Gigi Sinclair

Staying home had never been an option for Trip. He'd never even considered it. When Jon had come back with the information about the Xindi, Trip knew he had to go after those people. He knew it was the only thing to do.

He still believed that. Now, though, he kind of wished they'd thought things through a little more, maybe done some more research, before they'd charged off into the Expanse.

A one-way ticket. That was what he'd told Malcolm, during that late night conversation in the mess hall. At one time, Trip would have thought Malcolm was flirting with him, raising his eyebrows when Trip mentioned T'Pol's neural stimulation and teasing him about his work. At one time, Trip would have flirted right back. Hey, it was a lonely universe, and they were on a long voyage. Now, though, there was no time for that. Trip was too busy trying to reinvent the wheel, and a few laws of physics while he was at it.

That wasn't even the worst of it. No, the worst wasn't what the engine problems were doing to Trip's brain cells, or even what the MACOs were doing to Malcolm's self-esteem. It was what the Expanse was doing to Jon's sanity.

Trip loved Jon. In, he reminded himself quickly, a completely familial, non-sexual way. He loved the way Jon spoiled Porthos, the way he got irrationally excited about water polo which was, if Trip was honest, just about the least exciting thing you could do in a swimming pool. He loved the way Jon always, always remembered Trip's birthday, even when they had been so busy with the warp five tests, Trip himself had forgotten to celebrate it. Until Jon showed up at the complex with a football-shaped chocolate cake and a mint condition Number 21426 Spiderman. Complete with Interactive Holographic Seal.

He even loved the way Jon would sometimes put his arm around Trip as they sat watching old movies, and the way he liked it when Trip rested his head on Jon's shoulder. In a completely familial, non-sexual way, of course.

That Jon hadn't been around lately.

Trip could handle the constant fear of the Expanse. He could handle the uncertainty, the pain of knowing that many of his crewmates would die here, and that it would be nothing short of a miracle if a few of them made it out alive. Trip couldn't handle Lizzie being dead, but he didn't know how to help himself on that front. He was, on the other hand, absolutely sure it would kill him if he lost Jon as well, and that, he could still do something to prevent.

After his third forced meditation session with T'Pol, Trip went to Jon's quarters. It took Jon a long time to answer the chime, and when he finally did, he looked like hell. Literally.

"Can I come in?"

Jon hesitated, something else he would never have done before. Trip stepped past him.

The usually neat quarters were messy. There was a large coffee stain high up on one wall, which Trip guessed came from their little adventure with anti-grav. Although from the looks of him, Jon might have put it there deliberately.

"What are you doing here?" Jon's voice was tired. He had never seemed as old as he was, and Trip had been surprised when he found out Jon's actual age. There was something about his wonder, the way he could get so excited about the smallest things, which had always made him seem much younger. Now, though, Jon showed every one of his years and a few more on top of that.

"I thought I'd come see you. It's been a while."

Jon sighed heavily, staring at the floor. Trip tried not to remember all the nights Jon had invited him over, and he'd declined in favour of a girl, or a textbook, or a group of friends who liked a wilder time than Jon did. "I'm tired, Trip. I just want to get to sleep." Jon looked up suddenly, and for a second, Trip saw a flash of the old, compassionate Jon in his eyes.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's OK." Trip took a deep breath. He couldn't have asked for a better opening. And there was no way he was chickening out now. "I'm doing a little better since I started that neural node stimulation thing with T'Pol."

"Oh. Good." The flash passed, and Jon was morose again. Trip felt a few butterflies hatch in his stomach, but he squashed them firmly. In the last week, he'd crawled through extra-terrestrial sewage, been imprisoned by a creepy alien with some kind of substance abuse problem, and come close to killing a Xindi with his bare hands. He'd never done that, never had that near-uncontrollable desire to destroy another living creature. If Jon hadn't been there, Trip didn't know if he'd have been able to stop.

But he'd got through that, he reminded himself. And he could do this for Jon.

"Maybe you should try it. It seems really weird, but it is kinda…relaxing." Once he'd gotten over the unnerving shock of T'Pol touching his bare skin. And T'Pol taking off her shirt.

"I don't need relaxing," Jon snapped, turning away.

Trip gritted his teeth. "Yes, you do. When I asked if you were worried about something, I wasn't talking about the engines, Jon. That thing with the Osaarian, that wasn't you."

