On a quick side note, I appoligize for this taking so long, as it has been written for some time, but I found myself having some difficulty when I had to edit it for the'R' rating on FFN. If you are of a somewhat wicked mindset (like me), and wish to read the explicit version of this chapter, it is posted on my live journal, at http COLON DOUBLE SLASH nyruserra DOT livejournal DOT com SLASH 11309 DOT html#cutid1 (just replace all of the capatalized bits with the appropriate punctuation and remove the spaces. You can also find the link for my livejournal in my profile and just navagate to this story using the sidebar on the left.)
Malcolm Reed, On Applied Murphaic Law
-Anything that can go wrong, will-
III
Non-Reciprocal Law of Expectation
-Negative expectations yield negative results
Positive expectations yield negative results-
Bright light against his eyelids was the first thing that registered. Waking up each day always held unusual risks when you're the Captain of the Earth's first deep-space exploration vessel. Would he be handcuffed to the cargo bay doors again? Or maybe this time he'd wake to find himself locked in a Suliban prison cell. Or better yet, back on Rura Penthe mining dilithium with a bunch of smelly Klingons.
Jonathan always felt that he had won some kind of victory in his day if he at least managed to start it off by waking up in his own bed.
Today, the odds didn't look too good. His whole body ached – he felt worse then he did the morning after his first meeting with Shran. Why am I sleeping up against the wall? It was at this point that he realized the smell he'd been trying to analysis was his own. Well, that at least doesn't rule out a night of drinking with Trip. First thing, then, is obviously a shower…
Cautiously cracking an eye open, he felt his hopes sink when he saw the walls of their cramped shelter closing in on him. He could feel Malcolm still propped up on his other side, where his head had come to rest on his shoulder, his breath moist and warm against his ear. Blinking slowly against the sudden swell of desire, Jonathan forced himself to concentrate on easing out from under the sleeping man without waking him.
"Good morning, Captain." Warm grey eyes regarded him steadily. Figures; even with cracked ribs, and enough drugs in his system to take down a mule, he's still a light sleeper, Jonathan thought, amused. It was just so… Malcolm. Taking advantage of the moment to study him, Jonathan noted that his eyes seemed clearer this morning, his expression more alert. There was a rare openness in his expression that Jonathan loved. He remembered a similar expression on his face during their last talk right before being lead out for execution on the a Civil-war threatened planet they'd gone to study. After their rescue, in the close confines of the Suliban cell ship, he'd remained playful, even teasing him for loosing his own communicator after everything that they'd just been through. He'd been prepared to die for his Captain's beliefs that day. Jonathan wasn't really sure to this day if Malcolm had bought into his high ideals of protecting a pre-warp culture, but he strongly suspected his reasoning hadn't mattered. It was enough for the Lieutenant to know that it was what his Captain felt was right. That kind of loyalty had amazed him. He just wished that his heart would quit insisting on taking it as a sign of Malcolm's regard for Jonathan, as opposed to a Lieutenant's duty to his Captain. He grimaced at the thought, and just like that, Malcolm's expression became closed and unrevealing. Damn.
The morning proved to be every bit as awkward as he feared. Malcolm was mortified by his behaviour of the night before, never mind that he'd been feverish and doped up like a prize racing horse on derby day. Any other person would have waxed poetic about some minor embarrassment, like the girl they used to know. Or even have the bad luck of having full blown delusions about little blue elves or some such rubbish; something they could shrug off in the morning, resigned to be teased about it for an indecent period of time, and chalk it up as part of the glorious experience of male bonding. Malcolm had to make a pass at his Captain. A true proverbial white elephant. He shouldn't be surprised, really. He had long since learned that he had some kind of cosmic bulls-eye on his forehead; if something could conceivably go wrong for him, it almost certainly did. It was all a matter of timing.
Malcolm tended to move though life as if he was the last man standing in a very hostile game of tag —Good British upbringing being what it was, and all.
Bill Jone's Theorem (Supplemental)
- A Smith and Wesson
beat four aces -
Malcolm watched the Captain stride agitatedly around their tiny shelter, arguing Malcolm's insistence that he take their one remaining phase pistol with him. His face was drawn into an intense frown as he paced, occasionally stopping to glare at his armoury officer's calm resistance. Jonathan Archer was a powerful man, the kind of man who wanted to hold the Gods responsible for not doing it right the first time. He was loyal and fierce, and was learning patience, albeit slowly. He was not suited to small spaces, or arguing with un-agitated underlings.
