Gigi Sinclair

"How does that thingy fit in this thingy?" Trip laughed, actually laughed, and for a second I wondered just what I was doing helping him out, anyway.

"Jeez, Jon, I guess Malcolm really does have his work cut out for him…" I frowned at Trip, and he was quick to amend, kind of lamely: "I mean, if you ever give him a hand in the armoury. I know it's been a while since you've done engineering work, but for God's sake, this is first year stuff." He took the coupling out of my hands and attached it for me. "Thanks for the help, Captain. I think I can handle it from here."

"If you're sure." I stood up, and we both pretended not to hear the ear-splitting crack my knees made on the way.

"I hear you got a new Stanford match in," Trip said, conversationally. Which meant, of course, I had to offer:

"Want to come over and watch it tonight?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, Captain. I'm all tied up." I tried to look as disappointed as humanly possible. Tough, since no sane human being would actually be disappointed at missing a beer and a water polo match with Trip in favour of hot sex with Malcolm.

"Oh. OK."

"Some other time, though."

"Sure, Trip."

He glanced around Engineering, which was empty. There'd been some kind of flu bug going around since our last away mission, which was why the I'd been down here getting his hands dirty in the first place. "Tell me one thing, though, Captain." The smile turned into more of a smirk as he said: "Malcolm…Does that uniform ever come off?" I didn't need to ask what he was talking about.

"Sure does." Physically and metaphorically. And when it did, damn now that was a beautiful sight.

I was hoping to catch a glimpse of that sight when I sneaked into the shower room after my shift. I'd had to put in a few extra hours on the bridge, so it was nearly 0100 when I finally made it. Late, but that wasn't a bad thing. One of the first things I'd learned when I'd finally gotten involved with Malcolm—besides, of course, that sneaking up behind him and saying 'guess who' is a good way to get reassigned as a castrato—was that he likes to shower late at night. When there's no one else around. Wink wink.

Sure enough, when I got into the shower room, there was one stall occupied. I have to say, one of the best things about being the Captain is the private bathroom. I told Malcolm he could use mine whenever he wanted, preferably, of course, when I was there to supervise, but he refused, telling me he didn't want any special privileges now we were sleeping together. Although, noble and selfless soul that he is, he sometimes let me twist his arm into a little post-coital massage in my shower.

I glanced around the room. The only clothing was a Starfleet-issue bathrobe and a neatly folded uniform at the end of one bench, next to a pair of fluorescent orange boxer shorts, gaily patterned with toucans, palm trees and what looked like some kind of monkey. Possibly colobus, but that was more T'Pol's area of expertise.

I laughed. I'd never seen this pair before, but Malcolm, strait-laced Malcolm of all people, has quite the collection of surprising civilian underwear. The leopard-print bikini briefs were a particular favourite of mine. Just thinking about them was all the motivation I needed to get my uniform off in record time. I hung the jumpsuit on one of the empty pegs, knowing that Malcolm would go into full mother hen mode if he saw it on the ground. Nothing kills an erection faster than a lecture about organization. The T-shirt, the tank top and the Starfleet briefs, however, I left in a heap on the floor, and I headed for the one occupied stall.

Pausing just outside the door, I lowered my voice a good half-octave and, trying to sound sexy rather than just horny, murmured: "Sorry to disturb your shower, Lieutenant, but have you seen my phase pistol?" The water stopped, which was all the answer I needed. It was all the answer Little Jonny needed, too. He was already starting to perk up and take notice when I flung open the stall door.

And came face-to-face with Ensign Mayweather. Not, of course, that it was my face I was worried about. Travis smiled, not looking the least bit embarrassed, and said: "Looks like you got it right there, Captain."

Automatically, I looked down, not the best direction to cast your eyes when you're in front of a naked man. Right away, I was way better acquainted with Travis's hidden attributes than I'd ever wanted to be, although I didn't know why he kept it hidden. If my attribute had been the size of his, I'd have taken out full-page ads in the Starfleet Stars and Stripes. And, these things being what they are, I would probably have been promoted years earlier.

"I…I thought…" I guess there were advantages, beyond having a never-ending stream of anecdotes for every possible situation, to growing up a Boomer. Travis looked like there was nothing even slightly awkward about being naked in a shower in front of your aroused, male captain who'd mistaken you for his equally male lover.

"It's OK, Captain." Travis gave me an easy smile. "I understand."

"Understand what, Travis?"

Of course, because the situation couldn't get more embarrassing as it was, another person entered the scene. And of course, because the universe has had it in for me since the day I chose space exploration over chartered accountancy, that person was Malcolm. Who looked between the two of us—lingering just a little longer than I liked on Travis—and said: "So sorry to interrupt, Captain. Ensign." He turned around, clutching his towel in his hands. I sighed.

"Malcolm wait just a goddamned minute." But he can move real fast when he wants to, and he was already out the door. Travis looked at me sympathetically and opened his mouth, probably to recount the Boomer anecdote most applicable to this situation. He was interrupted by the comm.

"Captain, we require your presence on the bridge right away." T'Pol didn't even pause for breath. "And if you could ask Lieutenant Reed to accompany you, that would be most helpful."

***

The ship was enormous, probably three times the size of 'Enterprise', with hundreds of portholes on each deck, of which there looked to be more than twenty. It was a behemoth, and it hadn't been there half an hour ago.

"What is it?"

"A vessel, Captain," T'Pol answered, and once again I was left to wonder if she was being sarcastic.

"Do we know who it belongs to?"

"We've been hailing them, but there hasn't been any response," Hoshi put in from her station.

"Try again." She did it and we all stood, staring at the screen.

My adorable Malcolm finally asked: "Shall I power the torpedoes, sir?"

I glanced over at him. He looked back, a distinctly cool expression in place, and I felt my heart sink even further. It had taken me nearly three months to convince Malcolm there was nothing between Trip and I, in addition to the two years it had taken to talk him into a relationship with his commanding officer. I really didn't want to go back to square one over Travis.

"I don't think that's necessary, Lieutenant."

"As you wish, Captain." He used that snarky voice of his, the one I hadn't heard for a long time but basically meant that he thought I was a moron and possibly criminally neglectful. Square one it was, then.

Before I could dwell too much on it, thankfully, there was a trilling noise and I looked back at the screen, where a humanoid creature with bright pink skin, long yellow hair, and navy blue eyes the size of dinner plates had appeared and was waving at us.

"Greetings! Many apologies for not replying sooner, but the midnight buffet has just closed." Of course. The UT seemed to be working remarkably well, so I looked over at Hoshi, who just looked back, a strangely surprised expression on her face.

"I am Captain Archer of the Starfleet ship 'Enterprise'," I replied, turning back to the screen. The creature nodded.

