Reed's Armory -- A Malcolm Reed Fanfiction Archive ..

Title: Sometimes You Can't Make it on Your Own

Author: Beverly

Author's e-mail: [email protected]

Pairing: Archer/Reed

Rating: NC-17

Category: Slash

Beta: Mareel, my one and only. It is always a pleasure to work with you *hugs her tightly*

Author's Notes: The idea to this story came to me while listening to the U2 song "Sometimes you can't make it on your own". The first few lines reminded me strongly of a certain armory officer.

Archived to Reed's Armory on 04/15/2008.

"Sometimes you can't make it on your own"

Tough, you think you've got the stuff
You're telling me and anyone
You're hard enough

You don't have to put up a fight
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight
(U2 "Sometimes you can't make it on your own"
from the Album "How to dismantle an atomic bomb")


Jonathan Archer stepped in the mess hall, and involuntarily his eyes
searched for Malcolm Reed. He found him sitting alone at a table in
the corner farthest away from the entrance. Jon frowned slightly,
fetched something to eat and drink for himself, then he made his way
to Malcolm's table. Slowly he approached his armory officer, gazed
over his shoulder and saw that the food on the other man's plate was
still untouched. The dark haired man stared at a PADD in his hand.
Jon tried to take a look at it, but suddenly Malcolm seemed to sense
his presence. Quickly he put the PADD down, and grabbed his fork.
Without turning around he said, "Good morning, Captain."

Jon took a step closer and said, "Good morning, Malcolm. Mind if I
join you?"

The PADD was hastily turned face down on the table. "No, Sir. I
wouldn't mind at all. I'm finished already anyway. You can sit down."

Quickly he shoved the PADD into a pocket, grabbed his still-full
plate and his empty cup, and was away within seconds. Jon still stood
next to the table, his tray in his hands. And sighed.

Slowly he sat down, and was joined within a few minutes by his old
friend Trip Tucker.

But somehow Jon has lost his appetite. The last rejection -- it had
been more of an escape -- had hurt him deeply. Trip recognized that
special look on his friend's face. He took a sip from his coffee, and
said, "Got dumped by your armory officer again?"

Jon only shook his head. "No chance for that. He saw me and ran off
as if there'd been a bomb under his chair."

Sadly, Trip shook his head. It was such a shame. Jon was one of the
best, loyal men he'd ever known -- and one of the best lovers you ever
had, a little voice inside his mind whispered -- and he had to fall in
love with a stiff, heterosexual Brit of all people. He put one hand
on Jon's and said, "I'm sorry, Jon. Maybe... maybe you should just
forget him."

Jon bowed his head a little more, and murmured, "We can't help who we
love, Trip."

In this moment, the doors to the mess hall opened again, and T'Pol
walked in, her movements as graceful as ever. Trip watched her with
longing in his eyes, and then he sighed deeply. "No. You're right. We
can't help..."

They finished their breakfast in silence, each man lost in his own
sad thoughts about unrequited love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The glass shattered into a hundred pieces as it hit the wall. Another
followed. But the pain and the rage inside Malcolm didn't lessen. So
without thinking he grabbed the PADD and threw it up against the
wall, too. It cracked and broke into a million little pieces.

Numbly, Malcolm stared at the mess on his floor.

It wasn't fair. LIFE just wasn't fair. There weren't too many people
in his family he loved and trusted. And when one of those few died,
nobody cared enough to send him notice. He was informed six weeks
AFTER the funeral. Informed by a third-grade cousin who more or less
stumbled by accident over his name.

Uncle Gene had been his favorite uncle. He had been kind, warm and
one of the few people who little Malcolm had trusted. He'd had been
the one Malcolm ran to when he fell and got hurt. He'd been the first
to know when Malcolm had fallen in love. He'd been the one on whose
shoulder Malcolm had cried when he was lovesick for the first time.
And now he was dead. Killed in a shuttle accident. It just wasn't
fair. Malcolm slumped down on his bed, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow
he would clean up the mess. Today he simply hadn't the strength any
more. He turned his back to his room, and started to cry. No
helpless, mighty sobs, no breakdown... no, just silent tears that rolled
over his face and disappeared into his pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon frowned when he saw Malcolm the next time. The young man was pale
and seemed to be absentminded. Most of the day he hid down in the
armory, pretending to make some adjustments. But when Jon went there
in the early afternoon to look for him, he found him staring into
empty space, a spanner in one hand, a phaser in the other. Jon wasn't
sure but he sensed that something was wrong. This wasn't the Malcolm
Reed he knew -- and fell in love with. Something must have happened.

