Title: Conditional Intervention
Author: Pretzelduck
Author's e-mail: [email protected]
Author's URL: http://www.geocities.com/pretzelduck
Date: Posted to EntSTSlash 03/20/2003
Archive: Permission to archive granted to EntSTCommunity, Tim Ruben, and WWOMB
Fandom: Star Trek:
Category: Slash
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Pairing: Archer/Reed
Main character(s): Archer/Reed, Tucker
Summary: Trip decides to upset Jon's ritual and in the process, give his friend and Malcolm a little shove in the right direction.
Warnings: Nope
Series: n/a
Sequel to: n/a
Spoilers: Not a one.
Disclaimer: Guess what?
I don't own the Star Trek franchise.
Author's Notes: My answer to Kyrdwyn's Challenge involving Reed and two particular lines. I should have been studying for a final instead of writing this but I figure I already know everything about the U.S. economy anyway. It sucks. End of story.
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I'm whistling. It's juvenile and unseemly but I don't care. I love this day and time. It's become my own little ritual. Every Tuesday at ten o'clock, I'll stop by and check in with him. No matter if it's his duty shift or not, Malcolm is always in the armory at ten o'clock.
I'm sure he's undoubtedly noticed the regularity of my visits by now. His captain coming by once a week at the same time to get an update? An update that I can get by reading one of his reports? Hell, Trip's even figured out what I'm up to. Much to my never-ending dismay. That man really needs to learn how to lay off a subject. I can still hear his voice in my head,
"Cap'n, why don't ya just ask him out on a date? It practically is one, already. He's there every week, you're there every week. All that's missin' is the askin'."
Sure, Trip. I, Jonathan Archer, the commanding officer of the Enterprise, will just go up to said ship's armory officer and ask him out on a date. I think all that pecan pie has finally rotted his brain.
Or maybe I'm the one that's insane. Crazy for a pair of grayish-blue eyes and an enticing accent. Perhaps, it's that smile. A little half-smile that I would stand on my head and recite the alphabet backwards just to see. Aimed in my direction, of course. And only for me.
I don't know what to call it. A crush, an infatuation, an attraction? Whatever it's called, it's Tuesday. So I'm headed for the armory. I manage to the stop the whistling just before I reach the door. I was only a little bit off-key.
Taking a deep breath, I head inside. The sight that usually greets me would be one of Malcolm's posterior anatomy. A very nice sight but one I always take a deep breath before seeing so I'm not too flustered when I speak to him face-to-face.
This morning, though, it appears I'm deprived. No posterior anatomy. No Malcolm at all. I feel like I did when my dad told me that there was no such thing as Santa Claus. Heartbroken, mystified, frustrated. Why isn't he here? Today is one of the days that it isn't his shift...actually, I think it's his day off but he never takes them and I thought... So much for him being here every week, as well.
"He's not here, sir."
One of Malcolm's subordinates, Crewman Morrison, is standing right in front of me. How did she get there?
"Excuse me?"
"Commander Tucker told me to tell you when you came by that Lieutenant Reed was working with him, sir." What in the world does Trip think he's doing?
"Thank you, crewman."
"You're welcome, sir." She comes to attention briefly before walking over to one of the torpedo launchers and going to back to her duties.
I walk back over to the door and head back out into the corridor. Wandering down the hallway, I start thinking about different ways to hurt Trip. He knows what day and time it is. Why couldn't he have waited twenty minutes? No, he has to grab Malcolm now. During my 'will he or won't he smile at me this week' time. I'm at Way Number Eleven when it hits me. I'm jealous. I'm jealous of Trip's ability to have any number of reasons to spend time with Malcolm. If it isn't work-related, they're friends. They do stupid things together and have crazy adventures together.
I, on the other hand, have to settle for making up reasons. Like getting updates from him on the weapons systems when we haven't had to fire a phase cannon in weeks. And with all his love of protocol and our difference in ranks, I doubt he considers me a friend.
