Disclaimer: Guess what! I don't own Enterprise, its characters, or any of the rest of Star Trek franchise. But I do own this story because it came out of my very own head. Three cheers for me.
Author's Note: You can thank B&B and the absolutely delicious 'Minefield' for the return of my muse. Should I send them flowers or something?
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It's a good thing that the corridors between my quarters and the dining room are relatively empty. The fewer crewmen that see me like this, the better. I have what can only be described as a spring in my step and a smile on my face that rivals a child's grin on Christmas morning. A whistle escapes my lips as the sing-song rhyme of "I kissed Malcolm Reed" skips through my head. I've never felt like I've spent an evening on a roller coaster before. I had a dinner date with Malcolm. Well, I have. It's not over with yet. It figures that after Malcolm got comfortable, life would intervene. Probably thought it was funny. I feel the goofy grin on my face get wider.
Life wasn't the only one that thought Admiral Forrest's interruption was humorous. Malcolm had, too. He actually giggled. It was the most amazing sound. I've never heard him laugh like that. Every other time has been restrained and polite. It was like he was deliberately holding back. Keeping himself to himself. It would be nice to say that I understood why but I don't. There are so many holes that I need to fill in. I've never needed to know a person like I need to know Malcolm. I get the feeling that no one really knows him. His sister might know more than anyone else, though. According to Hoshi, she wanted to talk to Malcolm when she was talking to her about his favorite food. His own parents hadn't even asked to speak with him. His so-called father had even automatically leapt to the conclusion that Malcolm was in trouble. I can't imagine strait-laced Malcolm being in a great deal of trouble in school but his father acted like it was an expected event. Perhaps Malcolm wasn't as reticent when he was growing up.
Yet another unanswered question for my Malcolm file. I seem to have quite a few of them. Although, I do like the sound of that. My Malcolm. That's the first time I've allowed myself to think of him that way. As someone who could truly belong to me. As Trip would no doubt attest, I'm incredibly possessive of my lovers. Not in a physical sense but in an emotional one. I want all of Malcolm for my very own. His desires, his secrets, his fantasies. His heart.
It amazes me what can go through a person's mind while they walk through the corridors of a ship. Most of the time, my mind is on ship's business. When all is well, I often find myself thinking of my father and what he would have thought of Enterprise. But now, all of my thoughts are directed on only one thing. The gorgeous Englishman waiting for me just a little further up the hallway.
I can't believe that everything that's happened tonight has been real. For so long, Malcolm seemed remarkably out of reach. But now, he's here. I've touched him. I've held him. I've kissed him. That last still makes me go all squishy. I wonder if I'll always feel this way. More than a little lightheaded at the simple thought of kissing Malcolm.
My little jaunt has thankfully come to an end. I'm staring at the door to the dining room; my face becoming flushed at the idea that Malcolm is waiting for me on the other side. Not Lieutenant Reed giving me a report but Malcolm. I push the buttons to open the door and I expect to see Malcolm where I left him. Standing in front of the window. But the sight before me stops me in my tracks and the door barely has enough room to close behind me.
Malcolm is sitting up to the table, his arms folded across its surface in front of him with his head turned slightly towards me and rested atop his arms. His gray eyes are closed and without their intensity, Malcolm's face takes on a serene look. I quickly stifle the chuckle threatening to burst out. Malcolm Reed – the master of the double-shift and graduate of the school of "48 hours with no sleep" – is napping.
I know I was gone a while, definitely longer than I expected. Admiral Forrest was updating me on various events back at Starfleet, as well as summarizing for me Soval's latest tirade on my dubious performance as captain. But I didn't expect Malcolm to be asleep when I returned. Softly as I possibly can, I walk over to where he's resting. Amazingly enough, he doesn't even flinch at the sound of my feet. With all of the work he's been doing after that last attack, I'm not surprised that Malcolm is exhausted. What does surprise me, though, is the look on his face. Never, in all the time that I've known him, have I ever seen Malcolm smile quite like that. It reminds me of the look he gets when something blows up just right. A smile that says he's quite pleased with himself. But there is more to the smile on Malcolm's sleeping face than that. He looks…content. As if everything is perfect in the world.