It wasn't unusual for the younger man to avoid being alone with the
captain whenever possible. But Jon didn't take it personally. He knew
that this was a result of Malcolm's upbringing.

It also wasn't unusual for him to hide in the armory when something
was bothering him. Jon knew from Trip that being alone helped Malcolm
to get his thoughts together, and soon he would come back to the
bridge, being his usual stiff self.

But it was HIGHLY unusual for Malcolm Reed to stare into nothingness.
Forget about his work. And not react to his captain's calls. Jon had
tried at least five times to contact him. But first there had been no
answer, and then the communicator had been turned off.

It was then that Jon knew something was wrong. And decided to look
for his straying armory officer.

Only to find him like this.

He didn't know what to do. Should he call his name? Touch him? But a
look at the phaser in Malcolm's hand told him that touching might not
be a good idea right now.

Calling. He should try to call him. Carefully he stepped closer.

"Malcolm?"

No reaction. But the phaser suddenly seemed to tremble. "Malcolm?"
Another step closer, and Jon saw that Malcolm's shoulder were slumped
slightly. And shaking. Not too noticeable. But noticeable for Jon who
had almost studied the young man. "Malcolm?"

Gently he put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. With a loud clatter the
spanner and the phaser fell to the floor, and Malcolm hid his face in
his hands.

Shocked now, Jon tried to turn Malcolm around to face him, but the
young man resisted this motion. His shoulders were very lightly
trembling now, as if the dark-haired man was trying to hide his
crying. But that couldn't be, could it? Never would Malcolm Reed
leave himself that open to someone and cry in front of him.

Suddenly the English man took a few deep breaths, put the hands from
his face, hastily swiped his arm over his eyes, and turned around to
look at his captain.

"I'm sorry, Sir. How can I help you?"

"You can tell me what the hell is going on with you, Malcolm."

Malcolm cocked his head slightly. His eyes were still a bit moist but
that was the only indication that something wasn't quite right. "I
can't quite follow you, Sir."

"Malcolm, you've been sitting there for at least half an hour,
staring into space. You didn't answer my calls, and you didn't hear
me walking in. So you tell me what this is all about."

Malcolm's posture got even stiffer, if that were possible. His
shoulders squared, and his face seemed to shut down completely.

"I'm sorry for missing your calls, Sir. I... ah... I must have been... busy
with the new calibrations of the phaser, and got a little carried
away."

Jon narrowed his eyes. He knew that the other man was lying. But what
could he do? Nothing. Malcolm reciprocated his gaze without blinking,
and after a few seconds, Jon nodded slowly.

"Okay. I'll let it go. For now."

Malcolm nodded but otherwise he showed no reaction. A frown still on
his face, Jon turned and left the armory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malcolm watched his captain turn and leave. The second he was out the
door, Malcolm's shoulders slumped again. He knew that he'd almost
blown it. Never before had he let personal matters involve with his
work. And the fact that he did this time showed him that he'd slowly
let his guard down. He started to see more than colleagues and fellow
officers in these people. Last night he had even considered going to
Trip and talking to him about his uncle. For about ten seconds he was
seriously tempted to do that. But then his rational thinking had
kicked into gear again. He had to manage this alone. Just as he
always had.

He picked up the spanner and the phaser again and checked if he
damaged them accidentally. He saw that they were still in working
order and tried to concentrate on his work again.

He failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You look like your mind's a thousand miles away?"

Jon's head shot up and he gazed at Trip for a few seconds before the
meaning of his words finally sank in. They were enjoying a little
private dinner together. Glad to have some time to talk about
everything that had happened over the last few days.

"Well, not a thousand miles?" Jon replied with a little smile. Trip
reciprocated this smile, before he got serious again.

"Nothing new from your armory officer?"

"He's not MY armory officer." Jon retorted, but calmed down in the
same moment. "Though I really wish he'd be. Trip, I don't know what
to do. Something's bothering him. But I don't know what. And he won't
tell me?"

