Title: Stolen Moments

Author: Pretzelduck

Pairing: Archer/Reed

Rating: PG-13

Summary: It's just a date, right?  Is anything ever that simple?  Not in my world.  Not in Jon's and Malcolm's, either.  Misunderstandings and interruptions abound as they attempt the dating thing for the first time.

Disclaimer: Guess what?  I don't own the Star Trek franchise.  I'm just a poor college student so please don't sue me. 

 

Author's Note: This is the third story in my series following "The Reed Façade" and "Questions and Answers." 

 

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Time had stopped.  He was sure of it.  Or at least had slowed to the pace of a dying snail just to infuriate him.  He'd sat through an eventless shift before but this was the worst one ever.  At least Malcolm had left.  His infuriatingly close presence had set his skin on fire with aching wanting.  But a problem with the phase cannons had sent Malcolm to the Armory about twenty minutes ago.  A very long twenty minutes.  The distraction was one thing.  Finding that he missed the feeling of having the man he wanted and that he knew wanted him close by was something completely different. Jon wasn't quite sure which feeling was worse.  Smiling as he remembered Malcolm's constant fidgeting in his seat before he left, Jon tried to concentrate on the task at hand.  And failed.  He had asked Malcolm to join him for an early dinner an hour after their shifts ended.  No Trip or T'Pol.  Just the two of them.  Alone.

 

Four days had passed since that near disastrous turned glorious meeting in Malcolm's quarters.  They had made plans to meet the following morning for breakfast.  But that had been quite rudely interrupted by a pair of antagonizing hostile alien vessels that had caused extensive damage to various systems.  Both he and Malcolm had been running around trying to get the Enterprise back into shape after the encounter and hadn't had a moment alone in private since. Of course, there were the times that he had passed Malcolm in the hallway and been greeted with his seemingly Malcolm-like response of "Hello, sir" only to be blown away by the soft, gentle smile on his face that Jon knew disappeared as soon as they parted.  Times like those had been too few and too far between for his sanity. 

 

So he was pleasantly surprised to find himself in the same lift as Malcolm this morning.  A minute by themselves in close proximity had been awkward for a heartbeat but quickly turned comfortable.  Jon had brought up the idea of dinner and the instant before the doors opened to the bridge Malcolm had turned to face him. With what Jon hoped was a smile meant only for him to see, he simply stated that he'd love to before stepping aside in perfect timing with the opening of the doors.  Forcing the lopsided, boyish grin off his face had taken quite an effort, but he'd managed to look semi-captain like when he walked on to the bridge.

 

But now he was tired of waiting.  Unlike Malcolm, his duties kept him on the bridge and he was getting anxious and nervous just sitting there.  However, it helped relax him knowing that the ship was in good hands and it was all right for his brain to wander a bit.  The problem with that freedom was his thoughts had drifted into tricky territory.  One of the biggest stumbling blocks was the fact that it was his job to sit in this chair.  In their one tense interlude, Jon was fairly certain that he and Malcolm had worked out the problem of him, the superior officer, approaching one of his subordinates, in a romantic fashion.  But the obstacle remained of how to deal with Malcolm being under his command.   In the very core of his being, Jon knew that a chance at a relationship with Malcolm was worth all the problems and uncertainity.  But first, he and Malcolm actually had to speak again.  Forcing himself onto a different train of thought, Jon looked intently at the view screen hoping for something to investigate or for an excuse to escape to his ready room. Eventually, a twisted thought popped into his brain and another smile lit up his face as Jon found himself hoping that Malcolm was having as difficult of a shift as he was.

 

Meanwhile…

 

'One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds…One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty-six seconds…'

 

"Lieutenant Reed?"

 

'One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty-five…Bloody hell.'  A dark-haired figure crawled out from underneath a console and stared at the questioning crewman.  "Do you have something to report, Weber?"

 

The unfortunate and unsuspecting Crewman Weber nodded carefully before giving her senior officer the update from Engineering on that side of the problem.  Rumor had it that something else besides the malfunctioning phase cannons was bothering the Enterprise's armory officer and making him sterner and more exacting than usual.  She'd almost made it the entire way through the report without an irritated outburst from Lieutenant Reed when she mentioned that the estimate was about two more hours until the diagnostic of the cannons was finished.

 

"Two hours is unacceptable.  The diagnostic will be finished by the end of this shift.  No later.  Dismissed."