And it is. Enterprise and its crew is one piece, no one is shooting at us, there are no problems with the timeline, and Malcolm is napping in my private dining room. Everything is definitely perfect. Slowly, I reach out to lightly brush a piece of hair off Malcolm's forehead. The delicate touch is enough to stir him and I watch the confusion over his surroundings pass quickly across his face. He lifts his head and his gaze travels up my body until our eyes meet. His gray eyes are, for an instant, filled with wonder before that look of contentment returns.
Once again, I find myself admiring his composure when dealing with the unexpected. He doesn't look flustered or bothered at all with his having fallen asleep. Thinking back, I remember my own reaction to discovering that I had drifted off while listening to Malcolm recite from Ulysses. Embarrassed doesn't even begin to cover it. But there's Malcolm, looking as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking about.
"I am sorry about that, Jon. I didn't realize just how long the past few days have been."
Sitting down in the seat closest to him, I give Malcolm my best lopsided smile. "Don't worry about it. You deserve more than a little rest."
Malcolm negates my statement with a decisive shake of his head. "No more than the rest of the crew, I think."
His little head shake has caused that lock of hair to fall across his forehead again. Not that I don't like the look; as a matter of fact, I've often wondered just how much sexier Malcolm would look with his hair messed up a bit. But it gives me the chance to reach over and brush it back into place. As I slowly return my hand to its previous position on the table, Malcolm takes my hand and gently kisses the back of it. I grasp his hand a little tighter and we let them fall naturally, still clasped, onto the table.
Strangely enough, the look of comfort has been replaced on his pale features by that damn awkward nervousness again. I know I have an insatiable curiosity. I wouldn't be out here if I didn't. But I'm the one who gets nervous when it comes to questioning Malcolm. Everything could be fine, like it was a moment ago, the next breath, he's uncertain and nervous again. I purposefully squeeze his hand tighter for a split second, and then I wade into the deep end.
"What's wrong, Malcolm?"
He looks flustered at being questioned but he quickly regains his self-control. So far, so good. Kind of. In order for everything to be all right, I would like an answer to my question. This can't work if he doesn't open up a little. Why are you so edgy, Malcolm? Please let me in.
I'm about ready to ask him again when a voice I barely recognize as Malcolm's answers me. It seems too unsteady to that of my collected armory officer. "I don't know. I don't know what to say or what to do. I've never been very good at this."
Never been good at what? I feel Malcolm's hold on my hand grow even stronger. It's like he's drawing strength from my presence even though me being near him is making him nervous. I want to reassure him. To tell him that I understand. But I can't. It's that wall of his. It's taunting me. Making me wonder if I'll ever get around it or through it.
It takes a physical effort on my part not to jump when I feel Malcolm's other hand grab my other as well. Definitely unexpected. I keep watching him. Waiting for him to make eye contact or to say something. I count twenty beats of my pounding heart before Malcolm speaks again.
"Thank you."
Now he's got me confused. "For what, Malcolm?"
His eyes meet mine and I have to remind my heart to beat at the pure emotion in them. The warmth and fondness in them is something I have never seen in anyone's eyes before. Not in Malcolm's. Not in anyone. At least, it's a look I've never seen meant for me.
"Not giving up on me." For a second, I think that is all he is going to say until his still unsteady voice continues.
"For a moment there, I was afraid of you. Afraid of what's between us. But you never leave. I'm always waiting for you to back away. But you don't. You stay when others leave."
The undercurrent of pain in his voice reverberates inside of me, even though I don't know the source of it. Who could have abandoned Malcolm? What could have made him so certain that I'd leave him? Tentatively, I squeeze his hands even tighter. I can tell he wants to break eye contact but he fights the impulse. Stubborn, my Malcolm is.
