Sato

Well, so that's that, as far as the Tuckers are concerned.

That scumbag of a cousin gets away with what he did, nobody gets to know about it, and Malcolm just has to live with the consequences and keep his mouth shut.

Ellen accepted what Trip told her about the three of us with surprising equanimity. She did say that it would probably be for the best if the knowledge went no further, but I got the feeling she was kind of honored that we trusted her with it. I wouldn't be surprised if she had other questions, maybe some time when things have calmed down a little more and we get another few minutes' privacy, but I know that Trip feels better for getting it off his chest; and even though it was undoubtedly a big risk he took, I'm proud, in a way, that he didn't hide what the three of us are doing like it's something he ought to be ashamed of.

It's not 'that' as far as I'm concerned, though, because I can smell a rat. A little dark rat with neat little paws and sharp teeth, who's usually found behind Enterprise's Tactical Station when he isn't in his favorite nest in the Armory.

Admittedly it's horribly plausible that he'd refuse to press charges, because it's totally Malcolm to want to shoulder all of the burden himself. If his silence can keep all this hushed up and the Tuckers out of the papers, then he'll do it for Trip's sake.

So yeah, I'm with it so far.

But there are a few things he hasn't explained, and until he does – and I know him well enough to tell when he's trying to pull a fast one – then this is not a closed incident.

No, Malcolm Reed, you are not getting away with this.

So don't even think about trying.

=/\=

I wait till late evening, after we've all eaten dinner and the district nurse has called in to check Malcolm's dressings and remove his catheter.

She's told us that he has to move, even though it will be painful. The more he moves the less he'll stiffen up from his injuries, so he has to push himself as hard as he can. She undoubtedly doesn't know him, or she'd have been more insistent that he shouldn't push himself too hard.

A couple of times during this lecture his eyes drifted to mine, especially after the parts about 'stiffening up' and 'pushing as hard as he can', and even Trip had to sit there with his mouth folded in to stop himself laughing out loud.

The nurse helped him to turn over, and now he's lying back – very gingerly – against soft pillows. Trip has escorted her downstairs like the Southern gentleman he's so fond of reminding us that he is, and will be back up again shortly with the tea-tray. In deference to the patient's debilitated state, we've even ordered in some special English breakfast tea to help him get his strength up again.

When the door finally closes behind her, Malcolm heaves a sigh of relief. "Bloody hell, wasn't sure then whether I was getting a health lecture or a sex education lesson."

He's looking a hundred times better than he did yesterday morning; though there's still an exhausted look around his eyes, they meet mine with the old familiar humor. "Not the best experience of my life, having that sodding catheter taken out. Don't suppose you'd care to kiss it better?"

"I thought you were finished with the both of us, Lieutenant?" I keep my face absolutely straight, and have the satisfaction of seeing horror suddenly printed on his.

I am a wicked woman and Pastor Newman would undoubtedly tell me I'm bound for hell. I absolutely adore sitting there and watching the fearsome Lieutenant Malcolm Reed squirm.

"Christ, Hoshi, I – I didn't mean a word of it, you know I didn't!"

"You seemed pretty damn convincing to me." He puts his hand out towards me and I ignore it. If he thinks I'm weakening he won't feel he has to tell me anything. And until I get the truth out of him I'm not weakening. This is our relationship I'm fighting for, a relationship that has to be grounded in trust and honesty or it's absolutely worthless.

"I had to say that," he says desperately. "You don't understand!"

"What's there to understand?" I flash back. "I'm sick of it, Malcolm. You will, you won't, you do, you don't, it's on, it's off, it's over, it's not! This time I want an explanation. And I want the truth, not some bullshit story you've thought up. Or it really is over, whether you want it to be or not!"

He's paler now than he was when we found him draped over that damned straw bale. He doesn't have to tell me it matters to him, I can see that it does, but that's even more of a reason for me to fight him to a standstill.

He drops his hand and slumps back against the pillows, wincing at the resulting pain. "OK," he says wearily. "You win. But you may not like what you get."

I feel a momentary twinge of guilt. He's still sick. But this is still all a game of tactics, and you don't weaken just because your enemy's at a disadvantage. On the contrary, that's when you tighten your stranglehold.

"Wait till Trip comes up." I want to take his hand anyway, because he looks so defeated, so I go and arrange the roses in the vase instead. They look incongruous among the assorted chunks of machinery on the shelf, but that's the only place I could put them that was out of the way.

He heaves a sigh. "Fair enough."

