Title: Promises and Pitfalls
Author: Pretzelduck
Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own the Star Trek franchise. I don't own that much really. It's kinda pathetic.
-----
In the haziness of sleep, I realize I'm not exactly sure where I am. The bed doesn't feel like mine. The mattress is definitely a little harder. But the main thing that clues me in is the man snuggled against my side. Drowsily, I lightly brush a finger along the pale arm draped across me until I've reached the slightly ruffled dark-haired head that's using my shoulder as a pillow. I slowly entwine my fingers in the short hair, pulling him just a tiny bit tighter to me.
Malcolm. He's still here. I foggily remember that it's his quarters that we're in so I don't know where else he would go. But the fact remains that he's still here. I've never considered him to be a "turn and run" type of person. That would imply that he gives in to his fear but I've seen firsthand, too many times for my liking, just how fearless Malcolm can be. However, this is different. As cautious as he is in the line of duty, there is nowhere he is more guarded than in his personal life. His innate tendency to shut other people out gave me the impression that if someone, hopefully me, ever did get close to him; it would be then that he would run. He would give into his fear of his true self being exposed.
It turned out that my worrying was unnecessary. I was only half asleep for the longest time, waiting for the telltale signs that he had fallen asleep. But they never came. I felt a shudder go through him, a little while later, and decided to make my awareness known. It surprised me at first that he, eventually, told me what was keeping him awake. But his answers didn't startle me in the slightest. Normal, if a bit doubt-filled, questions.
I firmly believe what I told Malcolm. I don't know what I want to happen. Or how I want to approach everything. I'm not concerned about Malcolm's interactions with me on a work level. The textbook officer persona is too ingrained into Malcolm's mind for him to be anything else on duty. What frightens me are my own reactions. His disturbing penchant for getting injured and/or placing the safety of others before his own well-being without thinking is something that's bothered me since before I admitted to myself my feelings for Malcolm went deeper than professional. How many times now has he laid in Sickbay, recovering from being shot, stabbed, or otherwise wounded?
Before, I could put on the "concerned captain" front as an excuse of sorts to mask my response to the man that I cared for being hurt. Again. But now, it's different. It won't be Lt. Reed that's hurt. It will be Malcolm. The same Malcolm that I've held in my arms as we slept. The Malcolm that I've said 'I love you' to and heard those same words from. Frankly, I'm scared to death that I'm going to lose it somehow the first time I see him on the receiving end of a brutal attack. Or any time, for that matter. It's part of Malcolm's job description to be the ship's first line of defense, I suppose. I knew that when I took command of the Enterprise I would undoubtedly come across hostile species. I knew that I would be responsible for the people under my command. I also knew that members of my crew could possibly die out here. I just didn't know that I would fall in love with the man most likely to do so.
What I do know is this: I'm not letting Malcolm go. It's taken me too long to get as far past those barriers of his as I have. And I know I've barely scratched the surface. I know he could be injured, hurt, or even killed in the line of duty. But I rather spend every minute that I can trying to create my very own scene of destruction at the site of Malcolm's infamous wall. The alternative is never knowing the feeling of having him in my arms again. Honestly, that's simply unacceptable.
There is one other thing I know for certain. It's five in the morning. I've been waking up at five since I was a teenager. Since I'm awake, I'm pretty sure that's what time it is. The habit developed thanks to my high school water polo coach's love of morning practices. As a teenager, I despised it. Now, I find I appreciate it. Especially when the little practice gives me the opportunity to do some unobserved Malcolm watching. I wonder if he realizes that when he's in a deep slumber, he sleeps with his mouth open. I bet he would think it was undignified. I happen to think it makes him look adorably child-like.
I feel like I'm back in my biology class conducting observations on a class field trip. Some strange part of my mind starts prattling on: the subject sleeps with his mouth open, only seems to truly relax when resting, and doesn't move much during sleep. However, this last observation could be tainted by the fact that the observer is holding the subject rather tightly. The curious portion of my personality wonders just how light or heavy of a sleeper Malcolm is. That's one observation I haven't made yet. If I gently turn Malcolm onto his back, I should be able to prop myself up and stare at him some more or he's going to wake up and smile at me. A win-win situation.
