Gigi Sinclair

When Malcolm got back, he didn't know what to do with himself.

At first, this wasn't a problem. He was too busy being sick to think much about anything, his stomach spasming as it was filled with substances foreign to the digestive systems of the Loque'eque. But that didn't last long. He soon started feeling physically better, and that was when the memories came.

So he occupied his mind with other things. Phlox had ordered all of them to take some downtime, but Malcolm, with wild, ill-considered promises of remaining in his quarters, talked Phlox into letting him loose within twelve hours of arriving back on "Enterprise."

Although Phlox still insisted on accompanying him there. "Now, Lieutenant," Phlox looked at him evenly as they entered Malcolm's quarters. "The choice is simple. You can remain here and rest, or you can return to sickbay and rest."

"I'll stay here," Malcolm replied without hesitation. Anything had to be better than sickbay.

"In that case, I will expect that you remain here until at least 0800 hours tomorrow. If I learn that you have disobeyed my orders, you will not only be taken to sickbay, but you will be restrained until you can be trusted." Phlox was a naturally jovial person. It was hard, Malcolm supposed, for him to look harsh, but he made a valiant attempt. "Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, doctor."

Phlox nodded, his stony expression cracking into a smile. "Good night, Lieutenant."

Malcolm knew that was the last thing he'd be having.

***

The Subordinate Male was nothing, unimportant, absolutely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. When they got to Urquat, the Leader would impregnate the Female, ensuring the continuance of the species. If the Subordinate Male was lucky, the Leader would allow him to remain on the periphery of their tribe, curling up with them against the cold of the night, seeking safety in numbers from the ever-present predators. If he wanted the Leader to help him once they were in Urquat, if he wanted the Leader to even remember who he was, the Subordinate Male would have to prove his usefulness before they arrived.

One of the ways he could do this was by foraging for food. The Subordinate Male was excited when he found the cache of grubs, so excited that for a moment, his base instincts overtook the desire for self-preservation and he wanted to fight the Leader for his own share of the spoils. With one blow, the Leader put him back in his place, and the Subordinate Male slunk away in shame, to observe the Leader and to see what he could do to make amends.

The Subordinate Male had been with this Leader a long time. His memories were hazy when it came to details, but he had known the Leader long enough to gauge his moods, to tell when it was safe for him to make his approach.

Sure enough, the Leader did not attack as the Subordinate Male came near. He paused, as if considering the situation, then jerked his head. Joyous, the Subordinate Male crept the rest of the way, settling by the Leader's side and accepting his offer of grubs, pleased that he had not ruined his chances and relieved that his rash actions had not condemned him to certain death.

***

Malcolm was sweating when he woke up, his sheets drenched and his T-shirt clinging to his skin. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized he wasn't in the jungles of the Loque'eque, but in his own quarters, on "Enterprise." And there was someone at his door.

"I'm in bed, Phlox," he called, wiping his damp palms on his thighs. Malcolm's heart was pounding and he had to struggle to catch his breath.

There was a chirp, and the door slid open. "It's not Phlox," Jonathan Archer explained unnecessarily. He was out of uniform, and looked as rumpled as Malcolm felt.

"Captain," Malcolm blurted automatically. A flash of hurt passed over Jonathan's face, so Malcolm quickly amended it to: "Jonathan."

"I came to see how you were doing." He paused. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"I wasn't sleeping," Malcolm admitted.

"Nightmares?" Jonathan's voice was gentle, and Malcolm's heartrate picked up again.

"Yes," he shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. "Do you, uh, do you think it'd help if I, you know…" He gestured vaguely towards Malcolm's bed.

Malcolm stiffened involuntarily, his skin crawling at the mere suggestion that they sleep together, like the Loque'eque had. Even though Malcolm knew Jonathan wasn't the Leader. Even though Malcolm had slept with Jonathan before, several times, and loved it.

"I don't think so." He felt a brief stab of guilt at the expression on Jonathan's face, but he couldn't help it. Malcolm knew he couldn't be in close contact with him without being physically ill.

Which, Malcolm thought caustically, didn't bode well for the future of their budding relationship.

