Gigi Sinclair

Trip knew he should walk away. Just get up and leave. The worst thing he could possibly do would be to get into a drunken fight with this man. Unfortunately, that was just what he did.

"You tryin' to say somethin', Sergeant?" Trip looked at the commando, not bothering to keep the venom out of his voice, or his eyes.

"Now, Trip," Malcolm broke in. "I'm sure he was just…" "I was just wondering," the sergeant continued for himself, "How you got from Lieutenant to Commander in less than eight years. Seems like a pretty meteoric rise." The sergeant smirked and Trip wondered how, of all the commandos that had joined 'Enterprise' when they left for the Delphic expanse, he and Malcolm had ended up having drinks with this jerk instead of, say, that well-built female lieutenant, or the muscular team leader. "I mean, I don't know a lot about Starfleet, but…"

"But you think you're an expert on my career?"

The man shrugged. "I know you and Captain Archer seem to be real good friends."

"Trip…" Malcolm warned. Trip ignored him. Sure, the commando was built like a brick outhouse, but Trip could take care of himself. And he knew, whatever Malcolm said, that he would be on Trip's side in any fistfight that might ensue. Trip couldn't let this asshole sit there and imply that he had slept his way up the chain of command.

"If you want to say something, sergeant, just say it."

He did. "I think your sugar daddy got you your rank and got you on board this ship."

Trip had forgotten how painful it was to punch someone. It all came flooding back when his fist connected with the sergeant's jaw.

***

Lieutenant Trip Tucker didn't date men in uniform. It was one of his main philosophies of life, along with 'If life hands you lemons, grab a Corona', and 'Rejection is the sincerest form of flattery.' He certainly didn't date men in Starfleet. There were just too many problems, too many hangups, and too many hassles. It was lucky, then, that the first time he saw Jonathan Archer, Trip mistook him for a civilian.

A really sexy civilian. Trip was knocking back his third beer of the evening, looking over to where this mysterious man was sitting alone, knowing it would take one more beer, maximum, for him to walk over and proposition the guy, when Lieutenant Paulson nudged him.

"You really into her, Trip? Cause I hate to be the one to tell you this, but she flirts with everyone she thinks is drunk enough to leave a big tip." Trip glanced at his friend, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Then he noticed Ruby leaning over in front of the handsome stranger. Trip watched her arrange her neckline in a less than subtle manner, and smirked as the man tactfully averted his eyes and sucked on his bottle.

"Not her, Mike." Trip and Mike Paulson had been drinking buddies for years, long enough for Mike to know that Trip went both ways and long enough for Trip not to care. It was the twenty-second century, after all, and Mike was pretty open-minded, even for a military engineer.

Still, Mike laughed when he figured it out. "Him? Oh, you're definitely barking up the wrong tree, buddy. That's Jonathan Archer."

"Archer?" Trip had heard of him. Henry Archer's son, a test pilot with a reputation as a high flier and an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Still, Trip thought, he'd gone out with worse that weren't nearly as good-looking.

"Yeah. And I've heard Commodore Forrest doesn't take too kindly to other guys setting up camp on his territory. If you know what I mean."

"Forrest?" Trip repeated, stupidly. "I didn't think…"

"Hey, a lot of guys want to be the first to fly at warp five. Ol' Jonny's gotta do something to boost his chances. And," Mike wiggled his eyebrows. "From what I've heard, there's not a hell of a lot he won't do." This time, Mike's laugh was accompanied by a lewd wink. Trip, feeling more than a little disappointed, looked away as Mike made a hand gesture at Ruby. When she arrived with two more drinks, Trip flirted for grim death, downed the beer in one gulp, gave Mike an excuse about an early shift, and left a sizeable tip behind.

So Jonathan Archer was a whore as well as an arrogant SOB. That didn't make Trip feel any more charitable towards the Vulcans when they started ripping into the engine he had worked on and Archer's father happened to have invented.

Archer looked surprised when Trip came to his defence. But he couldn't have been as surprised as Trip was when, as Trip was leaving the test complex a few hours later, he heard someone running to catch up with him. Trip stopped and turned, expecting to see Mike Paulson or one of his other friends. Instead, he came face to face with Archer.