 

After a long visual sweep of the armory, Malcolm crawled back under the console that controlled the targeting of what he called the bloody phase cannons.  His instinct told him that his people knew something was bothering him but he tried to dismiss it.  The one thing he couldn't think about was the reason two hours was intolerable because the thought of dinner with Jon distracted him.  Badly.  And he would start to count off the time until the end of the shift.

 

'One hour, fourteen minutes, seven seconds…One hour, fourteen minutes, six seconds…One hour…Bloody hell.'

 

He'd spent months wondering about and wanting Jonathan Archer.  It would be reasonable to think that he could wait about two hours to see him alone.  But reasonable had gone out the window with Jon's confession of four nights ago. 

 

"I want to know you, Malcolm…I care about you more than I should... I dream about you.  I dream about you wanting me…"

 

All those almost unbearable lonely nights dreaming about the man and he'd been dreaming about him.  Malcolm regarded it as rather extraordinary and very, very precious.  After the first bit of amazement had worn off, his oldest and most lethal enemy had come tiptoeing in to torment him.  Self-doubt.  After Jon had left that night, it had managed to work its way into his newfound sense of peaceful serenity and forced him to painfully examine everything that had happened.  Malcolm had spent enough time turning inside out his feelings for the captain and was convinced that they weren't part of some warped misguided search for a father figure.  Instead, he started to doubt himself.  And what he could possibly bring to the table as a partner.  Expressing himself and what he was feeling didn't come naturally to him.  This particular flaw was something he had long since chalked up in the "isn't going to change" category and had accepted as part of who he was back before he had even finished his schooling.  But he knew it was important to do if any relationship was to work.

 

 Jon deserved someone who knew how to be open and knew how to really trust another person.  Malcolm trusted the people he worked with and the rest of the crew of the Enterprise to do their jobs well and perform above the call of duty.  But the trust between partners was of a different kind – an intimate kind.  Subsequently, he had spent the last few nights wondering and searching instead of sleeping like he should've been.  Was the ability to trust like that truly in him?  Or had it been driven away by too many years of detachment and too much reserve?  The only answer Malcolm had been able to come up with was that if there was anything that would make him try, it was a chance at a real relationship with Jon. 

 

For a long time, that had been his ultimate fantasy.  Someone to come home to.  Then, Malcolm had met Jonathan Archer and watched, almost like an out-of-body experience, as the man singlehandedly managed to evoke resentment, profound gratitude, sorrow, pure joy and jealousy and have him actually show it.  Not that it was all that noticeable to anyone but him and possibly his sister.  Nonetheless, it was there.  Emotion from the aloof and reticent Malcolm Reed who had been taught since he was hardly old enough to walk that feeling and emotions were for the weak.  And a Reed was anything but weak.  But slowly, snippets of what he felt about things that weren't important to his duty began to leak out.  And more unexpectedly and just as slowly, the faceless man in his dreams, the one he could come home to, became his captain.  

 

A part – the first part – of his fantasy was upon him.  He was having dinner alone with Jon.  Just like a real date.  Actually, it was a date.  In every sense of the word.  It was enough to make him more nervous than he could ever remember being.  Making it worse was the self-doubt.  It was in the back of his mind.  Taunting him.  Daring him to back out.  Telling him that there was some other reason for the dinner.  Reminding him that he'd never been close to anyone.  Teasing him with the thought that it was a game or a dream.  Malcolm held on to that last part.  A dream.  It was a dream.  A dream that miraculously turned out to be a reality.  A reality in which Jon wanted him.  The proof was in Jon's eyes as they held hands and in his achingly raw words as Jon tried to tell him how he felt.  It had been there as Jon had drifted off and Malcolm had watched him sleep without a hint of stress or worry on his handsome face.  He had been comfortable enough sitting beside him to relax that much.  With the image of a sleeping Jon steadfast in his mind, Malcolm continued his work on the phase cannons and to count down the time until the end of the shift.

 

Two hours, twenty-six minutes, and forty seconds later…

 

He was twelve minutes late.  If there had been a serious problem in the armory or with the phase cannons, Jon knew he would have been notified.  So where was Malcolm?  His strict formality included a predictable punctuality.  Since his mind had excluded the possibilities of a duty-related problem and Malcolm being late, it decided to settle on a gloomy thought.  What if Malcolm had changed his mind?  Or decided that it wasn't worth it? 

