Gigi Sinclair

Jon woke up to the feeling of sunlight on his face, and a comfortable mattress under his body. His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright so quickly his head spun.

He was clearly in a bedroom, although not one he had ever seen before. He was lying naked in a large bed, under a black and white comforter. Looking down at his own body, Jon didn't see anything out of the ordinary, except for a gold ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. A tracking device of some kind? He thought about taking it off, then decided that might alert someone-he wasn't sure who-that he was awake. It seemed safer to leave it there for now.

There was no sign of his uniform, but a pair of jeans that looked like they would fit him was spread across an armchair, along with briefs and a collared T-shirt. On the table beside the bed were a lamp and a PADD, angled so Jon noticed it immediately.

He picked it up and read: "Dear Jon, Breakfast is on the table in the kitchen (downstairs, second door on the right.) I'll be home soon. Love, Trip (your husband.)"

It had to be the Expanse, Jon decided, putting the PADD back on the table and running a hand through his hair. Weird things had been happening since they entered it, several months ago now. This was the weirdest yet, but Jon had no doubt the Xindi had something to do with whatever was going on.

He slid out of bed and pulled on the clothes. Wherever he was, he could hardly wander around in the nude. When he was dressed, he opened the blinds and peeked out of the window. It looked onto a back yard, complete with a patio, a barbecue, and a doghouse.

Cautiously, Jon opened the bedroom door and peered out. The hallway seemed to be deserted, so, keeping his back to the wall, he left the room and crept across the landing and down the stairs. Whoever had made this hologram or hallucination or whatever it was had clearly done their homework. It looked like a human home, right down to the pictures on the walls. One of which was a photograph of an older-looking Trip and a greying Jon standing together in their dress uniforms.

The first floor of the house was just as detailed. Jon passed through a living room, furnished with leather couches and a large vid-screen, and arrived at the door indicated on the PADD. He expected a trap, and, wishing he had Malcolm or a weapon with him, he crept up to the open door and tried to look inside. It appeared empty, so Jon leapt in, glancing around quickly.

The room was empty, except for a kitchen table, what looked like granite counters, and a smaller vid-screen that lit up just as Jon noticed the wrapped cut grapefruit on the table.

"Hello." An image of Jon himself-or, Jon thought, someone who looked like him, except with that greying hair-appeared on the screen. "Don't worry, you're fine. This has nothing to do with the Xindi or the Expanse or anything." Looking at his own face, Jon immediately became more suspicious. Why mention it, unless they wanted to catch him off-guard later?

"Well, it does," the image continued, "But not directly. If you look on the calendar next to the patio doors, you'll see what date it is. That is the real date. The Xindi war ended years ago, and we're home, in San Francisco. But you were brain damaged by a spatial distortion in the Expanse, and you can't make new long-term memories. That's why you can remember what you had for dinner the day before you got sick," Jon did remember. Veal cutlets and strawberry pie. But he wasn't sick, and that was just yesterday. "But you can't remember anything that's happened since then. Don't worry. Trip will be home soon, and you can talk about it with him. Just like you do every day." The Jon on the screen smiled. "Things aren't as bad as they seem, and you're a hell of a lucky guy. Be sure to tell Trip how much you love him. He puts up with a lot."

The screen switched itself off, and Jon's eyes fell on the calendar hanging next to the patio doors. Underneath a picture of the Florida coastline, the date "Friday, October 31, 2166" was flashing.

Jon sat down heavily in the nearest chair, which just happened to be the one in front of the grapefruit. This couldn't be true. It had to be some kind of trick, or if not that, some kind of mental illness or hallucination caused by something in the Expanse. Just a few weeks ago, they'd come across the Vulcans who had reacted badly to the trellium-D. Maybe this was something like that.

The alternative was unthinkable. It would mean he was missing thirteen years of his life.

Jon was staring at the grapefruit, wondering if he should take the chance and eat it, when there was a rattling of the doorknob, and the patio door opened. Trip came in, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and carrying a bag.

It looked like Trip, anyway. He was older, with strands of grey in his blond hair and lines around his blue eyes. On his left hand was a ring identical to the one Jon wore. He smiled when he saw Jon sitting, puzzled, at the table.

"Hi, Jon. You OK? I was hoping I'd be back before you woke up." He looked over at the screen. "Did you get your message?"

Jon nodded warily. If he was a figment of Jon's imagination, that was one thing, but what if he was a Xindi in disguise? "I'm not a Xindi, Jon," Trip replied, suspiciously quickly. "And I'm real. This," he waved his hand, "Is all real. You want some coffee?"