In a few words, Jon told him about his incident with Malcolm in the
armory. Trip listened, and remained quiet. He seemed to think about
this whole thing. Finally he took the napkin, put it on his plate,
reached for his glass and said, "It might have something to do with
the message he got a few days ago. Hoshi told me about it. A message
from earth. From his family."

Jon froze. Malcolm's family? He knew that the English man wasn't very
close to his family. So what could it be that would disturb the
usually reserved man so much?

Should he?

"Did he talk to you?"

Trip raised his head from his dessert, and shook his head. "Nah. You
know him. He'd rather bite off his tongue than talk about something
private."

Jon nodded. That fit perfectly with the picture he had gotten from
the younger man. But maybe he could make him talk??

The rest of their dinner passed in silence, only interrupted by a few
meaningless sentences. And less than ten minutes later Trip left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night the dream came again. As exciting as ever...
he moaned deeply in ecstasy when he felt the hands of his lover
slide over his body, touching all his favorite spots. He felt the
warm skin under his hands, the soft hair which was slightly longer
than usual. His hands strolled over broad shoulders. Every now and
then he could feel a scar, and every time his heart contracted
because of the pain his lover must have felt at that moment.

But then he felt the strength of his lover, felt his muscles under
his fingertips, felt his hard cock gently rubbing against his own,
and all rational thinking seemed to fly away. He kissed him lovingly
yet passionately, and with all the longing he felt inside of him.

Finally he felt his lover enter him. And felt complete again. Whole.
They moved together as they had done a thousand... a million times
before.

It was everything he'd ever desired, everything he'd ever wanted.
When he felt his climax come, he touched his lover's face, looked
deeply into those amazing green eyes, kissed him once more with
everything he felt inside and whispered, "I love you, Jon."

With tears in his eyes, Malcolm woke up and came in the same second.
Panting, he lay in his bed, ashamed of himself, alone, and feeling
terribly lonely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonathan Archer started to make a plan. It wasn't easy. Not only was
this all about a very private man, it was also about the head of
security. But he had to do something. And he wanted to do something.
Although he had never noticed another slip of the officer's control,
he knew that Malcolm was far from being okay. There still was this
haunted look in his eyes sometimes. And the fact that not even Trip
got to see him outside of his working hours anymore. At the end of
each shift, he said a very polite goodbye and off he went to his
quarters. And sometimes Jon thought that it was only thanks to his
education that he didn't simply run off without even that goodbye.

So he had to try to find out what was bothering him. The first step
was to ask Hoshi. She, as the communications officer, would know
where that message had come from. And maybe even what it was all
about.

"I don't know, Captain."

Jon frowned. "You don't know?"

The young Ensign shook her head. "No. The only thing I know is that
the message came from his family. I guess from his father, but I'm
not quite sure about it. It was labelled `confidential', so I didn't
take a closer look. I just sent it on to Lt. Reed's quarters."

Jon nodded, disappointed, and was just about to walk away when Hoshi
called him back after a few steps. "Sir?"

He turned to look at her. Her face was a picture of mixed emotions?he
could see her sense of duty fighting against the wish to help a
friend. Her friendship won. "I... I still have a security copy of it.
It's standard procedure with all confidential messages." She hit a
few buttons, and then a small smile crossed her features. "I've sent
it to your ready room, sir."

For a second, Jon didn't know what to say. Then he walked over,
reached for her shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. "Thank you,
Hoshi."

She smiled slightly before she turned back to her console to continue
her work. There were still a few languages to be learned.

And Jon had to fight the urge to run to his ready room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He closed the message down. So this was what it was all about. The
message had been short. It came from a man named Timothy Reed,
apparently a cousin of some kind, maybe related around three corners,
who notified Malcolm about the death of someone named Eugene Reed.
The burial service had been six weeks ago. And only because Malcolm
had been mentioned in the old man's last will, he had been informed
that he should contact the lawyer Dr. Gilbert Jackson the next time
he was on earth.

Jon wasn't quite sure what this meant. It wasn't his father; he knew
that, for his name was Stuart Reed. Maybe an uncle? But Malcolm had
never been close to his family. And vice versa. Jon still remembered
his attempts to find out something as simple as Malcolm's favourite
food as a surprise to his birthday. Not his sister, not his so-called
friends from the academy, not even his parents had been able to
answer him that.

