Tucker

Hell, this was sure putting the 'contact' into First Contact, thought Trip, trying to extricate himself politely from the environs of two female VIPs whose names he wouldn't have been able to pronounce even if he'd remembered them – which he didn't.

It wasn't that he didn't think they were attractive; they were both delightful ladies, and the bHek physiology was similar enough to that of humans to ensure that they would probably be compatible in all respects. A compatibility which they appeared exceedingly anxious to explore, and he was equally anxious to leave in the realms of might-have-been.

Still, he was a Southern gentleman, and it was not in accord with the tenets of that particular breed to leave hard feelings behind among the ladies. Unfortunately, when ladies became as determined as these two were to make his better acquaintance – and there had been moments during the evening when they'd surreptitiously made it clear just how much better an acquaintance they wanted to make – it was difficult to achieve. The more evasive he tried to be, the more determined they became. They apparently found him fascinating.

He'd tried sending Jon 'save me!' looks, but Jon had just grinned and left him to it. T'Pol was no more helpful, apart from one or two arctic stares that reminded him where diplomats should not stick their fingers, or indeed any other part of their anatomy. Malcolm was elusive, and when he'd finally gotten a chance to explain his predicament the Brit had merely shrugged and said 'Difficult!', which was true but hardly constructive. Finally, however, Travis had come through. The young helmsman had risen to the challenge with aplomb, displaying charm and cunning beyond his years. Trip would have vowed eternal gratitude if Travis's parting smirk hadn't suggested that he was already expecting to be amply rewarded for his act of self-sacrifice.

The transfer of interest had taken time, however, and it was late by the time the chief engineer was finally free to quit the hall and follow his fellow officers to the guest quarters that had been appointed to them. He'd made a note earlier of the beauty of the surrounding gardens, and had high hopes that Hoshi would appreciate them too. The few words he'd managed to exchange with her during the course of the reception had certainly suggested as much; it hadn't been arranging a date, exactly, but if she was as quick on the uptake as he thought she was…

Well, yeah, there were the anti-frat regs, but Jon had indicated several times in conversation that he felt those had never been intended to apply to five-year stints, and that, provided professional efficiency wasn't affected, he'd be inclined to turn a blind eye. That this was tantamount to giving permission was not quite certain, but it was definitely something along those lines. Whether it would need to be clarified at some point would depend on what happened – or didn't happen – tonight. And from the inviting sparkle in Hoshi Sato's very lovely eyes earlier on, Trip had high hopes that she was very quick indeed on the uptake.

He could only hope she hadn't given up in despair by the time he got loose.

His hopes took a dive as he arrived at the row of apartments. They were connected by a long verandah with an ornamental balustrade, but this was empty.

He knew which room was hers, but should he knock? The world was still and silent. Even the slightest sound would carry, and T'Pol had the hearing of an owl. Having suffered one reminder of where a diplomat shouldn't stick his fingers, he was in no hurry to get a lecture on the same rules applying to senior officers where their juniors were concerned.

No lights showed under any of the doors. Feeling slightly foolish and more than a little disappointed, he walked to the nearby shuttlepod and activated the door control – if anyone heard him, he could always say he'd thought of something that needed checking. Quickly he moved to the console and activated the sensors.

T'Pol and the captain were in their respective rooms. To his surprise, Malcolm was not. Nor was Hoshi.

He changed the scan parameters, and seconds later picked up their biosigns. Down in the gardens – just where he'd been planning to take Hoshi for a walk himself.

Jealousy ignited in him. It wasn't as though he thought the Brit was likely to make a move on her; Reed certainly didn't harbor the same relaxed attitude to regulations as he did himself, in fact he regarded them as his own personal bible, and the anti-frat regulations would almost certainly put a brake on any ambitions he might possibly be harboring with regard to Hoshi. But companionship (if not surroundings) so exquisite would be utterly wasted on a man like Malcolm, and the thought of such a waste when he himself would make full use of them was not to be borne. The sooner he got down there and interrupted any potential tête-á-tête the better. Reed wasn't stupid; he'd get the message soon enough, and then hopefully he'd vanish, leaving the field to the favored suitor.

He was honest enough to feel a twinge of remorse at his own lack of charity as he strode down the lawn. He and Malcolm were slowly becoming friends, and it wasn't likely that the Englishman would even try to poach in another man's territory. Nevertheless, he couldn't quite suppress the memory of the number of 'farewell letters' that the tactical officer had dictated in the Shuttlepod on that memorable occasion when they'd been stranded and thinking themselves the only survivors from the ship. Far from being the virtual recluse he'd always thought him, it seemed that Reed must have dated pretty well half the women in San Francisco. For all that it was laughably difficult to picture the shy, awkward Brit as some kind of Casanova, still the thought of him being alone with Hoshi made Trip frown ever so slightly; it dawned on him that it was not as easy to classify Malcolm Reed as might have been imagined.

If he were honest with himself, his unease was fed by certain speculations that had drifted through his mind from time to time ever since that adventure in the 'pod. At some point during those hours while they waited for what had seemed like certain death, the thought had occurred to him that there was something they could do to snatch a final burst of joy from their lives; sure, it would waste oxygen, but on the other hand, waiting patiently to suffocate wasn't his idea of fun. He hadn't voiced it, mostly because the other man had never given any indication of homosexual inclinations and Reed was antsy enough with him as it was. Nevertheless, Trip's early sexual experiences had included a period of experimentation with other young men, and although he'd settled down comfortably into heterosexuality he retained pleasurable memories of the encounters he'd had. If Malcolm had ever shown interest…

… But Malcolm never had shown interest, and so the fleeting temptation had been suppressed. Nevertheless the idea had lingered: what would it have been like? Occasionally he'd found himself glancing surreptitiously at the lieutenant's body when it was stripped down and glistening with sweat in the gym. There was no doubt of it, the guy was good-looking.