A few moments later, though, I realize that I missed one little thing. Malcolm's bed is more than a tad smaller than mine. I didn't grasp the fact that we were right up against the edge.
"Bugger! How on Earth?"
Leaning a little bit over the side of the bed, I cautiously look over. Malcolm is looking up at me from the floor. He's entangled in the comforter that accompanied him in his tumble. And he doesn't look all that pleased with me. If I were a slightly more foolish man, I would tell him that he looks like he's pouting. Right now, I'm just glad that he's not anywhere near a phase pistol.
"Ummm…Sorry?"
He doesn't answer me; instead he pulls himself up until he's sitting on the floor with his legs bent at the knees in front of him with his forearms resting on top of his kneecaps. With a smirk I belatedly recognize as dangerously crafty, Malcolm quickly reaches out, grabs one of my arms, and pulls me off the bunk. I try to stop the fall but I've forgotten that my arm has managed to become numb since Malcolm slept on it all night. With a very undignified squawk, I almost land directly on top of him but he uses my momentum to keep me rolling until my back is flat against the deck. Despite the icy coldness of the metal and burgeoning throbbing in my back, I find that I don't really mind, though. Malcolm's now straddling me with a dark predatory gleam in his eyes. Very nice.
"Kicking me out of bed already, luv?" Am I really supposed to be thinking even remotely coherently right now? Malcolm is looking at me with a combination of lust and amusement. He's called me 'luv' and he's leaning over me in a way that's turning me into a hormonal teenager again. Lucidity is definitely not possible.
"I really didn't mean to knock you out of bed. I forgot just how small these bunks are." Telling him what exactly I was up to that resulted in his little fall doesn't strike me as a good idea.
His face gets very serious and he tilts his head to one side, like he's deciding my fate. It's like he's coming to some big decision. Suddenly, that endearing half-smile of his has replaced the somber one on his lips. "I suppose from now on, it would be better if we did this in your quarters."
The goofy grin that seems to always to burst out whenever Malcolm is around comes back in full force. Last night, I assumed that he would be more comfortable in his own space. He was, of that I'm sure, but now it appears that he's willing to try my cabin. I'll take unintended consequences like Malcolm in my bed any day.
"Probably. Although, I admit that this isn't too bad, either." Not by a long-shot. Especially when Malcolm replies by bending down and capturing my mouth in a kiss.
I can feel the fire that starts traveling along every nerve in my body as Malcolm's tongue continues to spar with my own. Restraint becomes impossible for me as I start to forcefully pull Malcolm even closer. There is just something about this man. So quiet and reserved. So passionately alive. So tender and witty. So very mine.
I can't help the urge to touch him everywhere. I run my hands along his arms and back, relishing the chance to finally explore every inch of Malcolm's compact, muscular body. It's enticed me for so long and now it's mine. I'm not letting him go. Ever.
**Beep…beep…beep…**
Well, maybe now. Malcolm seems to have similar sentiments. His lips cease their assault on mine and I can both feel and hear him mumble something about a "bloody alarm" as he pulls away and gets up to turn off the rather loud and annoying alarm.
I decide to get up as well so before Malcolm turns around, I can embrace him from behind and pull him close, wrapping my arms around him. Resting my head lightly on top of his shoulder, I feel him lean backwards until he trusts me to hold most of his weight. I love all of the little things he does that remind me of how much he cares. The little trusting things.
"I love you, Malcolm."
He sighs contentedly. Another thing I love. Relaxed Malcolm. As odd as it sounds, I can't help feeling satisfied and quite pleased with myself. I'm the one who got Malcolm to relax.
"And while I do love you, Jon, it's six in the morning. We should…you should…ummm…"
Six?! I guess Malcolm watching took up a little more time than I thought. I softly kiss Malcolm on the cheek. It's so lovable the way he gets all tongue-tied sometimes. I know what he means. Unfortunately. I let go of him reluctantly and start gathering up my clothing that I tossed on the floor and Malcolm picked up and folded last night. He's still turned away from me so I take the opportunity to check out the boxers-only view of Malcolm from behind. Better than very nice. Not good for actually attempting to focus on the daily running of a starship while on duty today, though. Hopefully, I'm not the only one whose thoughts will be a bit distracted today.