"Hi." Archer smiled and Trip had to remind himself, very firmly, of what Mike had told him. Archer was bad news. And not the alluring kind.

"Sir."

"Thanks for sticking up for me like that."

"There's nothing wrong with the engine," Trip replied honestly, deciding it would be best not to mention the many ways in which he was sticking up for Archer.

"I know. Robinson screwed up. Doesn't surprise me, really." Archer smiled again and Trip felt his stomach flip. He forced himself to say, as coolly as possible:

"Is there something I can do for you, Commander?"

"Let me buy you a drink." Trip's hesitation lasted until Archer reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's the least I can do. You may have just saved my career."

A free drink was a free drink. That was what Trip told himself, anyway, as he and Archer headed for Club 602.

As soon as they arrived, he made sure to engage Ruby in their ongoing flirtation. Trip knew Mike was right. She flirted with just about everyone who came into the bar. Trip was nothing special to her, just as she was nothing special to him., but he didn't need to tell Archer that.

Archer didn't look amused at their banter about children's names. He watched them with a grim expression on his face, like he couldn't wait for Ruby to leave. When she did, he asked, gruffly:

"And what's your name, Lieutenant?" Trip told him. Archer thanked him again and, again Trip could do nothing but repeat the fact that the engine was fine, like, he thought, some kind of engineering parrot. Well, he defended himself, what else could he say? That he thought Archer was pretty damn attractive, that this brooding macho act was pushing all of his buttons and he didn't care if Archer was Forrest's bed buddy, he wouldn't have minded if the commander had thrown him over the table right then and there?

Obviously, Trip told himself, loosening his collar a little, that was out of the question. He was racking his brains trying to think of something acceptable to say when Commodore Forrest himself appeared at the table.

Trip stood up automatically and Archer did the same, looking less than pleased.

"At ease," Forrest smiled. "May I?" The question was clearly addressed to Archer, and it was Archer who replied:

"Of course." To Trip's surprise, instead of looking at his lover, Archer shared a long glance with him before they sat back down. In that moment, Trip knew that Mike had been right: Archer was only sleeping with Forrest to advance his career, and Archer knew Trip knew that. And he wasn't exactly proud of it.

The silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long moment, Forrest looking between them. It was Trip who finally spoke.

"Can I buy you a drink, sir?"

"It's the least you can do, after that outburst today."

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to…" Trip apologized automatically. Forrest shook his head wearily and, for the first time, Trip wondered if maybe Forrest was used to seeing Archer with other guys. If so, it was one more reason for Trip to run as far as possible as soon as possible. A whore was bad enough, but a promiscuous whore…

"I'll have a beer, Mr. Tucker." Trip had expected him to refuse. There weren't many superior officers who would let a subordinate, especially one as far removed as he was from Forrest, buy them anything.

Then again, Trip thought as he signalled Ruby, if Forrest thought Trip was screwing his boyfriend, he would have been justified asking for a magnum of champagne and a lobster dinner. "It's been a while since I've been in here," Forrest continued, conversationally. "Hasn't changed much." He looked pointedly at Archer. Trip felt like he was in the middle of a domestic squabble, one that had been going on for some time.

Archer looked at Trip again, then asked, rather snappishly: "Is there something on your mind, sir?" Trip wondered just how casually he would be able to extricate himself from this situation. He wasn't a homewrecker and he hated to be treated like one, even if the home didn't seem that peaceful to begin with.

Forrest sighed and leaned forward in his chair. "I came here to tell you, at the urging of the Vulcan Advisory Council, that Starfleet Command has decided to put the NX program on hold." Trip couldn't believe it, and he couldn't begin to imagine how Archer must feel. Trip had given several years of his life to the program: Archer had given his entire life, along with his father's. And God knew what else.

"For how long?" Archer was obviously struggling to keep control of his emotions.

"Indefinitely," Forrest admitted, sitting up almost defiantly.

Ruby, showing impeccable timing as always, appeared, and Trip ordered the beer. When she'd gone, Archer asked:

"What do you mean, indefinitely?"

