The Tucker-Reeds arrived in the seaside village, which had been Malcolm's home for much of his childhood, an hour before the service was due to start. It looked much as it would have back in the 21st Century, its small, while-painted cottages nestling atop seagull- strewn cliffs, with grander houses further inland. Below the village was a tiny stone harbour, reached by a steep flight of steps comprising wooden planks embedded in the soil and deserted now in favour of an extensive marina further down the coast.

Grim and forbidding, the Reed residence � or "Bleak House" as Malcolm referred to it � stood a little apart from the other homes. It seemed to frown on the cottages with their cheerfully-painted doors and brightly coloured gardens, overflowing with old-fashioned specimens of roses and sweet peas.

Malcolm shuddered as he remembered the miseries he'd suffered in that place which he'd never called "home". A buffet lunch was to be served there after the Memorial Service and prior to their departure with the Admiral. It was hard to decide which event to dread the most.

Entering the churchyard through the ancient lychgate, they walked among the well-tended graves to the Reed family's mausoleum. It was a somewhat pretentious granite and marble structure, overgrown with ivy and crowned with a well-weathered effigy of Britannia � another bloody expert at ruling the waves, Malcolm observed bitterly. Hesitantly moving a little closer to her last resting place, he paid his respects to the mother who'd never really been able to love him.

Trip, trailing Charlie and Jon-Henry behind him, approached his spouse: "Ya okay, darlin'?"

Malcolm looked up and smiled "Yes, I suppose so. I'm just sorry that we never really connected; she was always so distant." He paused, thinking about what he'd said: "Trip, please make sure I don't ever do that to the boys. You will tell me if I'm hurting them, won't you?"

Before Trip could respond, they were startled by a soft, English- accented, voice behind them. "You'll never hurt them, my dear, because you know what the pain's like yourself."

Malcolm whirled to see a spry, silver-haired woman, of indeterminate age, wearing a vivid crimson coat and hat and impossibly high-heeled shoes. "Aunt Cherie! Oh, its wonderful to see you again. I'm so sorry we lost touch."

She stepped back and looked him up and down "So am I � after all, we black sheep have to stick together -- but we can sort that out now, can't we? My, you look better than I've ever seen you. Its clear you're thriving on married life. I take it this is your young man?" A little shy all of a sudden, Malcolm blushed and began a rather stilted introduction: "Oh! I'm sorry: Aunt Cherie Reed, this is my husband�"

Trip squeezed his hand reassuringly then stepped forward and gave the woman a courtly bow "Charles Tucker III at your service, Ma'am. Ah'm honoured ta meet ya." She smiled, brown eyes twinkling, "The honour's mine, Mr Tucker � by the way, when you meet the others, please remember I'm only a Reed by marriage! And these two cherubs are �?"

Malcolm lifted Jon-Henry, who had started to retreat behind Trip's leg, and took Charlie by the hand "Our eldest is Charlie, and this is Jon-Henry. Say `hello' to Aunt Cherie, boys." Two little voices piped up with uncertain greetings and the woman was enchanted. "What a pair of little poppets you are! I'll bet you're not nearly so quiet and shy at home though! Come on into the church and I'll show you where the cr�che is. I'm sure they'd rather play than listen to some stuffy old vicar for an hour. Come to think of it, so would I!"

The children wasted no time in making themselves at home among the treasure trove of toys in the cr�che and barely noticed when, after thanking the nursery leader for looking after the boys, Malcolm and Trip took their leave. Aunt Cherie led them into the still-deserted sanctuary and they settled in one of the Reed pews.

"So, Malcolm, tell me all. The last I heard, you were being disowned by the entire Reed family for becoming pregnant. Congratulations! Seriously, how did you cope, my darling? I'm afraid I didn't even know that men could have babies! How � how exactly do you go about such a thing?"

Malcolm flushed bright red and Trip came to his rescue. "Hope ya don' mind me answerin' ya Ma'am. Malcolm found the whole thing a bit embarrassin' but he went through with it `cause I wasn't able ta, medically speakin'".

She laughed, "I well remember the indignities of pregnancy myself! They were second only to having my son take after his father. Do go ahead, Mr Tucker."

