Locking the virtual target in place, Malcolm stepped back and entered the firing protocol into the PADD. He glanced at Hoshi, who loaded the power cell into the phase pistol with ease and caressed the weapon almost lovingly. "Bloody lucky gun," he whispered to himself. He noticed a tension in her shoulders, but didn't say anything. With any luck, it wouldn't throw her score off. "Okay, Lieutenant. There's a thirty-second firing window on both weapons." Malcolm nodded toward the phase pistol, and then to the phase rifle on the table. "Ninety-three percent is passing." "I understand, sir." Hoshi nodded. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could go. Her stomach growled and twisted, and her heart ignored the close proximity of his warmth and the slip of his tongue. She was tired of torturing herself. It was time to turn the tables. "Proceed," he stated as he turned the routine on. With grace and ease, Hoshi fired at the projected targets, hitting most, but missing some. She kept mental note of her misses and her confidence wavered. Before she knew it, his clipped British timbre called time and the target disappeared. She looked down, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Assuming she had managed to get thirty shots off, she was nowhere near passing. Malcolm noted her score – eighty-two percent, and smiled as she huffed in frustration. "Not bad, but far from passing." She tightened her grip on the pistol. "I don't see how anybody can shoot anything with this thing. It's bulky and awkward and the grip just doesn't feel right." Tilting his head to the side, Malcolm watched as she walked over to the table and set the pistol down. She picked the rifle up and checked the aim.

"Again," Hoshi insisted, sighting thin air. Since she wasn't willing to wait for instruction, Malcolm turned the target back on and stood back. If she didn't do well with the pistol, what made her think she was going to be any better with the rifle? Thirty seconds clicked by and Malcolm watched his pupil fire with pinpoint accuracy. The program stopped and he looked down at her score. "Ninety-nine percent," he stated in amazement. Lowering the rifle, Hoshi straightened her shoulders. She placed the rifle on the table and tenderly stroked her fingers over the barrel. "Now this," she sighed. "This gives a girl something to hold on to."

His body responded to her husky tone and actions and he felt his uniform getting tighter. "You passed, Lieutenant. Dismissed," he stated firmly and turned away from her.

"But I only got eighty-two percent on the pistol," she said innocently, picking it up and pretending to check its settings. "Not bad, but far from passing." She turned his words against him as a small smile played across her lips.

He opened up a sixty-second window to better increase her chances of passing. He was in charge of the training and he could do whatever he damn well pleased. "Very well, then. Proceed."

Hoshi didn't know what was worse, actually trying to hit the targets or playing bad at it.

The sequence ended and Malcolm looked down at the score. "Sixty-four percent," he said, somehow managing to keep the note of astonishment out of his voice. He eyed her warily and noticed the semblance of a smile pass across her lips. Was she failing on purpose? Her score with the rifle was too –

"Is something wrong, sir?" she asked, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and smiling.

Malcolm took the pistol from her and checked the settings, noting that nothing was wrong with the weapon. He handed it back to her, placing his hand over hers and walking behind her. Activating the target, he spoke. "You need to relax your wrist."

Hoshi vaguely registered the puppet-like quality of her body as Malcolm aimed and fired at the targets. Her damn traitorous body leaned back against his solid warmth.

The round ended and Malcolm dropped his arm to his side, but didn't step away. He should have never touched her.

Sanity screamed at her to move away, but her greater motor functions wouldn't cooperate. His breath tickled her ear and her stomach clenched.

"What are you doing?" he whispered roughly, rubbing his cheek against her hair and trying to convince himself this was just another dream.

She twisted in his arms, her wide eyes seeking an answer to his question.

Crushing his lips to hers, he closed his eyes and groaned. Months of denial washed over him as he felt one of her legs wrap around his calf. Visions of tearing her clothes off and sating himself inside her depths spurred his actions as instinct drove him.

Her tongue pushed against his, demanding more, and he responded by giving it to her. He unzipped her coveralls, the headiness of desire clouding his judgment.

The communicator chirped and Malcolm pushed Hoshi away with a curse. Unzipping his sleeve pocket with a vicious jerk, he grabbed the offensive tool, flipped it open and spoke calmly. "Reed here."

"Malcolm," Captain Archer's disembodied voice called over the communicator. "I need to see you in my ready room."

Malcolm tensed, the Captain's voice effectively dousing any residual effects of the embrace. "I'm on my way, sir." He closed the communicator and walked over to the table and picked up the phase rifle, quickly disarming and putting it in a storage locker. He did the same with the phase pistol and turned to leave, suddenly stopping and looking over his shoulder.

"From now on, Lieutenant Gomez will oversee any trainings associated with my department," he stated flatly and walked out of the armory, reminding himself that Captain Archer didn't want to know of any problems between Hoshi and him.

Hoshi watched him leave and took the PADD off the table, throwing it at the door. What the hell had she been thinking?

The taunting voice of her conscience echoed, "You weren't. You were feeling."

--

Malcolm walked into the captain's office, his scruples egging him to confess his transgressions with the ship's com officer. "You wished to see me, sir."

"Have a seat, Malcolm." Jon motioned to a chair.

Looking at the chair as though it would bite him, Malcolm relaxed enough to stand at parade rest. "I prefer to stand, sir." He winced as he heard the guilt in his voice.

Jon stared at him for a moment and shrugged his shoulders, walking over to his desk.

Malcolm waited, wondering if the Captain already knew what had happened.

Sighing, Jon handed Malcolm a PADD. "Admiral Forrest wanted me to give this to you. He told me you would know what it means."