Had Malcolm been close to this Eugene Reed?

Determined to find out more about this man, he decided it was time to
call in some favours?

Three hours later, Jonathan Archer knew everything about Eugene Reed
that there was to know. He had talked to at least half a dozen people
who had either worked together with him or had known him privately.
Over these last hours he had pieced together the picture of a man who
had been dedicated to his job, loyal to his friends, loving to his
relatives -- as far as they'd let him. Eugene Reed had lived in a loving
relationship for the last thirty-five years. That was amazing. But it
had been the fact that his partner's name had been Marc Jensen that
had disturbed most of his relatives. His brother had been disgusted,
his parents had tried to forget him, and the rest of his family, as
far as they had been let in on that secret, had tried to avoid any
contact with him.

Only little Malcolm Reed had been a regular guest. It seemed as if he
had loved this old man more like a father. From the moment on he
could walk, he had spent all his holidays there. His father hadn't
been too happy about it. The first three or four times, Malcolm had
run away to meet with his uncle; then his father had allowed him to
spend the time there. Even if it had been very unwillingly. But when
Malcolm had started dating girls, his father had been relieved.

Jon shook his head. He couldn't follow this trail of thought. Had
Malcolm's father really thought that hanging around a gay uncle would
make his son gay, too?

There was only one man left for Jon to call. One man who would be
able to tell him the rest of the story. The only man who could bring
light into this affair. And who might be able to make Jon understand
Malcolm's change in behaviour.

With almost trembling fingers he made that call, and after a few
seconds the wrinkled face of an old man appeared on his screen.
Friendly blue eyes gazed at him questioningly. Jon took a deep
breath, and said, "Good day, Mr. Jensen."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just can't believe it." Marc Jensen's voice sounded sad and angry
at the same time. Jon hadn't been too sure if it would be wise to
tell this man everything he had learned in the last hours, but seeing
his reaction now told him it had been right. "I was wondering why
Malcolm wasn't there. Never would I have thought about the
possibility that he hadn't been informed about Gene's death. When did
you say he got the message?"

"Three days ago. Mr Jensen, I... "

The old man interrupted him with a smile on his face, "Please call me
Marc. I feel old when someone calls me Mr. Jensen. I'm always tempted
to look behind me too see if my father is standing there."

Jon returned that smile, and was surprised at how easy it was to like
this stranger. "Marc, I've talked to a lot of people over the last
few hours. It's not easy to find out anything about Lt. Reed. But
ever since he got the message he's acting... weird. Weird even for him.
I guess he and his uncle have been close?"

Marc nodded, and a smile made his face even more wrinkled. "Gene was
like a father for that little grasshopper. Malc came to him when he
fell off his bike and needed someone to hug him. He told Gene about
his first love. About his first lover's grief. And Gene was the first
to know when Malc finally discovered that he was gay. He must have
been about 23 or 24 then. He knew that he could never tell his
father. Stuart wouldn't have been able to understand him. Poor boy...
the last time we heard from him he was in love. An unrequited love.
With some older man."

The old man winked at him and Jon's heart skipped a few beats before
it was able to go on normally. What was the old man implying by that?
Could it be that... but no. Malcolm wasn't in love with him. But the
fact he had been very close to Eugene certainly explained his strange
reaction over the last few days. It was no wonder Malcolm was so...
angry, sad, almost devastated. To hear about his uncle's death weeks
after the funeral must have hurt this sensitive young man deeply. He
had to clear his throat before he was able to speak. There was still
his curiosity about the older man's wink...

"Did he ever mention the name of that man?"

Now the old man laughed out loud. "Nice try, Captain. But don't tell
me you don't know that the boy has a serious crush on you. First we
thought it might be some kind of hero-worshipping. But after a few
months, and after some pretty stupid acts on your behalf -- sorry `bout
this, Captain -- he still was talking about you like you were god's gift
to mankind. Or at least to him. That was when we discovered that our
little boy was in love... big time. Gene had been really happy for him.

Jon was stunned. Malcolm? In love with him? But then the last
sentence sank in. Gene had been happy. Gene? Only Gene?

"What about you, Marc? What did... how do you feel about this?"