"Why are you afraid of me?" My voice sounds tiny, despite the nearly empty room.
"Were. I was afraid of you. Because…I need you. I never knew that was possible to become attached so quickly to someone as I've become attached to you. Four days ago, I had been prepared to accept an unrequited attraction. Now, I can't imagine not being allowed to kiss you…to hold you."
His voice is steady and the warmth in his eyes has become mixed with something I never, even in my most private thoughts, hoped to see. "I love you, Jon."
I know I can't possibly trust my vocal cords to function properly. In front of me is a man who, despite a past that makes him as skittish as wild animal surrounded by a crowd of people, is fighting his fears. For me. In front of me is a man who loves me.
Leaning forward, I capture Malcolm's mouth with my own, assaulting it with a passionate fervor. I don't even attempt to stop the moan when Malcolm's tongue fiercely attacks my own. Each onslaught is a sensual reminder of my feelings for the man. Unexpected but impossible to ignore forever.
Slowly, we part and I lean my forehead against Malcolm's. He's panting as hard as I am. I'm trembling a bit with desire. I thought I wanted him pretty badly before but now? I'm not going to rest until he knows I'm not going anywhere. I couldn't leave him. He's shaking, too, though I wonder if a part of him is still scared and that's reason or if he wants me too. I know he does. It's impossible to kiss someone like Malcolm kisses me and not want the other person but is his fear overriding everything else?
"Damn." That one breathless word speaks volumes. And gives me an answer.
"Exactly what I was thinking, Malcolm."
I feel him back away and I immediately notice the curious look on his face. "Then why didn't you say so?"
I can picture myself in an old earth cartoon at this moment. Some creature has just dropped an anvil on my stupid head. With all of my concerns about Malcolm and what he's thinking and feeling, it didn't occur to me until this moment that I hadn't…despite his hidden fears, Malcolm still forced himself to be more open with me than I suspect he's been with anyone in a while. And then, those words. Four glorious words. I am so sorry, Malcolm.
Reaching up, I tenderly rub his cheek with my thumb. "I think you are the amazing one, Malcolm Reed."
An half an hour ago, he had told me that I was amazing. That was how I knew he wasn't going to leave. Give up on the idea of us. I hope he understands what I'm trying to tell him.
"I'm surprised both of our heads fit through the doorway, in that case."
I don't bother trying to keep my giggling inside. The sound startles Malcolm for a moment and then he joins in. Stifling his laughing, Malcolm reaches over and brushes a piece of hair off my forehead. Our eyes meet and I know we're thinking the same thought. It's a simple gesture but significant. It says, quite succinctly, that I can't believe he cares for me, too. All those lonely nights wishing and wondering. It turned out that I wasn't alone in my wishing and neither was he.
"I love you too, Malcolm."
The change in the room is almost tangible. It's as if everything has become sharper…clearer somehow. Malcolm is giving me the most tender smile and he's using our once again joined hands to pull me upright and out of the chair. He pulls me a step or two away from the table and with each second my curiosity grows. What is he up to?
"I've wanted to do this for a while." One of his hands releases mine and I feel his arm wrap around me and pull me closer. His hand is lovingly rested on my back and I notice that our clasped hands are now in a familiar but incredibly unexpected position.
"May I have this dance?"
Stunned into silence, I simply nod and place my free hand on Malcolm's back. It's an odd feeling letting Malcolm lead. But that's nothing compared to the sensation of being close to him like this. It's electric. Every sense is in complete overdrive. I can hear Malcolm's heavier-than-normal breathing. I can feel the graze of his leg against mine as we gently sway back and forth.
"I didn't know you liked to dance, Malcolm."
His response is one of the very few stories of his past that I've gotten from his own lips. "My sister, Madeline, studied ballet when she was younger. She complained that there weren't enough males in her class. And well…I never could deny Maddie anything."