"Malcolm, I am not leaving you here without any kind of protection!" The Captain had always been the opposite of Malcolm, even more so the Trip. He was extroverted and volatile; he wore his emotions right out there where anyone could see them. That kind of strength made him a great leader. It also made him a loud opponent in a disagreement.
Wincing against the renewed throbbing in his temples, Malcolm regarded him coolly. "With all due respect, Sir, I think you fail to appreciate the situation. I have shelter, of a sort. We have seen nothing to indicate that there are any large predators in this local. No tracks, no spore, and absolutely no sign that this shelter has been used by any kind of large animal, despite it's size and the heat of the day. I should be fine. You on the other hand, will be exploring areas that are further out of the heat and that, hopefully, will contain water, and therefore, will have a much higher chance of containing hostile indigenous life forms. You know, I usually know my job very well, and I am of no use to you taking foolish risks. For once, please just trust me to do my job, and take the damn pistol!" He hadn't really meant to lose his temper like that, but the frustration of Jonathan's constant second-guessing was finally becoming more then he could take.
"Malcolm, I –" Malcolm watched him, but Jonathan seemed unable to finish his thought. He wasn't surprised. What was there to say?
"Just go. Find some water, if you can. I'll be here when you return." He gazed at Malcolm for a long moment, with an unreadable expression, before turning to go without at word.
When had things begun to go so badly between them? Malcolm wasn't sure. He supposed it didn't really matter now, anyway. When he had been trapped in Shuttlepod One with Trip, he'd spoken about how the Enterprise had begun to feel like home, how the crew felt like family… Jonathan Archer had been a big part of that feeling. His Captain's trust had meant everything to him, and he'd had it. That had slowly begun to change, and Malcolm was damned if he could figure out why. Slowly, missions in which he actually accompanied the Captain became fewer and fewer. His suggestions for safety measures or common sense security measures were railroaded. The Captain practically ran the other way if he tried to request a meeting in his Ready Room to discuss any of his recommendations. Perhaps he'd been a bit too open with his Captain. Perhaps he'd relaxed too much in his superior officer's presence, and had somehow betrayed the actual depth of feeling he had for him? He'd probably made the man uncomfortable, and being the type of man that he was, he was trying to 'diffuse' the situation without having to actually 'hurt' anyone's feelings. Malcolm would have actually preferred a blunt discussion behind closed doors, where they could clear the air, and he could get back to doing his job. Malcolm was fine with the fact that he couldn't have the man he lusted after. He understood his duty, and would never let his personal feelings interfere with his defence of the ship, or its personnel. He was a little bit hurt that Jonathan didn't trust him to do so.
-..-
In the end, Jonathan had taken the phase pistol with him, at Malcolm's unrelenting insistence, and headed out into the faint blue dawn. He hoped to secure a better shelter for the night at the very least, but what he really wanted to find was water. With one canteen between them and only another thirty hours or so before the Enterprise was likely to return, their situation wasn't desperate but could easily get very, very uncomfortable. If, however, his ship was unable to return on schedule, that source of clean water would become absolutely crucial. Jonathan's thinking veered away from the implications to his ship at that thought, instead forcing himself to think of this excursion as nothing more threatening then good survival sense.
Malcolm had of course insisted that he was perfectly able to assist him; and he probably was able to run circles around anyone else, injuries or no, but Jonathan didn't want to risk a return of the fever he'd had last night. If Malcolm were to have a relapse, he had no idea what he'd do; he certainly didn't have any more of Phlox's weird drug to give him. Another nagging responsibility he had to push down as something he could do nothing about.
It was actually somewhat of a relief to be away from the tempting Lieutenant, and he felt disgusted with himself that he could even be thinking of that right now, with everything that he should be worrying about instead. Resolutely, he forced his focus back to the task at hand.
He wished that he could say that the planet had been transformed in the morning's light, and if this were one of the adventure novels he'd liked to read as an adolescent, he was sure it would have been. Instead, he felt, the planet was even more ugly and unforgiving then it had first seemed when he'd woken up yesterday. The only difference, as far as he could tell, was that there was more life stirring in the relative coolness of the early morning, and he saw several more of the strange antlered jackrabbits he'd noticed yesterday, and decided to take that as a good sign, since they had to be drinking something.