Malcolm is still turned away from me and I can tell by his body position that he's crossed his arms over his chest. It's almost as if he doesn't want to watch me leave. Oh, Malcolm…
I'm interrupted from my search for my socks and Malcolm admiration session by a snickering laugh.
"Are you ever going to stop checking out my bum?"
This time Malcolm isn't the one who's blushing. Caught, damn it. How in the world did he know? Never mind, the answer to my own question can be summed up into two words. Armory Officer. Especially when that armory officer happens to be one Malcolm Reed. I'm suddenly struck by the idea that I might never be able to predict Malcolm or what he's thinking or what he's going to say next. I'm starting to like that notion the more I think about it.
"Probably not."
Malcolm finally turns around and he's giving me that devilish smile of his. He walks past me and bends down next to the door. Now's he holding something out towards me. My socks.
With a smile, I unfold my shirt to inspect it. Slightly wrinkled but it's in far better condition than if it had been left in a heap. "Thanks for folding my things. I didn't consider that I'd have to wear them this morning."
He simply shrugs his shoulders and gestures towards the small bathroom. "It's a habit. You're welcome to use the lavatory to freshen up, if you'd like."
Lavatory and freshening up. There's that prim and proper vocabulary of his, again. I wonder if it's a byproduct of his schooling or of his upbringing. Out of the blue, an image of Malcolm as a young boy replaces my Malcolm in front of me. Posture perfect, not a wrinkle on a drab school uniform, his gray eyes still intense and observant. I wish I could spend some more time just talking to Malcolm this morning. I know that this won't be the last time that we're alone but it seems like the longer I'm around him, the less I understand him. The more of an enigma he becomes. The more I want to know him. Ruefully, I shake my head slightly to clear it. Little Malcolm disappears and once again, my armory officer is standing there looking at me like I'm more than a little mad. I believe he would probably use the word 'daft'.
"I'd appreciate it." I step towards the bathroom, sneaking in a quick peck on my way past him, and close the door behind me. Another thing I've forgotten. Just how much smaller the crew quarters' bathrooms are. And Malcolm has a single. My respect for the crew inches up a few more notches past the extraordinary level it's at already. I'll have to remember to recommend to Starfleet to increase the bathroom sizes just a bit. It's a good thing Malcolm's as small and graceful as he is. This is one tiny space. Yet another perk to being the captain.
After using the restroom, I quickly dress myself with the exception of my shoes. They're still in the main room next to Malcolm's shoes. I turn the faucet on so I can splash some cold water on my face and run my wet fingers through my hair. It still looks disheveled, though. All in all, with the rumpled hair and uniform, it's only mildly obvious that I spent the night in someone else's quarters. Yep, it's only not obvious to a blind man.
Using the towel that is perfectly folded over the towel rack, I dry my hands off and leave the claustrophobic bathroom. Malcolm is just putting the finishing touches on making the bed. It's like a paragon of military precision. That old belief that you should be able to bounce a quarter on the bed is apparently still running strong in the Reed line of Royal Navy men. I contemplate for a moment about what Malcolm will think about my long-standing practice of pulling the covers back, straightening out the very noticeable wrinkles, and letting it be. It'll probably drive him insane.
"You don't look very captain-like at the moment, luv." He's holding out my shoes towards me, which I take, unsure if it's all right to sit on the bed in order to put them on. Malcolm notices my little problem and with a little chuckle nods toward the bed, indicating that it's okay.
"I don't really want to look captain-like right now."
And I don't. The moment I walk out his door, the real world begins again. Our little pocket of our own reality will be gone. A whole new set of problems will enter it. I bury the part of my mind that's telling me it won't work in the very back of my thoughts. The last thing I need right now is its warnings. One thing at a time. While I sit and bend down to put my shoes on, Malcolm has walked over to the cabinet alongside his bunk. He pulls a gray short-sleeve shirt out and slips it on over his head, hiding his exquisite upper body, much to my dismay.
"I wasn't complaining, Jon. I was just commenting. You look like…you."