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. I expect him to be looking at me, but he isn't. He's looking out of the window, and the way he shifts when he thinks I'm not looking tells me this is going to be a long, uncomfortable night for him, despite all the painkillers. And he won't be fully fit when we go back to Enterprise next week, so the captain is going to have to be given some kind of an explanation. Still, I was amazed by how much the paramedics were able to do with the equipment they had on board the ambulance. I hadn't thought stuff like that would be standard issue; the dermal regenerator was more like something I'd expect to see on board the ship. Things are certainly looking up for the health service these days.

A couple of minutes later Trip comes up with the tray. He gives the roses a bit of a disgusted look, and I don't think he's any too pleased with the lampshade either, but he doesn't say anything.

Malcolm's face brightens slightly when he notices the tea. It's even in a cup and saucer, which has to be a first around here. Ellen's definitely pushing the boat out for him.

"Didn't even know we had one of these," says Trip, handing over the cup and saucer. "Must have been in the back of the cupboard for the last, oh, thirty years?"

"Didn't know civilization was that old on this side of the Pond." A wicked twinkle gleams over the rim of the cup.

"You've got a simple choice, Loo-tenant. You can take that tea internally or externally."

"Consider me suitably cowed." He sips the tea. "It's delicious. Thank you."

"Right." I get up, cross the room and shut the door. "We're not going to be interrupted. Spill the beans, Malcolm."

Trip looks uncomfortable. "Hoshi…"

"No! We can't go on like this, don't you see that? He told us to trust him but he doesn't trust us. He was in trouble and the first thing he did was push us away. Well that has to stop. Either you trust us, Malcolm, or it's over. Really and truly, it's over."

"I do trust you, Hoshi!"

I cross my arms and lean against the door. "So tell us what really happened here."

He puts the teacup down on the tray and studies it. "Very well," he says at last, in a low voice. "I'll tell you what I can.

"What did Harris tell you about what Carl was charged with?"

"GBH," Trip answers instantly. "Assault. And … and blackmail."

"Did he say blackmail for what?"

Trip doesn't reply to that as quickly. He just looks down at his hands. "He saw us, didn't he?"

Malcolm looks at him narrowly. "What?"

"In the alley." Miserably. "He saw me kissin' you."

An incredulous huff of laughter. "No, you prat. That was nothing to do with it. Whatever made you think that?"

"Well, you pushed me away like you'd heard something … so it … it was kind of obvious…"

Malcolm starts to chuckle. "Well, if we were in a James Bond film set in the 1900s I suppose it'd be a working theory. Unfortunately, the reality is … well, a little less glamorous."

Hope starts to appear in Trip's face, replacing the despair. "That wasn't it?"

"No." He picks up a biscuit, goes to dunk it in the tea and replaces it on the plate, undunked. "Listen," he goes on quietly. "If I tell you what really happened, this must stop here. We mustn't even talk about it between ourselves. It's Starfleet classified. And believe me, it's dangerous. I shouldn't be telling you anything about it. And it's not pretty. If you don't like it, remember I warned you."

"Go on." I step forward, watching him intently.

He leans back on the pillows, staring out of the window. "Last week, when I was on Terceira, I was approached by … someone I used to work with. Long before Enterprise…. Believe it or not, I worked undercover for Starfleet for a while." His mouth tightens. "He told me that Terra Prime has established a real hold in this area since the Xindi attack, and that Carl was one of their prime agitators. Starfleet wants to take action, but Prime are a tough nut to crack. They wanted to draw Carl out, make him act … make him vulnerable. And they knew I was coming to visit."

"So they used you." Trip is horrified, probably on more than one level.

"I volunteered." His face is hard. "I'm a Starfleet security officer and Terra Prime's activities could one day threaten Starfleet's existence.

"They leaked information to a source in this area that I'm financially compromised. Carl took the bait. He had a grudge against Enterprise over the Xindi affair and against Starfleet for inciting the attack in the first place for drawing Earth to the attention of 'aliens' … the standard Terra Prime rhetoric. When he saw me alone, he couldn't resist the opportunity."

"You went out there deliberately. You wanted him to corner you." It makes sense, but I don't understand why this would make him want to push us away. "But if this was nothing to do with you and Trip, why the rest of it? Why were you so awful to me afterwards?"

"Hoshi, I knew then what he'd do. The … there's information about him that made it likely. His psychological profile. If anything went wrong, I might not have survived. Even if I survived, I…." A twisted smile. "I likely wouldn't have been in any fit state to be in a relationship with anyone for a while. And let's face it, it's not the sort of thing I'd be likely to want to talk about."

I want to slap him and hug him. Trip, however, is following the story intently, thinking it through. "The hypospray and transceiver. Explain those."