The vine-like trees rose from the hard ground sporadically, like the remnants of a bizarre petrified forest; this whole region must have looked very different once. He had moved into some kind of basin, what probably had been a small, but deep lake. He wondered if the Kreetassan's had any record of the land before it had changed so dramatically. Maybe it was the result of their ancestors' actions that had left the planet like this – war, or pollution, maybe.
He was so lost in thought he never registered the unassuming avian cry until it was practically on top of him, sounding harsh with triumph.
-..-
Sweat trickled along his temples and tickled the soft skin along the small of his back. The heat was beginning to return, Jonathan noticed. He'd have to find shelter soon, but he hadn't seen much for caves in the open area of the basin, and with the suns almost directly overhead, there wasn't even much to be found for shadows. He supposed —
The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, and a tingling sensation crawled along his scalp. Some residual Neolithic instinct was sending messages to his hind brain, and then were getting more insistent all—
Jonathan stopped thinking and dove for the loose-packed ground. Wind rushed over him, marking the almost silent passage of some huge leathery ornithoid. The air it left behind smelled coppery and sweet, reminding Jonathan of rotting oranges and blood.
Adrenaline surged through his system, driving him to his feet and behind the only cover in his vicinity. He was breathing hard and fast, blood pounding in his ears as he brought his pistol up and wheeled around to search the sky for his attacker.
A harsh cry, strangely small in the still air was his only warning before it was diving at him, feet lined with razor –like bony protrusions outstretched to cut him down where he stood. He pressed the trigger, hard, squeezing off three shots, before the nightmarish creature was wheeling away, to circle again, looking for another opening. Jonathan could see where his phaser blasts had bit deeply into the flesh, to drop thick, steaming green liquid upon the landscape below.
Jon didn't think he'd done it any serious damage, and he'd hit it at point blank range. He wasn't likely to get another opportunity like that last one; the creature knew to be wary in its approach now. He needed a less exposed position, quickly. Watching carefully, he waited until the avian's spiral was at its furthest arch from his crouched position, and took off, sprinting hard for the dubious safety of the ancient bank, where the petrified trees should interfere with the large creature's flight.
He could hear it now, wind rasping like tearing paper over it's leathery wings as it glided, the sound coming closer, though Jon didn't dare turn to look, when the ground suddenly fell away, and he was sliding, blinded by dust and dirt, choking and spitting as he landed in a painful heap on hard-packed sand.
An outraged scream filled his ears, as he forced his aching body to roll, expecting attack at any moment; sure the creature would be on him before he could even get his pistol back up to defend himself.
The attack never came. Minutes went by, with the only sound in the dusty silence the harsh barking of his own breath. What had happened? Where the hell had it gone? It was cooler here. - The baking glare of the sun wasn't working to overheat his tired body anymore, and he had the remembered sensation of falling, sliding, down –
-..-
When Jonathan had come back some five or six hours after his abrupt departure, he found Malcolm sitting out front of the shelter, calmly attempting to sew a rip in the arm of his uniform. He watched him in astonishment for a few minutes. His purple-blue jumpsuit was peeled off down to his waist so that he could twist it enough to work on. Jonathan allowed himself a moment to watch him, unobserved. His compact body was lean and hard, without an extra ounce anywhere to mar its efficiency. Sparse dark hair trailed from his chest down a flat stomach, and followed a trim waist to disappear invitingly into the remaining zip of his coverall. His dark hair was spiky, as though Malcolm had been running his hands through it unconsciously. He looked adorable like that, the ruffled hair making ruining his not-so-perfect grooming. Jon grinned, and moved to join him.
"Expecting an inspection, Lieutenant?"
Not taking his eyes off his task, Malcolm replied, with a ghost of a grin, "An officer at his best is always clean and pressed. Surely you had that drilled into you at the Academy?"
Stifling a laugh, Jonathan eased himself onto a nearby rock. "You're actually trying to get another Eagle Scout badge, aren't you? Not satisfied with out-achieving me by three, you have to make it four – Sending me out to do all the really dirty work was just part of your master plan."
"That's it, I'm afraid you've caught me; But it's too late, you know."
"Oh, it is, is it?"
