yawned. He turned his head to stare at his -. He paused, not liking the word which slid insidiously into his mind, and he shied away from it even as he acknowledged its truth. Malcolm Reed was now a slave in the service of the Vulcan Empire. And as he looked down at the sleeping figure his mouth curved in a humourless grin. Much like he was himself. He may not like it, he told himself, but it was just the way it was. In that moment he experienced a sudden sense of kinship, a connection, recognising they were both trapped in circumstances not of their own making. He tried to rationalise their situation, telling himself that apart from demanding sex, he would not treat the man or his children badly. And at least they were together, he told himself fiercely, wondering why he was trying so hard to justify his actions. He tore his mind away from the discomfort of his thoughts and concentrated instead on stroking his hand down the muscled torso, his own flesh hardening once more.

With a startled intake of breath, Reed woke, blinking for a moment and then tensing as memory returned. He moved and winced, clearly feeling the previous night's activities and he stared warily at Tucker. The blond man traced a finger around his mouth. "You know what I want," he murmured.

Reed did not acknowledge his statement, sliding down the bed until once more he was taking Tucker's erection into his mouth. This time Tucker held his head, thrusting into the wet heat with short, sharp strokes as Reed settled into a rhythm. In an embarrassingly short space of time he tumbled over the edge, shooting his cum into Malcolm's mouth and hearing Reed gag as the bitter liquid spurted down his throat. Tucker lay back on the bed, dazed and sated, hardly aware of Reed scrambling towards the Head. He was brought back to awareness by the sound of retching, flushing as he realised the man was throwing up. A few moments later he heard water running and the sound of him cleaning his teeth. Once more he was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of shame, just as quickly pushing it fiercely away. This is just the way things are, he reminded himself yet again. And they had both better get used to it. When Reed exited the head, looking pale and strained, Tucker was composed once more, his expression reflecting none of his inner turmoil as he struggled to ignore the cocktail of new emotions surging through him.

"You need to know what else you'll be doing," he stated, gesturing for Reed to sit down and waiting until he had complied before he continued. The unconscious courtesy did not go unnoticed and Reed inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "I'll show you where the Mess is this morning. I prefer to eat here so you will collect my meals unless I'm on duty. Each morning you'll bring enough breakfast for all of us. After breakfast I will take you to the quartermaster and he'll provide you with anything else you need. I expect you to keep the place clean and tidy and to run any errands. Other than that," he shrugged. "Please yourself but stay within my quarters unless you have my permission to leave. You know the rest." He was referring to his comments the previous evening about keeping the children out of his way, and he furnished a final warning. "The kids do not leave these quarters under any circumstances." He decided not to attempt an explanation of why the children had to remain hidden, suppressing a shudder at the thought of them falling into Soval's hands. He caught Malcolm's glance of curiosity, dismayed the man had picked up on his disquiet and he snapped sharply; "You got that?"

"Yes, sir," he paused and then asked, his voice cool and almost insolent. "And am I to know who I am...serving?"

Tucker completely missed the irony, horrified by the fact he had omitted to tell Reed his name. "I'm Sub-commander Charles Tucker, chief engineer. Anythin' else you want to know?" He was making the offer as a courtesy, a little surprised by the curl to the man's lip and the renewed contempt as Reed responded.

"I think I know everything I need to know about you already...sir." As soon as he spoke Reed cursed himself for showing his feelings so openly, reminding himself that this man basically wielded the power of life and death over himself and his whole family, but he could not bring himself to apologise, wondering how any Human could possibly ally themselves with a race like the Vulcans.

Tucker flushed at the implication, but was also observant enough to notice the way the man suddenly bit his lip, as if he was aware he had said too much and so he simply remarked: "Fine," as he got up from the bed to fish around in a closet and handing a t-shirt and pants over. "Wear these until you get kitted out." He walked towards the shower, sure the moment he was out of sight, Reed would be heading to check on his children. Sure enough, when he returned, the Englishman was nowhere to be seen. After a moment the door to the children’s bedroom opened and Reed moved quietly towards him.

Without speaking, Tucker led the way from his quarters.

"Come on, you two, time for lessons." Malcolm chased Amy and Joe to the table, handing them the PADDs and ignoring their moans as he settled them and started them working. Settling the children into a routine had been one of his first concerns, trying to establish at least an illusion of security and order for them. Once he was sure they were occupied he retired to the sofa, ostensibly to study copies of engineering schematics Tucker was working on, but his mind soon drifted and he stared out at the starfield beyond, thinking over the past month.

Truthfully, he was not sure what to make of Sub-commander Tucker. He had been disconcerted more than once by his actions and attitude, surprised when, on passing a remark about the engineering specs, Tucker had questioned his interest. On discovering his engineering background from the guarded information he had provided he had downloaded a copy of the information he was working on, indicating he would welcome input. While Reed had no intention of passing on anything that might prove useful, he was pleased to see the specs, hoping they would provide him with information to enable the Reed family's escape. His mind drifted back to Tucker, spending a few moments wondering about his background before becoming annoyed at the fact he was sparing him any thought at all. All he had to do was try to convince Tucker he was becoming resigned to his captivity and try to win more freedom. The more he could move about the ship at will, the easier it would be to come up with a way of getting off it. Resolutely, he thrust all thoughts of his captor from him, reminding himself fiercely that the man was of no interest to him whatsoever. Bad enough he used another Human for sex without giving them any choice and inflicted pain every time, but what was even worse was his service in the Vulcan Empire--because of that he was beneath contempt.

The Vulcans. He shuddered, recalling his one encounter with the captain of this vessel. He had been on his way back to Tucker's quarters after returning dishes to the Mess, walking through the corridors, used to being ignored by the crew as he moved around. He took care not to interact even with those who were left from the Andorian ship, aware like all of the captives that even slight suspicion on any Vulcan's part about possible collusion between prisoners would be disastrous for them all. He had moved to one side to allow crew to exit a turbolift before he entered. Just before the doors closed a tall, imposing figure stepped through. With horror, Malcolm realised he was now locked in close proximity to the captain of the Ti'Mur. He did the best he could to blend into the background of the turbolift, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor beneath him.

"You are Human?"

Soval was staring at him and as Malcolm, startled by even being noticed, looked up, he was impaled by a cool, assessing regard.

"Yes, sir," he dropped his gaze immediately, unnerved by the calculation in the brown eyes.

"To whom do you belong?"

For a wild, uncontrolled moment, Reed wanted to scream at the Vulcan; to assert he belonged to no-one, how slavery had been abolished on his planet hundreds of years before the Vulcans arrived. The moment passed, as with cold clarity he understood just what any insolence or bravado would cost, and he responded quietly.

"Sub-commander Tucker."

There was a short silence. "And do you serve him well?"

"I do my best, sir," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the location indicator, wondering how much longer this encounter was going to last, desperate for it to be over.

With relief he felt the turbolift slow to a halt, the doors opening and he spoke, "Excuse me, sir." His voice was quiet and courteous, unwilling to provide the Vulcan with any possible complaint against him. He shot out of the enclosed space, more disturbed than he could ever have believed by the encounter. One thing had been quite clear from Soval's bearing and tone of voice and that was the complete contempt he held for any member of the Human race. Which obviously included Sub-commander Tucker. For a brief instant, as he made his way back to the quarters he now shared, he experienced sympathy for anyone having to work in such a hostile environment. A moment later he was castigating himself for his weakness, turning his thoughts instead to how he could use this new information in his search for a means to escape.

Tucker paused in his work as a member of his engineering team handed him a PADD containing information he had requested. He checked the data, thanking the woman absently as he noted the date. It registered suddenly that a month had already passed since he had taken Malcolm Reed out of the Cargo Bay and Tucker wondered how he had ever managed without the man in his life. There was efficiency and order in everything the Englishman undertook and he seemed to fill the quarters with a quiet presence. All the little irritations Tucker had experienced in the course of his life on a starship seemed to end the moment Reed took over. Meals appeared, laundry was dealt with, his quarters remained clean and tidy, anything required was fetched, anything which needed moved or despatched seemed to disappear on cue. A couple of times a week he took him with him to one of the ship's exercise rooms and they would train in silence, Tucker always impressed by the fluidity of movement and obvious strength packed into the wiry frame. Occasionally Tucker wondered what else Malcolm did with his day, if it bore any resemblance to the life he had lived on his Andorian ship. Tucker had almost forgotten the children, until he was disturbed one evening by a series of suspicious thuds from behind the closed door. It was the only time since the very beginning he had ever seen fear in Malcolm's eyes. He looked up from his desk in the corner of the room and frowned at the noise. Before he could say anything, Reed shot up from where he was sitting on the small sofa and made his way swiftly through to the other room. Nothing more was said, but silence reigned thereafter.

His desire for Reed did not abate over the weeks either, if anything he found by the end of each day he was starved of the sight and touch of the man. Not that Malcolm Reed ever touched him if he could help it, and Tucker's own lack of experience left him with no inkling of how to break through the obvious distaste, or to find some way of improving the situation for his lover.

Lover.

Finally he admitted this was what he wanted; Malcolm Reed as a lover, someone who was there by choice and who participated by desire. In all those short-lived encounters in his past, no-one could ever manage to make him feel what Malcolm, unknowingly, made him feel. And the sex; for a moment he relived the sensation of their bodies pressed close together, his arms wrapped around the slim torso as he slid into tight heat. Reed was obviously as unwilling as he had been the first night, and it was something Tucker could not ignore, choosing to have the man perform oral sex more often than not, and recognising Reed had perfected his technique in the hope of avoiding anal intercourse. But at least once every week Tucker was unable to resist the lure of the lithe frame, finding himself aching with the desire to sink into that hot, tight ass. Reed never made a sound, getting up from the bed afterwards to fetch a damp towel to clean them off before sliding under the sheets and turning his back on the other man. It was disheartening the way Malcolm would so immediately and gratefully turn away from him, but in all honesty he knew he could expect nothing else.

But best of all, Tucker acknowledged, were the two kisses he had bargained for. It was the only time Reed responded and, even though Tucker knew it was still under duress, he savoured those moments when he could almost believe it was real. Deep inside was a growing awareness that it wasn't enough, he wanted more from this relationship than Reed was either willing or could be expected to offer. Reed had his emotions well under control most of the time but there were moments when Tucker saw the despair, or surprised a look in the grey eyes which made him realise how an animal caught in a trap might appear. Tucker felt uncomfortably sure that the threat he had held over him the first night, about the well-being of his children, was the only thing stopping Reed from taking drastic action to free himself. If only he knew, he thought, how empty a threat it was. He would never try to separate them, but hesitated to tell Malcolm, aware he would lose his only bargaining tool. But he hated himself for it. For now, he knew if Reed could not guarantee the safety of the youngsters he would remain in this situation and pay the price. Hardly conducive to any chance of Tucker winning him over. With a sudden sense of despair, he wondered how long they could continue like this, before he forcibly dragged his mind away from his own concerns and back to the task at hand.

Malcolm Reed walked into the sub-commander's quarters and was immediately struck by the silence. The trade off for evenings of being shut in their room and having to be quiet was extra latitude when Tucker was working. Both Amy and Joe tended to push that to the limits and Malcolm generally entered the quarters to the sound of chattering followed by a vociferous welcome when they realised he had returned. Now, not only was there silence, the two were conspicuous by their absence.

"Amy? Joe?" He called, fighting down the fear which was beginning to crawl through him and sighed in relief as they appeared in the doorway of the main bedroom. Now what had they been up to in there, he wondered in sudden trepidation.

"Daddy?" Amy's mouth trembled. "There was an accident." Her eyes were wide, in the particular way she had when she was fighting tears.

"Are you both okay?"

"We broke something," Joe whispered.

"What?" He asked warily. He didn't try to determine who was specifically responsible. Over the years he had learned they would share blame. As he asked the question he paced across and into the room, staring in dismay at the pieces of ceramic on the floor. It was one of the few possessions the sub-commander seemed to own, a large and obviously old willow-patterned plate which stood alone on a high shelf. There was not a great deal throughout the living space that was coloured and Malcolm could well imagine how the bright blue of the pattern would attract them. The desk chair currently under the shelf told its own story of a disaster unfolding.

Grimly he surveyed the mess. The plate was in four large pieces and as far as he could see the breaks were clean. Hopefully it could at least be mended.

"You're going to have to tell the sub-commander about this," he warned them, stooping to pick up two of the sherds and deciding he had better break the news first and take the brunt of any anger.

The sound of the outer door startled him. Tucker was early. He swore silently under his breath and turned to face the door to the bedroom. The sub-commander walked through, stopping immediately to take in the sight before him, his features darkening into a scowl.

"I'm sorry, sir," Malcolm began. "I'm afraid there's been a slight accident."

"Accident?" hissed Tucker, the sight of the sherds of his meagre past in Malcolm's hands were having an electrifying effect on his usual control. He had no idea why but he was furious, absolutely beside himself with rage. A memory surfaced, recalling the day when, as a quiet, contained 13 year old he had been called out of class at the college and into the Vulcan Principal's office. Once there, he was informed that a box of items which belonged to him had been delivered. He was mystified until he opened it and found items he vaguely recognised; a pile of children’s books and a few ornaments, including an old willow-patterned plate. At the time he did not understand why they had come to him but knew better than to ask for any explanation from the Vulcans. Carefully he replaced all the items in the box, except for the plate which remained on a shelf in his room wherever he happened to be sent. Throughout the years he had shied away from what this delivery meant, managing to forget much of his life up to the moment he had been delivered, a silent and wide-eyed ten year old with a recognised talent for engineering, to the austere environment of the college. It was not a place to encourage any emotional interaction unless it was in pursuit of the greater good of the Empire, and Tucker became an able student, cut off from what made him Human, ready to cleave to anything that provided a sense of structure and security. It was not until some years later he faced what he must subconsciously have known when the chest arrived. These were the last remnants from his family home. All that was left.

"Damn you to hell," he snarled. "Your damn brats interferin' with my possessions is not an accident. God damnit, what the hell was goin' on? They should never have been in here--"

His voice was gradually rising as he lost control, his fury terrifying the children and scaring Reed with its undertone of violence. Joe began to cry noisily, adding fuel to the fire as Tucker ground out. "Shut up!" At this, Malcolm stepped forward until the children were behind him. As he moved, Tucker's attention was brought back to him, his gaze focussing on the pieces of plate still in the dark man's hands. "Christ, gimme that!" And he snatched the pieces, pulling them out of Reed's hands.

Involuntarily, Malcolm cried out as one sharp edge cut clean across his palm, the sudden pain shocking. There was an abrupt silence and then Amy flew past her father, throwing herself at Tucker and letting fly with her fists.

"You leave him alone," she screamed at him. "Leave him alone. I hate you. I hate you."

Startled, Tucker staggered back and dropped the plate, reaching for the girl, shocked again as a man's hands pushed him firmly backwards and then Malcolm was holding Amy, his face white.

"You do not lay a finger on her."

Tucker paused. Reed was all menace, his stance that of a fighter, balanced and ready. Gently he moved Amy until she was behind him once more and met the sub-commander's gaze, his eyes holding a promise of mayhem should Tucker go anywhere near his children.

It was an impasse, and as Tucker stared at someone so willing to die for his children he felt his anger leach away, replaced by a wave of something which was almost empathy. Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, startled by the emotions flowing through him, recognising shame amongst them yet again. "Get them out of here," he said quietly, the tone of voice a distinct contrast to the recent anger. He glanced at the bloody hand, the sense of shame intensifying, "and see to that. Five minutes."

Reed ushered the children into the bedroom, drawing them to him and comforting them as best he could in the short time he had available. As he hushed the frightened crying, his mind was whirling, terrified about Tucker's possible response when he went out. Quickly, he tried to decide what do to and in a flash he understood the only power he had was the desire Tucker felt for his body. It was his only bargaining tool and as he made his way to the children’s bathroom he made his decision. If he offered himself unconditionally, then perhaps Tucker would overlook the children's part in the afternoon's accident. With a deep breath, he checked the cut, his mouth twisting slightly as he recognised there would be a scar when it finally healed. Briskly he treated it, dressing it swiftly before he headed back into the main room and moved to stand before Tucker who was sitting at his desk, waiting.

Tucker let his eyes wander over the lithe figure, recognising the tension screaming at him in the taut line of the muscles and the pallor on the fine features. He didn't get a chance to speak, to stumble through the apologies he wanted to make though he was unsure he could find adequate words to express them, as Malcolm rushed to defend his children, almost stammering.

"I'm sorry, sir. They didn't mean any harm. Please don't...don't punish them. I'll do anything, sub-commander, I'll be anything you want, just don't...don't hurt them."

It was the first indication Tucker had that Reed was aware of his wishes but then his words registered fully and pushed out any other thoughts. "You'll do anything?"

"Yes, sir. Anything."

And Malcolm was sliding into his lap, his hands moving up his chest and around to his neck, toying with the short hair as a hot tongue licked gently at his neck followed by the touch of teeth tugging at his earlobe. Tucker was instantly hard, sliding a hand into the dark hair and turning Malcolm's head to take his mouth. There was an eager response, Malcolm moaning into his mouth and writhing against him.

And he was almost lost, until he slid his hand into Malcolm's crotch and realised there was nothing. Tucker's breath caught in his throat and he pushed him away, Malcolm stumbling backwards and almost losing his footing as Tucker surged up from the seat and backed away. He ran his hands convulsively through his hair, hating the thought of Reed feeling he had been driven to offer himself in exchange for his children’s safety, starting slightly as he recognised this was already the whole basis of their relationship. Bile rose to choke him and he turned away from the Englishman's desperation.

"Please?" Malcolm sounded as if he was close to begging and Tucker couldn't bear it.

"Stop it," he ground out. Spinning around to face Malcolm again he reached out and with infinite care gathered the shaking figure into his arms, rubbing his hands up and down the muscled back. "Don't, Malcolm," he said more gently. "I'm not going to hurt them." He felt incredibly weary and was unable to determine what he was feeling, what he should be thinking or doing. An old memory surfaced and provided the words he needed. "My daddy once told me that two wrongs don't make a right. And Malcolm, we've got enough wrongs to deal with haven't we? If you...it wouldn't mean shit, now would it?" It wasn't what he wanted, he understood that now. His over-riding wish was for Malcolm to want him and come to him of his own free will. Suddenly he wished he was stronger, because however noble he wanted to be, somehow he couldn't see himself giving up the delights of the man's body while he waited. Helplessly he stared down into shuttered grey eyes and wished there was any hope at all.

Malcolm was very still for a moment before he extricated himself from Tucker's hold, sighing as he agreed. "No, sir. It wouldn't."

Tucker swallowed the sudden pain and managed to smile, unaware the tenderness he had displayed had startled Reed. "Then let's not add to the wrongs, huh?"

There was a long silence and then Malcolm sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead, changing the subject as he tried to ease the charged atmosphere, "It would be easier if I could get them out of here from time to time. I don't suppose--"

"No," Tucker's denial was abrupt and then he added more gently. "If it was possible, Malcolm, I'd say yes but," he hesitated, "there are reasons they can't--mustn't--leave here. You need to trust me--believe me on this." His tone became anxious and he met the considering grey gaze, unaware of the relief which coloured his features when Malcolm nodded his understanding and agreement.

Tentatively, Malcolm offered. "I'll see if I can get the plate fixed." He paused and then said softly. "They truly are sorry."

"Thanks," he responded awkwardly. He looked at Reed, noting he was calmer and his antagonistic stance from their earlier encounter had been replaced by his habitual deferential pose. His brow furrowed for a moment and then almost whimsically he asked. "How many of us would you take with you Malcolm, if anything happened to them?"

It was Malcolm Reed facing him now, not the subservient man who shared his bed and allowed his body to be used.

The response was cold and direct. "As many as I could." An honest answer.

Surprisingly it generated a chuckle from Tucker. "Then you'd take us all." He sobered. "Wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

Their gazes met, two men interacting as equals and Tucker, for the first time, became aware of how dangerous Reed was and yet for some reason he could not fathom, he was pleased rather than alarmed by the insight.

There was an awkward pause as Tucker reviewed his own conduct, Reed standing silent, waiting to receive instructions and displaying none of the curiosity he was experiencing at the range of emotions which chased one another across the expressive features. Tucker was horrified by his loss of control, wondering how his habitual calm could have deserted him so suddenly and catastrophically. His eyes settled on Reed once more, staring at the dressing covering the injury he had inflicted and without considering his actions he reached out to lift the man's arm and cradle the hand in both of his.

"I never meant to hurt you," he said softly. There was a start of surprise from Reed which he missed as he continued. "I'm sorry I lost it in front of the kids," he apologised uncomfortably.

Gently Reed withdrew his hand from the loose grasp, hating himself for the sudden sympathy which had flooded him at the uncertain, ashamed expression which made the normally contained man seem so vulnerable, and he spoke. "I'll explain to them how important the plate was to you. And they should really apologise to you for breaking it in the first place."

"Let's not push our luck," Tucker suggested drily. "Amy's got quite a left hook on her." And the last vestiges of his resentment and anger melted away at the look of pure pride on Malcolm Reed's face. He chuckled suddenly. "Go see if they're all right," he suggested. "I'm gonna grab a shower." That would give them both enough time to regain some equilibrium, he judged, to ease the heightened emotions.

Malcolm nodded and without speaking turned away, aware of Tucker's eyes on him as he left the room. Settled on the bed, the children safe in his arms, he tried to untangle what had just happened. Tucker's anger over the plate had stunned him, but even more surprising had been the way he had suddenly calmed, followed by the recognition of what Reed had been trying to do. Most shocking of all was Tucker's refusal to take advantage of that offer. Like so many times following an encounter with the man he was disconcerted, unable to understand what was going through Tucker's mind. As time passed he was becoming less and less able to marry the offhand treatment with the instinctive kindness and concern which seemed to be more and more prevalent in their dealings. It often disarmed him, leaving him with a mental picture of someone he knew he would like and it confused him, eating into the hate and contempt he was trying so hard to maintain. His mind came back to the present as he realised the children were falling asleep in his arms and he pushed all other thoughts from his mind. Despite everything they had survived another day. Now he readied them for bed and then sat and watched them sleep, leaving it as long as possible before he left them.

When he re-entered the main room it was almost dark, only the unit at the kitchen lighting the area and he walked curiously towards it. On the counter was a covered dish with a PADD sitting beside it, the message light blinking. He activated it, reading the message and unaware he was smiling.

Malcolm. I've left you some dinner. I'll be working late. Don't wait up.

Stunned, he acknowledged this was a tacit apology, Tucker trying to make amends in the only way he knew would be truly welcome, by leaving Malcolm alone. He shook his head in bemusement. Yet again the sub-commander had completely disarmed him.

Tucker was not entirely sure what effect the incident with the plate had had on his relationship with Malcolm. In the weeks following he often caught the man eyeing him warily and yet sometimes, as if he forgot for a moment the reality in which they existed, he would interact with Tucker almost as if they were friends. A week or so afterwards he went through to the bedroom and immediately noticed the vibrant blue of the plate on its shelf. Carefully he took it down, running his hands over it and peering at it, unable to see any sign of the breaks. He became aware of the other man's presence and replaced the plate before walking across the room and, very gently, pulled Malcolm into a loose hug.

"Thanks," he murmured, and then released him, changing the subject abruptly. Nothing more was said, and Reed's wariness eased a little although it was still evident, particularly when he first entered their quarters after the end of a duty shift.

Like now, he thought wearily, as he walked through the doors to his quarters and took a moment to appreciate the soft lighting and cooler atmosphere after the glare and warmth of the rest of the ship. It had been a difficult day, made worse by a visit to Engineering by the captain. Soval had prowled around for some time, sending his team into a state of nervous jitters which resulted in a number of minor, silly mistakes. Tucker was too used to the Vulcan's methods by now to let them trouble him but even he was unnerved by Soval's smooth enquiry about his "servant". All he wanted to do after Soval left was to get home and ensure all was well. Sighing, he accepted it was as well as it got as Malcolm stood silently when he entered, and with the watchful caution so obvious as he awaited any instructions which might be forthcoming. Tired and dispirited, Tucker fished out a PADD.