He grinned, liking her immensely. "First of all, Ma'am, ah'd be pleased if ya'd call me Trip � all ma friends do." She nodded her acquiescence "Alright � but remember I'm your Aunt Cherie too now, Trip." He nodded and continued: "When we decided ta start a family, we thought it'd all have ta be done in vitro but a doctor friend of ours had researched methods for inter-species pregnancy and managed ta adapt the process ta our needs. It was experimental, an' carried real risks, but Malcolm felt it was best fer the babies, an' was brave enough ta wanna try it, so we did.

"Samples of our se..., umm, genetic material were sent to a lab where the boys were actually conceived, if you will, in artificial wombs, with an egg that was modified to contain only Malcolm's genes. He underwent a lot of hormone treatment and then had one of those "wombs" implanted in him � after the doctor had removed his appendix an' spleen and some other kinda unnecessary bits that were jus' takin' up space. It was all done in such a way that the embryos were able ta draw sustenance from `im an' grow jus' like they would in a woman."

Aunt Cherie laughed, wide-eyed; "Isn't science marvellous! But weren't you in a lot of discomfort, Malcolm?"

Malcolm took up the story "Well, yes, I suppose so. I got progressively more tired and sore as time went on � and a little run- down towards the end. When the babies got too big for me to carry any longer, I was in pain all the time, a little like going into labour, I'd guess, and they were removed by Caesarean Section. Everything was very straightforward with Charlie. With Jon-Henry, there were some complications -- but we all lived to tell the tale and it was well worth the trouble." He finished breezily, with a smile that clearly begged for a change of subject.

Trip was having none of it and gave his husband a squeeze "He's leavin' out the part where he haemorrhaged twice an' we damn near lost `im. He was quite poorly for a while after he got home too." He gave Malcolm a knowing look then kissed him gently on the forehead. "He wen' through hell an' ah've a lot ta thank him for. Hey! Wanna see his scars?"

A short tussle ensued and Malcolm, beet red, found himself sitting in church, with his shirt pulled up to his chest, while Trip proudly took his elderly aunt on a guided tour of his stomach. In spite of his mortification, though, he discovered he was basking in Trip's obvious love and appreciation. With such a wonderful man at his side, he suddenly felt sure he could cope with anything the Reeds threw at him.

Approving of Trip's affectionate regard for her nephew, Aunt Cherie hugged them both "You know, I'm so glad to see you two together. I always used to worry about Malcolm but now I can die happy, knowing how much he's cared for." Hearing a sound at the church doors, she glanced over her shoulder: "Uh-oh. Here comes trouble."

As other family members began trickling into the church, Aunt Cherie kept both men chuckling with her running commentary of who was who, and what she thought of them. "� and that's Malcolm's second cousin Nigel. My late husband used to say he was an empty-headed layabout, living off his family � but then it takes one to know one, doesn't it?" She smiled sweetly and Trip exploded with laughter, just as a petite, fair-haired woman in naval dress uniform strode in and sat in the front pew. Aunt Cherie saw the realisation in Trip's eyes: "Yes, and that's Saint Madeline, your sister-in-law. She who can do no wrong."

Trip smothered a snigger but felt Malcolm tense beside him as another figure loomed into view a short distance behind her.

"Father."

-/-

Admiral Stuart Reed sat rigidly beside his daughter in the front pew of their local church. Generations of Reeds had worshipped here and were now interred within its walls or in the churchyard beyond. It gave him a sense of continuity to know that his late wife, Mary, had been laid to rest here - as would he be, when the time came.

He stole a glance at Madeline. A fine girl, he thought, now a successful captain in the Royal Navy and a credit to her family: the apple of her father's eye. Of course, at the moment, he was less pleased with her than usual � although he did understand her reasons for upsetting him. Tomorrow, she would leave to take up her first command with the HMS Water Sprite. It would be a proud day for both of them, were it not overshadowed by the fact that, due to age and infirmity � most certainly not out of choice - he was going to have to live indefinitely with her older brother and his � his � dear God, his HUSBAND!