Malcolm answered in a perfectly mater-of-fact voice, "Of course. I've always been better looking then you. " He watched Archer's startled expression from the corner of his eye as he finished mending the tear. After a moment, Jonathan burst out laughing. It was a good sound. A comfortable one that had been lacking between them since this ghastly mission began. Putting away the tiny sewing kit, he turned to look properly at Jonathan for the first time.
"Good Lord, what on Earth happened to you?"
-..-
Jonathan knew that he probably looked more dead then alive at this point. He was filthy, with sand and grit worked into his clothing in so many places he was beginning to feel as though his skin were being slowly sandpapered as he moved. His muscles ached from the fall, and equally difficult climb back to the surface, and it was all he could do not to think longingly of hot showers and skilful fingers gently rubbing his abused body until he turned to goo. He groaned softly and allowed his head to fall forward between his loosely clasped hands; to ease the strain, he told himself - most definitely not because he was even slightly embarrassed by the stupidity of his escape.
"I fell," he mumbled
"Pardon?" He could feel Malcolm staring at him.
"I fell - down a hole, if you must know, Lieutenant."
Malcolm just watched him with narrow eyes, waiting expectantly.
He gave in eventually, detailing his small adventure, while trying to gloss over the ignoble finer points.
"A cave?" Malcolm asked intently. "And you're sure it was completely undisturbed by these large raptors?"
Jonathan gave Malcolm's completely characteristic reaction the amused smirk it deserved. "More of a cavern, really; and I'm here, aren't I?"
Malcolm waved that off, and continued his interrogation.
-..-
It was just beginning the transition from evening twilight to dusk when Malcolm finally struggled down the craggy terrain towards the Jonathan's cavern, and the promise of fresh water. Their canteen had grown very light by the time they had gotten within a kilometre of the place, and only the promise of the luxury of having enough water to actually wash his grimy face had kept him moving at all. His head throbbed with every step, a fact he was firmly keeping to himself, and his side ached with the strain of supplying oxygen to his starved lungs.
Thankfully, the surrounding structure of the underground cavern had forced the ground under Jonathan to give way gradually, making it possible to climb down carefully, without too much struggle. The opening was narrow; Jonathan and his bloody horseshoe must have sprinted over just the right spot to trigger the cave-in of what must have once been part of an underground waterway. The water had obviously receded since then leaving behind a large, hollowed out chamber with a soft sandy bottom and strange domed ceiling.
His tactician's soul sang. There was no sign of tracks in the sand, other then Jon's, or scat, to indicate that any animal had every made its presence known here. At the back of the chamber, Jonathan showed him where water still seeped into a couple of small stone depressions, a sluggish current keeping the water renewed and fresh as it drained endlessly back to some stygian sea deep within the planet, and at that moment Malcolm felt it was quite possibly the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.
Some quick scrambling and a bit of hard work, and their new shelter was as comfortable as a sandy hole in the ground could be, Malcolm supposed. They found some thick, almost petrified roots of some sort in the debris near the collapsed entrance. With a bit more work, they piled the fibrous shoots in a make-shift fireplace dug into the sandy floor and edged with rounded stones collected outside. Using the phase pistol to ignite them, they sat back, content to eat their bland ration bars while enjoying the luxury of a real campfire.
"Well, Malcolm I guess we don't need to worry much about posting a watch here, so I think even you can relax your paranoia and sleep soundly tonight, like normal people."
It was said teasingly, with no hint of malice, but it gave Malcolm an opening to clear away something that had been gnawing at him more and more since in recent months. Coming to a quick decision, he spoke quietly, "I know you don't regard my abilities very highly, Captain, and I wish I knew why that had changed." Watching Jonathan, he could see that he had his full attention, so he continued, a bit more firmly, "You hand-picked me for this mission, and I guess somewhere along the way I failed to live up to your expectations. I know I've done a damn fine job for you, though, and the safety of your ship and its crew has always been my highest priority. At what point did I lose your trust in me?"
Jonathan looked away from him for a moment, and when he looked back, Malcolm could see on his face that he understood exactly what the he was talking about. "Malcolm, I think very highly of you as an officer, and as a friend. There is nobody who I would rather have serving at my Tactical Station then you. I have always been proud to have you on my ship."