"I don't…"

"I know." Trip said, opening a cupboard and taking out a packet of coffee. "Believe me, darlin', I know. But it's just like you said in the message. Brain damage, no new long-term memories." The coffee heated quickly and, without asking, Trip poured two mugs, adding sugar and milk to the one he set in front of Jon. "Phlox is still trying. We've got an appointment to see him this afternoon."

Jon's mind was spinning. No new long-term memories. It didn't make sense. He could recall everything perfectly. The first missions on "Enterprise," the day he, Trip and A.G. Robinson had stolen the NX beta, the final game of the 2145 national water polo championships, his first date. He could even remember yesterday like it was, well, yesterday.

They'd been going through a rough patch in the Expanse, but seemed to have passed the worst of it. He woke up to find the walls doing their semi-normal shimmy. Later that morning, Malcolm complained about a similar shimmy in the armoury, but neither lasted long, and the rest of the day had been uneventful. He'd done some paperwork, worked out in the gym, and turned down Trip's invitation to go to movie night because he had a headache.

"The rest of the crew." He remembered Malcolm, comming him to say that the distortions were knocking the weapons off the walls and he was, frankly, "pretty bloody sick of it." "Is Malcolm…"

"He's fine." Trip answered absently, taking a news-PADD out of the bag he'd brought in. "Him and Matt Hayes took early retirement to Malaysia."

"Hayes? Why?"

"Married."

"What?"

"We went to the wedding," Trip scrolled down the PADD. "Traditional Marine. They slapped Malcolm on the ass with a sword and everything."

"What?" Jon repeated.

"They did the same thing to Hoshi when she married Kemper. Her dad was dead by then, so you gave her away."

"I don't remember." And he didn't understand how this would fit into a hallucination of his. He'd never imagined Malcolm and Hayes as anything more than reluctant co-workers. He didn't even know who Kemper was.

"I know, darlin'." Trip looked up from the PADD and reached across to squeeze Jon's hand. "You don't remember our wedding, either."

And then there was that little detail. He had always had a vague crush on Trip. There was only one occasion when he'd actually considered acting on it, and that hadn't worked out. It couldn't have worked out, he knew that. They were best friends and great co-workers, and Jon knew better than to risk that for a fling. He'd never been good at relationships, and he would never have done anything that could screw up his friendship with Trip.

Except, obviously, he had, and it hadn't.

Jon looked down at his hand, twirling the gold ring on his finger. "Why are we together?"

"Because I love you," Trip answered easily.

"Even though I have no memory?"

Trip looked at him for a moment. Then he put down the PADD, stood up, and came around to Jon's side of the table. Jon's heart hammered as Trip leaned in and gave him a long, hard, bone-melting kiss. When he pulled away, Jon was panting and breathless. Trip kissed him again, softly and chastely on the forehead, then sat down.

"There are advantages, darlin'." Jon blinked, now dazed as well as confused. Absently, he raised a hand to his lips and looked at Trip, who smirked into his coffee. "At least you never get bored of me."

Jon had to admit, if it was a hallucination or a Xindi trick, which seemed less and less likely, then it was a comprehensive one. Trip, with the attitude of someone well used to doing this, pointed Jon to a stack of photo PADDs, and Jon looked through them, fascinated. He saw the bridge staff in front of a window revealing "Enterprise" docked at Jupiter Station. He looked at himself in his dress uniform, standing beside Hoshi, beautiful in a Japanese wedding dress. He saw Trip holding a dark-haired baby next to a blond man who could, Jon supposed, be the mysterious Kemper, and a drunken-looking Malcolm at what was apparently a New Year's Eve party, kissing the cheek of the man Jon knew as Major Hayes, but Malcolm clearly knew much better. There was even a picture of T'Pol, in full ambassador regalia, standing sombrely beside some kind of a memorial.

"I think she sent you a letter a few days ago," Trip put in, as he wandered by and saw who Jon was looking at. "I can access it for you if you want."

"Maybe later." He looked at Trip. "How did it end?"

"The war?" Jon nodded. "Kind of a non-event, really. The sloth and the marine Xindi made an alliance and staged a coup when the insectoid and the humanoid Xindi wouldn't agree to a peace treaty. Starfleet sent in the diplomats and they hammered out a treaty with the ones that were left."

"That's it? What about vengeance?" He remembered how much he had wanted it, needed it, for his own sake as much as Trip's. Trip had been hell-bent on revenge as well, but he didn't seem overly disappointed at not getting it.