Trying in vain to distract himself by concentrating on the voluntary being played by the ancient church's ancient organist, he looked round himself, nodding to various, rather geriatric, family members and friends who had gathered to pay their respects to Mary Reed. A fine family, the Reeds, he mused. They could trace their line back to the days of Nelson, since when Reed after Reed had displayed courage and fortitude in many a naval battle. Stuart Reed himself had had a distinguished career and took his retirement hard. Fixing his eyes on the cross above the altar, he silently thanked God that his daughter, at least, was carrying on the family tradition.

Impatient for the service to start, he looked round and scanned the back of the church, searching for the appearance of the choir and the parish priest. His gaze fell on his troublesome sister-in-law, Cherie, in a get-up like a bloody harlot's as usual. Beside her, sat two neatly-dressed men, approximately half her age. The Admiral grunted: he'd had his suspicions for a while that the old girl led a wilder life than was proper for a widow-woman of her years, but to have the gall to bring two of her fancy-men to his wife's Memorial Service � total bloody strangers at that! There was something familiar about one of them, though: the slight build, the nervous mannerisms � it couldn't be, could it?

In seconds, he was sure and on his feet, marching up the aisle just as the choir began to file into the church. "You there! You!" he bellowed, pointing at one of Cherie's companions, "Get out of this place, you filthy, fornicating little sod. Your mother was a religious woman: how dare you disgrace her by coming in here, bold as brass, with your partner-in-sodomy, no less �"

Madeline was behind him now, tugging urgently at the Admiral's sleeve "Father! Father, stop it! You're going to have to go and live with them tomorrow! Oh my God, come on: the vicar's here!"

Grateful for the diversion, Malcolm fled, aware of every pair of eyes in the church following him. Behind him, he could hear Aunt Cherie trying to calm Trip, who was now squaring off with the Admiral.

Not really knowing why, he stopped running when he reached the mausoleum. His eyes blurred with tears of humiliation and anger, he could just make out the long list of names on the family tomb, the most recent being that of Mary Reed. He'd only scanned the inscription before but now he read it in full � and felt as if an arrow had pierced his heart. Hearing running footsteps, he turned and saw Trip approaching, face red with anger. "Darlin' let's find the boys and get outta here. He ain't getting a second chance ta hurt ya."

Malcolm straightened slightly as his lover reached for him. "No."

"No? Malcolm, what the hell are ya talkin' about?"

His fists clenched at his sides, Malcolm tried to control the trembling of his voice. "I want him to come and stay with us. Whether he likes it or not, he still has a son and I'm not going to let him deny that any longer."

He raised his chin proudly, scrubbed at his eyes, to make sure they were dry, then stalked back towards the church.

Trip glanced at the inscription Malcolm had been reading. Below the dates of Mary Reed's birth and death it read "Beloved wife of Stuart and dear mother of Madeline."

His temper rising again, he glanced up as a sudden movement caught his eye. A seagull had perched atop Britannia's head and was busily coating her in excrement. He chuckled: "Way ta go, birdie! A hope ta hell yer a good omen."

Hearing the choir finish an anthem which, he thought, sounded a bit like someone was torturing a cat, he followed Malcolm back to the church, meeting Aunt Cherie anxiously prowling in the vestibule. She reached up to cup her nephew's face in her elegantly manicured hands "Are you alright, my poor darling?"

Smiling a little shakily, Malcolm kissed her cheek "I'm fine now, Aunt Cherie. Don't worry: he's not going to win this time. You go back in and we'll follow you in a moment."

Still obviously concerned, she took her leave of them and Trip nudged Malcolm's arm "So � did ya have some kinda revelation out there?" Malcolm's hand slipped into his "Yes, I think I did. All of my life, I've worried about pleasing him and felt defective because I couldn't. I've taken everything he threw at me, thinking I deserved it � but I don't, and I won't run away or give him that power over me any more." His voice was strong and steady as he stared down at their linked fingers but, when he looked up, Trip saw a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. "Darlin', yer the bravest, kindest, cleverest, han'somest guy ah've ever known � besides ma own self, of course � an' if yer daddy says different, then he's a black-hearted liar." Malcolm's eyes misted a little and he coloured somewhat as Trip continued: "O' course, if he mentions that yer a cantankerous li'l shit who can't appreciate good harmonica music an' wouldn't know a classy shirt if it jumped up an' bit `im, then ah'm with `im all the way!"

