"The Shingle Beach"

Author: Sal

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

Fandom: Enterprise

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Rating: NC-17

Category: Slash

Summary: The romance all began on a shingle beach.

Spoilers: Terra Nova, The Andorian Incident, Shuttlepod One

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

Comments: This was started a while back, before I had read all the speculation about age etc, and only really works if Malcolm is about 3 years younger than Trip.

Beta reader(s): The incomparable Sue

Archived to EntSTSlash on 4/20/2003.
Archived at Trip*Malcolm with the author's express permission.

It was August and the sun was shining from the clear blue of a Cornish sky. An early sea mist had cleared and now the morning was bright, the day promising a warmth that would doubtless end in a summer storm. A young man leaped into the small yacht that was pulled up onto the tiny pebbles making up the shingle beach of the cove. His friends were still at the cottage they had rented, sleeping off the excesses of the night before, but the salt air wafting through his window had roused this youngster and as if he heard a siren call he had headed for the boat, grabbing a container of cold milk and half a dozen apples on the way. His aim was to catch enough fish to cook for lunch. He cursed lightly as he saw the mess the previous day's fishing party had left, but even that failed to dent his mood as he set to work, deciding that his first task was to unravel the tangle of lines and unknown knots.

"Excuse me?"

Trip Tucker gave up wrestling with the ropes of the sailboat and turned, surprised that he had not heard any approach. He found himself facing a teenage boy, three or four years younger than himself, and who was wearing a Scout uniform. Further along the beach a gaggle of similarly dressed figures were gathered, busy at--something--from this distance he could not see what. His attention was taken once again by this earnest boy, watching a finely boned hand brush back an overlong fringe in an impatient gesture.

"Somethin' I c'n do for you?" He grinned, liking the way the grey eyes met his, open and direct.

Hesitatingly, he began, "Are you ... ?" breaking off suddenly as he took in the state of the boat. "Do you need a hand with that?" His voice took on a different tone, from a soft enquiry to the confidence of someone who knew what they were doing.

Tucker was intrigued by the alteration in the boy's manner. "I'd sure appreciate it," he responded, "else I'll never get out this morning."

As quick and smooth as a cat he was in the boat, taking the knot Tucker was holding and snorting at the state of it. His disapproval was clear as he remarked. "You really shouldn't leave a boat like this."

The older man bristled. "I didn't," he snapped back.

There was a silence, the slight form still and then he sighed quietly. "I'm sorry. I'd better go."

Something in his voice, a hint of defeat and disappointment, wiped away Tucker's brief annoyance. He chuckled slightly, his grin widening as the grey eyes looked up in surprise. "Don't leave me with this lot?" he begged.

Tucker knew he had charm, and knew that he had used it unfairly to his advantage over the years, but now he exerted it to put this young man at his ease, to win him over. In all his life he had never met anyone with whom he had felt such an instant rapport and he grinned again as his new friend smiled in response, visibly relaxing, and began to work on the knot once more.

"You were about to ask me something?" He prompted after they had worked in a companionable silence for some time.

"I saw you arrive the other night. Are you ... are you in Starfleet? It looked like you were all in uniform."

"Sure am. Just a cadet at the Academy, though. Just finished my second year." Even after all that time he could still barely believe that he had achieved the first part of his childhood dream. He looked around them. With the extra, expert help, the boat was now ready to sail. "You want a drink?" When his new friend nodded, he slid into the cabin and pulled the milk from the small fridge. He poured some into two tumblers, coming back onto the deck and handing one over, gesturing him to sit. "You interested in joinin'?"

The corners of the teenager's mouth had turned down. "My father says I'm to go into the Navy."

Oh boy. Tucker knew he should butt out, that it was nothing to do with him, but the obvious unhappiness on the mobile features prompted his question. "And what do you want to do?"

There was a long silence as the younger man struggled to find words and Tucker, for almost the first time in his life, used a level of understanding he did not know he possessed and waited, letting him take the time he needed.

Eventually, the youngster sighed and tipped his head to stare up at the blue sky above them, the longing in his eyes almost palpable. Then he met Trip's gaze and there was a heartbreaking envy there for a brief moment before he looked down at the deck and said: "I want to see what's out there. But my father ... " He shrugged.

Tucker hesitated. "It ain't my place but--whose life are we talkin' about here?"

The eyes met his again and a strange jolt, almost like recognition, hit the cadet when he was faced with the wounded grey gaze.

"We've always been Navy men. He would hate ... it if I applied to the Academy."

"And you?" The hesitation in the sentence had not gone unnoticed.

With a maturity that belied his years the teenager sighed. "If I go into the Navy ... " There was a pause before he finished in a rush, as if unused to sharing confidences. " ... I'll hate him for the rest of my life."

"Have you told him that?"

A snort was the only response.

Tucker struggled to find the words he needed. "You know, in the end you have to make your own decisions and lead your own life. Otherwise you will never be happy."

A low sigh and a quiet answer. "I know, but it's not easy." He took a deep breath and glanced up at the sky again. "When are you planning on getting back?"

The American hesitated and then accepted the abrupt change of subject. "Round about lunchtime."

"Good. Don't leave it any later. There's a storm front coming in from the south west. It'll be here late afternoon and the summer storms round here can be lethal."

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll make sure I'm back early."

A call sounded across the beach and they both turned. The Scout leader was gesturing wildly as the crowd of uniforms disappeared into the distance.

"I'd better go."

"Good luck." The American spoke softly.

"Thank you."