 

Jon could feel the lump rise up in his throat.  After walking through the first piece of an emotional mine field with him and then waiting four endless days, Malcolm wasn't going to show.  His mind was filled with unanswerable questions, disappointment, and regret.  What had made things change?  Why hadn't Malcolm even spoken to him?  Even if he just took into account his dealings with him on a professional level, Malcolm didn't seem the type to lose his nerve like that.  Jon was fairly certain that he would at least tell him.  Sitting at the table, obviously set for two with a pair of covered dinner plates, definitely wasn't helping.  He found himself staring at the place where Malcolm was supposed to be sitting and trying to imagine the quiet Englishman smiling across the table at him.  Or imagine the look of surprise and pleasure when he lifted the lid to reveal a plate of pineapple-marinated chicken.  Or imagine hearing him laugh without restraint or uneasiness at a silly joke.  But it wasn't going to happen.  Malcolm was now fifteen minutes late.

 

Standing up, Jon walked over to the window and looked out at the stars.  They had also been his dream.  A dream he had gained from his father and carried alone now.  It's not like he didn't have any friends.  But friendship alone wasn't enough.  What he wanted was someone to hold in the middle of the night.  Someone that knew what he was thinking without having to ask.  Someone who's lightest touch made the universe make sense again.  Relationships hadn't been something that he had ever been very good at making work.  It always seemed that something was missing.  A connection of some kind. 

 

Then, Jon had been putting together the crew for the Enterprise and been brought to Jupiter Station by Admiral Forrest to meet with a Lieutenant Reed for the position of armory officer.  The lieutenant had been practicing hand-to-hand combat with several of the station's other crewmembers so Jon, rather than interrupting, had leaned up against a wall and watched the smaller man move with a graceful confidence that both aroused and impressed him.  After helping a crewman up, he had spotted him against the wall and watched as the man looked him over, assessing the unexpected visitor with a practiced glance.  But when their eyes met, Jon had had to remind himself to breathe.  He found himself looking into a pair of grayish-blue eyes that seemed as if they were looking into his very soul.  Lieutenant Reed, after what seemed like minutes, had acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head before returning to what appeared to be a self-defense lesson he was teaching. 

 

Since that moment, Malcolm Reed had become like an itch that he couldn't scratch.  Everything in him told Jon that he found what had been missing.  He had found his connection.  From then on, Jon had tried to understand Malcolm.  More than one bridge shift had been spent glancing at the tactical station trying to gain the smallest insight into the handsome man that worked there.  All the while, he had looked for something…anything that might imply his interest was shared. When Malcolm had been taken hostage by the Novans, Jon had felt something between them.  A silent understanding.  All it had taken was a quick look back at Malcolm and he knew that they were both on the same wavelength and that Malcolm understood what he was trying to do. A little while later, he had noticed that Malcolm's birthday was approaching.  Realizing that the rest of the senior staff probably wouldn't notice and that Malcolm was likely to let it pass without note, Jon had sent Hoshi on a scavenger hunt of sorts to track down what his favorite food was.  He had desperately wanted to do it himself but that would have been too obvious and awkward so he had settled for unsuspecting Hoshi's second-hand account of what the various members of Malcolm's family had said about him.  A handful of little insights to add to his collection.  But the largest insight came when they had presented Malcolm with the pineapple-flavored cake.  The look of uncontainable surprise and wonder on his face had given Jon the sneaking suspicion that no one had ever given Malcolm a birthday cake.  Or had made a deal out of his birthday.  Or even remembered it. 

 

Then there had been when Malcolm and Trip had been trapped on the shuttlepod.  After they had finally recovered the pair and Malcolm had awoken in sickbay, the wall that Malcolm had built around himself crumbled as he tried to explain about what had happened and the debris that they had seen on an asteroid.  Until that incident, Jon had thought that nothing was harder than leaving Malcolm behind on Terra Nova.  But then, as Malcolm's grayish eyes filled with unshed tears, all he wanted to do was hold the tormented man and tell him it was all right to cry.  Reassure him that he and the crew were alive and well.  After that, Malcolm had pretended that his breakdown hadn't even occurred.  It was as if it was too difficult for him to remember that the wall had failed.  A wall that had protected Malcolm and that had been created for a reason or many reasons.  What piece of that wall had made Malcolm decide that they were too big of a risk?  Jon doubted that he would ever really know.  Malcolm was now eighteen minutes late.