They were still both laughing as they made their way, hand in hand, down the aisle to their seats, careful to defiantly meet the disapproving stares from the congregation. In a display of solidarity, Aunt Cherie rose and kissed them both as they came to sit with her "I'm afraid its Reverend Popplewell today, dears. He's such a tedious old goat. I went out with him, you know: he was the most boring boyfriend I ever had. We went to the school dance together, when I was fourteen, and he talked about philately all evening. His older brother asked me up for a waltz and I ended up slipping off to an empty classroom with him and losing my virginity." She smiled beatifically, lost in fond remembrances: "Be a love, Malcolm, and wake me for the Benediction."

-/-

Mary Reed's memorial service would never go down in history as a musical feast and, as the choir mangled their last piece, Trip couldn't help wondering what permanent damage had been done to his eardrums!

Immediately heading for the cr�che to pick up their sons, Trip and Malcolm were pleased to see the boys happily playing with the other children whose parents were attending the service. Their joy was short-lived, however, as said parents, upon realising whose children the two little blond boys were, abruptly led their own offspring out of the room, warning them to stay away from `the little boys with two daddies.'

On the short walk up to the Reed house, Trip and Malcolm were approached by Malcolm's eldest cousin, Lt. Commander Edward Reed, RN. "Well, well, if it isn't my long-lost cousin Weedy Reed the spaceman! You finally decided to pay us a visit then. Aren't we the honoured ones?"

Careful to maintain a pleasant expression, Malcolm looked up at the burly naval officer "I would have been at Mother's funeral too, had someone notified me of her death."

Cousin Edward smirked "Yes, well I don't think your father needed any more grief to cope with at that time."

His twin daughters, a couple of years older than Charlie, had caught up with them and, eyeing the Tucker-Reed boys curiously, instigated what appeared to be a game of tag. Edward immediately called them back: "Now girls, didn't your mother and I just tell you to leave them alone?"

Malcolm stopped walking: "If you have an objection to the way I live my life, I'd be grateful if you'd take the matter up with me � instead of taking it out on my children."

Edward sent his daughters back to their mother, a woman considerably younger than him, who, when he'd seen her in church, Trip had described as having `a face like Granddaddy Tucker's old grey mare'.

"Children, Malcolm? They're genetically-manipulated freaks with a pair of fairies for fathers!"

As he spoke, Charlie, who'd been disturbed to lose his two newest playmates so soon, broke away from Trip and ran back towards the twins. Edward lunged for him, catching him roughly by the arm: "Oh no you don't, boy!"

Swiftly, Malcolm freed his son and comforted him "Charlie, love, go back to Poppa please. Its alright. You haven't done anything wrong. Everything's going to be fine."

Wide-eyed and snuffling, Charlie obeyed and Malcolm returned his attention to his cousin "Don't you ever lay a hand on either of my children again or �"

Flexing his wrist after Malcolm had grabbed it to free his son, Edward interrupted him: "Or what, Weedy? There wouldn't be a problem if you'd keep them away from normal children."

"Or this!"

He never knew what had hit him. In seconds, he was face-down in the ditch running along the grassy verge at the side of the road, his pristine uniform covered in pondweed, mud and frogspawn. Malcolm stepped back and dabbed a couple of splashes of water off his suit with his immaculate white handkerchief. "Consider that a warning from the fairies, Edward. Say or do anything else to hurt my sons and I'll play rough next time."

Knowing his husband well enough to leave him to deal with the situation, Trip had walked on ahead and was waiting outside the house when Malcolm jogged up to join him. "That was poetry in motion, darlin'. Now c'mon, let's get the rest of this over with and get the hell outta here."

Although the other guests kept a wary distance from the Tucker-Reeds, the remainder of the day passed without incident; Aunt Cherie playing with the boys, Trip working his way through the buffet with the focused efficiency of a vacuum cleaner and Malcolm counting the seconds until they could leave.