On an impulse Tucker extended his hand. "The name's Trip."

The grasp was strong; a man's handshake not a boy's, and again he felt that sense of recognition. The young man appeared to have noticed nothing unusual. Another shout broke into the moment and he turned to leave, stopping as Tucker shouted, "What's your name?"

The older man caught only one word as the youngster--Malcolm--ran, fleet-footed even over the shingle, and out of Trip Tucker's life.

Tucker thought about the teenager from time to time, wondering if he had found the strength to make that difficult decision and defy the wishes of his father. From the determined chin and direct gaze, he was somehow sure he had. The proof came one day almost five years later when he was asked to take a tutorial for a third year Academy class. Throughout his own time there he had been popular, managing to maintain a social life and a punishing study schedule, distinguishing himself in a number of fields, particularly engineering. His final year study had been published and it was on this paper that he had been asked to take the class. It was nothing new to him and he was happy to do it. Part of the reason for bringing in external tutors was to get their take on a group of students, and he knew he would be expected to feed back on that more than on how the lecture might go down. He stood outside the class for a moment, rearranging his notes and then fiddling slightly with the new pip that marked his lieutenancy, before walking into the room.

Immediately he was aware of Malcolm's presence in the classroom, glancing across to meet his surprised gaze. He caught the grey eyes, glad to see his own pleasure reflected there, and smiled slightly. The young man, for he was no boy now, returned the smile and then ducked his head, blushing.

Tucker launched into the tutorial, searching for some spark of independent thought amongst the group. Lord, they're hard work, he thought despairingly. A couple of times he had seen his young friend open his mouth, then shut it. There was a grim set to his lips and that worried the lieutenant; not only that he recognised the unhappiness on such a short acquaintance, but also that it was there at all. He put his next point and noticed the quick interest there, the indrawn breath. Then nothing.

To hell with this. "You got somethin' you want to ask, cadet?"

Steadily, he met the gaze. C'mon, son, find your own way. Rise above this. He had seen enough bullying in his time to recognise what was going on in this room, and he decided there and then that he was going to deal with it. Fast.

The young man took a deep breath, glancing up at him once more, and Tucker saw the determination. Based on their previous brief meeting he had expected that; what he did not expect was the question that followed. It was a detailed enquiry regarding the effect of the theory he had just expounded on the weapons capability of a ship travelling at warp. For a moment he almost floundered when he caught the first sign of a sardonic humour in those eyes. He just managed to stop himself from grinning and instead began to think through what the cadet had said. Fifteen minutes later the two were embroiled in a singular argument and the rest of the class was bored rigid, not one other amongst them able to follow the discussion. Tucker caught himself, realising that he could have talked round this subject for the rest of the day and not exhausted it.

"Thanks for those insights, cadet. I guess we'd better get back on track or we won't finish at all."

At the end of the class the young man lingered and Tucker hoped it was because he wanted to talk to the tutor, rather than trying to avoid the two heavily set cadets who were hovering outside. He walked to the door. "Don't you two have somewhere to go?" he enquired pleasantly. They shuffled off down the corridor and he waited until they were out of sight.

"They giving you trouble?" he asked, trying to sound like an older brother and aware, in a shocking moment, that he wanted to beat the two into a pulp if they so much as laid a hand on their classmate.

Malcolm shrugged. "Actually," he responded, his English accent making the words crisp and clear, "when it comes to a fight I can usually take both of them." He paused to think about it. "That's probably why they give me so much grief the rest of the time."

Tucker gazed at him with some respect. Then ventured, "How did your Dad react when you told him you were joinin' Starfleet?"

The cadet grimaced. "He calls me periodically to rant. Apart from that he's not spoken to me." He shrugged before admitting; "To be honest, I don't care as much as I thought I would." He smiled wryly at his friend. "I told him the day after I met you, you know." The grey eyes were twinkling and Tucker returned the grin, sobering suddenly and scrubbing his hands through his blond hair.

"I hope you never have cause to hate me for that," he murmured.

A rich chuckle. "Don't worry. I could never hate you." There was a moment's silence as their eyes locked and for a second the lieutenant forgot to breathe. The younger man dropped his gaze. "I know damn well my Father will never be proud of me but I'm going to be the best at what I do. I'm going to be on that ship."

There was no need to ask what ship he meant. Everyone was talking about Henry Archer's work and the knowledge that it was finally becoming a reality. Tucker searched the set, determined features for a moment before he spoke.

"Look, I know how much you wanted to join Starfleet but unless I miss my guess, you spend a lot of time with your books and not much socialisin'." It was in keeping with their very first conversation; an implicit understanding that there were protocols and elements of social etiquette that simply did not apply to them.

"There's so much to learn ..." the cadet objected.

"Darn straight there is. And one of those things is how to get on with the folks around you. If you want to serve on a ship--on that ship--you've got to be able to mix. Make some friends, go drinkin' an' ... well, you know what I mean." He ran down, flushing slightly.

The lips pursed, as if he was about to argue or grin, then relaxed into that sardonic half smile again. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll think about it. I'd better go or I'll be late for my next class."

Tucker reached out, gripping his shoulder. "I'm real glad you made it, Malcolm."

The smile was like breaking sunshine, the lieutenant robbed of breath as the cadet grabbed his books and headed for the door.