Malcolm had to sternly push down the small thrill of pleasure at this praise, and doggedly continued. "Why didn't you want me on this mission, then? You've practically made me impotent on the ship by your lack of regard for simple safety measures, you know. Though, I have noticed that you show a lot less reluctance when I assign one of my officers to accompany you in my stead. You're quick to order me to accompany the Sub-commander, or Ensign Sato, but you don't seem comfortable in my presence. Why?" Malcolm steeled himself for what was likely to be the Captain's answer, and waited.
Jonathan Archer looked at his hands, clasped between his bent knees, as the sounds of the fire filled the cavern If it wasn't for the air of contemplation in his gaze, Malcolm would have thought he was avoiding the question. He seemed to come to a decision, and looked up to catch Malcolm's eye before speaking, his deep voice filling the cavern.. "You're right, Malcolm, I have been against the idea of having you on an away mission with me, especially in small groups. I'm sorry I made you feel that it was because I ever doubted you abilities to perform your duty, but it was the only way I could perform mine."
"I don't understand." Malcolm said it carefully, trying to suppress the dawning suspicion growing inside him.
Jonathan chuckled, dryly. "No, I don't suppose that you do." He looked away briefly. "I began developing feelings for one of my officers a while ago now. It started off as fairly innocent, but the last half year or so, it's become a lot harder to ignore. So I try to limit my contact with them, try to avoid situations when we'll be alone together, or in small groups where I might do or say something that would make them uncomfortable." He dropped his head, allowing his shoulders to slump, staring hard at his clasped hands. His voice, when he spoke, was resigned. "This is about my inability, Lieutenant, not yours."
Paul's law
- You can't fall off the floor. -
Both men were silent, eyes straying to one another, only to be quickly averted once caught. Finally, Malcolm spoke quietly. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" He asked it carefully, as though testing an idea.
"That certainly wouldn't have been appropriate. I'm your commanding officer out here, Mister Reed. What if I approached you and you didn't have the same… regard for me? What kind of position would that put you in? I can't take the risk of forcing one of my crew in that kind of situation, no matter how much I may want to."
Malcolm regarded him for a moment. "I think that that's an excuse."
"Lieutenant, I'm the Captain of a starship. This is not some Earth-orbiting vessel, were a port is only a few hours away when things go wrong. I absolutely cannot abuse my position by 'making a move' on one of my officers, it wouldn't –"
The feel of the armoury officer's mouth against his own prevented him from continuing his train of though - it prevented him from thinking at all.
Malcolm's lips were cool and rough from the exposure to the sun, and his kiss was firm and lingering, though he made no attempt to deepen the contact. He seemed content to massage Jon's lips with his own, thoroughly imprinting the feel of Jon's breath on his face and his mouth moving beneath his, before pulling back slightly to regard Jonathan with an almost predatory smirk.
When he spoke, his voice was husky, and confident. "I think that that definitely counted as the first move, Sir, so I think it's time you kindly pulled your head out of your arse and did something about it."
Wonderingly, Jonathan reached out to run a hand over Malcolm's cheek, rasping his fingers lightly over the stubble he encountered. Malcolm leaned into his open palm, watching Jonathan's green eyes as he gave him a deliberate smile, inviting him to be bold.
With a soft growl, the almost-sound vibrating deep in his chest, Jonathan surged forward to burry both his hands in Malcolm's dark hair. Using his new leverage, he pulled back, tilting Malcolm's face to lay teasing kisses along his face and neck. He took the time to thoroughly explore the high cheekbones, wide forehead and the sensitive skin along the jaw, at the junction of neck and ear, earning an encouraging sigh when he sucked the skin lightly against his teeth before leaving off to kiss his way to the corners of Malcolm's mouth. Slowly, he brushed his lips lightly along Malcolm's full bottom one, and then pulled away, enjoying Malcolm's soft groan of disappointment.
Malcolm's breathing was ragged, softly rasping in the charged air between them. Neither of them spoke as Jonathan regarded him, cognisant of the other man's injuries as he contemplated his next move. When Malcolm moved to manipulate the zipper of his uniform, Jonathan allowed him to manoeuvre it down his chest, twisting out of his grasp when it reached his waist. Malcolm ran his hands caressingly over his arms, shoulders and stomach as he helped Jonathan remove the top half. Jonathan sighed, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of Malcolm's slightly rough and calloused hands running exploring over his exposed skin, lingering over some particularly sensitive areas until he had Jonathan almost gasping for air with just his touch. "Mal –" He said it almost pleadingly, not sure what it was he was asking for, but needing to know Malcolm was okay with this new direction, that he wasn't feeling the strain of his injuries too much to continue.
