Gigi Sinclair

"I do not understand this human ritual."

Trip bit back his instinctive response: 'So what else is new?' and instead cracked open his fortune cookie.

"The idea that a pastry could prophesize the future…"

"It's just a tradition, T'Pol." The captain interrupted. "No one believes in it. It just gives you something to think about."

"Ah." T'Pol nodded. "Much like your dental deity, then."

Trip didn't personally see much correlation between fortune cookies and the tooth fairy, but he didn't want to get into it. He unrolled the message from his cookie and read: 'Good things come in small packages.'

With deft precision, as if she was conducting a vital scientific experiment, T'Pol opened her cookie and removed her fortune.

"Size matters." T'Pol read aloud, and cocked an eyebrow. Trip expected her next comment to be something derisive. She surprised him by saying: "How interesting. I was unaware human pastry could be so philosophical. I must meditate on this point tonight." Jon reddened a little, but Trip didn't have time to ask why that would embarrass him. Instead, he said:

"Thanks for dinner, Jon. See ya later, T'Pol," and left the two of them alone.

On his way back to Engineering, Trip ran into Malcolm.

"Oh, Commander, I was looking for you."

"Really?" Trip didn't know why that should make him smile, but it did. Of course, Malcolm didn't return the smile, but launched into a diatribe about engine power or something. Trip wasn't really listening. Instead, he was looking at Malcolm's face, wondering why he'd never noticed how, well, attractive Malcolm's eyes were. He licked his lips a lot, too. It was almost mesmerizing. Trip watched, anticipating the next appearance of the lieutenant's tongue. And there it was. Out of nowhere, Trip imagined what that tongue would feel like on his body.

"As I'm sure you agree, Commander."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Guiltily, Trip jarred himself out of his reverie, covering his embarrassment with a grin. "Whatever you say, Lieutenant." He didn't know what he'd just agreed to, but one thing was very clear. If he'd started fantasizing about Malcolm, that meant he needed to get laid, and soon.

***

'The most meaningful gifts are those we least expect.'

It seemed to Trip that the captain was ordering an awful lot of Chinese food all of a sudden. He liked it, but not that much, so he wasn't too disappointed when it was his turn to do the night shift and he couldn't eat in the captain's dining room. Listening to T'Pol dissect fortune cookie messages was getting really old really fast.

Trip wasn't looking forward to resequenced spaghetti either, though. He headed into the mess hall at around 0300 hours, thinking he might just go for a peanut butter sandwich instead. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Malcolm sitting at a table, a huge piece of pecan pie in front of him.

"Malcolm. What are you doing up?" He sat down across from the lieutenant, trying not to obviously covet the man's pie.

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get some work done here." He held up a PADD.

"Oh. OK." Figuring that was enough small talk, Trip, as casually as possible, got to the point. "Chef told me pecan pie wasn't on the menu this month."

Malcolm smiled and Trip had a resurgence of that disturbing feeling he'd had a few days earlier, when the captain had started on his Chinese food binge. "Chef likes playing with weapons, Commander. We worked something out. Would you like it?" Malcolm pushed the pie towards Trip. Tempting, but…

"I can't take your pie, Malcolm."

Malcolm smiled. "I don't mind."

Trip was polite, but he wasn't stupid. "If you're sure…"

"Very sure." Malcolm handed him the fork, and Trip dug in.

"I didn't even know you liked pecan pie," Trip said, around a mouthful of crust. "Coulda saved us going through that whole pineapple fiasco."

"I like it fine," Malcolm smiled again, and Trip forced himself to focus on the pie.

"Want a bite?" After all, Trip thought, it was Malcolm's pie. That he had got Chef to make specially for him. Malcolm.

"All right." Trip expected Malcolm to get his own cutlery. Instead, he put a hand over Trip's and guided Trip's fork to his mouth. "Delicious," was Malcolm's verdict.

Unbidden, the response: 'Just like you' popped into Trip's head. He didn't know where the thought had come from, but he knew how to react to it. Pausing only to down the rest of the pie, he called a thank-you over his shoulder and high-tailed it out of the mess hall before any other confusing thoughts could appear.