I don't have a chance with him.
Out of all the idiotic places to have a heart-renching revelation, this has to up there on the list. I'm standing outside a pair of lift doors that are just starting to open. Unsuccessfully, I try to erase all evidence of sadness from my face. Inside the lift is the initiator of my melancholy thoughts. I attempt to smile at him and say good morning but I can't do either. Trip simply grabs me by the arm and hauls me inside. As soon as the lift doors close, he turns to me and I can feel him look me up and down.
"You look like hell, Cap'n."
"Good morning to you, too." I really don't have much tolerance right now. I just want to back to my ready room and bury myself in T'Pol's science reports. I'm a little bit behind in reading them. Only by a week or so, though.
"Speaking of mornings, it's ten o'clock, do you know where your armory officer is?" Yes, I do know where he is. Malcolm is in Engineering working on some crazy idea you've cooked up. Why? Because you have the privilege of such luxuries. And you don't even have a...whatever it is I have...on him. Might as well play along, though. I don't have any thing else better to do. Not anymore.
"I don't know, but I know where he isn't."
A huge grin appears on Trip's face. "You really got it bad for Malcolm, don't ya?"
"Your point, Commander?" I'm not going to confirm or deny anything. Got it bad, yes. Is it possible, no.
He reaches out and presses the 'stop' button on the lift panel. I can already hear whatever it is that Trip's going to say. He's going to tell me that I'm wasting my time. That I need to get over it.
"My point is that he isn't in engineering." What? Trip must read the confusion on my face because he quickly goes on. "I came down to the armory to get his opinion on somethin' and noticed he looked like crap." My interest in what Trip's saying goes up ten-fold. Is something the matter with Malcolm? How did I not notice? "Ya know, crappy like hasn't slept, hasn't eaten, pushin' himself too hard crappy. I don't even bother to ask him what's wrong 'cause all I'm goin' get is 'Nothing, sir.' Instead, I tell him I need his help, tell Morrison to tell you that, and drag him down to the mess hall."
Part of me is trying to follow Trip's narration while the other part is glad that he made Malcolm get out of the armory. I probably wouldn't have been able to. But I still don't know where he's going with all this.
"So I put a tray of food in front of him and I had to order him to eat. Ya know why? This is the kicker, too. He didn't complain about how he was supposed to be in the armory or that he had work to do. Nope, his one complaint was that he had an important *date* at ten that he didn't want to miss."
A date? Malcolm called it a date? I give my brain a few moments to rewire itself before trying to pester Trip for more details. He beats me to the punch, though.
"Yep, a date. I figured I know about it if the universe was scheduled to implode so that left one other important not missable thing at ten. You."
My mind immediately starts screaming a dozen different protests to the contrary. I can't stop them. Eventually, one becomes coherent enough to be voiced. "All he did was call it a date..." And no, my heart just didn't beat all funny when I said that. "...It's just a word. It doesn't mean anything."
Trip's response is concise and to the point. "Bullshit."
"Trip..."
"Cap'n, this is Malcolm we're talkin' about here. If he used the word, it's what he means. It's a date to him. Not a meeting or an appointment. A date." I hesitate in replying just long enough for Trip to reach over and start the lift again. "Now you're goin' to the mess hall and sittin' with him. Or something."
"Trip..."
"He looks terrible. I know what I think is wrong with him so you're gonna go see if I'm right."
"What are you talking about?"
"I think what's wrong with Malcolm is the same thing that's wrong with you. And I'm tired of dealin' with the both of ya. It's about time you two put two and two together."
The lift slows, a signal that it's coming to a stop. I think about just ignoring what Trip's saying. But only for the amount of time that it takes for the thought to form. Then, I quickly dismiss it. A date. He actually used the word. Trip is right about Malcolm's preciseness with language...
"How do you know he's still in the mess hall?"
The doors open and Trip shoves me out into the corridor with a smile. "Simple. I ordered him to stay. See ya, Cap'n."