At last, as the caterers cleared up and, after the family members and friends had said their farewells to the grieving widower, Madeline appeared at Malcolm's side. She had an enormous trunk on a wheeled trolley and her father in tow. "Alright Father, its time to go now. I'll contact you tomorrow, once we're at sea, just to let you know how I'm doing. Goodbye."

With that, she turned and went on her way, no doubt fully occupied now with thoughts of her new assignment on the morrow.

Malcolm and his father appeared to be trapped in a glaring contest � neither willing to begin the journey they were both so reluctant to take � and Trip eventually had to break the deadlock. He took charge of the trolley, patting the top of the trunk and gesturing to the boys to climb onto it: "Daddy's kinda busy right now, so hop on, guys. Ah think we're all in for one wild ride"

-/-

Listening to the soft, regular breathing of his sleeping husband, Trip Tucker lay in his bed and gazed drowsily up at the ceiling. The journey home had been tense and silent but the rest of the evening had gone surprising smoothly. Admiral Reed had been shown his room, given a quick rundown on mealtimes and the general rules of the house and had, since then, kept himself to himself. If only it would stay that way, he thought.

Suddenly, an unearthly screeching filled the air. Trip sat bolt upright, trying to make sense of it while Malcolm, wakened from slumber, had shot straight out of bed and was standing in the middle of the room, barely awake but wild eyed and tensed, ready to fight whatever threat had just declared itself. Listening intently for a few seconds, he abruptly relaxed, and climbed back under the covers. "Fuck! I should've known he'd bring that bloody radio with him. It's a massive, old-fashioned thing his great-grandfather had before him and he can tune it in to the shipping frequencies and eavesdrop on his old cronies if they're not on secure channels. I'm amazed it still works." He pummelled his pillow then flopped back on it, yawning: "`Night love." Still groggily trying to make sense of what had just occurred, Trip lay back down and marvelled at how normal Malcolm was � for a Reed.

-/-

Stuart Reed was quietly fuming. Since the unseemly row in church, when he suspected he'd embarrassed himself more than his son, anger had seethed inside him. Being passed between his offspring like some bloody parcel had done nothing to assuage the roiling fury and now, having been courteously shown his new quarters, warned not to speak to the children, and then left to his own devices, he was feeling distinctly marginalized. It did not sit well with him.

To be truthful, he hadn't expected Malcolm to agree to take him in � but then the little fool had never reacted normally to anything. He began to unpack, first of all finding places for the photographs at the top of his belongings. Within a gold-edged, tortoiseshell frame was a picture of he and Mary on their wedding day. He smiled at his younger, sandy-haired self, resplendent in Royal Navy uniform with his plumply pretty, dark-haired bride looking up at him adoringly. Malcolm took his colouring from his mother but Madeline, God bless her, was entirely his. She'd been his pride and joy from the start: a bonny, bouncing baby, then a bright, robust child - fair-haired and blue-eyed, with self-assurance much older than her years.

Malcolm, on the other hand, had been a disappointment from birth. He'd been an anxious, fretful baby, a poor feeder and most definitely the runt of the litter. Slow to walk and even slower to speak, he crept through life in Madeline's shadow � a magnet for bullies and an unwilling participant in Stuart's plans for his children. Madeline had quickly earned the nickname "the little mermaid", during family visits to the swimming pool, but her brother stood rigidly in the shallow end, holding fast to the handrail at the steps and refusing to let go. When Mary left to take Maddy to the lavatory, an exasperated Stuart grabbed his six-year-old son and threw him in at the deep end, telling him to sink or swim.

As he'd done with everything else that mattered to his father, Malcolm sank. By the time Mary and Madeline returned to the pool, he was conscious but dazed, wrapped in a towel and receiving oxygen from the in-house medic while, unrepentant, Stuart Reed berated him for "not even trying" to swim.

The decision to send him away to boarding school was made that night � but, of course, that had been a bloody waste of money. Too shy and over-sensitive to enjoy life there, Malcolm had withdrawn into himself, failing exam after exam and refusing to come out of his shell no matter how much detention he was given. Naval college was no more successful in making something of him, his reports remaining abysmal, and it was only when sent to stay with his newly-widowed Aunt Cherie for the summer of his 17th year that he suddenly blossomed � although not the way his father had hoped.