Tucker wasn't surprised to see Malcolm again. Somehow he had expected it. The fact that they were both in one of San Francisco's many gay bars was the aspect which rather took him aback. Malcolm was moving around the edge of the room and Tucker monitored his progress, noting the way his face had changed over the past few years, all trace of boyishness gone, and he was unaccountably glad of that. He tensed as a tall blond man approached, noting the quiet conversation before the dark man attempted to walk past, clearly declining an offer. The blond grabbed him and then, so quickly that Tucker could not see how it was done, the smaller man had his aggressor pressed against the wall and held in a bruising arm lock.

The American moved across the room. "There a problem, here?" he enquired, his tone relaxed.

Their gazes clashed and there was no welcome in the dark gaze this time. Both men were in civilian clothing but the younger man's stance altered as if he had snapped to attention.

"No problem, Commander. This--gentleman--was just leaving."

I've been a Commander for all of a week, Tucker thought, an' he knows 'bout it. Well, well!

The man mumbled something that might have been an apology and stumbled away, the reek of liquor making Tucker wave his hand in front of his face, laughing.

"Sorry if I interfered."

"That's okay. Can I buy you a drink?" The young man flushed and hastened to elaborate. "To celebrate your promotion, I mean."

So Malcolm kept tabs on him, did he? Well, maybe it was time to let slip that he was doing the same.

"I'm meetin' someone but not for half an hour or so. A drink would be great." A pause for a heartbeat and then he leaned forward slightly. "Thanks--Ensign Malcolm Reed, armoury officer."

Everything in the room seemed to halt for a split second as they looked at one another, the gaze going way beyond what might be considered polite, and it was Reed who broke away first, turning to call for two beers. They sat at an empty table and immediately plunged into talk, no awkwardness between them despite the acknowledged attraction.

Tucker watched Reed run his finger up and down the outside of the glass, tracing patterns in the moisture, and tried not to think about those hands on his body. Taking a deep breath, he said: "I'm seein' someone right now, Malcolm."

"The man you're meeting here."

"Yeah."

Reed nodded, saying nothing for a few moments, taking a pull of his beer and scanning the crowd. Then he met Tucker's blue eyes. "Now is not the time." There was no attempt to avoid the issue, no glossing over or pretending that what was between them did not exist.

"I guess not. I wish ..."

"There you are, Trip."

Tucker groaned soundlessly and he grimaced slightly at his companion before he turned. This confrontation he wanted to avoid. His current lover was jealous. "Hi, Andre," he said brightly.

"We've a table booked." The tone was frosty.

"Please don't let me detain you any longer, Commander. I appreciate you taking the time to discuss the paper with me."

The Ensign's dissembling nearly took his breath away. "Yeah, well, glad I could help," he managed, turning his back on his lover and opening his eyes wide in an expression of comic dismay. "If you need any further information you can reach me through Starfleet," He hesitated before he added. "I'll be shippin' out to Jupiter station in a few weeks."

"Good luck, Commander."

The Englishman stood and extended his hand. That strong grasp, and once again they were on a shingle beach on a sunny August day.

"Lieutenant Reed. Please report to Admiral Forrest's office."

Reed glanced up at the tannoy then dived into the nearest rest room to check that he was neat and tidy before he headed towards the Admiral's office. He had been expecting news of his next assignment for a couple of weeks, the brass at Starfleet leaving him hanging, and he had only one thought in his mind; the huge, beautiful ship in the space dock above them.

"Sir!" He snapped to attention, immediately identifying the other man in the room with them. Jonathan Archer. The sheer thrill that ran through him then sent heightened colour to his cheekbones.

It was Archer who spoke. "Lieutenant Reed." He extended his hand and Reed accepted the handshake automatically. "You might be able to take a guess why we're here today?" He saw the twinkle of good humour and gentle teasing in the Captain's eyes and returned the smile, liking him immediately.

"Sir?"

The tall man chuckled. "If you've no objection, Lieutenant, I'd like you to join the crew of Enterprise. As Chief Tactical and Armoury officer."

Reed gaped at him for a moment. He was only a Lieutenant. Surely that was a post for a more senior officer, particularly on this ship?

"Is that okay--or did you have something else in mind?"

"No, no. Thank you. I'd be... Thank you." Suddenly he grinned, allowing the senior officers a brief glimpse of a totally different persona.

Archer chuckled. "I've cleared a shuttlepod for you. I thought you'd probably want to go up and have a look at your new domain. Your line officer, Commander Tucker, is up there already. I think he's been sleeping in that engine room!"

For a moment the name did not register, but once it did an awful suspicion began to take root. Without allowing any of his growing anger to show he made his escape, moving to the shuttlepod. Even carrying anger he had room for sheer awe at the sight of the silver grey ship, staring at her lines, her size, every detail.

Once on board, however, he headed directly to Engineering, annoyance and disappointment waging a war within him.

Tucker was staring at the warp engine with a rapt expression which nearly wiped out his fury.

"Commander Tucker," he managed tightly.

"Malcolm." Grinning, Tucker turned, sobering immediately as he picked up on the anger. "Somethin' botherin' you, Lieutenant?"

"Could we speak in private, please, sir?"

The 'sir' was almost an afterthought, Tucker decided as he led the way into his small office and keyed the door shut.

"I'm the Chief Tactical Officer," Reed launched in. "Did you ... Did you ... arrange it?"

Tucker gaped at him for a few moments before he found his breath and his dignity. Drawing himself up, he asked sharply; "Tell me, Lieutenant, in your opinion who is the best qualified and most able armoury officer in this fleet?"

There was silence, then Reed flushed and dropped his gaze to stare at his feet.