***

'Beware of searching too hard, lest you overlook that which you seek.'

Rhione was beautiful. Long, snow white hair, big blue eyes, golden skin that almost seemed to glow. She was smart, too, chief engineer on the Rugainist ship Trip visited to help with their warp one drive. Rhione was very interested in learning about human culture and, when she asked for a first-hand look at human anatomy—well, Trip never had been the type to turn down a woman. It was just too bad that, after several failed attempts to contact him on the comm, Hoshi got them up on 'Enterprise's' main viewscreen just as Trip and Rhione were completing their cross-cultural exchange.

The captain was a little miffed, but Trip knew that was because he wasn't getting any himself. T'Pol was disapproving, Hoshi was angry on Rhione's behalf—despite Trip's repeated assurances that she really didn't expect him to call her—and Travis was congratulatory. Malcolm, however, started avoiding him.

One night, after a few days of being ignored, Trip tracked him down in the armoury.

"What's up, Malcolm?"

"Nothing, Commander. If you don't mind—" He headed for the exit, but Trip cut him off.

"I do mind. You've been acting like a jerk since I got back from that ship."

Something flashed in Malcolm's eyes. Well, good, Trip thought. They needed to have this out. He could handle fighting with Malcolm, but he couldn't handle being ignored.

"Perhaps. I simply don't approve of your using this ship as your own personal shaggin' wagon."

Trip laughed, which was exactly the wrong response. He could tell by Malcolm's expression that it hadn't been a joke. So he put on a serious face and asked: "What do you mean?"

"Ah'Len. Liana. Kaitaama. Feezal. Now Rhione," Malcolm counted them off on his fingers.

"Hey, Malcolm, you know what it's like being a guy…"

"I also know what it's like to have principles, Commander. Do you?"

Trip hadn't heard him sound this cold in a long time, not since the early days of the mission. And it annoyed him. "Listen here, Malcolm…"

"Listen to what, Commander?" Malcolm shot back. "You explaining how your sexual desires are more important than gaining the respect of other species?" He dropped into his famous impression of Trip's accent, although it was over-exaggerated. "Ah sher am sorry, Cap'n, ah jest got real horny and she was there with these huge tits…"

With the suddenness of a lightning bolt, Trip got it. And he couldn't help but smile. "You're jealous."

Malcolm stopped and looked away, refusing to meet Trip's eye. "Why on Earth would I be jealous?" Although back to his normal accent, his voice was quiet, almost sad. Bingo, Trip thought.

"Hell, Malcolm, if that's all that's upsettin' you, I got a real simple solution."

"You do?" Now, Malcolm looked up at him, eyes as cautiously hopeful as Trip had ever seen them.

"Sure." Trip clapped him on the shoulder. "Next time we meet a hot alien chick, you've got first dibs. I promise."

Strangely, Trip thought he saw a flash of disappointment on Malcolm's face, but then it disappeared and he was all brisk efficiency again.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Commander. Now, I do have work to do…"

"Of course," Trip hesitated, wanting to say something more, but not sure what that something should be. He settled on: "See ya later,", which wasn't even close to feeling right.

***

'The true intensity of love is measured not by what is gained from one's partner, but from what one is willing to risk for them.'

Trip hated the cold. He remembered telling Malcolm that a couple of years ago, that time they were trapped on the shuttle pod. When Malcolm hadn't let him kill himself, the bastard. It was Malcolm's fault he was here, lying in a freezing cell on a freezing ship that was taking him God knew where to do God knew what. Malcolm's fault, Trip repeated to himself, rolling onto his back and letting his eyes slide shut.

Malcolm. Malcolm confused him, Trip remembered that much. He made him think about things that it was much safer not to think about. But Malcolm was warm. People thought he was cold and distant, but, Trip reminded himself, he was just the opposite, really. Malcolm wasn't cold, he was warm, and he wasn't distant, he was here now, putting a hand on Trip's forehead, stroking his hair and saying:

"Oh, God, Trip," in a voice that Trip could almost believe was real. He kept his eyes closed, afraid of the crushing disappointment that would strike when he opened them and saw he was still alone. Trip wanted Malcolm to be there with him, he knew that. Because Malcolm was warm and because there were things he wanted to say to him that he should have said a long time ago.