I don't even have the opportunity to thank him before the lift doors close again. I'll thank him later, I guess. If he turns out to be right.
Moments later, I'm standing in front of the door to the mess hall. Time for another deep breath...
It's an odd time of the day. Too late for breakfast and too early for lunch but there's one solitary figure sitting next to the window, perpendicular to the door. Malcolm...
I take a full step inside so the door closes behind me. He doesn't even move at the sound. Instead of his usual upright posture, he's slouched slightly in the chair. I walk over to his table and I notice the practically untouched tray in front of him.
"Is this seat taken?" His head whirls toward me and there's a breath-taking sparkle in his eyes as he smiles up at me. Maybe I don't need to stand on my head...
"Of course not."
I smile back at him as I sit down. Then, I get a good look at him and it's hard to keep the smile on my face. Trip was right; he looks awful. Dark circles under his eyes and his whole face personifies exhaustion. I stare just a little too long and that beautiful smile of his disappears like it wasn't even there in the first place.
"I'm perfectly fine, sir." He isn't and it's obvious. But telling him that will get me nowhere. Besides I'm on a mission. To find out the truth behind that whole 'date' thing.
"Glad to hear it, Malcolm. I was a bit worried when I stopped by the armory to speak with you and you weren't there."
And bam! Like magic, the smile reappears. "It is my day off, Captain."
Or maybe it's a smirk. "I'm well aware of that. So what do you plan to do with it?"
He simply shrugs his shoulders. "I have a few technical journals to catch up on."
"Malcolm, can you honestly tell me that you haven't read every journal that's been published already?" I know he told me that he didn't have any hobbies but that's what he told me. Isn't it? There has to be something he enjoys besides his job.
"Well..." Come on, Malcolm. Spit it out. "...no. I can't."
I thought so. His head tilts to one side, as something apparently occurs to him. "What about you, Captain?"
"What?"
"It is your day off, as well. What are your plans, sir?"
How did I manage to forget that it was my day off? Never mind, I know the answer. It's Tuesday. I guess it says something about my state of mind when a ten-minute conversation with my armory officer is so much the crux of my day that I forget about the rest of it.
So now I have to improvise. Something to do on my day off. Something that I might be able to convince Malcolm to join me to do. Preferably something in private.
"I thought I might spend some time with Porthos. Work on a few tricks. Maybe watch a match after that."
Malcolm nods at me before picking up a grape off the tray and plopping it into his mouth. Damn, now there's a sight definitely worth enjoying.
"Is Stanford in the championship again?"
What? Where did that come from? How did he know what school I root for? Or better yet, that it's championship time again and they're in the thick of it again? Okay...so maybe Trip was right about Malcolm. It could be possible...couldn't it?
"Depends. I haven't seen the semifinal match yet...um..." Not now. It figures that when I'm trying to ask him to watch with me, I'm more tongue-tied than I ever remember being as a teenager. He probably won't even think of the invitation that way. To him, it'll probably be just another attempt by his socializing commanding officer to have a non-work related conversation with him. But aren't we doing that right now?
"I've never seen a water polo game..." Argh! Why can't I get the words out of my mouth? I can hear them in my head but my mouth just won't move. Then, I see Malcolm's throat move as he swallows and notice that his hands are trembling a bit. Great. I've managed to scare him. I'm not looking at his eyes, though. Those things are as dangerous as the rest of his beloved weapons arsenal. If I look at them, I'll probably give myself away. "...but would you care for some company?"
All right...big goofy grin can leave my face any time now. Malcolm is probably thinking that his captain has gone stupid. Actually, I'm hoping that he isn't thinking of me as his captain at the moment. Never mind, I really have to get my mouth to work. Now.
"I'd love to have you, Malcolm." In more ways than one. But first... "On one condition, though."
The look on his face is adorable. It's a mixture of relief, alarm, and confusion. "Condition?"
I point to the full tray of food in front of us. "You have to eat a little more."