"Right," the Commander continued. "I'll say this once. You are here on merit because you are the best man for the job--by far. I would never, under any circumstances, attempt to influence crew selection for my own gain."

It was only at that point the younger man understood how badly he had misjudged the Chief Engineer and just how insulting that was. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, sighing. "Can we start again?" he asked. His eyes miserable, he looked up, meeting the icy glare. "I'm so sorry. I just couldn't believe ..."

The ice melted as Tucker saw once again the lonely boy on the shingle beach, believing that for him this dream was unattainable. More than anything he ached to pull the slim form into his arms and kiss him senseless. Instead, he spoke softly. "Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Chief Tactical Officer of the Starship Enterprise. Welcome aboard."

And they grinned at one another.

Much later the Chief Engineer found the armoury officer buried in the depths of one of the ports that would house the new phase cannons.

"C'mon, Malcolm, the night shift's been on for two hours already. Time to eat and sleep. In that order."

A muffled voice reached him. "Another hour or so and--"

"No deal, Lieutenant. Out of there--now."

A disgruntled expression peered out of the shaft, followed by Reed's body, easing itself out of the tight space with a grace and athleticism that quickened both pulse and flesh in the waiting man.

Taking a deep breath, Tucker asked in a rush before common sense could kick in; "You want to eat at my place? I can manage pasta." There was a long silence while they stared at one another and then he asked, softly. "Is now the time, Malcolm?"

With a sigh, the dark man replied. "It might be all the time we have." It was a tacit understanding that, given their respective positions, indulging in a relationship on board would not be wise. "Pasta sounds good," he finished with a smile.

They went their separate ways to shower and change and then Reed found his way to the Commander's apartment. With the door shut behind him they exchanged their first kiss, a light, gentle caress. Once they had eaten, they took their wine to the small sitting area and settled side by side on the settee. Reed set his glass down and took the man's hand to raise it to his lips, feeling the shudder that passed through the tall man's frame. They leaned forward together, kissing; deep and knowing, as if this had happened before, as if it was always meant to be. Tongues slid against one another, exploring, sharing the sensations. The lieutenant's fingers gently unbuttoned Tucker's shirt, breaking the kiss to lick and suckle on nipples, drawing his fingers in a feather-light caress across the man's stomach, the whimpering sound of need thrilling him.

"What do you want?" he asked huskily, feeling the touch of fingers against his mouth. Understanding, he drew them into the hot dampness and suckled, his tongue dancing around them.

"Malcolm, please." With his free hand Tucker was attempting to undo his own flies and Reed brushed the hand away, sliding round and dropping to his knees before him, swiftly undoing the pants and pulling them down while the other man lifted his hips slightly to help him. Urgent flesh sprang free and he slid his hands up from knees to thighs, spreading them apart, moving forward then bending his head, allowing his lips to land in the lightest of touches. "Please," the Commander sobbed again, and Malcolm took him in, swirling his tongue around the head, his hand grasping the shaft, alternately sucking and licking, stroking and pulling until the man erupted. For a few moments he remained there kneeling before his lover, head on the flat abdomen, feeling the gasping, sobbing breaths as well as hearing them.

After a few moments, he felt Tucker's hands on his arms, stroking up and down, almost convulsively. His voice raw, he asked. "And what about you, lover, what do you want?"

Reed raised his head and the blond man read the need there, as clearly as if it was written in words a mile high. Smiling, he slid off the settee, his thighs still spread either side on the kneeling man, and pulled him in for another of those deep, soul-searing kisses, tasting his own seed. Then he moved, scrambling up and heading out of the room, returning even before Reed had a chance to question him, handing the tube to him and kneeling down beside his lover. He was about to turn and lean forward over the cushions but something in Malcolm's face stopped him and he stared, awestruck, as the lithe man stood and began to undress.

Slowly, without breaking the gaze, he undid his shirt, button by button, finally slipping it off his shoulders. His hands trailed down his own chest, to drift across the flat, muscled stomach, and reach the waistband of the dark pants he wore, unbuttoning and unzipping. He was naked beneath, sliding his hands down his hips, letting the fabric fall to the floor, kicking off his shoes. Tucker, in a haze of need, lurched forward with a sound that was almost agonised.

Startled, the young man suddenly found that his lover was on his knees before him, his head buried in his crotch and arms locking round his hips in a vice-like grip. Patiently he waited for the tension to ease, one hand stroking across the blond hair, giving him time.

Eventually he was released and the American turned, spreading his thighs once more, offering. Malcolm's husky growl had him trembling with need and he welcomed the touch of hands, firm and seeking. A finger slipped within him, his body opening at the welcome invasion. His own flesh was stirring again, the sensations and desire he felt overwhelming and he hissed as a second finger joined the first.

The Englishman spared a brief moment to remember all the times he had fantasised about this moment, knowing that none had ever come close to this reality. He leaned forward, trailing a line of kisses down the man's spine while he worked his fingers into a body that he believed had been waiting for him since the first time they met. Slowly, slowly, he eased himself in, fighting against the impulse to take, to master. After a few seconds he began to move his hips, a gentle undulation which gathered a groan from his lover. Gradually, with a discipline which amazed him when he thought about it later, he increased the pace and strength, the reaction telling him when he had found the spot for which he was seeking and he reached around to grasp the man's erection, already familiar with its weight and feel. His overarching concern was to make this the best the other man had ever had. He had already attained that goal for himself.

In the end though, instinct and need crowded out every other intention and he began to lose control, his cries joining his lover's as the movements became frantic and they finally came.