Malcolm exhales. "I was given drugs to administer to him when I got him alone. The first … well, the first's a bad one: it breaks down a person's mental processes, makes it easier to question them and get answers. Unfortunately, while it's getting a grip, it destabilises their sense of proportion. I was supposed to get a whipping as part of some idiotic 'exorcism' fantasy he wanted to play out. He had the riding crop ready. Unluckily for me, he lost his head completely when I injected the drug into him. Nothing less than a full-blown flogging would do."

There's no argument about this part. I remember, sickly, the book between his jaws. A prayer book. I find hot tears pricking at my eyes. "Malcolm, he could have killed you!"

"I thought at one point he was going to," he says ruefully. "Luckily for me, you two interrupted before he could finish the job. On your crusade to stop me surrendering my virtue to keep Trip's honour intact."

Trip raises a hand as if to slap him, and he twists his head away, grinning, and continues. "The transceiver was to transmit directly the answers to a number of questions I was ordered to ask him. It wouldn't have been enough to record them: I could have lost the device, and then the evidence would be lost with it.

"The hypospray contained a second drug. It works with the first, to make the subject open to suggestion. As soon as I'd got the answers I wanted, I used it to convince him that he'd resisted my interrogation, that I'd given up, thinking he didn't know anything. That way, he won't panic and warn anyone. After that – my job was done. I didn't have anything to hide. And God, I was glad to see those bloody paramedics. I was just about done in."

"But Terra Prime still think you're open to blackmail. They'll try again!"

A wry smile. "Cousin Carl and I are now in what you'd call a position of 'mutually assured destruction'. Even Terra Prime won't want it spread across the newspapers what he did to me; too many people still regard me as a 'hero of the Expanse'. Basically, if he keeps quiet about me, I'll keep quiet about him. Starfleet will lean on the police to be discreet about my supposed 'financial indiscretions' and all the rest of it; the whole thing will be quietly forgotten, thanks to my refusing to press charges or give evidence. And from the impression I got of your Inspector Harris – sorry, Sheriff Harris – I'd imagine he frightened Cousin Carl royally. He'll know he's under suspicion, and he won't be in any hurry to put a foot wrong again, even for Terra Prime." He pauses. "Trip, Harris told me your dad may be involved to some degree. But I'm sure they'll understand. He's not young … and after losing Lizzie and all … I'm sure they'll take that into consideration if he's taken in."

Trip nods silently, and I take hold of his hand. This has to be so difficult and painful for him to come to terms with, after all the tragedy of losing his sister, but his family has to deal with its own wounds in its own way. Ellen told me last night that they're going to be moving; this was the last straw, and maybe if they go someplace else – Mississippi perhaps, where she came from originally – they won't be living with the constant reminders of how their life used to be before Lizzie died.

But as far as everything else goes, I'm convinced. I wipe tears away as I bend over Malcolm to hug him as closely as I can without hurting him. "Malcolm, so help me, if you ever pull something like this again I'll damn well kill you!"

"If I ever pull something like this again I may not live long enough to let you." His arms go around me. "Come on Hoshi, I got away with it. You don't have to organise my funeral just yet."

With my head against his chest, a thought occurs to me that brings a spike of sudden fear. "Malcolm, the police – they took the hypospray and stuff as evidence!"

The ribcage under my cheek shifts in a silent laugh. "What they took and what they keep may be two different things."

I turn to look up at him. His eyes are honest and open and amused. "Wheels within wheels, Hoshi. The case has been dropped, so no-one's going to be watching the evidence all that carefully. I'd be surprised if the bags haven't already been switched for ones with less interesting contents."

It's kind of a scary thought, but it's the sort of thing you read goes on. I just never expected to be this close to it, but I suppose it's an obvious precaution.

Trip's laughing quietly, on the edge of tears himself. "So there wasn't anybody in that goddamn alley after all. I've been scarin' myself half to death for nothing!"

"Well, there might have been. Could have been a tramp, or a cat, or anything. Good Lord, Trip, you think anyone's going to make anything out of one bloody kiss these days? Get a life."

"Bastard. Like you'd have cared anyhow." He grips Malcolm's hand, hard. "I'm just glad you're okay, Mal. I'd rather anything than lose you."

"I'll be fine, mate. Good as new in no time." Malcolm returns the grasp, and gives us a sly grin. "Just don't think I'm going to lose count of what you two owe me when we get back to Enterprise and I'm fit for active duty."

"Oh, you'll get what you're owed, Loo-tenant. With interest."

"And we won't breathe a word of what you've said. Ever, after today," I promise. I mean every word of it. I know what it must have cost him to tell us all this. He takes all this security stuff with absolute seriousness.

"No. Not a word. Ever." Trip leans in too. The three of us are together, and the pieces of my world reassemble.

See?

I knew Malcolm would tell me the truth eventually.

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