"Yes, we're aware of that. Welcome. I am Xalanthus, manager of the Canavalian ship 'Traumschiff.'" I frowned.

"How did you…"

"How many couples are in your party?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How many couples? We are a couples ship. You were aware of that?"

I rubbed my eyes. Chartered accountancy suddenly didn't look quite so bad. "No, we weren't." I stifled a sigh. "Does that mean that your crew is made entirely of couples?" Xalanthus made a strange choking noise. For a second, I wondered if he was going to pass out, but then he shook himself and I realized it had been laughter.

"No, sir. The guests. There are, of course, singles cruises available, but they generally do not run through this galaxy. So how many couples will be staying with us?"

"I think there's been some miscommunication here." God knows it wouldn't be the first time. "I mean, we don't even know the name of your species…"

"We are the Carnivalans. We run the largest fleet of pleasure cruise ships in twelve galaxies. Would you prefer port or starboard-side cabins?"

"If we could just have a moment to discuss the situation?" T'Pol put in. Xalanthus relaxed.

"Of course, madam. Contact me when you are ready to make your reservations."

The screen went blank and I tried my best to remain captainly as I said: "What the hell is going on?"

T'Pol, as usual, had the answer. "As he says, Captain, the Carnivalans are a nomadic race. They survive on the money and goods their guests trade in exchange for voyages on their ships."

I blinked and, just to make sure I'd heard correctly, asked: "They're a species of cruise directors?"

"In essence, Captain. Just as the majority of societies are based on agriculture or industry, the Carnivalan culture is based exclusively on tourism."

"Do the Vulcans know much about them?"

T'Pol looked at me like I'd asked her if there was much spitting and public fornication on Vulcan.

"We have no need to deal with such a frivolous species." I don't know about frivolous. I'd spent one undergraduate summer as a waiter on a cruise ship out of San Francisco. The stress of that made captaining 'Enterprise' look like a stroll in the park. "However, I know that the rules about their voyages are very strict. If you wish to board the ship, you will have to find someone who will pose as your mate."

"All right." I hesitated, wondering whether I should ask if she wanted the dubious honour.

"Sir, I believe I should accompany you on this mission." That was Malcolm. I turned around, but of course, he wasn't smiling. All business, he continued: "I do not trust this species."

Thank God for that. Trying not to sound overly giddy, I commanded: "Hail them again, Hoshi. The UT's working great by the way."

"That's the thing, Captain," she replied. "It's not working at all."

"You mean…"

"The Carnivalans are adept at assimilating languages, Captain," T'Pol added. No kidding.

Hoshi made the arrangements for Malcolm and I to board the ship the next morning. Xalanthus informed us that "check-in" was at 1100 hours, so once our reservations had been confirmed, I went back to my quarters in the hopes of getting just a little sleep before going over there. My hopes were immediately dashed. I'd no sooner climbed into bed than there was a knock on the door.

It was Malcolm. Porthos, who can get away with things like that, dropped his beaten-up, one-eyed teddy bear on my covers and went over to lick Malcolm's hands. I restrained myself a little more successfully.

"Hi, Malcolm."

"Jon." He looked at me evenly, not smiling.

"About earlier…"

"Yes."

"It's not…"

"I know."

"You do?" I knew there was a reason I'd hired the man. Before I was even aware he'd moved, I was flat on my back on the bed, Malcolm on top of me. I could think of worse places to be.

"I trust you."

For most people, that probably wasn't a big deal, but I knew exactly what it meant for Malcolm to say it. I tried to put my arms around him, but he slid out of my grasp. I was dimly aware of Porthos's teddy bear hitting the floor before everything ceased to matter.

"What are you do…ing…ooohhh…" The question was answered when I felt his hands push my shorts downwards. "Hey," I smiled as I closed my eyes and heard the faint rustle of underwear hitting the floor. "Give me back my boxers!"

"If you insist, Captain, but wouldn't you rather have Ensign Mayweather's?" Malcolm used his official bridge voice, but I knew he was joking, and that moved me more than anything. Except Malcolm's tongue.

***

Malcolm decided not to join me for breakfast the next morning, instead choosing to prepare for the mission. It was just Trip and I drinking orange juice and eating eggs, and we were nearly finished when Trip asked:

"What's it like?"

I sipped my juice. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Trip."

He obliged. "I mean, what's it like bein' with Malcolm?"

I set down my glass. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "Just wonderin'. You know it ain't something I've ever tried."

"Well, if you're feeling the urge, look somewhere else." I kept my tone light, but I was completely serious. More than one woman had started off dating me only to be lured over to the Trip side. He didn't do it intentionally, and in most cases I hadn't cared much anyway, but Malcolm was different. I'd worked too hard for him to lose him to Trip. Or anyone else.

"Hey, I ain't lookin' to steal your fella, Captain," Trip reassured me hurriedly. "I got a feelin' he'd knock me on my ass if I tried, anyway. I was talking more generally."

I swallowed the last of my eggs. Trip was too enlightened to be disturbed by my sexuality, but he'd never been all that keen on hearing the details, either. Even a description of Malcolm's knee-trembling kissing technique had been enough to make Trip clamp his hands over his ears and insist: "I'm not listening!" in his most immature voice. Bearing that in mind, I decided the best way to explain the magic Malcolm and I shared was:

"Remember that dance that was popular a few years ago?"

"The Brazilian bump?" Of course Trip remembered the name. It had gone so well with his more garish shirts.

"Right. It's like that." I leaned forward and winked, quoting from the song that had taken the Earth, then Jupiter Station, by storm. "All you have to do is shuffle your feet and wiggle your butt! It's easy!"

***

As well as keeping Phlox on his toes, the mini-flu epidemic meant that Ensign Mayweather was the only one who came to see us off in the shuttle bay. Which was just as well. I didn't need everyone on board seeing how good Malcolm looked in jeans and a button-down civilian shirt.

Xalanthus had sent us a message that, in addition to thanking Malcolm and I for allowing them to fulfil our vacation needs, told us in no uncertain terms that uniforms and weapons of all kinds were forbidden on board their ship. Which Malcolm naturally viewed as more of a challenge than a request. I finally talked him down to one small phase pistol, concealed in his luggage. I could have just ordered him to leave all his weapons behind, but that would have meant kissing good-bye to sex until hell froze over and the sun imploded. Besides which, it would have been disrespectful to Malcolm. Malcolm, I knew, had compromised a lot of his personal beliefs when he entered into a relationship with me. It was only fair I do a little compromising, too.

One of the rules Malcolm refused to bend, even now, was his 'No fraternization on duty' rule. But since we weren't really, technically, on duty, per se, and since there was no one around to see us, I took a chance and lay a hand on Malcolm's shoulder as he sat in the pilot's seat.