 

Meanwhile…

 

It wasn't doubt or indecision or a piece of the Reed façade that was keeping Malcolm from making his date with Jon.  It was a bloody yank.  A yank named Charles Tucker the III, to be exact.  The diagnostic hadn't been finished by the end of the shift but instead, like Crewman Weber had warned him, forty-five minutes after it.  That was bad enough but still gave him plenty of time to change into something informal, shave, and go to dinner.  Then, the Enterprise's resident jovial Southerner had strode into the armory taking several of Malcolm's crewmen with him back to Engineering, leaving Malcolm to stay for over twenty minutes to finish up a couple tasks.  But that still would have given him time to change out of his uniform and run to dinner, so he couldn't be too upset.  That was until his hand was reaching up to open the door to the corridor when the commander once again came back through it. 

 

So now, here he was.  Listening to Commander Tucker discuss an upgrade to the phase cannons.  For the first time in his career, Malcolm didn't really care about a better way to make something explode.  As the commander talked, he simply nodded his head occasionally and made some sound along the lines of "oh" or "yeah" all the while hoping that the commander would hurry up.  After all the waiting, the time was finally near.  A date with Jon.  And the bloody yank wouldn't shut up.

 

"And then we could link the cannons to the…Malcolm?  You payin' any attention to this?"

 

Malcolm's face flushed, his body went rigid with perfect posture, and his eyes met those of the engineer.  He should have figured Tucker would notice that he wasn't listening very closely eventually.  "Of course I am, sir."

 

Trip stared back at Malcolm trying to read the man.  It was a task he often decided was impossible.  But this time the emotion was close to the surface.  The Brit looked…irritated.  By God, the man didn't want to be standing here listening to him.  The Enterprise's trigger happy armory officer didn't care about any phase cannon upgrade.  He wanted to be out of the armory and on his way.  If he didn't know better, Trip would say Malcolm had a date.  But that was pretty unlikely…wasn't it?  "You got a date, Lieutenant?"

 

To his utter surprise and twisted delight, Malcolm turned an even darker shade of red and even looked flustered.  Malcolm Reed did indeed have a date.  Wahoo…this was certainly gonna grease the Enterprise's gossip wheels.  However, as he stood watching the rarely unsettled Malcolm, Trip remembered what he had told him on the shuttlepod.  Malcolm had said he had a problem getting close to people.  If he was trying now, Trip wasn't going to make it any harder by spreading rumors.  Without waiting for an answer from Malcolm, Trip stepped aside from the doors and pressed the button to open them.  "Give yur date my apologies, Malcolm."

 

Malcolm walked through the doors and was in the corridor before he turned back around to Trip.  "I hope I can, Commander."  As soon as the doors shut, Malcolm broke from another part of his formality and took off running at full speed for the nearest lift. 

 

Trip stood staring at the closed doors, wondering about Malcolm's parting comment.  Was Malcolm worried that his date wouldn't go out with him if he was a few minutes late?  Maybe but he wasn't going to ask.  Nor was he going to bring it up.  The least he could do was give Malcolm a little bit of privacy.  However, what he really wanted to do was mention it to Jon.  Ever since he had first met the lieutenant, Jon had continually brought him up.  One time, Trip had eaten breakfast with Malcolm and casually told him about it, only to find himself interrogated on everything that Malcolm had said and eaten.  He had known Jon a lot of years and seen him in and out of relationships with various men.  But never with any of those partners had Jon been this far gone.  Never had he ever looked at them the way he would longingly watch Malcolm whenever he could.  The look in his eyes said "I need him to need me."  It would crush Jon to know that Malcolm was going on a date.  Jon so much wanted to be the person to break through that shell of Malcolm's. 

 

Remembering that Jon had said he wanted to have dinner alone tonight, Trip headed for the captain's private dining room.  He might not want to tell Jon about Malcolm's date but he could definitely tell him about his bizarre reaction to the phase cannon upgrade and lack of interest in something weapons-oriented.  Trip would just have to keep the reason to himself.

 

A minute or so later, Trip walked into the dining room and found himself looking at an unusual sight.  First of all, Jon was staring out the window and hadn't even appeared to notice his entrance.  Second, the table was set for two.  Not one but two.  Jon hadn't wanted to eat alone.  He had expected company.  But who?

 

"What's the matter, Cap'n?  Did T'Pol stand you up?"

 

Jon barely flinched at Trip's voice.  Normally, he would have appreciated his interruption on his stormy thoughts and his attempts at humor.  But not tonight.  Tonight he could barely find the strength to smile.  Everything just felt wrong.  It was as if the universe had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  "No, Malcolm did."

