Parallax
by Xenutia


PART ONE: STORMS IN STEREO

ONE


Hoshi Reed had a very clear memory of her first day - and night - on board Enterprise, one that had seemed inevitable in all the days before, momentous as it happened, and downright silly ever since. She had never told a soul of it, not Captain Archer, not Travis, not even the deeply unconscious lump in the bed beside her, but her reluctance to abandon the little university in Brazil three weeks early hadn't been because of the kids she taught. It hadn't been because Hoshi Sato - correction, Hoshi Reed - held to her word, although she did.

It had been because she was afraid of waking up in a strange bed on the first morning, with no idea of where she was.

The memory of her bright, unwilling awakening to a gunmetal ceiling all that time ago returned in all its tight-stomached glory when she awoke to the sound of deep breathing beside her, the kiss of warm air on her neck, the feel of his nose pressed into her shoulder and the unavoidable conclusion that she was naked in a room she had never before slept in in her life.

Oh joy, she murmured to the strange room.

It had taken some inventive reshuffling and hours of room swaps, but eventually Captain Archer had organised these quarters for them - it would make him a pretty mean captain, he had said, if he made the newlyweds squash their collective belonging into a single room. Trip had kindly taken time away from the warp reactor to alter the bunk to a double, and called it an early wedding present with a grin and a wink she instinctively hadn't liked and not considered so much kind as curious. She had spent much of the night waiting for it to start vibrating or something.

She twisted her neck and looked down at the dark head resting below her left ear, his hair adorably tousled, the swell and collapse of his chest pressing and releasing her side as he breathed. A part of her wished he had woken first; she imagined she might have felt a little less displaced, a little less lost in this unfamiliar room, had he been awake to tease her and tell her, with that sexy little twitch of a smile sending live sparks into his eyes, that she was beautiful when she did her panda impression. He held there was no such thing as smudge-proof mascara. But another part of her, the part that couldn't help but realise that for all his professional demeanour and his air of promise and protection she was sometimes the rock of the relationship, liked the quiet, unspoken power of just lying here, lying on her back with one hand softly strumming his spine, watching him sleep. It was nice to steal this moment and remind herself, now that every well-wisher and would-be godparent had returned to their own business and their own lives, that the overpowering ceremony and bluster of yesterday had been more than wrapping paper and a bow; that the pretty packaging had contained more than an empty box. It had contained this; new quarters, new name, new husband, new life. Hoshi lifted her head from the dented pillow and looked over the devastated tangle of sheets to the bundle of white silk lying strewn across the floor. Wrapping was part of the excitement, made the thing inside seem special, made it matter . . . but when all was said and done, it was the present a person kept. The paper and the bows, the tape and the tag, were soon forgotten. She doubted she would ever wear that dress again.

She was disturbed from her idle philosophy by the trill of the comm. Hoshi ignored it. It was impossible that anyone would disturb them this morning, impossible. Whoever was on the other end must have been trying to raise someone else, and pressed the wrong button by mistake.

Malcolm stirred as the sound came again, but didn't wake. Softly, slowly, Hoshi reached over his sleeping form and punched the button on the comm unit beside the bed. He murmured, and turned his face into the pillow.

What is it? she slurred. In his sleep, Malcolm grunted.

I'm really sorry to do this, Hoshi, but we've detected an M-class planet on sensors. It was the captain's voice, and apologetic didn't come close. It was enough to make Hoshi wonder, momentarily, if she gave the impression of being scary; but then the weight on her shoulder shifted, and she realised it wasn't her the captain was cautious of.

I thought this region of space was uninhabitable. Something to do with residual background radiation? This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Not when she had been only seconds away from waking Malcolm to test Trip's workmanship on the bed a little further. Not when the smell of him so close by her nose was overwhelmingly warm and woody and delicious. She had often baited him about it, teased him, told him his aftershave smelled like a spice factory . . . but secretly, she thought he smelled like home.

So did we. The Vulcan Database was quite explicit. But there's something there, Ensign. I'm going to need you and Malcolm on this one.

Hoshi hid her eyes behind her hand, as if that would somehow make him go away. Does it have to be us, sir? she pleaded. Our standbys are the best in Starfleet, aren't they? I'm sure Ensign Kerr is chomping at the bit to go in my place.

Believe me, Hoshi, I would if I could. But Ensign Kerr broke three of her fingers in the gym this morning and no-one else comes close to you. And I figured Malcolm will be far less annoying down on the planet with us than up here worrying about you.

Hoshi debated defending her husband on that one, and had all but opened her still tender mouth to do so, but she let it slide. Malcolm had never been the sort of man that would be so unprofessional as to let his personal feelings for her interfere with his duty . . . but if she had to go on this unexpected away mission, on so little sleep and all, it would be nice to have him with her in any capacity. She didn't intend to let her honeymoon be ruined completely; she didn't intend for them to be separated without cause.