Drawing in great, sobbing breaths, Malcolm collapsed against the broad back beneath him, feeling Tucker grab his sticky hand and interlink their fingers. There was silence for a long time until he groaned and pulled away, sliding out of the Commander's body. They both moved until they were sitting on the floor with their backs against the settee, the dark head pillowed on a muscular shoulder and an arm curved around him, their linked hands resting comfortably at Reed's groin. For the Lieutenant, there was a feeling of completeness and belonging so alien to his life thus far that it left him breathless.

The long silence was companionable but was broken eventually by the younger man. "I hate to say this, but I'm getting cold."

Tucker realised that they were both shivering slightly and with a groan he began to untangle himself from his lover. "Bed," he ordered, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to haul the other man up. Hand in hand they moved through to the bedroom, sliding under the covers, and this time it was the blond who tucked his head down, letting himself be held. Both were tired, but neither particularly wanted to sleep. Tucker ran his fingers lightly over his lover's chest, finally saying softly; "D'you know, I came to your graduation?"

An indrawn breath. "No, I didn't know."

A quiet chuckle. "I was so damn proud of you that day, graduatin' first in your class an' all. I damn near burst with pride." He pressed his lips against soft skin. "I wanted to talk to you but ..."

"It's okay. I understand."

"The girl--was that your sister?"

"Madelaine--yes."

"I'm glad she was there."

No mention of the people missing, the man who would never forgive his son for breaking with centuries of tradition and the wife who felt she had to support her husband whatever she might feel personally. Malcolm moved uneasily, shying away from a memory that was suddenly even more poignant than before. His lover sensed the withdrawal and turned his lips to skin once more, sliding his palm across his chest.

"I feel like I've been waitin' all my life for this. And I'm plannin' on givin' it up." His voice was raw.

Reed was quick to deny that. "We're not giving this up, Trip, we can't. We may not be able to act on what we feel but it doesn't mean it ends. Does it?"

It was one of the most singular aspects of this relationship. In essence they had shared a few brief meetings and this night, yet their understanding of one another, their mutual knowledge, went way beyond that, as did their acceptance of what it all meant; the fact that it was the start of a lifetime's commitment.

"We're due to ship out in about three weeks," commented Tucker. "We'll have that at least."

In the event they did not even have that as events overtook them, and during that very night Tucker's communicator sounded, waking them from a deep sleep. Within the hour they were both in uniform and heading back to Enterprise.

Before they left Tucker pulled his lover into a loose embrace and they kissed, keeping it gentle, knowing they could not give in to the urgency and desperation which they could feel in themselves and each other.

By agreement they did not pursue their relationship once they were on board and the mission was underway. Regulations aside, Tucker's situation as his lover's line officer made thoughts of continuing impossible. They worked together and spent time together, learning that they often fought, their bickering quickly becoming one of the ship traditions, viewed with amusement by most of those who worked within their teams. For the two men it was a means of communication that triggered ideas and new approaches, and taught them about one another. There were times when it was pure agony not to reach out, to gather his lover into a tight, desperate embrace, but they coped, learning to take comfort in the depth of their friendship, taking care not to be left alone too often for too long, both aware that their control, so dearly bought, could easily crack.

Only twice during the first months of their mission together did that get close to happening. After Reed had finally made it back to the ship after his incarceration on Terra Nova he had been stuck in sick bay. The first night, when the ship was quiet, Tucker had walked quietly through the doors, moving to stand by the other man's side. The Lieutenant had been sleeping fitfully and had woken, alerted by some sixth sense to the presence of his lover. They had stared at one another and then Reed had felt the touch of the Commander's hand as his fingers were grasped. He returned the grip, pouring as much reassurance and love into the look he bestowed upon the other man as he could. He was rewarded with a sweet smile, Tucker's free hand drawing briefly across the injured man's forehead, and then he left.

The second time followed the events at the Vulcan monastery on P'Jem. The three most senior officers on the ship had been held prisoner by Andorians convinced that the sanctuary hid a listening post. Reed had been in command and had been forced to wait until a plan could be hatched to rescue his colleagues and the monks without loss of life. In the fracas, they had discovered that the Andorians were correct in their assertions, on top of which Tucker had taken a blow to the head which landed him in sickbay. Despite the analgesic, the Commander had a splitting headache and was still awake well into the night. He heard the door opening and smiled, some innate sense telling him who had entered. A moment later the curtain parted and his lover eased silently in, to stop in some confusion when he realised the injured man was awake. For a moment it looked as if he would leave just as silently and Tucker remained quiet and still, letting Malcolm make his decision. With a soft sigh, Reed approached the bed, staring down at him.

"Hey," Tucker greeted him.

"Hello. I hope I didn't wake you?"

"Not with this headache."

"Should I call the Doctor?"

"Got a couple of hours before my next dose. I'll survive," he finished, laconically, but he didn't miss the shiver that passed through Reed's body. "I'm okay," he insisted.

"I know I shouldn't have come," Reed confessed, his voice low, "but I just had to be sure." Unable to help himself he reached out, cupping the bruised face and leaning in to brush his lips against Tucker's.

Tucker returned the gentle caress, bringing his hand up to stroke along the nape of the other man's neck, exerting enough pressure when the man broke the kiss to encourage the dark head to rest on his shoulder for a few precious moments.

All too soon Reed pulled away, his fingers brushing the American's hand.

"I'm okay, darlin'" Tucker spoke quietly.