He shrugged. "Both sides figured they'd already lost enough people over this."

"What about Lizzie?"

Trip looked at him. "More killing wouldn't have brought her back, Jon. Took me long enough to realize that, but I finally did. By that time, I just wanted to get you home. And I think we were all tired of serving under T'Pol."

"They…"

"We couldn't keep you as captain, darlin'. You didn't know what day it was."

"So what did I do?"

"Worked with me in Engineering some. You still knew the Warp Five engine better than anyone."

Jon shook his head. To go from captain of the ship to some kind of lackey, patronizingly given a job they trusted him to do, with, no doubt, Trip's constant supervision; it was humiliating.

"You weren't real happy," Trip conceded, sitting beside Jon and putting an arm around him. "But when we explained it to you, you agreed it was the only thing to do. Every time we explained it to you."

From this position, Jon could see the grey in Trip's hair and the lines on his face even more clearly. If it was 2166, that meant Trip was forty-six years old, and had been putting up with this for thirteen years. Going over the same things, answering the same questions, explaining the same history day after day, week after week, for thirteen years. All for a man who couldn't remember sleeping with him, let alone marrying him.

Jon didn't know if he could have done it.

***

Starfleet headquarters was exactly as Jon remembered it, which comforted him a little. Phlox hadn't changed, either. He met them in what Trip said was the doctor's consulting room, on the third floor of Starfleet Medical Centre. It was a typical Starfleet office, with dull carpet and unimaginative, bureaucratic furnishings. And about two dozen cages containing various screeching, squawking and snuffling creatures.

"Captain Archer, Captain Tucker. How nice to see you again." Phlox beamed at them, and Jon glanced at Trip. Captain Tucker. He felt a swell of pride, immediately followed by regret that he couldn't remember the promotion ceremony. "How are things, Captains?"

"Pretty much the same," Trip replied, after exchanging a glance with Jon. "Any news on your end?"

"I'm afraid not. Although Commander Mayweather's ship is going into the Expanse on a trade mission. She will be making further inquiries and reporting back." Phlox looked at Jon. "After the ceasefire, we naturally enlisted the help of the Xindi in finding a cure for your condition."

"They know about it?" Jon asked.

Phlox nodded. "It is a rare, but not unknown, result of the distortions in that area of the Expanse."

"Why…" Why me? Jon wanted to ask, then realized that might sound a little selfish. It was better, Jon told himself, that it was him, rather than Hoshi or Trip or someone else. That was what being the captain was about.

Phlox answered anyway. "I have been unable to determine why only you were affected, Captain. I believe it may be something to do with the balance of chemicals in your brain. This is also my explanation for why Tarquin could communicate with Hoshi, and no one else." Tarquin. Jon remembered him. Malcolm had thought he looked like a potato that had been in the cupboard too long and had started to sprout shoots.

"It is not hopeless," Phlox reassured. "We have made progress in your treatment. Don't worry." He leaned forward and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'm quite certain that the story of your recovery will be featured in all the medical journals one day soon. Perhaps even a movie of the week?"

Trip laughed. "Who would play you?"

Phlox smiled genteelly. "Michael Kingston-Garrett, naturally. I have been told the resemblance is striking."

Trip laughed again, then glanced at Jon, who was drawing a complete blank. Still chuckling, he took a PADD from Phlox's coffee table and scrolled down. When he handed it to Jon, a picture of an attractive young man who looked about as much like Phlox as he looked like Jon.

Phlox took some brain scans and pointed out the disturbing shadow that was, apparently, the reason Jon couldn't remember anything from the last thirteen years. As they were getting ready to leave, Phlox said: "Will you be attending the Halloween party tonight?"

"I don't think so, Phlox." Trip replied. "That is unfortunate. Lieutenant-Commander Sato-Kemper has helped me develop a most fascinating costume. Apparently, there was a late twentieth-century rock musician famed for his unusual eyeglasses…"

"Sounds great," Trip interrupted. "But I think we're just going to have a night at home."

Phlox persisted. "I believe it may be beneficial for you to be around others, Captain Archer. The Sato-Kempers frequently inquire about your health. Little Elizabeth in particular is most anxious to see you again."

"Elizabeth?" Jon looked at Trip.

Trip rubbed his eyes. "Their daughter. We'll think about it, OK, Phlox?"

Phlox nodded. "Please do, Captains."

Jon followed Trip out of the building and across the compound to where Trip had parked the flitter. As they got in, Jon asked:

"You don't have any children, do you?"