 

Trip's jaw dropped to the floor.  Malcolm!  He doubted that Malcolm had approached Jon.  But for the two of them to be having dinner something had to have happened.  It never entered Trip's mind that Jon was joking.  There were some things that Jon would joke about and some things, like Malcolm, were off limits.  What had happened since the last time they talked?  The ship had been attacked a few days ago and the crew had just finished all the repairs to the Enterprise.  When had he had time to approach Malcolm?  When had he worked up the courage?  And why did Jon think Malcolm had stood him up?  The answer to his last question hit Trip like a dozen pecan pies in the face.  Because he had kept Malcolm in the armory long after Malcolm's was over.  Their date must have been pretty close to right after their shifts were finished.  Time to patch this mess up.  "Malcolm didn't stand you up."

 

This statement finally got Jon's attention and he turned away from the window to stare at Trip.  The agonizing pain etched into his face caused Trip to take a step back.  His usually bright eyes were darkened with miserable despair.  Jon must have been running himself through the wringer more and more the later it became. "I kinda waylaid Malcolm and started in on a plan I've got to reduce the recharge time of the cannons and…"

 

Jon couldn't stop the frown from crossing his face.  He should've known.  A weapons upgrade.  That was the one possibility he had forgotten.  Stood up for an opportunity to make more things blow up faster. 

 

Trip stopped his explanation as soon as he noticed Jon wasn't listening anymore.  He needed to hear what had happened.  Hear about Malcolm's reaction to his ideas before Jon shut down completely and retreated inward even further. But first, he had to get Jon to listen again.

 

"Jonathan Archer!"  Jon's eyes shifted their focus back to him but he didn't say a word.  Instead, the look on his face told Trip that he wanted to be alone.  "If you'd listen to me, you'd find out that Malcolm paid even less attention to me than you are.  And he looked more irritated with me bein' around than you are.  He didn't care about the phase cannons.  He just wanted to get outta there.  As soon as I figur'd that out, I let him go.  Teased him 'bout havin' a date.  I didn't know it was with you.  I just left the armory so he should be here soon."

 

Trip turned around and started to leave the dining room before Jon stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder.  "Thanks, Trip."

 

The light was back in his eyes.  Not entirely but Trip had a feeling that Malcolm, once he got past his anal obsession with his appearance and got his British ass down here, would finish the job.  "No problem, Cap'n.  Just realize that you owe me the whole story later."

 

"That I do.  See you later."  Trip left with a smile and Jon returned to his place by the window.  His enormous pearly white smile was reflected back at him.  Malcolm hadn't cared about the phase cannons.  It was simply wonderful.  Jon couldn't believe that he had been so jealous of some weaponry.  Malcolm's beloved weapons.  He had often wondered what that passion and energy would be like if it was transferred to other things…like him.  With that thought, his smile got a little wider.   The other thing that bothered him was how quickly he had started to doubt Malcolm.  Why had he done that?  His musings were stopped by the sound of the door opening behind him.

 

Malcolm's reflection filled the empty space in the window beside his.  It struck Jon as being quite symbolic.  An empty space being filled.  At the moment, the figure filling the space had indeed gone informal.  The snug long-sleeve black shirt that Malcolm was wearing revealed his lean, muscular chest to Jon for the first time.  It was definitely a sight that deserved to be seen by his own eyes instead of through a slightly blurred reflection.  Slowly turning around, Jon's heart began to ache all over again at the look on Malcolm's face.   He was afraid of something.  Of him being upset with him?  That he wouldn't accept why he had been late?  Or of something else all together?

 

Taking one very cautious step forward, Malcolm watched Jon's face for any hint of disapproval or disappointment.  Instead, all he saw was an odd twitching at the sides of his mouth.  "I'm sorry I'm so late.  You wouldn't believe the shift I've had." 

 

Jon gave up on fighting off a grin.  Remembering his thoughts during his turn on the bridge, he was pretty sure that he knew exactly how difficult Malcolm's shift had been.  "I don't know.  Mine wasn't all peaches and cream, either."

 

The friendly tone in Jon's voice helped Malcolm relax slightly.  Jon didn't sound angry or disappointed but it didn't seem quite right.  Malcolm knew he was over twenty minutes late.  He had expected to find Jon gone or very angry with him.  Everything in his experience told him to anticipate one or both of those outcomes.  A smiling Jon was out of his frame of reference.  One thing that always bothered him was something that he couldn't predict.  His job required being able to foresee all possible problems in a tactical or security situation.  But Jon was smiling.  And that he hadn't foreseen.  Well, basic tactical strategy stated that the best way to counter unpredictability was with returned unpredictability.

