A/N: Hello! Is there anybody out there...?

A few months ago, I finally watched ST:ENT, and surprisingly liked it a lot. Somehow, the characters stayed with me and after a while, I decided to do them some justice and 'fix' one of the... uhh... not-so-cleverly-written episodes. Let's see if this works out!

This story takes place in early-mid s4 and is canon except for a few tweaks. The prologue will tell you everything you need to know. This story contains slash. Don't like, don't read. It won't get graphic, though. The rating is mostly due to language and maybe a little bit of violence later on, since I like to beat up my favourites. This is the first time I've written romance or slash. It's also the first time I'm publishing without having a beta, since English is not my first language. If you find typos or weird grammar, feel free to point them out in a PM – I appreciate it.

And now, to the fun part. Enjoy!

STRINGS ATTACHED

PROLOGUE

The doors opened and Malcolm sighed at the state of chaos in the room. Clothes were scattered on the floor in a beeline from the bed to the bathroom, the bed was in disarray, and a stack of PADDs, papers and dirty plates was piled on the desk.

The door to the bathroom was ajar and the shower was running. Walking towards the bed, Malcolm refrained from picking up the discarded clothes. Not your quarters. His father would have a fit if he saw the state of the quarters of one of Starfleet's most acclaimed officers.

He never understood how Trip could live like this, but after a lot of arguing they had agreed on a deal: as long as Trip didn't bring the chaos to his quarters or the Armoury, Malcolm wasn't to complain. Also, he mused as he sat down and unzipped his uniform, he was partly responsible for some of the clothes lying around. And the rumpled bedsheets. He smiled. Yeah, his father would definitely have a fit.

As he stripped down to his boxers, the shower was turned off and he heard Trip rummaging through the bathroom.

"Trip?" he called, and immediately a shock of wet, blond hair appeared behind the door.

Trip flashed him his million-watt grin as he rubbed down his hair with a towel, revealing a very naked shoulder. "Honey, you're home!", he greeted and playfully fluttered his eyelashes. Malcolm felt the warmth pooling in his stomach, threatening to climb deeper much too soon, so he quickly rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smirk. Hopefully, Trip hadn't noticed the effects he still had on him.

Indeed, the Engineer sobered up immediately and looked at him with a guilty expression. "Yeah, sorry for bailing on lunch." Malcolm had already forgotten that Trip had 'taken a rain check' via comm only 2 minutes before their scheduled break. If his diversion worked, however, he wasn't one to complain; instead, he waved his hand, gesturing that it didn't bother him. "The Captain wanted some last minute changes in the bridge module interface and we had to overhaul the power flow of the system's grid. Chef sent us something later on."

Trip vanished back into the bathroom and Malcolm could hear him turning on the tap. Already knowing where this was headed, Malcolm got up and leaned against the bathroom door. Trip had just shoved a toothbrush into his mouth and met his gaze through the mirror.

"I heard things didn't go so smoothly."

Trip glared at the mirror and shrugged. He mumbled something unintelligible and moved his hands as if to strangle someone.

Malcolm had heard of another argument between Chief Engineer and their Captain today, which was by far the first one this week. Things had gone downhill a few days ago, when Captain Archer had decided to update the ship's interface systems after T'Pol's schematics, and they had hardly been able to keep out of each others' hair since.

Trip had been fuming endlessly, and rightly so – a system overhaul without the Chief Engineer's assessment or advise was a bold move from their Captain. Only Malcolm's meddling had calmed him down enough to actually look at the proposed (or, well, ordered) programmes.

"Don't be too cocky," Trip told him gloomily, barely understandable through the toothpaste. "We'll reroute power from your weapons. Cap'n wants the bridge systems running and we need more oomph."

That made Malcolm's good mood waver, indeed. "Why not drain power from the labs? There's not much going on there right now."

Trip gestured theatrically. So obvious, right?! "That's exactly what I said."

"And then?"

Trip spit into the sink. "Drama."