"Take this to the quartermaster on the way to the Mess." Reed hesitated, casting an anxious glance at the closed bedroom door, and the obvious concern he displayed about leaving the children alone with him was enough to prompt the annoyed reaction as Tucker snapped. "Now, Malcolm!"

Scowling, he flung himself onto the sofa and watched Reed move swiftly from the room, shutting his eyes wearily, depressed by his lapse in control, hating the fact he had been so short with Malcolm. A few moments later he was disturbed as a muffled thud and a squeal caught his attention and he cursed silently under his breath. The sound of the door opening was almost shocking and he turned, frowning at the unwanted intrusion.

Joe was standing, holding onto the doorframe. He was clearly terrified, his face white but his grey eyes, so like his father's, were resolute. "Please," he whispered, his voice timid. "I want Daddy. Amy's hurt."

"He's not here right now," he managed civilly, but faced with the boy's obvious consternation at this news there seemed no other option but to go and see what had happened. Amy was sitting on the floor, cradling her arm and she was clearly desperately trying to stop tears. Something twisted in his gut, a memory, long-hidden and denied moving swiftly to the surface of his consciousness, to be buried again as he surveyed the scene. Yet unknowingly it coloured his approach.

"What's happened here?" he asked, his voice kind.

She responded to that, looking up at him with surprise on her features. As if she did not expect such treatment. And why should she, he thought savagely, given the way he had reacted scant weeks before.

Her voice was composed but there was a hitch in her breathing which gave away her pain. "I fell. My arm hurts." Her mouth clamped shut and her eyes glared angrily at him.

"Uh-huh," he commented. For some reason the openness of her anger amused him and he moved to the comm. unit. "Dr Phlox?" waiting for the response before he continued. "Come to my quarters." Then he sent Joe out to retrieve a cushion, helping the girl to slip it under her arm to provide more support. Throughout it all he maintained a quiet monologue, telling her how brave she was, how this would help, that the doctor--and her father--would be there soon. When he had made her as comfortable as he could he settled beside her, taken aback when Joe sat down, too, and leant against his side. Without thinking, he slipped an arm around the thin, bony shoulders. It was completely different from their last interaction and Tucker was surprised by Joe's acceptance of the comfort he offered although he was also aware of Amy's tight-lipped face and the stiffness of her body. She was clearly in no hurry to forgive him and for a moment he wondered why he cared.

Like most of the non-Vulcans on board, the Denobulan doctor was to all intents and purposes a slave of the Empire. Though his skills as a physician accorded him special privileges, ignoring an order from a senior officer--even a non-Vulcan--was not one of them, and he arrived within ten minutes. His eyebrows rose at the sight of two Human off-spring in the quarters of the ship's chief engineer and the way they were both huddled close to the adult, particularly as Tucker had earned a reputation for coldness. Pushing the thought aside to consider in more detail later, the doctor bustled forward.

"Hello there, I'm Doctor Phlox," he introduced himself genially. "Let's see what's happened here, shall we?" He ran his scanner over the arm and spent a few moments taking some general scans. "Nothing too serious," he announced, smiling at the dark-haired girl and hiding his relief when he found no signs of abuse, although some of his readings did concern him. "All I have to do is use this," and he indicated a piece of equipment Tucker recognised all too well as it had been used to knit several of his bones in the past. "and we'll put a sling on your arm for a day or two. In no time at all you'll be as good as new." He finished so brightly that both children giggled at him.

It was then Tucker heard the outer door open, and a sudden crash as, he realised with resignation, his dinner tray hit the deck. A split second later and Reed barged into the room.

"Joey, Amy!" He stopped abruptly when he saw Tucker and Phlox, his eyes widening in surprise and alarm.

The sub-commander met the grey gaze as Reed demanded of him; "What the hell happened here?" There was a less than subtle accusation in the clipped tones, an indication of Reed's instant suspicion about the events which had led to this point. It reminded him of Malcolm's reaction over the plate when he had pushed him away from Amy, and Tucker had finally understood fully the dangerous nature hidden within his captive.

"Amy fell off the bed," he responded directly, intrigued by this facet of Malcolm, the subservience thrown aside as the man made ready to protect his children. Even in this situation, he admitted, it was a huge turn-on. He broke their locked gazes before his desire showed in his eyes. "Looks like she's broken her arm but the doc will soon have it as good as new."

Right on cue Phlox remarked; "There we are," swiftly fixing a sling. "Now you are going to sit here quietly with your brother for a moment while I talk to your father and Sub-commander Tucker.

"Thank you Doctor Phlox," Amy's young voice piped up and Reed reached over to smooth her hair.

"You okay for a minute, baby?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Daddy," she responded. "It doesn't hurt anymore." She hesitated and then remarked judiciously: "The sub-commander was kind, Daddy."

Tucker felt his own surprise just about mirrored Malcolm's expression at Amy's assertion.

"I'll be right back," Malcolm managed, and he followed Tucker into the main lounge where Phlox was waiting. As he reached them, the doctor brought out his scanner and ran it across Reed, frowning at the read-out before turning to face Tucker, his expression hard. "Sub-commander, are you aware both children are malnourished--and Mr. Reed is close to malnutrition?" It was perhaps stretching the truth, but Phlox had decided shock tactics were required.

Tucker felt his jaw slacken in shock. "What?" He turned his gaze to the other man, who was standing absolutely still, his eyes fixed on the deck. "But he gets rations--" He began his defence.

"Indeed," Phlox broke in ruthlessly, "though those are barely adequate for an adult. Perhaps you did not realise, however, that children have no status on this ship and therefore receive no allowance for food?"

Tucker's horror was obvious. "I--God, no, I didn't know that." He spun to face Reed. "Why the hell didn't you say somethin'?" he demanded, suddenly angry.

Grey eyes flashed and Reed spat back, abandoning his usual deference, "This is your ship, Sub-commander, your rules. I assumed you knew." It was a damning statement and they both knew it, Reed staring once more at the deck while Tucker examined the slim figure with new eyes, appalled at what he saw.

Phlox broke in, asking, "How were you feeding yourselves?" He wanted Tucker to hear the answer.

Malcolm hesitated and then explained, casting a quick look at Tucker's taut features as he did so. "I collected as much as I could at breakfast every day. My rations," he shrugged, "I split them between the children. If the Sub-commander left anything on his plate in the evening--I had that."

Tucker was assaulted by a memory, the previous day he had missed lunch entirely and cleared his plate at dinner, scraping up every last morsel. He had noticed Reed's wry smile when he removed the dishes, but did not understand it. Now he did only too well and felt shame burn his cheeks. Jeez, last night Malcolm had shared his bed, not having eaten anything since the morning. Damnit, why hadn't he said anything?

"What do you intend to do, Mr. Tucker?" Phlox asked.

More shaken than he could have believed, he responded. "I can make sure they get enough to eat. Now I know we need it I can draw my full rations and buy extra. That should be more than enough for us all."

"Mmm," Phlox seemed satisfied by this answer and turned his attention back to Malcolm. "I will give you and the children a vitamin shot which will help in the meantime," he paused and then asked delicately, "Are you in pain, Mr. Reed?"

Colour flooded his skin. "I'm fine," he responded repressively, praying the doctor would go no further until he caught the bright gaze and accepted Phlox knew exactly what he was doing.

Phlox raised his eyebrows once more. "My scans suggest otherwise, Mr. Reed. I will administer an analgesic." He looked at Tucker and his features settled into grim lines. "May I suggest, sir, unless it is your intention to cause pain, that you refrain from anal intercourse for the next fourteen days. And when you resume, you make use of proper lubrication."

Tucker was mortified, his gaze flying to Reed's face, seeing it flushed in embarrassment and was hardly able to get words out. "Are you sayin' I -?" He couldn't finish his sentence, horrified and appalled. He recalled his earlier sanctimonious assertion that he was doing a good thing; he was keeping the man and his children together and he would not maltreat them. For a moment he felt physically sick--seeing his actions as Malcolm and Phlox obviously did--as slow starvation and rape.

He couldn't face them, turning and leaning on the desk as he fought the nausea rising to choke him.

Malcolm Reed stared at the sub-commander's back, witnessing the fight for control and for some inexplicable reason experienced a deep sense of relief. He should have been angry, he supposed, that Tucker's maltreatment had been so unthinking but instead he was unaccountably glad it could be put down to ignorance and, he accepted, inexperience, rather than intent. Stumbling back, he sank down onto the sofa and buried his head in his hands as Amy's accident and the resultant disclosures, together with the lack of nourishment over the last two days in particular, conspired to leave him weak and shaking.

Phlox glanced from one to the other, his features serene although he was quietly satisfied with the effects his words were having. He knew of Tucker's reputation for coldness and detachment, the result, he had soon surmised, of being taken from his family at an early age and raised in a Vulcan college. However, Phlox had never heard him described as cruel, and in his three years on the Ti'Mur he had never once seen him present at the more violent occasions when prisoners were taken. Nor had he ever observed any evidence of the man mistreating anyone. The current reactions he was witnessing pleased the Denobulan greatly and he pursed his lips together to stifle a satisfied smile. Consulting his medical kit, he pulled out the ampoules he required. Once he slipped the first into the hypospray he approached the seated man.

"I am going to administer an analgesic and a vitamin shot, Mr. Reed," he warned the man, waiting for the nod of acquiescence before he continued. Once he was done he asked. "Do I have your permission to administer vitamins to your children?"

"Yes please," Malcolm managed, exhaling with relief as his own physical hurts eased. He stood and followed Phlox into the bedroom, not looking at the sub-commander. When they returned some moments later, the mess Malcolm had made when he dropped the tray had been cleared and Tucker was once more leaning against the desk, this time facing into the room, his arms folded across his chest, his features composed although he was pale. Phlox glanced swiftly between the two men once more and then took his leave.

Tucker spoke, his voice shaking slightly. "I never meant to hurt you," he managed, his composure slipping.

Reed stared at him, gauging the truth of his words, nodding his acceptance of the apology as he catalogued the distressed features and Tucker's pallor. Was he so inexperienced, he wondered, that he did not know what he was doing would hurt? As his eyes wandered over the boyish face he acknowledged the truth. Tucker was clearly horrified by the results of his actions and Malcolm did not believe he could fake his current response.

"I'll go down to the Mess, get us all somethin' to eat," the sub-commander spoke eventually. "You'll want to spend time with Amy." It felt odd to him to be saying the girl's name as if he knew her, but Malcolm simply nodded again.

Tucker hesitated. "Malcolm...if there's somethin' you ever need to say to me, maybe somethin' I'm doin' wrong," he flushed as he recognised how absurd that statement was given their current situation, but he went on regardless, "if I can do somethin' about it, I will. You might need to tell me, though. Will you do that?" Anxiously he waited for the response, relieved when Reed finally moved, watching as the Englishman sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm glad you never meant us harm, Sub-commander," he spoke softly, his voice utterly sincere. "I don't think I'll need to say anything but if it arises, I promise I will tell you."

Tucker was unaccountably encouraged by Malcolm's response, fighting the sudden compulsion to pull him into a hug and instead he moved to the door. On his way through he paused and asked shyly. "Do Amy and Joe like ice-cream?"

For the very first time, Reed smiled. "They love ice-cream," he responded warmly and added. "So do I"

The two men stared at one another for a brief moment before the sub-commander tore himself away.

PART 3

After Amy's accident and the resulting revelations, life within the sub-commander's quarters seemed to reach a measure of peace. Tucker ensured there was enough food, horrified as he catalogued Reed's improved health and wondered why, considering the man slept in his bed, he had failed to notice the weight loss in the first place. Reed himself was more relaxed, though Tucker surmised two weeks without pain probably contributed there, too. He followed the doctor's orders to the letter, Reed pleasuring him orally, providing him with the kisses that were part of their bargain each day while Tucker waited. Despite everything he now knew, he recognised he would be unable to resist the other man's body for long, his eyes tracking him as he moved around the cabin. From time to time their gaze would meet and he knew Reed recognised the scrutiny and the desire behind it.

The fortnight was up. In the intervening days Tucker thought through how to approach Reed, eventually deciding to be direct, knowing instinctively the Englishman would prefer honesty. He glanced up as Malcolm padded, naked, into the bedroom and moved across to stand and stare down at him. Tucker saw he was carrying something and reached out automatically as it was handed to him.

A tube of lubricant.

The shame which flooded him was unexpected. Sighing, he placed the tube carefully on the bedside cabinet, staring up into the expressionless grey gaze, unaware his own features reflected his troubled thoughts.

Reed shrugged, muscles moving tantalisingly under the skin. "It's part of the deal, isn't it," he asserted matter-of-factly and joined him on the bed, rolling onto his stomach. He closed his eyes, buried his face in the pillow and tried to think of nothing at all.

Tucker sighed again, feeling his flesh harden at the sight of the long naked back and the beautiful ass. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, he began his assault. During the previous few days he had undertaken some research, trawling the database for information on sex between males. There was not a great deal but what there was he had studied avidly, horrified by the constant reiteration on ensuring there was adequate preparation, and the possible results if it was not carried out properly. So now he put it into practice, as his hands stroked down the spine, lips following, licking and nipping at unresponsive flesh. He used the lube, spreading it between the rounded cheeks, working it well into the cleft and sliding slippery fingers into tight heat. He took his time until Reed was loose and ready, then settled between the spread thighs and gently eased his way into the pliant, unresisting body. When he was in as deep as he could go, he paused and asked.

"Am I hurting you?"

Reed turned his head until Tucker could see his profile, the flushed face and the long eyelashes. "No," he responded, and sounded almost surprised.

"You'll tell me if I do?"

"Yes."

There was a gasp from Reed as Tucker moved, then silence as he began a slow, deliberate pistoning, feeling the sweat begin to flow as he fought for--and maintained--his control. There was no reason this couldn't be good for both of them, he decided. All he needed to do was find some way to convince Malcolm. His ability to think began to slip away and he picked up the pace, groaning and altering the direction of his thrusts as he searched. A startled moan, which clearly had nothing to do with pain, rewarded him, the very sound pushing him over the edge and he came hard, pressing his mouth to Malcolm's back and whispering his name against damp skin.

When he regained breath and composure, he turned the man's flushed face towards him, pressing a gentle kiss on the fine mouth. "Okay?" he murmured.

Malcolm nodded, turning to lie on his back, his eyes closed and his breathing still unsteady. Unable to resist, Tucker slid his hand down the man's chest, stroking and petting him. Reed lay still, the only sign of his discomfort a hitch in his breathing when calloused fingers curled around his flaccid sex before they moved lower to caress his balls and the insides of his thighs. After a few moments, Tucker stopped, bringing his hand up to curve around Reed's cheek and lean in for a kiss.

Tucker grimaced slightly at the sigh of relief which filled the darkness as he turned out the lights, feeling Malcolm begin to move away from him. Frustrated, he took hold of him to still the movement and settled himself so he was spooned behind the lithe frame, his arm curved around Malcolm's waist. Then he buried his nose in the nape of Malcolm's neck, breathed in his scent, and fell asleep within minutes.

When Tucker woke in the morning there was clear space between them and he sighed quietly at the back presented to him. His usual early morning erection dwindled and he slid out of the bed, heading for the shower.

By the time he returned Malcolm was awake, dressed simply in t-shirt and loose sweat pants, his feet bare and hair tousled as he moved around the bedroom. Fresh underwear and uniform were already laid out on the newly-made bed. It was almost a picture of domestic bliss, if he could only ignore the reality. For a brief moment he ached to pull Malcolm into his arms and simply hold him, daydreaming about the Englishman twining his arms around his waist in response. Their eyes met and he witnessed the expression he was so used to by now, the wariness and suspicion that never quite dissipated.

"Thanks," he murmured quietly and pushed his dreams resolutely away.

"Sub-commander Tucker?"

Tucker halted on his way along the corridor as he heard the Doctor hail him.

"Doctor?"

"How are you feeling, Sub-commander?"

"I'm feeling..." he paused. "Actually I'm kinda hot."

"Let's go to Sick Bay, shall we?" As they walked Phlox explained. "The last survey party brought back a passenger with them--a microbe. It seemed to have been dealt with during the decontamination process, but since then I have had two of the Human crew in Sick Bay. It seems the microbe not only survived but mutated. So far it is only affecting Human physiology and I have developed enough serum for the crew."

Something in his voice alerted Tucker and as he entered the medical facility he suddenly stopped short. "What about the Humans who aren't part of the crew?"

There was a long silence before the Doctor responded, his eyes fixed on the deck. "The captain has expressly forbidden me to produce any serum for non Empire personnel."

"You're kiddin' me," the dismay that washed over him was unexpected. "I mustn't go back..."

"I'm afraid it's too late, Mr. Tucker," Phlox's tone was sober. "Every Human on this ship is now infected."

There was a short silence before Tucker asked: "What does this mean exactly?" There was a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

"As far as I can judge on the two cases I have seen, those affected will run a high fever, accompanied by pains in the joints. It runs its course very quickly but is quite violent."

"How dangerous is this?"

"For adults it is unpleasant but not dangerous. For children..." he paused. "I am sorry, Sub-commander, but I think you must ensure Mr. Reed is prepared for a difficult time."

"There must be somethin' you can do to help, Phlox?"

"I can provide you with some wide range drugs which will hopefully alleviate the symptoms. Dehydration is the major difficulty but I will come and set up drips. I can do that much Mr. Tucker," he paused again. "I wish..."

"I know you'll do everything you can, Phlox, and I know Malcolm will appreciate it." He sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. "I guess I'd better go an' break the bad news."

As it turned out, he did not have to say anything. As soon as he walked into his quarters the door to the children’s room opened and Malcolm, his face pale, strode towards him. "Can you get the doctor to come?" It was almost a demand rather than a question. "Amy and Joe are sick."

Tucker's response was to cross to the comm, and within moments Phlox arrived, moving swiftly into the back room and the door slid shut behind him, leaving Tucker to pace back and forth across the main cabin. After some time Phlox returned.

"How are they?"

"Both running high temperatures. I have suggested Mr. Reed sponges them down," he paused for a moment. "The next forty-eight hours will be extremely stressful. You must understand that."

"I'll help if I can," he hastened to reassure Phlox but added honestly, "as long as he'll let me."

"He will need help, Mr. Tucker, whether he wants to accept it or not." Phlox's tone was more acerbic than usual and the sub-commander saw his own concern reflected in the bright, worried gaze.

For over an hour Tucker continued to pace around the main room, his gaze fixed on the door which cut him off from Malcolm and the children. Instinctively, he knew he would not be welcome but was desperate to find some way to help. Eventually he hit on something he hoped would be appreciated without being intrusive.

He stepped through the door as it opened and Malcolm turned towards him. For a brief moment he saw the desperate fear in the wide grey eyes, before the Englishman managed to school his expression, his attention turning back to the two small figures on the bed. Tucker looked down at the small family, feeling his own concern rise to almost choke him at the sight of the children attached to drips, both of them flushed, eyes half-open and brilliant with fever.

"Do you need me to do something, Sub-commander?" Reed's voice was dull.

"No, Malcolm, that's okay. I just thought you might like some tea?"

He handed the mug over, avoiding the complete surprise in the grey eyes. "Is there anything else I can do to help, Malcolm?"

"I don't think so, sir."

The distracted response was somehow disheartening and Tucker swallowed. "Well, I'll be outside. If you need anything, just let me know." He wasn't sure whether the man even heard him, all his concentration back on his children.

"It'll be all right, Malcolm," he said softly, and he pressed his hand to one slim shoulder. For a brief moment he thought the man was about to turn to him, to accept the reassurance he was trying to offer, before he took in a deep breath and drew back from the contact.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured.

For the rest of the night Tucker alternated between pacing his quarters and taking drinks through to the room beyond, his anxiety rising as time went on, witnessing a gradual deterioration in both children as the fever ran its course, watching Reed's barely concealed panic spill into his eyes, into the tense lines of his body. Every time he offered help he was rebuffed, finally going on duty the following morning, worried and exhausted, leaving Malcolm only reluctantly. On his way to Engineering he made a side trip to Sick Bay and almost begged Phlox to visit as soon as he could.

It was a long and terrifying day. Tucker had no memory of ever being scared on behalf of someone else and was bewildered by this agony of suspense, desperate to get back to his quarters. His first act on his eventual return was to enter the children’s room. Malcolm turned weary eyes to him, unable to hide any of what he was feeling. Somehow, he struggled to his feet but stumbled. Tucker caught him, pulling him in close against his body and wrapping his arms around his shaking body, trying not to feel triumphant when Reed buried his face against his shoulder. It lasted only seconds before he began to extricate himself and Tucker let him go, still inwardly thrilled by the brief weakness and hating himself for his guilty pleasure.

"How are they doin'?" he asked softly.

Malcolm's voice expressed his exhaustion, the tone hoarse and grainy and Tucker realised he must have been talking to the children constantly. "Doctor Phlox was here earlier. Their temperature is down and he's pleased with how they're doing. They're out of danger but-" He closed his eyes, his relief obvious though he could not mask his continuing concern either, then he seemed to collect himself. "Your dinner, sir--I'll--"

"No, you won't," he elaborated at the surprised gaze that garnered. "I'll look after myself tonight." He hesitated. "Are you feelin' okay, Malcolm?"

"I'm fine," and his mouth clamped shut, daring the sub-commander to make any further comment about his health.

Tucker stared at him for a moment, recognising the stubborn set to his features, and came to his own decisions. Leaving the room he showered briefly and then ate. Once he felt refreshed, he gathered up the cushions from the sofa and toted them through to the children’s room, ignoring the surprised gaze which rose to meet his entry. He trudged through to his bedroom, returning with the bedding, and proceeded to turn cushions and covers into a makeshift bed. Once that was done he turned his attention to the exhausted man perched on the edge of the bed.

"Okay," he said, "now you are gonna get some sleep for a few hours," he rode straight over the objections he could see forming. "You can sleep here so you're close. I'll keep an eye on Amy and Joe, and I promise I'll wake you if there is any change at all."

Malcolm looked nonplussed, totally taken aback by Tucker's actions and before he quite knew what was happening, he was sliding under the covers and, despite his worry and confusion, he felt his eyelids close. Just before he slept he felt gentle fingers drift across his forehead. For a moment he felt safe, comforted by the obvious concern, too tired to maintain his suspicion and dislike.

He woke to the sound of quiet voices, rousing fully as he recognised Joe's voice, querulous and tearful. Tucker's own tone was a soothing rumble and as he dragged himself out of his bed he heard the tone pick up. "There's your Dad now." Tucker smiled across at him. "Joe's just this minute woken up. I'm givin' him a drink," Once he finished what he was doing he surrendered his place to the boy's father, unsurprised when the man barely looked at him as he gathered the small boy into his arms, hushing and comforting the unhappy youngster.

Looking at Reed's flushed cheeks, Tucker felt the first stirrings of alarm. Over the past two days he had been on the watch for any symptoms, but as time had passed he had begun to hope Malcolm had escaped. However, now he could see the signs of building fever and when he met the grey gaze, he saw the same knowledge echoed there, edged with panic.

"Malcolm," he spoke gently. "I think we'd better get you to bed." He forestalled all the arguments he could see. "I've got some off-duty due. I'll take care of Amy and Joe. I promise you, I'll look after them. C'mon now," he coaxed.

Reed was feeling more light-headed and detached by the moment, and he nodded, laying the now sleeping figure of his son down and struggled to his feet. As he sagged against the taller form of the sub-commander he whispered pleadingly, all his defiance and strength deserting him now, "Don't hurt them, please don't hurt them."

