Title: Truth and Photographs

Author: Edible Lit

Author's e-mail: [email protected]

Author's Web site: http://www.geocities.com/edibleliterature

Fandom: Enterprise

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Rating: G

Category: Slash

Summary: Old photographs reveal something new.

Spoilers: Harbinger

Comments: Prequel to "Need Over Necessity," "Nimrod," "Twilight Elegy."
This is a sketch that I wanted to use in a broader story line, but looks like it
won't fit in, so here it is. This goes out to Samantha, hopefully to brighten
her gloomy day (yeah I know it's late).






"Lieutenant Reed!" Malcolm turned at Tucker's call, the man jogging to
catch up with him in the arching corridor of C deck. Reed assumed his most
reserved expression, though unintentionally. Trip had questioned him once
about his ability to hide his emotions, but the truth was that whenever he felt
emotional, his face reverted to the severe expression naturally. Normally it
was a highly useful trait in his line of work, but it had often back-fired in
personal relationships as he'd often been accused of withdrawing
emotionally, and it was only partially true.

Trip drew up to the armoury officer, a slight flush colouring his face. He
grinned a little self-consciously, tapping a datapad he held with a nervous
finger.

"Yes Commander?" Reed prompted before he lost himself in the man's blue
eyes. It was odd that for two years he'd never particularly noticed their
colour, but recently had become fascinated by them.

"Oh, here," he handed the pad to Malcolm, "It's the diagnostic schedule for
the torpedo targeting system."

Malcolm gazed at him, confused, "I sent it to you this morning."

Trip nodded, "I know, I made some changes. Take a look."

Reed shook his head almost imperceptibly at Tucker's strange behaviour as
he activated the pad. A brief text message flashed across the screen: 'Can I
see you tonight?' Reed's grip inadvertently tightened on the pad, taken off
guard. It had been a few days since they'd been able to 'see' each other,
though the term wasn't really accurate; there certainly was an element of
'seeing' though the activities targeted the other senses more. Quickly he
keyed '2100 hrs' and 'my quarters' into it, then handed it back to the engineer.

"That looks fine," he said stiffly. Trip took the pad and quickly scanned the
screen, his smile deepening.

"Great, I'll see you later."

"Thank you, Commander," Reed added as the man walked away. Tucker
turned around mid-stride, holding up the pad and winking. It was extremely
difficult not to mimic the engineer's grin.

Twenty-one hundred hours came and went. Then twenty-one hundred and
one. Then two. Malcolm's palms were sweating, and it seemed inordinately
hot in his quarters, so he turned the down thermostat. Once more he
checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothing his hair, then ruffling it
slightly so it didn't look too perfect. He smoothed the flint-coloured sweater
once more, and adjusted its tuck in his black trousers. Overall he wasn't such
a mess, he decided, then snorted at his nervous behaviour; it was only Trip,
after all. They'd been friends for over two years, never mind that so much
had changed in the past two months. Yet though his mind accepted that he
was being a silly git, the butterflies in his stomach seemed not to care.
Suddenly he was too cold. He turned the thermostat back up.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door chime rang. He rushed over
to the door, then thought better of it and took the time to take a few deep
breaths. He didn't want to appear too eager. On the other hand, playing such
games were useless with Trip, they'd been through too much together. Lost
in indecision, he waited a moment longer before reaching out to key the door
open. The chime rang as it slid open, Trip's hand on the door panel, just as
Malcolm's was on his side. The gazed at each other, momentarily stunned.

"I thought you were--" Trip started just as Malcolm said, "I was just--" Their
voices trailed off, then they grinned at their own foolishness. Reed gestured
for the engineer to enter. Trip was dressed in an attractive red shirt with a
white band running from his left shoulder to his right hip, complementing his
form without being tight, and dark blue jeans that Malcolm couldn't help
running his gaze over. He was carrying a data pad and a small cloth sac that
clearly housed a bottle. The man turned to look at Reed, his own gaze taking
in Malcolm's appearance. It was an odd feeling to be scrutinized by Tucker in
that way, yet gratifying all the same time, especially since the man had tried
to be subtle about it and failed miserably.

"You look...good, Malcolm," Trip ventured.

"You too," he replied sincerely. There was an almost surreal quality to their
interaction; as frequently happened when one entered strange and unfamiliar
territory. It was true that they had already been together on four distinct
occasions, but prior to tonight it had not been something planned or
considered prior to the event, resulting in the apparent shyness both men felt.

"I feel a little underdressed," Tucker admitted, gesturing at Malcolm's
slightly more formal clothes.

"Oh--don't, don't," he stammered, "I feel overdressed."

Trip's mouth quirked in a lop-sided grin, so unconsciously sexy that Malcolm
momentarily lost the train of the conversation, "I'm glad I didn't wear my
Hawaian shirt."