"You look great in that outfit." I squeezed the shoulder, gently rubbing at the tight muscles.

"Jon…" His tone was meant to be discouraging, but his words had the opposite effect.

Encouraged by the simple fact that he'd used my first name, I continued: "You know, Lieutenant," I stood behind him, my other hand on his other shoulder, and began to massage in earnest. "This is a couples cruise. In order to maintain our cover, we may be forced to act affectionately in public. Is that a duty you'll be capable of fulfilling?" I saw a smile flit across Malcolm's lips before disappearing again, to be replaced by a self-deprecating parody of his usual stiffness.

"I will do my best for the good of the ship, sir."

"I knew I could count on you." I moved to one side, lightly pressing my lips against his. He kissed back, running his tongue around my mouth once before withdrawing it. Since that was much more than I'd expected from him, I let go right away, and returned to my own seat. As he prepared to dock with the Carnivalan vessel, I sat back, marvelling yet again at how Malcolm never ceased to surprise me.

"This is your stateroom, gentlemen. You will find a selection of snacks in the refrigerator beneath the desk."

A Carnivalan who could only be described as a bellhop set down our two small bags inside the cabin. He'd practically had to wrestle Malcolm's luggage off him, which had nearly led to an interplanetary incident two minutes after we'd come aboard. I'd finally taken Malcolm's hand firmly in mine and the bellhop had seized the opportunity to grab the bag.

"Towels and bathrobes are in the washroom and the videoscreen will explain the ship's other amenities. If you have any questions, please speak to any of the vacation directors you will see around the ship." The bellhop hesitated and, for a brief moment, I wondered if I was supposed to tip him. But then he bowed solicitously and left.

Malcolm immediately went to his bag, clearly desperate to make sure the pistol had not been harmed in the three minutes it was out of his possession (but not out of his sight.) I turned on the videoscreen, and was treated to the sight of two Andorians sipping drinks in front of a violent sunset.

"Welcome to the Carnivalan ship 'Traumschiff.'" The soundtrack Muzak was replaced by an equally inoffensive, although more upbeat, voice, and the Andorians were replaced by a couple of Xyrillians who appeared to be skiing through a strange orange powder. "A thousand vacations in one! Our fantasy holosuites are second to none, offering an unlimited variety of holographic destinations for you to choose from."

The skiing Xyrillians were reduced to a quarter of the screen, while images of sunbathing Eskans, Trojanians on massage tables, and an unrecognizable species gazing at a Cubist painting filled the other three-quarters.

"Our galaxy-class chefs will be honoured to provide you with delicacies of your choosing in the formal dining atmosphere of Milliway's, deck fourteen, or, for a more casual dining experience, visit the Big Bang Burger Bar on deck six. After dinner, you can dance the night away in our Starlight lounge and karaoke bar, located on deck eight." I knew my eyes lit up at that. Malcolm groaned behind me, but I was too enthralled by the image of a Klingon holding a microphone and crooning incomprehensibly to care.

"At midnight, you can join us in the Supernova atrium, deck twelve, for the buffet, or retire to your cabin for a private celebration." A Risan man and another figure of indistinguishable gender and species relaxed in bathrobes on a bed identical to ours. "Whatever you choose, don't forget to pick up those special souvenirs before you leave. Gift boutiques located on decks two, three, five, six, nine, eleven, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen A and B."

"Good lord," Malcolm interrupted, eyes wide. "Is that a Vulcan with a vibrator?" I wasn't sure although the next, even more disturbing, image was clearly an Enolian with a very large, fluorescent orange dildo emblazoned with the words 'Carnivalan Cruise Lines.' "However you spend your time," the narrator continued briskly, "We're confident you'll have a memorable vacation. Thank you for choosing Carnivalan Cruise Lines and…" The film went back to the first image of the Andorians, now wrapped in each others' arms as they faced the blinding sunset. "Bon Voyage!" The words 'Denobulans please enquire about group rates' appeared just before the screen went blank.

"Well." Malcolm sat next to me on the bed. "Where to start?"

"We should probably speak to the Carnivalans." That was, after all, the point of a first contact. Although…

"I get the feeling you'd rather do something else." Malcolm used his sexiest voice, the one that was equal parts suggestion, innocence and sheer lust. I loved it.

"Trip did have rave reviews for the holosuites on the Xyrillian ship."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, clearly and adorably confused. "You want to go skiing?"

I shook my head. "But I'd like to come up with my own fantasy vacation." I looked at him and added, quickly: "If you're comfortable with that." Three months, and I still wasn't always sure where Malcolm's boundaries were. What if he'd been willing to have sex in an alien stateroom but not in an alien holosuite?

But Malcolm smiled and ran a hand up my back, and I knew I hadn't crossed his line. Yet, anyway. "I must confess," he said, lowering his eyes in a way that made me want to protect him and fuck him simultaneously. "I'd like to see what your fantasies entail."

"That's easy, Malcolm." Truth was, my fantasy life was very negotiable, except for one thing. Malcolm was always present, and had been since the moment I met him.

***

If there's one thing I've learned out here, it's that we really need a UT for body language. It's amazing how gestures can carry different meanings on different planets. Just ask Malcolm. It was only T'Pol's fast thinking that got he and I out of a shotgun wedding on Kantarki Prime. Apparently, a friendly pat on the back isn't a universal gesture of innocent affection. Of course, I never used it as one, but I'd never expected the three-eyed, prudish Kantarkists to clue Malcolm in to that.

Despite that, I'm pretty good at recognizing boredom when I see it, and the Carnivalan standing in front of the holosuite was clearly bored underneath his (or her, it was hard to tell) plastered- on grin.

When he came back from the Xyrillian ship, and before we realized he'd brought back a less-than-desirable souvenir, Trip had waxed rhapsodic over the hologram chamber he'd seen. Like any human being, the idea of being to live out your fantasies fascinated me. I would, however, have liked to choose which fantasy I wanted to live out. At least the first time.

This wasn't an option on the Traumschiff. When we arrived at the holosuites, the Carnivalan who was manning the station told me to put my hand on a glowing pink pad. I glanced at Malcolm before I did it, but he didn't shake his head or raise his eyebrow or throw me to the ground—more's the pity—so I complied. A big grey door, reminiscent of the cargo bay on 'Enterprise', slid open and the Carnivalan sullenly pointed us inside.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, the door shut behind us. Malcolm started a little, ever alert, but I was too distracted by what I saw around me to worry about imminent death.

A beach. A beautiful, white sand beach, even better than anything in California. Blue waves crested against the shore, a few wispy clouds passed across the equally sapphire sky. And right away, I knew which fantasy this was.