"I promise, darlin'," he used the endearment unconsciously. "I won't hurt them, an' I won't let anyone else hurt them either."

With that assurance, Reed gave up, everything greying around the edges and as he slipped into unconsciousness Tucker's voice was once again an unexpected comfort.

"I've got you, darlin'. Ain't gonna let anythin' hurt any of you. Go to sleep now. That's right."

For Tucker the next two days blended into a multitude of trips between the two bedrooms, the bathroom and the kitchen of his quarters, as he seemed to spend his entire time catering either to the needs of recovering children, watching Malcolm burn with fever, or trying to keep himself awake. Phlox visited when he could, but he had his hands full with the remaining Humans on board. Tucker was smart enough to recognise he was particularly concerned about Reed, however, and finally asked the Denobulan why.

Phlox sighed. "Mr. Reed is running a very high fever. He is also clearly worried about the children and given the strain he has been living under these past months," he effected not to notice the sub-commander's wince, "and a naturally highly-strung nervous system, it is not surprising he has been hit so badly."

"He will be okay, though?"

"I believe so but I cannot say for sure."

"I have to go on duty tomorrow mornin'." He sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I don't want to leave him but I can't lose any more time."

Phlox nodded, both aware of the unspoken fear, the thought Soval might notice his absence and question it.

"The children are much better today," he ventured. "By tomorrow they will be well enough to sit quietly with their father. And I believe their presence will help calm him."

"Yeah, I thought that, too," Tucker remarked, "but I was worried they might be frightened." Unknowingly, his expression was troubled and Phlox, who had witnessed some of Reed's fever-induced raving, could understand why Tucker was so concerned.

"That should ease within the next few hours," he commented kindly and then offered. "Would you like me to talk to the children? I could ask them to be honorary nurses?"

"Would you? Thanks, that'd be great. I'll make sure they can contact me at any time so if they need help they can let me know and I'll come home."

Phlox glanced at him, wondering if he was aware what he had said but Tucker continued discussing the arrangements they were making and the doctor did not comment.

Once Phlox had enlisted the help of the youngsters, Tucker tidied up and clambered wearily into bed beside the still feverish Reed. Throughout the previous two nights he had been forced to sit and listen to a litany of fear and hate, gleaning enough from the broken sentences to understand how Reed viewed him. It was a disheartening and demoralising monologue to experience, his blood running cold once or twice as he realised Malcolm must actually have considered killing him. With the knowledge he now possessed of the latent danger Reed suppressed under his veneer of submission, Tucker had no doubt of the Englishman's success had he actually decided to go ahead. Sub-commander Tucker would not have stood a chance. Depressed, he turned the lights down low and tried to sleep.

His awakening was abrupt and disconcerting. As he slept he had adopted his now habitual position, curled around Malcolm's body, and was woken as Reed began to struggle and shout, fighting his way out of the embrace. Disorientated, he scrambled away from Malcolm, raising the lights so he could see his face.

Reed's features were twisted in a mask of loathing and Tucker paled as the words he was shouting impacted upon him.

"Keep your hands off me, you bastard, keep your fucking hands off me!" His voice rose and suddenly, unable to bear it, Tucker cried out.

"Malcolm, don't! Please -." For the first time in many years he felt tears crowd into his eyes, distressed beyond words by the picture Malcolm's raving presented. "I'm sorry," he whispered, aware the sick man would be unlikely to hear or understand, but still having to speak. "I never wanted to hurt you," he finished. Unable to help himself he reached out, running his fingers gently through the dark hair.

Astonishingly, the form on the bed stilled and a quiet voice queried groggily, "Sub-commander?"

He kept his voice steady, allowing none of his own distress and panic to leach through. "Yeah, Malcolm. How're you feelin'?"

"Amy? Joe?" His voice was weak but his anxiety was clear, ignoring the enquiry as to his own health. All he cared about was his family and Tucker hastened to reassure him.

"Both much better. I have to go back on duty tomorrow and they're gonna sit with you. They're asleep right now but you'll see them in the mornin'. I promise. You want a drink?"

"Please."

Nervously, not entirely sure of the reaction he might receive, Tucker helped Reed raise his head, holding the glass of water while he sipped thirstily. His eyes remained closed, the long lashes stark against his pallor, but at least the high colour which indicated fever seemed to have gone and Tucker heaved a silent, hidden, sigh of relief.

"Thanks," Malcolm's voice sounded stronger. "How long?" He asked.

"You've run a high fever for a couple of days. Looks like that's broken though. You just need to get plenty of rest."

The grey eyes finally opened and regarded him. "You're tired." Malcolm flushed. He had not intended to speak the thought which had immediately occurred on his first sight of Tucker's face.

"Yeah," he admitted but did not elaborate, startled Malcolm had noticed. Tired was not the word he would have used though, as he fought an exhaustion that was bone deep. It was allied to the fear he had experienced the past few days when he had watched all three of them succumb to this sickness, and conspired to allow his earlier fears to rise and choke him once more, his own emotional barriers a distant memory.

Malcolm blinked in surprise at the expressions on Tucker's face but was in no fit state to try and determine the reasons behind the sadness and fear on the man's features, and instead he remarked huskily, "You need to get some sleep as well, sir."

He couldn't decipher the look directed at him, completely taken aback when Tucker asked:

"D'you want me to sleep someplace else?"

Malcolm stared at him in shock for a moment and then spoke quietly. "No."

There was a long silence followed by a sigh from Tucker before he slid under the covers, turning on his side to face away from Malcolm, making sure no part of his body was in contact with him.

The dark man watched the tense figure for a few moments and wondered at Tucker's actions. Something about the obviously unhappy figure prompted him to speak. "Thank you for looking after us," he said softly.

"S'okay,"

The voice was muffled but Malcolm watched as the tension eased, eventually turning onto his side and trying to convince his fever-weakened frame that he needed to sleep, too. After a few moments he became aware of Tucker's breathing evening out and then only a little later, movement as Tucker, now deeply asleep, turned and curled himself around his body. One arm curved around his waist and he felt the touch of warm breath gusted across the back of his neck. Sighing, Malcolm shut his eyes as his hand unconsciously came to rest on top of Tucker's. And he slept.

The sensation of being watched gradually impinged itself upon Tucker and he struggled upwards from the depths of his exhausted sleep. Prising his eyes open, he gazed directly into two pairs of interested grey eyes.

On seeing he was awake, Joe launched in with: "Why do you sleep with Daddy?"

"What time is it?" Tucker asked groggily, still half asleep and far too confused to even think of addressing the boy's outrageous question.

"It's time for breakfast," remarked Amy decidedly, before turning to her brother and saying scornfully. "You're too little to understand anything," before her attention returned to Tucker. "Is Daddy better?"

Tucker, with an eye to the decided pout on the small boy's face, began hastily, "he's still asleep-"

A muffled voice interrupted: "No, he's not," and Reed emerged from the bedding, to be met with delighted cries from the children.

Tucker pulled himself into a sitting position as the two launched themselves onto the bed, scrambling across him to get to their father and he watched, bemused, as Malcolm, still pale and clearly far from well, gathered them to him, settling one either side of him as he spoke quietly to them.

Thankfully, he spied his bathrobe within easy reaching distance and grabbed it, struggling into it and studiously ignoring the amused glance Reed spared him, before he quitted the bed and headed for the shower. When he returned, Malcolm was asleep again, and Amy and Joe were sprawled across Tucker's side of the bed, each busy with a PADD.

For a moment he hesitated and then asked: "What do you want for breakfast?" Almost unnerved when those grey eyes were fixed on him once more.

"Toast an' cereal an' orange juice," recited Amy. "Can I come and help?"

"No," he responded swiftly, "you need to stay here and watch your Dad while I'm gone. Okay?"

Her face expressed her displeasure but she did not argue, and he searched for some way to change her frame of mind, realising somehow, although he was not sure where the knowledge came from, that both children were still recovering and were bound to be fractious as well as obviously being scared at how ill their father looked.

He sat down beside her on the bed. "What did Dr. Phlox tell you?" he asked, gently.

"We've to take a scan every hour to check his temperature and if it goes up twice we've to call him and he'll come," her mouth trembled before resolutely she forced back tears and continued. "He's says I'm chief nurse and Joey's chief scanning technician."

Tucker swallowed his laughter, wondering where the Doctor's knowledge of handling kids came from, as he recognised the experienced touch of someone adept at maintaining the peace within a family. Puzzlement washed over him again, confused by his own sudden understanding of the tactics the Denobulan had employed. Uneasy, he shrugged the thoughts away and instead said gently: "Your Dad's gonna be fine, you know."

The girl's mouth pursed as she fought back tears again. "What would happen if Daddy wasn't here?" Her voice was a thin whisper and he hastened to reassure her.

"Your Daddy is going to be fine, Amy, but whatever happens you've got me an' Phlox. We'll make sure you're safe. Don't worry, sweetheart."

Her tears came in a rush as she flung herself into his arms and cried wildly against his chest. Startled, he wrapped his arms around her then became aware of a weight against his side, opening an arm to pull Joey into the awkward embrace and letting them both cry.

When they were calm again he sent them to wash their faces while he went for breakfast, returning to find Malcolm had woken and was sipping from a cup of tea.

"Hi, how are you feeling?"

Malcolm was too ill to dissemble, "like death warmed up," he asserted.

Tucker chuckled, "pretty much the way you look then," he teased, chuckling again at the look cast at him from the man in the bed. He sobered. "I have to get to Engineering. Phlox has spoken to Amy and Joe and they know how to get in touch with us both if they need to." He hesitated. "Doc says you're to sleep as much as you can and you're not to get up unless you really need to," he paused as Malcolm grimaced and then flushed. "What is it?"

"I really need to," he admitted.

"C'mon then," and he helped the man to the Head, standing outside while Malcolm did what was necessary before getting him back to bed.

"Thanks," Malcolm said, awkwardly.

"No problem," he responded easily. "I'll get back sometime during the day and Phlox will be in, too, so..." he trailed off at Reed's brusque nod of understanding, knowing the man hated having to accept help from anyone, especially him. He sighed. "I'd better go," he murmured, and walked away before any of his own feelings could surface and betray him.

For the next few days life had a slightly surreal quality to it for Malcolm Reed. He slept much of the time, waking to drink cups of tea or water brought by Tucker, or by the children when he was on duty. His temperature stayed down but he felt incredibly weak, only slightly reassured by Phlox's careful explanation about the effects of the fever coupled with the strain on his nerves over the past months. He hated himself for the weakness but had to accept it after nagging the Doctor to be allowed back on his feet, only to find he could not stand upright without the Denobulan's support. In the background he was often aware of the children's voices, interspersed with Tucker's deeper tones and fretted at being unable to hear what was going on, or what the children might be saying. There was nothing he could do, however, and in the end he concentrated on getting back to full strength as quickly as possible.

For Tucker, despite his worry over Malcolm, the days he spent with the children were more enjoyable than he could ever have imagined. Together they looked after the invalid, having long discussions about how they could tempt his appetite and keep him amused. Amy was a real live wire, he decided, keeping him right in all areas of their lives, from bedtime to making sure Joey brushed his teeth properly. Joe was a much quieter child, content with his reading, and would curl up next to his father for hours on end. Occasionally, however, he demonstrated a knack for asking a question which went straight to the nub of the situation they found themselves in and more than once Tucker found himself gasping like a landed fish, before trying to extricate himself from the enquiry without going too far. Both children also had a streak of stubbornness which he recognised easily as an inheritance from their father, and though Joey generally followed Amy's lead quite happily, there were occasions he would take his stance on something and stick to it. It amused Tucker to see Amy's reaction at these times, watching her stare with narrowed eyes at her brother before, more often than not, acceding to him. It was as if she knew just how far she could go.

He grinned now as he entered his quarters, seeing Malcolm, still pale but looking infinitely better, on the sofa with a child either side. Amy and Joe greeted him, beginning to chatter about their day but as Malcolm saw Tucker he started to struggle to his feet.

"Easy, there," Tucker curved a strong hand around Reed's elbow as he swayed. "Sit down before you fall down, will ya."

Malcolm subsided. "I'm really much better," he averred.

"Yeah, you look better today, but another few days takin' it easy won't do you any harm either. An' those are the Doctor's orders," he emphasised as he saw the arguments beginning to take shape. His good humour dissipated as Reed glanced uneasily at Amy and Joe, recognising at once the man's continuing suspicion. He stifled a sigh and pushed the matter from him. "What do you feel like eating tonight?"

Over the rest of the week he watched as Malcolm returned to full strength, trying hard to hide his disappointment one evening when he entered his quarters and Amy and Joe were nowhere to be seen. He wanted to say something but had no idea how to broach the subject and in all honesty, he could not fault the Englishman for his caution. In his heart he knew he could never cause any harm to any of this family who were now under his care and protection, but there was no way for Malcolm to know that, and no guarantee he would be believed if he said the words. Quietly he greeted the other man and their evening reverted to their previous routine.

When he joined Malcolm in their bed that night he slid across to wrap himself around the quiescent frame, tucking his head down to lie in the gap between his shoulder and neck, surprised when Malcolm spoke, his tone holding a level of warmth Tucker had rarely heard.

"Thank you for looking after us, Sub-commander."

"I'm glad I could help. I was worried about you all," he waited to see whether Reed would respond but nothing more was said and he sighed gently. "Goodnight, Malcolm."

"Goodnight, sir," Malcolm let his mind drift over the past two weeks, reviewing Tucker's actions. Yet again, the man had surprised him, his devoted care to them stunning him. There was no ulterior motive, he knew because Tucker could take everything he wanted from him anyway. While Reed was astute enough to know Tucker wanted him to give himself freely, he also knew Tucker was not expecting it to happen. He sighed quietly into the darkness, and unknowingly his hand again covered the one resting on his stomach. The children had been upset when he had insisted on chasing them back to their room when Tucker was due home. He had brooked no argument, needing to establish their previous routine and afraid of where any further relaxation might take them. Tucker's disappointment had been obvious. As time passed it was becoming easier and easier to read every emotion running through the man and Malcolm tried not to think what that meant for him.

The following night, for the first time since illness had struck him, Tucker approached him for sex and Malcolm hardly knew what to say or think when he asked him if he was ready. It would have been so easy to put him off but he didn't. Instead, he reached into the drawer and handed Tucker the lubricant, almost smiling at the pleased surprise on the boyish features. Then he rolled over, relaxing as work-worn, familiar hands stroked down his back. By now he was used to the deliberate and careful preparation, sighing a little as Tucker slid inside him and began to move, biting back his moans as he repeatedly hit his prostate. Desperately he attempted to deny his own desire but could not ignore his quickening flesh, damning himself for such a basic betrayal. Tucker was panting in his ear, his body sweating and moving swiftly to his climax and as he came Malcolm heard him whisper, "Oh baby, missed you so much, darlin'" He wondered whether Tucker was even aware he had spoken aloud. As he recovered, Tucker stroked his fingers across Malcolm's stomach, wandering dangerously close to aching flesh and he caught the hand quickly, bringing it to rest and holding it still. A contented, satiated sigh sounded in his ear, and Tucker slept. Shutting his eyes in determination, Malcolm tried to sleep too, trying to deny his own desire, the comfort in the touch of the body lying against him, the weight of the arm across him, and the soft gust of sleeping, peaceful breaths.

Over the following weeks Tucker was pleased to see all the Reed family return to full health. Both Malcolm and the children gained weight while Malcolm himself appeared more relaxed, and although he did not respond when Tucker made love to him, yet the sub-commander recognised the experience for both of them was different now. Whatever was happening between them, it made Tucker glad to get back to see him each day.

He entered his quarters after a long, frustrating day to be faced with a scene far removed from the usual calm serenity which Malcolm generated and which he had come to appreciate so much. Most of the furniture seemed to be upset and Amy and Joe were running squealing around the room, scrambling over the obstacles, with their father on all fours in hot pursuit, making growling noises Tucker suddenly wished he could elicit from the man.

"What the hell--" he managed, before Reed saw him and stopped as abruptly as if he had been shot.

For two extremely excited children, however, calming down was clearly not so easy a matter, and without quite understanding how, Tucker suddenly found himself acting as a shield, as Joe hid behind him, clinging onto his legs, while Amy attempted to dodge around him. After spending time with him when they had cared for their father, neither retained any fear of him and they continued with their game.

Malcolm was so flustered it was incredibly endearing and Tucker felt a grin spread across his features.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realise the time--" He began, unable to hide his apprehension.

Tucker, hating the fact Malcolm was so concerned about his possible response, hastened to reassure him. "That's okay, Malcolm. Looks like you were having fun?" At the same time he somehow discovered he had begun to move around, helping Joe to remain hidden, both children grabbing hold of him as they giggled.

"Yes sir," his tone was repressive and Tucker's grin faded. "Amy, Joe, say goodnight to the sub-commander." Amy quietened more quickly than her brother and eyed him suspiciously for a moment until she clearly decided he was not annoyed with them, although she moved to stand close to her father.

Joe sidled out from behind his temporary refuge and threw himself towards his father, still giggling. The sub-commander watched as, without thinking, Malcolm reached for the boy and swung him high, laughing as he twirled him around. Tucker couldn't help it, he grinned too, more pleased than he could say to see him so relaxed. The grey eyes were sparkling and his joy in his children was obvious. Tucker was assaulted by a sudden wash of desire, unable to hide it as Malcolm caught his gaze again.

He heard the sharp intake of breath and then Malcolm turned away, talking quietly to the children and then ushering them into their own room. At the door Amy turned and smiled shyly. "Goodnight," she almost whispered and he felt his heart constrict. Before he quite understood what was happening he responded. "Night, honey," rewarded as her smile widened. His eyes were fixed on her and so he missed the surprised look Malcolm cast at him and the sudden warmth that entered his expression.

The room seemed almost unbearably quiet when they had gone and Tucker busied himself by righting the furniture and remaking the bed, the covers of which were scattered throughout his quarters.

By the time Malcolm re-entered the lounge it was back to its usual pristine state and Tucker was working at his desk in the corner of the room. Malcolm glanced around at the now tidy space and began: "I apologise--"

Tucker looked up, "Don't," he said, cutting him off abruptly before continuing softly. "There's no need," he hesitated. "I'm glad they were havin' some fun," he admitted awkwardly. "You don't have to worry 'bout anything like that--okay?" In some way he was trying to transmit a message, telling him the children were safe from him and Malcolm had nothing to fear on that score.

Malcolm stared at him for a long moment and then nodded as if he understood the silent message "I'll get your dinner, sir." He spoke pleasantly.

"Sure. Thanks."

Tucker turned back to his work but became aware he had not left and instead was hovering at his side, his expression uncertain. Softly, attempting to put an encouraging note in his voice, he asked: "Somethin' botherin' you?"

The surprised grey gaze caught his, then slid away. There was an awkward pause, Malcolm clearly wrestling with some decision before he spoke, "I wondered...it's Joe's birthday tomorrow. I wondered if perhaps you might order some ice cream for them?"

It was the first time he had asked for anything beyond the basic necessities of life and Tucker was obscurely delighted he had done so, answering enthusiastically. "That's a great idea, Malcolm, I'll deal with it."

"Thank you."

The smile he received prompted Tucker to ask, "What else does he like to eat? I could order his favourites and we could have a birthday tea." He pushed a poignant memory away, trying to concentrate on the here and now. "Oh," it was a sudden gasp of distressed realisation. "You won't have anythin' for him, will you? He won't get any presents." He had managed to startle the man again, he realised, and he rushed ahead. "What sort of things does he like?"

"Books," Malcolm stammered after an abortive attempt to gain some composure. "Real books. He had half a dozen but he lost them all when..."

There was an uncomfortable silence and then Tucker shot up from his chair, disappearing through to the bedroom. When he returned he was carrying a stack of about ten books, beautifully bound. "What about givin' him some of these?" Tucker could not keep the pleasure or excitement from his voice. For some reason he was determined Joey would have as happy a birthday as they could manage between them. It would give Malcolm pleasure as well, and pleasing Malcolm suddenly seemed of immense importance to him.

Malcolm gaped at him. "Sub-commander--you can't...I shouldn't...Why are you doing this?" He finally managed to vocalise the thought which had plagued him since this conversation had begun.

Tucker sighed, staring down at the books. He didn't want to explain the rush of memories, the feelings which resurfaced as he recalled his last birthday at home with his family. It had been so long ago and he had buried them so deep it was not something he felt he could begin to explain.

"I'd just like to do somethin' nice for him," he managed, aware from Malcolm's expression the explanation was not believed, but fortunately for Tucker's composure he did not pursue it.

Instead he smiled and said simply, "Thank you," before he moved over to examine the books Tucker had piled onto the desk.

"They might be a bit old for him yet," Tucker warned, suddenly anxious in case his generosity proved pointless.

"No," Malcolm hastened to reassure him. "I read them to him--I'll give him the story first and read the exciting bits--and then when he's older he'll read them for himself."

"Which ones then? All of them?"

"No," Malcolm responded. "One from each of us, I think. I'd like to give him Treasure Island?"

"Sure, what about Amy?"

Malcolm looked over the titles again and he grinned as he met Tucker's gaze, his own grey eyes twinkling and reflecting pleasure. "Oliver Twist."

Tucker chuckled at that and then remarked. "I used to love The Three Muskateers. I'll give him it."

Their eyes met again, the moment stretching until Malcolm flushed and averted his gaze, remarking briefly. "I'll get dinner, sir," and then he hesitated before reaching out to gently touch the sub-commander's arm. "Thank you," he said softly and then was gone, leaving Tucker to stand in stunned disbelief.

It was the first time Malcolm Reed had touched him of his own free will.

Joe's birthday was a huge success and Tucker, watching as Malcolm tried to round up his over-excited son, laughed out loud. His own arms were full, Amy clinging to him like a limpet, the bright new ribbons in her hair flashing around as she turned her head to follow her brother as he romped around the room. The previous evening he had been ambushed by another memory, recalling how on a birthday, all of the children in the family had received something, some small trifle. He had rousted out the quartermaster and extracted some hair ribbons, handing them to Malcolm to give to Amy with a brief, awkward explanation. For a moment he recalled the bemused expression and thrilled again at the remembrance of the sudden unguarded warmth in the grey eyes as Malcolm thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

He adjusted his hold as the little girl wriggled and squealed as Malcolm finally caught hold of his wayward son, throwing him over his shoulder and marching towards their bedroom. Tucker followed, talking quietly to Amy and grinning at her giggling responses, unaware of Malcolm's eyes resting on him.

Joe had received his presents at breakfast, his eyes round with amazement and delight, and in the evening they shared an hilarious tea, culminating in Tucker producing an ice cream cake complete with candles. The children seemed to have fully forgiven him for his conduct over the broken plate and Amy in particular demonstrated an affection which Tucker welcomed, though he felt it was hardly merited. After tea, he disinterred a pack of playing cards and they played silly games until well past their usual bedtime. Tucker thought it was quite possible he had enjoyed the day even more than Joe, taking immense pleasure in witnessing Malcolm so relaxed, both with the children and with him, laughing over at him during a wild game of snap and teasing him mercilessly when he was first out of the game.

All he wanted now, he thought as he stretched, was to take Malcolm to bed and...

Reality intruded as he accepted that while having sex with Malcolm might, for him, be the perfect end to a perfect day, for Malcolm the opposite was surely true. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then moved across to the small refrigerator with its stash of beer, something he had only recently begun to store, finding he enjoyed sharing a quiet drink with Malcolm at the end of the day. He pulled out two bottles and opened them, slumping on the settee and taking a long pull of the cold liquid. A few moments later Malcolm stepped into the room and Tucker, without speaking, indicated the bottle.

Reed nodded his thanks and reached for it before he sat down beside him, not touching but at least, Tucker thought savagely, he had chosen to sit on the same damn piece of furniture. They sat and drank their beer in a silence as close to companionable as it could get.