"They want to go back to the drawing board, Jon," Forrest answered, as if Trip wasn't even there. Which, Trip realized, he shouldn't really have been. The feeling only got stronger when Archer, apparently also forgetting Trip's presence, snapped:

"We have an engine that works now. If we start over now, it'll be decades before we get into deep space."

The commodore looked back at him coldly. "Starfleet's made its decision."

Before Archer could continue the argument, Trip decided to remind them of his presence.

"Permission to speak freely, sir." Forrest stared at him like he was something that had just crawled out from under the floorboards, and gave a sort of half-nod, which Trip took as permission. He looked at Archer. "It's your father's engine. His life's work." And the work of a hell of a lot of other people had gone into it, too. Trip, Mike, Captain Jeffries. Jonathan Archer. "You can't let 'em do this."

For a moment, Archer was silent. Then, looking at Forrest, he said:

"You should have sent me up there."

Forrest stood. "You can't have everything, Jon." The commodore glanced at Trip. "And, as I said, Lieutenant Tucker," he emphasized his rank more forcefully than Trip thought necessary, or even polite. "Starfleet's made its decision. I'll leave you to your…drinks." He left just enough of a pause before the word to make it clear that drinking was the last way he thought they'd be spending the evening.

When he'd gone, Archer called Ruby over and ordered another round. She brought them over and Trip was about to say something about leaving after this one when Archer said:

"It's not the way you think." Trip didn't need to ask what he was talking about.

"You don't owe me any explanations, Commander." In any case, he would just as soon not hear them.

Archer looked at him over his glass and, for the first time, Trip noticed he had green eyes. "Call me Jon."

"All right. Jon." He looked so downtrodden that, no matter what Trip thought about him, he had to give the man a smile. Jon's returning smile was a little less than enthusiastic. "I thought…" Jon sighed heavily and started over. "The NX program's never been secure. I've had to do…a lot of things I'm not happy with to keep it alive this long."

"It's your father's engine," Trip repeated, hoping he sounded non-committal. He couldn't say he understood, he didn't, but he could see why Jon would be doubly upset now. Not only was the program finished, all of his efforts-whatever they might have entailed-had been wasted.

"It was. But it's guys like you who perfected it. It's your engine as much as it is mine. Or his. And now it's all going to be thrown away because fucking Robinson can't follow fucking orders." Jon sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. "It's not fair." He looked up again, and Trip saw so much pain in the man's eyes that he didn't know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, of course. Kiss Jon, take him home, make him forget his problems, at least for a while, with some good old-fashioned sex. But that wasn't a good idea, so Trip remained silent.

Jon ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. "Do you have an early shift?"

He did, but he didn't want to leave. "I think I can stay a few more minutes." Trip was rewarded with a more sincere smile.

"Good. I hate getting drunk alone."

A few more minutes turned into a few more hours and before Trip knew it, it was nearly last call.

"I was still wearin' the skirt when her daddy walked in." Jon laughed and Trip smiled into his latest drink. That had possibly been the most embarrassing incident of his life, but it had made up for it in entertainment value over the years. Of course, it always seemed more amusing when both Trip and his audience were drunk.

He and Jon were very drunk. Trip didn't know how, or if, he was going to make it to his shift the next day, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care. "Never saw Lisa again," he admitted.

"Her loss." Trip froze and watched, paralyzed, as Jon reached across the table to put his hand over Trip's.

"Jon…" His mind knew it was a bad idea. His body, on the other hand, refused to be convinced, and made a very persuasive case itself. It was used to getting what it wanted.

Suddenly, before Trip had to make a decision, Jon pulled his hand away and A.G. Robinson sat down beside them.

"I suppose you heard." Somewhere during the evening, they'd given up on glasses and taken to swigging directly from the beer bottles. Which meant that, instead of simply telling himself it would be bad idea to take Jon home, Trip had to think it while watching Jon fellate the bottle. With considerable skill.

Ruby brought Robinson his bourbon and asked if they wanted anything else. Since Trip didn't know where to begin answering that one, he said nothing. Robinson, though, apparently thought he had something to prove, because he downed his drink in one gulp and immediately asked for another.