"No." Jonathan shook his head. "No, you're probably right."

He wanted to apologize. Instead, he said, "Thank you."

"I'll…I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow, OK?" Malcolm nodded. "Want to join me for breakfast?"

The word brought Malcolm back to the grubs and he felt his face flush at the memory of grovelling in front of Jonathan, begging for food like a lapdog.

"I don't know."

Jonathan nodded again. "OK. Well, good night."

"Good night, Jonathan."

***

Malcolm was incensed. No, he corrected himself, he was beyond incensed. He was furious.

Thirty-six hours after their return from the planet, Phlox had finally admitted there was no real reason to keep Malcolm off-duty. Malcolm went to the armoury the moment Phlox reluctantly informed him he could get back to work, and he found it in complete disarray.

Well, Malcolm decided, maybe not complete disarray, but it was definitely not the way he had left it. And he had a very good idea of why that was.

"Major Hayes!"

"Lieutenant Reed." Hayes appeared at his side, snottily courteous as always, his tone teetering on, but never slipping over, the edge of outright rudeness. "How nice to have you back."

"What the hell have you done with my armoury?"

"I haven't done anything, Lieutenant."

Malcolm clenched his fists at his sides. "You changed all of the weapons." Every last one was now hanging or lying in a different place to where it had been when Malcolm had left, and that was no mean feat. There were hundreds of hand-held weapons onboard "Enterprise." To rearrange every one of them would take hours, which meant Hayes had done this deliberately.

Deliberately to annoy him.

"Oh," Hayes replied, as if it was a minor detail that had understandably slipped his mind. "That. Yes, I think you'll find this system much more efficient." He went over to a computer console. "If you'll allow me demonstrate…"

Malcolm forced himself to breathe. "You and your men are guests on this ship, Major. You had absolutely no right to disturb my weapons."

"Your weapons, Lieutenant?" Hayes raised an eyebrow. "I would say they belong to the ship. The ship that is currently housing the men for whom I responsible, and if I see a potential hazard, it is my duty to rectify the situation at once."

"Hazard?" Malcolm choked.

"There were many loopholes in the old system," Hayes replied casually. "It was far too easy for weapons to become misplaced. In a crisis situation, the last thing we need is to waste time looking for extra phase pistols."

"In a crisis situation, Major, the last thing we need is for my men to waste time looking for weapons that aren't where they're supposed to be."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I can't see what difference it will make, since very few of your men seem capable of any kind of useful action even when they are fully armed."

Malcolm wasn't aware he'd even moved until his fist connected with Hayes's jaw, and pain shot through Malcolm's hand. He looked down and saw Hayes on the floor. Feeling strangely detached, as if he was watching from afar, Malcolm leaped on top of him and got in another solid punch before Hayes rolled them over and pinned Malcolm's hands over his head, positioning himself so his weight pinned Malcolm's legs to the ground. Malcolm struggled, kicking and flailing, satisfaction flooding him when he connected with any soft part of Hayes's anatomy.

"Tanner, comm the doctor. Reed's lost it. Kemper, get your ass over here."

Kemper joined Hayes on top of Malcolm. Malcolm heard himself snarl, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he thrashed against Hayes and Kemper like a wild animal until Phlox arrived with a hypospray.

***

The Leader had a long memory. The Subordinate Male worried that perhaps his loss of control over the grubs would come back to haunt him, and, deciding not to push his luck, he didn't curl up with the Leader, the Female and the Stranger when the Leader decided to take a brief rest. Instead, the Subordinate Male found his own place a short distance away, arranging fronds and leaves to make a nest where he lay down for a few moments of sleep.

He was jolted awake almost as soon as he fell asleep, by the feeling of something breathing into his ear. His eyes snapped open, the Subordinate Male snarled and he was about to throw off the predator when he realized, using his sense of smell and, as his eyes re-adjusted to the dim light, his sense of sight, that it wasn't a predator, but the Leader. Who clearly wanted one thing.