The clashing sound of the cell door opening forced Trip to open his eyes. He looked up, expecting to see one of the armour-plated aliens who'd kidnapped him. Instead, he saw Malcolm, crouched at his side.

"Malcolm?" He barely had time to get the word out when two of the five-foot tall, armadillo-like creatures lumbered in.

Malcolm hit his comm. "Transport Commander Tucker immediately."

Trip could have told him the phase pistols were useless against the Giid'Paans natural armour, but he was too busy wondering if Malcolm was real. It certainly seemed real enough when the phase blast ricocheted off a Giid'Paan's chest. And Malcolm's calm understatement:

"Shit," was very realistic. Trip still wasn't sure, though, until he felt himself begin to dissolve. The last thing he saw before he disappeared completely was Malcolm striding directly up to the largest Giid'Paan and punching it in the eye.

Trip was still cold. It was better than it had been, but he still needed to get warmer. Groggily prying his eyes open, he looked at the next biobed, where Malcolm was lying, asleep. Malcolm was warm, he remembered woozily. How they'd ended up here and what they'd been doing before was less clear, but it wasn't important. All he could think of was how easy it would be to slide in next to Malcolm, put his arms around him, and warm up.

"Ah, how nice to see you awake, Commander." Trip turned his head and looked at Phlox, who had a larger-than-usual grin on his face. "I was just commenting to the captain, you and Lieutenant Reed spend so much time here, we ought to give you your own bed."

Immediately, Trip was wide-awake.

"Beds. You mean beds, right? Plural." Even to his own ears, he sounded overly vehement, almost hysterical. But Phlox's smile never wavered.

"Of course, Commander. Unless you wanted to draw up a schedule that would allow you to share."

***

'Love is not only blind, it is often deaf, dumb and lacking in all common sense.'

It was Trip's birthday. Apart from the captain, he hadn't thought anyone knew about it. Until he arrived in the mess hall for lunch and was met by half his engineering team singing 'Happy Birthday' behind a cake in the shape of the warp core.

He'd just served a piece to Ensign MacDougal, the last engineer in line, and was about to sit down to eat when he spotted Malcolm hovering off to one side.

"Want a piece of cake?"

Malcolm smiled at him and Trip's stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the large quantity of icing he was about to consume.

"What kind is it?"

Trip looked at the cake. "Mostly white."

Malcolm laughed. "My favourite."

"Mine, too." Trip handed him a large slab of cake and followed him over to a table, making sure he sat right next to Malcolm. He wanted to be close to the lieutenant, but he was still amazed—so amazed he nearly choked on his white cake—by the charge he got from simply brushing against Malcolm's leg.

The engineers ate quickly and, making lame jokes about not pissing off the boss, headed back to work. Trip soon found himself alone with Malcolm, who, once again, was suddenly reluctant to look at him.

"I was wondering…" Malcolm finally began, staring at the few remaining crumbs on his plate, "If you're not doing anything, if you may possibly want to have dinner with me tonight?"

Trip's instinctive reply was yes. And he was about to say it, when he remembered he was supposed to be eating with the captain.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm…"

"Of course," Malcolm cut him off. "Naturally you're busy. I should have known you would be."

He sounded so disappointed, Trip was almost tempted to cancel his date with the captain. But in favour of what? Dinner with Malcolm? What if Malcolm wanted more than dinner from Trip? What if…Trip froze, barely even aware of Malcolm leaving. What if he wanted more than dinner from Malcolm?

Was that what all this had been about? Trip couldn't believe he'd missed it. Then again, he reassured himself, it wasn't the kind of thing he'd have thought to look for. Malcolm was attractive and intelligent, and brave, and incredibly unlikely to want a relationship with him. Hell, Trip thought sadly, this was the guy who'd thought eating breakfast with the captain was inappropriate. God only knew how he'd feel about sleeping with the chief engineer. Years ago, a broken heart had made Trip swear off men. He wasn't about to break that resolve for Malcolm, a guy who was sure to break his heart before they even started.