"Where have you been all day?" Jon took another swig from his bottle and, for a moment, Trip wondered if Robinson was one of Jon's other playmates. He hoped not. The guy had always been a Grade-A asshole to the engineering team.

"Debriefing. After the flight surgeons were done with me, I got hauled in front of the Starfleet senior staff, and the Vulcans."

"What did you tell them?" Trip had a hard time focusing on Robinson's face, but he tried anyway.

"What do you think?" was Robinson's answer. Grade-A asshole indeed. "The subspace field destabilized at warp two point two. Primary flight controls failed, resulting in the loss of the vehicle."

It may have been the alcohol, or his confusion about Jon, or simply the fact that he was about to lose the job he loved, but suddenly, Trip felt an intense dislike for Robinson. "Aren't you forgettin' something?"

"What?"

"The possibility of pilot error."

"I'm not interested in your opinion, Lieutenant." Robinson said it the same way Forrest had, like it was an insult. Immediately, Jon jumped to Trip's defence although, Trip had to admit, that was probably because Jon was pretty pissed off at Robinson, too.

"You should be. The Vulcans have been leaning on Starfleet for years to rein in this program. You walked in there today, ruled out pilot error, and told them just what they wanted to hear: our engine doesn't work."

Robinson was unimpressed. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Archer, but it doesn't work."

"The engine's sound," Trip countered, again. "We just need more time to balance the intermix."

"We need more than time."

"I agree." Once again, Jon sounded like he was trying very hard not to explode. "We need a pilot who listens to orders. If you'd aborted, we'd still have a ship, and probably another chance."

"Another chance to what? Get killed?" Robinson asked. It didn't sound like such a bad idea to Trip. Maybe this time, he thought, they'd succeed.

"At the first sign of trouble, you should have throttled down."

"It wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference." This was worse than the argument with Forrest, but this time, Trip didn't feel like slinking away. He wanted to stay there with Jon, to defend the engine. To defend Jon's abilities as a flight director. To defend…Trip sighed and decided he may as well admit it. To defend Jon.

"I guess we'll never find out." Jon snapped.

"You weren't in that cockpit."

"There's nothing wrong with that ship."

"There's plenty wrong. You just refuse to see it," Robinson said smugly, as if that closed the argument.

Of course, it didn't.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Trip had a pretty good idea. And, when Robinson said that Henry Archer had designed a lousy engine, it was fortunate that Jon clocked him before Trip had the chance. As a lieutenant, he would have been in a lot more trouble.

Like a professional hockey referee, Ruby let them go a few rounds before she started shrieking at Trip to do something. He was about to say, "Like what? Sell tickets?" when Robinson landed a good one on Jon, and he had to step in.

"Are you sure you're gonna be OK?" Once Jon had managed to unlock his front door, Trip manoeuvred him over to the couch, collapsing beside him. Jon wasn't light, and Trip wasn't in the best of shape. Dragging him all the way from Club 602 in the rain hadn't been an easy task. "You don't want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine. Although I'll have to stop by the dentist in the morning." Jon touched his tongue to a tooth. "I think I cracked a molar."

"You might have a concussion."

"There's nothing up there to damage, Trip."

Trip smiled. There had never been any question of him seeing Jon home, but for a moment, he'd been worried that Jon's home might also be Forrest's home. It was a baseless fear. Whatever their relationship was, it clearly wasn't that. The apartment was small, and there was no indication that anyone apart from Jon lived there.

An assumption which was validated when Jon leaned in and murmured: "Of course, if you wanted to stay and make sure…"

Trip opened his mouth to say no. That was the intention, anyway. Unfortunately, before he could get the words out, Trip's mouth was too full of Jon's tongue to say anything. Although he was able to confirm that Jon had, indeed, cracked a molar. His bottom left.

When he pulled away, Jon leaned his forehead against Trip's. "Please stay, Trip."

"Commodore Forrest…"

Jon backed off just enough to meet Trip's eye. "Forrest doesn't own me."

"But he rents you."

Jon's expression changed immediately. He stood up straight, the model of the distinguished Starfleet officer. Except for the black eye and the bloodstained uniform.

"Thank you for your assistance today, Lieutenant. Good night."