Malcolm did not attempt to break the silence, content to sit beside Tucker and think about the day. It had far surpassed any hopes he had harboured for it. Tucker's involvement, and his obvious delight in giving particularly Joe but also he and Amy pleasure surprised him, though not as much as he might have expected. Apart from the one incident with the plate, and the inadvertent maltreatment early on, Tucker had been courteous and thoughtful of them all. His help and support when they had been ill had been a revelation, further eroding the barriers he had tried so hard to maintain. As he considered their situation now, he realised he had given no thought to escape since his recovery. And for the past weeks it had become more and more difficult not to respond when night arrived and he shared the sub-commander's bed. The obsessive care Tucker showed after Phlox's revelations continued, and he always asked, always checked, that Reed's body was ready for him. Over time he had become more relaxed, finding he welcomed the other man's touch, having to hide his own response to it and every day furthered the gradual erosion of the hate he tried so hard to maintain. That final surrender, he realised, was the only thing which stood between him and his acceptance of the hand fate had dealt him. And he wasn't sure he was quite ready for that just yet. Suppressing a sigh, he accepted that his day, long and exhausting, was not over. Tucker's infectious good humour during the evening was bound to translate into passion later. For a moment he almost smiled, the memory of Tucker during their silly card games surfacing, recalling his laughter and how he had interacted with Amy and Joe, how Amy had demanded to be lifted up as Malcolm chased his son around the room. The sight of his daughter laughing, held safe within Tucker's arms, had sent a surge of emotion through him, emotion he did not want to identify.

Eventually Malcolm rose, collecting the empty bottles and disposing of them. He turned and hesitated, watching as Tucker stood and walked towards him. A warm, familiar hand curved round his cheek as Tucker leaned in for a kiss, a gentle, fleeting caress. The second kiss was longer but no less gentle, then the warmth was gone as Tucker stepped back.

Tucker was aching for him, desire rushing through him, but he recalled his earlier thoughts and spoke: "I've got some work to finish off," he lied. "You get to bed--you must be exhausted," his eyes twinkled. "I think I could run my warp engines on the amount of energy those kids generate." Malcolm laughed, his face lighting up in genuine amusement, and Tucker grinned, reaching out to touch a gentle finger to one cheekbone.

"G'night, Malcolm. I'll see you in the mornin'." He moved away immediately, heading to his desk and the non-existent work. Well, he reasoned, he could surely find something to keep him occupied for another hour or so. Deliberately he did not watch Malcolm, only looking up when a quiet voice said:

"Thank you for today."

He smiled, managing. "S'okay," he hesitated and then admitted. "I enjoyed it, too."

"Goodnight."

"Sleep well, Malcolm."

For a full hour and a half Tucker stared at his computer console before, with a heartfelt sigh, he rose, readied himself for bed, and slid in beside the sleeping man, so very careful not to touch him. Then he lay on his back in the darkness and listened to the quiet, even breathing, letting the now familiar sound ease him into sleep.

PART 4

It was a more than pleasant awakening. During the night Malcolm had insinuated himself into Tucker's arms and was wrapped around him, holding tight, his nose pressed against Tucker's neck. As he woke fully, Tucker became aware of something else pressing against him and was unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. He moved slightly, consciously rubbing his own body against Reed's erection, delighting in the sleepy, pleased murmur, and captured Malcolm's lips, thrilled when he plastered his body even tighter to him, responding avidly and beginning to match Tucker's movements, thrusting gently.

And then the moment passed as Malcolm woke fully, inhaling sharply and pulling away. His breathing ragged, the dark man gazed at him before turning onto his stomach--offering. Tucker gulped, turning to grab the lube from the bedside table. He ran his hand down Malcolm's back and then urged him onto his side, moving the man's leg up to enable his access. Preparation did not take long, Malcolm more relaxed than Tucker could have believed and as he slid into the welcome heat, he reached around and took the heavy weight of Malcolm's erection into his hand for the very first time. Tucker was tentative to begin with, his fingers gently exploring until, with a guttural groan, Reed took his hand, pressing it against him and thrusting into the touch. He got the message, wrapping his fingers around the shaft, smiling at the sigh which accompanied the firmer pressure and he settled into a gentle, easy rhythm. Malcolm came first, his quiet, stuttering cry breaking Tucker's composure, pushing him over the edge and he cried out: "Oh Malcolm, Malcolm, darlin'" as he came.

Afterwards they lay entwined, neither man inclined to move.

Malcolm stared out into the room, not particularly shocked by his own actions, but wondering what the consequences might be. Idly, he attempted to chart the course events over the past few months had taken, trying to pinpoint each stage in this journey from hate and fear to this new feeling. Tucker's final act the previous evening, when he had so obviously wanted him and yet had turned away had eroded his last barrier, won over as the sub-commander put his own needs and wishes to one side, and gave his captive's precedence.

His nascent relationship with Shran had opened his eyes to the possibility of a physical relationship with another man. When he had analysed his reactions then, he came to understand he had always recognised his own bisexuality, although he had hidden it deep within himself, trying in some small way, he supposed, to conform to his father's idea of what he should be and what he should become. And yet in the end his father, bound up in duty and service, ordered him to serve the Vulcans, something he refused to do. Finally he had left home, breaking all ties with his family and managing to find a berth on a freighter bound from Earth. And in so doing he fulfilled his own secret, well-hidden desire to travel the universe. His upbringing ensured he possessed a strong grounding in tactics and strategy and he soon found his milieu with the offensive and defensive systems on the ship. His skills earned him status and he was spared much of the bullying or hazing general on board such ships. Generally after one of his unarmed combat sessions, he found he earned the healthy respect of the rest of the crew. He worked his way up until he was offered the coveted post of armoury officer on an Andorian vessel and found, when he joined it, he was, at that point, one of only two Humans on board, the other being a gifted engineer.

Miriam.

A picture of his wife, her sweet face and dark hair, flashed into his mind. She had wanted children and they were the only two Humans on the ship. It was convenient and they were fond of one another, living contentedly together until Joe was born; until she bled to death of a condition which was treatable over one hundred years before on Earth. Malcolm swallowed as he remembered her holding their son, her eyes fixed on the precious bundle she had given her life for.

"Joe," she called him, the last thing she said before she slipped into unconsciousness and death.

Then there was no-one for some years, his time and energy taken up with the raising of his children, until a new Commander took control of the ship and Shran soon caught his eye. The Andorian made it quite clear what his intentions were but approached him with a sensitivity and compassion which astonished and delighted him. They grew closer and closer and although they did not admit to one another where their friendship was heading, yet both knew what they desired. It all came to nothing once the Vulcans found them and, despite Malcolm's best efforts, took the ship. He swallowed, recalling the moment he stood in the Mess Hall, his children clasped to him, his arms pressing their faces against his body so they would not see what was to come. He stared across at Shran, his face reflecting his pride in the Andorian's courageous stance. Their eyes met and the antennae dipped in recognition. At that moment Malcolm remembered a compliment Shran had once paid him about his smile. It was all he could do for him, he realised and he swallowed and smiled. Shran smiled in return, his appreciation clear, as the Vulcans opened fire.

Then there was the numbing, horrifying march into the Vulcan ship, those allowed to live left in the Cargo Bay with no facilities, not even fresh water, until they were dealt with. His next clear memory was a pair of blue eyes, a searing gaze containing so much lust, and a man who tried to separate him from his children.

Tucker's sexual inexperience he originally put down to cruelty, grateful for Phlox's interference as the sub-commander took the doctor's words to heart and intercourse became something he could easily bear. But he had never expected to like it, never expected to like this man or begin to look forward to his smiles and his touch. He shifted slightly and Tucker's arms tightened about him, and he was shocked to admit how reassuring the embrace was. When gentle lips caressed the nape of his neck his eyes closed against the feeling which coiled up from within, wrapped around his heart and warmed it. Only now did he become aware that his thumb was stroking back and forth across Tucker's arm. He drew in a deep breath and began to ease himself out of the embrace. As he turned he caught sight of the clock and it brought reality crashing back.

"We need to get up." He cursed the huskiness of his voice. "You'll be late for duty."

Tucker's eyes closed briefly and then he nodded, releasing the man fully. "Malcolm," he began.

"I'll get some breakfast while you shower, sir." Reed broke in, grabbing the clothes he had worn the night before and scrambling into them quickly, suddenly desperate to get away from this man, from this weakness in himself that would allow him to care about or want a captor.

Tucker was wise enough to let him go, understanding the uncertainty and confusion which was so evident and he headed wearily for the shower to ready himself for the day ahead. When Malcolm returned they had both reverted to their usual calm courtesy, Malcolm setting the table and then beginning to load the children's plates, ready to take through to them. Tucker stopped him.

"Bring Amy and Joe out here to eat, Malcolm. It'll be easier."

There was a long pause as their gazes met, both understanding the significance of this change, and then the Englishman nodded. Malcolm set the extra places quickly and called the youngsters out. To begin with they were shy of the sub-commander, despite the party atmosphere which had prevailed the day before. Reed was on edge, too, and after spending so much of every day together, the children were quick to pick up on his moods. Determinedly, he forced himself to relax, smiling across at Tucker and asking a question about what he had planned for his day, while serving out the food.

Once Tucker replied the southerner turned to Joe and asked him if he had enjoyed his birthday. The ice was broken and soon both children were chattering like magpies, allowing Reed's thoughts to wander as he watched the interaction.

Tucker was clearly entranced by the kids and Malcolm recalled his initial declaration insisting on no noise or disturbance. Yet here he was, teasing Amy, laughing with them both, his own face alight and Malcolm felt the breath catch in his throat at the sight. Confused by sudden desire he fixed his eyes firmly on his food until he regained his composure, then took his part in the ongoing conversation, presenting his usual calm expression to them all.

Life is pretty good, thought Tucker, as he entered his quarters some weeks following Joe's party. With something approaching shock he realised it was over six months since Malcolm, Amy and Joe had become part of his life, in the process bringing him more happiness than he had known in all his adult years. Both children seemed to have fully forgiven him for his irrational fury over the plate, and he had deliberately spoken to them about it, explaining the plate's importance but also admitting he had been in the wrong to lose his temper so badly. While he was not sure they truly understood, the very act of discussion eased any lingering tension. From deep within his memory he recalled one of the stories his mother had told him, and Amy and Joe sat on the bed with him, the plate in the middle, while he told them the same tale. Malcolm stood at the door, he remembered, deliberately not joining the little group, letting Tucker have that time with them. He grinned at Malcolm now as the man looked up, his heart beating a little faster at the quiet smile of welcome he received, and then he laughed at Amy as she danced across the room to meet him, holding out her arms to be hugged and swung around. Joe's greeting was more subdued, in keeping with his quieter nature, but no less loving for all that, twining his arms around Tucker's neck and pressing his cheek against the engineer's for a long moment.

It had become a ritual, this welcome at the end of the day, this feeling of being pulled into the family and having a secure place within it. He met Malcolm's eyes again, witnessing warmth he would never have dreamed of, could never have hoped for, only a few scant weeks before.

Joe's party and their lovemaking the following morning had changed everything; as if they had come to some kind of equilibrium, and though Tucker was not terribly sure how or why it had happened now, yet he was thankful the result seemed to be a measure of contentment in Malcolm, an ease in their interactions and an acceptance of their sexual relationship. It was more than he felt he deserved and he counted his blessings every time he walked through the door and was met with the warmth of Malcolm's smile.

They shared their dinner in an atmosphere of laughter and teasing conversation, Tucker plying the children with questions about what they had learned during their lessons that day, Malcolm interjecting from time to time and maintaining a balance between the two children. For a second Tucker stared at him in wonder, suddenly appreciating how the man ensured Joe was not drowned out by the more outgoing girl, how he was given his chance to speak and ask his questions. Malcolm caught his gaze and flushed. Tucker wondered why, unaware he had been surprised by the pride in the sub-commander's blue eyes.

Once bedtime was reached and negotiated, the two men collapsed together on the sofa, drinking the beer Malcolm extracted for them. Without thinking Tucker slipped his arm around the Englishman's shoulders, almost shocked but also delighted when the man relaxed against his side with something that might almost have been a contented sigh. He turned his head and pressed his lips to Malcolm's temple. They sat in silence, Tucker simply happy to hold this man and listen to him breathe. He put the empty beer bottle on the floor and settled further into the embrace they shared, shutting his eyes.

Malcolm turned his head to watch the man. In sleep Tucker looked much younger, his features relaxed and almost boyish. There was an aura of contentment about him, so removed from the self-absorbed individual who had pulled him from the Cargo Bay so many months before. So much had changed in that time but the change in this man was the most astonishing of all and Malcolm wondered at it. Since Joe's party he knew he had been a willing partner, burying his own shame at his complicity yet unable to deny the attraction and, even more shocking, the friendship which had somehow, despite all the odds against it, grown between them. Over the months he had learned to trust Tucker. And perhaps that was the worst crime of all. To trust someone who served the Vulcan Empire. How foolish was that? Yet a smile curved his mouth as he stared at him, feeling the trickle of desire gather strength, flowing over him to wash all his doubts away. Almost before he was aware of his actions he was gently unbuttoning Tucker's shirt to gaze his full at the body it covered. Sighing in a mix of defeat and need, he reached out.

It was a gentle touch, a ghosting of fingers across his abdomen but the very rarity of it woke him and he inhaled sharply. The fingers stilled, but stayed inside the shirt Tucker had donned as part of his off duty wardrobe. Muzzily he realised the buttons were open and he blinked into the grey gaze, swallowing. Malcolm smiled and resumed his previous action, drifting the tips of his fingers across the skin, his gaze locked on the other man's. His heart-rate accelerating, Tucker leaned forward to capture the thin lips in a soft, hesitant caress and revelled in the instant response.

Hand trembling, he reached forward, sliding one button through its fastening on the blue shirt Malcolm was wearing; a grey-blue which perfectly matched the smoky gaze fixed upon him. The next button followed and then he moved, sliding closer to kiss the exposed skin at the base of Malcolm's neck, his hands continuing their slow journey, mouth and tongue following. Reed sighed and shifted restlessly, his hands burying themselves in the blond hair as he pushed his chest against the seeking mouth. Gently Tucker moved his hand, encouraged when he found Malcolm hard, the man groaning as he touched him, arching up to increase the pressure. Slowly, he undressed Malcolm, stroking and kissing his way across the skin as it was revealed, gently teasing gasps and quiet moans from his lover as he tongued a nipple, or scraped his nails down the man's back, mapping his body with a reverence and care which had Malcolm writhing. Eventually he broke away, diving into the bedroom and scrabbling for the lube, stopping in something approaching awe when he stumbled back to the main cabin and saw Malcolm naked, kneeling on the floor, leaning forward over the seat of the sofa. Waiting for him. With a strangled groan he surged forward again, tearing at his own clothes and covered the naked body with his own, pressing his chest to Malcolm's back and wrapping his arms around him to hold him close.

For a long moment he enjoyed the contact before pulling back and beginning to prepare Malcolm, eventually sliding into the tight, hot channel. Thrilled, he heard a soft sigh, the man reaching for and grasping Tucker's fingers. For a wild moment Tucker wanted to weep, the trust in that gesture almost overwhelming him. He pressed his lips against the muscled back and began to move, sliding in and out. After a few moments he became aware of something different, something new, and paused. He may have stopped but Malcolm did not, moving against him, fucking himself on his lover's cock. Tucker almost came just at the very sensation of Malcolm moving on him, the knowledge that Malcolm wanted him, wanted this. There was a questioning murmur and then stillness as Reed looked over his shoulder in puzzlement. Tucker swallowed, smiled, and moved, changing the angle of his thrusts until he felt the other man react, knowing he had found what he sought when Malcolm groaned and hissed out: "yes."

It was enough. It was too much. Tucker came, crying out as he spasmed and the heat poured from him. Panting, he collapsed against Malcolm's back. "Sorry," he whispered, breathlessly. "Too fast--'m sorry."

He felt rather than heard Malcolm's chuckle, pulling out gently as the man moved, sitting on his haunches as Malcolm turned and levered himself onto the settee, his legs spread apart, face flushed, his cock hard.

Tucker stared at him. In all his life he had never seen anything so beautiful and he reached out, trailing his fingers down the lithe torso, moving forward to kneel between the spread thighs.

"Oh, Malcolm," he sighed, then placed his hands on the slim hips as he bent forward to take him in. He felt the touch of Reed's hands threading through his hair, heard his voice roughen as he urged Tucker on, tasted him for the first time as the hot, bitter liquid filled his mouth. He took it all, swallowing it, delighting in it, and when he was done he rested his head in Malcolm's lap, utter peace flowing through him.

The long fingers continued to card through his hair until he shivered and the movement stilled. Tucker sat up, reaching for the hand and tugging gently on it. "Bed," he suggested, struggling to his feet and gathering up the scattered clothing, stopping as Reed stood and then stretched. In an instant Tucker had dropped the garments and pulled him into an embrace, claiming the second kiss of their bargain that day.

Reed was smiling gently when they broke apart, moving to the pile of discarded clothes and leading the way through to the bedroom. He dumped everything into the laundry and slid into the bed turning onto his side to face Tucker as the man joined him.

"You okay?" Tucker asked quietly.

"I'm fine," and he leaned across to capture the American's mouth and kiss him deeply.

Tucker was stunned but was not about to question his good fortune, wrapping his arms around Malcolm and returning the kiss, pouring everything he was feeling into it. When they broke apart he stared at him, about to speak but was forestalled when Malcolm smiled again and leant in for another kiss.

He awoke curled against Reed, wrapped in the man's embrace and the gentle movement of fingers at the back of his neck signalled he was also awake.

"Mornin'," he managed, turning his head to press his lips to the centre of Reed's chest. "What time is it?"

"It's early yet. Go back to sleep."

"Malcolm?" he asked, hesitantly. "Are we okay?" It wasn't quite what he wanted to know but could not find the words. He hid his face against the smooth skin, almost afraid of the answer.

Fingers slipped under his chin and raised his head until Malcolm's lips could meet his. He gave himself up to the caress and to the only reassurance, he realised, he was going to receive. It would have to be enough. He deepened the kiss, feeling the man's acceptance of it as he was pulled on top of the wiry frame and their erections came into contact, strong legs wrapping around him as he was held tight--and safe.

When he woke again he was alone in the bed but was comforted by sounds of movement in the bathroom, smiling sleepily at Reed when the man returned. Naturally it seemed, Malcolm leaned down to kiss him.

"Breakfast in fifteen minutes," he warned.

Tucker grinned and stretched, before quitting the bed and heading for the shower, whistling quietly.

Two months passed with Tucker feeling happier and more content each day and his only fear was the possibility his captain might discover his secret. Fortunately the Vulcan seemed obsessed with a younger crewmember for the time being, and while Tucker felt sympathy for the Vulcan woman involved, he was also aware of a guilty relief that he was out of the firing line for the time being.

Or so he thought, until he received his summons to the captain's Ready Room and he checked his appearance before making his way to the Bridge and into the room beyond.

"Mr. Tucker."

He stood at attention before the desk, not expecting the Vulcan to let him relax from this stance.

"I see you do not have much combat experience."

His heart plummeted into his boots, the very opening remark had a distinctly ominous sound to it. "I completed all the required elements of basic training, sir, and maintain fitness and weapons training as regulations demand. As Chief Engineer I am not required to fulfil combat duties while in service." He wasn't sure why he added his final sentence, knowing Soval was well aware of it already.

"Mm, still, I believe it would be...beneficial...if you were to accompany the away team on their current mission."

"Sir?" He couldn't quite keep the distaste from his voice, his heart sinking as he knew Soval had recognised it and would count it as a victory in his petty little war.

"We have been ordered to...subdue...a small uprising on a mining colony. Apparently, the local inhabitants have decided to declare independence." The smooth amusement in his voice was horrifying to Tucker, too well versed in the Empire's response to such audacity. "You will join the second wave of our forces, Sub-commander. Report to the Launch Bay immediately."

"Sir." There was nothing else to say, no other response to make and certainly no point in attempting to appeal the decision. His mind reeling, he swiftly exited the room and headed back to his quarters.

Malcolm and the children looked up in surprise at his entrance, and his lover stood in alarm when he saw the expression on Tucker's face.

"Sub-commander?" He queried uncertainly.

"Malcolm," he hesitated and glanced at the two youngsters. "I need to talk to you," and he led the way into the bedroom. As Malcolm joined him, he pulled him into a desperate embrace, holding him hard, and suddenly recalled his dream from months before as strong arms looped around his waist and held him close. He spoke into Malcolm's neck, his voice muffled. "Soval has decided I need some combat experience. He's sending me down with a party to subdue an uprising on a mining planet."

"What?" Reed was horrified. "You're an engineer," he protested, "not a soldier!"

"You're tellin' me," Tucker joked weakly.

"Listen," Malcolm paused until he was sure he had his full attention, "keep under cover as much as possible. And for Gods sake..." Words seemed to fail him and he pulled the taller man into his arms again. "Stay safe, you need to stay safe."

"I'll do the best I can, believe me, darlin'" and he pressed his forehead to the other man's for a moment, before he began the hunt through his belongings for his combat gear. He took it with him, not wanting Amy and Joe to see him dressed in what was obviously a battle uniform. He kissed them all briefly before he left and then hurried away, too afraid of what he might say or do if he stayed any longer.

He saw the surprised looks which greeted his arrival in the Launch Bay. His journey there had been interrupted by a visit to the changing rooms attached to the exercise area, where he changed into the camouflaged coverall. Without acknowledging any of the raised eyebrows or questioning looks, he presented himself to the officer in charge, recognising immediately that his presence was as welcome to the woman as it was to himself.

"Sir," Tucker had no problem with accepting the Vulcan's authority; they both knew he was no soldier and could prove to be a liability to the whole unit. Soval must be losing his grip, he thought whimsically, if he thought this piece of nonsense would not make its way back to the High Command.

Sub-commander T'Pol gazed at him, her expression not attempting to hide her irritation at his presence. "Mr. Tucker," she acknowledged him smoothly. "Please remain at the rear and try not to get shot."

While they were nominally the same rank, T'Pol's Vulcan heritage ensured her status was considerably more enhanced, and she had recently joined the ship as Soval's first officer. Tucker did not come across her often, generally only at staff meetings when Engineering issues were directly involved. He was aware she had a background in intelligence and one of his Vulcan staff had commented upon her fighting skills. So far she had treated him as she treated any other member of the crew and showed none of Soval's distaste for Humanity. Whether that would continue remained to be seen.

"Trust me," he countered, drily. "I'll follow those orders to the letter."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, apparently amused by his assertion, and then called on her team to board the shuttles, on their way to back up the advance troops already on the planet's surface.

During the journey down Tucker felt his nervousness and outright fear grow. More than anything, he owned, he was afraid what might happen to Malcolm and the children if he did not make it back and he wished desperately there had been time to contact Phlox before he left. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that the Denobulan would do everything within his power to ensure their safety. As long as it's enough. He breathed deeply, completely oblivious to the occasional glance flung his way from the mission commander and gradually collected himself, drawing strength from the memory of Malcolm's smile and the way his arms had wrapped around him and held him safely within his embrace.

When the shuttle landed he was calm, meeting T'Pol's eyes resolutely, surprised to witness her respect. Then the hatch opened and he spilled out with the others into total and complete bedlam. Stunned by the noise and fury of the battle, he caught sight of the Vulcan woman and slipped in behind her, figuring it would be wise to stay close to someone who clearly knew what they were doing, and forgetting that, as commander, she was likely to be in the thick of the action. Recalling Malcolm's urgent words, he made use of whatever cover he could, suddenly surprised as something shot past his ear. He glanced cautiously round his convenient rock and saw an outlandish figure, dressed head to foot in animal skins, pointing some form of weapon at them. He let off a shot and they ducked down but out of the corner of his eye he saw another in the same garb, realising T'Pol's back was firmly in their sights.

