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"The Disclaimer"
Author:
Surya
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: G
Summary: An addendum to 4.22 "These Are The Voyages." Finale fix.
Comments: I watched the episode and started laughing.
Beta reader(s): Thanks to my experimental Beta readers Bianca, SueC, Lt
Blackfire and Shivvlan for their suggestions and encouragement. All mistakes are
mine. This is my first slash story, so feedback would be very welcome.
Disclaimer: Trip, Malcolm and Enterprise belong to Paramount. No profit made.
As the holodeck doors closed behind Riker and Troi for the last time the final
segment of the program kicked in. The bridge of the NX-01 reappeared and, unlike
in previous scenes, it was accurate in every detail - not cluttered with
additional components that had actually belonged on the Columbia. In the
Captain's chair sat the image of a dark-haired man, now a little grey around the
temples, wearing semi-formal civilian clothing.
"This holonovel is a work of fiction based loosely on the events surrounding the
last mission of the NX-01," he intoned in a crisp English accent. "It should not
be relied upon to provide an accurate depiction of those events or the people
involved in them. A historically accurate record of this mission is available on
request from Starfleet Command."
The man glanced around for a few moments, sighed heavily and shrugged.
"Whassup, Malcolm?"
The image of Charles 'Trip' Tucker appeared behind the Captain's chair and
leaned his elbows on the back of it so that he could look down at Malcolm Reed.
Like Reed he was several years older than he appeared in the holonovel, thinner
and less robust-looking. He wore an open-necked shirt and jeans.
"You know, I'm glad the publishers have agreed to add this disclaimer but I'm
willing to bet no-one will ever stay to hear it; even if it does play
automatically at the end of the program. Did you know some people have mistaken
this for the official record? Can you imagine what they think of us based on
this?"
“It's only a novel, Malcolm. A badly researched, poorly written novel at that. I
guess Chef just wanted his fifteen minutes of fame."
Malcolm gave a derisive snort. "As if we'd all traipse down to the galley and
chat about our personal lives like that. The man was the biggest gossip on the
ship!" He turned in his seat and looked up at Tucker. "And I hate the way he's
made you out to be some kind of uneducated grease-monkey. It's a matter of
record that you finished your degree at Berkley concurrently with your Starfleet
training. Not to mention the advanced degrees you seem to pop out every couple
of years. How many is it now? Seven?"
"Eight, but who's countin'? It's because I never cite 'em, and it's easy to miss
my first degree if you're not lookin' very hard 'cause it's in physics, not
engineering. Not everyone's as picky about records as you are, Mal." He paused,
resting his chin on one hand. "But he wasn't particularly kind to you either,
was he? As if you'd have been snipin' about the seating arrangements at the
ceremony if your closest friend had been killed a couple of days before."
Reed gave Tucker his trademark half-smile. "But I wasn't even there, and you
didn't die."
Tucker laid his hand on Reed's shoulder. "Thanks to you."
They shared a long moment, both recalling the sequence of events that had almost,
but not quite, claimed Trip's life, kept them both in sickbay while the Charter
was signed, and effectively ended their Starfleet careers. Realising that the
raiders would kill both Shran and his child if they found them, Trip had
jury-rigged the explosion that took them out, but his own lungs had been
thermalised in the process. Phlox had kept him alive in the hyperbaric chamber
long enough to discover a very old, but effective, method of saving his life.
When he'd asked for a volunteer from Trip's compatible organ donors among the
crew Malcolm didn't hesitate. He gladly donated one of his lungs to save his
friend's life. The fact that they'd both been invalided out of the service with
severely diminished lung capacity was a small price to pay.
Malcolm sighed. "I suppose he must have thought it was more dramatic to kill you
off."
Trip threw up his hands in frustration. "But then he didn't even make it
dramatic, did he? I disappear into the hyperbaric chamber and then pouf! T'Pol's
packin' up my stuff."
"I suppose I must have been too distraught to do it," Malcolm quipped.
"No death scene, no announcement to the crew, no funeral ... not even a moment
of stunned silence from the Captain," Trip continued. "If you're gonna kill off
a major character you should really milk it for all it's worth."
"Well, as you said, the writing is appalling."
"Chef was always fixated on me and T'Pol, too," Trip mused. "Never got over the
fact that we didn't end up together."
Malcolm sniggered. "I think he had a thing for T'Pol himself. I bet that's why
he killed you off!"
Trip shrugged. "Coulda been, I guess. But by then I'd found someone who actually
loved me back." His expression was warm as he gazed down into Malcolm's steely
grey eyes.
Malcolm grinned back up at Trip. "And I'll bet that never makes it into the
history books either."
"No reason why it should." Trip shrugged again.
"Come on, love," Malcolm said as he rose and came around behind the chair,
holding out a hand to his partner. "Let's forget this piece of trash and go home."
~the end~
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