Trip hadn't been there, but he'd heard from Malcolm that Jon had lost his mind, and had nearly done to the Osaarian what Trip had been tempted to do to the Xindi. That wasn't the Jon who had kept Trip up past 0300 on several pre-'Enterprise' occasions, so wrapped up in speculating about all the amazing species they would encounter and all the knowledge they would acquire that he forgot about going home or even about going to sleep. "You need help."

Trip expected Jon to freak out. He was prepared for that. Instead, Jon collapsed onto his bed, his head in his hands.

Porthos, obviously concerned, trotted over and sniffed at Jon's pant leg. Jon picked him up, and, with a lick to Jon's face, he settled on Jon's lap.

"Oh, God, Trip. What's happening to me?"

"Nothing, Jon." Trip stopped staring and sat beside Jon. Porthos, clearly not wanting him to feel left out, leaned over and licked Trip's hand. "You're just going through the same thing as the rest of us."

"You're not acting like a madman."

"I've had my moments."

"But I'm the captain!" Jon stood up. With a yelp, Porthos fell to the ground and indignantly stalked over to his dog bed. "I should be keeping the crew together, not falling apart myself."

"You're not falling apart, Jon." Standing up, Trip put his hands on Jon's shoulders and sat him down. Jon went willingly. "You just need a little help." He took a deep breath and jumped in. "Take off your shirt."

"What?" Jon wasn't as shocked as Trip had been when T'Pol had asked him to do it (although, Trip thought, he couldn't think of much that would be more shocking than a Vulcan telling you to get naked.) He still sounded confused.

"I promise, it's not as bad as it sounds. It feels good."

He hesitated a moment but in the end, Jon trusted him, just as Trip had known he would. He pulled down the top half of his uniform and took off his T-shirt and undershirt.

"Now what?" He asked, expectantly.

"Just sit there." Trip positioned himself behind Jon.

Doing this to Jon was different than doing it to T'Pol, and not only because Jon was much bigger. Much, much bigger, Trip noticed. It was nearly enough to make him lose his nerve, but then Jon shifted impatiently and Trip touched him.

He was warm. Trip couldn't remember ever doing this before, touching Jon's bare skin. Then he remembered that thing on the desert planet, when Jon had been willing to give his life for Trip's.

Deliberately not thinking about it, he found the spot and squeezed, in just the way T'Pol had taught him. When he did it to her, he felt like an idiot, even though she seemed to enjoy it. His hands looked wrong on her tiny, pale body. They looked much more at home on Jon's broad back.

But it was Jon's reaction that did Trip in. When he pushed the right place, Jon yelled: "Oh, Jesus, Trip!" So loudly, Porthos yipped and Trip nearly fell off the bed. Of course, he understood. He'd felt the same the first time T'Pol had done it to him, although he had been a little more restrained.

"Good?" Trip asked, when he finally recovered the power of speech. Even then, his voice was hoarser than usual.

"Holy shit," was Jon's gasped reply. "That feels…incredible." He sighed, and Trip noticed that a certain part of his own body was enjoying this immensely.

It wasn't a reaction he'd ever thought about having to Jon, but there it was, plain as day. Something that hadn't come up since before Lizzie died.

"Wow." Jon was still dazed, a satiated, slightly dopey look on his face. Which, of course, Trip could understand completely, but it wasn't helping his problem. If it was a problem. "You're good at that, Trip."

"Thank T'Pol." He stood up, holding his hands awkwardly in front of his crotch. "Well, I should probably be going now…"

Jon frowned. "Do you…I mean, I could do it to you. If you want." T'Pol had already done it. But, Trip thought, she'd never mentioned that multiple sessions could be harmful. In fact, she'd always seemed disappointed, in as much as she ever seemed anything, that he didn't want to spend more time doing it with her. "You'll have to tell me what to do."

"OK," Trip agreed, before his anxiety could get the better of him. Anyway, he decided, sitting back down, it would be easier to hide his erection when he had his back to Jon.

Trip pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it onto the floor. When he instructed Jon: "Put your hands on my back," the warmth of Jon's hands against his rapidly cooling skin was enough to stimulate the Little Commander even more. Trip shifted on the mattress and, trying to sound relaxed, continued: "You gotta find a spot three centimetres on each side of the fifth vertebra."

"The what?"

"Here." Trip reached back and positioned Jon's hands at the base of his neck. Which had thrown him for a loop when T'Pol did it, because he'd always thought you counted vertebrae from the top downwards. At the time, he'd decided he'd better check that with Dr. Phlox, but he never had. Now, with Jon's callused fingers on either side of his fifth vertebra, he could admit that had just been a random thought, to keep himself from really panicking about being alone with a half-naked T'Pol. "Now push."