"Down!" he yelled, throwing himself forward and knocking the Vulcan to the ground, yelling in pain as something lodged in his shoulder. There was a burst of firing and a voice calling for the medic, then silence, and he eased himself upright, trying to reach whatever was buried in his flesh.

"Be still." T'Pol's voice stopped him and he obeyed instantly, suppressing his yelp of pain as the field medic yanked the projectile out and rapidly slapped a dressing over the wound. His actions were smooth, competent and entirely devoid of emotion as he stowed his gear and scuttled off in response to another cry.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked, as T'Pol raised the arrow to her nose and sniffed.

"I do not know," she admitted. "The medic will ensure you are taken back to the Ti'Mur. Retain this to give to the doctor," and she handed him the gruesome looking point and called for the medic to return.

He felt rather queasy as he looked at it, covered as it was in his own blood and a certain amount of gore, but there was no time to speak as the medic efficiently hustled him away and arranged his transportation directly to the ship where he was just as efficiently transferred to Sick Bay.

"God damnit! Jeez. Ow, damnit that hurts!"

"Of course it hurts, Sub-commander. You have been shot." Phlox's voice was exasperated as he tried to keep the man still enough to treat him.

Despite the argumentative nature of Tucker's words and his assertion it was only a scratch, the doctor was concerned about the wound he was treating, scanning it once more and frowning at the results. He scanned the bloody arrow point and then altered a setting on the instrument, moving it across the man's torso to take some general readings.

"I need you to lie down, Sub-commander." A note of urgency coloured the normally cheerful tone.

"What's up," Tucker managed, wondering why he was suddenly starting to feel groggy. Shock, he supposed.

"There is a toxin in your bloodstream," he paused to bark some orders at a medical orderly, "I must ascertain what it is and the antitoxin. Lie down please."

Feeling worse by the second, Tucker complied, slumping down onto the bed. Just before he lost consciousness he gripped Phlox's arm and whispered: "Malcolm."

Sub-commander Tucker's quarters were still and dark. Amy and Joe had long since been despatched to bed, Malcolm making light of Tucker's absence. Now he sat on the sofa and stared out at the greys and blues which made up the surface of the planet they were orbiting. Still, silent, he waited.

It was deep in the Ti'Mur's night before Phlox could safely leave Sick Bay, heading directly to his destination. Once inside he hastened to reassure the white-faced Reed, his keen eyes taking in the tremor affecting the slim figure.

"Doctor?" Reed's expression was strained.

Phlox knew enough of the man not to try and soften what he had to say and launched in, "The sub-commander was injured but will make a full recovery within a few days."

Reed nodded, stumbling towards the settee, sinking into it and burying his head in his hands for a brief moment. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"You know the captain insisted the sub-commander was part of a raiding party?" He waited until Reed nodded. "During the skirmish he was injured by some form of projectile weapon. I'm afraid it also contained a toxin. Fortunately for the sub-commander, while the toxin is almost immediately fatal to a Vulcan, it merely renders a human very ill indeed. I was concerned about him for a few hours but he is well on the road to recovery now." He paused and then continued, his tone apologetic. "Before he lost consciousness he asked me to let you know what had happened." He was perhaps stretching his interpretation of that tight grip on his arm and the way the sub-commander said the man's name but he thought he was justified. "Unfortunately there were a number of injured and I could not leave Sick Bay."

"That's okay, Doctor, I understand. Can I see him?"

"Of course," he responded, speculating--not for the first time--about the relationship between these two men. "I have brought some ration packs, Mr. Reed. In the unlikely event there is any difficulty..."

"Thank you."

"Come to Sick Bay in an hour or so, Mr. Tucker should be about ready to wake up then." Phlox judged Reed needed some time to regain his composure and took his leave after asking about the children.

When the doctor had gone Reed buried his head in his hands once more, overwhelmed by relief. Tucker was okay. Thank God he was okay. Much of his day and evening had been spent in a fever of panic and concern for Tucker's safety. But with the relief came the realisation of just how close they had all come to disaster and the implications of what might have happened began to tumble into his mind. One after another, each one more dreadful than the last, came the possible scenarios until eventually, feeling nauseous, Malcolm tried to push such thoughts away.

Even fighting his way groggily back to consciousness, he would never mistake that touch. A hand was wrapped around his, holding tight, and from somewhere he found the strength to tighten his own grip for a second. Forcing open his eyes he looked up into the grey gaze, managing a weak lop-sided smile. He witnessed the sharp inhalation, saw relief colour Malcolm's features, felt the tremble through his fingers, all in a split second before Malcolm found control.

"'M okay," he managed, still drowsy.

"I know," Reed's voice was husky.

"You okay?"

Malcolm understood, knew he was asking about them all. "Just be glad to have you home."

"You're my home," he murmured, hardly aware of what he was saying as his eyelids drooped and he smiled slightly as a hand brushed gently across his forehead.

"Sleep now."

Malcolm swallowed hard at the sight of the sweet smile on Tucker's face, reluctantly loosening his hold on the sleeping man's hand. The Sick Bay doors opened just as he turned to leave and Captain Soval stepped through. Reed's instinct for self-preservation came swiftly to the fore as he moved sideways, out of the Vulcan's direct line of sight, and began edging towards the exit.

Phlox moved forward swiftly to engage the captain's attention and Soval was soon busy interrogating him about the casualty list, but even so he did not miss the grey clad figure of a Human exiting. He stared after him for a moment before his eyes rested on his chief engineer, his expression speculative. Phlox, witnessing the calculation in the Vulcan's eyes, made a mental note to warn both Humans.

It was three more days before Tucker was released from Sick Bay with strict orders to rest for a further 48 hours before he was cleared for duty. The welcome he received from Amy and Joe nearly bowled him over and he ended up on his knees in the main cabin, his arms around them both as they hugged him tightly, and he had to swallow hard against tears.

Malcolm eventually intervened, chasing the children through to their room while he helped Tucker into the bedroom, quickly settling him and watching until he slept before he left.

On the verge of sleep Tucker felt the brief, gentle touch of fingers brush across his forehead and heard a decidedly shaky sigh.

The next two days passed quickly, only punctuated by two visits apart from the Doctor's house calls, the first a terrifying ordeal as Soval arrived to smoothly and insincerely ask about his health. Phlox had warned them about Soval's interest so the visit was not unexpected. The moment the comm. sounded, Malcolm herded the children into the bedroom, grabbing everything that might cause comment and dashing after them to deposit it in the bedroom, before moving swiftly to answer the door. The sense of menace the Vulcan exuded throughout the short visit was palpable, leaving both men edgy for the rest of the day.

The second visit created as much confusion but without the same panic as Sub-commander T'Pol announced her presence. Again Malcolm answered the door, ushering her into the room and asking if she required any refreshment before silently taking his leave, all too aware of a dark gaze fixed on his back as he left.

She settled gracefully into a seat. "Your health has improved, Mr. Tucker?" She enquired.

"Yeah, thanks," Tucker was curious about her visit. Vulcans were not noted for their social skills. "I'll be back on duty day after tomorrow."

"Good. The Engineering department is less efficient without your presence."

Well, that almost sounds like praise, he thought, amused, but his humour departed completely as she delicately sniffed the air and her gaze settled on the bedroom door behind which were Malcolm and the children. Only now did he recall that the sense of smell of a Vulcan woman was better than the male, and it certainly far outstripped any human's ability to detect scent.

She gazed at him and he was unaware his skin had paled. "One of my men informs me the projectile which injured you would most certainly have hit me." He glanced at her in surprise but stayed silent as she continued. "You are aware the poison which coated it was fatal to Vulcans?" and at his nod she commented. "I must thank you for saving my life, Sub-commander. If there is, in the future, any help you require, I trust you will feel able to approach me." And her eyes slid once more to the door where his lover and children hid.

She knew.

He was sure of it. Yet she said nothing more, taking her leave a few moments later and he slumped back in his seat, relief overwhelming him. With it came the knowledge that he and Malcolm now had two allies on this ship.

The remainder of his short convalescence passed without incident and Tucker enjoyed the extra leisure with Malcolm and the children. Gradually, however, he became concerned about his lover as the man became progressively quieter and more withdrawn when the children were not present. During the nights he woke on a few occasions, aware of Malcolm lying by his side, hands clasped across his chest, staring into the darkness. The first time he whispered:

"Malcolm? You okay?"

The dark head turned but he could not see his expression.

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep." There was a note of finality in the tone which stopped any further query.

After that Tucker said nothing, simply moving closer and trying to offer some comfort through his touch, recognising the man was troubled even if he refused to explain why.

He finally found out the first time he reached for Malcolm, surprised as the man shied and shifted out of the offered embrace. It was the evening following his first duty shift and he had missed Malcolm during the day more than he would have believed, for once eager to despatch Amy and Joe to bed and have some time alone with his lover. The moment he touched Malcolm he felt the withdrawal. He snatched his hands away, staring at the downbent head for a long moment. This wasn't good. He just knew this was not good.

"Malcolm," he said softly. "For once, you gotta tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours."

The grey gaze met his and in his eyes Tucker saw pain and regret.

"I can't do this. I can't go on pretending everything is fine, that we're all right here," he paused but Tucker stayed silent, aware he wasn't finished. "When you were injured I had no idea what would happen to us if you...you didn't come back. That's the reality here. We have no status, no rights."

Malcolm was struggling to maintain his composure. Since Tucker's injury he had been haunted by his last moments on his ship, recalling how he had witnessed the death of someone he could have, would have, loved. For two nights the fears had whirled though his mind and tied up with those horrific memories was the understanding of the impact Tucker's death would have had. The repercussions on their lives would have been catastrophic enough but he could not even bear to contemplate the effect it would have on him emotionally. It terrified him, accepting how important Tucker had become to him, in spite of all his attempts to forestall it. Losing Shran was devastating but now he was fighting against the insistent clamouring voice which informed him it was already far too late to pull back, if he lost this man it would be so much harder to bear. Tucker had won his respect and trust over the past eight months, the love the man showed his children breaking down barriers he should have kept high, kept strong. Finally, after two nights of thoughts and fears chasing through his mind he had decided to pull back. It was the only way he felt he could gain respite from the emotion swirling through him, to put the distance between himself and Tucker that he should never have allowed to be bridged in the first place. Locked in his own confusion and anguish, he did not comprehend the level of cruelty inherent within his decision.

"We had a bargain, Sub-commander," he continued, his voice thick, his own distress obvious. "I think we should stick to it."

Tucker couldn't believe his ears. "Aww, no, Malcolm. God damnit don't do this to us."

"I'm sorry." His regret was plainly expressed for a brief moment before he began the task of trying to rebuild his emotional defences.

As he watched, Tucker witnessed the man withdraw, saw his expression close and become the self-composed, shuttered face from those early weeks. The distress he experienced then was almost overwhelming and he leaned forward, capturing the man's mouth, feeling the caress returned. Maybe, he thought, and kissed him again but as he leaned in a third time Malcolm turned his head away.

"Two kisses, Sub-commander," he reminded the man, his voice raw.

Tucker struggled for his own composure, hardly able to form a coherent thought, certainly unable to think of any way to change Malcolm's mind and when he finally found his voice, his tone was cool as he tried to hide how much he was hurting. "And Amy and Joe? You gonna hide them away like before?" He couldn't believe how much the thought of it hurt. Almost as much as losing what he had shared with Malcolm these past months.

"No," Malcolm's voice was quiet, ignoring the acid in Tucker's tone, accepting it as an inevitable result of his actions. He could see through the shaky, hastily erected barriers, witnessing the pain he was causing but could think of nothing else which would put the necessary distance between them. "They lo...like you...they don't need to know anything has changed."

Despite the situation, amusement rippled through the sub-commander, "Uh huh? I'd like to see you get that past Amy." For a moment they were in complete accord as they shared a look reflecting the affection they felt for the girl, before Malcolm drew in a deep breath and turned away.

Tucker tried again when they went to bed, stroking his hands down the soft skin, startled and dismayed when Malcolm rolled onto his front and then lay still. Swallowing, he stroked and teased, desperately trying to garner some response as he slid his fingers into the unresponsive body, finally penetrating him and beginning to thrust. Nothing. There was nothing. It was as if he was fucking a piece of meat and with a strangled curse he pulled away, scrambling out of the bed and into the bathroom to stand under the shower. His desire faded as he leaned against the tiles and let the warm water cascade over him, leaving only misery in its wake.

The following days only became more difficult to bear, Tucker finding his own pain caused him to lash out, trying to break through the barriers Malcolm had raised and he began to dread any time they spent alone, loathing himself for his lack of control. In front of Amy and Joe Malcolm seemed to be his usual self, interacting as if nothing had changed. Joe was too young to notice but Amy, although young, was more perceptive and both felt her considering gaze upon them. She reacted by being even more loving, running to Tucker morning and evening, curling up against her father during the day.

After the first night Tucker did not attempt sex, the very thought of the lack of response leaving him sick to his stomach and he found he could not even kiss Malcolm. It made him realise how much his own feelings had changed, until he could not bear the thought of touching him if his touch was not welcomed and reciprocated. But it couldn't stop him wanting Malcolm, desire coursing through him each and every time he saw him. And it didn't help that, in direct contrast to those early weeks, they invariably woke each morning with their limbs tangled together, either one cradled in the other's arms. If Tucker woke first he would lie still, soaking up all the comfort he could before Malcolm's eyes flickered open. Malcolm always extricated himself quickly and left the bed immediately and neither of them ever alluded to it. They spoke less and less as the days passed, Tucker too afraid of his unruly tongue, Malcolm unable to find words which would not result in more pain. It was starting to get to Tucker and he felt the control on his temper weakening, desperate to force any kind of reaction from the other man. After spending so many years at the Vulcan college, he had believed himself immune to irrational emotions, but now he understood how tenuous that was, how his training at the hands of the Vulcans had only applied a thin veneer of control over an inherently passionate, headstrong nature. Of all the things his time with Malcolm and the children had taught him, the ability to analyse his own reactions and trace them to their roots was the most frightening, stripping away all his old certainties and safety nets, allowing other, older emotions and experiences to come to the fore and make themselves known once again. For the moment, the emotions ruling him were grief and anger, and he had no way of controlling those, no one to help him understand what was happening to him. The only person he could turn to had turned away from him, Malcolm a remote and unapproachable figure once more. He was watching him now as Malcolm readied himself for bed, and he knew his own expression was hostile.

"Amy asked me what was wrong today."

Malcolm paused for a moment then asked, almost reluctantly. "What did you say?"

"Told her the truth, Malcolm, said I had no idea. Said I thought you were worried 'bout somethin' but we'd sort it out."

"You shouldn't make her promises you can't keep--" The English accent expressed disapproval.

The censure was too much. Rage shook him, the words boiling through him and out of his mouth before he even considered them. "Who says I can't sort it," he snapped. "Y'know Malcolm, there's nothin' stoppin' me getting rid of you and keepin' the kids, now is there."

There was a short, horrific silence as Malcolm stared at him, his shock evident, and then Tucker scrambled off the bed, grabbing him and pulling him into an embrace, ignoring the fact the man stood still and quiescent within the circle of his arms in his anxiety to apologise for his outburst.

"Oh God. Oh God, I'm so sorry, darlin'," He was almost babbling in his anxiety to try and explain himself. "You know I'd never--I'm just mad, Malcolm, an' all this--" he faltered and then unashamedly begged. "Tell me you know I'd never hurt you."

Malcolm had to respond. "I know you would never mean to hurt us. I'm sorry, too, you know I'm sorry," he said gently, then his own confusion surfaced as he continued helplessly, "but I don't know what else to do."

"It hurts, Malcolm," There was something of the small boy in the sub-commander's voice and it was enough to generate the response Tucker had been craving as Malcolm curved his arms around him and held him. Heaving in a shuddering sigh, Tucker buried his face in the dark hair and breathed in the familiar scent. A deep grief was bubbling within him, seeking an exit, and every day saw it closer to the surface, closer to breaking through his control. He was astute enough to know it was not simply to do with Malcolm's rejection of him but where it originated from escaped him for the moment.

Malcolm tightened his arms briefly and then moved, sliding deftly out of the engineer's embrace. "I need to check on Amy and Joe," he murmured, his voice betraying his own distress, and he walked out of the room.

Tucker knew their moment of intimacy was over, knew the man who walked back into the room would be the remote stranger he increasingly hated, a figure he would bait and lash out at. As each day passed and the gulf between them widened, he became more afraid, recognising they could not continue like this, knowing his own control was gradually eroding and he was terrified as the seemingly inevitable breaking point approached.

PART 5

Malcolm sat on the settee and brooded. Since his decision ten days previously to pull back, his relationship with Tucker had deteriorated alarmingly. He was aware the man was needling him to get any kind of reaction, and knew they were both hurting. The trouble was, he acknowledged, he was too afraid of where his emotions were leading him, too afraid to put faith and trust in a situation which was precarious at best--for all of them. By the same token the current state of affairs was fast becoming untenable and he was trying desperately to think of a way to ease the tension between them while still maintaining some distance, some way of preserving his own emotional independence. The problem was occupying his mind to the exclusion of anything else and he failed to notice Amy and Joe abandoning their lessons to play noughts and crosses, oblivious to the muffled giggles behind him.

He glanced up as the door opened and his jaw dropped in shock as he stared at the figure before him.

Tucker was standing there, his face ashen white, swaying a little as if he was close to complete collapse and in his arms he held what at first appeared to be a bundle of blankets. Malcolm felt his eyes widen as the bundle moved and a small, dusky fist extended from it.

"Amy, Joe, take your work to your room and stay there, please." It was a tone of voice neither would ever disobey and they abandoned their lessons, staring curiously at Tucker as they passed.

"Sub-commander?" Malcolm questioned cautiously. He stood and paused uncertainly, staring at the distressed man.

Dazed blue eyes focussed on him and Tucker, after swallowing hard, began to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a little girl, Malcolm, just a little baby." He took a deep, shaking breath. "We stopped an Andorian freighter. The captain made me go--you know I don't--You know I wouldn't--" he paused as he struggled for composure.

"I know," Malcolm spoke softly but firmly. After all this time he fully understood how abhorrent Tucker found the Vulcan response on such occasions.

Tucker nodded, casting a decidedly shaky smile at him, more relieved that he could express at Malcolm's assertion, and then sobered. "There was a woman, an Asian woman, you know--small and so pretty--an' she was carrying the baby. The captain asked about it, if it was a boy or a girl an' stuff an' then--" he swallowed again and his voice was thick with suppressed tears, "he said it wasn't good for anything an' he told me to take it and put it out the airlock."

"Oh my God," Malcolm breathed, horrified at Soval's casual cruelty and he finally understood why Tucker was always so insistent the children remained hidden. He had been protecting them all the way along. And he spared a moment to wonder what it would mean for Tucker himself if they were ever discovered. His attention returned to the other man as he continued.

"I took the baby--swear to God I didn't know what else to do. An' her momma started screamin' and I remembered. Oh God I remembered." The tears began to fall then, streaming down his cheeks and Malcolm ached to rush to him, to hold him and yet something in the tortured voice stopped him, aware there was more behind all this sudden, devastating emotion, his horror growing as Tucker's next words began to sink in.

"It was just the way my own Momma screamed when they took me away. Dad wasn't there--it was just me an' Mom an' my baby sister. I fought so hard but I couldn't get free and then Lizzie, Lizzie got in the way of one of 'em and he kicked her." The words were tumbling from him, an outpouring of agonising memory. "He kicked her clean through the air. She was only little, Malcolm, she couldn't have hurt them and she lay so still but her eyes were open. She had real pretty blue eyes." There was a moment's pause and then he burst out as the realisation dawned, crying out as he saw the knowledge reflected in the grey gaze. "Oh God, she was dead, wasn't she? I'd forgotten, Malcolm, how could I have forgotten all that?" He was sobbing now, unable to speak any more and, in a small, still part of his mind, he recognised this was the grief which had been gradually rising to the surface of his consciousness. His family was dead. He had watched his sister murdered and years later had received his pitiful inheritance; books and a willow-patterned plate, not understanding then because the memories of the entire, horrifying episode had been buried so deeply.

Malcolm moved, Tucker's distress rousing him from his own stasis and he walked quickly to the man's side to put his arms around him. His voice soft he said: "You were a child and you were traumatised. Your mind knew what you could and could not cope with. It protected you until you were ready to face it and deal with it. Come and sit down, Sub-commander." So saying, he urged him forward.

Tucker resisted him, staring down into the sympathetic features. "Trip," he managed, drawing in deep breaths to try and stop his tearing cries. He elaborated at the Englishman's puzzled look. "I was Charles Tucker the Third--Trip." He half-smiled at Reed, the remembered identity bringing an odd comfort with it.

"Trip," Malcolm repeated, urging the shaking man towards the sofa. "Let's sit down, Trip, and we'll take a look at baby."

"I didn't know what else to do," he whispered, calmer now. "I couldn't have--"

"Of course you couldn't have done that." Malcolm broke in, speaking firmly, and the absolute conviction in his tone comforted Tucker. "We'll look after her, Trip. I promise."

Although Tucker was generally both communicative and talkative, one thing he had never mentioned was how he came to be in the service of the Empire. The brief resume he had just provided furnished Malcolm with an horrific scene, one which he was not surprised a child would have buried. As they had grown together he had become aware of how important the children--and particularly Amy--were to Tucker, and how much he valued their presence in his life. This one brief insight provided him with the understanding of why Tucker behaved the way he did and what had been happening to the man since the Reed family entered his life. There was pain aplenty to deal with, he recognised, and Malcolm Reed had a serious decision to make. How much did he want, or feel able, to help this man overcome that grief and those memories. He glanced at him, one fleeting look at the devastated features and acknowledged his own weakness as his heart lurched in sympathy. In that instant the decision he had thought so difficult was made, along with a sudden desire to talk to the Doctor and ask his advice, sensing this would not be an easy time for Tucker as he struggled to come to terms with these recovered memories and all the implications within them.

For the moment, however, they had another problem to discuss with Phlox. Deftly he took the baby from Tucker and unwrapped the bundle, checking her quickly. She was well-fed and clearly healthy and, he was relieved to note, still dry. That gave them a little time before she either needed fed or changed. He glanced sideways at Tucker who was staring down at the little girl with something approaching awe on his features.

"If I make a list of what we need, would you take it to Phlox?" Malcolm asked, deciding for now his best approach was to keep Trip busy and thinking about the present rather than the past.

"Sure." The blue eyes were clearer now, the dazed expression banished by the knowledge there was something practical he could do and he wiped impatiently at his face.

Malcolm hesitated, not entirely sure his next suggestion would be well-received. "Would you try and find out where the mother is? Let her know we'll take care of her daughter." It was important, he felt, for Tucker to tell the baby's mother himself that she was safe and he had not followed the heinous order he had been given.

Tucker stared at him and then nodded, understanding why Malcolm was asking him to do this and he smiled sadly at the man he loved so much. "I'll go now," he said hoarsely and then, unable to help himself, he leaned forward to kiss Malcolm softly, trembling as fingers slid around to the back of his neck and the caress was returned. He smiled shakily as he was released, wiping at his eyes as fresh tears, this time of relief, threatened. "Guess I'd better wash my face before I go anywhere," he joked, weakly.

The sub-commander paused for a moment to gather his composure and then strode into Sick Bay, his professional mask firmly in place on his newly washed face. The doctor turned at his entry and Tucker witnessed the shutters slam down over the normally genial expression. It was a telling moment, the instant he realised the Denobulan had liked him, something he had never considered and until now would never have recognised or thought he needed. He took a deep breath and began the conversation he hoped would confirm and strengthen this friendship. First of all though, he had to get him to listen, as the events on the freighter had clearly travelled rapidly through the ship's grapevine.