Grunting, the Leader rolled the Subordinate Male onto his stomach. The Subordinate Male's instincts were to fight, but his sense of self-preservation won out, and he knew that if he wanted to survive, he needed to submit. He forced himself to remain still while the Leader removed just enough of the protective skins as was necessary to provide access.

He flinched a little when he felt the Leader push inside him, but he remained quiet. When the Leader had finished, he growled and nudged the Subordinate Male. Taking this as a cue, the Subordinate Male followed the Leader back over to his nest, lying down between the Leader and the Female, while the Stranger kept her distance. Her loss, the Subordinate Male thought, as he went back to sleep, safe and secure with his tribe.

***

"Hi, Malcolm." As Malcolm's eyes came slowly into focus, Jonathan appeared at his bedside. Squinting against the too-bright lights, Malcolm tried to remember why he was lying in the infirmary with a headache and a vaguely embarrassed feeling.

Then it came back to him, and the embarrassment turned into full-blown humiliation. "Oh, God."

"Yeah," Jonathan agreed. "I have to say, Malcolm, there are a lot of people who'd have liked to be in your shoes about an hour ago." Malcolm grunted, and Jonathan went on, "Including me. It must have felt great to finally belt Hayes one. Or five. Phlox had to give him bruise-reducer and everything."

"Jonathan." Malcolm wasn't in the mood for jokes, or even for enjoying the memory. "What I did was unacceptable. I expect to be disciplined appropriately."

"Yeah. I'll get right on that." He smiled, and annoyance joined embarrassment, humiliation, and a number of other pleasant feelings crowding Malcolm's mind.

"It is your job, Captain."

"You weren't yourself, Malcolm."

"That didn't stop you when we were on the Loque'eque planet."

"What?" Jonathan frowned.

"I don't know, sir." That was a lie. Malcolm knew exactly what had happened, and he knew that the day he would tell Jonathan about it would be the day the Xindi joined the UN.

"All right, captain." Saved by the Denobulan, Malcolm thought as Phlox came up beside him, then realized he must still be feeling the effects of the sedative. "That's quite long enough. You can speak with Lieutenant Reed later."

"Doctor…"

"Good-bye, Captain." Phlox waited, staring pointedly, until Jonathan left, giving Malcolm one last long, meaningful look. When he'd gone, Phlox said,

"I re-tested all three of you. Captain Archer has some Loque'eque DNA still in his system, while you and Ensign Sato are virtually Loque'eque free." Malcolm grunted. "But," Phlox continued, "I cannot believe you would attack Major Hayes of your own free will."

"I wouldn't." Well, not now, anyway. When he'd first come on board, there had been a few close calls, but Malcolm had controlled himself.

"And in that case, Lieutenant, it seems obvious that there is something else involved here."

"It would seem so," Malcolm agreed vaguely.

"Lieutenant Reed, I am a doctor. Anything you may choose to share would naturally be held in the strictest confidence."

"I know that." And oh, by the way, my masculinity was so threatened by being subservient to my captain, who also happens to be my lover, while we were down on that planet, I've turned into some kind of animal to try and reassert it. "If anything comes to mind, I'll let you know."

Phlox looked at him for a long, silent moment, then said, "Please do, Lieutenant."

It was another six hours before Phlox decided to re-release him. During that time, Malcolm lay on the biobed, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Apart from the obvious.

Despite what some people still thought about the subject, Malcolm had never associated being gay with being less than a man. He wasn't quite at the Jean Genet stage of declaring that having sex with men was more masculine than doing it with women, but Malcolm had never had gender identity issues or anything of the sort. He and Jonathan exchanged sexual roles frequently, and it had never bothered Malcolm that, given the choice, he would rather be on the bottom than on top. That was certainly the more physically demanding of the roles, and in any case, it was what Malcolm preferred. He'd never felt bad about that.

He'd never been dependent on anyone, either. Even as a child, he'd quickly learned that he could count only on himself, and that was the way he had always lived his life. When he failed, he had only himself to blame; when he succeeded, it was entirely due to his own efforts.