Reed was grateful he hadn't either, then changed his mind. Those shirts,
Tucker had informed him, were his first strategy for attracting women. 'You
have to get their attention first,' he believed Tucker had said. "Why didn't
you?" Malcolm asked, his tone carefully casual.

Trip seemed about to speak, then paused, considering, "Well...I didn't really
want to play that game with you. It seemed...I don't know, wrong, I guess."

Malcolm realized the man had no idea how perfect his response was, how
easily it disarmed the defenses he continually tried to shore up against letting
people in, designed to prevent dangerous intimacy at all costs. But those
defenses seemed irrelevant now anyway, and though he had been trying to
raise them again, they were coming down with greater ease each time. Unable
to maintain the distance between them, he took to large strides to remove
the gap, grasping Tucker's shirt in his hands to pull himself up, his lips
closing on Trip's heatedly. Hating that he had to reach up to kiss the man, he
pushed him towards the couch before Trip even had a chance to respond.
They fell heavily together on the cushions, Trip's hands coming up to grasp
Malcolm's shoulders, the datapad and bottle forgotten where they lay in a
heap at his sides.

Despite his surprise, Trip didn't take long to respond, the inundation of his
senses by Malcolm's physical presence, his lips and tongue, the weight of his
body instantly sparking desire. Their breathing became heavy, laboured, Trip
reveling in the contact he'd craved for days, finally prompting him to write
the message on his datapad when he spotted Malcolm walking down the
crowded hallway. Reed suddenly pushed him backward on the couch, his
head jarring against the bottle of whisky he'd brought, and he groaned slightly
at the pain as he reached up to get it out of the way. Malcolm's breathy laugh
allowed him a moment's pause before his lips assaulted Trip again.

"Malcolm...Malcolm, hold on," he said as Malcolm's lips and tongue drifted
down his jaw to his ear. Gently, he pushed the man back up into a sitting
position, Reed frowning slightly.

"What is it? From that note this afternoon I thought you fancied a snog,"
Reed said, trying to keep the growing rejection he felt from his voice. Had he
come on too strong?

"Snog?" Trip laughed, "that sounds like a such raunchy word," seeing
Malcolm's less than amused expression, he sobered, "I just wanted
to...uh...well..." he stumbled over his words, his thoughts chaotic, "Ah heck,
forget it," he concluded, seizing Malcolm by the back of his neck and kissing
him.

The man allowed it for a moment, then pushed Trip away, "No, you wanted
something. What was it?"

Trip opened his eyes reluctantly, "I just brought some pictures and some
whisky."

"Pictures?"

"I don't think I ever showed you the pictures I had Hoshi take of us on Risa
when we arrived," Tucker explained shyly, "I thought we could have a drink,
maybe watch a movie."

Reed gazed at him silently for a moment, then rose, opening a cabinet and
returning with two short glasses while Trip's eyes followed him around the
room, hoping to discern if the man was annoyed with him or not. Reed set
the glasses down, taking the proffered cloth bag, and slipped the bottle out.

"Jack Daniel's Old No. 7," Malcolm read on the label, "Tennessee
Whiskey." He cracked the seal and poured two glasses.

"I know it's not scotch, but I only brought a supply of this," Trip explained.

Malcolm took a sip, pleasantly struck by the sweet, woody flavour. Trip was
impressed he didn't so much as flinch at the sharpness of the strong alcoholic
drink.

"Did I say I wanted scotch?" Malcolm asked, noticing that Trip was
watching him warily. "Let's see those pictures, then." He sat beside the
engineer who activated the datapad, revealing an image of the Captain,
himself, Trip, Hoshi, and Travis in their civilian clothes trying not to squint
at the bright light of the Risan sun.

"I thought you said Hoshi took the picture?" Malcolm noted.

"The next ones, Ensign Hutchinson took that one." He skipped to the next
picture of Malcolm and Trip, their arms over each other's shoulders with Trip
grinning widely and Malcolm looking slightly uncomfortable but still smiling.

Reed snorted, "That's a terrible picture."

Tucker frowned, "It is not."

"I'm practically grimacing. You look fine, you always do in pictures."

"That's not true," Trip protested, then grinned, "you just need to be seen
animated, pictures don't do you justice."

Reed looked away, drinking heavily from his glass.

"Look at this one," Tucker continued, showing him the image of the two
men caught in the midst of a discussion; Trip had dropped his jaw forward,
probably having said something bitingly clever and Malcolm was rolling his
eyes. Reed took the datapad, gazing at the picture for a long moment.

The engineer watched him knowingly, "You like that one, don't ya?"

Reed snorted, "What, my regular reaction to your attempt at wit?"

