I, Lucifer

Reed's Armory -- A Malcolm Reed Fanfiction Archive

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Title: I, Lucifer

Author: Nehal

Author's e-mail: [email protected]

Author's Web site: http://www.crepusculum.net/ne

Fandom: Enterprise

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Rating: PG

Category: Slash

Warning: Implied Deathfic

Summary: A letter, just in case.

Archived to Reed's Armory on 10/16/2003.

Dear Trip,

I have a secret. Want me to tell you? Of course you do, that's why you're here reading this and not raising Hell with your alien slut du jour.

Did I ever tell you how much I hate you Trip? If not, please, let me say it now. You are a prick. Sanctimonious, unyielding, closed to any suggestion but the most obvious, and ever so infuriatingly straight that I am surprised you haven't ended up with my phase pistol down your throat by now--but never mind. You, unlike me, have the rest of your life to atone for your insipidity.

If you are reading this then I don't suppose I have to tell you that I died. It was a fucking painful affair, all flying body parts, blood, and--oops there goes my medulla oblongata--pain. It will also, most likely, feature explosives of some sort--torpedoes, being the safe bet but you never know with alien technology. I want it to be a torpedo. It seems quite fitting somehow, to die at the hands of the very technology I would have loved to invent.

I suppose you are crying at the moment. Don't. If there is an afterlife, and I'm betting there isn't but just in case I get unlucky, I don't want to spend eternity watching you blubber over me like a girl. Men shouldn't cry, so chin up, leave the tears for Hoshi and act like a man for once in your fucking life. I don't want to tell my secret to a pansy--

I am gay.

There, I've said it. Funny, I thought my conscience would feel lighter somehow by revealing the truth but it hasn't. So, in order to achieve full and total spiritual harmony I suppose I should tell you all of it--

I am gay and I love you. I love your disgustingly red-necked accent, I love your wishy-washy emotional outpourings, I love the way you hold your liquor (both in the glass and metaphorically), I love your irritatingly optimist attitude, I love the way you say my name as though you aren't quite sure whether it should be in my accent or yours. I love everything about you--

There, that's better. I can die with some dignity now.

Malcolm.

~the end~

If you enjoyed this story, the author would appreciate your feedback.

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