Marc narrowed his eyes, and for a few seconds he simply gazed at Jon,
making the younger man more nervous with each passing second. Then
the old man nodded as if he'd found something in Jon's face that
pleased him.

"I'd say that you wouldn't go to such length if our little
grasshopper didn't mean something to you. You want to help him. Not
because you're his captain but because you care for him. Care for him
deeply. Am I right?"

Without hesitation the younger man replied, "Absolutely, sir."

"Good. Treat him well. The Reed men are very dedicated and loyal to
the ones they love. I had the great honour to spend my life with a
Reed man and I don't regret one single day. And as for Malc... he never
had it easy in his life. He deserves to be happy. Think you can do
that?"

Jon nodded. With each passing second he liked this man more. "If he
lets me... "

"He will," Marc said, a little louder this time. "You just have to
convince him that you're the right man for him. He's in love with
you. Do you love him?"

Jon nodded again and Marc looked very pleased with himself. "Good,"
he said again. "Then why do you waste your time talking to an old man
like me? Go and find your young man. And tell the little grasshopper
that his old uncle Marc still loves him to pieces."

They continued their talk for the next ten minutes. Ten minutes in
which Marc Jensen described to Jonathan Archer the way to Malcolm
Reed's heart. And Jon's smile grew wider with each sentence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

`You must overwhelm him. Don't give him the chance to think this over
a million times.' The voice of the old man who knew Malcolm so well
was still ringing in Jon's ears. `Show him how much you love him.
Kiss him, seduce him, do whatever it takes... but don't let him think.'

But he couldn't do that. It would be taking advantage of a
subordinate. If anyone would ever find out about this, it could ruin
both of their careers and their lives. And he had told Marc so. But
the old man's answer had made him laugh.

`Bah, humbug! Forget the other people. You love him, he loves you.
When you're together then no one'll CARE how you got together. Grab
him, shag him, make him happy.'

Now he was waiting for Malcolm, who he had asked to come to his ready
room a few minutes ago.

What should he do? Should he do what Marc had suggested? Grab him,
shove him up against the next wall and kiss him senseless? Or should
he talk to him first? Tell him that he knew about Gene, and his...

~beep beep~

"Come in," he answered, before he could overthink this whole thing.
And then Malcolm stood before him. Stiff as always, his eyes strictly
straight on, hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

Jon sat down and sighed softly. `Captain',,, would Malcolm ever be able
to call him by his first name? He gazed at the younger man; his eyes
roamed over the small figure, took in the prominent feature, the
beautiful gray eyes. And just when Malcolm began to shift nervously,
Jon realized that he had stared at him. Smiling, he shook his head,
and looked down at the floor.

"I... ah... I have a message for you."

Now Malcolm cocked his head slightly, and frowned. "A message, sir?"

"From a man named... Marc Jensen."

For a second the expression on the younger man's face shattered. His
eyes got a haunted look. "How do you know him?" he asked, his voice
sounded strained.

"I know even more about you. I... I also know about your Uncle Eugene."

The face closed down again. "Is there a reason that you're prying
into my private life, Captain?"

Jon winced when Malcolm practically spat out the last words. Slowly
he put his hands on the table in front of him, and pushed himself up.

"Yes, Malcolm. There is a reason. I've noticed some changes in your
behaviour lately. And before you ask, no, I don't mean in a
professional way. You work is as good as ever. But your personal
behaviour is very unusual for you. You avoid every social event. No
movie night, no dinners with Trip, no drinks with Hoshi or Travis.
And I could go on and on."

Malcolm didn't flinch when Jon rattled off his observations. His face
didn't change; only his back got a little stiffer, though that was
hardly possible.

"Is that all, Captain?"

Now Jon stepped closer. God, he really loved his armory officer but
sometimes he just wanted to hurt him. Severely. Couldn't Malcolm see
that Jon just wanted to help him? That he wanted to be a shoulder to
cry on. And maybe even more?

"God, Malcolm!" Jon suddenly yelled, full of anger and a little bit
of desperation. He swirled around, and hit the wall next to Malcolm's
head with his fist.

Malcolm didn't even blink. Jon remained motionless with his head next
to Malcolm's.

"Help me out here... and please, let me help you." he murmured. "I... I
want to be there for you. Don't force me to do what your uncle
suggested to me."