His nervousness coloured his voice, turning the tone brusque. "I need these supplies as soon as possible," and he handed the PADD to the Denobulan.

"I'm rather busy, sir," the tone was icy in the extreme and Phlox made to put the PADD down to one side.

"I suggest you look at the list before you make that decision, Doctor," Tucker advised and held his ground, waiting until he began to scroll through the list. The piercing blue gaze was full of surprise as it met his again.

"I can't manage everything straight away but I can have the most urgent items delivered within the next thirty minutes." His voice had softened markedly and the blue eyes were warm now.

Tucker swallowed, his emotions still close to the surface and he wondered why he had never felt the need of friends before, when it seemed so necessary now. "Thank you, Doctor." He lowered his voice. "We'd appreciate a house call at some point?"

"Of course. As soon as I can. The items will be palleted and left outside your quarters. No-one will know what the contents are."

Tucker took in a deep breath. The second part of the errand Malcolm had set him still needed completing. He dropped his voice still further, having first checked on the location of the nearest Vulcan. This was one conversation he didn't want anyone overhearing. "Do you happen to know where the mother is?"

The doctor's voice was just as quiet. "She's here," and at Tucker's questioning look he elaborated. "She put up rather a fight after--" he stopped what he was about to say. "I'm afraid she's dying, Sub-commander."

Dismay flooded Tucker. "Can't you save her?"

Raw emotion swept across the strange features. "Yes, yes I could," and there was a weight of grief behind the words, "but I am not allowed to. You know, Sub-commander, certain treatments and facilities are reserved for crew only."

"God," Tucker breathed, as much at the realisation of his own blithe disregard for the cost in lives of such a policy in the past. It was something he had always accepted as standard procedure, had struggled with it when Malcolm and the children became ill, but never before had it made such an horrific impact. For the moment he had to put it to one side, just one more revelation in a day that had him mentally and emotionally reeling, and he turned his attention back to his present task. "Can I see her? Let her know--"

Phlox led him through to the small curtained off area, its sparseness a cruel contrast to the fully functional up-to-date Sick Bay. Tucker was aware of Phlox standing to one side, watching as he walked quietly towards the narrow cot indicated, and a listless, hopeless face he recognised turned at his approach.

He saw her face change, saw the hate flood her features, saw her open her mouth to scream and he rushed forward, covering her mouth gently as he bent down to whisper urgently, "She's safe. An' I promise she's gonna stay safe."

Her disbelief was clear, lasting several long seconds, before she seemed to accept what he was telling her as truth and tears began to fall. Tucker glanced around and grabbed a stool, pulling it alongside the bed and taking hold of the woman's hand as he sat.

After a few moments she visibly collected herself and asked eagerly, "Where is she?"

"In my quarters. She'll stay with me and my...my partner." He paused for a moment to wonder how this would affect their current untenable situation, recalling Malcolm's recent reaction when he had turned up with the baby. The care and support so immediately offered had been a balm and he only hoped it truly heralded an improvement in their strained relationship. "Malcolm's got a girl and a boy, Amy and Joe, so she's gonna have a sister and brother." He paused and then prompted: "You'll have to tell me what her name is?"

"Marika."

Tucker smiled gently at her. "That's a pretty name. Well, Marika's gonna have a family, parents who love her and we're gonna look after her and bring her up right. I promise you." Was it a reckless promise, he considered, and then dismissed the fleeting concern. Whatever it took, he would make it the truth.

Her grip tightened, surprising him with the strength in the slim fingers. "Can I see her?" There was a hungry look in her dark eyes and Tucker wondered if she knew she was dying.

He swallowed and hesitated. "I'll see what I can do but I'm not sure it will be safe, okay?" Internally he was making her a promise--somehow, in some way, he would bring her daughter to her. And Malcolm, too.

The smile he received in response was weak but it lit her eyes. "It doesn't matter--as long as she's alive. As long as she's safe."

An inspiration came to him suddenly and he dug out a spare PADD from his pocket. "Why don't you write to her," he suggested. "Tell her how you and her Dad met, all about your family and stuff." He cleared his throat as an unexpected memory surfaced, a flash of a day he had spent with his own family by a sparkling blue lake. "We'll make sure she gets it, so she knows all about you."

She took the PADD. "Thank you," she whispered and reached out to take his hand once more. "My name is Hoshi--Hoshi Mayweather."

"Trip Tucker," he responded, amazed how easily the old, forgotten nickname had come back into use.

She slipped into a light doze soon after, and he moved back to the watchful doctor's side. "I know you'll do what you can for her," he said softly, gripping the Denobulan's shoulder briefly.

"I can at least keep her pain free," he stated, soberly. "She is unlikely to last another day, Sub-commander." It was clear he had heard the entire conversation and was warning him to take any action he planned as soon as he could.

"I understand, Doctor. Thanks."

As he left the Denobulan moved across to check on his patient, pleased to see that a little of the grief had eased from her features. Casting his scanner over her he frowned at the reading. The slow internal bleeding was not easing and without immediate surgery she had no chance of survival. And he was strictly forbidden to operate on captives without the express permission of Captain Soval. At which point he accepted that if the captain did want them alive, it was generally only a brief interlude before an even less pleasant death. The dark eyes opened and he smiled down at her.

"Tucker," she whispered. "Is he a good man?"

"They are both good men," he asserted, his voice gentle, and watched as sleep took her once more.

Malcolm looked up and smiled as Tucker walked through the door. He was still sitting on the sofa with the baby--now awake--in his arms, and Trip's heart lurched almost alarmingly at the picture it presented to him. He took in a deep, steadying breath, fighting against the desire urging him to slide to his knees and bury his face against the man's chest, wanting to feel Malcolm's comforting embrace so much it was almost a physical pain.

"Everything okay?" The Englishman asked quietly. He had seen the flash of need in the bright blue eyes and impulsively held out his hand, seeing relief flood the strained features as Trip stepped forward, gripped his fingers and settled onto the sofa beside him.

Quickly he told Malcolm about Hoshi and the doctor's prognosis, his voice husky as he finished by confiding the silent promise he had made. Reed immediately suggested they wait until night to take the baby through the ship, not arguing about Tucker's need to somehow return Hoshi's child to her, even for the short time she had left. Trip was concerned about waiting so long although he accepted the sense in Malcolm's suggestion, repeating the doctor's warning and in the end he commed Phlox and asked to be notified if there was any rapid change in Hoshi's condition. He turned back to find Malcolm watching him, his expression unreadable.

"What is it?" he asked, nervously.

The dark man shook his head, unwilling to try and explain how this emotional roller-coaster of a day was affecting him, and commented instead: "Can you ask Joe and Amy to come out? We need to explain what's happened."

Trip's response was to walk to the children's room, bringing Amy and Joe back with him to stand, staring wide-eyed at their father and the baby in his arms.

"This is Marika," Malcolm introduced softly. "She's going to come and live with us. Her Mummy and Daddy are dead and she needs a new family. What do you think?" He didn't try to explain Hoshi Mayweather, deciding to keep the tale as simple as possible. Concerned, he scanned the small faces, waiting for their reactions, glancing up in time to witness Trip gnawing at his lip, clearly as worried as he.

"Will she be our sister?" Amy questioned.

"That's right."

"Marika," Joe breathed her name and sidled forward, gazing down into dark eyes, his own grey eyes widening and his mouth sketching an 'o' of wonder. "She's pretty, Daddy."

Amy joined him and there was a long silence, during which both adults held their breath, and then the two youngsters traded a glance.

"That's all right," Amy responded for both of them. "Is it tea-time yet?"

Tucker almost laughed aloud at such matter-of-fact acceptance of the newcomer in their midst but was saved by the sound of the comm. and he strode towards it, swallowing the relief and incipient hysteria which it had brought in its wake.

"Tucker here."

"Sub-commander, the supplies you requested from Dr Phlox are here."

"Thanks. Just leave them there."

"Sir."

Thankfully the baby, who seemed to possess a placid nature, had fallen asleep once more, and remained so through the rather noisy process of dragging in the pallet and unpacking it. Amy and Joe were both delighted to find small parcels addressed to them and Malcolm blessed the Denobulan for his thoughtfulness as they excitedly opened their presents. Once their task was completed they ate, Malcolm with one eye on their new charge, recognising this respite was almost over and she would soon awaken again--and this time she would need to be fed and changed.

By the time he shepherded the two through to bed Marika was awake and restless. Trip was sitting on the sofa, holding her as if she was his willow-patterned plate, staring down at the scrunched up features with something approaching horror on his own. Trying not to smirk, Malcolm left the man to it, sitting on the bed as Amy and Joe fell asleep, thinking through the shocking revelations of the day. His reverie was short-lived as a thin wail from the other room distracted him.

He almost laughed aloud at the decided look of panic on Tucker's face, moving across to fix some milk for the baby and leaving Trip to try and calm her.

"Malcolm," the southern accent was strained. "Why's she cryin'? How do we make it stop?"

"Don't panic, Trip," Malcolm reassured him "She's just hungry." He tested the bottle on the inside of his wrist. "Here," he said, and handed the bottle to the other man. There was no change in the man's expression and he chuckled, sliding onto the settee behind Tucker and pulling him back, bringing his arms around. "Hold her like this," and he settled her further into Trip's arms, "and hold the bottle up so she doesn't take in too much air. There you go." There was a sudden, abrupt silence as Marika started suckling and Malcolm felt the man in his arms relax.

"I don't know what to do," Trip confessed, softly.

"That's okay. I'll teach you how to look after her. She's your daughter now, Trip."

There was a long silence and then Trip tipped his head so he could see his expression. "Malcolm," he began and then hesitated. "Our daughter, Malcolm?"

This time the silence seemed to last forever before there was a response, Trip not sure he was hearing it, Malcolm not sure he was saying it, except that it felt right. "Our children, Trip."

Tucker had no memory of experiencing joy before, but he recognised it now as it rushed through him. Part of him wanted to leap up, spin around, grab Malcolm and kiss him, wake the kids and dance round the room with them. Instead he sighed, nestling against his lover and he asked: "Are we okay?"

"Yes, Trip." Malcolm kissed his temple, abruptly consigning all his fears and anxieties to oblivion. "We're okay now." It was as close to being right as it could be given their situation and Malcolm pushed aside the sudden guilt as the memory of Shran dying flashed into his mind. He sat with Tucker in his arms, staring down at their daughter and recognised his own weakness. There was no thought now in his mind about escape or retribution. Somehow, without quite understanding how, he had become resigned to his life as it was now. Deep inside he shivered, wondering how long it could possibly last, before he turned his attention resolutely back to the present.

Late in the Ti'Mur's artificial night, Trip Tucker and Malcolm Reed moved quietly through the corridors. They walked with the confidence of men who knew what they were doing, who had every right to be where they were. They headed towards Sick Bay, exuding a sense of purpose which created no suspicion and was barely noticed by those of the crew going about their own business. Even the fact Reed was carrying a bag raised neither concern nor comment. They walked into Sick Bay and moved straight to the back of the area, into the drab functional space beyond.

There was only one bed occupied now, the woman turning her head wearily as they entered, her face etched with pain. Malcolm stopped and placed the bag he held gently on the floor before delving in to carefully extract Marika, then he walked to the side of the bed.

"Hello Hoshi," he said quietly, his voice warm. "We've brought Marika to you."

The tears spilled from her eyes as she reached out to take her daughter, cuddling her close. Trip moved to stand beside Malcolm, daring enough now to slide his arm around the man's waist. Malcolm relaxed against him and laid his head against his shoulder, his hand grasping Tucker's fingers.

For a long time there was silence until the young woman looked up, her eyes shining and smiling at the two men standing in their embrace. "You'll take good care of her." It was not a question or a plea, rather a statement of her understanding, the knowledge her child would be cared for and loved.

Malcolm responded for them both. "We promise."

She spoke again--indicating the PADD--I've told her all about us. My husband," she swallowed. "He was killed during the attack. He was a good man and he loved us both. I've told her that but you'll tell her too?" Both men nodded and she continued painfully. "The doctor--he found some of our things--some photos. They're on here."

"She'll get them. Don't worry." It was Tucker who spoke this time and her eyes warmed when she looked at him.

"Thank you," she whispered and then turned her attention back to her daughter.

They became aware of the doctor entering behind them and watched him check her vital signs. His response to their questioning looks was a slight shake of his head and so they waited, watching as she slipped away from them, her focus until the end the precious bundle held in her arms.

Tucker was aware of tremors wracking the body he held and he tightened his grip, whispering; "You okay?"

He expected the stock answer, shocked when the trembling voice responded. "Not really," and then Reed turned in his embrace to bury his face against Tucker's chest, almost seeming to melt into him, snaking his arms around Trip's waist. A silent onlooker, Phlox lifted Marika from Hoshi's arms as Tucker wrapped his arms around Malcolm, rubbing his hands up and down his back while he whispered reassuring nonsense into his ear.

After a few moments Reed pulled away and scrubbed at his face, visibly collecting himself. "We'd better get Marika home before she decides she wants fed or changed." His voice trembled as he spoke and Tucker reached out instinctively to offer comfort. Fleetingly, he wondered what had prompted the uncharacteristic breakdown but pushed his curiosity to one side. Malcolm was right; the priority now was to ensure Marika's safety and he watched as Reed took the baby from Phlox, murmuring his thanks as he settled her in her temporary refuge.

And then, suddenly, Malcolm's sentence registered and the word "home" echoed through his mind. He felt bemused, shaken by all that had happened during the past few hours. From his silent, unhappy departure that morning, through the horrifying events on the freighter, the first moment he had laid Marika in his lover's arms and Malcolm's abrupt change of heart, to carrying out this deathwatch for Hoshi Mayweather. It was a whirlwind of experience and emotion to pack into one single day and his weary, embattled mind could settle only on one thing. All he could grasp at the moment was the thought that the word "home" spoken by Malcolm Reed was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Swallowing, he added his thanks to Malcolm's and, after one last look at the now peaceful features of Hoshi Mayweather, they made their way out of Sick Bay, completely oblivious to the satisfaction on the Denobulan's features as he stared after them.

Tucker stared down at the child cradled in his arms and thought about the week which had passed since she had entered their lives. There was still a sense of wonder which flowed through him every time he looked at her or picked her up. The effect of her arrival had been stunning and instantaneous as Malcolm abandoned his attempts to withdraw and became once again the warm figure he had been for the months leading up to Tucker's injury and subsequent recovery. It was as if his rescue of Marika wiped out every other consideration, and while he wasn't sure he understood why, yet he was more grateful than he could express that it was so.

Amy and Joe were curious at first, asking about Marika's own family, and they had dealt as tactfully as they could with their questions. The curiosity was short-lived, however, as they adapted quickly and accepted the child into their lives as a sister. At one point during the first couple of days, while Tucker was struggling with a diaper, Amy wandered up to help and asked with her usual direct simplicity:

"Are you and Daddy better?"

Pausing, he looked into grey eyes so like her father's and smiled. "I think so, honey," he responded honestly.

"Did Marika help?"

"Yes, I think maybe she did." At least his rescue of her had, he recognised, but there was no need for Amy or Joe to know what his grisly orders had been.

She put her head on one side and grinned. "I always wanted a little sister," she admitted.

"Yeah," he teased, glad to turn the conversation from any possibility of a discussion as to her arrival, "so you can boss her around?"

She giggled at him, then flung her arms around him suddenly and kissed his cheek before she responded to her father's call and ran through to the bedroom.

He smiled at the memory and looked down once more at Marika, his thoughts turning to Malcolm. There had been no resumption of their physical relationship as the needs of a young baby, the other children and Tucker's own work left them too exhausted at the end of each day to do anything other than slide gratefully into bed and lie in one another's arms. What they did do, though, was talk, and over this past week they had exchanged life stories. Tucker started it, desperate to tell Malcolm everything he remembered about his early life, about the joyous family he had known, the love that had surrounded him for those early years, and what happened afterwards when it was all torn from him. As he spoke, more memories surfaced and Malcolm, recalling Phlox's proffered advice, let him talk, prompting him and asking questions. Witnessing the effect of the stories he heard, he recognised the recovered memories were bringing pleasure along with a grief tempered by the weight of years. Rather surprised at himself when he considered it later, Reed reciprocated, telling Tucker about his own childhood and his early conviction that, whatever his father might decree, he would not serve their Vulcan overlords. Tucker was amazed to learn it was Reed who was responsible for holding off the Ti'Mur's attack for so long and rushed to palliate the obvious guilt his lover carried over his failure, explaining how much damage those tactics had inflicted, and he was pleased to see the haunted look in the grey eyes ease. Later, Reed told Tucker about Miriam, detailing their friendship and the contentment--if not love--they had found together; how he did not believe he wanted children in his life--right up until the moment Amy was placed in his arms. When he spoke about Miriam's death Tucker finally understood how painful it must have been for him to stand vigil over Hoshi Mayweather. More haltingly, Malcolm spoke about Shran, about the slow path their friendship had been taking towards a different destination altogether, and he explained how the memory of that loss haunted him when Trip was injured. And with all these memories and explanations came understanding and a new closeness both recognised and welcomed.

"Is she asleep?" Malcolm's soft voice interrupted his reverie and he smiled up at his lover.

"Just dropped off. I was about to put her down."

"You look tired, Trip," Malcolm brushed his fingers across a stubbled cheek in a tender gesture, his eyes concerned.

Tucker thrilled at the touch, and even more at the affection so evident within the man's voice. The spark of desire flared to life deep in his belly. His voice husky, he responded. "Never too tired, Malcolm." He was unaware of the hope in his own expression as he caught the grey gaze.

A throaty chuckle stirred the desire still further.

"Do you want me to put Marika to bed while you shower?"

For a moment he hesitated and then shook his head. "No, if you don't mind, I'll do it." He looked up then, meeting Malcolm's gaze again and saw the understanding. For Tucker it was one of the most precious moments of the day, tucking the warm, breathing little bundle up and standing by her cot as she slept. He put his head on one side, surprised by the sudden memory of Malcolm doing the self same thing every night, and he asked: "Will I always want to watch her sleep?"

"I expect so," his lover answered equably, instinctively knowing where the question stemmed from. "We've got them through another day without any harm coming to them. For a few hours you hope that they're safe."

It was something of an epiphany. "We're never gonna stop worryin' about them, are we?"

"Never," Malcolm confirmed and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the dark head, pressing his lips to Tucker's temple as he pulled away. It was becoming his habitual caress, an expression of caring and concern he could find no other way of demonstrating. It was something apart from the passion they shared and which had become such an important part of their relationship. This gentle gesture was different, allowing him to show affection without having to resort to words.

His own pulse had quickened at the need in the blue eyes and he whispered throatily, "Put her to bed, Trip, and then I'll find out just how tired you are." There was promise in the grey gaze fixed on Tucker, a heat which sent the other man's pulse racing.

By the time he padded naked into the bedroom Malcolm was sprawled on top of the covers, his eyes closed and the absurdly long lashes stark against his pale skin. Tucker swallowed at the sight, smiling almost hesitantly when the Englishman opened his eyes and, with an almost solemn expression, held out his hand in invitation. Tucker reached out to grip the fine fingers and let himself be pulled onto the bed, turning onto his side as Malcolm did, until they were facing one another.

Malcolm smiled then, sliding his hand around Trip's neck to pull him in for a deep, passionate kiss. Their arms and legs entwined, bodies eradicating any distance between them until flesh was pressed against flesh, desire pulsing as the kiss became something more desperate. Malcolm pushed Trip onto his back and slid across his body. When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, he propped himself onto his elbows and looked down into the bright blue eyes.

"What is it?" Tucker whispered, his hand tracing gentle circles on his lover's back.

"I want you." It was a low, needy demand.

He understood exactly what Malcolm meant and was surprised by his own reaction, the thrill of anticipation which fizzed through his blood and set his heart thumping. "I'm yours." An immediate response and then Tucker clutched at his arms as his lover turned away to reach for the lube. "Malcolm, I've never--"

Reed turned back to him, staring in disbelief, his expression gradually giving way to deep satisfaction.

"Malcolm?" he questioned, softly.

"It's all right," a gentle kiss feathered across his lips, his cheek. "I'll make it good."

"I know," he whispered, his trust absolute as he gave himself up to his lover's ministrations.

Malcolm was lying in Trip's arms, sprawled across his chest, Tucker unwilling to let him move from where he had collapsed on top of him after their love-making. Trip held him close, one arm tight around him, the other moving as his hand stroked Malcolm's skin, feeling the heat still radiating from him though the sweat was beginning to dry. There was still a sensation of fullness, an echo of the thick hardness of Malcolm's cock as it had plunged in and out of his body. For some reason he had cried throughout, begging Malcolm not to stop when he became alarmed, sobbing out a need and a hunger he barely understood. His own release was sudden and almost shocking, Malcolm taking longer, but generating a heat deep within him, thawing out the last vestige of control the Vulcans had tried to instil. And he cried out when he felt Malcolm's orgasm, calling out his love, taking his heart and handing it over without a second thought, without even a hope his love might be returned.

In the aftermath of a breathtaking passion and his own sensual discovery, Tucker's mind whirled as love and self-castigation sent a cocktail of doubts through him. How could this man love him, he asked himself. Given their circumstances and the way they had been thrown together, how could he ever expect his love. He was lucky, he felt, to have earned a certain measure of trust and affection after their shaky start. But he could expect nothing more. For the moment that would have to be enough, he decided, as his weary mind refused to consider the matter any further.

Reaching down, he grabbed the cover and dragged it over them. Malcolm shifted slightly in his arms and spoke, his voice amused.

"Am I not squashing you yet?"

He tightened his grip once more. "No," he responded, his voice soft and full of love. "As long as you're comfortable, you stay right there." He felt rather than heard Malcolm's chuckle. The lithe form wriggled a little then settled.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Malcolm asked quietly. His long fingers were gently stroking Trip's shoulder and neck.

"No. It...Malcolm, it was wonderful. I...I want to thank you."

There was a raw edge in Tucker's voice and Malcolm did not attempt to respond, simply tucking his head against the strength of the body holding him and pressing his lips repeatedly to the warm skin. His own mind was whirling, stunned by the physical sensations he had experienced and even more by the deep, emotional connection. He swallowed, now unashamedly enjoying the comfort of Tucker's touch.

They fell asleep, wrapped in their embrace.

"What should we call you now?"

"Sorry?" Trip looked up from the specs he had been buried in to meet Amy's candid grey gaze. His own eyes softened as he took in the sight before him. Amy was standing by his desk, her slim girlish arms wrapped around the baby perched at her hip. Marika's tiny fists were wrapped in the long dark hair, a fact which didn't seem to worry the girl at all. She had taken to mothering the child, and with an acceptance of new responsibilities had come a propensity to mother them all. Trip indulged her, responding to her bossing and gentle bullying with delight, oblivious to Malcolm's quiet amusement or the times the parent surfaced and he subtly reined in Amy's enthusiasm. He glanced across at Malcolm, raising his eyebrows and turned his attention back to Amy at his lover's infinitesimal shrug.

"Well, Daddy's Daddy. What should we call you?"

For a moment he was speechless, then he managed. "I don't know, Amy." Curiosity prompted him to ask. "What do you want to call me?"

Joe was buried in a book as usual, apparently oblivious to everything around him, but he suddenly looked up and grinned. "Poppa," he announced, with the decision of someone who had given the matter considerable thought already.

Amy's expression was thoughtful, then she pursed her lips in a gesture so like her father's that Tucker could not restrain his grin, glancing over quickly to see a warm grey gaze fixed upon him.

"I like it." was the girl's decided verdict. "What do you think, Marika?" She addressed the child in her arms, who responded with a chuckle and a concerted pull at Amy's hair. "Marika likes it, too," she announced, deftly disentangling herself.