Finishing my task, I stand up and pull Malcolm into my arms for a kiss. His hands are rougher than before and he's holding me tighter than ever. It's like he's afraid that this will be the last time we'll do this. The image of Malcolm standing facing away from me flashes through my mind. He didn't want to watch me get ready to leave. I'm now fully aware that I'm not the only one who's worried about the end of our reality.
Gently, I take a step back and reach up to caress Malcolm's face. There's so much emotion in his eyes. They're so expressive. I wonder how I'll ever be able to look over at him, standing stoically at his station, across the bridge without seeing him as he is now. Open and vulnerable. I tenderly brush my lips across his.
"I love you, Malcolm. Nothing is going to change that. I'm not going to leave you." I whisper this to him. He's so tense in my arms. I pull him closer to me until we're wrapped together in a needy embrace. "I promise."
This time, it's him who pulls back. He grazes a thumb over my lips before lightly kissing them. "I know, Jon…" His voice breaks a little. It's full of emotion and such a contrast to the calm and steadiness I'm used to from him. "I love you and I promise you, I'm not going anywhere either. It's taken me far too long to get here."
I remember thinking the same thing earlier about how long it took for Malcolm to let me in. Halfheartedly, we separate. Malcolm walks with me to the door. As my hand reaches out to press the button, he stops me by placing his hand on top of mine.
"Would you like to get together this evening? I could bring my copy of Ulysses and we could work through it…together."
It's a reminder of how our relationship began. I showed up at his quarters, one lonely night, with a PADD containing Ulysses, a novel that Trip had told me Malcolm had read. We confessed our mutual feelings that night. Somehow now, it feels right to continue what began it…us. A little piece of our personal reality that we can hang on to. Turning my attention to Malcolm's face, I can tell he's thinking the same thing. It's weird how instinctively I seem to know him and he seems to know me.
"I'd like that. How about 8:30 this evening?"
He releases my hand and nods. "Sounds good to me."
I give him a quick peck before the doors open and I exit. A quick glance around proves to me that there is no one in the corridor for the time being. A lucky break, I suppose. I'll take every break I can get. The part of my mind that seems to be questioning everything lately reminds me wonders how long the luck will hold out.
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Feedback Appreciated!
ahooper@gladstone.uoregon.edu
Author: Pretzelduck
Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own the Star Trek franchise. I don't own that much really. It's kinda pathetic.
-----
In the haziness of sleep, I realize I'm not exactly sure where I am. The bed doesn't feel like mine. The mattress is definitely a little harder. But the main thing that clues me in is the man snuggled against my side. Drowsily, I lightly brush a finger along the pale arm draped across me until I've reached the slightly ruffled dark-haired head that's using my shoulder as a pillow. I slowly entwine my fingers in the short hair, pulling him just a tiny bit tighter to me.
Malcolm. He's still here. I foggily remember that it's his quarters that we're in so I don't know where else he would go. But the fact remains that he's still here. I've never considered him to be a "turn and run" type of person. That would imply that he gives in to his fear but I've seen firsthand, too many times for my liking, just how fearless Malcolm can be. However, this is different. As cautious as he is in the line of duty, there is nowhere he is more guarded than in his personal life. His innate tendency to shut other people out gave me the impression that if someone, hopefully me, ever did get close to him; it would be then that he would run. He would give into his fear of his true self being exposed.
It turned out that my worrying was unnecessary. I was only half asleep for the longest time, waiting for the telltale signs that he had fallen asleep. But they never came. I felt a shudder go through him, a little while later, and decided to make my awareness known. It surprised me at first that he, eventually, told me what was keeping him awake. But his answers didn't startle me in the slightest. Normal, if a bit doubt-filled, questions.
I firmly believe what I told Malcolm. I don't know what I want to happen. Or how I want to approach everything. I'm not concerned about Malcolm's interactions with me on a work level. The textbook officer persona is too ingrained into Malcolm's mind for him to be anything else on duty. What frightens me are my own reactions. His disturbing penchant for getting injured and/or placing the safety of others before his own well-being without thinking is something that's bothered me since before I admitted to myself my feelings for Malcolm went deeper than professional. How many times now has he laid in Sickbay, recovering from being shot, stabbed, or otherwise wounded?
