A/N: Hello peeps! And it is Merry Christmas. so I though I'd write a one-
off, Christmas fic. centred around our favourite armoury officer. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a single sprig of mistletoe.
Mistletoe
It was Christmas time back home on Earth, Malcolm Reed realised bleakly as he eyed the single piece of mistletoe hanging over the entrance to main engineering. He'd almost forgotten. Trust Trip to remind everyone - like he said, any excuse to have a party, even if that excuse was an outdated religious festival. Not that it was so outdated to Malcolm, but that didn't matter. He remembered distantly the first Christmas he had been able to really understand what was going on - and he smiled as he recalled himself, five-years old and painfully curious, questioning his mother on all the whys and wherefores of the winter celebrations.
"Mum?" The young boy called for his mother's attention, blue eyes wide with curiosity. "Yes love?" Mary Reed smiled down at her precocious little boy, at the same time managing to continue with the cooking - dinner for two. Her husband was still away, and wouldn't be back for Christmas this year. It was a shame, she mused, especially with Malcolm being old enough to ask questions about why his Dad wasn't home all the time, like all his friend's parents. It was hard to explain that his father would rather spend his time working on an outdated war ship than spend time with his family. "Why do we have. all this?" Malcolm gestured wildly to the colourful decorations which had suddenly sprung up around the house. Mary laughed and squatted down beside her son, her blue eyes, so very much like her son's, sparking with amusement. "Because its Christmas." She replied, knowing that she didn't have a hope of getting away with such a meagre answer. "But why do we have Christmas?" Malcolm asked impatiently, running a hand through his silky black hair, a defining habit for him even at that age. "Because. tell you what, if you let me get on with the cooking now, after dinner I'll show you a special book which my mother showed me when I was your age. It'll answer your question better than I ever could."
That night, his mother had laid a battered old children's bible in his lap. Obviously, he hadn't been able to read very well at that age, but the pictures had entranced him. Not that he had believed it was anything more than a story then - he still wasn't sure what he believed even now, decades later, Christmas was always special for him - the one day when his parents stopped arguing, and just got on, for his and Maddie's sake. But there was another Christmas memory he didn't look upon quite so fondly.
"Hey, Malcolm! Why don't ya dance a bit?" School disco. Year Eight - thirteen years old. Miserable. Too many girls. That's how Malcolm truly felt that night, and it didn't look to be getting much better. Bad music, bad dancing, girls with mistletoe everywhere, and now his friends were trying to bully him into getting on the dance floor. And then there was the karaoke to "look forward to" later.
"I am NOT dancing! Bad enough you forced me to come, let alone trying to get me to dance. You know I look like a fool whenever I try to dance." Malcolm grumpily told his friend, who was at that moment being pursued by a horde of girls with a single sprig of mistletoe between them.
"Where's your Christmas spirit, Malcolm?" Roared his friend, as he was dragged outside by the screaming girls.
"Left it at home." Malcolm muttered furiously.
"Hello. Mal." Oh, God. It was Cat Risby, the class "tart" who, for some reason, had made torturing Malcolm her own personal hobby. And now she was standing beside him, a sprig of mistletoe in her hand, an evil grin on her face.
And now, here he was, standing in the entrance to engineering, staring at the mistletoe, all too aware of the beautiful young woman standing beside him, a mischievous smile on her lovely face.
"Alright, Hoshi. Let's get this over with." *
A/N: He he he! Sorry. couldn't resist. Even though I am fervently against the Hoshi/Malcolm pairing. *Ducks as R/S shippers throw rotten fruit in direction of head* Anyway, Merry Christmas.. And please REVIEW! (Just don't flame. It is, after all, nearly Christmas)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a single sprig of mistletoe.
Mistletoe
It was Christmas time back home on Earth, Malcolm Reed realised bleakly as he eyed the single piece of mistletoe hanging over the entrance to main engineering. He'd almost forgotten. Trust Trip to remind everyone - like he said, any excuse to have a party, even if that excuse was an outdated religious festival. Not that it was so outdated to Malcolm, but that didn't matter. He remembered distantly the first Christmas he had been able to really understand what was going on - and he smiled as he recalled himself, five-years old and painfully curious, questioning his mother on all the whys and wherefores of the winter celebrations.
"Mum?" The young boy called for his mother's attention, blue eyes wide with curiosity. "Yes love?" Mary Reed smiled down at her precocious little boy, at the same time managing to continue with the cooking - dinner for two. Her husband was still away, and wouldn't be back for Christmas this year. It was a shame, she mused, especially with Malcolm being old enough to ask questions about why his Dad wasn't home all the time, like all his friend's parents. It was hard to explain that his father would rather spend his time working on an outdated war ship than spend time with his family. "Why do we have. all this?" Malcolm gestured wildly to the colourful decorations which had suddenly sprung up around the house. Mary laughed and squatted down beside her son, her blue eyes, so very much like her son's, sparking with amusement. "Because its Christmas." She replied, knowing that she didn't have a hope of getting away with such a meagre answer. "But why do we have Christmas?" Malcolm asked impatiently, running a hand through his silky black hair, a defining habit for him even at that age. "Because. tell you what, if you let me get on with the cooking now, after dinner I'll show you a special book which my mother showed me when I was your age. It'll answer your question better than I ever could."
That night, his mother had laid a battered old children's bible in his lap. Obviously, he hadn't been able to read very well at that age, but the pictures had entranced him. Not that he had believed it was anything more than a story then - he still wasn't sure what he believed even now, decades later, Christmas was always special for him - the one day when his parents stopped arguing, and just got on, for his and Maddie's sake. But there was another Christmas memory he didn't look upon quite so fondly.
"Hey, Malcolm! Why don't ya dance a bit?" School disco. Year Eight - thirteen years old. Miserable. Too many girls. That's how Malcolm truly felt that night, and it didn't look to be getting much better. Bad music, bad dancing, girls with mistletoe everywhere, and now his friends were trying to bully him into getting on the dance floor. And then there was the karaoke to "look forward to" later.
"I am NOT dancing! Bad enough you forced me to come, let alone trying to get me to dance. You know I look like a fool whenever I try to dance." Malcolm grumpily told his friend, who was at that moment being pursued by a horde of girls with a single sprig of mistletoe between them.
"Where's your Christmas spirit, Malcolm?" Roared his friend, as he was dragged outside by the screaming girls.
"Left it at home." Malcolm muttered furiously.
"Hello. Mal." Oh, God. It was Cat Risby, the class "tart" who, for some reason, had made torturing Malcolm her own personal hobby. And now she was standing beside him, a sprig of mistletoe in her hand, an evil grin on her face.
And now, here he was, standing in the entrance to engineering, staring at the mistletoe, all too aware of the beautiful young woman standing beside him, a mischievous smile on her lovely face.
"Alright, Hoshi. Let's get this over with." *
A/N: He he he! Sorry. couldn't resist. Even though I am fervently against the Hoshi/Malcolm pairing. *Ducks as R/S shippers throw rotten fruit in direction of head* Anyway, Merry Christmas.. And please REVIEW! (Just don't flame. It is, after all, nearly Christmas)