During the stay with his aunt, Malcolm discovered that there was an existence to be had outside the Royal Navy. As she enjoyed her freedom after an unhappy marriage to Stuart Reed's older brother, Cherie taught her nephew about art, music, literature and life. Her own joie de vivre rubbed off on him and he found his singing voice, his imagination and, for the first time ever, his confidence. He learned to draw, to laugh and even to swim � albeit rather haltingly � and discovered a talent for problem-solving that would stand him in good stead later in life.

Under his breath, Stuart Reed cursed Cherie. His son had returned home with a mind of his own and their already rocky relationship had deteriorated further. When Malcolm abandoned the navy in favour of Starfleet, it had been the last straw and it was made clear to him that he was not welcome at home. His calls and letters dwindled and Stuart knew he, and the Royal Navy, had lost their hold on his son for good.

-/-

Charlie Tucker-Reed was fascinated by the big, fierce man who had come to stay. He peeked at him from behind the living-room curtains as he made his way out into the garden, the rubber end on his walking- stick thumping on the wooden floor of the porch. Daddy had told him to stay out of the man's way but curiosity was rapidly getting the better of him and he slunk out, intending to head for a secluded little hidey-hole he'd discovered, behind an overgrown azalea, which would afford him an unobstructed view of the interloper in his home.

A floorboard betrayed him with a creak and he suddenly found himself imprisoned by the older man's glare. "What's wrong boy? Sneaking around behind my back like a coward, eh? That's what your father used to do."

Charlie didn't know what a coward was but he decided to stand his ground "Are you my daddy's daddy? Poppa says you are but you don't look like him."

The Admiral grunted "Yes, well, Unfortunately, I suppose your Poppa's right."

"Did you tell Daddy bedtime stories when he was little, an' cuddle `im an' tickle `im an' buy `im a bicycle?"

This time, his question was met with a long silence.

"Well?"

"No, I don't believe I did."

Charlie knit his blond brows and a fledgling furrow appeared between them "Was he a naughty boy? Is that why you didn't buy `im anything?"

Uncomfortable with the conversation, the Admiral turned back to the newspaper he'd brought out with him on a padd: "I'm very busy just now, boy. I think you should go off somewhere and make yourself useful."

"What's `useful'?"

"Something your father's never been in his life. Now, on your way."

He waved his stick at the child but Charlie was too absorbed now to be afraid and, instead, he actually moved a little closer. "My Daddy's very brave. Are you brave?"

The Admiral decided to ignore the precocious child but, after a couple of minutes of quiet, he felt a tug on his sleeve "Are you?"

"Yes � now bugger off."

"What's `bugger'?"

Charlie jumped when he suddenly heard Malcolm's voice behind him "It's a word I don't expect anyone to use in front of my children. Go play with Jo-Jo, love. I want to talk to your � Grandfather."

Smiling brightly up at his father, Charlie puckered his tiny pink lips, expecting and receiving a kiss, then ran off down the garden to where his brother was failing to build a tower with coloured plastic bricks. Malcolm watched him fondly then turned back to his father. When he spoke, his tone was low and dangerous: "Didn't I tell you to leave him alone?"

His father scowled up at him "He came to me."

Malcolm gave a snort of laughter "Hah! Of course! I forgot about your natural magnetism."

"He was asking about you."

Now Malcolm looked uncomfortable "What did you tell him? That I was just a piece of shit that stuck to your shoes for a while until you scraped me off and threw me away? That I deserve to be humiliated at my own Mother's Memorial Service and go unmentioned on her gravestone? That I'm an abomination in the eyes of God because I married the man I love and wanted to have my own children?"

The Admiral's cheeks flushed with rage: "I may have thought so but I didn't say it."

Malcolm leaned over him until they were almost nose-to-nose, for the first time in his life menacing his father: "You have nothing edifying to say to my sons. Stay away from them."

-/-

Days drew into weeks and an uneasy peace descended on the Tucker-Reed household. Although he never caught him in the act, Malcolm suspected that, when his back was turned, Charlie was still hanging around his father and it was something of a relief when the Admiral took to having a morning walk round the neighbourhood � sometimes not returning until late-afternoon. Delighted at the respite, Malcolm gave him his spare set of house keys and told him not to feel he had to hurry back!

