SEVEN
He didn't start twitching until an hour was up. Then he didn't bother asking his acting C.O's permission before he opened the comm. "Tucker to Ensign Downes. Any word from the Cap'n?"
"None, Sir." The young man's voice was shriller than he remembered. "I've tried calling Macintosh, but I can't get through. Should I investigate?"
"No." T'Pol would deny it, but he knew she was glaring. And by the way everyone else was carefully not looking at her, they knew it too. "Remain with the shuttle. Ensign, hail the captain."
From the corner of his eye Tucker noticed Malcolm's lips pulling into a line so tight they became almost invisible. If he'd vaulted the console and yelled "What good will that do, you daft cow?" his disapproval couldn't have been more obvious.
"No response," Hoshi informed them needlessly. Trip swung to challenge the woman in Archer's chair direct.
"We should send a team down."
"The captain has tried to avoid provocation, Commander. He wouldn't appreciate your protective instincts."
"Um, Commander T'Pol? I could always go ask around."
"Stay where you are Ensign." Enough of his exasperation with their posturing leaked through, Reed noticed with satisfaction to bring both immediate superiors to their senses. "Your bum's safe while it's on a seat; I'd recommend keeping it that way."
"Yessir." The younger man sounded amused, and Travis's shoulders heaved with effort of containing a guffaw. Tucker's mouth twitched. Even T'Pol looked almost approving.
"We should wait for the captain's instructions. He'll call us if he needs our help. Enterprise out."
"I'm needed in Engineerin'." Without awaiting her dismissal, Trip stalked for the lift, lifting his head against the compassion in his partner's glance. He had nothing to do but push buttons on a PADD, and Malcolm knew it.
He probably also knew, Tucker mused, that if he stayed on the bridge much longer, he was likely to say something he was supposed to regret. Hell, there are times I remember what got me into bed with that damn Vulcan; she pisses me off more than anyone I've ever met, 'cepting Malcolm himself.
"I'm tellin' you, T'Pol, the Cap'n wouldn't stay for dinner without informin' us!" His shredded steak wove like ribbons through a sickly mess of green-stained potatoes which Jon's unobtrusive steward gulped to behold, probably imagining how Chef would react to the wanton wastage. "Have you ever known Jon Archer abandon a crewman without his dinner?"
"Ensign Downes will find protein packs in the shuttlepod's hold." Her fingers tightened around the knife handle; he suspected if the ancient Vulcan temper weren't so perfectly repressed, the implement would pretty soon be sticking out of his neck. "It is – unusual, but Captain Archer is impulsive. He's quite capable of overlooking the passage of time."
Both blond eyebrows disappeared into the roots of his hair. "You don't believe that."
"No." She laid down her cutlery and looked him dead in the eye for the first time all day. "I don't. But we can't launch an assault against the Mekronian First Secretary on gut instinct. It might place the Captain in greater danger."
"What if he's in danger already?"
"I don't believe the Mekronians would harm him." They were talking in circles, and Tucker knew she was no less pissed about it than he. "And until we have evidence to the contrary – or a direct instruction from the Captain – we can't be seen to take rash action. Will you stay for dessert?"
"Figure I've wasted enough of Chef's ingredients for one night, if you'll excuse me."
He didn't wait for her acquiescent nod. Fruitlessly scanning the mess hall for a glimpse of his partner, Trip stalked through the strangely quiet Alpha Shift diners and, on instinct, turned left when the turbolift hit B deck, away from his cabin.
He was rewarded by the unusual sight of an open door. "Didn't think you'd sit still for long, love," Reed announced, setting aside the book he'd been pretending to read for the last half-hour. "Moddom still being all non-interventionist, is she?"
"Yeah." He couldn't help it; the mere sight of his lover stretched out over an impeccably made bed dissolved the tension cramping every muscle. Like a rag doll, Trip threw himself down into a welcoming embrace, the pent-up fury leaving him in a lusty exhale. "She knows somethin's wrong, but 'cause there's no logic behind it, she won't do a damn thing."