"Jon…" Coming up beside me, Malcolm looked around in confusion.

"It's a good one, Malcolm." I smiled at him, taking one of his hands. His clothes had changed, too, and he was now wearing a very fantastical black bathing suit. I gulped and, right away, this surpassed every away mission I'd ever be on. Malcolm glanced down and actually reddened a little when he saw his outfit. "Ever seen 'From Here to Eternity'?" I continued. I'd always known there was a reason I let Trip drag me to so many old movies.

Malcolm's eyes slid towards the ocean, then quickly moved back to me. "You want to do it in the water?"

Not in the water, exactly, but I could certainly go for a little rolling around in the surf. I brought the hand up to my mouth and kissed it, then started running my tongue around his fingers in the way I knew he liked. I was on the third finger before I realized he wasn't shaking from desire.

"Shit, Malcolm." I dropped his hand, then rethought it and took it again. The last thing I wanted was for Malcolm to think I was rejecting him, or that this was more important to me than he was. Of course, Malcolm being Malcolm, he thought it anyway.

"My fault, Jon." He tightened his grip on my hand. "We can do this."

"No."

"It's what you want." It was stated simply, and for a moment, we were transported back to the bad old days, when Malcolm was the well-trained, obedient Lieutenant and I was the all-powerful, untouchable Captain.

"No, it's not." Keeping well away from the ocean, I sat down on a conveniently placed beach blanket and pulled Malcolm down beside me. "This is what I want." I put my arm around him. "I want to be with you. I want you to be comfortable with me. I—" I trailed off. 'I love you' had been the next thing on my lips, but it wasn't something either of us had said before. I felt it too deeply to risk losing it by admitting it too soon. It had happened before, although never with anyone I loved as much as I loved Malcolm.

Malcolm leaned into me, resting his head on my shoulder. We sat, quietly, for a moment, before he repeated:

"I'm really sorry, Jon."

"And I'm really not." I kissed his hair, wondering what I should do next. I was turned on, and pretty damn horny. Malcolm could do that to me when he was in an EV suit—it was only natural that he do it while wearing a tiny swimming costume. But I held back, not wanting to frighten him, or make him feel like I was pushing him. I was sitting there, stroking his back absently and suffering in silent agony, when he said:

"My father would hate this."

"What?" I asked, more out of surprise than genuine curiosity. Although I had plenty of that, too. Malcolm never spoke about his parents. If I hadn't spoken to them myself, I would have probably assumed he was an orphan, and I know he wouldn't have corrected me.

"This." He waved a hand between our bodies, which had shifted even closer until we were doing what could only be described as snuggling. "Between you and I. It was what he was afraid would happen." I didn't say anything. It wasn't what I'd had in mind for a fantasy holosuite, but getting Malcolm to open up about such a private matter was something of a fantasy in itself. "He wasn't that devastated when I told him I wasn't going into the Navy. He was disappointed, but he would have recovered. It was when I told him I was going into Starfleet instead that he lost it." Malcolm didn't look at me, but he did squeeze me a little tighter.

I said nothing, not wanting to interrupt him, and eventually he continued:

"He spent his whole life working with men who used other men. He knew me, and his biggest fear was that I'd get all starry-eyed over some guy who was only in it because there wasn't anyone better handy." He gave one of his sardonic smiles and glanced up. "He thought that, in the Navy, his name might protect me from that. Of course, in Starfleet, there was no protection. It would kill him to know how I feel about you."

I didn't know what to say. On the one hand, Malcolm was admitting to being starry-eyed over me. But on the other hand…

"Malcolm, you know that's not—" I cleared my throat and started again. "I mean, I'm not like that. I—" He looked at me, that quizzical, confused, adorable look on his face. Well, I thought. Here goes nothing. "I love you. I don't want anyone else. I can't imagine I ever will." There it was. Cards on the table time. All I could do now was wait for Malcolm to show his hand.

Which he did. By pushing me onto my back and shoving his tongue into my mouth.

"I love you, too." He gasped, grabbing an earlobe with his teeth. That was enough. It seemed that not even the holosuite could make stamina-related dreams come true.

Malcolm didn't mind, though. Instead, he laughed, moving down to my neck as if nothing had happened. My body seemed to agree with him, because I was already getting hard again.

By the time we were done, it was dinnertime and I finally understood why Trip had been so hot on the holosuite.

***

One of my other non-sexual fantasies about Malcolm—and I did have a few—was to finally take him out for dinner, to a fancy banquet with all the Starfleet brass. He'd like that, I'm sure, even if it would make him nervous. Although maybe he wouldn't be that nervous if I was with him.

Make it a Christmas party, one with plenty of mistletoe around so I'd have an acceptable excuse to engage in a public make-out session. God knows I've had to watch enough old admirals and their old spouses do just that. It's only slightly less disturbing than watching an old admiral doing it with some bleached blonde bimbo in a sausage-skin tight dress, and I've seen that a few times, too.

Anyway, we come into this party, and of course everyone looks at us, because it's Malcolm. In his dress uniform. We sail right to the centre of the room, under a particularly large sprig of mistletoe, and right there I lay public claim to Malcolm. I let everyone know just how damned lucky I am. And I finally give those backstabbing martinets a real reason to be jealous of me.

Milliway's restaurant on the Traumschiff wasn't as good as that fantasy, but I was still pleased to see more than a few heads turning in Malcolm's direction as we entered.

When I whispered this to him across the table, he just shook his head modestly. "It's because they've never seen a human before." Then he lowered his eyelids a little and continued: "And you're a hell of a human to see first."

Stupidly, I felt myself blushing. "Well, I knew there had to be some reason I got this job," I tried to joke.

Malcolm just smiled and waited, quite deliberately I'm sure, until I'd taken another sip of Andorian ale before he added: "And here I thought you were sleeping with Admiral Forrest." I spat out the ale, earning a disapproving glare from the purple-spotted couple beside us. A waiter was at my side in an instant.

"Can I offer you another bottle, sir?"

"It's OK, thanks."

"Please. We recently received an extensive alcohol shipment, which contained no fewer than fifty-six bottles of Andorian ale."

I looked at Malcolm, smouldering into his Risan wine, and gave in. "Maybe one more."

I don't think I drank the entire fifty-six bottles, but I did lose count somewhere along the line. All I knew was that, when we finally staggered out of the restaurant, the ship was clearly going through some space turbulence, because the corridors were tilting sharply. I had to hang on to Malcolm, who was himself looking distinctly green, just to maintain my balance.

Purely in the interests of furthering our knowledge of the Carnivalan people, the Starlight lounge and karaoke bar was our next stop. It looked a lot like our observation lounges, except, of course, for the stage and the singing alien. Although Phlox has been known to engage in the occasional chorus of 'Kumbaya' on slow nights.