 

"If it hadn't been for a certain engineer, I would have been here on time." 

 

Malcolm got a bit of enjoyment out of watching the surprise and shock register on Jon's face.  He'd never heard him speak without his accent before.  It was a talent he used rarely, usually only when he was trying to not let something unsettle him.  He could imitate Commander Tucker's southern drawl but Malcolm decided to keep that little secret from Jon for the time being. 

 

Jon had heard from Travis that Malcolm had spoken without his accent when he'd come to break them out of the Tandarin prison but he'd never heard it.  Why had Malcolm done it now?  He knew that he was attempting to lighten the mood but Jon had an advantage.  He knew why Malcolm had been late and had already accepted it.  Something else he had in his corner was that he could see Malcolm's eyes.  He might be able to take the anxiety out of his voice and face but it was still there in his eyes.  Malcolm was scared to death.

 

"It's okay, Malcolm.  I know why you're late." 

 

That was definitely the wrong thing to say.  Malcolm's posture went ramrod straight again and he carefully took a step backwards toward the door.  Jon thought it looked like Malcolm was bracing for an attack.  The last time he'd seen him stand at attention like that was that night when he asked him what he wanted.  Was it purely a defense mechanism or was Malcolm truly expecting him to violently confront him?  Jon knew that there were reasons that Malcolm was as withdrawn as he was but it seemed that his past was worse than he thought.  He was as skittish as a frightened animal.

 

Malcolm was watching the emotions play across Jon's face.  He kept looking for the two he expected.  Anger and disappointment.  But they weren't there.  All he could discern was confusion and something that struck him as pity.  He had a feeling, though, that he was the one that was more confused.  Only one person would have told Jon about why he was late.  And that was the person that delayed him.  This meant that Commander Tucker had to have put two and two together.  Experience told him that other people couldn't really be trusted with secrets like this one.  However, Jon didn't look concerned about the possibility of the commander knowing about them.  If there was still a them.

 

"I take it that Commander Tucker came to see you."  Malcolm's voice was very professional and without inflection.  His detachment made Jon take a step back himself.  There was that wall coming back into play.  Jon kept reminding himself that there was a way through every barrier.  There just had to be.  A voice in the back of his mind told him that this was why he had so quickly doubted Malcolm.  Because Malcolm so quickly doubted him and them.

 

"He did.  Trip told me that he ambushed you with a plan to improve the phase cannons.  He also asked me if T'Pol had stood me up.  I told him that you had."  Jon paused at the sudden loss of color to Malcolm's face. 

 

"You told…You told him that we…"  Malcolm gestured between himself and Jon.  He felt utterly betrayed.  How could Jon just talk so openly about something like this?  Even if it was to his best friend.  Relationships were meant to be kept secret and private.  A thought snuck into Malcolm's anger.  What if this was a part of that intimate trust?  Just as this notion worked its way into his thoughts, Malcolm's mind registered exactly what Jon had said.  He had thought that he had stood him up.  And that's when everything hit him.  Jon wasn't angry because the commander had told him that he had kept him in the armory until long after his shift had been over.  This had prevented Jon from continuing to think that he had stood him up.  Malcolm made a mental note to thank the commander later.  If everything turned out all right.

 

"I'm sorry, Jon."  After he apologized, Jon expected Malcolm to tell him what he was apologizing for.  But he didn't look like he was going to say anything else.  That's when Jon expected Malcolm to leave.  But he didn't.  Instead, a hesitant smile appeared on Malcolm's face and he took a few steps closer.  "I'm not accustomed to being open about my private life.  I didn't think you would tell the commander that you had a date with me."

 

Jon had no problem returning Malcolm's tentative smile with one of his own.  Malcolm wasn't leaving.  He was staying and he was explaining the emotions behind his eyes.  It appeared that his mantra was proving correct.  There was a way through every barrier.  But what he hadn't enlightened him on was why he had been so scared earlier.  Jon had a feeling, though, that this definitely wasn't the time to ask.   His questions didn't exactly have the best track record with Malcolm.

 

"Actually, Malcolm, Trip's been enduring listening to me fantasize about you for a while."