"Good night, Commander." Trip hesitated until Jon prompted:

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Trip left before he could regret it. And spent the rest of the night lying in his own bed, doing just that.

***

"Where's your friend, Tucker?" Ruby smiled as she set a beer down in front of him.

"His girlfriend dragged him off to Hawaii for a romantic weekend or something." Trip wasn't too disappointed. He didn't really feel like trading innuendoes with Mike all night.

"Not Paulson, your other friend. Commander Rocky."

"Oh. I don't know." Trip had half-expected to see Jon during the day. He didn't know why. They'd never crossed paths before, and there was no reason for him to think Jon would seek him out. Trip was still disappointed that he hadn't.

"He was in here earlier, you know. Asking about you."

"What?" Trip looked up. She shrugged.

"Wanted to know if I knew where to find you. Seemed pretty excited."

Trip had spent most of the night reminding himself why it was a terrible, ridiculous, and completely moronic idea to get involved with a man who was involved with a commodore. Especially a man as handsome, sexy and wonderful as Jon was. Because, despite the image he tried to present, Trip had never been into casual sex and Jon clearly wasn't available for anything else.

"Did he say what he wanted?"

Ruby rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask, and I don't want to know. Just remember, Wednesday's gay night. Keep it to yourselves the rest of the time or some of those jerks'll complain." She picked up some empty glasses from the next table and put them on her tray. "Oh, and Trip, it was Gervaise and Delilah."

"What?"

"The names. You'd never have guessed them."

"No," he admitted. And it was just as well. He could imagine his father's reaction if he'd presented him with Gervaise or Delilah Tucker. It was pretty much the same reaction Trip would get if he brought an older man, who just happened to be Henry Archer's son and Commodore Forrest's lover, home and asked to share the spare bedroom.

***

"Lieutenant Tucker!" Trip didn't think he was particularly hard to find, but it was two days before Jon showed up at Trip's cubicle, in a far better mood than when they'd last seen each other. "Nice place." He looked around the cubicle, decorated with workplace cartoons and dozens of old coffee cups in various stages of decomposition. Trip, like most of the department, had decided not to start packing until he knew for sure where he was going to end up. From what Trip had heard, they'd earmarked him for research into the new food replicators. Dairy division.

"Commander." Trip pushed back his chair to stand, but Jon waved him down.

"It's OK. Listen, A.G. and I have come up with a plan to get the program back on line."

"I…" Trip didn't know which part surprised him more. That there was a plan, or that Robinson and Jon had come up with it together.

"But we need your help."

"Of course."

Jon looked at him carefully. "It's kind of…unconventional. We're going to get into a lot of trouble."

Trip smiled. It was that or spend the rest of his career figuring out how to replicate really good cottage cheese. "I'm up for it."

"Great!" Jon slapped him on the back. "We're going to steal the NX beta."

"What?"

Jon smiled, and Trip noticed he was practically hopping with excitement. "Told you it was unconventional."

Trip thought of spending the rest of his career studying the molecular composites of cheese, yogurt and skim milk. "I'm OK with unconventional."

Jon hit him on the shoulder. "Good. Come on, A.G.'s waiting for us."

***

Trip wanted to go with him, but he understood why Jon had to refuse.

"I need you down here. But don't worry, you'll get up there. If I had my own ship, I'd sign you up in a second."

Trip smiled. "I'll hold you to that."

Disappointed as he'd been at the time, when Jon and Robinson came back to Earth, Trip was glad he hadn't gone with them. Trip only got an official reprimand for his part in the stunt: Jon and Robinson were grounded for three months and told they were lucky to retain their jobs.

"Small price to pay." Jon grinned, raising his glass to Trip. He was a different man when he was happy, Trip noticed. He even joked with Ruby when she brought the drinks over. "It'll give me a lot more free time, that's for sure."

"How are you going to spend it?" Trip smiled back.

"You have to ask?" Robinson raised an eyebrow. He had been marginally less jerkish lately. But only marginally.

"I have a lot of water polo matches to catch up on," Jon answered, although Trip was reasonably sure that wasn't what Robinson had been implying.