It takes a moment for the meaning to sink in. "You took ballet?"
Looking down, I watch with glee as Malcolm's cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink. I impulsively pull him tighter and kiss the top of his head. Images of a younger, but still blushing, Malcolm wearing tights and doing pirouettes literally dance through my head.
"Only for a few years. The flexibility helped my hand-to-hand combat skills."
"Say whatever you want to. I know you enjoyed wearing a tutu."
The energy in the room jumps tenfold as Malcolm stops the dancing and looks at me with an almost lethal intensity. "If Commander Tucker starts making cracks…"
He leaves the threat open-ended and I know he's incredibly serious. It tells me two things. The first is that Malcolm was picked on a lot when he was younger. The second is that he hasn't had many really good friends. He assumed that I tell Trip everything. I tell him a lot but not everything. Some things are private. Like this moment between us.
"It's between us, Malcolm."
Something in him relaxes and he smiles. A lopsided goofy smile. I'm not sure whether to classify it as adorable or sexy. Or both. "I know. I trust you. But can you imagine? The armory officer who wore pink?"
I can't resist the levity. "The dancing demolitions expert?"
We both collapse against each other in laughter. I've never heard Malcolm laugh this much. It's enough to cause my heart to beat all crazily. One would think that I would be used to it by now. My heart has always skipped a beat around Malcolm.
The sensation of Malcolm's body pressed up against mine sends shivers straight down my spine. Somehow we manage to work our way even closer together until Malcolm's head is laying against my shoulder with his cheek against my chest. We're both quiet now. I'm encompassed by the emotions radiating from him. Instinctively, I know he feels the same way.
The words come at the same time from both us. It's almost as soft as a whisper but deeper. Much deeper.
"I love you."
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AN: I put this at the end to keep from giving myself away before the story even started. The title comes from a quote by Barbara G. Harrison. It says: "To sleep is an act of faith."
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Feedback Appreciated!
ahooper@gladstone.uoregon.edu
Author's Note: You can thank B&B and the absolutely delicious 'Minefield' for the return of my muse. Should I send them flowers or something?
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It's a good thing that the corridors between my quarters and the dining room are relatively empty. The fewer crewmen that see me like this, the better. I have what can only be described as a spring in my step and a smile on my face that rivals a child's grin on Christmas morning. A whistle escapes my lips as the sing-song rhyme of "I kissed Malcolm Reed" skips through my head. I've never felt like I've spent an evening on a roller coaster before. I had a dinner date with Malcolm. Well, I have. It's not over with yet. It figures that after Malcolm got comfortable, life would intervene. Probably thought it was funny. I feel the goofy grin on my face get wider.
Life wasn't the only one that thought Admiral Forrest's interruption was humorous. Malcolm had, too. He actually giggled. It was the most amazing sound. I've never heard him laugh like that. Every other time has been restrained and polite. It was like he was deliberately holding back. Keeping himself to himself. It would be nice to say that I understood why but I don't. There are so many holes that I need to fill in. I've never needed to know a person like I need to know Malcolm. I get the feeling that no one really knows him. His sister might know more than anyone else, though. According to Hoshi, she wanted to talk to Malcolm when she was talking to her about his favorite food. His own parents hadn't even asked to speak with him. His so-called father had even automatically leapt to the conclusion that Malcolm was in trouble. I can't imagine strait-laced Malcolm being in a great deal of trouble in school but his father acted like it was an expected event. Perhaps Malcolm wasn't as reticent when he was growing up.
Yet another unanswered question for my Malcolm file. I seem to have quite a few of them. Although, I do like the sound of that. My Malcolm. That's the first time I've allowed myself to think of him that way. As someone who could truly belong to me. As Trip would no doubt attest, I'm incredibly possessive of my lovers. Not in a physical sense but in an emotional one. I want all of Malcolm for my very own. His desires, his secrets, his fantasies. His heart.