Trip laughed. "No. A coupla days of being pregnant were more than enough for me."

"I mean adopted. Or surrogate. Or even the usual way." Trip liked women, Jon remembered that very clearly.

"We have nephews and nieces, Jon. My sister has a whole mob. And there's Hoshi's daughter. She's cute as a button." Trip had always loved kids. Jon couldn't understand it, himself, but then he'd channelled his parental instincts into his pets. Even now, they had a beagle and a black Lab, as he'd discovered when he stepped, unsuspecting, into the backyard and was immediately bowled over by two very excited dogs.

But, virus or not, he wasn't a crazy old lady, and he knew the difference between pets and children. And Trip had wanted children, a Charles Tucker the Fourth and probably a Lizzie Tucker the Second, too.

"Trip…"

"It's OK, Jon." Trip programmed the flitter to take them home. "Really." He smiled. "My life is complete." Sure it was, Jon sighed. He had a fifty-five year old child to take care of.

***

He may have his problems, Jon decided as they arrived back at the house, but he wasn't a child, and there was plenty he could do for Trip. And plenty that he wanted to do to Trip.

Logically, Jon knew it was stupid to be nervous about seducing Trip. They were married. It was probably safe to assume they'd made love hundreds of times. But Jon couldn't remember any of them, and he was as anxious as a teenager about to lose his virginity.

When Trip took the dogs for a walk, Jon stayed home and looked through the cupboards. Before "Enterprise", he'd been quite an accomplished cook. He'd even traded recipes with Chef at the start of the mission. Searching the kitchen cupboards, Jon found everything he needed for his once-famed chicken paella, and got to work.

"Mm. Smells good." Jon started a little as Trip came up behind him, slipping his arms around Jon.

"Thanks."

"Paella?" Trip asked.

"Yes." He smiled and recalled the night they'd heard Trip would be joining him on "Enterprise." "Remember the last time I made this?"

"Of course."

They'd known for several weeks that Jon was going to be the captain of "Enterprise" but Trip was up against some stiff competition. He was the best man for the job, Jon knew that without question, but it remained to be seen if Admiral Forrest and the others would realize it. Trip, going crazy with nerves, had come over and Jon had done his best to try and take his mind off things. They'd eaten dinner, watched a movie, had a few beers, and ended up half-drunk on Jon's couch. Jon had never felt closer to Trip, and he'd never come closer to admitting his true feelings. He had been building up his courage when the comm sounded.

It was Admiral Forrest calling for Trip. Jon left him alone and went back into the kitchen, loading the plates into the ionic dishwasher. When Trip came back, he looked stunned. Jon, thinking the worst, was reaching out a hand to comfort his friend, when Trip jumped into his arms, yelling: "I got it!"

They celebrated for hours, until Trip finally passed out on the couch. Jon was thrilled, at the same time he knew he would never say anything now. Not until the end of the mission, at least. As Trip's captain, he couldn't possibly get involved with a subordinate officer, and as Trip's friend, he couldn't put him in such an awkward position.

Now, though, things were simpler, at least in that regard. Jon turned to face Trip. He could hear his own heart pounding, but Trip seemed perfectly relaxed. As, Jon supposed, it was natural to be around your husband, who also happened to be your best friend of more than twenty years. Even if the husband and friend in question couldn't remember half of it.

Licking his lips, Jon inched closer. Trip smiled, but didn't move closer, or any further away. He waited, perfectly still, until Jon brushed their lips together. When Jon tried to pull back, Trip brought his hand up to the back of Jon's neck and held him in place, opening his mouth under Jon's and sliding their tongues together.

Jon was just starting to enjoy himself when the doorbell sounded and the dogs started to bark.

Hoshi hadn't changed much in thirteen years. Apart, obviously, from the long, straight black wig and gold spangled pantsuit she was wearing in lieu of her Starfleet uniform. A blond man in his late thirties was coming up the path behind her, wearing a fake moustache, white bell-bottom pants and a gold embroidered vest. There was a ladybug with a pillowcase holding his hand.

"Sonny and Cher," Hoshi put in helpfully. "We wanted to keep in period with Phlox." She smiled. "And Josh wanted an excuse to wear that outfit in public." Jon assumed that the man was Kemper, an assumption which was confirmed when the man held out a hand and said:

"Major Joshua Sato-Kemper, sir. Pleased to meet you," with perfect seriousness, as if they really had never met before.

The child in the ladybug costume was more direct. "Uncle Jon!" She held up her arms expectantly. Jon bent to pick her up, felt a twinge in his back, and settled for a hug.

