Glancing down at his body he recognised the emblem of Starfleet Medical on the examination gown he was wearing then registered the new pink skin on his hands and arms, protected by a transparent membrane he'd seen Phlox use on the victims of plasma burns.

With a jolt, he suddenly remembered all that had happened and heard the heart monitor's beeping increase: "Trip! Where's Trip?"

Marsha Coleman reached her free hand out and stopped him as he tried to sit up: "Please try to stay calm, dear. You'll hurt yourself and frighten the boys. Your husband's still in theatre. He was quite badly injured but your doctor friend is with him now and I'm sure he'll be fine." She smiled reassuringly and Malcolm tried to smile back for her. His throat hurt and every breath was an effort but there were two more questions he had to ask: "Where's father? Did he make you come here and look after the children?"

She shook her head "No. I wanted to come. Amy was all set to take them but the boys know me better than they know her, so, when she saw me, she suggested I might be better for them. And I was coming to the hospital with your father anyway."

It took a few moments for Malcolm's over-anxious brain to assimilate what she'd said: "You � were coming anyway? With father?"

"Yes dear. I hope you don't mind but he and I have been � seeing each other for a number of weeks now. We'd been out for dinner and were coming back when we saw the fire. I fetched my car and we followed the ambulance with the boys."

Malcolm was suddenly aware that she was studying his reaction closely: "Your father's in the hallway, dear. He's waiting for news of Trip. He's very concerned that he was hurt whilst searching for him. There's something he wants to talk to you about but I'm sure it can wait until you feel a little better."

Before Malcolm could reply, the door opened and Phlox came in � slightly more subdued than normal but still smiling. "Ah, you're awake." He bustled over to the bed and began checking Malcolm vital signs. "Well, you'll be pleased to hear that the Commander is stable and resting quietly. His condition is very serious � his spine was badly damaged and he suffered severe burns over most of his body � but I believe he'll make a full recovery, albeit slowly. You can see him now, if you wish. I'm sure Mrs Coleman will wait with the children while you're gone."

The IV and oxygen were disconnected and, leaning heavily on Phlox, Malcolm allowed himself to be led, past his father in the corridor, to the adjoining room - where Trip lay on a special biobed with an air-cushion mattress to relieve pressure on his burned body. He glistened with the same membrane that adorned Malcolm's arms, and his fair hair had been all but singed away on one side, but he was still the most beautiful sight that his husband could ever recall seeing. He turned his head and smiled as best he could "Hey, darlin'. We made it � all of us."

Barely able to contain his emotions, Malcolm managed a rather watery smile "Yes. Yes we did. Don't ever scare me like that again, though."

Trip tried to grin but it ended in a wince "Well, darlin', ah figured it was time for me ta be at death's door fer a change. Why should you get all the attention all of the time?"

They made rather stilted conversation until Phlox declared it was time for both of them to rest. Malcolm knew he was right but leaving Trip was more than he could do voluntarily and, eventually, the doctor hoisted him to his feet "Time to go, Lieutenant. You can see him again in the morning."

"Can I touch him? I � I need to �"

Phlox nodded: "The membrane will protect you both from infection. Just be very gentle. I'll leave you together for a moment."

As the door closed, Malcolm leaned over the bed and pressed a careful kiss to Trip's lips: "I love you, Yank, and I could never survive without you. Promise me you'll let me die first."

He felt Trip's arms draw him closer and they joined together in a tentative embrace. A sudden sound startled Malcolm and he pulled back a little: Trip was crying. "Trip, love, are you alright? Am I hurting you?"

There was a loud sniff as his husband tried to compose himself "Only when ya talk `bout dyin' first. It ain't gonna happen, Malcolm. We're gonna live `til we're old an' done an' bore each other ta death at the same time."

Tears were pricking at Malcolm's eyes too now and he smiled as one salty drop escaped, ran down his face and plopped onto his husband's lips � to be smilingly licked away. "What a pair we are, love. So much to be grateful for and we're giving ourselves a fit of depression. Tell you what: promise me you won't go without me and I won't go without you � so long as the boys are grown up and don't need us anymore. Deal?"