On the Loque'eque planet, though, both of these convictions had been challenged. Sex hadn't been a choice, but something to trade in exchange for survival. Independence was an impossibility, as he was completely reliant on the Leader to keep him in the tribe, and to keep him alive. It wasn't that the Subordinate Male was incompetent. Malcolm remembered finding the grubs himself, just as clearly as he remembered the Leader taking them from him. It was just that, in that culture, no one could survive alone, and Malcolm needed someone to protect him.

He'd always thought of himself as a Leader. It was something of a shock, to say the least, to discover that Loque'eque Malcolm had been a very Subordinate Male.

***

"Three days off-duty, and I don't want any arguments," Phlox pronounced, wagging a finger in what Malcolm supposed was meant to be a humorous way.

"Fine."

"Oh." Phlox seemed surprised. "I mean it, Lieutenant. If I find you've sneaked off to the armoury…"

"I won't." What was the point, anyway? Hayes could clearly manage things there. "May I go now?"

Phlox glanced over his shoulder, and, as if on cue, the sickbay doors swept open and Jonathan came in. "Of course, Lieutenant. Captain, if you could escort the lieutenant back to his quarters?"

"Certainly." Jonathan smiled, which did nothing but irritate Malcolm.

"I don't need any help," Malcolm replied, proving it by getting of the biobed without assistance.

"And I don't need you collapsing in the corridor," Phlox countered. "Or attacking any other members of the crew. We have a limited supply of bruise reducer." He grinned, but Malcolm didn't feel like laughing. Instead, he walked out of sickbay, not particularly caring if Jonathan followed or not.

He did, of course. He caught up with Malcolm easily, and even went so far as to put a hand on Malcolm's arm, which Malcolm shrugged away.

"Malcolm, stop." Malcolm ignored him. "Malcolm?" Jonathan's voice took on a forlorn quality, but Malcolm didn't care. He kept walking until Jonathan's voice changed yet again, and he ordered, "Lieutenant Reed, you will stop at once."

Malcolm turned to face him. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"I thought—I mean, why don't you come back to my quarters? You could have a shower, we could…" He glanced around. The hallway was empty. "Spend some time together."

"Is that an order, sir?"

"Of course not. Malcolm, I'm worried about you." He was worried, too. Worried about what his sojourn as a Loque'eque had taught him about himself, worried that this attraction to Captain Archer, the Leader, whoever he was, was more meaningful than Malcolm had initially thought.

"Please don't trouble yourself, sir."

"Malcolm." There was so much pain in Jonathan's eyes, Malcolm had to look away. But it was for Jonathan's good as much as Malcolm's, Malcolm told himself, and he kept his resolve.

"Barring any further…" He searched for the right word, and could come up with only one, inaccurate as it was. "Relapses, I will return to duty in three days. Good night, sir."

He continued on his way, before he could change his mind and ask Jonathan to take him back to his quarters after all. He wasn't the Subordinate Male, he reminded himself. He was Malcolm Reed, Starfleet lieutenant, chief armoury officer, and all around independent man. He didn't need Jonathan, for anything.

***

It had taken a lot of dancing around each other, and more than one aborted attempt at breakfast, before Malcolm was finally convinced it wouldn't be the end of the world if he became involved with his commanding officer. Actually, it had come to the point where Malcolm finally decided it would be worse for both of them to have this unspoken, unresolved tension hanging between them than it would just to do something about it.

It was Trip who helped him reach this conclusion, in typical Trip fashion. Malcolm was sitting at dinner one night, going over some paperwork with one hand while he absently spooned what appeared to be lentil soup into his mouth with the other, when Trip sat down across from him and said,

"So when are you gonna do the captain?"

"Do what for him?" Malcolm asked, still scrolling through a shift report and wondering if these were real lentils and, if they weren't, if he really wanted to know what they were.

"You know." Malcolm flinched as a booted foot kicked his calf, and looked up to see Trip wiggling his eyebrows. "Do him."

"What are you talking about?" Malcolm frowned. "Just because you end up in bed with practically everyone we come across…"

"Two people, Mal, and I didn't even go to bed with Ah'Len. Besides, you're the one that got it on with the Vissian engineer with the you know," he made a gesture that was apparently meant to represent the Vissian engineer's unique hairstyle, but it made him look like he was insane. "Anyway, we ain't talking about me. We're talking about you and Jon and how long you're gonna let him pine."