"You know Uncle Jon can't lift you, Elizabeth. You're a big girl now. In the first grade," Hoshi reminded her, although Jon got the feeling that was more for his benefit than hers. Elizabeth turned her attention to the beagle licking her hands.

"Hi, guys." Trip came up behind him, putting an arm around Jon's waist. "Can you stay?"

"We're on our way to the Starfleet party. You're not coming?" Hoshi asked.

Trip glanced at Jon, who had a sudden, painful vision of meeting a roomful of strangers who knew him very well.

"Not this time," Jon answered for himself.

There was a pause, which Hoshi filled with: "Elizabeth wanted to come by and show you her costume, anyway."

Apparently reminded of their purpose, Elizabeth thrust her pillowcase at Trip.

"Trick or Treat, Uncle Trip!"

Trip laughed and went to get the bowl of Halloween candy Jon had noticed earlier. He came back with his camera, and the four of them posed while Trip giggled with Elizabeth, who clearly adored him, and snapped pictures. Which would, Jon thought, no doubt go into the album of memories Jon couldn't remember, for the next time he woke up with no recollection of where he was or why he was there.

Dinner was ready soon after the Sato-Kempers had gone. Trip got a bottle of wine from the basement and they settled down to a romantic meal, interrupted at intervals by the doorbell and a high-pitched, choral: "Trick or Treat!"

After dessert, they migrated to the couch. Again, Jon felt like an uncertain teenager, but Trip happily settled into his side, resting his head on Jon's shoulder. They watched the news, and Jon was astonished to learn that Mars Colony had tripled in size in the last ten years.

"We went once," Trip said, when he remarked on this. "They asked me to give a coupla lectures out there. It was OK. Course, it would have been better if you hadn't told me about the guy you used to sleep with when you lived there."

"Nick?" Jon couldn't help but smile fondly. "Nick the Dick" as he was known, and not because of a personality defect. He was a muscular construction worker, like most of the people on the newly developing Mars Colony, when Jon had spent three months doing a course on terraforming. Because, apparently, a lifetime of playing Sim City holo-games wasn't enough to meet Starfleet requirements.

"Yes," Trip answered. "And I heard about him every day for a week. I don't need to know any more, OK?"

"Sure." Jon agreed. It wasn't like he was carrying a torch for the man. He and Nick had been completely incompatible in every way except sexually. And even then, there weren't many men, women or domestic animals with whom Nick wasn't sexually compatible. "I like you better, anyway," he added, truthfully.

"I sure hope so," Trip huffed irritably. Which meant of course that Jon, who was getting used to this being together thing, had to turn and kiss him until Trip was smiling again.

Eventually, the flow of trick-or-treaters slowed, even as things between Jon and Trip heated up. Jon was initially surprised when Trip moved to straddle his lap, but his body quickly got with the program and his, damaged or not, his brain wasn't far behind. He had Trip's shirt unbuttoned, and Trip was working on disposing of Jon's T-shirt, when the doorbell rang again.

When he pulled away, Jon noticed that Trip was flushed and panting. "Turn off the outside light and come to bed," he ordered, and Jon obeyed, feeling more than a little smug.

He paused in front of the hall mirror, making sure he didn't look too debauched. His hair was a mess and his lips were red enough to make it obvious what he'd been doing, but he wasn't planning on standing there long enough to undergo a thorough inspection from the children. Pulling his T-shirt down to cover the bulge in his jeans, he grabbed a handful of candy and opened the door.

And came face to face with an insectoid Xindi.

It didn't matter that it was only four feet tall, or that it was brandishing a plastic pumpkin full of candy in Jon's direction. Jon's chest constricted, his stomach clenched, and he was hit by a wave of panic as real and as solid as a brick wall. He slammed the door and locked it, leaning against it for good measure. Gasping, he tried to regain some kind of control, but it was futile. His thoughts were flying in a thousand directions, most of which involved the millions of people killed by the Xindi and the millions more who had suffered because of them. Like, for example, Jon himself, and Trip, and everyone they cared about.

Outside, he heard the Xindi's father telling him to forget it and that it was time to go home anyway. Jon listened as the footsteps receded, trying to breathe deeply. It came out as more of a sob. Burying his head in his hands, he slid down until he felt the hardwood floor beneath him.

A second later, there was a warm hand on his shoulder and Trip said: "What is it, Jon?"