Leaning against the sway, Malcolm led me over to a table, where I collapsed into a plush chair. Right away, a waiter was at our side, but Malcolm waved him off. I agreed. I'd had more than enough to drink already. And we were on an away mission, I reminded myself sternly.

"Got to keep our bits awout us," I informed Malcolm, who nodded sagely in agreement. We sat quietly for a moment, listening to what passed for Xyrillian pop as performed by a clear amateur. Then Malcolm leaned across the table.

"Why don't you go up, Jon? I know you're dying to."

I blushed a little. It had been in a similar situation to this, at an alcohol-soaked party on board 'Enterprise', that I'd finally declared myself to Malcolm. By waiting until the room was deserted, and then launching into a heartfelt rendition of 'You are So Beautiful To Me.' Fortunately, Malcolm was also drunk, and we'd ended up in bed together, instead of at a court-martial for sexual harassment. And crimes against music. "I don't think they have anything I know."

"On the contrary, sir," the waiter appeared again. "We scanned your ship's music database before you checked-in. It's a service we provide to all our guests."

"You scanned our databases?" I wasn't too drunk to be a little alarmed by that. If they had our music, they could have anything else. Personnel files, weapons specs, engine capabilities. The movie roster for the next three months.

"Just the music part. There is nothing to be concerned about," the waiter assured me blithely. "The Carnivalans have no interest in other species, except when it comes to assuring they have the best vacation possible."

"There you go." Malcolm smiled as the waiter disappeared. I frowned, but if Malcolm wasn't nervous, then I had no reason to be. So instead, I smiled, and said:

"So what do you want to hear?"

Malcolm considered a moment, then replied: "Macho Man."

"What?"

"I think it's very appropriate. And don't tell me you don't know it. I've seen you dancing in your quarters."

"You…" I felt myself reddening, but Malcolm just winked.

"Benefits of being in security, Jon. I was too cowardly to tell you how I felt, and I had to get my kicks somehow." He smirked. "I found your lip-synch to 'We are the Champions' particularly inspiring."

"So you watched me…" I tried to think of everything I'd done in the privacy of my quarters. And imagined Malcolm seeing it all. "Oh, God."

"You aren't mad, are you?" Malcolm was no longer smiling. Instead, he looked concerned. "I'm sorry. I didn't do it very often. But it was just so wonderful to see you like that, in private. I didn't think I'd ever have the chance to see it in person, so I used the cameras. I really am sorry." He paused, waiting for my reply. I was annoyed, true, but more than anything I was surprised. It was Malcolm. I couldn't stay mad at him. But I could wonder how he'd ever brought himself to break a rule like that.

"You spied on me? That's…"

"I know. I couldn't help myself."

He looked so wretched, I had to smile, squeezing his hand over the table. "It's OK. Nothing wrong with a sneak preview, I guess." I stood up. "But I gotta warn you, those dance moves are patented."

It may not have been as inspiring as 'We are the Champions', but then I didn't have Porthos to howl backup for me. The other patrons seemed nonplussed by my 'Macho Man', but Malcolm grinned his way through the entire repetitive song. And that was enough to make it worthwhile.

When it was finished, I sat back down, only to have Malcolm get up.

"Where are you going?"

"If you can do it, so can I." I watched, amazed, as he strode up to the stage, spoke briefly with the DJ, and took the microphone.

I was so astounded at seeing Malcolm getting ready to sing karaoke that I didn't even consider what song he was going to do. When I heard the opening few bars of "You are So Beautiful", my heart started to pound and I immediately sobered up. Well, I still wasn't completely sober, but I was a hell of a lot more alert than I had been. Especially when Malcolm stepped off the stage and came towards me.

He stopped right in front of me, microphone still in hand, although he had stopped singing. The other people in the bar didn't seem to care much. When he put the microphone on the table and climbed on top of me, I didn't care, either.

He arranged himself so he was straddling me, most of his weight on his own legs. Which was good. Malcolm was thin, but he wasn't light, as I had discovered last time I'd got him to sit on my lap. Bracing his arms on the back of the chair, on either side of my head, he lowered his body until we were crotch to crotch. And my crotch was very interested indeed in this development.

The interest only increased when Malcolm started to grind against me. At that particular moment, I didn't think to wonder why he was so proficient at lap dancing, but it was clearly something he'd done before.

Still moving, he lowered his lips to mine, kissing me so hard I didn't care I was in a public place, I didn't care I was on an away mission, representing humankind, and I didn't care that his legs were going to be damn sore. I put up my hands and pulled him even further into me, kissing him like a horny teenager, although hopefully with more skill.

He didn't seem to have any complaints as he finally drew away and smiled, resting his forehead against mine. The song ended and, without comment, the DJ retrieved the microphone from our table and passed it on to the next participant. I didn't notice who that was. I barely noticed the waiter solicitously refilling our glasses. Malcolm was the only thing in the universe, and I knew just what I wanted to say to him.

It was insane, of course. We'd been together only three months. Before that, despite my best efforts, he'd been about as warm towards me as a Vulcan in a deep-freezer.

We had never been on a real date, on Earth, we'd never gone to a hotel for the weekend, we'd never even played Frisbee with Porthos in a park. He'd never met my friends and I'd never met his family (although, if his father was that concerned about Malcolm being hurt, I was probably going to like them more than I'd originally thought.) The sensible thing to do would be wait, see how things progressed, not raise my hopes. I'd always been a sensible man. Until I met Malcolm.

I smiled at him, leaning up for another kiss. One that I ended with the whispered imperative: "Marry me."

Clearly, I wasn't the only one who'd taken leave of his senses. Malcolm didn't hesitate. Instead, he kissed me back and answered: "Yes."

***

We fell into our stateroom like a couple of drunken newlyweds. Someone giggled, probably me, and Malcolm put a finger to my lips.

"Wait here. I've got something to show you." He took one of the Starfleet bags into the bathroom. I lay back on the bed, grinning like a lunatic and not caring one bit. I started to unbutton my shirt, but then decided to leave that to Malcolm. Instead, I rolled over and unzipped the second bag, rifling around for the massage oil.

I wasn't too concerned when I couldn't find it. Malcolm would have something. That was the good thing about dating a man who had not only been an Eagle Scout, but a better one than me. Half-heartedly, I raked around a little, more interested in what Malcolm had to show me than in finding the oil, until I came across an envelope underneath a black G-string.

The letter was addressed to Malcolm. Looking back, I should have known before then that we'd accidentally switched bags. Malcolm packed like he was being graded on the precision of his folds. I threw things in like I was taking a trip to the laundromat. But I was too drunk, on Andorian ale and other things, to have considered this, until I found the envelope.