The eyes of the younger man were still glued to the opposite wall but
Jon could see him swallow. "What did he say?" he asked finally after
a long silence.

Jon moved a little closer, gently cradled Malcolm's face in his
hands, and whispered against his lips, "This," and with that he
kissed him. It was soft, tender, loving and everything Jon had ever
dreamed of. He closed his eyes and involuntarily moved still closer,
pinning the younger man with his height and his weight against the
wall. Moaning, he deepened the kiss, tasting the young man, enjoying
the little noise Malcolm made deep in his throat, an almost purring
sound. Happily he revelled in the feeling of finally being able to
kiss and being kissed back by this extraordinary man. After what
seemed an eternity they separated, both unwilling to let go. Slightly
panting, Jon rested his forehead against Malcolm's. Suddenly he felt
the shoulders under his hands shake, and he opened his eyes, a little
worried by the reaction. He was relieved when he saw that the shaking
came from heartfelt laughter. "So, Uncle Marc told you to pin me up
against a wall and kiss me?"

Jon returned the smile, relieved that the armory officer wasn't mad
at him. "Well, not exactly. He told me to not let you think too much
about it. To convince you that I love you, and if necessary, to
seduce you. And I... Malcolm? What's wrong?"

The younger man's face had suddenly lost all colour. Jon was
immediately concerned. Was it something he'd said? He found himself
under the suddenly intense focus of those gray eyes. "You love me?"

Jon frowned slightly. Hadn't he said that earlier? "Of course I do.
Didn't I say that?"

"No, you didn't."

"Then I do now. I love you, Malcolm. That's the main reason I was so
worried about you. You were so different over the last days. I could
see you were hurting, but I didn't know why."

"And how do you know this now?"

A little ashamed of himself and not quite sure how Malcolm would
react, Jon told him in a low voice how he'd discovered the other
man's secret.

Malcolm replied with silence. He simply stared at the captain . And
Jon got the sickening feeling that he might have just destroyed every
chance he ever could have had. " I just did it because you seemed to
be so unhappy. And I wanted to help you. But you wouldn't say
anything. And I... I..." he silenced when he saw the dangerous sparkle in
Malcolm's eyes.

"You did what?" he asked with a very quiet voice. Jon turned around
and sat down on his desk again. He put his head in his hands and
sighed deeply.

"You didn't talk. And I didn't know why... and what... and so I thought..."

"NO! You didn't THINK! And that's the problem! How could you? Why
didn't you just come to me to ask me?"

"Would you have told me?"

Malcolm ran his fingers through his hair. "NO! Of course not! Because
this was... and still is... none of your business!"

Jon grabbed Malcolm's arm but the other man tore himself away, so he
let his hand drop. "But I want it to be my business. I want to help
you. And you don't let me!"

Malcolm stepped to the door, and without turning around to look at
his captain he said, "I am perfectly able to mind my own business,
sir. And I would appreciate it if you would leave it at that. Am I
dismissed now, sir?"

Jon nodded, but then he remembered that Malcolm couldn't see him, so
he said, "Yes, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

The door closed, hissing behind the armory officer, and with a
feeling close to desperation Jon sat down at his desk and slumped
down. With a soft *thud* his head met his desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuming with anger and rage, Malcolm was pacing his quarters. How
could Archer do that? How could he betray his trust so completely? He
grabbed a cup and was tempted to throw it against the nearest wall,
but in the last second he put it down. No, not again. It had taken
him almost an hour to clean up the mess from his last outburst.

With a groan he fell face down on his bed.

When Jon had talked to Marc Jensen, he now knew everything about him.

He loved Jon. Loved him so much that it hurt him sometimes. But first
of all he had to get over his loss. He took a PADD out from under his
pillow and hit a few buttons. With tears in his eyes he gazed at the
picture of a laughing Eugene Reed, encircled in the arms of Marc
Jensen. Gently he touched the picture.

Gene and Marc had shared everything over the thirty-five years they
had been together. Every little secret, every fear, every hurt, every
anger.

So much love, so much joy...

So why was he unable to do the same? It should be easy with Jonathan
Archer. He already knew Malcolm's biggest secrets. But could he jump
over his own shadow and... share?