"Chinese food again?" Trip tried not to sound petulant, but it was getting ridiculous. It was the third time in the last ten days they'd had it. He was starting to wonder if the captain had been seized by some kind of obsessive disorder similar to what they'd suffered a couple of years earlier.

"I like Chinese food," was Jon's answer. Which was, surprisingly, backed up by T'Pol.

"I, too, find it more palatable than many other human foodstuffs."

"So you're gangin' up on me now, are you?" Trip forced himself to sound cheerful. "Maybe I should have eaten with Malcolm after all."

Archer looked up sharply. "Malcolm asked you to dinner?"

"Yeah."

"And you turned him down?" Archer said it like Trip had suggested taking a stroll on the hull without an EV suit.

"I had to. I was coming here."

"Trip, open your fortune cookie." Definitely obsessive. Trip sighed. He was going to have to speak to Phlox about it.

"I haven't finished eating yet, Captain." He hadn't, in fact, even started.

"Just do it, Trip." There was a commanding edge to his voice, and Trip gave in. He cracked the cookie, putting half in his mouth as he read the message. And promptly spit the cookie out again.

'Malcolm wants you, you moron.' He read it twice, just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Then he said:

"Captain, I…"

"For God's sake, Trip, it's obvious. It's been obvious for months. I tried to be subtle…"

"You call this subtle?" Trip brandished the message at the captain, forgetting for a moment that they were in the presence of T'Pol, who was watching them with interest.

"I'm talking about the other fortunes, Trip." Trip thought back, but he couldn't recall any of the other messages he'd received. Although it was suddenly clear why Jon had started on his Chinese food kick. "I knew it would only piss you off if I came right out and said it. But obviously I was too subtle." Jon smiled. "I know you like him, too. Don't let one bad experience years ago keep you from having what you want now."

"You think I should…" Trip wanted to, really wanted to, but he was still uncertain.

"Yes." Jon had no such uncertainties.

"What if he says no?"

"He won't." It was all the encouragement Trip needed.

When he'd gone, Jon pushed T'Pol's fortune cookie towards her.

"You might as well open yours, too."

"I thought tradition dictated…" T'Pol trailed off. "But very well." Jon watched as she cracked the cookie with military precision, withdrew the message, and read aloud:

"Would you like to go out with me?" She raised an eyebrow in response to Jon's hopeful smile, and folded the paper. "Captain, as I have stated on several occasions, both Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command would find a personal relationship between two senior officers to be most inappropriate."

"Right." Jon tried to stifle his sigh. Well, at least Trip would be getting some. There was nothing wrong with living vicariously through your friends.

"However," T'Pol continued, the eyebrow lowering, "Both organizations are very busy with many important matters. I would find it illogical to inform them of every incident that occurs on board this ship."

For all his talk about subtlety, Jon didn't get that one. Until T'Pol reached out and put a hand over his.

Trip found Malcolm in the observation lounge. There was a PADD on his lap, but he wasn't looking at it. Instead, he was staring out of the window.

"Hey." Malcolm stood up when Trip spoke. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Malcolm smirked. "If you'd startled me, Commander, you would now be on the floor, minus your testicles." He blushed suddenly, which Trip found very endearing. "I thought you were eating with the captain."

"Captain's busy." Trip meant to just take one step forward, but once he started moving towards Malcolm, his body took over from his brain. He didn't stop until he had both arms around Malcolm's waist.

Malcolm, looking a little surprised, put his hands on Trip's shoulders. "Commander?"

Only Malcolm, Trip thought, could sound militaristic while hugging his superior officer. "Call me Trip," was the Commander's advice, as he lowered his mouth to Malcolm's.

Despite his verbosity in other situations, Trip wasn't much of a make-out talker. Malcolm was. Trip dimly heard him murmur: "Oh my. Look at that," as one of his hands made its way down to Trip's crotch.

As Trip drew away from Malcolm, he felt compelled to ask: "How do you feel?"

"Great." Malcolm smiled, his hazy, dreamy look pegging Trip straight through the heart. "You?"

Trip couldn't resist it. As he leaned in for another kiss, he smiled and said: "Me? I'm real fortunate."