Malcolm sighed and made his way back to the bed. They had had this conversation numerous times over the last weeks in slight variations. It was growing frustrating, especially since things only seemed to get worse. For some reason, while Malcolm and Trip's relationship had drastically grown in affection, Trip and Archer's friendship deteriorated. Their aspiring and amiable Captain had developed an aversion against his former best friend, and tried to hide it less with each passing day.

While Trip was still busy in the bathroom, Malcolm let his thoughts wander to the past months, again.

After a few weeks into their mission to safe Earth, the Captain had become more distanced during their journey, broodier, weighted down by responsibility. At first, Malcolm and the crew had blamed it at the Expanse, and he had waited for Trip to work his magic and coax the Captain out of his depression. That had been a fatal miscalculation on his part – Trip had been grieving for his sister and his home town, and the two of them hadn't been able to help each other out as they usually did. Back then, T'Pol had been Enterprise's tower of strength and steered them safely through the situations where neither Archer nor Trip had been able to lead. When she lost control over her emotions, though, things begun to fall apart. Malcolm hadn't been much help either, negotiating his own blossoming feelings for Trip and the jealousy he felt towards T'Pol. Between her addiction and Trip's grief and anger, the Captain's guilty conscience slowly but steadily ate away at him.

With his primary view thanks to his rank, his position as bridge officer and very involuntary love-triangle-member, Malcolm had had the dubious pleasure of watching how the ship's command chain all but imploded. As they tried to keep up the pretence for their mission and crew's sake, the debris had fallen mostly on Trip and Archer's friendship – the Captain's behaviour towards Trip became stranger and more irritable with each passing week. He became a darker, moodier version of himself, quieter and and more aggressive. Still a good leader, as Malcolm would defend him anytime, still generous and considerate, but Trip had seemingly become an outlet for his pent up frustration, which backfired solidly as the hotheaded blonde wasn't shy in speaking his mind once riled up. The weekly dinners had stopped at some point (and Malcolm was sure that Trip had been glad about it, given T'Pol's presence). The pleasant atmosphere Trip and Captain Archer had created on Enterprise from the first day on had all but vanished in the course of a few months.

Still, they had done it. They had beaten the odds, destroyed the Xindi weapon, returned home, defeated some alien Nazis in 1944 on the way, and survived. They had married and built up the courage for new relationships. All the way, Malcolm had wondered when things would return to normal, when Captain Archer and Trip would finally get their act together and remember that they were actually friends.

But back in space, after shore leave, the opposite happened. When Archer began to openly challenge Trip's decisions about technical matters, and Trip in turn questioning Archer's competency in doing so, it became personal. The morale on board hit an all time low. To be fair, Archer had always encouraged his senior staff to criticise, and he and Trip had been at odds often. They'd argue about morals, about diplomacy, about appropriate names for newly charted nebulas (since 'porn 'stache nebula', although a crew favourite, was not an appropriate name for the first nebula found and named by humanity, thank you verymuch, Mr. Tucker). They had never before questioned each other's expertise, though, not with Trip being the obvious best Warp Engineer in the fleet and Jonathan Archer writing history every single day.

Trip pulled Malcolm out of his recollections rather abruptly, when he crawled into bed and unceremoniously flopped right on top of Malcolm. Hiding his delight at Trip's direct ways of showing attachment, he rolled his eyes dramatically – and secretly suspected that Trip didn't fall for this very obvious act of veiling his true feelings. The arm he had automatically wrapped around the Engineer might have betrayed him, too.

"So what happened?" Malcolm asked, addressing the topic that weighted on their minds.

"Not much," Trip answered, his voice muffled as he buried his face into the skin of Malcolm's shoulder. "I was an angel. He snapped at me. Business as usual."

Malcolm thought it best not to comment on the 'angel' part. "Are you sure you didn't do anything to set him of?"

Disgruntled, Trip looked up. It might've been a glare if the freshly towelled hair that hung into his eyes didn't give him the air of a pouting child. Malcolm suppressed a chuckle but felt his lips twitch.