"I know, love. Just make sure you stay that way. Remember we have a date--in about four years and six months!"

"I'll be waitin', Malcolm."

The grey eyes were warm and in a repeat of Tucker's visit to sickbay after the events on Terra Nova Reed leaned forward to brush his lips across his lover's forehead, lingering on the bruised flesh for a moment, and then he was gone.

Tucker swallowed hard, pain almost engulfing him until he concentrated on the look in Reed's eyes and the love that was so apparent in every one of his actions. With a smile, he closed his eyes and when Phlox came to administer the next dose of painkiller, Tucker was fast asleep.

And now here they were, trapped on a freezing shuttlepod with the air running out. They had fought and despaired and got drunk together, too afraid even at this stage to huddle together and share body heat, each sitting with a blanket wrapped around them.

"This is crazy," Tucker muttered, eventually. "C'mere." And he tugged on the Lieutenant's arm, opening the blanket. The younger man caught his gaze then shut his eyes briefly before crawling into the comfort of his lover's arms.

There was not much warmth by now but the sensation of holding and being held was blissful for both of them. Reed, ever the proper officer, remarked. "You know, if we fall asleep like this--we'll die like this." "Who's gonna die?" Tucker had to stay positive.

This time Reed did not argue, pulling Tucker's hands to hold them against his body, trying to warm them. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"Malcolm, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sheer surprise coloured the enquiry.

"For the way I've been the last coupla days. For that dumb stunt with the airlock." A pause. "For getting' you into all this in the first place. You might have been safer on the ocean."

"I wouldn't change any of it," Reed declared, putting as much strength into the sentence as he could.

"Even this?"

"Especially this."

How could he explain what that meant, Reed wondered. He didn't want to die and if he could, he would save Tucker, just as the man had tried to sacrifice his life earlier. But if he did have to die today, he thought, then how could it be better, wrapped in the embrace of the person he loved most in the Universe? He turned his head to rest his cheek against the man's chest, aware of, but hardly able to feel, the strong arms that tightened around him, and he thought that perhaps Trip understood. The steady but slowing beat of a heart sounded in his ear, and he knew that the lowering heart rate matched his own.

"I'm not cold any more," he remarked.

"And that ain't good," Tucker slurred, intense cold making speech increasingly difficult.

Reed tipped his head back and icy lips met in a gentle, fleeting caress. A goodbye, he wondered?

"We shouldn't sleep," the American cautioned.

"I know."

A long silence and then the Commander spoke. "I always loved you."

Some time after that, a single sentence.

"Can you hear the sea?" asked Malcolm.

They were unconscious by the time the shuttlepod was pulled back on board Enterprise. It was Archer himself who opened the hatch, gasping a little at the cold air rushing out to greet him. Folding up his tall frame, he clambered inside. Dr Phlox, dictating instructions to Cutler over the comm link, was only a few moments behind. Once inside he glanced curiously at the Captain who was staring down at the two unconscious officers, the expression on his features difficult to read fully. Phlox, who enjoyed his study of the human race, filed away that expression to think about later. For the moment there was the urgent question of whether the two men had survived.

He moved forward, searching for a pulse. "They're alive, but very weak. A severe case of hypothermia. We need to warm them up very gradually." He began to issue orders, the Captain relaying them as he worked.

Archer stared at the two men again, experiencing a sense of shock at the sight. Sharing body heat in this fashion was exactly the right thing to do in this situation and he would have had no compunction in doing the same. In this case, however, their intimacy screamed at him as he looked down to where the blankets had slipped from their shoulders; their hands were interlinked, their fingers entwined in a grip that made it difficult to tell them apart. Reed's cheek was against the Commander's chest and the serenity of each expression was startling. The sight triggered another memory, and he recalled when he had been discussing his ideas for crewing Enterprise with Trip. Malcolm Reed had been his obvious choice for armoury officer and now he recalled the strange expression that had crossed Tucker's face when he had told him. That memory led to another; that the Commander had happily talked about all the crew assignments with him, except for the Chief Tactical Officer. In retrospect, he could count a number of occasions when he had raised the subject but had been side-tracked by Tucker.

Assuming his friend survived this, they were going to have to have a long talk.

Reed awoke first, hardly able to take in at first the very fact that they were both still alive. The Captain's grip on his shoulder helped to reassure him as did T'Pol's reaction to his questions. Archer noted that he asked for the Commander, recalling now how formal the Lieutenant was, how he always seemed to emphasise the senior officer's rank. They left him to recover soon after, Archer rather taken aback by the emotional reaction from one who always appeared so controlled, and it gave him something else to consider.

On the surface nothing had changed as the two men fought their way back to full strength over the next few days, but Tucker was aware that both his lover and his best friend were avoiding him. At first he was still feeling too weak to deal with it but eventually he knew that something had to be done. Over that time he had made some decisions of his own and the first of those was to tackle the Captain.

Archer answered the door signal, asking Tucker to enter.

"Hey Cap'n. You got a few minutes?"

"Sure, Trip, have a seat."

The Commander noticed the way the man looked anywhere but straight at him. He sat down, placing his elbows on his knees and running his hands through his hair. "I guess you saw us."

"In the shuttlepod. Yes. When were you planning to tell me?"

That was what it was all about, Tucker recognised, Jon thought his trust had been broken, thought that perhaps he had been lied to. Well, perhaps in a sense that was true--if only by omission. Belatedly, Tucker realised that he should have made the Captain aware of what had occurred between his Chief Engineer and Chief Tactical Officer.