Before, I could put on the "concerned captain" front as an excuse of sorts to mask my response to the man that I cared for being hurt. Again. But now, it's different. It won't be Lt. Reed that's hurt. It will be Malcolm. The same Malcolm that I've held in my arms as we slept. The Malcolm that I've said 'I love you' to and heard those same words from. Frankly, I'm scared to death that I'm going to lose it somehow the first time I see him on the receiving end of a brutal attack. Or any time, for that matter. It's part of Malcolm's job description to be the ship's first line of defense, I suppose. I knew that when I took command of the Enterprise I would undoubtedly come across hostile species. I knew that I would be responsible for the people under my command. I also knew that members of my crew could possibly die out here. I just didn't know that I would fall in love with the man most likely to do so.
What I do know is this: I'm not letting Malcolm go. It's taken me too long to get as far past those barriers of his as I have. And I know I've barely scratched the surface. I know he could be injured, hurt, or even killed in the line of duty. But I rather spend every minute that I can trying to create my very own scene of destruction at the site of Malcolm's infamous wall. The alternative is never knowing the feeling of having him in my arms again. Honestly, that's simply unacceptable.
There is one other thing I know for certain. It's five in the morning. I've been waking up at five since I was a teenager. Since I'm awake, I'm pretty sure that's what time it is. The habit developed thanks to my high school water polo coach's love of morning practices. As a teenager, I despised it. Now, I find I appreciate it. Especially when the little practice gives me the opportunity to do some unobserved Malcolm watching. I wonder if he realizes that when he's in a deep slumber, he sleeps with his mouth open. I bet he would think it was undignified. I happen to think it makes him look adorably child-like.
I feel like I'm back in my biology class conducting observations on a class field trip. Some strange part of my mind starts prattling on: the subject sleeps with his mouth open, only seems to truly relax when resting, and doesn't move much during sleep. However, this last observation could be tainted by the fact that the observer is holding the subject rather tightly. The curious portion of my personality wonders just how light or heavy of a sleeper Malcolm is. That's one observation I haven't made yet. If I gently turn Malcolm onto his back, I should be able to prop myself up and stare at him some more or he's going to wake up and smile at me. A win-win situation.
A few moments later, though, I realize that I missed one little thing. Malcolm's bed is more than a tad smaller than mine. I didn't grasp the fact that we were right up against the edge.
"Bugger! How on Earth?"
Leaning a little bit over the side of the bed, I cautiously look over. Malcolm is looking up at me from the floor. He's entangled in the comforter that accompanied him in his tumble. And he doesn't look all that pleased with me. If I were a slightly more foolish man, I would tell him that he looks like he's pouting. Right now, I'm just glad that he's not anywhere near a phase pistol.
"Ummm…Sorry?"
He doesn't answer me; instead he pulls himself up until he's sitting on the floor with his legs bent at the knees in front of him with his forearms resting on top of his kneecaps. With a smirk I belatedly recognize as dangerously crafty, Malcolm quickly reaches out, grabs one of my arms, and pulls me off the bunk. I try to stop the fall but I've forgotten that my arm has managed to become numb since Malcolm slept on it all night. With a very undignified squawk, I almost land directly on top of him but he uses my momentum to keep me rolling until my back is flat against the deck. Despite the icy coldness of the metal and burgeoning throbbing in my back, I find that I don't really mind, though. Malcolm's now straddling me with a dark predatory gleam in his eyes. Very nice.
"Kicking me out of bed already, luv?" Am I really supposed to be thinking even remotely coherently right now? Malcolm is looking at me with a combination of lust and amusement. He's called me 'luv' and he's leaning over me in a way that's turning me into a hormonal teenager again. Lucidity is definitely not possible.
"I really didn't mean to knock you out of bed. I forgot just how small these bunks are." Telling him what exactly I was up to that resulted in his little fall doesn't strike me as a good idea.
His face gets very serious and he tilts his head to one side, like he's deciding my fate. It's like he's coming to some big decision. Suddenly, that endearing half-smile of his has replaced the somber one on his lips. "I suppose from now on, it would be better if we did this in your quarters."
The goofy grin that seems to always to burst out whenever Malcolm is around comes back in full force. Last night, I assumed that he would be more comfortable in his own space. He was, of that I'm sure, but now it appears that he's willing to try my cabin. I'll take unintended consequences like Malcolm in my bed any day.
