ch 12
"I–I don't know what to say," Malcolm admitted as he sank back onto the chair behind him, never letting go of Andrew's hand. "Everything you've said is true, I never wanted children–but..." His voice trailed away and he swiped a hand over his eyes. Andrew was stunned; was the man crying? Malcolm steadied himself and looked at the prone figure on the biobed. "I never talked about my family, my own parents, in my logs," he finally said, his voice soft. "I wanted to forget that part of my life forever. I had such a terrible upbringing–my father disapproved of everything I did, everything I said, everything I thought about, and everything I wanted. He and my mother were emotionally distant, and he constantly reminded me of what a disappointment I was to him. The final break came when I joined starfleet instead of the Royal Navy, the career he had chosen for me. I never heard more from them except a note at Christmas after that." He sighed. "I convinced myself that I would never put another child through the type of childhood I had. I would watch children enjoying themselves, playing, romping, laughing, and see how pathetic my own childhood had been. I started to disdain everything that children represented." He blinked, and squeezed Andrew's hand. "I knew I had no business being involved in any child's life, I had no clue how to raise a child, only what I'd learned from my own parents. They'd made their dislike for me so evident, I was afraid..." his voice cracked, but he continued, "I was afraid I'd be the same way."
Andrew felt a lump in his throat, a surge of pity for this man, his father. He'd denied himself the feelings of fatherhood that Andrew himself loved. "It's kind of funny, now," Andrew spoke slowly, "you have a son only a couple years younger than yourself. More like a...a brother than a son." Malcolm raised his head, and looked into eyes that, he realized for the first time, were exactly the same color as his own. "And..." Andrew continued hesitantly, "you have 3 grandsons; one's a wild man, one loves every lady who cuddles him, and one is...a lot like you–and me."
Malcolm smiled. "I would love to meet him, meet all three of them." Andrew tilted his head, "If you meet them, we'd expect–they would expect–you to be a part of their lives. They are very close to their other grandparents, and they would want the same thing with you. You couldn't hurt them, or push them away."
Malcolm's eyes flashed, but he stayed calm. "I would never hurt them;" he said firmly. Andrew pressed on, "You have to be sure about all of this. Mariah is the only other person who knows the truth about you and me–although I suspect Captain Lorian figured it out a while back." He took a cautious breath. "The thing is, sir, it's up to you. Mariah and my sons are my whole life, and I will do anything to protect them and give them the best of everything I can. If you want to walk away from us, I understand, I do. No one else will ever know, and we won't judge you for it." Malcolm started to protest, but Andrew continued, "You have your ship, your life here, and your own future to take care of. The Malcolm Reed on my ship made his choice, and I was," he sighed, "wrong to condemn you for his actions." He turned his head away from Malcolm, but left his hand still in Malcolm's grasp. "I know this is a huge weight to throw on you, sir, so you can take all the time you want to think about it."
Malcolm gently tugged on Andrew's hand, until Andrew turned back, and Malcolm caught his eyes. "I don't need time," he answered resolutely. This has all happened for a reason; you are here for a reason. Maybe you and I are too much alike to ever really get along, but I–" Malcolm looked resolute, "I want to try. I want my family. I want you and Mariah and the boys, 100%."