He looked up. Trip was naked except for a pair of blue briefs, and suddenly, Jon remembered the time the ship had been taken over by those weird big-eared aliens, and Jon and Trip had been the only ones left awake, if a little underdressed. Afterwards, when the ship was safe again, Trip and Jon had laughed about it together and, when he was alone, Jon had enjoyed the mental image of Trip running around in his underwear. Repeatedly, for several months afterwards.

Now, it wasn't funny at all. It was infuriating and depressing, because Jon could remember that and he couldn't remember anything since that day in the Expanse when Malcolm had complained about the walls in the armoury, and he'd had veal and strawberry pie for dinner.

"I'm sorry, Trip," he apologized, although it didn't seem nearly enough.

Trip sat beside him. He didn't reach out to Jon, but he did sit close, their bodies touching from shoulder to thigh. "Sorry for what?"

For making Trip give up his life for Jon. That he'd lost the chance to have children of his own, to further his career, to do anything he might have wanted to after "Enterprise", because he was stuck taking care of a man who couldn't remember enough to take care of himself. "For being like this."

"Not your fault."

"Sorry you were handed all this shit because of the Xindi, then." First Lizzie, then the sleepless nights on "Enterprise", the humiliation of getting help from T'Pol, and now this. For thirteen years.

Trip shifted, stretching his bare legs out in front of him.

"Do you remember when we were on that desert planet?" He didn't pause for reply. "I was dead. My bags were packed and I was ready to check out. I would have done it, too, if you hadn't told me you loved me."

Jon remembered that. It didn't make him feel any better. "I thought you were unconscious."

"Pretty close." Trip smiled. "But it's kind of hard to relax when there's a cave collapsing around you and a sweaty captain is holding on hard enough to crack ribs." He took Jon's nearest hand. "Anyway, that got me thinking. Took me a while, but I finally caught on. I love you, too. But you didn't need me."

"I've always…"

He shook his head. "You liked being friends, Jon. But you'd have been OK without me. Till you got sick and all of a sudden, I was important. Needed. I liked that. Gave me somethin' to focus on besides Lizzie." He looked at Jon. "Somethin' to live for."

Jon wasn't comforted. "Even so, Trip. It's been so long. You have to get tired of it."

"Sometimes," Trip admitted. "But then I think what a pain in the ass it's gotta be for you, and I figure I got off easy."

"But the kids…"

"Kids?" Trip looked blank.

"You always wanted them. You gave that up for me."

Trip sighed. "Darlin', we've had chicken paella at least three times a week for the last ten years."

"I…"

"I don't even like it. And know what? I don't care. That's what love does to you. And once I learned I didn't mind sacrificing my tastebuds for you, everythin' else came easy."

Jon smiled despite himself. Grinning, Trip brought their joined hands to his lips, then continued: "I'm hopin' that one day Phlox'll find you a cure and we can have a normal marriage. But even if that never happens, I'm happy." He sighed theatrically. "Course, I'll be even happier if we can go to bed now, because there's a hell of a draft coming from under that door." Jon remembered the message he'd seen in the kitchen that morning. He understood what he'd meant. He was a hell of a lucky guy. He smiled at Trip. "I'll fix it tomorrow."

Trip let out a surprised laugh. "Can I get that in writing?"

***

Jon woke up plastered to a warm hairy body. That in itself was surprising, but things just got stranger. He tried to sit up, but his companion pulled him closer and grunted. It was an astonishingly familiar sound. Blinking against the sun, Jon opened his eyes and saw two dogs, a beagle and a black Lab, curled up on a rug next to the large bed. It was nothing compared to the shock Jon got when he turned over and saw Trip stirring beside him.

"Trip?" He desperately tried to remember what had happened. Were they on shore leave? He doubted it. It had to be something to do with the Xindi.

Looking down, Jon noticed that he was naked, except for a gold ring on his left hand. He wondered if it was a tracking device of some kind, and considered taking it off, but thought that might alert someone to the fact he was awake.

Someone else, anyway. "Mornin'." Trip opened his eyes as Jon tried not to hyperventilate. He didn't seem surprised, Jon noticed, although there was something-resignation?- in Trip's eyes. He looked older, too, but Jon could hardly blame him. The Expanse was ageing everyone.

"What's…"

He sat up, stretching. Jon noticed Trip had an identical ring on his hand. "Get me a cup of coffee and I'll explain it all, darlin'." He reached out and stroked a surprisingly gentle hand down Jon's cheek. Jon had often imagined what it might be like to be touched by Trip. It was as great as he'd fantasized, even if he didn't understand why it was happening, or where they were. "Downstairs, second door on the right."