I knew I shouldn't open it. Malcolm was a private man, and even now that we were engaged—engaged! —I had no right to look through his personal things. Quite apart from that, he was going to be out in a moment to get his own bag. I didn't know why he hadn't already come for it. He had to have noticed that he had the wrong one.

There was every reason to ignore that envelope, and only one, inadequate, reason to open it: I wanted to know who was writing to Malcolm. Guess which reason won out.

The letter was unsigned, but it wasn't hard to figure out who had written it.

"Dear Malcolm: You mean so much to me, sometimes I even think, that if you weren't on 'Enterprise', I would turn to drink. Looking forward to seeing you back."

Trip wasn't the most poetic of men but, as he himself said, you didn't go through public school with a name like Tucker without picking up a few rhyming skills of your own. I put down the letter before I lost control and shredded it. Instead, I clenched my fists and imagined just what I was going to do to Trip when we got back to 'Enterprise.'

I didn't entirely blame Malcolm. I couldn't, not when I knew Trip so well. He was a bastard, plain and simple. All that talk about what it was like with Malcolm, about how he'd never been with a man before…I should have known then what he was setting up for. He couldn't stand it when I had someone and he didn't. He'd always made a point of stealing my girlfriends, I don't know why I thought Malcolm would be any different. Although I had expected Malcolm to put a bit more of a fight.

On the other hand, though, Malcolm had given me a lap dance in the karaoke bar. He had told me about his father, and he had agreed to marry me. Did that mean it was over between him and Trip? I felt a flicker of hope, which was extinguished as soon as it was lit. Things were never that easy with Trip. He didn't take no for an answer, and he could be very persuasive. He could play on people's insecurities like he played his damn harmonica, and Malcolm had a lot of insecurities. No, Trip was a snake, and I couldn't believe I'd been friends with him for so long.

Before I could decide what I was going to say to Malcolm, he emerged from the bathroom, still fully dressed. He saw the letter in my hand, and I didn't bother trying to hide it.

"I took the wrong bag," he finally admitted quietly.

"Malcolm…" I began, than stopped when I realized I didn't know how to continue.

"Forget it, Jon." He looked at me, a familiar combination of repressed anger and repressed hurt in his eyes. It was an expression I hadn't seen on him for a long time, and it nearly killed me, even though I wasn't sure what he had to be angry and hurt about. Still, I couldn't say anything. Neither could he, apparently. "I think I'll sleep on the sofa." I didn't try to change his mind. Instead, I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the big, luxurious bed by myself.

The next morning, Malcolm was up and gone by the time I woke up. I lay in bed for a while, wondering just how I had gone from being in love to being engaged to being single again in the space of a few hours. Then I remembered. Trip. Again.

I was getting dressed when Malcolm came back. He was walking stiffly, back to his old military bearing. He stopped short of saluting me, but I could tell it was a conscious effort.

"Captain."

"Lieutenant." Two could play at that game. Malcolm stared at a point over my left shoulder.

"I have spoken to the Carnivalans. We will be returning to 'Enterprise' shortly."

"Don't you think you should have discussed that with me?" His eyes slid over briefly, then returned to that fascinating wall.

"My apologies, sir. I assumed you would wish to leave as soon as possible."

I did, but I was feeling contrary. "We haven't spoken to the Carnivalans."

"No, sir."

"Not much of a first contact, is that, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know, Captain." Malcolm looked at me coldly. "I've certainly learned a few things."

I gave up. I always gave up around Malcolm. "Malcolm, why…"

"If we're going to ask questions, I'd like to begin." He cut me off, still staring at me like I was something the cat had dragged in. And then vomited over. "Why did you propose to me?"

"Propose?"

An eyebrow flicked up. "Do you recall that, sir? Perhaps you were too drunk…"

"No, I remember." I rubbed my eyes.

"Then perhaps it was simply the situation in which we found ourselves. Not the opportune moment for clear thinking." Suddenly, I knew exactly why Malcolm was such a good weapons officer. He could twist a knife like a pissed-off Klingon.

"I proposed because I love you," I said, guiltily, before I remembered I wasn't the one with reason to feel guilty. "Why did you accept?"

"Because I love you." Malcolm said it like he was admitting to a serious shortcoming. Still, it gave me hope. If he was willing to give up Trip, then perhaps…

"I won't share you."

"And I can't share you, Jon." We looked at each other for a moment.

"You have to tell Trip it's over," I continued, at the same time Malcolm said:

"I want you to leave Commander Tucker."

Malcolm and I are both pretty smart guys. It didn't take long to figure out something was up.

"What are you talking about?" Malcolm said first.

"What are you talking about?" I countered, suspiciously.

"Last night, I took your bag by accident. I found the handcuffs and the picture," Malcolm explained, tersely. It didn't make things any more comprehensible.

"What?"

"This." He went over to my bag and shuffled around, coming up with a pair of old steel handcuffs, complete with key, and a photograph. Of me. Lying on a bed completely nude.

I choked. "What the hell?" I took the picture out of his hands. I didn't recognize the bed, but it was clearly me. And, I had to admit, I didn't look half bad. "I don't know where this came from, Malcolm, but it isn't mine."

"I didn't take it," Malcolm stated, simply. "And there's only one person I can think of who enjoys photography."

"Trip's never photographed me naked. I swear." As for the handcuffs, they weren't mine, either. When we'd first started sleeping together, I'd expected Malcolm to be into all that bondage stuff, but he wasn't. As he told me, he spent every waking moment trying to protect me from other beings. He wasn't going to spend his off-hours tying me up himself, not even in fun. And he didn't want me to tie him up, either. Which was fine with me. It nearly killed me when Malcolm got injured in the line of duty: I didn't want to think about hurting him myself, even accidentally.

"Anyway, Malcolm, what about the letter?" I got the envelope from Malcolm's bag and handed it to him. He read it through, his eyebrows going up and down like T'Pol when she's had a hard day. When he finished, he folded it neatly and slid it back into the envelope.

"That's not mine."

"It's addressed to you."

"I can assure you, Jon, it wasn't given to me." He looked up. "I'm not involved with Trip, or anyone else."

"Neither am I." We looked at each other for a minute. And came to the same conclusion at the same time.

***

"Of course we planted those objects," the manager, Xalanthus, admitted cheerfully. "Last night, you became engaged in the Starlight lounge. It is common practice for us to offer this service to couples who are taking their relationship to the next level."

"Common practice?" Malcolm looked like he was about to explode. I put a hand on his arm, just to keep him in his chair. "You try to break people up?"

"Not break up, Mr. Reed. Simply help you to be certain you are ready for the step you are taking."