It amazes me what can go through a person's mind while they walk through the corridors of a ship. Most of the time, my mind is on ship's business. When all is well, I often find myself thinking of my father and what he would have thought of Enterprise. But now, all of my thoughts are directed on only one thing. The gorgeous Englishman waiting for me just a little further up the hallway.
I can't believe that everything that's happened tonight has been real. For so long, Malcolm seemed remarkably out of reach. But now, he's here. I've touched him. I've held him. I've kissed him. That last still makes me go all squishy. I wonder if I'll always feel this way. More than a little lightheaded at the simple thought of kissing Malcolm.
My little jaunt has thankfully come to an end. I'm staring at the door to the dining room; my face becoming flushed at the idea that Malcolm is waiting for me on the other side. Not Lieutenant Reed giving me a report but Malcolm. I push the buttons to open the door and I expect to see Malcolm where I left him. Standing in front of the window. But the sight before me stops me in my tracks and the door barely has enough room to close behind me.
Malcolm is sitting up to the table, his arms folded across its surface in front of him with his head turned slightly towards me and rested atop his arms. His gray eyes are closed and without their intensity, Malcolm's face takes on a serene look. I quickly stifle the chuckle threatening to burst out. Malcolm Reed – the master of the double-shift and graduate of the school of "48 hours with no sleep" – is napping.
I know I was gone a while, definitely longer than I expected. Admiral Forrest was updating me on various events back at Starfleet, as well as summarizing for me Soval's latest tirade on my dubious performance as captain. But I didn't expect Malcolm to be asleep when I returned. Softly as I possibly can, I walk over to where he's resting. Amazingly enough, he doesn't even flinch at the sound of my feet. With all of the work he's been doing after that last attack, I'm not surprised that Malcolm is exhausted. What does surprise me, though, is the look on his face. Never, in all the time that I've known him, have I ever seen Malcolm smile quite like that. It reminds me of the look he gets when something blows up just right. A smile that says he's quite pleased with himself. But there is more to the smile on Malcolm's sleeping face than that. He looks…content. As if everything is perfect in the world.
And it is. Enterprise and its crew is one piece, no one is shooting at us, there are no problems with the timeline, and Malcolm is napping in my private dining room. Everything is definitely perfect. Slowly, I reach out to lightly brush a piece of hair off Malcolm's forehead. The delicate touch is enough to stir him and I watch the confusion over his surroundings pass quickly across his face. He lifts his head and his gaze travels up my body until our eyes meet. His gray eyes are, for an instant, filled with wonder before that look of contentment returns.
Once again, I find myself admiring his composure when dealing with the unexpected. He doesn't look flustered or bothered at all with his having fallen asleep. Thinking back, I remember my own reaction to discovering that I had drifted off while listening to Malcolm recite from Ulysses. Embarrassed doesn't even begin to cover it. But there's Malcolm, looking as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking about.
"I am sorry about that, Jon. I didn't realize just how long the past few days have been."
Sitting down in the seat closest to him, I give Malcolm my best lopsided smile. "Don't worry about it. You deserve more than a little rest."
Malcolm negates my statement with a decisive shake of his head. "No more than the rest of the crew, I think."
His little head shake has caused that lock of hair to fall across his forehead again. Not that I don't like the look; as a matter of fact, I've often wondered just how much sexier Malcolm would look with his hair messed up a bit. But it gives me the chance to reach over and brush it back into place. As I slowly return my hand to its previous position on the table, Malcolm takes my hand and gently kisses the back of it. I grasp his hand a little tighter and we let them fall naturally, still clasped, onto the table.
Strangely enough, the look of comfort has been replaced on his pale features by that damn awkward nervousness again. I know I have an insatiable curiosity. I wouldn't be out here if I didn't. But I'm the one who gets nervous when it comes to questioning Malcolm. Everything could be fine, like it was a moment ago, the next breath, he's uncertain and nervous again. I purposefully squeeze his hand tighter for a split second, and then I wade into the deep end.