 

Jon's simple assertion made Malcolm feel quite guilty.  It constituted the second time that Jon had admitted to wanting him aloud.  On the other hand, his confessions consisted of stammering, incomplete spoken words and a lot of unspoken feelings.  It was true that he had kissed Jon.  But it had been so quick that Malcolm doubted that it really counted.  Not that it hadn't counted to him, though.  The sweet taste of Jon's lips had been a lingering presence in his dreams the past few nights.  And now, they were standing in front of each other again.  It dawned on him just how much Jon was taking on faith.  He never would have believed Jon cared about him unless he had heard it from Jon's own lips.  On the other hand, Jon had heard no such words from him.  The man in his dreams was only a couple of feet away from him because he believed in him.  It simply astounded him.

 

"You're amazing, Jonathan Archer."  The words sounded odd to Malcolm's ears.  It was exactly what he was thinking.  And he'd said it out loud.  It was worth the strangeness, too.  The small smile on Jon's face turned beautifully tender.  It was all the encouragement Malcolm needed.

 

"Do you know how many times you've smiled at me like that in my dreams?  Or how many times I've woken from those dreams wishing you were in my arms?"

 

Jon felt like crying.  Or singing.  Or jumping for absolute joy.  It was as if the rest of reality had faded away until all that was left was him and Malcolm.  "Probably as many times I've fallen asleep reading the armory reports because you wrote them."

 

As if on some unspoken cue, Jon and Malcolm moved toward one another.  Each movement mirrored by the other until they were just inches from each other.  Jon's hand reached up to caress Malcolm's cheek for an instant and slowly they came closer together.  Arms wrapped around the bodies that they had longed to hold and still closer they came.  Until, in a perfect moment, their lips met once more.

 

This wasn't the uncertain kiss of before.  Jon was no longer a pleasantly surprised spectator.  He made up for his loss by kissing Malcolm with all the pent-up passion that he felt.   He pulled Malcolm tighter to him as his hands possessively roamed his back.  His lips eagerly explored Malcolm's, memorizing the taste that was so distinctively the man that was just as eagerly kissing him.

 

Malcolm's mind was overwhelmed with all of the emotions and sensations he was feeling.  So he firmly told his mind to leave him alone and happily lost himself in Jon.  He could feel him pulling him closer and he responded by reaching up to place his hand on the back of his neck.  Ignoring his mind's pleas for him to remember his self-control, Malcolm slid his hand up into Jon's hair and yanked him even closer. 

 

It seemed like an eternity to Jon before they reluctantly came up for air.  Malcolm was still running his hand through his hair and Jon had to remind his heart to beat at the amazing sensation of seeing no doubt or uncertainity in Malcolm's eyes.  Just pure, unadulterated desire and passion.  He finally had a piece of the answer to his question about what it would be like to have Malcolm's enthusiasm transferred to him.  It felt like nothing else in the universe.  It was perfect.

 

Malcolm took a small step backwards so they were close but not quite touching.  His mind had regained control and everything was beginning to overwhelm him again.  Jon was looking at him like he was something magical and he could still feel his lips on his, like an echo of some sorts.  There were a thousand things he wanted to say, nothing that expressed what he wanted it to, and a million more reasons he didn't want to screw this up.  But just as he knew that he would never settle for a dream Jon again, Malcolm knew he had to explain his heart somehow.

 

The loss of Malcolm's touch was keenly felt by Jon who once again was watching the Malcolm emotional barometer – his eyes.  However, they were strangely void of desire and instead filled with the more familiar reservation and doubt. 

 

"Malcolm?"

 

There was no response from him.  Malcolm just stood there, like a deaf man.  Jon tentatively placed his hand on his shoulder.  "Malcolm?"

 

He shifted his head slightly so he was looking at Jon.  "I was just thinking about my grandmother."

 

His grandmother?  That answer definitely threw Jon for a loop.  He wasn't sure he wanted to know why, after that knee-wobbling kiss, Malcolm was thinking about his grandmother.

 

"She told me once, a long time ago, that the best times in a person's life are those that we never expect.  They are the moments we steal from heaven because nowhere else can such perfection be found."

 

"I think I know what she meant."

 

Jon shifted his hand from Malcolm's shoulder and reached down to hold his hand.  Unconsciously, they turned slightly so they were almost on the same spot that Jon had been standing on earlier.  Malcolm now saw what Jon had seen before.  An empty space being filled.