"Well I love it," Trip admitted, untouched by Malcolm's acerbic comment,
"I've never seen a picture that captures a relationship as beautifully as this
does. But hey, check out this one of Travis looking at a lizard..."

Malcolm put his hand on Trip's, stopping him from scrolling onward, "I want
a copy of that one," he said softly, and when he didn't remove his hand, Trip
entwined their fingers together. "You aren't wearing your lucky shirt in that
picture," Malcolm noted.

"I didn't until later that night, remember?" Trip sighed at the memory of the
loss of that shirt, "You know, if I'd just used that shirt to get you, I'd still
have it."

Reed arched his eyebrows, "You didn't think about that back then, did you?"

Tucker shook his head, "Nope, but it seems like we've wasted a lot of time.
We spent a lot of time fighting."

"What do you mean, 'spent' past tense? I seem to remember a discussion a
few days ago that seemed an awful lot like fighting," Reed noted, then
decided to venture a thought that had occurred to him recently, "You know,
even though I don't think I considered it until recently, I think there's always
been a sort of chemistry between us."

Trip grinned, "Just look at that picture, it's written all over it. I don't think
we would have taken too kindly to anyone suggesting that, though."

"I would have bloodied the man who did."

"I'm glad I inspire such violent tendencies," Trucker teased, then leaned
back on the couch, "So, you wanna watch a movie?"

Reed's expression momentarily went blank, then he smirked and reached
down, pulling his precisely tucked sweater over his head, exposing his bare
skin to the air. Leaning across the man to reach the bottle of Jack Daniels he
said, "Fine, Trip, we'll watch a movie, I'm sure we have some Ingrid Bergman
movies you've seen less than ten times in the database." The armoury officer
leaned back across the couch, spreading his legs widely and pouring himself
another drink, Trip watching every movement like a dehydrated man staring
at water.

"What's the matter, Commander? Don't you want to watch a movie?" Reed
asked innocently.

Strangely, the man seemed reluctant to reply.

"Trip?"

"Not really."

"Then why did you suggest it?"

The man looked even more uncomfortable, then seemed to make a decision,
"I don't know...I just wanted to make sure you knew...well that I don't just
want sex, that I want to spend time with you."

It was the other perfect statement of the evening that dissolved Malcolm's
defences. Wordlessly, he pushed himself up from the couch, taking Trip's
glass from him and carefully setting the glasses on his desk, then taking the
datapad from the man and equally carefully setting it aside. Trip watched
each deliberate movement, truthfully wildly uncertain what was going on
until Malcolm grasped his hand and gently pulled him to his feet, their bodies
close but not touching except at their hands, then pulled him towards the
bed, Reed's gaze locked on Trip's eyes the entire way.

They were silent for a long time as they lay together beneath the thin sheet
on the small bed, Trip's warm body pressed against Malcolm's, his arm
draped across the smooth chest. It was an unusual experience, for Reed, to
be held in that way, feeling the larger man touching him the length of his
body. Normally it was he that held a woman in the same way, an almost
protective pose as if to shield the inner person from the outside world. What
surprised him just as much was that he did indeed feel comforted, and had no
desire to break the contact as he often did after a sexual experience.
Sometimes the very touch of those parts of the body that were fascinating
during sex became aggravating once the act was finished, yet not so now.
That fact was disturbing enough in its own way, but Malcolm fought the
impulse to escape, to attempt to take back everything that had happened
between them by a callous word or gesture. Truthfully, there was neither the
time nor the necessity to allow for such childishness. It was the same reason
the two men had been able to forgive each other for their brief affairs, in
Trip's case just over a week ago. There was no time to wallow in agony over
such things; their lives had a very definite limited span left to them, and it
was counted in weeks, not years.

"What time is it?" Trip finally whispered.

Malcolm glanced at the clock beside his bed, "oh-one hundred," he replied,
knowing they both had to be on shift at 0800.

"It's getting late," the man said, though he made no move to get up.

Malcolm closed his eyes, nervously weighing his next words; despite
intimacy they had and were sharing, he found it particularly difficult to speak
at that moment, "Do you...well, want to stay?" he asked as casually as
possible.

There was a long pause where all Malcolm heard was the steady breathing of
the man holding him, "Are you sure?"

He held back a caustic comment about would he ask if he wasn't sure,
saying instead, "Yes."

"Great," Trip said, drawing himself against Malcolm tighter, if it were
possible, and brushing his lips over the man's neck in a kiss, "What will the
crew think when I emerge from your quarters in the morning?"

"I'm not quite ready for that. I'll be running a corridor scan before you
leave," Reed said seriously.

"You think of everything, don't you," Trip laughed lightly, "So just how long
did you plan this scenario?"

"I'm improvising," he replied, "Now do be quiet and get some sleep."

"Aye, sir."

~the end~