"He is not pining."

"No, OK." Trip shrugged. "Maybe you're right. But he is mooning. And I don't want to tell you how boring it's getting for me. So, as a friend, can I ask you just to have sex with him and get it over with? I know you want to."

"I do not," Malcolm lied. When Trip looked unconvinced, he amended, "In any case, it would be completely inappropriate."

"Yadda yadda, Malcolm. We're in the Expanse."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Rules don't apply if you're probably not going home."

"Since when?" Malcolm protested, following Trip's gaze. T'Pol was standing at the cake display, looking like she was being offered a selection of various bodily excrements on small plates. "So that is true. I'd assumed it was a rumour."

Trip's eyes came back to him. "Listen, there's gonna be more than rumours going around about you and Jon if you don't do something. You know he never will."

"Because of the regulations," Malcolm pointed out. Those same regulations Trip was counselling him to ignore.

"No, because that's the way he is and the way you are."

"The way I am?"

"Yeah, you know. No nonsense. In charge."

"But he's…"

"Look, we can sit here all day yakking about this, or you can go and do something." Trip winked. "I know what I'd choose." And, apparently, he did. Malcolm watched as Trip got up and went over to T'Pol, who looked less than completely repulsed when he smiled at her and steered her over to a table.

Malcolm switched off his PADD and looked at the remains of his soup. He did want Jonathan, he'd wanted him for a long time, but wanting didn't dissolve the barrier between them. He was the captain, Malcolm was his subordinate, that was the end of the story.

But now, Malcolm wondered if maybe it didn't have to be.

He didn't intend to go to the bridge, but he ended up there. For a perfectly legitimate reason, of course. He wanted to know whether it would be acceptable to reschedule next week's senior staff weapons recertification tests, and that was the kind of thing you couldn't put in a memo.

Well, not if you wanted an excuse to see the captain in person, anyway.

Although his shift was long since over, Jonathan was in his ready room when Malcolm got to the bridge.

Malcolm had never been a fan of the more romantic type of books or movies, but he had grown up with a sister who had spent a brief period heavily immersed in those very things. He knew that, according to that script, he should sweep into the ready room, meet Jonathan's eyes, and leap into his arms. It would be an added bonus if Jonathan's chest was bared and heaving and Malcolm's hair was billowing, but they had to work with what they had.

And it didn't work quite like that. Jonathan did look up at him. Then he said,

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I…" Malcolm was astonished to find his throat was dry and his palms were sweaty. "I have a question…"

"Yes?" He looked tired, Malcolm thought. There were lines on his face that Malcolm couldn't remember being there when they started the mission. And Malcolm wanted to do something to help ease them.

He couldn't remember thinking that at the start of the mission, either. He'd been too busy wondering why Jonathan wasn't anything like his father, or any other captain he'd ever worked for.

"Would you…" Inappropriate, his mind screamed at him. Then he looked at the rings under Jonathan's eyes and told himself to shut up. "Have a drink with me?"

Jonathan couldn't have looked more surprised if Malcolm had offered to have sex with him right there in the ready room, which was of course ridiculous.

That was for later, in Malcolm's quarters. Twice, and once the next morning before shift.

***

Malcolm had dreamed about his first time with Jonathan, he realized later, as he woke up and found himself alone in his quarters. It was a departure from the Loque'eque dreams, he supposed, but not a very comforting one. It just reminded him of how good things had been with Jonathan, before the Leader and the Subordinate Male had destroyed it.

Malcolm hated being off-duty, because he never knew what to do. He spent a couple of hours going over his paperwork, even though he knew Phlox would disapprove if he knew, then he sent a message to his sister and one to his parents.

He was wondering how to fill the next fifty-eight hours when the door chimed.

"Lieutenant Reed."