Can you give us half an hour? she asked, with a strangled half-yawn.

Of course. See you in the shuttlebay. Archer out.

Hoshi punched the comm closed and lay quite still, breathing hard at the ceiling for a long, breathlessly cold moment. Her toes felt inexplicably icy. Her lungs strained in her ribs as she counted silently to ten in one language after another, waiting for the moment when she could find courage enough to wake Malcolm and break this new development to him - carefully. Once, he had been that by-the-book young officer that cherished his duty and his job more than anything. More than her. He had so nearly made that exact decision, almost six months ago to the day - the day when whatever flimsy barrier between them had been washed away by an alien storm, their restrained teasing laid bare. They had kissed in the rain that day, and Malcolm had overcome his fear of drowning . . . but there had been more, something neither of them had disclosed in their official reports. He had been so married to his duty that he had almost robbed them of this marriage; he had been prepared to let her die for what was right. But in the end, his trust in her had won; he had learned to break the rules, and had done so when it suited him ever since. The letter of the law was no longer his guide.

Hoshi kissed the top of his head, tasting a faint residue of hair gel. His hair had grown, since then, a rebellion easily concealed by the rigid styling he ritually subjected it to every morning; but it was there, and it said all it needed to. Once, he might have accepted these orders with inscrutable propriety, informing her that Trip's idea of a double bed would still be here when they got back.

He would have thrown aside the mangled sheets and stalked to the bathroom to be ready in half an hour. But that, like the fear of drowning and the inability to admit his feelings, had long since deserted him. Her free spirit, that was what she called him when the world turned away. If she woke him now, if she told him what the captain had told her . . .

He mumbled something into the wad of crumpled pillow, and stretched, his left arm extending outward across her ribs and tightening around her. She snuggled into him like a good teddy bear, and sighed into his hair.

Who was that, Hoshi? he said against her neck, but it took her exacting ears to make out those words from the string of incomprehensible syllables he made.

The captain, she replied cautiously, stiffening at the question.

Malcolm hooked his right elbow under him, and raised a bleary-eyed head to her, blinking frowsily like a mole in daylight. Despite the impending argument looming on the horizon, Hoshi found herself smiling. She knew she would never tell him as much, but he looked so very adorable like this; like a little boy, and not the carefully arranged tactical officer that winked at her from his station every day. Wishing us a happy honeymoon, was he?

Not exactly. She blinked prettily and arched her eyebrows in that way she knew he liked, praying last night's make-up wouldn't ruin the effect too badly. See, they've found an M-class planet . . .

he said, abruptly.

But . . . but Ensign Kerr broke her fingers . . . and he said they didn't have anyone else . . . She lowered her eyes, seeing a wall come down in his that warned her to say no more.

I'm quite sure that out of eighty-one people - not counting ourselves, of course - the captain could find somebody to fill in. He chuckled the latter half, and the momentary coldness left him as quickly as it had come. His very blue eyes looked up at her through those startlingly long eyelashes, and the moment passed like a crackle of static on a radio. Her mother had always warned her she would end up losing cohesion at the sight of blue eyes, or green, or grey . . . the women in her family had apparently shared and handed down this same weakness for generations now, this penchant for DNA far removed from their own, but so far Hoshi had been the only one to act upon it. She was only surprised she had fallen for a brunette and not a blond, by those parametres. I sometimes wonder if this crew is made up entirely of seven officers, a dog and seventy-six sightseers. Have you noticed how it's always senior crew that get to go on away missions? Especially Trip, Malcolm mused, randomly stroking his fingertips across the mole on her shoulder. Do you think the captain's trying to get rid of him?'

If he doesn't sort this bunk out later, I'll get rid of him, Hoshi shot back. It's sloping on one side.

That's because you're heavier than me.

Hoshi thumped him. Malcolm mimed a look of pain and collapsed on top of her, laughing uproariously; a moment later she felt his teeth sink tenderly into her shoulder, and she raised a hand and curled it around the back of his neck, urging his head to stay where it was.

(See you in the shuttlebay)
Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes left no time for intensive canoodling. Oh, but . . . surely a minute or two wouldn't hurt . . .

His teeth withdrew from her flesh, and he dragged himself up onto his elbows again, propped over her with an intense look of concentration on his face. You declined, I take it? The captain didn't order us?

I . . . She gulped, suddenly wishing she wasn't trapped underneath him. It made avoiding his glare so very difficult. No, he didn't order us, but . . .

Hoshi . . .

I told him we'd do it! Just this once. And I'm sure we can make the time up later.

Malcolm rolled off her abruptly, and the two lay side by side staring at the ceiling for a moment. The thirty minutes became twenty-five, then twenty.

You're right, you know, he said, at last. This bunk does slope.