"Vulcans never do anything when sitting on their hands and looking superior's an option." Malcolm was fidgety, the small crease between his eyebrows visible despite the intimacy of their position. Trip huffed.
"How long do we sit an' wait, Mal? Heck, they could be torturin' Johnny for information about Earth's defences for all we know…"
"Or Dikarum could be boring him silly with more bits of dog-eared pot from the dig – which probably counts as torture under the terms of the British Government's Humane Treatment of Prisoners Act of 2042…"
"Malcolm!"
"Sorry." The apology was accompanied by an absent-minded peck on the nose. "I'm all of a dither. Honestly, I'd sooner be blowing the Government Quarter to pottery-shard pieces and picking through the remnants by hand than just sitting here."
"Uh, technically I think we're lying here. Ow!"
"Don't get clever with your weapons officer, Commander."
"Wouldn't dare, Commander."
It was, Tucker considered, the kind of tender exchange they'd share a thousand times before: wrapped in each other's arms, warm breath mingling in the small gap between their mouths, a few moments' playful flirting that led invariably to something more. Yet this time…
"It's not gonna happen, is it?"
"No." On a frustrated groan, Reed dragged himself free and stalked to perch upright on the edge of his desk chair. "God knows I'd like to Trip, but…"
"Kinda hoped I'd just fall into you an' forget everythin'." Damn, he was whining, which wouldn't make him more appealing to his momma, still less Malcolm. The Englishman shrugged.
"I was hoping for something along that line myself, but I've got ants in my pants: can't settle," he added hastily by way of explanation. Pulling himself upright, Trip started to pace the small cabin.
"Likewise. Dammit! Maybe I should go back to my quarters."
"If you're planning to wear out the carpet, that's probably a good idea." Reed hit a key, bringing a colourful diagnostic of the nebula they'd passed on their way to Mekrona onto the screen. He stared at it for a minute, tongue idly tracing the firm line of his lips. Then, with an exasperated hiss, switched it off.
"Can't see for bloody looking. Will you please sit down!"
"Ants in my pants." The blond kicked absently at the bulkhead. "You want me to leave?"
"No!"
"'s okay babe, you don't scare me off bein' snippy." It broke his heart to see the fear flash through the younger man's eyes in those rare moments he really thought he'd offended his lover. As if Malcolm thought their relationship so vulnerable, even after two happy years. As if he still couldn't – wouldn't – believe Trip Tucker actually loved him.
He opened his arms, his tentative smile widening at the alacrity with which his partner accepted the invitation. Cautious, he steered them back to the bunk and eased down, coming to rest with Reed's dark head pillowed cosily on his shoulder. "Might as well get comfy while we wait," he drawled.
"Mmmm." His mind might be spinning through a dozen scenarios, each bleaker than the last, but his confidence in facing them was bolstered by the solid warmth around him. "Love you, Mistah Tuckah."
"Love you too, darlin'." The words didn't come unprompted as often as Tucker would have liked, but when they did, they were heartfelt. Letting his eyelids drift down he concentrated on the sense of peace holding Malcolm brought, raising it up as a barrier to keep his fear for Jon at bay.
Reed shifted cautiously, conscious of the tension seeping from his companion's muscled limbs. Aware that his hyper-active imagination, that most unwelcome trait in a security man, would not allow an equal abandonment to sleep, he turned instead to his inbred mental discipline, separating each strand of his worries and methodically weaving a discernible pattern. He was so engrossed in the exercise that the tinny blare of alarm across the comm. hit Trip's unconscious mind faster.
"All senior officers report to your stations. Security to Launch Bay One."
Reed was tossed bodily off the bed in his lover's struggle upright. "On our way," Tucker hollered, not bothering to smooth his sleep-spiked hair on his sprint to the door. "Jeez Jon, what mess've you gotten into this time? I knew he should've taken a full team!"
"He does it to annoy us," Malcolm growled, overtaking the longer-legged engineer as they rounded the bend to the lift. Trip snorted.
"Well, it's worked. What's happenin'?"
The question echoed like an ancient pistol's report around the silent bridge. "We've detected weapons fire in the First Secretary's compound, Commander."