Trip was smiling again now "Deal. Now, you'd better go before Phox starts playin' the heavy. G'night darlin', love ya forever."

"Same here, love. Sleep well."

Phlox reappeared as if by magic and escorted Malcolm back to his room. The children were both in their cots, fast asleep, and Marsha Coleman stood by the window with his father, watching the first red streaks of dawn appearing in the sky.

Admiral Reed turned suddenly and met his son's gaze. "Malcolm. I have something to tell you."

The tension in the room notched up a little and Marsha clearly felt it "Stuart, I don't think this is the right time..."

Alarm bells were ringing in the back of Malcolm's brain "The right time for what?"

Leaning on his stick, his father stepped towards him "The fire was my fault. You know how old my radio is and its shorted out and caught fire a couple of times if I've had it on for a long time. I always unplug it but, tonight, I was getting ready to go out with Mrs Coleman and I forgot. I disconnected your alarm system too. Bloody thing kept going off whenever I made myself toast. I'm a foolish, careless old man and I'm extremely sorry for endangering you and your family."

Phlox tapped Malcolm lightly on the shoulder "Lieutenant, you really should be back in bed. I'm sure the matter would be much better discussed after you've had some more sleep."

The Denobulan's words flowed lightly across Malcolm's consciousness and he paid them no attention. He was completely transfixed by his father's admission. Never in his life had Stuart Reed explained himself to his son � and he's certainly never apologised for anything. It must have been a tremendous effort on his part, Malcolm thought, to overcome years of pride and stubbornness in order to make the confession - let alone say `sorry'.

Rheumy eyes were watching Malcolm: searching for his reaction; begging for his forgiveness? He took a shaky step forward � then hauled off and punched his father with every ounce of strength he possessed.

As the Admiral landed on his backside, Malcolm steadied himself on the bed then went after him, fists flailing, ignoring the pain in his hands as the protective membrane split and his burns were exposed to the air. For over forty years, he'd been a hostage to this man, feeling useless and rejected, humiliated and hurt. For over forty years, he'd seen himself as Stuart Reed did, measured himself against his father's standards, and felt weak and cowardly. Only Trip's steadfast love had enabled him to find the real Malcolm Reed � and now his father was telling him how he'd very nearly killed Trip!

Malcolm went berserk. Only dimly aware of Marsha Coleman screaming, the children crying and Phlox trying to restore order in the room, he bypassed pain and his usual common sense in favour of pounding the shit out of Stuart Reed. There was blood on his hands, his gown and the floor as he went after his enemy, receiving as well as giving punishment. Age had not diminished the Admiral's build nor, it seemed, had it greatly eroded his stamina and Malcolm, in his shocked and weakened condition, found that he was fading. Those damnable tears were clouding his vision again as, frustrated at his lack of strength, he collapsed against his opponent � and, to his amazement, found himself wrapped in his father's arms. "Malcolm. Malcolm, stop it. I'll take all the punishment you want to give me but not when you're hurting yourself too."

Furious, Malcolm pulled away and glared venomously at the Admiral "Go to hell, you old bastard. I hate you. I hate you for ruining my life. I hate you for making me what I am. I hate you � I �."

His father was crying. Stuart Reed � the ogre of his childhood � was sitting on the floor with him � crying. Crying and reaching for him. Reaching for him and holding him. Holding him and crying real tears over him.

"I'm truly sorry, Malcolm. I've been so blinded by my ambition for you, so angry when you wouldn't see that I knew what was best for your life, that I never stopped to ask myself what it was YOU needed. If I made you what you are today then, even if you hate me for it, I'm a proud man."

Stunned and exhausted, Malcolm lay in his father's arms, dimly noticing that they were alone together in the room. "Where � where is everyone?"

Stuart Reed chuckled, and Malcolm marvelled that it was the first time he'd ever heard that sound: "I saw Marsha sneaking off with the boys, getting them out of harm's way, and I think that odd doctor feller decided to go for reinforcements. Come on, let's see if we can get ourselves perpendicular again."