"Probably. Although, I admit that this isn't too bad, either." Not by a long-shot. Especially when Malcolm replies by bending down and capturing my mouth in a kiss.
I can feel the fire that starts traveling along every nerve in my body as Malcolm's tongue continues to spar with my own. Restraint becomes impossible for me as I start to forcefully pull Malcolm even closer. There is just something about this man. So quiet and reserved. So passionately alive. So tender and witty. So very mine.
I can't help the urge to touch him everywhere. I run my hands along his arms and back, relishing the chance to finally explore every inch of Malcolm's compact, muscular body. It's enticed me for so long and now it's mine. I'm not letting him go. Ever.
**Beep…beep…beep…**
Well, maybe now. Malcolm seems to have similar sentiments. His lips cease their assault on mine and I can both feel and hear him mumble something about a "bloody alarm" as he pulls away and gets up to turn off the rather loud and annoying alarm.
I decide to get up as well so before Malcolm turns around, I can embrace him from behind and pull him close, wrapping my arms around him. Resting my head lightly on top of his shoulder, I feel him lean backwards until he trusts me to hold most of his weight. I love all of the little things he does that remind me of how much he cares. The little trusting things.
"I love you, Malcolm."
He sighs contentedly. Another thing I love. Relaxed Malcolm. As odd as it sounds, I can't help feeling satisfied and quite pleased with myself. I'm the one who got Malcolm to relax.
"And while I do love you, Jon, it's six in the morning. We should…you should…ummm…"
Six?! I guess Malcolm watching took up a little more time than I thought. I softly kiss Malcolm on the cheek. It's so lovable the way he gets all tongue-tied sometimes. I know what he means. Unfortunately. I let go of him reluctantly and start gathering up my clothing that I tossed on the floor and Malcolm picked up and folded last night. He's still turned away from me so I take the opportunity to check out the boxers-only view of Malcolm from behind. Better than very nice. Not good for actually attempting to focus on the daily running of a starship while on duty today, though. Hopefully, I'm not the only one whose thoughts will be a bit distracted today.
Malcolm is still turned away from me and I can tell by his body position that he's crossed his arms over his chest. It's almost as if he doesn't want to watch me leave. Oh, Malcolm…
I'm interrupted from my search for my socks and Malcolm admiration session by a snickering laugh.
"Are you ever going to stop checking out my bum?"
This time Malcolm isn't the one who's blushing. Caught, damn it. How in the world did he know? Never mind, the answer to my own question can be summed up into two words. Armory Officer. Especially when that armory officer happens to be one Malcolm Reed. I'm suddenly struck by the idea that I might never be able to predict Malcolm or what he's thinking or what he's going to say next. I'm starting to like that notion the more I think about it.
"Probably not."
Malcolm finally turns around and he's giving me that devilish smile of his. He walks past me and bends down next to the door. Now's he holding something out towards me. My socks.
With a smile, I unfold my shirt to inspect it. Slightly wrinkled but it's in far better condition than if it had been left in a heap. "Thanks for folding my things. I didn't consider that I'd have to wear them this morning."
He simply shrugs his shoulders and gestures towards the small bathroom. "It's a habit. You're welcome to use the lavatory to freshen up, if you'd like."
Lavatory and freshening up. There's that prim and proper vocabulary of his, again. I wonder if it's a byproduct of his schooling or of his upbringing. Out of the blue, an image of Malcolm as a young boy replaces my Malcolm in front of me. Posture perfect, not a wrinkle on a drab school uniform, his gray eyes still intense and observant. I wish I could spend some more time just talking to Malcolm this morning. I know that this won't be the last time that we're alone but it seems like the longer I'm around him, the less I understand him. The more of an enigma he becomes. The more I want to know him. Ruefully, I shake my head slightly to clear it. Little Malcolm disappears and once again, my armory officer is standing there looking at me like I'm more than a little mad. I believe he would probably use the word 'daft'.