"What business is that of yours?" I snapped, because Malcolm was getting quite red in the face. Xalanthus just looked at us calmly.

"It is a service most of our patrons appreciate. We understand that, being in a relationship, it is often difficult to truly gauge your own compatibility. Most appreciate our ability to give them a little perspective."

"Couldn't you at least have asked us?"

Xalanthus smiled again, blandly. "That would rather have defeated the purpose of the exercise, Mr. Archer." He stood up, lesson number one in the management guidebook. Even knowing that, Malcolm and I stood up automatically. "Those objects, by themselves, did not indicate any infidelity. It was the two of you who jumped to those conclusions. My advice to you would be to reflect on this before advancing your relationship." He indicated a pamphlet stand by the door. "But please help yourself to some literature on your way out. Depending on the direction you choose to take, we have both honeymoon and singles cruises available."

We rode back to 'Enterprise' in silence. When we were just about to dock with the ship, Malcolm turned to me and said:

"I'm sorry, Jon."

"What for?" I asked, then immediately regretted it.

He looked at me sadly. "I don't trust you. I thought I did, but I don't." He sighed. "And you don't trust me, either." That wasn't true. I trusted Malcolm, but, apparently, I didn't trust Trip at all. Which was perhaps worse.

"You're not going to let those jerks break us up, are you?"

"No." My heart started beating again, only to seize up when he continued: "But maybe we should cool things off a little. What do you think?"

I thought that whether or not I trusted my best friend of ten years was my problem. I thought that I wanted to go back to where Malcolm and I had been a few hours earlier, happy and engaged. I thought that I'd never had a relationship that didn't end up breaking off soon after it cooled off, and I thought that I really, really didn't want to break it off with Malcolm. But all I could say was:

"OK."

Trip was waiting for us in the shuttle bay. I couldn't meet his eye, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't even want to hear about the mission. Instead, he dragged me into my ready room, sat me down, and said:

"I've got a major problem, Captain."

I gave a tired sigh. "What's that, Trip?" Other than the fact that I, his supposed best friend, thought he was a snake who was just waiting to abscond with my lover.

Trip took a deep breath and admitted, miserably, "I'm in love."

"Congratulations." At least one of us would be happy, then.

"It ain't that easy."

I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Trip stared at the floor, then cast his eyes up to the ceiling. "It's a guy."

Son-of-a-bitch. After all that… "What?"

"I know, Captain. It was the last thing I expected, too. It kinda…sneaked up on me."

"Sneaked up on you?" I repeated. "Kind of like Sasha 'sneaked' up on you? And Christine? And Jill?" I stared at him. He looked back like I was speaking gibberish. Of course, I should have known. They hadn't meant anything to him. Just like Malcolm didn't mean anything to him. He'd forget Malcolm's name, too, in a few months. But I wouldn't.

"What are you talking about?" Trip blinked.

"Listen, Trip, I've told you before, you're not having him. I don't care what tricks you want to try…"

"I'm not talking about Malcolm. Don't be so damned paranoid." He sighed again. "I'm in love with Travis."

I felt like I'd been clocked by a Suliban, kicked in the ribs by an Andorian, and then shocked by an Enolian prison guard. It was all I could do to repeat, stupidly: "Travis Mayweather?"

Trip looked at me. "No, Randy Travis. Of course Mayweather. But it's complicated."

"Why? Because he's a guy?"

Trip shook his head. "No. I've been around you long enough to know how that works. And he's pretty damned experienced himself."

I decided not to ask how Trip knew that. Not just yet, anyway. Instead, I said:

"So what, then? Because he's a junior officer? Because he's at least ten years younger than you?" Trip didn't care about rank, and I was hardly in a position to cast stones about age. He shook his head. I pondered this. There was only one other issue that could possibly pose a problem. While racism towards other humans had been mostly eradicated with the appearance of the Vulcans, there were still a few people in Trip's neck of the woods who weren't too hot on the whole intermingling thing. Trip wasn't like that, but, since I couldn't think of anything else, I said: "Because he's black?"

"What?" Trip's face gave me my answer to that one. "Because he's a Boomer." He looked up at me. "I'm not in space for the long haul, Jon, I've always said that. I want to settle down on Earth. Sooner rather than later. What if he doesn't want to?"

I frowned, opened my mouth, then closed it again. "Trip, have you actually slept with him?"

Trip reddened. "No."

"Have you even asked him out?" Trip shook his head. "So why are you worried about settling down?"

Trip looked at me exasperatedly, like I hadn't been listening. "Because I'm in love, Jon."

Ah, well. That explained it, then.

***

The next few days were, to put it succinctly, hell. When Malcolm cooled off, he really cooled off. The one time we had sex, Malcolm did it like it was one of the duties on his 'To Do' list. Realign the cannons, inventory the phase pistols, and fuck the captain. He left shortly after, probably to check it off his list and move onto the next task, and I lay alone with Porthos, wondering why it seemed physically impossible for me to be happy.

Trip and Travis, on the other hand, were going at it like rabbits. At least that's what I assumed, when I passed through the mess hall and saw them giggling over a plate of sausages. It didn't surprise me. Once he decided what he wanted, Trip didn't hang around. Despite my personal issues with him, Trip did have a lot to offer. Travis was a lucky guy. And, having seen Travis in the shower, Trip wasn't so badly off, either.

About a week after our encounter with the Carnivalans, we met another, less jovial, species. They hailed us with:

"Intruders, identify yourselves at once," and it was all downhill from there. Half an hour after that first message, we were fleeing through space. Power had been cut to half the ship, and most of what remained was dedicated to keeping the engine at warp five. It wasn't helping. The other ship was still behind us. They fired, and I fell out of my chair in a most undignified manner. Glancing behind me to make sure everyone else was OK, I hit the comm.

"Bridge to Commander Tucker. Report." There was no answer. I looked over at T'Pol, silhouetted in the dim emergency lighting. She raised an eyebrow and I tried again. "Trip, are you there?" Again, no answer. I saw Travis's hands tighten on the helm, but, ever the professional, he kept his eyes on the road.

Making a split-second decision, I pulled myself up on the chair. "I'm going down to Engineering."

"Captain, all the turbolifts are out."

"I'll take the Jeffries tubes."

"I will accompany you," Malcolm put in. When I turned to look at him, he continued: "I know a little about engineering, and I'm useless here, anyway." It was true. The phase cannons had been the first system lost. I'll say one thing for these maniacs; they knew where to aim.

"All right," I agreed. "T'Pol, you have the bridge." It was an unnecessary order, but it comforted me to say it. It gave me the illusion that I was in some kind of control.

"I think you want the next left, Captain."

