Gigi Sinclair

It was a long time since Malcolm had been attracted to a woman. But McKenzie was unlike any woman he had ever met.

When she arrived in the armoury for the first time she stood, ramrod-straight and at attention, until he said: "At ease."

Obediently, she widened her stance and, staring at some point over Malcolm's left shoulder, barked: "Sir, yes sir!"

The rest of his staff would have probably said: "OK."

"Welcome aboard," Malcolm continued, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Thank you, sir. I look forward to becoming an efficient member of your team, sir."

Malcolm felt his insides stir in a way that, recently, had occurred only in the presence of Jonathan or Trip, or both.

Trying to remain professional, Malcolm asked: "Do you have much experience with phase technology?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir!"

Malcolm started. No one had ever asked him that before. Quite the reverse. He'd noticed that most of the crew seemed to treat their superior officers like their own personal agony aunts, and the Captain as Dear Abby herself.

"Granted, McKenzie," he said, quickly, when he remembered she was waiting for an answer.

"I can strip and reassemble a phase pistol in thirty-one point four seconds." Malcolm must have looked incredulous, because McKenzie continued: "It takes longer if I have to change the power cell. I am also adept with seventeen other types of small arms, and in hand-to-hand combat. Sir."

"How adept?" Malcolm asked, although he had no trouble picturing McKenzie wrestling a fully-grown man to the ground. Preferably Malcolm himself.

"I hold four martial arts black belts and I am the Starfleet welterweight boxing champion."

"Is that right?" Malcolm cleared his throat. "Do you…ah, do you fight against men or women?" Malcolm hoped she would get the hidden meaning if she was interested, and wouldn't get it if she was the type to sue for sexual harassment.

For a moment, McKenzie's eyes flitted onto Malcolm's face, then she returned to perfect-soldier mode. "While the majority of my sparring partners have been women, sir, I am not opposed to taking on men, if they believe they can provide a satisfactory match."

Malcolm grinned and decided he must find out who had come up with the wonderful idea of bringing the commandos on board.

***

Trip was depressed. Not hard to believe, given the fact he'd just lost his sister, but it was more than that. It was Lizzie, it was Malcolm, it was Jon, it was all these new people he hadn't met but who he was sure were going to bitch about their showers and their doors and their lights just like everyone else, it was the whole idea of the Delphic expanse. Trip just wanted to go back to the way things were before the Xindi. Hell, he wanted to go back to the way things were before 'Enterprise.'

Trip liked Malcolm, that wasn't an issue. Sure, he could be anal-retentive, and condescending, and pretty damn snotty, but he was also funny, and hot, and damned good in the sack. Trip was an open-minded guy. When Jon had first proposed a little three-way action, Trip had been all for it. He liked Malcolm.

But Jon loved Malcolm, and that was where the problems started. Jon was a pretty single-minded guy and before 'Enterprise', the single thing on his mind had been Trip. Trip found it hard enough sharing Jon with a dog and a ship, let alone with another lover. And, while Jon repeatedly claimed that loving Malcolm didn't keep him from loving Trip just as much as before, Trip couldn't help but wonder if he was being kept around as a sort of outgoing incumbent. As soon as Malcolm knew the ropes, Trip would be out the door.

Trip jammed the panel over the conduit, a little too forcefully. He swore as he pinched his finger in the metal. Putting his finger to his mouth, Trip stood up as a voice said:

"You OK, Commander?"

Trip was poised to tell whoever it was that he was fine and they should mind their own goddamn business when he turned around and found himself face-to-face with the most attractive man he'd met since the first time he'd seen Jon.

The man was young, Asian, and built like a god. Trip, trying to retain his drool, wiped his hands and extended one to the man. "Trip Tucker. You must be one of our new roomies."

"Pleased to meet you, Commander." The commando smiled, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. "Is that a Southern accent?"

"Sure is. Born and raised in Florida."

"No way!" The man laughed. "I'm a Boca Raton man, myself. You hear the Gators nearly made the Super Bowl this year?"

"I know." Jon had downloaded all their playoff games, Trip guessed as some kind of compensation for Malcolm. "Damn, I'd love to have been there when they beat Melbourne."

The commando's grin got bigger. "I was. Me and my brother were right on the 50-yard line." His smile faded, although Trip couldn't think why. He'd have killed to be on the 50-yard line for any game, especially the Melbourne one. "That was the last game we ever went to."

"Your brother…" Trip trailed off as the man nodded. Trip hesitated a moment, then lay a hand on one of the commando's muscular shoulders. "My sister, too."

"I'm sorry, man." The commando's expression was so sympathetic, Trip had to bite his lip to keep from losing it. Jon and Malcolm tried to understand, but they couldn't. Trip had told Malcolm as much. But this man…he understood, because he'd been through the same thing.

"You know," Trip began, "If you ever wanna come over and talk or somethin', I'm available."

The commando's smile came back, a little weaker but still enthusiastic. "That'd be great. I've got a ton of football games on vid-disc." The man glanced around, as if to make sure no one was listening, then leaned forward. "And I've got some Ingrid Bergman films, too, if you're into that old-time shit."

"What are you doing tonight?" Trip didn't care if it was sudden, and he doubted anyone else would care, period. If anything, Jon would be pleased, Trip was sure, to have some time alone with Malcolm.

"I was gonna practice my deep massage techniques," the commando admitted, "But it works even better with a partner."

***

The leader of the commando unit looked exactly as Jon had pictured he would. Tall (it was a change looking into someone's eyes without bending his head) grey-haired, although he was only a few years older than Jon, no-nonsense and precise. The first thing he said when he arrived in Jon's ready room was:

"This is your show, Captain. We're here for support, but we won't be calling the shots. My men know that."

"I appreciate it, Colonel." Jon smiled at the man.

"In disciplinary matters," the colonel continued, as if Jon hadn't spoken, "I will naturally deal with my own people, and I expect you to handle yours. It would help, however, if we could establish certain common ground rules."

"Of course." Jon tried to sound authoritarian, although he hadn't seriously disciplined anyone in over a year. Unless, he thought, smirking a little, you counted Trip and Malcolm's "private" sessions. "What did you have in mind?"

"A chief concern on a mission like this is fraternization. People feel that their lives are in danger, they want to reach out. Be comforted." Jon knew the feeling. "What is Starfleet's policy on affairs between crewmembers?"

"I've been pretty lax about it so far," Jon admitted, in what had to be the understatement of the millennium. "What do you think?"

The colonel shrugged. "Between lower-ranking officers, I'm not concerned. As long as it's consensual and discreet."

"Right."

"Of course," the colonel shifted in his chair and Jon realized, for the first time, that he was actually a very good-looking man.

As Jon was trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him that two gorgeous, virile lovers weren't enough, the colonel continued: "It's not quite as easy for the higher-ranking staff, is it, Captain?"

Jon woke up as the colonel was leaning across his desk, mouth open. Shaking himself, Jon looked at the chronometer. 0130. Still seven hours before the commandos were due to join 'Enterprise.'

Jon left his ready room and with an acknowledging wave to the bridge crew, headed for the turbolift.

When he got to his quarters, Jon was treated to the rare sight of Trip, Malcolm and Porthos curled up together in his bed. Often, Jon got the feeling Trip and Malcolm only put up with each other because they both loved him, but now, they looked positively serene, fast asleep in each other's arms with smiles on their faces. Grinning, Jon took off his uniform and squeezed in behind Malcolm, throwing an arm over all three of his bedmates. He was the luckiest man alive, he told himself. And he wasn't going to let anything change that.