"I was trying to do my job. I don't know why he wants to reroute the power from the weapons' system. He doesn't tell me anymore."

"And I take it you carefully reminded him about the dangers of leaving the ship unprotected?" Malcolm's brow furrowed. He didn't like that thought, even though he knew that the ship wasn't technically unprotected. In case of an emergency, auxiliary power would quickly boot without any conflict with Trip's engines – still, the weapons would need a few extra seconds to go online and Malcolm was too aware what a few seconds could mean in battle.

"Like hell I did," Trip sighed and finally rolled off of Malcolm and onto the mattress next to him. "I tried to get it done as quickly as possible but obviously it wasn't quick enough. And here we are."

"I'm sorry." Malcolm pulled the other man, who had made himself comfortable on his arm, closer. Really, what else was there to say? The tension between the Captain and his Commander had been palpable for anyone within ear shot and beyond.

"He changed," Trip said sombrely, not for the first time. "The Expanse changed him."

"A lot changed since we started for the Klingon homeworld," Malcolm mused, pensive.

He felt Trip's smile against his skin and his heartbeat sped up. "Some things for the better, I s'pose."

It had all begun with an awkward, alcohol-fuelled kiss a few weeks after their near-death experience in Shuttlepod 1. When they had been released from sickbay, they had joked about never spending time with each other ever again. Going separate ways, lying in a bed alone and enjoying the silence had sounded like a dream. Instead, they had found themselves at each other's door time and time again; sometimes with some flimsy excuse, sometimes simply with a bottle of alcohol. During one of the latter evenings, Trip had suddenly leaned forward and kissed Malcolm on the mouth. Malcolm, though taken aback, kissed back. One thing led to another.

It was as if sex had been something they had needed to get out of their systems. A couple of times during the last three years, they had found themselves in the shuttlepods in the middle of the day, or in some empty store room, groping and panting into each other's mouth as they ripped their clothes of. 'Shuttlepod 1 testing', Malcolm had called it afterwards, but never to Trip's face. They didn't talk about it – neither their friendship nor their working relationship was affected by the testing sessions.

No big deal, then. Situational homosexuality, his father would have called it (and probably scrunched his nose – Malcolm didn't really remember ever talking to his father about sexuality or, God forbid, about feelings). Sometimes, straight men turned to each other in environments without women, or when they couldn't engage with the present women. It happened all the time in the military, the Navy, or Starfleet. Neither Trip nor Malcolm had that many female crewmembers in their respective fields or among their ranks. Not a big deal. So Malcolm believed. Until it was a very big deal.

He didn't know exactly when his head not only equated the word warmth with their exuberant Chief Engineer, but also happiness. One day, the connection was there, imprinted in his brain, and he found himself seeking Trip's presence constantly. Trip's flirty nature and the effect it had on almost every life form they ever encountered became unbearable.

Malcolm had tried to ignore it and done so quite successfully. Then, about a year ago, a severely depressed Trip had told him about T'Pol and how she wouldn't give them a chance. Malcolm, who hadn't seen this coming at all, had done his best to be a good friend, had helpfully refilled Trip's whiskey glass, patted his back and asked the right questions at the right time (or so he hoped), all while his insides felt as if they were being slowly, mercilessly, crushed by an Andorian Cargo Ship.

Or, well, a Vulcan Cargo Ship. That fit better.

There had been no point in denying much, afterwards, and so Malcolm, understanding now that the recent lack of 'Shuttlepod 1 testing sessions' wasn't just because of scheduling conflicts, had watched from afar. Trip and T'Pol never happened. Trip had needed his fair time to accept her decision (Malcolm guessed he wasn't really used to being refused), and Malcolm had genuinely helped as much as a stuffed up, emotionally stunted Brit in love could.

They grew closer as T'Pol grew more distanced, and old patterns resurfaced. When she left for Vulcan, Trip and Malcolm spent their shore leave together in San Francisco, not all that invested in meeting women. When she sent a communiqué about her prolonged shore leave thanks to a honeymoon, Trip's eyebrow had merely twitched. When her shuttlepod docked, Malcolm and Trip just zipped their uniforms back up and refused to look at each other for a loss of words.