"Wasn't that what you said five minutes ago?" It was damned lucky I wasn't claustrophobic. The Jeffries tubes were narrow and dark, so dark we couldn't make out any landmarks. Just as I was seriously beginning to consider the possibility of spending the rest of my life—probably about twenty minutes—wandering the Jeffries tubes, Malcolm squeezed up so he was beside me. Right beside me.

"I've missed this," he said, suddenly.

The weak track lighting wasn't enough to let me see his face, so I had to ask: "What? Crawling around in the dark?"

"Being close to you." He was, so close now I could feel his breath on my face. "This probably isn't the moment."

"Malcolm, I'll be honest with you." I tried to keep my voice light. "There might not be a hell of a lot of other moments."

Malcolm laughed, actually laughed, and I felt his arms around me. "I love you, Jon."

"But you don't trust me."

"I'm following you through the Jeffries tubes in the middle of an alien attack, aren't I?"

"I mean, you don't trust me not to cheat on you." And that was the important thing.

Malcolm sighed, and I felt his chest moving against mine. "Have you been drinking, Jon?"

"What?"

"Neither have I. Are you under the influence of any kind of mind-altering substances whatsoever?" I was worried that Trip had just been killed by alien psychopaths, and that the rest of us were going to be right behind him. But apart from that, I was just fine. "Because I love you, Jon. A lot. And I want to marry you."

"What about that whole trust thing?"

I felt Malcolm shrug. "I'm not my father. And you're not in the Navy. I'll remember that. Everything else, we can work out." I kissed him, softly at first, but then more urgently. It was Malcolm who finally pulled away. "Now let's go find Engineering, shall we?"

Engineering had taken a direct hit. Such a direct hit, in fact, that half the wall was torn away, replaced by an emergency forcefield that allowed us to see out into the stars. I didn't pause to admire the stunning, if disconcerting, view. Instead, I went over to Trip, who was lying unconscious next to the engine, a huge gash across his forehead and a wire in his hand. I leaned over him, pressing my fingers to his neck, while Malcolm headed for the machinery. Trip's pulse was strong and his breathing was steady, if a little ragged. Taking the wire out of his hand, I looked at the panel he'd evidently been working on. A rat's nest of wires and glowing tubes looked back at me. Trying to remember back to grad school and the days with my father, I asked Malcolm:

"Where do I stick that?"

Malcolm didn't look too sure, either, but he plugged the wire into the most obvious socket. The engine shivered a little, then made a whining noise. Before we could determine if that was good or not, the alien ship, a black, hulking monstrosity, appeared on the other side of our missing wall.

"Damn," Malcolm sighed. I was right there with him.

"Listen, Malcolm," I turned to him, grabbing his hand. "About all that…"

"Don't mention it." Malcolm smiled. He looked good, lit up by the stars like that. Although, to be honest, I'd just have soon that there be a wall blocking the view. "I love you."

"Love you, too." I leaned down, pressing my mouth to his, wrapping my arms around him. He kissed back, hugging me tightly. I'd never been much of a 'Romeo and Juliet' fan, but if we had to go, that seemed like as good a way as any.

Only we didn't go. After about a minute, wondering why we weren't yet dead, I pulled my mouth away. Keeping my arms around Malcolm, I looked out the hole and saw another ship pulling up beside our attackers. A Carnivalan ship, which proceeded to blast the other ship with something so powerful that the recoil rocked 'Enterprise' like a San Francisco earthquake.

The ship that had been chasing us sped off, followed closely by the Carnivalans, and suddenly, we were alone again. I exchanged glances with Malcolm.

"What the…"

"I don't know, Jon." Before we could discuss it further, though, Trip stirred beside us.

"Travis…" He murmured, sleepily.

"Just a second, Trip." I looked down at my friend. "We'll get you to sickbay."

Travis was waiting for him there, crushing Trip into a tight hug the moment we dragged him in. Trip patted his lover woozily on the back, allowing Travis to kiss him possessively before Phlox led him over to a biobed. Travis followed, hovering like a mother hen while Malcolm and I waited our turn. We were still waiting, my arm around his shoulders and his around my waist, when T'Pol arrived.

"Ah, Captain. We have received a message from the Carnivalans."

"What do they say?" Whatever they wanted, I was more than prepared to give it to them. Forget owing them one, we owed them at least several dozen.

"'Carnivalan Cruise Lines appreciates your patronage.'" T'Pol read from her PADD. "'Present this coupon at the time of booking and receive ten percent off your next cruise. Tax and gratuities extra. Not valid during peak season.'"

***

It had been a long time since I'd participated in a wedding in any capacity, and this one, obviously, was more important than any of the rest had been. I fastened my pips onto my dress uniform, straightening myself in the mirror. I checked my pockets to make sure I had the two wedding rings, identical gold bands, and took a deep breath. I was just about to leave when the door chimed and Trip entered, grinning.

"Bet you never thought you'd see the day." He was in his dress uniform as well, and once again, I thought that Travis was a very lucky man. But not as lucky as I was.

"I didn't," I admitted. "But now that it's here, I'm ecstatic." It was true. Trip was my best friend. I was thrilled to be the one to marry him, and I was thrilled that he was getting married. For more reasons than I cared to think about. "Did Hoshi set up the link with your parents?"

"They're ready and waiting. My dad even hooked their comm up to the big screen down at McGillivray's." I smiled as I imagined Junior Tucker, as proficient with electronics as his son, convincing the local bar owners to project Trip's wedding on their big screen. Well, Trip was a popular guy. It would probably be the most attended local wedding in a while. "Travis's folks are all set, too." Thanks to some juggling of schedules, Travis's parents had managed to be close enough to transport over for the afternoon. Travis, of course, was very excited to see them, but not as excited as he got whenever Trip entered the room.

"Here you are," the door opened again, and Malcolm came in, three red roses in hand. "The natives are getting restless. Ensign Bertelli threw a bread bun at Lieutenant DeFranco. I think you'd better get out there and distract them before we end up with a full-fledged food fight." He reached up to fasten the rose to my lapel, then did the same for Trip.

"Chef wouldn't like that," I smiled at him, then took the last rose off him and attached it for him. I'd barely finished when Trip grabbed us both in a tight hug.

"Thanks, guys. For everything." He pulled away, then looked between Malcolm and I. "You two are next, you know."

"Some day," Malcolm agreed, glancing at me. Trip slapped us both on the back and headed out, Malcolm and I following behind him. Malcolm was right. This was Trip and Travis's day: there was plenty of time to tell them we'd already booked our private ceremony in Holosuite C of Carnivalan Cruise Line's 'Honeymoon Express' ("For the wedding you won't regret and a honeymoon you'll never forget; Denobulans enquire about group rates.")