"Three Little Words"

Category: Humour
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Trip/Reed
Spoilers: Not a single one (!)
Disclaimer: All I own is the alcohol, damn it! Paramount owns the rest … damn them!
Summary: While on shore leave, Trip finally hears Malcolm say those three magical words …
Feedback: iniquitouslibra@hotmail.com

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"We shouldn't be doing this. Really, this is completely inappropriate."

"Shut up, Loo-tenant. You're ruinin' the moment."

Malcolm Reed stared. "What moment?"

Charles "Trip" Tucker stared back, rolling his eyes. He sighed. Obviously, some people never got the point of shore leave. "This moment," he replied, waving his arm at the scenery around them. "Here I am, tryin' to get you all relaxed and you're doin' everythin' you can to get out of it."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "I was hardly aware you were making an effort, Commander."

"First off, don't call me that. We're on shore leave. My name is Trip."

"Whatever you say, Commander," Malcolm smirked, finally letting himself take a look at the view surrounding the two officers.

"That's not even funny, Malcolm," Trip replied. "Look, when was the last time you let yourself go?"

Malcolm glared. "I have never to my knowledge, as you so blithely put it, 'let myself go'. I'm a Starfleet officer, I do my job and be done with it."

"Starfleet, huh?" Trip got up to stretch his legs. "I've heard a lot about that organisation. Heard a lot about you, as well."

"Sir?" Malcolm was genuinely baffled.

"You know, Mister Reed, I heard a lot of talk that you're just another one o' them Vulcans." Trip stopped pacing, and turned to face his friend, looking at him incredulously. "Except, o' course, that your ears got fried off by a phase pistol."

Said friend started laughing. "That is one of the most stupid things I have ever heard," he said, shaking his head. "And I've heard a lot of things."

"So I hear," Trip quipped, and was rewarded by another mini-laughing fit from the normally oh-so-reticent lieutenant. It made a nice change.

Malcolm stopped laughing. "I suppose I should thank you for arranging all of this," he said seriously, looking around again. "Although as I said already, it is completely inappropriate. I'm not all that sure we should even be here."

"Malcolm Stuart Reed, you are the limit," Trip sighed. "The whole point o' this little exercise is to get away from work and to have a little fun. I do presume you know what 'fun' means?" he asked in mock seriousness.

"Is that the point, Commander?"

Trip sighed again. Obviously, this was going to take some time. Crossing the room, he picked up two bottles of the local tipple. He had it on good authority from the bartender the stuff was strong...whatever it was. Anaran ale didn't exactly ring any bells with someone who hailed from Earth. Both bottles were duly opened, and he offered one to Malcolm.

"If you're goin' to be so damn formal, Loo-tenant," he said, drawing out his friend's rank, "then I may as well pull some rank on you. Drink. Now," he finished, thrusting the bottle into Malcolm's hand. "I'm not takin' no for an answer."

"Yes, sir," was the sarcastic reply, and both officers drank deeply of their latest alien intoxicant. Trip finished his, and stared at the bottle. Damn. It really was strong. They were going to have one *hell* of a hangover in the morning. He looked over at his friend; Malcolm's bottle was half-empty, and he looked quizzically at Trip.

"So, Commander," he drawled in a near-perfect Southern accent, "what little strategy have you got going on here? Get me drunk, have your wicked way with me?" Malcolm smirked.

Now it was Trip's turn to look surprised, then he quickly recovered. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows at the lieutenant.

There was a brief pause before both men cracked up laughing; possibly from the effects of the ale, neither really knew. Malcolm doubled up, and duly dropped his ale on the floor, smashing the bottle. He wiped some tears from his eyes, and looked miserably at the glass shards now decorating the floor. "I think I'm going to need another drink," he concluded sadly.

Trip fetched another bottle, but refused to hand it over. Instead he held it out of Malcolm's reach, and with one hand, kept him pinned to the chair he was sat on. "Couple of things we need to get out of the way first, Malcolm," he said.

"Pardon me?"

Trip grinned. "You need to set somethin' straight, Loo-tenant. Repeat after me; I, Malcolm Stuart Reed -"

"I, Malcolm Stuart Reed -"

"- do solemnly declare -"

"- do solemnly declare -"

"- that I am one o' the most uptight officers -"

"What?!"

"Say it..."

"- that I am one of the most uptight officers -"

"- and one o' the biggest killjoys -"

"... and one of the biggest killjoys -"

"- that the Enterprise has on duty."

"- that the Enterprise has on duty. There. I said it. Can I have my drink now?" Malcolm glowered.

Instead of yielding, Trip merely chuckled. "One more thing, Loo-tenant."

"No."

"I haven't told you yet."

"I am not going and making an arse of myself in front of someone," Malcolm reiterated. Hell, even he knew the commander was capable of almost anything, given enough motive and alcohol.

"Now who said you were goin' to do that?"

Malcolm glared. "I know you, Trip."

Trip sighed again. "Just one more thing, Malcolm. Then you can have your drink."