The late-night bursts of screeching and static, when Reed senior was tuning his radio to the shipping frequencies, continued to catapult Malcolm from his bed at odd moments but, on the whole, he was coping better than he'd hoped with having his nightmare living in the guest room!

Trip was proud of him, and repeatedly said so "Y'know `darlin, ah was real scared he'd drag ya right down but yer handlin' this like a lion- tamer! Ah know its takin' it outta ya, but ah'm just so thrilled that yer standin' up ta `im an' not lettin' `im get ya all riled up or depressed."

Exhausted and getting ready for an early night, Malcolm smiled wearily at him "Thanks love. I couldn't do it without you though. You and the boys remind me about what's really important in my life � oh, and it certainly helps that the ancient mariner has taken to going out for most of the day!"

They climbed under the covers and snuggled together, Trip's hand making gentle circles on his husband's stomach, sneaking lower with each rotation. Malcolm groaned "Not just now Trip. Please?"

There was a stunned and slightly hurt silence for a few seconds: "Darlin' what's wrong. Ain't ya feeling well?"

Laughing, Malcolm reached down and gently squeezed the growing bulge in Trip's shorts: "I'm fine love. I know this doesn't sound very romantic but I just don't want to be caught halfway up your arse if that bloody radio goes off!"

-/-

It felt like he'd only been asleep for seconds when something began insistently tugging Malcolm back to wakefulness. He squirmed onto his stomach and tried to float back into the dream he'd just been enjoying but an unfamiliar roaring sound gradually crept into his consciousness. Slowly, he forced himself upright and listened: then he smelled the smoke.

"Trip! Trip, wake up! The house is on fire!"

Malcolm raced for the boys' room while Trip, seeing the flickering glow of flames in the darkness of the stairwell, checked their escape routes before helping him to whisk their children down towards the front door.

Coughing hard in the thick, all pervading smoke, they fought the poor visibility and Trip finally managed to get the keys in the lock. "What the fuck happened to the alarms and sprinklers?" Malcolm was too busy rushing his sons to safety to answer.

George and Amy were outside in their own garden, yelling that they'd called the Fire Department and reaching across to help the Tucker- Reeds over the fence and out of harm's way. Malcolm stood, staring back in horror at their blazing home then, stricken, he looked around at Trip and uttered one word: "Father!"

With that, he took off at a run towards the inferno. Tucker sprinted after him and caught hold of his arm just as he was reaching their front door "No, Malcolm. Even if ya found him, ya'd never be able ta get `im out. He's a big guy. Go back to the boys: ah'll find `im."

Trip was gone before he could argue and, stomach churning with fear for his husband, he stumbled back to the children.

The Fire Department and medics were arriving now, as were several other neighbours including, Malcolm dazedly noticed, Marsha Coleman, a widow, probably in her early sixties, from a few houses away, who always fussed over the boys if she met them in the street.

It took him a moment to realise that the man standing just behind her was his father.

His shout of anger was cut short as what sounded like an explosion rang out on the still night air. Its echoes were still fading when he launched himself, once more, towards the house: "Trip! Oh my God, Trip!"

Malcolm had barely made it inside before he was choking and gasping for air as the heat seared his lungs. Battling his way towards the guest room, he could just make out, through tear-filled eyes, the still form of his husband, lying face-down in the hallway, burning pieces of the staircase collapsed on top of him.

Ignoring the agony in his own hands, he began throwing the burning wood off Trip's body. His own consciousness was fading, as pain and suffocation began to take their toll, but he finally freed him and managed begin dragging him towards safety.

Steam hissed and belched all around them as the firefighters rushed in and trained their hoses on the blaze. Malcolm jumped when a strong hand gripped his shoulder: "We'll take it from here, sir." He shot a startled look at the owner of the voice as what looked to him like a teenage boy wearing an EV suit smiled patiently at him through his face mask. He nodded dumbly and let himself be led outside as more, equally youthful, equally brawny firefighters gently lifted Trip and carried him to a waiting ambulance.

Malcolm's last conscious thought before collapsing on the lawn was that the firemen were getting awfully young these days.

TBC

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