Hidden Intentions

Summary: Malcolm is on the run.
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Beta: Kathy Rose

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters. This is all written for non-commercial enjoyment.

A/N: I thought a little action for our armoury officer would be nice.

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Malcolm was running fast, his legs pumping. He pushed past low bushes and tall trees, then clambered over smooth rock to a small, meandering stream. He was breathing heavily, sweat running down his back. Crossing the ankle-deep water, he quickly moved towards higher ground, entering deeper into the forest. The air felt hot, but underneath the trees it was bearable, the harsh light filtering through the canopy. Catching the toe of his shoe on a protruding root, he tripped but was able to roll with the fall, coming up onto his feet again in one smooth motion. When the outline of the summit became visible, he slowed down and squatted behind an ancient tree.

Malcolm wiped the sweat off his brow and carefully checked his weapon. It was still good to go. He tried to listen intently to any sounds of someone following him. Luckily, the wind was blowing from the right direction. But he only heard the murmuring of running water, the rustling of leaves, and the sound of little creatures scurrying away. No heavy footstep or the snap of a dead twig.

Where were the others? Malcolm thought. He suspected they had been separated during the initial fight, where he had shouted to fall back. His attention had been focused on getting to a location that was more easily defensible, and it had come as a surprise when he found himself alone. He considered going back, but decided against it. He shook his head, a little irritated. Good thinking, Malcolm, a real textbook way to handle a skirmish! He wiped his brow again

I'm getting too old for this, he mused, a wry smile curving his lips.

Malcolm leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree and wearily closed his eyes for a moment, still listening carefully. His mind flashed back to a memory so many years ago. He had been a carefree child, running through the forest in England's countryside with his friends, chasing each other with toy guns. It had been a beautiful day then, as well.

He shook his head. He needed to stay focused. There was no time for the past; he had to deal with the here and now. They were counting on him.

A sudden gust of wind carried along the sound of soft splashing. Someone was crossing the brook. All his senses went on high alert. Adrenaline flowed through him. His muscles were taut as he pressed himself closer to the gnarled tree trunk.

Now he heard the slow crunching of feet on dry leaves. It sounded hesitant, the pursuer uncertain of the whereabouts of its prey. Malcolm didn't dare to look out from behind his refuge for fear of making himself an easy target. He needed the element of surprise. Stealthily, he readied his firearm.

The sound of footsteps was getting louder…

He jumped up from behind his defense. His opponent had been focused on the outcrop to the right, but was turning around.

It's enough, Malcolm thought as he aimed, pulled the trigger and felt a moment of satisfaction as his opponent was hit squarely in the chest. The man went down with a startled cry, firing a barrage that Malcolm easily avoided.

He started running down again, zigzagging through the trees. Suddenly, he heard a shout from the side. He turned his head.

Oh no, too close. No time to hide.

Unwillingly, he came to a halt, his mind racing. I still may have a chance. Slowly, he raised his arms, one hand carefully gripping his instrument for survival. Out of the corner of his eye, a shimmer caught his attention. Could it be?

"I expected a better show," a low voice drawled.

"I surrender. There is no need to use that gun." Malcolm tried to sound submissive, but looked the man straight in the eye, ignoring the weapon pointed at his heart.

"You wish. But for hittin' my partner over there, I think some retribution is in order!"

The man started pulling the trigger. Malcolm reacted instinctively and dropped down while swiveling his weapon towards his attacker. A blast came out of a tall treetop, surprising the assailant.

"Aaargh!"

The attacker-turned-victim held up his hands, trying to ward off the unstoppable volley. "All right, all right! You win!"

Commander Reed lowered his Super Soaker X-3000. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Never mess with a Reed!"

Captain Charles "Trip" Tucker wiped water off his face with the one sleeve that was still dry. "I figured that out a long time ago," he grumbled. "I didn't expect there to be more than one, though." He looked down at his drenched clothing. "I don't think I have any dry skin left."