Malcolm just starts chuckling. And keeps chuckling. However, he's also picking various things up from the plates and eating them. Quite quickly, too, I'm happy to note.
Reaching across the table, I start to grab for a cookie. Only Malcolm grabs for the same one at the same time. I start to pull my hand away when I realize that he isn't pulling away his. Our fingers are touching. We're both looking at them but neither of us is moving. Once again, our movements are in sync. I look up at the same time he does.
I knew those eyes were dangerous weapons. I just didn't know that they were lethal. I've officially lost all ability to think about anything beside him. Malcolm and his engulfing of me. I know what to call it now. It's need. I need to have him, feel him, touch him. I try to express some of this with my face; I don't trust my ability to speak.
Apparently, though, neither does he. His fingers wrap themselves around my outstretched hand and squeeze firmly for a split second before Malcolm pulls his hand away completely and stands up. "Would you still like my company?"
He's putting it all on the line. I've witnessed firsthand Malcolm's bravery when it comes to combat situations. I didn't know it extended this far. He's risking everything and he knows it. It seems that the trembling I saw earlier wasn't just limited to his hands. His whole body is shaking slightly.
I can't hold back anymore. He feels the same way. Trip was right. I'm putting that man up for a commendation. Slowly, I stand and take a step so I'm right in front of him.
"On one condition." I have to make sure. I can't explain it. I have to know we're on the same page; although it looks like we're even on the same sentence. "If you come, it's a date. Like an actual..."
"Date." And now, it's time for the return of the giant goofy grin. I don't mind, though. The smile on his face is just as big. "I have a condition of my own, as well."
"What?"
"Would you mind if we left the mess hall?"
Oh. We are still in the mess hall, aren't we? Not the captain's mess, either. The rather public mess hall.
"Not at all."
I can't believe I'm allowed to do this. So I have to. Just to make sure. I reach down and take his hand in mine. He returns the pressure and softly strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. We walk toward the exit, holding hands. I press the button to open the door and I'm not surprised to feel Malcolm let go of my hand. As we walk out, I smile at him, trying to tell him that I understand and I agree with him. Public isn't something we need to deal with yet. Same page or sentence, it doesn't matter. No jumping the gun and moving too fast. He smiles back with his appreciation and understanding easily readable on his face.
We walk down the corridor, side-by-side. There are a thousand things I want to tell him. And just as many things I want to ask him. But there'll be time for all of them eventually. First on the agenda. An explanation of water polo.
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--Three Weeks Later--
I love being captain of the Enterprise but there are days, like this one, when I wish I could take a very long vacation. I can't focus or concentrate on anything. The sound of the ready room door opening catches my attention but I don't bother to look up.
"It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your armory officer is?"
"Good morning, Trip. Leave Malcolm alone. It's his day off and you guys just finished getting the cannons realigned."
"Yeah, I know. But I have a really great idea. Do you know where he is? He's not in the armory."
Nope. He isn't. I know exactly where Malcolm is but I'm not telling Trip. "Don't have a clue."
He turns to leave so I stop him right when he reaches the door. "Hey, Trip?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Someday you're goin' hafta tell me what you keep thanking me for." With that, Trip walks out the now-open door.
I suppose I will. Someday. Malcolm and I haven't talked about telling other people about us yet. The 'us' that would be the reason I can't focus today and have buried myself in the ready room. The 'us' of last night's development in our relationship. I don't have any reason to be jealous of Trip anymore. He might have more on-duty causes to spend time with Malcolm but off-duty...
Off-duty, Malcolm is mine. After all, it's my bed that Malcolm is sleeping in right now. It's my sheets that he's tangled in for the very first but not the last time. It's me that made the exhaustion and dark circles go away simply by being with him. Malcolm and Trip might get into crazy adventures but it's me that he comes back to.
It's me that he loves. On one condition, of course. That I love him back. Good thing that somewhere in these past few weeks, need became something more. Good thing that it became love.
Even if I have to keep explaining water polo to him.
-fin-