It took several attempts before Malcolm was standing, trembling with pain and tiredness, trying to help the Admiral to his feet. With that almost magical timing of his, Phlox, with a male nurse in tow, entered the room and lent the older man a hand before concentrating on his younger patient. "Nurse Hepworth, please take Admiral Reed to treatment room 3, and see that he has suffered no lasting harm, then get someone in here to clean up."

He began examining Malcolm, tutting at the state of his hands. "Lieutenant, I'd be grateful if you'd keep your pugilistic tendencies under control while you are within the confines of this hospital, though I must admit it was the best fistfight I've seen since I last saw Captain Archer lose his temper."

-/-

Marsha Coleman was a practical woman, and generous to a fault, so it was to her home that the Tucker-Reed family de-camped until their house was re-built. Charlie and Jon-Henry adored her and, more importantly, would do anything she asked of them, so Trip found himself liking her too. Malcolm, after a slightly rocky start when he was worried that the boys preferred her to him, discovered she was a warm, maternal woman and learned a lot about child-rearing from her.

There was also the small matter of her now being engaged to his father!

Stuart Reed, for his part, had found himself reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of the fire. He refused to let the dentist replace the front tooth Malcolm had knocked down his throat, insisting that the gap was a daily reminder of the son he was only now allowing himself to love. It was slow going, but he and Malcolm � egged on by Marsha and Trip - were working hard on their relationship and discovering more about each other every day. His respect for his son grew steadily as he heard from Trip about Malcolm's various feats of ingenuity and heroism aboard the Enterprise, and seeing him raise two fine boys, who couldn't hear enough stories about their grandfather's days on the open seas, gave him a new realisation that second chances were, indeed, possible.

Under Phlox's ingenious � if often disturbing � treatment, Trip made a full recovery, enjoying regaling anyone who was fool enough to listen with tales of his recovery at the hands of the Denobulan Dr Doolittle. He had been stunned but delighted to hear of the reconciliation between his husband and the Admiral and took a perverse delight in teasing a bristling Malcolm that they were getting more alike every day.

Madeline Reed's career went from strength to strength and, on the first shore-leave of her captaincy, she had the experience of attending her father's wedding, in the same church in which she'd attended her mother's Memorial Service. She watched in astonishment as the Admiral, looking fitter and happier than she'd seen him for years, and walking without his stick, made his way to the altar � accompanied by his best man, Malcolm Tucker-Reed.

The bride, in an elegant ivory coat and dress and carrying a bouquet of cream roses and purple freesia, was preceded down the aisle by her married daughter, strewing rose petals before her, and followed by two small, blond, pageboys, painstakingly picking them up again and stuffing them in their pockets! Their behaviour confirmed to Madeline that they were her brother's children!

After the service, permitting themselves to gloat a little as the same people who had vilified them on their previous visit to the church now had to stand beside them and have their photograph taken, Trip and Malcolm enjoyed the bright sun and salt sea air in the churchyard. During a lull in proceedings, when the bride and groom were taken away by themselves for pictures, the two men strolled hand in hand towards the Reed family mausoleum.

The obligatory seagull was perched atop Britannia's head and Trip roared with laughter as, right on cue, it relieved itself. He was disturbed, however, not to hear answering laughter at his side. "Malcolm?"

A voice from the rear of the mausoleum startled him: "Trip! Come and see!"

Standing with his husband, he followed his gaze and read the inscription. Below the dates of Mary Reed's birth and death it said "Beloved wife of Stuart and dear mother of Malcolm and Madeline."

He glanced up at Malcolm, and was not terribly surprised to find he was blinking back tears. He hugged him close "Ahh, darlin' � guess he's really learned his lesson, huh?"

Trying not to get salty tear-streaks on Trip's best suit, Malcolm laughed softly "He didn't need to do that. What made him think he needed to do that?"

He pulled back a little and gazed at Trip. "We talk a lot, we really do, but I think I still need to try harder. When the pictures are all taken, I'm going to thank him for this but make him understand that he doesn't have to do anything else. For the first time in my life, he's being my Dad and that's � well, its � more than enough."

END

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