"I'd appreciate it." I step towards the bathroom, sneaking in a quick peck on my way past him, and close the door behind me. Another thing I've forgotten. Just how much smaller the crew quarters' bathrooms are. And Malcolm has a single. My respect for the crew inches up a few more notches past the extraordinary level it's at already. I'll have to remember to recommend to Starfleet to increase the bathroom sizes just a bit. It's a good thing Malcolm's as small and graceful as he is. This is one tiny space. Yet another perk to being the captain.
After using the restroom, I quickly dress myself with the exception of my shoes. They're still in the main room next to Malcolm's shoes. I turn the faucet on so I can splash some cold water on my face and run my wet fingers through my hair. It still looks disheveled, though. All in all, with the rumpled hair and uniform, it's only mildly obvious that I spent the night in someone else's quarters. Yep, it's only not obvious to a blind man.
Using the towel that is perfectly folded over the towel rack, I dry my hands off and leave the claustrophobic bathroom. Malcolm is just putting the finishing touches on making the bed. It's like a paragon of military precision. That old belief that you should be able to bounce a quarter on the bed is apparently still running strong in the Reed line of Royal Navy men. I contemplate for a moment about what Malcolm will think about my long-standing practice of pulling the covers back, straightening out the very noticeable wrinkles, and letting it be. It'll probably drive him insane.
"You don't look very captain-like at the moment, luv." He's holding out my shoes towards me, which I take, unsure if it's all right to sit on the bed in order to put them on. Malcolm notices my little problem and with a little chuckle nods toward the bed, indicating that it's okay.
"I don't really want to look captain-like right now."
And I don't. The moment I walk out his door, the real world begins again. Our little pocket of our own reality will be gone. A whole new set of problems will enter it. I bury the part of my mind that's telling me it won't work in the very back of my thoughts. The last thing I need right now is its warnings. One thing at a time. While I sit and bend down to put my shoes on, Malcolm has walked over to the cabinet alongside his bunk. He pulls a gray short-sleeve shirt out and slips it on over his head, hiding his exquisite upper body, much to my dismay.
"I wasn't complaining, Jon. I was just commenting. You look like…you."
Finishing my task, I stand up and pull Malcolm into my arms for a kiss. His hands are rougher than before and he's holding me tighter than ever. It's like he's afraid that this will be the last time we'll do this. The image of Malcolm standing facing away from me flashes through my mind. He didn't want to watch me get ready to leave. I'm now fully aware that I'm not the only one who's worried about the end of our reality.
Gently, I take a step back and reach up to caress Malcolm's face. There's so much emotion in his eyes. They're so expressive. I wonder how I'll ever be able to look over at him, standing stoically at his station, across the bridge without seeing him as he is now. Open and vulnerable. I tenderly brush my lips across his.
"I love you, Malcolm. Nothing is going to change that. I'm not going to leave you." I whisper this to him. He's so tense in my arms. I pull him closer to me until we're wrapped together in a needy embrace. "I promise."
This time, it's him who pulls back. He grazes a thumb over my lips before lightly kissing them. "I know, Jon…" His voice breaks a little. It's full of emotion and such a contrast to the calm and steadiness I'm used to from him. "I love you and I promise you, I'm not going anywhere either. It's taken me far too long to get here."
I remember thinking the same thing earlier about how long it took for Malcolm to let me in. Halfheartedly, we separate. Malcolm walks with me to the door. As my hand reaches out to press the button, he stops me by placing his hand on top of mine.
"Would you like to get together this evening? I could bring my copy of Ulysses and we could work through it…together."
It's a reminder of how our relationship began. I showed up at his quarters, one lonely night, with a PADD containing Ulysses, a novel that Trip had told me Malcolm had read. We confessed our mutual feelings that night. Somehow now, it feels right to continue what began it…us. A little piece of our personal reality that we can hang on to. Turning my attention to Malcolm's face, I can tell he's thinking the same thing. It's weird how instinctively I seem to know him and he seems to know me.
"I'd like that. How about 8:30 this evening?"
He releases my hand and nods. "Sounds good to me."
I give him a quick peck before the doors open and I exit. A quick glance around proves to me that there is no one in the corridor for the time being. A lucky break, I suppose. I'll take every break I can get. The part of my mind that seems to be questioning everything lately reminds me wonders how long the luck will hold out.
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