"What's wrong, Malcolm?"
He looks flustered at being questioned but he quickly regains his self-control. So far, so good. Kind of. In order for everything to be all right, I would like an answer to my question. This can't work if he doesn't open up a little. Why are you so edgy, Malcolm? Please let me in.
I'm about ready to ask him again when a voice I barely recognize as Malcolm's answers me. It seems too unsteady to that of my collected armory officer. "I don't know. I don't know what to say or what to do. I've never been very good at this."
Never been good at what? I feel Malcolm's hold on my hand grow even stronger. It's like he's drawing strength from my presence even though me being near him is making him nervous. I want to reassure him. To tell him that I understand. But I can't. It's that wall of his. It's taunting me. Making me wonder if I'll ever get around it or through it.
It takes a physical effort on my part not to jump when I feel Malcolm's other hand grab my other as well. Definitely unexpected. I keep watching him. Waiting for him to make eye contact or to say something. I count twenty beats of my pounding heart before Malcolm speaks again.
"Thank you."
Now he's got me confused. "For what, Malcolm?"
His eyes meet mine and I have to remind my heart to beat at the pure emotion in them. The warmth and fondness in them is something I have never seen in anyone's eyes before. Not in Malcolm's. Not in anyone. At least, it's a look I've never seen meant for me.
"Not giving up on me." For a second, I think that is all he is going to say until his still unsteady voice continues.
"For a moment there, I was afraid of you. Afraid of what's between us. But you never leave. I'm always waiting for you to back away. But you don't. You stay when others leave."
The undercurrent of pain in his voice reverberates inside of me, even though I don't know the source of it. Who could have abandoned Malcolm? What could have made him so certain that I'd leave him? Tentatively, I squeeze his hands even tighter. I can tell he wants to break eye contact but he fights the impulse. Stubborn, my Malcolm is.
"Why are you afraid of me?" My voice sounds tiny, despite the nearly empty room.
"Were. I was afraid of you. Because…I need you. I never knew that was possible to become attached so quickly to someone as I've become attached to you. Four days ago, I had been prepared to accept an unrequited attraction. Now, I can't imagine not being allowed to kiss you…to hold you."
His voice is steady and the warmth in his eyes has become mixed with something I never, even in my most private thoughts, hoped to see. "I love you, Jon."
I know I can't possibly trust my vocal cords to function properly. In front of me is a man who, despite a past that makes him as skittish as wild animal surrounded by a crowd of people, is fighting his fears. For me. In front of me is a man who loves me.
Leaning forward, I capture Malcolm's mouth with my own, assaulting it with a passionate fervor. I don't even attempt to stop the moan when Malcolm's tongue fiercely attacks my own. Each onslaught is a sensual reminder of my feelings for the man. Unexpected but impossible to ignore forever.
Slowly, we part and I lean my forehead against Malcolm's. He's panting as hard as I am. I'm trembling a bit with desire. I thought I wanted him pretty badly before but now? I'm not going to rest until he knows I'm not going anywhere. I couldn't leave him. He's shaking, too, though I wonder if a part of him is still scared and that's reason or if he wants me too. I know he does. It's impossible to kiss someone like Malcolm kisses me and not want the other person but is his fear overriding everything else?
"Damn." That one breathless word speaks volumes. And gives me an answer.
"Exactly what I was thinking, Malcolm."
I feel him back away and I immediately notice the curious look on his face. "Then why didn't you say so?"
I can picture myself in an old earth cartoon at this moment. Some creature has just dropped an anvil on my stupid head. With all of my concerns about Malcolm and what he's thinking and feeling, it didn't occur to me until this moment that I hadn't…despite his hidden fears, Malcolm still forced himself to be more open with me than I suspect he's been with anyone in a while. And then, those words. Four glorious words. I am so sorry, Malcolm.