It was then that Malcolm finally broke the holy 'no talking during Shuttlepod 1 testing sessions' rule.

"How do you feel about T'Pol now?"

Trip stared at him confused, then shrugged. "I hope she's happy."

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know," Trip said honestly. He was the worst liar ever, and Malcolm always knew when he was telling the truth. "Not much, I think."

"Huh," Malcolm answered, and then kicked himself. "And how do you feel about me?"

It had been awkward at first. Man, had it been awkward. After a lot of 'I didn't think you wanted to' and 'Well I didn't know you even considered...', they had begun to move their 'testing sessions' to their quarters and afterwards stared at the ceiling uncomfortably, not able to sleep but not daring to talk. It had taken time to learn how to behave as a couple... The first time they woke up and left for work together, finding the appropriate way to say goodbye had been an impossible task: neither dared to lean in for a kiss yet, so Malcolm had slowly held up his hand for a handshake just when Trip stepped closer for a hug – in the end they had shared a very manly kiss on reddening cheeks while shaking each others' elbows. Trip still randomly burst into laughter when he remembered that moment.

They had improved since, and Malcolm thought they were doing quite well. When Trip had called him 'Darlin'' for the first time, a platoon of butterflies had exploded in his belly and it definitely wasn't only because of that sexy, deep Southern drawl that sometimes turned his brain into jelly.

They were, believe it or not, building a working relationships against all odds. They were happy... as long as one name wasn't dropped –

"It's worse without T'Pol," Trip mused soberly, and Malcolm immediately tensed..

T'Pol.

As much as Malcolm hated himself for it, as much as he wanted to trust Trip, T'Pol was a constant source of frustration and drama in their young relationship. Her presence on the ship felt like a threat to Malcolm, who tried his best to stay above it but couldn't. It didn't help that she was still the most stunningly beautiful woman he had ever seen. Or that the Science Officer and the Chief Engineer were constantly working together. Or that they shared some sort of bond that made them understand each other in some profound, existential manner Malcolm and Trip didn't.

They had talked about it endlessly, with Trip being honest to a soul-barring level and Malcolm feeling like a dramatic teenager. It had been bad when they shot longing glances across the room or openly fought like an old married couple in the Expanse – it was unbearable now, now that Malcolm knew what was on stake. Any time Malcolm walked into a room where the two of them were working next to each other and talking quietly, the ugly beast named jealousy raised its head and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He chose her over you before, it whispered into his ears and drew its claws into his heart. He will do it again. She will come around, they all do. And true,they had begun with casual sex as well, hadn't they? And Malcolm, too, had tried to ignore his feelings for Trip for a long time, just like T'Pol did. It's only a question of time, the jealousy whispered, patting his back in false camaraderie, you better prepare yourself.

"Malcolm," Trip said, impatience in his voice, "don't go there."

"Go where?" Malcolm was pulled from his musings.

"You can't be mad at me every time I say her name. We work with her. She's our superior."

At least he didn't call her 'friend' anymore in Malcolm's bed.

"I didn't say anything," he sighed. He didn't want to spoil a perfectly good evening, so he quelled the ugly feeling bubbling up in his chest and shifted towards Trip, drawing closer. "I guess she had a calming effect on him."

Trip's face, now very close to his, held an expression of suspicion, as if trying to find out if it was safe to continue. His mouth twitched, indicating that he thought the idea of T'Pol calming anyone down, in what manner oh-so-ever, was too ridiculous for him to take seriously. He didn't comment on it, though, wisely steering away from a topic that was so sore for Malcolm.

"He didn't even tell me how long she'll be on Tellar. I'm his second-in-command as long as she's gone and he won't even tell me how long."