Good-looking enough, no doubt, to attract Hoshi's eye. If Trip had been more inclined to self-analysis it might have occurred to him that the pangs of jealousy that quickened his pace down the lawn were not entirely on Hoshi's account, but he told himself that he was just concerned for an inexperienced young ensign's welfare.

Still, it came as something of a shock to find the two of them appearing anything but relaxed in each other's company. If it hadn't been unthinkable, he'd have thought Hoshi was scared of her companion, while Malcolm's expression was almost – well, it was hard to say what it was, but there was a smile on the tight mouth that was definitely not pleasant. And his acknowledgment of Trip's arrival (you could hardly call it a greeting), although civil enough and even superficially airy, had undertones of something perilously close to bitterness.

Trip stared after the Brit, confused by his sudden departure. It was all too obvious that the atmosphere between him and Hoshi had been charged with tension – sexual tension. Okay, it was the outcome Trip had intended, and the retreat of the foe had left the field clear for him; but such a spineless withdrawal was so unlike the behavior he'd have expected that he was more bewildered than relieved.

Why had Malcolm appeared so bitter? Had – had Hoshi made a move, and–?

That thought sent Trip's thoughts leaping madly in too many directions. He and Malcolm had gone on the pull down on Risa, and at no time had the Englishman shown any interest in anything but female company.

Was that because he was strictly het, or because – hell, what if he was just -

What's gotten into you, Trip? Askin' a few too many questions here, aren't ya? What's it to you if Malcolm's not as straight as you always thought?

The Brit's parting words, however, had been innocuous enough, their tone far more like what you'd normally expect from the ship's tactical officer; and he'd left at once, returning to the guest apartments without a backward glance.

Trip had very much hoped that the evening would end with Hoshi in his arms, and it happened even faster than he'd hoped it might. As soon as Malcolm was out of sight she stepped forward and threw her arms around him, her entire manner so shaken that his embrace in return was more protective than impassioned.

With an effort he pushed his confused thoughts about the armory officer out of his mind. Hoshi was in his arms. It was Hoshi who mattered, Hoshi whom he wanted.

"Hey, what's wrong, Hoshi?" His voice sharpened. "Has somethin' happened between you two?"

"No, nothing – it was just something stupid I said," she whispered.

"You sure?" He put a finger under her chin and lifted it. His eyes were searching, anxious. It was unlike her to be this nervous; if anything, Malcolm's presence usually served to steady jittery members of the crew, and she'd outgrown her initial anxieties some time ago.

"Absolutely…"

Her upturned mouth was an invitation he saw no reason to resist. Normally he'd wait until the signals had gotten a lot clearer to proceed, but right now a kiss would serve two purposes. He began gently, ready to release her if that was what she wanted, but she responded as readily as he'd hoped she would; his arms tightened around her. She was so slender and pliable, like a willow wand, and her hair smelled faintly spicy. Her mouth was delectably soft.

After a few moments she withdrew, and smiled up at him. He smiled back, grateful that she'd gotten over whatever had spooked her.

They began walking through the gardens. He offered his arm, and Hoshi slipped her hand through it.

The scent of the flowers and the light of small, ornate, lemon-colored lanterns hung here and there among the trees seemed to attract many types of moths; these in turn attracted the attention of some kind of flying creatures that at first Trip took for a type of bat, but which proved to be birds – tiny and swift and fearsomely accurate, snatching the slower-moving moths out of the air as they sped down the perfumed paths. He tried to touch one as it sped past, but it merely jinked effortlessly out of the way and resumed its hunting, disappearing from view in a second.

"Are you sure you're okay, Hoshi?" he asked at last, when the silence seemed to have gone on longer than was comfortable.

"Fine."

He wished she hadn't chosen that particular word. From the faint, fleeting grimace that crossed her face, she was wishing the same thing.

She took a deep breath, and turned to face him. "Trip, I … are we going to sleep together?"

The question momentarily took him aback. It wasn't as though he hadn't been hoping that very thing, but it was unusual for a prospective bedmate to put it quite that bluntly, at least at this stage of the proceedings.

"I'm sure hopin' we are," he said, feeling he should be equally honest, if not quite as blunt.

"It could make things … complicated." Her tone was neutral.

"That's one of the reasons Starfleet put the anti-frat regulations in place." He ran the tip of his index finger lightly across her cheekbone. "But if you're not comfortable with it, I'll understand that."

She reached up and ran her fingers thoughtfully through the hair above his forehead, mussing it. "I've wanted so often to do that."

"That all you've ever wanted to do?" The fingertip trailed across her lips. "'Cause I'll tell you, Hoshi, there are a whole lot more things I want to do to you."

Her smile in reply was somewhere between winsome and roguish. "Oh, now you've aroused my curiosity."

"More to the point, am I arousin' anything else?"

She slanted a look at him that certainly suggested so, but teasingly forbore to comment.

They walked on a little further, till they came to a bridge across a little stream. Hoshi leaned on the balustrade, looking down into the darkness where the reflections of the moons wavered on the surface. Her ears had tiny pearls in them, iridescent in lamplight. The moonlight was reflected in the nearest with a subtle, smoky sheen as put his arms around her waist from behind, leaned forward and planted soft kisses along the angle of her jaw.

"If you're not happy with things gettin' 'complicated', we could make this a one-off. What happens on the planet, stays on the planet." He planted the last and lightest of kisses on the lobe of her ear. "I'm not sayin' I don't care for you, Hoshi. Whether we sleep together or not, I want you to be happy. To have what you want."

She turned around. Her fingers had begun straying up towards his collar, but at those words she froze.

After a long, long pause, she asked: "Do you mean that?"

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