Malcolm stared across at the tableau, his eyes cataloguing the rush of need, recognising it because he was feeling it too. He wondered at it, understanding it was the final acknowledgement, the final link in the chain which would forever bind him to this man.

Tucker swallowed, fighting down the emotion flooding through him. Everyone's eyes were on him, the room very still as they awaited his response. He grinned a little shakily, "I like it, too," he responded, his voice husky.

And suddenly Amy was in his lap and he had his arms around both girls while Joe leapt up from the floor and pressed against his side, head resting on his shoulder. Lastly, Malcolm joined them, his arms encircling them all, tightening around them, and Trip felt the touch of lips on his temple and the soft rumble of laughter rippling through the lithe frame before he turned his head to capture Malcolm's lips in a brief caress.

My family, he thought, dazed and warmed. This is my family.

The sense of family only intensified as their life together continued. In particular, Malcolm's new acceptance and whole-hearted participation in their physical relationship eased many of the fears and doubts Trip had harboured. Malcolm may not love him, he reasoned, but he certainly wanted him, and for now that would have to do. With the children he found himself occasionally meting out discipline as he took on more of a parental role, only peripherally aware of Malcolm's initial watchfulness easing to become a willingness to let him do so without interference and, indeed, when the children appealed to their parent to overturn some dictat, he never did, always upholding Trip's decision. While both men welcomed the new ease in their interaction with the children, it did impinge upon Malcolm that Amy and Joe, now that they were free from feeling their father's fear and disquiet, did become correspondingly naughtier. While he accepted it as a sign of a healthy childhood, still he worried that sheer mischief would lead them all into trouble and he took to ensuring the door was locked any time he left them alone. Tucker's obsessive caution did not relax, either, careful to ensure the only visitor was Phlox. The doctor, mindful of those real concerns, always called ahead before he arrived to provide the children with another contact, a break in the routine of having to stay within the confines of their quarters. Between them they brought as much variety to the youngsters' life as they could, but Tucker was painfully aware they were all, in effect, prisoners. Malcolm at least could move around other areas of the ship, but Tucker was adamant the children stayed inside. He was terrified in case Soval heard any rumours of their existence. If the Vulcan became the least bit suspicious it would the work of moments to check the lifesigns within his quarters. He dared take no risks. Eventually, after finding a giggling Amy outside in the corridor one evening playing hide and seek, he had explained to Malcolm exactly why he was so scared, watching the colour leach from the man's skin as the full horror of what his children had so narrowly escaped became clear.

Trip held Malcolm through a long, sleepless night, insisting over and over again that he would protect them. He would not allow any harm to come to them. And while he knew Malcolm understood his lover would do everything within his power to ensure their safety, it was also clear he knew there were no guarantees.

That memory returned to Tucker now as he glanced at the date on the PADD he held and froze. Over a year had elapsed since Malcolm and the children had come into his life. He set the PADD on the desk and thought through the months, considering the highs and lows. The residual shame he always felt when he recalled those early weeks surfaced to haunt him briefly, but he and Malcolm had spent one whole night talking through those days and the warmth of Malcolm's forgiveness was now associated with the memories, easing the pain.

A different range of emotions began to claim his attention, a rising concern that had been making itself apparent more and more frequently of late. The children were growing, Marika had just begun to crawl and would soon be walking. What kind of life was it for them, he wondered, trapped in his quarters day after day? He swallowed, recalling the occasional concerned look which he had witnessed on his lover's face as he watched the children interact, and understood the same worries were troubling Malcolm. He sighed, accepting his own selfishness. He was desperate to keep his family with him, recognising they had brought him back to life and terrified of what might happen to him if they were no longer part of his day-to-day existence. Deep within, still unacknowledged, was a sense of dread, a foreshadowing of pain he could not yet face.

He glanced up as he became aware of a presence entering Engineering, snapping to attention as he recognised his captain. Soval rarely ventured into this part of the ship nowadays, but if he did it generally meant trouble. If not for the ship as a whole, then invariably for the chief engineer.

"Mr. Tucker," the tones were smooth and the solicitousness he attempted to inject in his voice rang so false Tucker was hard pressed not to laugh. "You are not off duty?"

"No, sir," he responded, wondering where in hell this was going, "in thirty minutes, sir."

Soval prowled around the space. Most of the crew had scattered at his approach and Tucker did not blame them one iota, controlling his breathing with the ease of long practice as Soval's circuit of the room concluded in a tight circle around the chief engineer.

"Tell me," the Vulcan began smoothly, "do you still have your...servant?"

Oh God. All amusement fled. Why is he asking about Malcolm?

"Yes, sir."

"And does he please you?"

Soval, you twisted son of Surak, you lay a finger on him an' I'll--Oh, God.

Tucker sat firmly on his rapidly rising terror at this sudden interest in Malcolm and shrugged, managing to appear cool and unconcerned by the enquiry. "He serves his purpose."

Soval nodded. "Indeed," he agreed. "Your efficiency has improved."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?" He was at his most correct, desperate to give the Vulcan no opportunity to delve any deeper into his domestic arrangements.

"Not at the moment, Sub-commander." As always the rank was delivered with a sneer. "We will talk again."

And that was a threat, Tucker considered wryly, responding blandly. "Sir."

The moment the Vulcan was out of sight Tucker staggered back against the console, his breath coming in gasps. Then he headed for the comm.

"Malcolm?"

"Sub-commander?"

"Malcolm, make sure our quarters are tidy, would you," he fought to keep his voice calm and measured. "The captain may stop by."

There was a heartbeat's pause followed by a brisk, "Understood, sir," and then the comm. was silent.

The next half hour was possibly the longest in Tucker's life while he waited for his duty shift to end and he could complete a rapid hand over to his second. Kov was a round, almost jolly figure, particularly chatty for a Vulcan, and was someone who had provided silent support to Tucker since he had begun serving on the Ti'Mur. It was a support which Tucker, with his new awareness, had suddenly woken up to, and recently, as his own attitude changed, they had moved towards forming a friendship. Usually Trip stayed for a few moments beyond his shift, chatting generally, but today Kov dealt briskly with their business and Tucker realised that not only had Kov witnessed the interchange with Soval, but also clearly understood his need to return home as quickly as possible. Fleetingly he tried to recall anything he might have said about Malcolm which would have provided the Vulcan with that insight but nothing immediately came to mind. Yet Kov seemed to be possessed of enough information to act upon and it dawned on him he had been part of the same new crew complement as T'Pol. Almost without realising it, he was despatched and moved swiftly out of Engineering, heading back to his quarters.

As he strode through the corridors T'Pol fell into step beside him. Over the months they had become as close to being friends as a Human and Vulcan could, and he had come to rely on her judgement. On several occasions he was aware of her deflecting Soval's attention from him and was grateful for her interference. Apart from her obvious skills and experience, T'Pol had proved to be a popular officer and his own actions in saving her life had gained him considerable kudos, rebuilding the respect he had enjoyed when Vanik was captain. That respect had been eroded, in all but his own engineering crew, under Soval's charge. His characteristic distaste for other races and his systematic determination to take every opportunity to belittle or humiliate the few Humans serving on the Ti'Mur had encouraged those Vulcans who felt the same to be more open in their own opinions while others provided what support they could while maintaining a low profile. T'Pol's arrival seemed to have reversed that trend.

"I understand the captain was in Engineering?"

"He was." Tucker did not elaborate.

T'Pol said nothing else, simply accompanying him as he continued to walk.

"Is there something I can do for you, Sub-commander?" he asked bluntly.

"I have a small errand which requires attention. I believe Mr. Reed may be of assistance."

What? He thought in surprise, but shrugged. "Sure."

His instincts were spot on. As they entered the main room he was faced with the sight of Soval standing uncomfortably close to Malcolm. The Human was still, his face pale and eyes fixed on the deck and he was wearing a featureless plain grey overall the like of which he hadn't worn for months. The sight stirred a poignant memory for Tucker, recalling the first time he had seen Malcolm in the Cargo Bay over a year before. Full circle, he thought, and sudden pain curled around his heart.

"Captain?" He allowed a measure of surprise to enter his voice, though it remained calm and reflected none of his inner turmoil. "Did you need to speak to me about something else?"

As he spoke, T'Pol stepped past Soval and handed a PADD to Malcolm. "That needs to go to Doctor Phlox, Mr. Reed. Please take it immediately."

"Of course, ma'am." A quiet response before Malcolm slipped around them and moved swiftly from the room.

Soval's head turned to watch him leave before he riveted his attention on Tucker, his gaze appraising. He completely ignored the Vulcan woman who was standing to one side, her gaze calm and appraising.

"I am...intrigued...that he still holds your attention, Mr. Tucker."

Tucker shrugged, struggling to appear unconcerned, despite his pulse rate rocketing and sweat breaking out on his forehead and palms. "Like I said--he serves his purpose."

"And you do not require...a change?" For once it was an honest enquiry, Soval clearly unable to understand how one person could hold his attention for so long.

"I appreciate your concern, Captain," Tucker responded calmly, "but a change would only mean having to train someone else up. Reed does everything I need."

"Captain?" The Vulcan sub-commander broke in, clearly deciding it was time to intervene.

"Yes?"

At that moment Tucker became fully aware of the simmering tension between them. It had been a subtle undercurrent since the Vulcan woman had joined the crew. Tucker had heard over the grapevine that she was the High Command's choice of first officer, not Soval's. He could, as the primary recipient of Soval's malice, only be grateful the captain's request for an old comrade of his own had not prevailed. The enmity between the two Vulcans had been instant and unmistakeable but not until now had he recognised T'Pol was not afraid of her superior and in fact, it was Soval who was constantly on the defensive in all his dealings with her. It struck him that unwittingly he had allied himself with, and won the support of, the only person on the ship who could possibly protect him.

"We are about to enter orbit around Priscina Major, sir. Your presence will be required on the Bridge." Her voice was as level and calm as always and yet even Tucker detected censure within it.

"I am fully aware of that, T'Pol" his response was smooth but he could not hide his irritation, either with the interruption or the fact he had basically been called to order like a child.

What intrigued and heartened the human most of all, was the immediate response Soval made, his attention abruptly diverted from Tucker and all his concerns as he moved towards the door. Tucker hovered solicitously at his shoulder as he ushered him politely out of his quarters. Once the doors closed behind him he could not hide his huge sigh of relief and turned to meet the woman's quietly amused gaze.

"Thank you, Sub-commander," he said sincerely.

She did not attempt to dissemble or to deny the fact she had deliberately followed Tucker to his quarters in order to intervene, merely inclining her head in acceptance of his thanks. "I, too, must report to the Bridge," she remarked and then stopped, her head tilting to one side as if she was listening.

He heard it then; a soft, child's cry, and felt sweat break out on his forehead once more, his terror described clearly in his sudden pallor and the expression in his eyes.

T'Pol's own expression remained clear as she remarked, in an apparent non-sequitur. "Surak is often reviled and vilified by Vulcans, Mr. Tucker, but many of his early teaching bears further scrutiny. Like Surak, for example, I see no logic in wasting life." With that final remark she exited, leaving Tucker silent and stunned.

After taking a few moments to regain his own composure, he commed Sick Bay and waited impatiently for Malcolm's return.

The moment he was through the doors Malcolm almost fell into his embrace, wrapping his arms tight around him. They were shaking, Malcolm tucking his head into the crook of Tucker's neck and they were aware only T'Pol's deliberate intervention had saved them. Next time they might not be so lucky.

"I won't let him hurt us," Tucker promised, vehemently, eventually managing to find desperate, passionate words. "I won't. I'll kill him first."

"Ssh," Malcolm hushed him, reaching up to take his mouth in an urgent caress. By the time it ended they were calmer and Malcolm remarked: "Let's get Joe and the girls."

"Sure," he paused and then said forcefully. "I mean it, Malcolm. I'd kill him," he hesitated and then burst out. "I'd die before I let anyone hurt any of you!" They both recognised it as truth. If Malcolm was threatened, if the children were discovered, then Tucker would give his life to save them. At the very least, he would die with them.

Yet Malcolm's response to this assertion was unexpected. A swift kiss and a gentle chuckle. "But we don't want you to die for us, Trip, we'd much rather you lived with us."

It was the closest to any kind of declaration Tucker had ever heard from him and his throat closed, his emotions a turmoil of joy, desire, excitement, pain, and underlying it all was a sense of impending loss. He cleared his throat, kissing Malcolm briefly on the forehead before they moved across to the children’s room.

The relief the adults were experiencing translated itself into a manic evening of games and laughter, the children eventually persuaded to bed much later than usual. Once they were asleep, Trip herded Malcolm through to their own room, laughing at the teasing he was subjected to by his lover as he tumbled them onto the bed.

And even later, when Malcolm was deeply asleep, Tucker rose silently and dressed quickly before he walked swiftly through the corridors to Sick Bay.

Phlox was awake as he expected and was working at a console, absorbed in his task. Tucker was relieved to see none of the biobeds occupied and no other staff apparently on duty. The physician looked up in surprise as he approached.

"Sub-commander, what can I do for you?" His tone was genial though the bright blue eyes swept over Tucker, taking in the taut lines around the mouth, and the pallor of his skin and reached his own conclusions.

"I need your help, Doc." His tone was low and tense. He drew in a deep breath, seemingly about to speak before he faltered.

Phlox regarded him for a moment and then filled the lengthening silence, prompting gently: "Is this to do with Mr. Reed?"

Tucker blinked, taken aback by the Denobulan's question but it enabled him to respond. "Yeah, yeah it is," he paused and bit his lip, clearing his throat before he continued. "We'll be at Vantyra in a couple of weeks, won't we?" He was referring to their next port of call.

"Yes. You know better than I why, although I have been permitted to attend a medical conference during our visit." Phlox was becoming more and more certain as each second passed where this conversation was heading.

"Would you be able to talk to someone while you're there?"

"About Mr. Reed...and yourself?" The doctor was testing him, wondering if he understood exactly what he was asking and the effect on Sub-commander Tucker personally. He had his answer immediately, watching the man's skin pale even further.

Tucker closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard before he could speak. "I've been reviewin' some of their protocols." His voice was raw, emotions clearly close to the surface. "You know I wouldn't be welcome--as a serving officer. And I can't exactly resign."

Phlox responded sympathetically, "I was aware of that, yes," he admitted and then hesitated, wondering just how far this young man was willing to go. "Do you still want me to -?"

"Yeah."

Phlox's eyebrows rose at the pain in his voice, recognising even he had underestimated the emotional connection Tucker had made with Reed, or the depth of that attachment. It was obvious now, as he watched him struggle with the distress he was experiencing, trying to control it but not troubling to hide it from the doctor. It was costing him dear to say these things, to try and make the arrangements which would destroy his own happiness--perhaps for ever. Yet he clearly cared more about this family than his own needs and loved them enough to set them free when he, to all intents and purposes, would remain enslaved.

"I need to know they're safe, Doc." He swallowed down the threatening tears. "That's all that matters. I want them safe and I want the kids to grow up somewhere they're not...caged. I want them all to be free." Softly he wound up with, "I need them to be free."

In a gesture unusual for a Denobulan, though only he knew it, the doctor reached out and gripped Tucker's shoulder. "I will do everything I can." He assured him gently. "I know the Vantyrans are more sympathetic than many regarding asylum seekers. I'm sure they will help."

"Thanks." Tucker cleared his throat and scrubbed his hands across his face before smiling weakly at his friend.

Once he had gone, Phlox ruminated on the changes which had been wrought in the sub-commander over this past year. When he had first known him he had categorised him as self-centred, interacting as little as possible with others on an emotional level and so locked down Phlox immediately suspected he was covering a traumatic past. He had welcomed the gradual changes in Tucker which had begun the moment Malcolm Reed and his children entered his life, feeling drawn to both young men, and when Malcolm approached him for advice after Marika's arrival, he finally understood the events which had conspired to make Tucker the man he was. Malcolm Reed and his family altered all that as, bit by bit, their mere presence reminded him what love was like and, despite himself Phlox surmised, he responded, opening up and learning how to live again. Then, he guessed, Tucker had fallen in love for the very first time in his life. The doctor had witnessed it, watching as doubt was followed by bewilderment to be replaced in turn by a light which lent a distinctive sparkle to the blue gaze. As a physician and a friend, his main concern now was the effect of losing the daily presence in his life of Malcolm and the children. It was likely to be a devastating blow for the Human and in his mind he began to form another plan; a plan which, if properly executed, would result in Tucker being discharged from the military. He sighed, accepting that even though he counted Reed as a friend, too, he appreciated he was a considerably more enigmatic character altogether. Part of him was sure he knew how Malcolm would react to the hoped for outcome of his scheme, but another part did wonder whether, once free, Reed might take his children and disappear so Tucker could never find him. It struck him the same doubts must be plaguing the sub-commander too, and his respect for Tucker increased, beginning to understand that while he recognised the emotional effect of those actions, Tucker also knew what the possible costs of this gesture could be and yet was still willing to put the well-being of those he loved before his own.

Tucker walked slowly back to his quarters. He spent a few moments watching the children sleep before moving silently through the darkened lounge into the bedroom beyond. His thoughts were heavy, aware he had taken the first step towards an uncertain future, unsure how he would be able to survive on this ship without his family to sustain him and remind him of his Humanity. He undressed and slipped back into bed, sliding close to Reed's warmth to soak up the reassurance it afforded him, trying to take comfort in the knowledge they would be safe and free. It would be enough--even if Malcolm never wanted to see him again, and he suppressed the bright shaft of pain which tried to cut through him at the thought of that very real possibility.

Malcolm stirred. "Where were you?" He asked sleepily, wrapping his arm around Trip's torso and snuggling against him in such a fashion as to brighten the gloom which had threatened to overwhelm him.

Tucker reached down and kissed him gently. "Wanted to see the doc 'bout somethin'."

"Mmm," was Malcolm's only response as he let unconsciousness reclaim him, too close to sleep to question why his lover would want to see the doctor in the middle of the night, and by the time morning arrived he had forgotten all about Tucker's excursion.

The results of Tucker's talk with the Doctor took two weeks to come to fruition and then one day Malcolm looked up as Trip entered their quarters, his welcoming smile fading at the strained and set expression.

"Trip? What's wrong?" He stood as he spoke, alarmed by the despair he could see in the blue eyes.

Tucker didn't mince his words. "We need to get all your stuff packed up this afternoon--yours and the kids." He saw disbelief in the grey eyes and rushed to explain. "We're in orbit round a planet called Vantyra. The captain and the most of the Vulcan senior staff will be at a reception this evening. T'Pol's got the Bridge. I've got clearance to take a shuttle down to collect Doctor Phlox from the conference he's attending. I asked the doc to talk to the Vantyrans about you all." His voice shook as he spoke the words. "They've agreed to let you stay there. When I go to pick up Plox I'll take you down with me. You'll be safe," he paused and then added. "You'll be free."

"Trip?" There was urgency in the English accent, "What about you?"

"I can't...they won't...I can't stay, Malcolm."

"You're sending us away?"

It wasn't the reaction Tucker expected at all, quite convinced Malcolm would be so overjoyed to be free that no other consideration would occur to him. Certainly, he never expected the expression of dismay which flashed across Malcolm's features. Despite the situation he felt warmth flood him at this evidence that the Englishman felt enough for him to be distressed by the thought of leaving him behind.

Painfully, he explained: "I don't want to, darlin', but you know it's not safe here. And the kids...they deserve better than bein' cooped up here for years. We've been lucky no-one's found out they were here. You know that." He was becoming unnerved by Malcolm's silence and by the shuttered expression with which he was now faced. "Malcolm," he begged, "please, say something. Tell me you understand? Tell me you know I don't want to lose you?"

His response was not verbal as Reed pulled him into an embrace and claimed his mouth urgently. Trip gave himself up to the kiss, responding avidly, knowing there would not be many more. Once their lips parted, he buried his face in his lover's neck, holding onto the slim figure for all he was worth, feeling the strength of Malcolm's arms as they wrapped tightly around him, that strength surprising and pleasing him as it always did, and he soaked up every sensation. Desperately, he filed them all away safely as he accepted he would be reliving such moments often, simply to get through the long days which were to come.

PART 6

Sub-commander T'Pol was a stately presence on the Bridge of the Ti'Mur. She sat, silent and still, poised on the edge of the captain's chair as if ready to move. There was a quiet hum of activity as those on duty went about their lawful pursuits with a confidence generally lacking when faced with the captain's increasingly unstable presence.

"Sub-commander?"

The voice of the officer on duty at the security station interrupted her quiet contemplation. T'Pol turned her head in his direction and raised a finely-sculpted eyebrow in enquiry.

Nervously the young Vulcan elaborated. "A shuttle has just left the Launch Bay, ma'am."

"I believe Sub-commander Tucker is scheduled to collect Dr Phlox."

Her response was measured, allowing her subordinate to elaborate. "Yes, ma'am, however, I am unable to read the life signs on the shuttle. There appears to be interference."

"I see." She pressed a button on the console by her side. "T'Pol to shuttle Venta. Respond please."

"Tucker here, Sub-commander. What can I do for you?" The Human's voice, relaxed and confident, sounded across the Bridge.

"There appears to be a malfunction in your internal monitoring equipment. We cannot receive a clear signal."

"Yeah, I know about that, Sub-commander. I'll get my team to look at it when I get back. Thought I'd better leave the T'Kel in case you needed a shuttle that was 100%. This is just a pick up trip."

"I see, Sub-commander. Thank you for your consideration. T'Pol out." With finality T'Pol cut the communication and turned to her subordinate, remarking coolly, "Your attention to your duty is commendable."

The officer sat up a little straighter in his chair, so pleased at receiving such rare approbation he never thought to question the situation any further.

It was almost as bad as the first time he was torn from his family, Tucker thought as he entered the dark, silent quarters and stood, lost and alone, in the centre of the main room. The afternoon had passed in a flurry of explanations to the children while they packed up everything they would need to take with them. Tucker had entered the bedroom, to see Malcolm filling a bag with the possessions he had somehow gathered during the past year. Without speaking, the sub-commander moved to the shelf, and collected the willow-patterned plate. Still silent, he offered it to his lover. They shared a long look and then Malcolm, his voice husky, accepted it and remarked. "I'll keep it safe, I promise."

"I know," Tucker responded, watching as its bright colour was swathed in packaging and placed carefully in the bag. His heart contracted and his mind filled with half-formed, fanciful notions. That's my soul, Malcolm, a part of him cried out. It's the best of me--and it had to be broken before I could be made whole again. Another part, the pragmatic side, mocked himself for such a flight of fancy. It's only a plate. But it wasn't and as they exchanged another look the knowledge in his lover's eyes expressed Malcolm's understanding of that. Tucker ached to gather Malcolm into his embrace, but was too aware of his own weakness, of the selfishness that even now might prompt him to abandon such an altruistic act and, instead, bind them all to him despite the possible consequences should Soval find out. So he had reached out only briefly, his fingertips grazing across one prominent cheekbone and he knew Malcolm recognised his dilemma as the man caught his fingers in a brief grasp, tightening his own in a rapid, fleeting reassurance.

Later, after he packed their belongings into the pod, he guided them through the corridors to the Launch Bay, Marika in his arms. The children were excited, quite apart from anything else it was the first time in over a year they had been outside Tucker's quarters, but they were also infected by the agitation and nervousness of the adults. Malcolm kept them close to him, terrified they might be seen, despite a circuitous route and Tucker's internal scans guiding them, but they made it to the shuttle with a few close calls but no major incident.

The flight itself was uneventful, Tucker convinced, once he knew it was T'Pol contacting him, that there was nothing to fear, and they landed at one of the main spaceports. When Tucker opened the door Phlox and the immigration officials he had promised were already waiting. Silently, the lovers emptied the luggage and then stepped out, Marika once more in Tucker's arms, Malcolm's arm wrapped around his waist and Amy and Joe pressed close against them.