Malcolm chuckled and stood. He brushed off his pants, than looked upward, recognizing the lithe build of the person climbing down along the large tree branches. The young man dropped down the last two meters, but landed softly on his feet.

It seems David had worked out a strategy of his own.

Malcolm smiled proudly as he closed the short distance between them.

"You did well, son." Malcolm embraced his eleven-year-old in a fatherly hug, and then released him while ruffling his dark hair.

"Thanks, Dad! I just knew Uncle Trip was going after you, so I decided to wait somewhere along the trail," said his oldest son, who looked so much like him when he had been a lad, with a bright smile.

Trip shook his head, laughing.

David seemed to hear something, and was looking past his father. Malcolm smiled. That boy has such good hearing!

Fairly sure of who it was, he called, "Ready to surrender, Travis?"

"Yep!" Lt. Travis Mayweather leisurely walked up to stand next to Malcolm. When he caught sight of Trip, he whistled. "Now that's what I'd call a casualty of war!"

Trip pulled a face. "You seem to be working on a water ballet yourself, Travis," he said, nodding at the damp stain on the helmsman's shirt.

They started walking back to the picnic area in a festive mood.

Travis queried, "Do you think Jon has already started the barbecue?"

"I'm not so sure if that would be a good development. You do remember what happened last year?" Malcolm muttered.

Trip chuckled. "You'd think that a man who traveled through time, saved Earth from a weapon of mass-destruction and forged an alliance between the Vulcans, Andorians and the Tellarites, surely can turn some hamburger patties?"

"Hopefully, Phlox brought his medical scanner and will interfere if the well-being of his old crew is at stake." Malcolm looked at Trip, and grinned. "Or you could always sneak a bite from T'Pol's salad."

The three men shared a laugh. David, who was walking ahead of them and had been listening attentively to their bantering, turned to his father.

"Dad, I think…" He didn't get any further as two boys jumped from behind the bushes while letting out warriors' cries. Bringing their Super Soakers to bear, they gleefully emptied their ammunition on the unsuspecting adults, who were too stunned to return fire.

When the water pressure dwindled, three very wet Starfleet officers were blinking owlishly at the perpetrators.

"Charlie?" Trip sounded quasi-hurt. "I thought you were on our team?"

The two youngsters had been giggling over their victory, but now fell silent. Tucker's ten-year-old son replied innocently, "You always tell me to go out and make friends, Dad, not enemies." The blond-haired boy shrugged, as if his answer settled the matter.

Trip turned to Malcolm, looking for support. Despite the uncomfortable sensation of wet clothes clinging heavily to his body, Malcolm was enjoying this father-son outing immensely. Trying to plaster a stern look on his face, he asked, "Christopher Donovan Reed, do you have an explanation for this?"

His youngest son of nine years dipped his head in embarrassment at the sudden attention. He's always been the most shy of the children. But when Chris looked up again, he seemed to have mustered his courage. "You… you told us that the best way to win is doing what others wouldn't expect you to do."

Malcolm was confounded, but also secretly pleased with his son's cheek.

Travis couldn't contain his laughter. "Two fathers beaten by their own logic!" He shook his head in wonderment. "I can't wait to share this one at the picnic!"

Malcolm was not impressed by that last remark. He casually said, "Trip, do you remember that small stream we passed earlier?"

"You mean the brook that felt like your feet would freeze off if you stayed in too long?" Trip was catching on quickly.

"The very one."

Travis looked somewhat uncomfortable now. "Eh…guys?"

The two senior officers had reached a silent agreement, and were now eyeing the helmsman with malevolent smiles.

"It was just a joke…" Mayweather started walking backward.

"What do you say, boys?" Trip smirked. "Shall we give Uncle Travis here a little dunkin'?"

The boys cheered as Travis beat a hasty retreat.

The barbecue would just have to wait.

THE END

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