He was used to handling his problems alone. It wasn't always easy but
over the years he had gotten used to it.

But on the other hand... he rolled onto his back and stared at the
ceiling. Maybe he could learn to open himself up... to share. Maybe
he could accept that showing weakness wasn't a weakness at all.

And maybe Jonathan Archer was just the right man for that. He
remembered the kisses, the softness of the other man's lips, the
passion with which the older man had claimed his mouth. He felt
himself get hard and knew that he should think about something
different now to get himself under control again. But right now he
needed pleasant memories. Memories of that hard body pressed up
against his, of those strong yet incredibly gentle hands circling his
face, holding it in place so he could explore his mouth.

And he wanted him, god he wanted him. Suddenly he thought he heard
the voice of his uncle in his head. "Go get him, grasshopper. He's
crazy for you. And you for him. So why are you hesitating?"

He smiled. Grasshopper. A nickname from his childhood days. He had
been skinny, all arms and legs, and when he was with his uncles he
used to hop around all day.

He jumped up, and wanted to straighten his uniform, but then he
quickly walked over to his wardrobe and changed his clothes.

He was just about to leave his quarters when he heard the soft ~beep
beep~ of his doorchime.

"Come in," he said automatically. The door opened, and Malcolm
froze. "Captain, how... unexpected."

Slowly Jon walked in, his head down. "I wanted to apologize, Malcolm.
You were right with everything you said. I shouldn't have acted like
that behind your back. I won't ever do that again. Your life is your
life, and I have no right to interfere in any way."

Malcolm stared at the older man. And for a few moments he was torn
between the urge to walk over to him and take Jonathan in his arms
and a deep, profound gratitude that this man had offered him an easy
way out.

But he didn't want it the easy way. Not this time. He had taken the
easy way out much too often. He took a deep breath, made a few steps
towards his captain and very gently put his hand over his mouth.
Another deep breath, and he said softly, "Thank you for giving me
this chance. But I don't want it. You were right about one part
though -- my life is my life. And I want you in it. I was thinking about
the things you said to me. You were right. I never had someone to
talk to... well, except my Uncle Gene." Malcolm smiled tenderly at the
memory of his uncle. "Suddenly you walk into my life. You turn my
life upside down, make me think about things I never WANTED to think
about. But now I did. And I can't stop thinking about what you?
offered me. Did you mean what you said earlier?"

Jon simply nodded. He couldn't do more than that, since Malcolm's
warm hand was still covering his mouth. Malcolm smiled a little. He
removed his hand, and cocked his head slightly. "Then why don't you
kiss me?"

Jon's eyes widened a bit and with a deep, heartfelt moan he closed
the little distance between them and kissed Malcolm.

Later, when they were lying in bed together, Malcolm's insecurity
raised its ugly head one more time, but a gentle caress from his
lover and a kiss between his shoulder blades made that disappear very
quickly.

He snuggled closer to his lover. His lover? He liked the sound of
that... and closed his eyes. The strong arms of the older man held him
tight, and there, lying in the darkness, with his lover's warm body
pressed up against his, he found that suddenly it was easy to talk
about his uncle. He talked about his childhood, about the fights with
his father, about his--Malcolm's-- ways of trying to trick him into
believing that he was 'normal'. And about the deep love and trust
he'd had for his Uncle Gene.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Jon whispered gently.

"I couldn't. I never learned to do that. Never trusted someone so
much."

This quiet confession made Jon's heart hurt, and without thinking he
tightened his grip around the slender form of his lover. Malcolm
gasped slightly in surprise. Then he smiled and relaxed.

"Now you've got me. No more solo walks. Sometimes you can't make it
on your own. And from now on you don't have to."

Malcolm said nothing. He only took Jon's hand and rested it over his
beating heart. They lay in silence, listening to each other's
breathing. When Jon thought that Malcolm had already fallen asleep,
he murmured very quietly, "Maybe one day you'll introduce me to your
Uncle Marc. He seemed to be a remarkable man."

"He is," Malcolm mumbled sleepily, surprising Jon, "and when we're on
earth, I want you to come with me to Uncle Gene's grave."

Jon felt a shiver run down his spine at those softly whispered words,
and he kissed his lover tenderly. This was all the answer Malcolm
needed. Smiling he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

~the end~