"What?" Malcolm asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the general region of his stomach, definitely not caused by the half-bottle of ale he had already had. He was doomed. He knew it.

"I want you to say somethin'."

"Say what?"

"Three little words. If you get them right, we'll both get drunk together before the cap'n finds us. If not, then ..." Trip left the sentence open to interpretation.

"Three words?" Malcolm repeated to himself.

"I believe you already know what they should be." Hey, Trip had to give the man some kind of a fighting chance, lest he be targeted with a phase pistol back on board ship. Malcolm Reed was capable of almost anything, given enough motive and weaponry.

Silence, during which Trip dangled the ale in question over the lieutenant's head. No response.

Then Malcolm's head snapped up. "Three words, Commander?" he asked, the beginnings of a smile forming on his face.

"Three simple, beautiful, little words, Loo-tenant."

Malcolm smiled. "I love you."

Trip's expression sobered up. "Took you long enough, didn't it? I love you too," he replied. He pulled Malcolm up off his chair and kissed him softly. "Now look what you've done," he smiled.

"What?" Malcolm asked, immediately worried.

"You've gone and ruined the atmosphere," Trip replied. "I'm goin' to have to start all over again."

The man in his arms raised an eyebrow. "Is that completely necessary?" he asked.

"Yes it is, Loo-tenant. Now sit back down and take this." The Anaran ale was duly pushed into Malcolm's hand, but he didn't drink it. "It doesn't bite, you know," Trip commented, as he pulled up another chair, pushed it opposite the lieutenant and straddled it, leaning on the back of it for support.

"I know," Malcolm sighed. "But I do think you were right."

"I was?"

"It's an odd concept, and I can't believe I'm subscribing to it, but yes. I do think I ruined the moment there." He looked at the bottle ruefully. "I'm not in the mood for drinking tonight."

To his surprise, Trip agreed with him. "Love precedes all, takes the heart of a man to a new place," he said softly.

Malcolm looked at him. "Where did you get that from?" he asked. "And don't tell me it's Shakespeare because I won't believe you."

"No, not Shakespeare."

"Then who?"

"Charles Tucker the First. My granddaddy," Trip said. "He loved my old granny like crazy, didn't believe a day was complete without him tellin' her how much he was in love with her."

Gone was the commander with a twinkle in his eye, Malcolm observed. Instead he seemed to be watching almost an American version of his great-uncle Robert, one of the black sheep of the Reed line. He had been fiercely in love as well, except that his was never to be; his love had been married. Married for years. Married for years to a fine lady of the community. Even in the mid twenty-first century, some parts of the world had carried on age-old stigma, and Robert Reed had suffered because of it.

He couldn't help but wonder if he would someday be tarred with the same brush. Both his parents had been visibly disappointed at the lack of a steady woman in his life, yet heartily disapproved of the notion of him forming romantic feelings at all.

"My own daddy was always tellin' me how much I was like him. Both passionate 'bout the things we love, and not afraid to show it."

Was he talking about the engines or his lover?

"Thing is," Trip continued, finally looking up and meeting Malcolm's eyes, "my daddy was right as well. Whole of Enterprise knows I can't sleep at night without my engines runnin' smoother than a dispersal curve, and I know that I can't rest easy unless I've got you in my arms, and I know you haven't got another projectile stuck in you somewhere."

Malcolm stared. "I told you already, I do my job. Security chief, Trip," he said quietly. "That means if I have to take a projectile or phase weapon in order to protect the crew then that's what happens."

"Seems like you're in Sickbay every other week, though. I even heard from Cutler that Phlox is considerin' a hypospray with your name on it, somethin' strong enough to keep you from staggerin' out of there and back to bein' on duty before he's even had a chance to blink."

Malcolm scooted his chair forward until he was nose-to-nose with Trip. "And if it was a choice between the projectile hitting me or killing you?"

Trip snorted, causing Malcolm to jump. "I'd take it anytime," he retorted. "I love you, Malcolm Reed; I'll sing it through the comm system if I have to."

"I'd much rather you didn't though," Malcolm replied. "Some of us rather value our sense of hearing."

Trip apparently chose to ignore that comment; instead he reached forward with one hand and stroked the other man's face with his thumb, a look of tenderness there that Malcolm hadn't seen before. "Seems like I'm like my granddaddy in other ways as well," he said softly.

"You're old, grey, and have a thing for your grandmother?"

"No, you idiot. He was crazy about my granny, and I'm crazy about you. I'd live with you for the rest of my days if I could, but knowin' you, you'll wind up gettin' yourself killed."

Now it was Malcolm's turn to snort. "I may be a lot of things, but I am not willing to let myself get killed unnecessarily. Not when I've got you."

Trip smiled at the sentiment, and he pulled his lover into a tight hug, not wanting to let go. What seemed like minutes later they pulled apart, and now it was Malcolm's turn to trace his lover's face with a finger. It was either the alcohol or pure emotion, he mused, but something was certainly in Trip this evening.

Three little words. They had certainly had an impact on the evening.

Three little words. Maybe he should have condemned his precious cannons after all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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