"Shhh – it's alright, Jon. I'm fine." Malcolm seemed to know instinctively what he was asking, speaking reassuringly before Jonathan could find the words to articulate his concern.
Leaning his forehead against Malcolm's collarbone, he nodded against the exposed skin. When had he done that? The scent of sandalwood and musk was floating off Malcolm's warm skin, invading his senses. Everything was becoming lost in a haze, with only the soft mummer of Malcolm's encouragements, and the hiss and popping of the fire punctuating the silence.
Malcolm had started to tug the half-discarded jumpsuit from his hips, his touch shaking slightly, though Jonathan was too far gone to wonder if it was from lust or strain. Carefully he manoeuvred it down Jonathan's kneeling form to get it down to his knees, as Jonathan panted, trying to focus on what was happening. This had to stop, Malcolm really wasn't strong enough for this, but there was no way in hell he could make himself back away now. His body slowly burned under his teasing touches, his eyes stripping him almost dispassionately in the flickering light.
"This has been building for too long." Again, Malcolm spoke before he could even begin to formulate his objection, giving him permission for what he was about to let happen.
Still, he had to try. Shifting so that he could look at Malcolm's face, bronzed by the firelight, he smiled tenderly, opening himself to this man in his appeal. "Malcolm, you're not well enough for this." Stop me, because God help me, I can't stop by myself.
Malcolm's tone was sharp; a harsh contrast to the soft, seductive rasp of a few minutes before. "Forgive the insubordination, Sir, but sod off. I'm bloody well enough for this. But I am most definitely not well enough to sit here arguing with you!"
Any further argument Jonathan may have made was lost as Malcolm again took control of the situation. The sand was cool under his warm skin and he found it a tantalizing contrast to Malcolm's heated contact as they moved together in the wavering firelight. With wicked skill Malcolm manipulated his body, stretching him out for his pleasured torment. He was brought to the brink of sanity, and he felt as though his whole world had narrowed to that agonizing, burning touch, and he heard himself begging in a voice that sounded like whiskey poured through glass.
"You're just going to have to be patient, Jon." Malcolm's voice was tinged with affection and amusement, but there was strain there too .
"Remind me to confine you to quarters when we get back, Lieutenant. For Insubordination."
The crackle and hiss of their small fire was the only sound in their shelter, aside from their soft moans as they switched from one form of communication to another, more primitive. Jonathan watched the flickering shadows of Malcolm's lean body move across the strangely rounded stone ceiling above him. He was completely lost in the surreal sensation of having the other man surrounding him so completely, and when he would have closed his eyes against the flood of pleasure, Malcolm commanded them open, sweat beading on his high cheekbones and down his jaw.
"Open you eyes Jon." The command was panted out harshly, breath too short for speech. "Don't you - don't you dare - keep them closed."
When they finally lay entwined on the floor of the cavern, Malcolm allowed himself the luxurious feeling of simply exisitingin the moment before pulling his thought together and pushing himself up on his elbows. Still panting harshly, he looked down to see Jonathan's green eyes regarding him with fond amusement.
"For someone who was so insistent that I keep my eyes open, you don't follow your own rules too well, do you?"
Malcolm gave a contented laugh, his lips quirking in a small smile. "I guess I'll just have to try harder next time, now won't I?" Pain flared up at the movement and Malcolm winced against the stinging burn. The contented atmosphere was immediately lost as Jon's face clouded.
He tried to sit up. "Malcolm –"
"Don't. I won't sit here and listen to you ruin this with regrets. I'll be fine. I've had far worse, I assure you. And if I'm going to suffer Phlox's ministrations for a little longer then normal because of what's happened here, I will gladly accept it as the price for what I – and I hope, we, have gained."
Jonathan grinned at him, almost shyly. "Phlox will think you've hit your head. You may have him very worried if you cooperate too much, sweetheart. I wouldn't want you to end up in Sickbay even longer, while he runs a battery of tests on you."