It was at this point Tucker's control failed him and he whispered. "Oh God, oh Malcolm." Malcolm's arm tightened around him but before he could speak one of the officials stepped forward.

"Reed?" he enquired, casting a disapproving look at the uniformed figure of an Empire sub-commander.

"Yes."

"I am Vice-governor Kelaanan. It is my responsibility to deal with all requests from those who wish our help. It is my understanding from Doctor Phlox that you and your children request asylum on Vantyra. Is that true?"

Malcolm cast a glance at Trip, at the set features and the way the blue eyes were fixed firmly on the floor, all signs which pointed to his internal battle, desperately fighting to maintain his control.

"We do," he said quietly and then continued, his voice louder and more confident. "I would like it placed on record that Sub-commander Tucker treated us well and actively sought a place where we can be free and safe. He is a part of our family and we wish him to stay with us."

Tucker swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the ground, stunned by Malcolm's assertive and obviously sincere plea but he could say nothing, could not even express his gratitude because he knew if he tried he would be lost. The grip around his waist tightened for a moment and in that gesture Trip felt Malcolm's understanding.

Phlox deemed it appropriate to speak. "I, too, can vouch for the sub-commander. You must realise he is as much a captive as Mr. Reed and his children."

Reed looked at him and smiled. "Thank you, doctor, but you should have said their children." Phlox inclined his head with a smile of apology as Malcolm continued. "Trip is a parent to Amy, Joe and Marika. We all ask you," and his gaze fell on each of the officials in turn, resting finally on Kelaanan, "let him stay with us."

The official's face softened markedly through the speech, reflecting the sympathetic murmur from the others ranged behind him, and his tone held real regret. "Unfortunately it is against all our laws to accept those who support repressive and expansionist regimes. That also applies to serving officers of such regimes. I am very sorry. Tucker cannot stay.

Tucker stood like stone, his features immobile, as the last flicker of hope died.

Amy, who until now had treated the whole escapade as a grand adventure, finally realised Trip would not be staying with them.

"Poppa?" She stared up at him, her lower lip beginning to wobble. "Poppa, you have to stay. We want you to stay and Daddy wants you to as well. You do, Daddy, don't you?"

Malcolm met Trip's gaze. "Yes, I do."

"Poppa, please?"

"Oh honey, I would if I could but they can't let me."

"Then I don't want to stay," she began to cry in earnest. "I want to go home. I hate it here."

Amy was not a tearful child by nature and distressed by her sobs, Tucker handed Marika to Malcolm, kneeling down to gather the girl into his arms where she clung to him. He whispered to her, his voice making it a secret, a compact between the two of them, "You need to stay here and look after Daddy and Joe and Mari. I promise if I can come back I will--soon as I can. But Amy, you have to stay. I need you to be safe and you'll be safe here. So be brave, darlin' cos you know Daddy's gonna rely on you."

Her tears eased after a few moments and she finally spoke, "I love you, Poppa."

"I love you, too. I love you all." He glanced up into Malcolm's eyes as he spoke, hugging the little girl tightly. When he rose, he picked Joe up, holding him close for a few moments, whispering quiet words to him, waiting until the boy hid his face against his neck and nodded. Finally, he gently slipped his arms around Malcolm and Marika, feeling the comforting touch of lips at his temple.

Reluctantly he disentangled himself and turned to look at Kelaanan, who was beginning to appear decidedly emotional himself, "Thank you for givin' them a safe home," and he turned away, pausing but not turning at the shuttle hatch as the Vantyran remarked, his tone kindly, a marked contrast to the frosty reception.

"Remember, Tucker, it is only your service in the Vulcan Empire's fleet which disbars you from returning to Vantyra.

He nodded, acknowledging the comment and the reassurance the official was trying to offer, but was unable to turn. If he looked at that little huddle of Humanity or acknowledged that the whole of his life was there, then he would crack.

Phlox joined him after he said his own goodbyes and after directing one piercing glance at the sub-commander's tense, desolate features, judged silence to be the only appropriate response and the trip back to the Ti'Mur was completed without a single word passing between them. Only when they were moving towards the door of the Launch Bay did Tucker speak, pausing before he hit the door control.

"Thank you for all you've done, Phlox," he managed. "I really do appreciate it." And he was gone before the physician had any chance to respond.

Now Tucker stood in the centre of the lounge and wondered how he could possibly survive. It was as if the life seeped from him and it was borne home to him how Malcolm and the children had become the totality of his existence. The only way he could continue, he knew, as he pulled himself back from those thoughts, was to recall Malcolm's plea on his behalf and vow to himself. Whatever it took, somehow he would make it back to them.

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he forced himself to move and as he stumbled through to the bedroom he dreaded the thought of sleeping alone for the first time in over a year. His attention was drawn by something on the bed, choking back a sound which lay somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he snatched up Amy's favourite stuffed toy and hugged it close to him. It was lying on top of a PADD and he picked that up, too, opening the file on it and discovering a batch of pictures of Malcolm and the children and at the sight of his lover's quiet grey eyes gazing from the screen, he broke down, curling up on the bed and allowing his misery free rein.

Doctor Phlox had spent more than twenty years in the service of the Vulcan Empire. During that time he had earned the trust of many within the High Command, so much so that his views on the mental, physical and emotional health of those under his charge, and most particularly the senior officers, were often sought and always valued. Over the past year his reports on Captain Soval's mental stability had been causing increasing alarm, and were part of the reason Sub-commander T'Pol was assigned to the Ti'Mur at a point in her career when she may have expected to receive a command of her own. Throughout all that time, the Denobulan had never abused the trust which had been placed in him. Even if he was not in accord with the way the Empire conducted business, he was still bound to carry out his calling to the highest medical and ethical standards though he had to work within specific constraints. Now, however, he began filing reports on the ship's chief engineer which denoted an emotional decline and, of more concern to the Vulcan authorities, a corresponding lessening of efficiency.

It was not entirely fiction, the doctor considered sadly. Since Reed and the children had departed, Tucker had pulled back into the shell they had drawn him out of so successfully. Phlox found he missed the twinkle of good humour which had been so apparent in the blue eyes over the last months. That twinkle was now replaced by an almost lost look, as if he was never quite sure what was happening around him. In Engineering he was still efficient, it was true, but was lacking the spark which made him an exceptional talent and in terms of the day to day running of the department, had he been aware, he would have known Kov was taking as much of it on his own shoulders as he could and was covering for him. Tucker was oblivious, however, struggling through each day in a miasma of unhappiness.

Kov had discussed his own worries privately with Phlox and the doctor added those to his reports accepting that while he was exaggerating the gradual deterioration, it could quite easily become actual fact.

Tucker was a few moments late on duty. It was a fact which would not have raised eyebrows in anyone else, even amongst a mainly Vulcan crew, but in someone who had been famed for his punctuality it was something which should have merited comment. Indeed, a few weeks before it had and was one of the concerns Kov had raised with the ship's physician, but it was becoming commonplace and anyway, he thought sourly, as he trudged dismally through the doors into Main Engineering, nobody seemed to have noticed he had arrived at all.

At which point his natural curiosity reasserted itself, realising his staff were clustered together and were, in Vulcan terms, agitated. He walked up to the group.

"What's goin' on?" he asked. The conversation stopped abruptly, some of them almost scuttling to their duty stations while the others shuffled their feet and stared at anything other than their chief engineer. Tucker was amazed at their antics, so removed from the Vulcan tenet of discipline and order. "Well?" He prompted.

Kov finally said quietly, "Crewman Varen was killed last night."

"What?" For once he was shocked out of his own despair. "What happened? An accident?"

"No, Sub-commander. It was no accident. Apparently she was found in the captain's quarters." There seemed nothing else to say in response to his statement and they shared a knowing look.

At that moment the comm. sounded. "All senior officers report to the briefing room."

Tucker and Kov stared at one another for a moment, then the Human turned to leave in answer to the peremptory summons.

When he arrived, Soval was absent and instead Sub-commander T'Pol was at the head of the table. She waited until they were all seated and then spoke briskly and directly to the point.

"Captain Soval is currently under arrest for the murder of Crewman Varen. The High Command has been informed and has ordered me to take command of the Ti'Mur effective immediately. Are there any questions?" No-one said anything and T'Pol turned her attention to the chief engineer. "Mr. Tucker, we are to rendezvous with the T'Mern as soon as possible."

"Aye, Captain." He used the rank deliberately and held T'Pol's gaze for a second, seeing her thanks for his support expressed in the slight inclination of her head. Once they were dismissed he took his leave, his heart lighter than it had been for some time, recognising everyone's life would be easier with Soval out of the way.

T'Pol made a ship-wide announcement to the crew only moments later and the immediate difference in the atmosphere permeated even Tucker's self-absorption.

"Captain T'Pol," Phlox stopped the officer as she was about to leave his Sick Bay office. It was three months after the crewman's murder and Soval's hearing had just concluded. They had been discussing the state of Soval's mental health and the decision the hearing had come to regarding his future care and rehabilitation, and as they had finished she had risen to leave. At the doctor's words she paused, gazing down at him in enquiry. "I would like to talk to you about Sub-commander Tucker."

T'Pol took her seat once more.

"Please sit down, Sub-commander," T'Pol indicated the seat on the opposite side of the desk in her Ready Room and Tucker sighed as he lowered himself wearily into it, missing the openly concerned gaze which the captain and doctor exchanged.

It was six months into T'Pol's captaincy and while working conditions for Vulcan as well as non-Vulcan races on the Ti'Mur had improved beyond recognition, Tucker was well aware his own work was lacklustre at best. Try as he could, there was no way he could find the same enthusiasm for the engines which had sustained him in the past. On top of the general depression, he was still finding it difficult to sleep without Malcolm in the bed, missing his lover more than he believed was possible. He had lost weight and was pale, dark circles under his eyes bearing witness to a continuous stream of broken nights. Both his general health and his work performance had been the subject of conversations with the doctor and the captain over the past few months, and he assumed this was to be another of the same.

T'Pol, true to her nature, went straight to the point. "Sub-commander Tucker. I have to inform you, by the authority of the Vulcan High Command and on the advice of Doctor Phlox, you are to be discharged from the service of the Empire." There was a pause while she waited for a reaction but Tucker was staring at her in complete stupefaction. "Given your exemplary conduct over many years, and your actions in saving the life of a Vulcan officer, this will be an honourable discharge on medical grounds. Kov will be promoted to sub-commander and chief engineer. We will reach Science Outpost Three in two weeks, where our new first officer will join us." She hesitated. "It would be appreciated if you would be willing to delay your departure by one week to enable a full debriefing with Sub-commander Archer, after which you are free to travel to the destination of your choice. You may be interested to know Mr. Archer is Human. The first to take the role of second-in-command on an Empire ship."

Tucker was staring at her in a daze, missing most of the end of her speech and it was not until much later he recalled it and understood its import. Eventually he managed to stammer out; "Are you tellin' me I can go back to Vantyra? I can..." He stumbled to a halt, trying to take in the fact that after twenty years he was actually facing freedom.

Phlox's voice was kind. "You are free to go wherever you choose, Sub-commander."

He looked from the calm face of the Vulcan to the now smiling visage of the Denobulan and understood suddenly what together they had contrived to achieve for him. Emotion crowded into his throat and he worked to control it, knowing the Vulcan would prefer him not to become overly demonstrative.

"Thank you both," he managed, his sincerity and the renewed light in his eyes all the thanks either of his friends required.

Tucker stopped the aircar a little distance from his destination and for a moment sat and stared at the pleasant pastoral scene which greeted him. He had arrived on Vantyra two days ago, desperate to contact Malcolm and discover whether he had any future here, whether the man he loved so much could possibly, given their history, want him to stay. Immediately on arrival he had become embroiled with immigration, his way finally eased when Kelaanan, the official he recalled from almost a year previously arrived and took up his case. Eventually they provided Reed's location after, he felt, finding out almost more about Charles Tucker than he knew himself. With the correct documentation, a map, and the good wishes of his new friend, he had begun the final stage of his journey. His heart thumping in his chest, he knew he had to move, had to travel those last few steps. He was scared and quite happy to admit it, because if Malcolm didn't want him here then he had no idea how he would be able to convince himself to go on living. But still he hesitated, desperate to know his fate, too afraid to meet it. Eventually, muttering a few well-chosen curses relating to his cowardice, he grabbed his bags, exited the transport and trudged with leaden feet up the slight rise until he could look down on the building which was now Malcolm's home. He stopped to admire the well-kept, whitewashed structure with the neat outbuildings set off to one side, containing, he learned later, Malcolm's workshops. Then he swallowed and hefted his bags to walk down the slope towards the small, two-storey house, blinking back tears at the sight of the three figures on the grassed area in front of the open door. Amy saw him first, looking up and staring for a moment before she leapt to her feet. Her cry reached him on the breeze.

"Poppa! It's Poppa! He's come home!"

By this time Joe was also on his feet, leaving the infant to continue playing on alone, oblivious to the newcomer, as the other two began racing up the hill towards him. His gaze was drawn away from them, however, as a slim, dark-haired figure appeared at the open doorway. From this distance he could not discern the man's expression, but he scooped up the little girl, settled her at his hip, and followed his children. For a moment Tucker was sure his heart would explode as he watched the man he loved more than anyone or anything in the universe walk steadily towards him, thrilled to see how fit and tanned he was.

By this time the two children were throwing themselves into his arms and his bags fell unnoticed as he dropped to his knees and gathered them to him, laughing and crying at the same time as they fired off a string of statements and questions at him.

"Why did you stay away so long?" That was Amy, followed up with; "I go to school, now, with lots of other children."

"See how tall I am?" Joe asked and when he admitted just how much the boy had grown. "I'm the tallest in my class."

It continued in the same vein for some moments, until he looked up and saw Malcolm standing before him, a toddler, glaring suspiciously at the newcomer, cradled in his arms. Reed did not appear particularly surprised to see him and it dawned on Tucker that the immigration office must have contacted him in advance to check whether his visit would be welcome. It occurred to him now that Malcolm would never block his access to the children, whatever he might want himself, and he was suddenly uncertain.

"Amy, Joe, take Poppa's bags into the house will you?" The English accent was calm and measured, giving nothing away.

Still laughing and chattering, they grabbed his belongings and began trekking back towards the buildings.

It was the most prosaic sentence Tucker could have imagined, and yet the very sound of Malcolm's voice stirred a deep, desperate longing within him.

"Malcolm?" he questioned, softly, unaware the uncertainty in his expression and the fear in his eyes was clear to the other man.

Malcolm answered him with a soft smile. "You're just in time for tea, Trip," and he slid an arm around Tucker's waist, urging him towards the house.

With a smile he looped his arm around Malcolm and walked with him, finally entering the cool interior of the main house, recognising at once the same calm, gentle atmosphere which Malcolm's presence had lent to their quarters on the Ti'Mur. Then he drew in his breath as he looked across the room. There was a recess part way up one cream painted wall, and in it was the vibrant sight of the willow-patterned plate. Swallowing the threatening tears, he turned to find his lover close by, and their eyes met.

"Welcome home, Trip."

With a sigh, Tucker reached out, lifting Malcolm's hand to place a gentle kiss on the thin scar running across its palm.

They spent much of the evening talking, the children chattering about their lives, their school and their friends, Malcolm saying a little about how they had become established on Vantyra and Trip, almost as voluble as the children, through nerves rather than excitement, told them about leaving the Ti'Mur. He told them about the people they knew of--Kov, T'Pol and Phlox--but also the new first officer, Jonathan Archer, for within a mere week the two had become firm friends, and he confided in Malcolm how he was convinced there was definitely something going on between Jon and T'Pol.

Malcolm watched him throughout, unable to tear his eyes away from him, catching his gaze as Tucker glanced at him every few moments, as if he was experiencing the same. Reed knew the American was nervous, afraid and not sure of his future. Yet here he was. Sitting in the front room of their home and looking as if he belonged there. When immigration had contacted him regarding Tucker's arrival on Vantyra he had been torn. Over the past year he had built a life for himself and the children here, he had found a measure of peace mainly, he now accepted, by trying to shut thoughts of Sub-commander Tucker and their time on the Ti'Mur from his mind. On hearing Tucker wanted to see them he had panicked, almost denying him, before his gaze had settled on Marika and he remembered the exchange they had shared when she first came into their lives. He knew he could not refuse access to the children but was not sure how he would react when he saw Tucker. His ambivalence had lasted until Trip had seen the plate and reached out to kiss his hand and in that gentle, apologetic, loving caress, Malcolm Reed suddenly found he had every answer to every question he had posed himself.

All of the children were in high spirits and once Marika was convinced this strange man was indeed the Poppa her siblings referred to all the time, she attached herself to Tucker like a limpet, insisting he feed her, put her down and read to her. Bedtime for the other two was boisterous, but they finally settled, Tucker surprised by a sudden burst of tears from Amy as he hugged her goodnight.

She sobbed into his neck. "You're staying now, Poppa? Promise me you're not going away again?"

He glanced up into Malcolm's face, not quite sure how to answer until he saw the slight nod. "I promise, sweetheart," he put his heart and soul into the words. "I'm stayin' right here with all of you." And he looked at Malcolm again.

Once the children were asleep, the two men moved quietly down the stairs into the main sitting room of the house. Tucker turned nervously to face Malcolm, and opened his mouth to speak. He got no further. Suddenly his arms were full and a mouth attached itself firmly to his, a tongue snaking inside as he was thoroughly kissed. Dazed, he was finally allowed to breathe, only to be almost tugged off his feet as he was pulled towards another room. He tried to find some words, to suggest perhaps they should talk, but suddenly his shirt was open and as Malcolm's mouth closed over a nipple, all thought fled, leaving only the desire and desperate need to be with his lover in its wake.

Before long he was naked, face down on the bed and begging Malcolm to hurry, that he was ready, crying out as the thick, hard length slid inside. His lover settled himself, Tucker feeling his chest pressed against his broad back and the panting breaths on his skin as Malcolm pistoned his hips, sliding in and out of his willing body. He arched his back, trying to pull the other man deeper within him, pushing back against the hard, pounding thrusts. He could hear Malcolm now, grunting as he plunged into him and he began to beg, wanting even more, delighting in the fact Malcolm Reed was finally, totally out of control. The mere thought of it was enough to trigger his own orgasm, without even having been touched. As he came, his sphincter muscles tightened and he heard Malcolm cry out his name before he spasmed and came.

They lay quietly, both struggling to regain breath and composure, Malcolm still wrapped around the man in his arms, and Tucker drifted off to sleep with his lover's hot breath gusting against his neck. For the first time in almost a year, he was complete.

He was woken later from a deep sleep by the sweeping touch of Malcolm's hands arousing his body, groaning in delight as work-calloused fingers curled around needy flesh, offering himself again and then, as the early morning light filtered through the curtains, he opened himself once more, ignoring the aches and pains as his lover slid into him and stared down into his face, his features expressing an intensity which robbed Tucker of breath.

As the body moving on him and in him neared completion, his lover reached down, claiming his mouth in a fierce kiss and as he broke away he stared into Tucker's eyes and said:

"Mine."

And as Malcolm threw his head back and groaned, Tucker tightened his grip around him and replied:

"Yours."

It was all that was ever said between them. Tucker took his place in their lives and for the next eighteen years they squabbled and loved, laughed and cried together, watching the children grow and develop and begin to make their own independent lives. Amy became an accomplished engineer, much to Trip's obvious delight, and joined a bonded group which included one of the young men she had studied with, and who was the father of her child.

As he walked through the long grass, Malcolm close by his side, he swallowed as he remembered the day Charles was born. It had not been an easy pregnancy or delivery, and both he and Malcolm had cried with relief when they had finally seen their grandchild safely arrived and Amy, wan and tired, but beaming with pride.

He became aware of Malcolm's concerned glance, and smiled reassuringly at him, reaching out to link their hands as they strolled along and he continued to think about the years that had passed. Marika had displayed an early talent for languages which, she told them after watching the PADD her mother had left her, was Hoshi Mayweather's special gift. Now she was studying at one of the many Universities this cultured planet provided. Joey had always been more of an enigma and he remembered Malcolm's face when the boy, always quiet and studious, finally announced he wanted to join one of Vantyra's religious orders. It was a contemplative order which mixed rarely with outsiders and by joining, Joe would be opting for a life of celibacy and meditation, and would see little of his family. The rules of the order insisted the family of any who wished to join should be in favour and Trip had wondered fleetingly whether Malcolm might refuse. He had woken in the night to find his lover shaking, crying silently, and slipped across the bed to hold him and offer his silent support.

The following morning, Malcolm smiled and kissed his son, giving his blessing. When Tucker saw the peace and satisfaction on Joe's features, he knew it was the right decision. Joe had been there ten years and in that time they had seen him twice, although they received a short letter from him every few months and the gentle, quiet thoughts they contained spoke of his complete happiness. Only for major family occasions would they leave the shelter of the walls that surrounded their community.

"Joey will be there today," he ventured.

The grip on his hand tightened and Malcolm turned to smile at him. "Yes," he paused. "I miss him," he admitted, though that came as no surprise to Tucker, who also missed Joe's calm, peaceful presence. "But I know he's happy."

"I miss him, too. I'll miss them all."

Nothing more was said as they neared the shrine and both could see the little cluster of blue and white, Amy and Marika hugging their brother all at once. They joined the small group and the girls released Joe to his father's embrace, before Trip moved forward too.

It was a joyous occasion, made more so by the attendance at the ceremony of old friends. Phlox, Kov, Archer and T'Pol were all gathered there, and Trip and Malcolm spent part of the long afternoon talking to them. They had remained in contact over the years but had seen each other only briefly. Trip's immediate rapport with Jonathan Archer had deepened into a solid friendship, cemented by the regard they both shared for the Vulcan woman. Archer had served as first officer to T'Pol for five years before becoming the first non-Vulcan to command an Empire ship. Over time Trip had begun to understand that forces within Vulcan had been quietly working for hundreds of years to bring about the changes he and Malcolm were witnessing within their lifetime. Not a bloody revolution, but the gradual alteration from a harsh, expansionist regime, to one which more closely followed Surak's tenet of peaceful co-existence.

It was a day for endings and beginnings, Tucker thought, as he learned of Kov's captaincy, Archer taking command of the first Earth starship, T'Pol resigning her Vulcan commission to serve as his science officer, and he winked at his friend as she solemnly outlined her totally logical reasons for doing so. It might have been more believable, he considered, had the two not been sitting quite so closely together. Phlox was heading home to Denobula for some time, he reported, taking advantage of the Vulcans abolishment of their system of slavery. They were even, and Malcolm's eyes shone with a remembered grief when Kov told them, opening peace negotiations with the Andorians. Tucker met his gaze then, trying to convey his sympathy and Malcolm moved round the comfortable circle, settling in by his side to reach for his hand.

When the ceremony and the party following it was over the two men returned to their home, putting on lights and drawing curtains in a sudden burst of domesticity, neither too sure what to do with a house that was so quiet. Eventually they settled on the settee and Malcolm turned sideways on to face Trip.

"Why did you ask if I was happy?" he questioned softly.

Tucker shrugged and tried to vocalise what he had felt at that moment. "Just struck me you'd never really had a choice y'know--"

He was stopped by the soft chuckle, staring into the grey eyes and in a moment of shocking clarity, suddenly, finally understood the expression which always shadowed those eyes when Malcolm looked at him, the expression which had been so apparent for almost twenty years.

"Well, sometimes I'm not awful bright," he admitted, then settled into his lover's arms, tucking his head down to simply enjoy being held, the familiar sensations of security and warmth wrapping around him.

Much later, Malcolm stirred and then spoke. "Marry me..."

Tucker's heart leapt.

"...love?"

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