"It ain't quite how it looked."

"It looked like you were lovers. Is that true?"

"Yes sir."

"Then it looked exactly as it is. Why, Trip? Why didn't you tell me?" There was a peculiar anguish in the tone.

Tucker took a deep breath and launched in. "You've known from the start where my preferences lie, Jon. I ain't ashamed and I'm not about to hide either. What I didn't tell you, I have never told anyone. I fell in love a long time ago."

Archer gaped at him, his utter shock making Tucker smile despite the painful conversation. Taking another breath, he told the man everything, finally winding down.

"Thing is, after the shuttlepod I don't think I can go on in the same way. I can't ignore it any more. I want your permission to go forward with this, Cap'. I guess the difference in ranks makes life awkward but hell, you can bust me back to Lieutenant if it'll make it easier."

He couldn't help it. Archer began to laugh, finally hiccupping to a stop. "Jeez, Trip, I'm sorry. I can just see Malcolm's reaction if I tried to do that. I'd like to retain the use of my limbs, thanks," he finished soberly. Then he sighed. "Trip, as far as I am concerned what happens when you are off duty is your business and Malcolm's business and nobody else's. I just wish you had come to me before." He hesitated, still struggling with a disquieting sense of betrayal, not as a Captain, he understood, but as a friend. Then he pushed it to one side, knowing that was an issue he and Trip would work through another time. "Have you mentioned to Malcolm that you intended to talk to me?"

"He's avoidin' me right now."

"Oh. Why's that?"

"Prob'ly the same reason I'm keepin' my distance. You put us in a room alone right now, there's no way we'll be keepin' our hands to ourselves."

Archer flushed and cleared his throat.

"I've said my piece for the moment, Trip. As long as it doesn't affect the work, I have no objections. I will inform T'Pol but it's up to the two of you who else you want to tell."

"I'd rather we were just open about it, Cap', but I'll leave that decision to Malcolm." He paused for a moment. "I did wonder whether it might be best if you did his performance reviews?"

"I would have suggested it," the Captain agreed. "Anything else?"

"I think that's 'bout enough to be goin' on with." Ticker stood and prepared to take his leave. "My only regret, Jon, is not tellin' you years ago--but half the time I could hardly believe it myself."

Archer stood and pulled the younger man into a brief hug. "Don't sweat it," he urged, feeling his own earlier feelings dissipate. "As long as he makes you happy."

"Most of the time," Tucker owned, then grinned, the years falling away. "Sometimes he makes me madder than hell."

When the door chime sounded Reed knew who was on the other side. For a moment he hesitated, wondering whether his barriers were strong enough to survive this encounter then called out. "It's open."

His lover entered, expression intense and he felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as a flood of desire shot through him. He was not given the opportunity to speak, Tucker pulling him into a tight embrace, spinning him and moving forward to pin the smaller form to the bulkhead. The surprised "Oomph" was swallowed as a hungry mouth attached itself to his lips. Reed experienced a fleeting moment of sanity when he knew he should try and stop this, before he surrendered completely.

The Commander's hands were tugging at their clothing, freeing flesh and grinding his hips into the other man's, one arm locked tight around Malcolm's buttocks as he took him. In a hazy part of his mind Malcolm wondered whether he should be feeling violated, but considering his own reaction and how much he wanted to submit to this mastery, he decided not. Instead, he gave up on rational thought altogether, spreading his legs slightly to provide them with more balance and allowing his lover to get even closer. He locked his own arms around the solid form, his cries urging the man on. They came within seconds of one another, explosively, noisily, shouting out a release, and then Tucker found his mouth again, the kiss beginning passionately and gradually gentling.

Reed's legs would no longer support him and he slid down the wall, taking the other man with him until they formed an exhausted heap on the floor.

Eventually he managed; "I knew I shouldn't let you in."

His lover caught his breath in a sound that was half laugh, half sob. He untangled himself slowly, clambering to his feet and grabbing his arm to pull him up. The Englishman protested but let himself be hauled upright and then they both spent a moment rearranging their clothing.

"Wanted to talk to you," the Commander managed. "Knew I'd never be able to concentrate."

Reed wasn't sure how to react to that and said nothing.

"Malcolm," Trip leaned forward, capturing his hands and his lips gently, all trace of urgency gone though its memory and the remembrance of the strength and power that had been unleashed upon him sent a shudder of desire coursing through him once more. Breaking the embrace the American led him across to the sofa and they sat, the armoury officer waiting in silence for his lover to speak.

"I've done somethin' you might not be too happy 'bout, Malcolm. I made a decision 'bout somethin' to do with us an' I didn't talk to you about it first."

There was silence.

"Go on."

He quirked a grin at the Englishman, hearing the caution, the reserved judgement in the crisp tone.

"I spoke to Jon--about us." The silence thickened, Tucker sensing the disapproval and he added. "He saw us on the shuttlepod--seems we were like Babes in the Wood."

"Hell," Reed launched himself off the sofa, colouring furiously and his lover watched him in some confusion as he paced angrily.

"What's up?" He asked eventually. "You think he'd have a problem with it?"

That stopped him in his tracks.

"No," he responded, his words clipped, the English accent more noticeable. "Not as a person anyway. I know he'd be fine with it. I'd just rather he hadn't found out like that."

"Me too. Which is why I talked to him." Tucker paused. "You mad at me?"

"A bit," he owned, shrugging. "I think I should have been part of that decision and that conversation."

"Maybe," Tucker admitted.