"I don't know much about water polo," Trip admitted. Or, in fact, anything about it. "Seems kinda complicated."

Jon shrugged. "It's like football. Once you understand what's going on, it's great." He looked at Trip. "Want to come over and watch some?"

"And so it begins." Robinson rolled his eyes. Jon looked over at him, smiling. Trip had noticed that they seemed to be much better friends now. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"I take it you're not interested in joining us."

Robinson barked a laugh. "Thanks but no thanks. I've got a real date. With a woman." He looked over Trip's shoulder and gave a coy wave. Trip couldn't help himself. He turned, and choked when he saw Ruby simpering back. "Relax, Tucker." Robinson grinned. "It's not like you ever had a chance."

***

"So when those guys in the blue hit it over the line, they get to throw it in from the corner?" Trip struggled to retain something, anything, of the detailed description Jon had just given him.

"Right!" Jon slapped him on the back, which was less than advisable after half a dozen beers, a little whisky, and a whole lot of pretzels. Trip swallowed hard to keep from ruining Jon's white Berber carpet. "Sorry, Trip."

"It's OK." He looked at the clock. Nearly three in the morning. "I'd better get going." There were, after all, only five hours before he was expected back on shift, and Captain Jeffries hadn't exactly been forgiving lately.

"I play on a team," Jon continued. "It's not too competitive. We're having a practice after work tomorrow, if you wanted to stop by."

Trip smiled, and got a smile in return.

"Maybe."

***

Thanks to an incident with his alarm and an encounter with a sticky zipper, Trip ended up being fifteen minutes late for work anyway. It was that or risk arrest for indecent exposure, but Captain Jeffries wasn't impressed by this explanation. It was after six by the time Trip finally got away from work.

He stood outside the Fitness and Recreation Complex for a good five minutes before a woman in Starfleet workout gear came and asked if he needed help. Since the answer to that seemed painfully obvious, he smiled at her and went inside.

While they were planning their stunt to save the NX program, Trip had spent nearly 24 hours a day with Jon. And A.G. Robinson, of course, but Trip didn't count him. It had been enough time for Trip to confirm that it would be very easy to fall in love with Jonathan Archer. He would already have done it, if not for the ever-looming spectre of Commodore Forrest.

Trip wasn't crazy about getting hurt, and it had happened to him more often than he wanted to think about. He tried, very hard, but he just couldn't conceive of any situation in which he could get involved with Jon and not end up with a broken heart.

On top of that, Trip had his own career to consider. Rumour had it that, before the incident, Jon had been on the fast track for captain, and Trip didn't think this would hold him back for long. Trip himself had been a lieutenant for a few years and was hoping to make Lieutenant Commander sooner rather than later. What if, Trip speculated, he got his promotion soon after Jon received his? Jon was clearly used to going about things in a certain way. What if Jon saw them the same way he saw his relationship with Forrest? Could Trip ever be sure Jon hadn't put in a good word or two for him? Would he ever be able to live with himself?

Trip had almost convinced himself to turn around and leave when he looked through a window and saw Jon in one of the complex's swimming pools. He was by himself, treading water and idly batting a ball into the air. He looked good in a bathing suit, Trip noticed, although it didn't really surprise him.

He was, however, surprised when, entirely of their own accord, his feet brought him around to the glass door, his hand pushed it open and he ended up standing on the deck without his brain having played any part in the journey.

"Hey, Trip!" Jon grinned and tossed the ball at him. Trip missed and had to retrieve it from behind a pile of wetsuits. "You're a little late." Trip threw the ball back to Jon. To Trip's great embarrassment, he caught it easily and made an effortless three-point shot into the basketball net at the other end of the pool.

"Sorry. Captain Jeffries kept me late."

"Detention?"

"I guess you could say that." Trip grinned.

"Well, you're here now. Where's your suit?"

"I…forgot it."

"Forgot?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

"I'm having kind of a rough day, Jon."

"Swimming's the best way to relax." Jon winked. "Well, second best, anyway." Jon ran a hand through his hair, then used the pool ledge to pull himself out. He sat on the edge, legs in the pool, water running down his well sculpted, hairy chest and his muscular back. Trip gulped. "Take your boots off," Jon advised. "You can at least stick your feet in."