Nothing happened. "I said push, Jon."

"I am pushing."

"Are you kidding?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Come on, push hard." Trip finally felt a slight, hesitant pressure. Jon really was worried about hurting him, Trip realized. And that meant he wasn't a lost cause.

It was Trip's last coherent thought for some time.

When he regained some modicum of composure, he wondered if any Vulcan had ever undergone neural node stimulation with a pre-existing hard-on. If they had, then it was probably included in the Vulcan equivalent of the Kama Sutra, and T'Pol was either completely naïve or much dirtier than any of them had given her credit for.

Trip thanked God he hadn't taken off his sweatpants and actually ejaculated on Jon's bed. The large wet patch on the front of his pants and the panting and screaming that had followed Jon's stimulation were embarrassing enough. Jon kept his hands on Trip's back while Trip gasped himself back to reality. When Trip finally realized he was going to have to turn around, he saw an expression of awe, shock, and more than a little fear on the captain's face.

"Sorry, Jon…"

"It's OK," Jon cut him off, still staring at Trip. He wasn't looking at Trip's crotch, though, and Trip was grateful for small mercies. Tiny mercies, actually. "I didn't…The neural stimulation wasn't quite that good for me."

Trip forced a laugh. "Well, you know me. I get off on anything." He stood up gingerly, trying not to wince. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait." Jon raised a hand, the puzzled frown still on his face. "The touching was good," he said, more to himself than to Trip. Trip shifted nervously. "But seeing you react like that…" Jon stood up as well, very close to Trip. Close enough that Trip glanced down awkwardly, and felt even more awkward when he saw the bulge in Jon's uniform.

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say. He was close enough to hear Jon's uneven breathing, and to have Jon's bare chest come within millimetres of his with every inhalation.

"Trip." Jon raised a hand, like he was going to touch Trip again, then stopped.

Which Trip found strangely disappointing.

"Jon." He didn't know what else to say. Finally, after an impossibly long moment, Jon proved why he'd been given the job of explorer-slash-adventurer in the first place, put his arms tightly around Trip and kissed him.

Trip kissed back, his hands finding their way to Jon's shoulders, massaging the hard muscle. It was different, but interestingly so. He'd always known Jon preferred men. You didn't meet many forty-five-year-old bachelors who didn't, but Trip never thought much about it. For Trip, there were already too many women in the world. It would have been overwhelming for him to look at men as well, not to mention a waste of valuable time. Now, though, Trip wondered if maybe that had been a stupid philosophy. He'd been so devoted to it, he'd missed what was right in front of him.

"Trip," Jon panted, when he finally pulled away. Trip didn't let him get far, keeping his hands firmly on his shoulders. "This is…"

"Great?" Trip suggested.

"Insane," but Jon was smiling as he said it. Trip couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Jon smile.

He also couldn't remember the last time he'd gone twenty consecutive minutes without thinking about Lizzie, but he'd just done it.

"I…" Suddenly, Jon swayed. Trip lowered him onto the bed, noticing that the lower half of his uniform was still constricting a very large erection.

"Yeah, it hits you kinda hard the first time." He remembered nearly keeling over in the corridor on his way back from T'Pol's. Then, he'd fallen into bed and been wide awake again.

"I'm sorry, I wanted…"

Trip did, too. But more than that, he wanted Jon to get some rest. "Close your eyes, Jon. There's plenty of time." It wasn't a lie. Even if they ended up dying in the Expanse, they wouldn't go before Trip had made up for ten years of blindness. He promised it to himself as much as to Jon.

By the time Trip had taken off Jon's boots and eased the covers over his body, Jon was asleep. Trip thought about going back to his quarters. His dark, empty quarters with cold sheets and memories of a lot of sleepless nights. Instead, on an impulse, he took off his soaked sweats and underwear. What the hell, he decided. Jon had seen him naked hundreds of times, and he had just witnessed Trip coming like a runaway freight train. There wasn't much point in modesty.

Jon's arm went around Trip as he slid between the sheets. Trip cuddled into him, resting his head on Jon's chest.

He woke up a full five hours later, feeling as rested as he had in months. He looked over to see Jon looking back at him, concern in his eyes. "You OK, Trip?"

"Gettin' there, Jon." Slowly but surely.

"Yeah." Jon sounded surprised. "I think I am, too."