"No?" He asked playfully, revelling in the endearment, and stretched languorously, despite his protesting ribs, allowing skin to pull tight over his abdomen, drawing attention to his still partially erect cock. The look on Jonathan's face was worth it anyway.
"I have some rather involved plans for your immediate future, Mister Reed, and I don't plan on waiting any longer then absolutely necessary to follow through with them." Jonathan pulled Malcolm's compact body down to his, tucking his head beneath his chin to speak against his hair. "I seem to recall having ordered you confined to quarters upon our return."
"Oh, and this helps you further your plans for me? Locking me away?"
"I didn't specify whose quarters, now did I?" Jonathan leered.
For once, maybe his disastrous tendencies had worked in his favour. After all, look at all he had gained from this one.
Or maybe it was just because Jonathan was there with his horseshoe, after all. Malcolm decided that for once, he didn't care.
Some people just have all the luck.
-..-
Malcolm was sprawled comfortably in bed, enjoying the beautiful freedom of movement that had come with a thorough visit with Phlox upon his return to the Enterprise. His shoulder was completely healed, only a faint yellow discolouration lingering to show what had happened. His ribs were no longer tender, and Phlox had agreed that if he continued to take it easy, he could expect to be back on duty in as little as three days.
For once, Malcolm was content to wait; especially when it gave him so much extra time to spend with Jonathan.
Jonathan stirred against him, kissing his way up his neck to his ear, the action more affectionate then intended to arouse. "You know Malcolm. I've always wondered where in the world you got your, well, rebellious streak. I mean, I know all the Reed men before you were in the Royal Navy ….
Malcolm flipped over, to lie next to him, on his stomach. "Actually, I always sort of admired one of my great-great-great uncles. He was in the military too, of course, but he actually went into the Air force in America. I've seen pictures, and I even favour him, a bit.
Jonathan smiled. "Well, he must have been a good looking man, then." He got a playful swat for his efforts, before Malcolm continued.
"He was an engineer, and was very well known to have worked on several projects for the country's space agency of the time." He paused, while Jonathan reached over to the bunk side table for his ice tea. "Strangely enough, he's actually remembered most I believe, for codifying some rather amusing advise and adages."
"Oh? What was this meta Reed's name?"
"Murphy. Capt. Ed Murphy."
Jonathan nearly choked on his drink. He looked at Malcolm carefully, for any signs that he was somehow making fun of him. "Let me get this straight: Your family hero is, in fact, perhaps the ultimate pessimist of all time? The one who says everything will go horribly, and when it rains, it pours?"
"Actually, after having served here on the Enterprise, I've rather come to think of Uncle Murphy as something of an optimist."
Malcolm watched, bemused as Jonathan dissolved into gales of laughter.
Somehow, Jonathan felt, he really should have known.
The End
Anthor's Note:
All the laws and theories posted in this fic are actually quoted from Murphy's Law: and Other Reasons Why Things Go Wrong! by Arthur Bloch, 1977. In the forward, it actually tells the story of a letter recieved during the research phase of the book;
Dear Arthur Bloch:
Understand you are going to publish a book, Murphy's Law - And Other Reasons Why Things Go Wrong. Are you interested in including the true story of the naming of Murphy's Law?
When the author replied in the affirmative:
The event occurred in 1949, at Edwards Air Force Base,
Muroc,
California,
during Air Force Project MX981. This was Col. J.P. Stapp's
experimental crash research testing on the track at North Base. The
work was being accomplished by Northrop Aircraft, under contract from
the Aero Medical Lab at Wright Field. I was Northrop's project manager.
The Law's namesake was Capt. Ed Murphy, a development engineer from Wright Field Aircraft lab. Frustration
with a strap transducer which was malfunctioning due to an error in
wiring the strain gage bridges caused him to remark - "If there is any
way to do it wrong it will be" referring to the technician who had
wired the bridges at the Lab. I assigned Murphy's Law to the statement
and the associated variations.
...A couple of weeks after the "naming," Col. Stapp indicated, at a press conference, that our fine safety record during several years of simulated crash force testing was the result of a firm belief in Murphy's Law, and our consistent effort to deny the inevitable. The widespread reference to the law in manufacturers; ads within only a few months was fantastic - and Murphy's law was off and running wild.
Sincerely, George E. Nichols
Reliability and Quality Assurance Mgr.
Viking Project
Jet Propulsion Lab - NASA