Feeling like an idiot, Trip nevertheless complied, taking off his boots and socks and rolling his pant legs up to his knees.

"You must have done a lot of swimming in Florida," Jon commented as Trip sat beside him, trying to keep his ass dry.

"Some," Trip admitted, sliding his lower legs into the water. It was cool, but not cold, and it did feel refreshing.

"Are you a good swimmer?"

"I passed that part of my fitness test with flying colours." Unlike some of the other parts. It had been more than five years, and Trip still had nightmares about the shuttle runs. Not to mention the flexed arm hang.

"Good," Jon's grin took on a dangerous quality. Before he could contemplate what that might mean, Trip was yanked off the poolside and completely submerged in the water.

"Shit!" Trip spluttered to the surface, wiping water out of his eyes. "What the hell, Jon…"

"You OK?" Jon's laugh sounded very close. When Trip opened his eyes, still blinking away pool chemicals, he saw that Jon was beside him. Right beside him, his bare chest pressed against Trip's sodden uniform, his arms around Trip's body. Jon, Trip noticed, was the reason they were afloat, his powerful legs cycling and easily keeping them both above water.

Jon clearly had that situation well in hand. Which meant that Trip was free to focus on other things. Like bringing his hands up to Jon's shoulders and kissing him hard.

Jon was an excellent swimmer but, Trip realized, he wasn't Superman. Not even he could make out and tread water simultaneously. Trip didn't mind when, without breaking the kiss, Jon pushed him up against the side of the pool. As long as he kept moaning like that, Trip thought, Jon could do whatever the hell he wanted.

What he wanted, apparently, was to inform Trip, in between gasps: "Forrest and I split up. Well," he licked Trip's mouth. "We were never really together."

Trip didn't care. Forrest could get pissed off. Forrest could fire him. Hell, Forrest could even watch, for all the difference it made to him. "Fuck me, Jon."

Jon responded to Trip's order with a very insubordinate chuckle. "I thought you'd never ask."

Trip slipped one hand under the water, gripping Jon's erection through his flimsy swimsuit. Jon growled and pushed Trip harder against the wall, intertwining their legs and sucking on the side of his neck. Trip decided not to mention that the corner of a tile was jabbing into his left kidney. Instead, he ran his left hand up Jon's back while the right tried to navigate the bathing suit waistband. As Jon bit his earlobe, Trip opened his eyes. And found he was looking directly at a stunned-looking woman standing on the other side of the glass.

That, Trip had to mention. "Jon, we have to get out of here."

Jon glanced over his shoulder. "Shit." "It's OK." Trip disengaged himself from Jon's grasp and battled the weight of three layers of soaking fabric to pull himself out of the pool. He didn't know the woman's name, but she was one of Mike's engineering ensigns. Who was suddenly about to find herself with a lot of weekends off.

"Sorry," Jon got out of the pool behind him. "I don't usually go nuts like that." A glance at the window showed that the ensign had disappeared. Trip took advantage of this and pulled Jon to him for another wet kiss.

"That's too bad. I really enjoyed it."

Trip was very glad that Jon had his own transport. He couldn't imagine waiting for the bus in his current state. It was bad enough having to travel on a towel in the front seat of Jon's flitter.

By the time they got to his apartment, Trip was shivering, a fact which did not go unnoticed by Jon.

"Wait here a second." Trip stood obediently, dripping onto Jon's carpet. He perked up a little when he heard water running in the bathroom. He perked up even more when Jon emerged, wearing a navy blue bathrobe and carrying a white towel.

"Here." Jon unzipped Trip's jumpsuit, then Trip pulled off his boots with an audible squelch. The T-shirt followed, and the undershirt and boxers came after that, until Trip was standing naked six inches from Jon's front door. Wrapping the towel around Trip's waist, Jon pulled him in for another kiss. Then, taking his hand, he led Trip into the bathroom.

Trip had thought Jon's apartment was pretty pedestrian for a commander. Usually, the higher your rank, the swankier your place, and Jon's was decidedly un-swanky. It wasn't until he saw the bathroom-and, more accurately, the Olympic-sized bathtub-that he understood why Jon lived there. By the time they'd finished their bath, he could gladly have moved in himself.