Reaching up, I tenderly rub his cheek with my thumb. "I think you are the amazing one, Malcolm Reed."
An half an hour ago, he had told me that I was amazing. That was how I knew he wasn't going to leave. Give up on the idea of us. I hope he understands what I'm trying to tell him.
"I'm surprised both of our heads fit through the doorway, in that case."
I don't bother trying to keep my giggling inside. The sound startles Malcolm for a moment and then he joins in. Stifling his laughing, Malcolm reaches over and brushes a piece of hair off my forehead. Our eyes meet and I know we're thinking the same thought. It's a simple gesture but significant. It says, quite succinctly, that I can't believe he cares for me, too. All those lonely nights wishing and wondering. It turned out that I wasn't alone in my wishing and neither was he.
"I love you too, Malcolm."
The change in the room is almost tangible. It's as if everything has become sharper…clearer somehow. Malcolm is giving me the most tender smile and he's using our once again joined hands to pull me upright and out of the chair. He pulls me a step or two away from the table and with each second my curiosity grows. What is he up to?
"I've wanted to do this for a while." One of his hands releases mine and I feel his arm wrap around me and pull me closer. His hand is lovingly rested on my back and I notice that our clasped hands are now in a familiar but incredibly unexpected position.
"May I have this dance?"
Stunned into silence, I simply nod and place my free hand on Malcolm's back. It's an odd feeling letting Malcolm lead. But that's nothing compared to the sensation of being close to him like this. It's electric. Every sense is in complete overdrive. I can hear Malcolm's heavier-than-normal breathing. I can feel the graze of his leg against mine as we gently sway back and forth.
"I didn't know you liked to dance, Malcolm."
His response is one of the very few stories of his past that I've gotten from his own lips. "My sister, Madeline, studied ballet when she was younger. She complained that there weren't enough males in her class. And well…I never could deny Maddie anything."
It takes a moment for the meaning to sink in. "You took ballet?"
Looking down, I watch with glee as Malcolm's cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink. I impulsively pull him tighter and kiss the top of his head. Images of a younger, but still blushing, Malcolm wearing tights and doing pirouettes literally dance through my head.
"Only for a few years. The flexibility helped my hand-to-hand combat skills."
"Say whatever you want to. I know you enjoyed wearing a tutu."
The energy in the room jumps tenfold as Malcolm stops the dancing and looks at me with an almost lethal intensity. "If Commander Tucker starts making cracks…"
He leaves the threat open-ended and I know he's incredibly serious. It tells me two things. The first is that Malcolm was picked on a lot when he was younger. The second is that he hasn't had many really good friends. He assumed that I tell Trip everything. I tell him a lot but not everything. Some things are private. Like this moment between us.
"It's between us, Malcolm."
Something in him relaxes and he smiles. A lopsided goofy smile. I'm not sure whether to classify it as adorable or sexy. Or both. "I know. I trust you. But can you imagine? The armory officer who wore pink?"
I can't resist the levity. "The dancing demolitions expert?"
We both collapse against each other in laughter. I've never heard Malcolm laugh this much. It's enough to cause my heart to beat all crazily. One would think that I would be used to it by now. My heart has always skipped a beat around Malcolm.
The sensation of Malcolm's body pressed up against mine sends shivers straight down my spine. Somehow we manage to work our way even closer together until Malcolm's head is laying against my shoulder with his cheek against my chest. We're both quiet now. I'm encompassed by the emotions radiating from him. Instinctively, I know he feels the same way.
The words come at the same time from both us. It's almost as soft as a whisper but deeper. Much deeper.
"I love you."
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AN: I put this at the end to keep from giving myself away before the story even started. The title comes from a quote by Barbara G. Harrison. It says: "To sleep is an act of faith."
---------
Feedback Appreciated!
ahooper@gladstone.uoregon.edu