"What did he say?" Malcolm's curiosity prompted the question.

"That it was our business. That it was up to us. That he'd do your performance reviews. That he was glad you made me happy."

Reed resumed his seat and caught up Trip's hand, relief turning him almost giddy. "You mean ...?"

"Yeah--it means we can be together--long as it doesn't interfere with the job."

Justifiably his lover dismissed that consideration. Both of them were professionals to their fingertips and they had spent their first months on board taking it to extremes. They could handle that.

"What about the rest of the crew?"

"That's up to us. I don't see any reason to hide it, do you?"

"No, but ..."

"But you're not used to me holdin' your hand in public."

"I'm not used to anyone doing that." Reed turned, moving closer, "Maybe I just need the practice." He leaned forward, capturing the man's mouth in a gentle caress.

When they drew apart Tucker asked plaintively, "Are we done talkin'?"

Reed smiled. "For the time being."

"Good. Take me to bed, Malcolm."

"Your wish, Mr. Tucker, is my command."

Later, naked and sleepy, wrapped in his lover's arms, a horrible thought occurred to Reed. "What was that you said about the Captain doing my review?"

After his shift the following day Reed asked to see the Captain and was invited into his ready room.

"Malcolm, how are you feeling? You've recovered?"

"Yes, sir, thank you. This is my first full day back. Dr Phlox had me on light duty for over a week."

Archer grinned at the slight irritation evident in the voice. "Well, you don't argue with the Doctor on this ship, that's for sure. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to apologise, sir."

The Captain's brow furrowed. "For what?" he questioned in surprise.

"For not apprising you of my relationship with Commander Tucker when you offered me this berth."

Archer managed not to smile at the unconscious use of navy slang. "From what Trip tells me you had no idea he was assigned to Enterprise when I spoke to you, and you haven't pursued a relationship on board."

"I know, sir, but I should have said something --"

Archer cut him off. "Malcolm, there's no need for this. It's in the past--and that's the best place for it." He hesitated then ploughed on. "Trip and I have been friends for a long time. All I ever wanted was to see him find happiness. I think you can give him that, Malcolm, and that pleases me."

Reed flushed, staring at his boots for a moment before his direct gaze met the Captain's anxious blue eyes.

"Thank you, sir." He took a deep breath. "You know you can trust us, sir? You know that?"

Archer rose, resting a hand on a slim shoulder, gripping tightly. "Yes, Malcolm, I know that. Now off with you--I'm sure you've got much better things to do with your off-duty."

His cheeks, which had begun to cool, burned anew but he met his Captain's eyes and grinned. "Do you know something, sir? I think you might be right."

He found Tucker in the mess hall, standing in the doorway for a moment to drink in the sight of his lover. The man was leaning against the bulkhead, staring out at the emptiness of space beyond. A forgotten glass of milk and abandoned PADD were on a nearby table. The hall was busy but there was an area of clear space around the Commander, the rest of the crew respecting the obvious need for solitude.

Reed smiled and walked forward into that space.

"What are you dreaming about?" he asked.

Blue eyes met his, seared him to his soul. "You, of course," was the immediate response.

He grinned. "I should think so too," he murmured, then sobered. "I talked to the Captain."

"Oh."

"I thought I should."

"He okay?"

"He's fine. How are you?"

"Stunned. Can't believe we can actually have all this and each other, too. Just hope the Gods don't get jealous."

It was the lightest possible allusion to the daily perils they faced, the fact that it was Reed's job to deal with and face any dangers and to protect the crew even at the cost of his own life. There was nothing his lover could say. They could hardly ignore the fact that death in its many forms was a constant companion.

He sighed quietly, reaching out to take Tucker's hand, aware of but not caring about the sudden interest shown by other crewmembers.

"I love you, Charles Tucker," He spoke the words almost matter-of-factly. "And whatever time we have will never be enough to tell you, to show you that. So we will take whatever we are allotted, Trip. Then we'll go to the Gods and demand more."

Tucker smiled at this whimsicality, returning the grip and they both stared out at the infinity beyond.

Sato glanced up at them from the table she was sharing with Mayweather. Her brow creased. "Is it my imagination, or are Trip and Malcolm holding hands?"

The helmsman followed her eyes, shrugging. "Yep, they're holding hands alright."

"That's like making a public announcement in here," the young woman commented drily, and then turned back to their earlier topic of conversation.

Two years later

The two men sat side by side on a blanket which had been cast upon a shingle beach. They were totally alone and totally naked, having spent an afternoon swimming and making love, the sound of the surf in their ears, mingling with the sounds they made as they enjoyed one another's bodies. A picnic basket, almost empty now, was beside them and some way behind in a clearing in the trees a shuttlepod was waiting. The sun was slipping towards the horizon across the water and it was almost time to go.

"Imagine us even gettin' a honeymoon," marvelled Tucker.

Reed glanced down at the only article he was wearing, a thin, absolutely plain gold band that matched his partner's. He said nothing, but smiled, his eyes glowing.

Later they stood staring out at the ocean, so like Earth's own, the gear packed, themselves arrayed once more in uniform, ready to head back.

With a sigh, the Englishman squeezed the hand he held and they exchanged a gentle kiss and a smile before as one they turned, heading towards a wonderful, if uncertain future, leaving the ocean and the shingle beach behind them.

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One person has made comments

OMG Sal -- that was fantastic!!!  What a beautiful job!  And the  "moments" you chose were lovely.  Can't wait to read more of your T*M work!  WOW!!!
 

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