"Trip?" Trip raised his head from Jon's chest. His bedroom wasn't too bad, either, Trip noticed. He particularly liked the dark red satin sheets.

"Yeah?"

Jon ran a hand through Trip's hair. "About Forrest…"

Trip kissed his collarbone. "Don't say anything, Jon."

"I want to." He sighed heavily and Trip pressed himself against Jon. "The NX program's been my whole life for so long, I kind of…lost sight of everything else." Jon looked up and Trip knew he could spend the rest of his life looking into those green eyes. When he wasn't looking at other parts of Jon's anatomy. "Like integrity."

"You did it for your dad."

Jon shook his head. "I did it for myself, Trip. I wanted to be the first man to captain a warp five ship."

"And now?"

"I still want it. But if I get it, I want it to be because I deserve it." He smiled. "For my work. That's the way it always should have been."

"If you don't get it…"

"At least I can look at myself in the mirror again."

Trip moved so he was straddling Jon's waist. "I never had trouble looking at you." And now, he didn't have trouble doing anything else with Jon, either.

***

"I can't…" Captain Archer began, then stopped, clenched his fists, and paced back towards where Malcolm and Trip were standing uneasily at attention. "I don't even know where to begin."

Despite that, he gave it a try. "What the hell were you thinking? Don't answer that." He paused for a moment, then continued pacing. Trip's head was pounding and he thought his hand was probably broken, but he didn't dare move. "It's clear that you weren't thinking. If you had been, I would hope…no, I would expect that two of my senior officers would have known better than to start a fight with a fucking commando!"

Jon rarely swore, and never when he was in his 'Captain' mode. It was an indication, although not Trip's first, that he was very annoyed. "We're trying to save the goddamn human race." Jon lowered his voice a little, but it didn't get any calmer. "We're heading into God knows what, and I am doing my damndest to get us ready to face it. I thought it was obvious, but plainly, I need to spell it out. It doesn't help when you start fights with the people we have to live with."

"Sir, the sergeant…" Malcolm began, and was immediately silenced.

"I don't care, Lieutenant. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing that man could have said or done that would justify you," he turned his gaze on Trip, "Socking him in the jaw and you," he looked back at Malcolm, "Joining in on the act."

Trip sighed and looked at his lover of the last ten years. "He called you my sugar daddy and said you're the only reason I got my promotion. And this job. Sir."

For a long moment the only sound was the circulation of the air and the hum of the warp core. Finally, Jon stopped pacing and turned to look at them.

"And you only socked him in the jaw?"

Trip tried to smile, but it was too painful. So he satisfied himself with enjoying the expression on Malcolm's bruised face as the lieutenant asked: "What would you have suggested, sir?"

Jon looked at him and Trip knew that, while they weren't going to get off scot-free, at least he and Malcolm wouldn't be facing a court-martial, or even a week of KP. "I'd have put the bastard in traction."

"In that case, Captain," Trip smiled. "I'll invite you to join us next time."

They were dismissed shortly after. Trip hung back, letting Malcolm leave first.

The last few weeks had been the most stressful Trip could remember. Not only had he lost his sister, but, in addition to representing humanity, Jon had now been made responsible for saving it. And saving the world took up a lot of time.

When Trip had gone to Florida to see for himself how Lizzie had died, it was Malcolm who had gone with him. Jon was too busy. He'd been too busy ever since. They'd barely exchanged ten off-duty words since they'd left for the expanse.

Trip glanced over his shoulder, but Jon was already absorbed in his work. Trip sighed and headed out, looking forward to another night alone with his memories and what was left of his liquor supply. He was almost at the door when Jon said:

"Of course, Commander, if you would like a little…sugar tonight, I could probably assist you with that." He turned around. Jon looked up from his PADD, his eyebrows raised.

Trip smiled. "Want me to call you Daddy?"

"I'd rather you didn't." A lot of people thought Jon had no sense of humour. Those people, Trip knew, had never seen Jon with that expression on his face. "'Captain' will be just fine."