"Major Hayes." Bruise reducer or not, Hayes's face had seen better days. He had a split lip and faded blue marks along his jaw and around one of his eyes. Malcolm felt guilty, but not overly.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"As am I." That wasn't exactly the response Malcolm had expected. "You were entirely correct, the armoury is your responsibility. I had no right to interfere." He sounded almost civilized. Malcolm blinked and considered the possibility of a Xindi mind disease. "My apologies."

"It's all right, Major." It wasn't, but anything else would have necessitated a long conversation, and all Malcolm wanted to do now was think, and not about Hayes. "I'm sorry I hit you. That was unprofessional."

Hayes shrugged. "I would have done the same thing."

"That's what I mean," was on the tip of Malcolm's tongue, but since he was supposed to be mending fences, he left it unsaid.

It was another two hours before his next visitor arrived. Malcolm spent the time thinking about the Loque'eque, Jonathan, and a number of other things. He had almost reached a decision when the door chimed.

"I, ah, I thought you might be hungry," Jonathan held a covered tray in his hands. Malcolm hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to let him in. He put down the tray like, Malcolm thought, a man with waiting experience, and stepped back.

"Malcolm," he began, at the same moment Malcolm said,

"Jonathan."

Of course, Malcolm thought. He shouldn't have been surprised that the universe would make this moment as awkward as physically possible.

"Go ahead," Jonathan waved at him. Malcolm considered saying, "After you," but that could have gone on all night, and Malcolm wanted to come to the point before he lost his nerve.

"I'm sorry," seemed like the easiest place to start.

Jonathan's face broke into a grin not completely unlike one of the Loque'eque's expressions, but Malcolm gritted his teeth and pushed that thought aside. "So am I, Malcolm. I've missed you so much."

Well, Malcolm thought, the Loque'eque leader certainly wouldn't have missed him, so that was something.

"It was the Loque'eque thing," Malcolm admitted.

"I know it's hard," Jonathan nodded sympathetically, then stepped forward to hug Malcolm.

Malcolm wanted to feel Jonathan's arms around him. He closed his eyes and willed himself to remember it was Jonathan, the man who loved him, the man he loved back.

Instead, he felt the Leader, crushing him, humiliating him, and he stiffened.

"Malcolm?" Jonathan pulled back.

"I'm fine," he insisted, throwing his arms around Jonathan and squeezing his eyes shut. Two strong hands came to his shoulders and pushed him away, gently but firmly.

"Malcolm, stop. What is it?" Jonathan looked down at him, hands still on Malcolm's arms.

"Nothing."

"Malcolm." It was Jonathan, Malcolm repeated to himself. Not the leader. Not even the captain. He wasn't ordering Malcolm to do anything. "You know you're the most important person in my life." Malcolm grunted, non-committal. "Even down on that planet, you were important to me. When you disappeared…" Jonathan smiled sadly. "I missed you."

"But I was nothing." At worst a hindrance, at best something to be tolerated, as long as he didn't cause too many problems or make himself too noticeable.

"Maybe to the Leader. But you were something to me. I was still in there, to a point, and it nearly killed what was left of me to lose you." The hands tightened a little, and Malcolm looked up into Jonathan's eyes. "If you say you want to end this, then we will. I don't want to, but it's up to you."

"It's my decision?" Malcolm repeated.

Jonathan's sad smile got a little sadder, even as he nodded. "It always was, Malcolm."

Because he wasn't a Subordinate Male, not when it came to Jonathan. He wasn't even a lower-ranking officer. Jonathan had always been blind to that and, eventually, thanks to Trip, some liquor and a push in the right direction, Malcolm had started to see it his way.

Malcolm put his arms around Jonathan, more sincerely this time. Gratified when Jonathan's arms tightened around him, Malcolm buried his nose in Jonathan's shoulder and breathed in the real, human scent he knew so well. Malcolm didn't know if it was going to be easy to get their relationship over this hurdle, but he did know he was going to try. It was too important not to. That was Malcolm's informed, rational, human decision.

"Ouch! Malcolm, did you just bite me?" Jonathan sounded surprised, but not particularly upset.

What can I say, Malcolm thought, as he turned around, pushed Jonathan onto the mattress, and climbed on top. I'm an animal.