It was unsettling, Trip was right. Five days ago, Captain Archer had announced during a senior staff meeting that T'Pol was to take part in a renowned science conference on the planet Tellar Prime. The news had been surprising to her as well, as a very slight movement of her left eyebrow had indicated. T'Pol hadn't openly discussed the matter with the Captain, but in a hurried conversation with Trip and Hoshi, she had expressed surprise at the Captain's decision. Still, her conference shuttle had taken off only a few hours later.

Archer and Trip had no buffer between them any more, no mediator or communicator to relay messages. Things had gone downhill quickly, and when the Captain had decided to implement T'Pol's system overhaul, of which Trip hadn't heard about before at all, no words of explanation had been spoken to him.

Malcolm wondered if the Captain had decided to do the overhaul during T'Pol's absence to get Trip out of his hair. Obviously Engineering needed their Chief to undergo the changes, and Trip had been working double shifts for a week now, trying to squeeze in his duties as temporary second-in-command as well (much less enthusiastically, though).

"There has to be some way for the two of you to make up," Malcolm mused. Trip and Archer had been friends forever, worked together for years, and managed to negotiate their friendship through tough situations, a considerable age gap and many cringe-worthy but necessary hierarchical dressing-downs. For someone who didn't make friends easily, Malcolm had watched their relationship enviously for a long time. It just didn't make any sense for them to now argue over nothing.

"I don't even know what to talk to him about, anymore," Trip thought aloud. There was a prompt between the lines, but Malcolm ignored it.

"You used to just hang out. Watch some game?"

"Or I could tell him about us."

So much for ignorance. Malcolm suppressed a sigh and looked at Trip. Another topic they were discussing almost every day and wouldn't see eye to eye. While they both agreed that it was too early to tell the crew, they differed when it came to the senior staff. Malcolm was perfectly comfortable keeping their relationship a secret from anybody, but Trip wanted to tell his friends. It would just make things easier, he argued. Most of all, though, Trip wanted to tell Archer, which in Malcolm's opinion was the dumbest idea ever, but spoke of the strong bond the two of them had shared.

"You're the only person in the universe who'd deliberately share sensible information with the enemy, Trip." Malcolm said therefore, smiling softly. "Please don't ever join Security."

Trip deadpanned. "He's not the enemy. He's just... having a weird phase? Maybe telling him could mend some bridges."

Trip and Archer had always shared their private lives even when their commissions on Enterprise brought them into a clear hierarchical structure, a thought that made Malcolm's skin crawl with uneasiness.

"I'm tired," Malcolm sighed, beat from his late shift and fed up with the same old conversations that wouldn't resolve themselves. "Let's sleep."

He felt Trip's grin before he saw it. Oh no.

"You mean, you're knackered?"

Of course the guy with the most ridiculous dialect in all of Starfleet thought it was funny to mock his perfect, eloquent and beautiful British English, and had made a habit out of sneaking in British slang, which he totally didn't get, and exaggerated Cockney pronunciation, which he got uncannily well (and which Malcolm was never ever going to admit) into their conversations.

"Shut up, Trip."

But the damage had already been done. "Why, can I arse you with it, after oooll?"

Malcolm groaned at the violated syntax and quickly rolled over on top of his idiot boyfriend, pinning down his arms and stared directly down into the grinning face. "Stop it!"

"So it is arsing you!" - "You can't - that doesn't even make sense!" - "Is it arsing you bloody?"

Any answers about bloody arses he might have given to the laughing Engineer beneath him was droned out by a too well-known sound.

"Commander Tucker, report to Sickbay immediately."

Malcolm dropped his head on Trip's naked chest. "Bloody hell," they both said, simultaneously. Malcolm groaned again at the many trials the universe was testing him with, and Trip snickered as he wriggled out from under him and picked up pieces of uniform from the ground.

"Lieutenant Reed, report to Sickbay, immediately."

Enterprise really was a bad place to start a workplace romance. At least, Malcolm thought drily as he watched Trip sloppily trying to shake out some wrinkles from a random shirt he found on the floor, he wouldn't do the accent during an emergency.

-tbc-

R&R, please!