 

And only the passing dots of light bore witness to the sight of two people standing in front of a window in a universe that was inhabited by only them.  No words were spoken in this stolen moment.  For the couple, the reflection of their tightly woven hands against the blackness of space said everything it needed to.  There were questions that needed to be answered and pineapple chicken that needed to be eaten but they both knew now that there would be time for that later.  Right now, creating comfort, be it physical or emotional, between them was more important.  For they were both well aware of the barriers and facades that still needed to be dealt with.  But as Jonathan Archer knew, there was a way through every barrier, if you wanted what was on the other side bad enough.  And as Malcolm Reed knew every façade could be dismantled.  It simply took the right person to do it. 

 

As they stood staring at the stars, both men knew that what was between them wasn't something temporary.  It was a lasting thing; a connection, as Jon thought of it.  They could feel its presence grow with every second that passed with them not as Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed but as Jon and Malcolm, two people who cared deeply for each other.

 

The connection couldn't be broken by uncertainity, misunderstandings, and doubt.  An intrusion by the outside world didn't stand a chance.

 

"Bridge to Captain Archer."  Hoshi's voice echoed through the comfortably quiet room.

 

Regretfully, Jon released Malcolm's hand.  After a fleeting glance at Malcolm to see if he reacted at all, he walked over and pressed the comm button.  "What's up, Hoshi?"

 

"Admiral Forrest wishes to speak with you, sir."

 

Jon rolled his eyes at the undoubtably long interruption to his and Malcolm's date.  Sometimes the man had the absolute worst timing.  He turned back to look at Malcolm's reaction to this piece of news only to catch him attempting to stifle a laugh.

 

"Can you take a message, Hoshi?"

 

Malcolm couldn't hide his laughter any more and Jon's eyes went wide as what he could only describe as a giggle escaped Malcolm's lips.

 

Hoshi's confused voice came back over the comm.  "A message, sir?"

 

"Never mind.  Send the transmission to my quarters and tell the admiral that I'll be with him shortly."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Malcolm walked over to where Jon was standing.  It figured, he thought.  And so the hidden balancing act begins.  He expected Jon to comment on it, but, in what Malcolm was beginning to suspect would be a regular occurance, Jon did something he didn't predict.

 

"I liked that sound."  Jon enjoyed watching Malcolm's facial expression go from amused to flustered and confused.  He had a feeling that a lot of his actions were probably bewildering poor Malcolm.  It was something that he found was quite pleasurable.

 

"What sound?"

 

"The sound of you giggling."

 

"Young girls giggle.  I do not giggle.  I hardly ever laugh, for that matter."

 

At that, the look on Jon's face turned serious.  "I've noticed…"

 

There was a pause as Jon considered asking Malcolm why he didn't laugh very often.  Then, he remembered that the admiral was probably starting to wonder where he was.  Filing that question away in a drawer of things to ask Malcolm later, Jon switched tracks in mid-sentence.

 

"I don't know how long this is going to take…" 

 

A soft smile crossed Malcolm's face as he realized that it was Jon's turn to be flustered and unsure of what to do.  He knew just how difficult it was when you didn't know how someone was going to react or what he was going to say.  Taking a step closer to Jon, Malcolm placed his hand on his shoulder.  "Don't worry about it.  I'll be right here waiting."

 

They both felt the significance behind those two short sentences.  It was a simple statement of trust.  Malcolm trusted Jon to return.  To not just leave him there.  Looking into those eyes that still seemed to see into his very soul, Jon tried his best to convey to Malcolm that he understood the deeper meaning of his words.  "I know you will be.  I won't let it run too long.  After all, you're here, not in my quarters."

 

Jon gave Malcolm a quick peck on the lips before he opened the door and walked out.  As he started down the corridor, Jon thought about his last words to Malcolm.  An interesting idea formed in his mind and he walked back to the door to the captain's private dining room.  Pressing the button, Jon leaned forward so his head was sticking through the doorway.  Malcolm, who had been walking back toward the window, jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening so soon and turned around to see who it was.

 

"Not yet anyway."  With that, Jon shut the door once again and headed toward his quarters.

 

Malcolm stood staring dumbfounded at the closed door.  What in the bloody hell had Jon been talking about?  Not yet, what?  Then, it started slowly as Malcolm walked back to the window.  At first, it seemed to resemble a typical Malcolm half-smile.  But, Jon's words repeated themselves without a break in between and, for the first time in a long while, Malcolm couldn't stop it.

 

"After all, you're here, not in my quarters.  Not yet anyway."

 

The half smile grew into an actual, honest-to-goodness, full fledged grin as Malcolm went back to staring out at the stars and the wait got underway.

 

"I guess that makes two things I'm waiting for."

 

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