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Subject: New(ish) Fic: Captivated (Tucker/Reed, PG-13)
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This won't be new if you got Agent With Style's
"Gettin' From There To Here 2" last July, but I thought
I'd post it for the others.

Title: Captivated
Author: Gigi Sinclair
Email: gigitrekslash@canada.com
Website: www.angelfire.com/trek/gigislash
Archive: EntSTCommunity
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Trip and Malcolm are captured, and captivated. 
Notes: Originally appeared in "Gettin' From There To
Here 2", published by Agent With Style, July 2003.  


Trip woke up with a splitting headache and a mouth like
sandpaper.  As was his wont in situations like these,
he tried to remember what he'd been drinking the night
before.  And, as was also usual, he couldn't recall a
thing.

"Trip?"  The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Trip
couldn't quite place it.  Trip kept quiet, in hopes
that it would go away and let him get back to the
business of dying in peace.  "Trip!"  No such luck.  

The voice returned, accompanied by a shake of his
shoulder.  "Are you awake?"  He grunted and, without
opening his eyes, turned away from the hand.  He was
warm and seemed to be lying on something other than his
bed.  Trip was mildly interested in finding out what it
was, but not interested enough to pry his eyes open. 
"Trip!  Wake up!"  The voice barked, and Trip
recognized it.  Malcolm.  He was waking up hung over
with Malcolm.  Malcolm, the man he'd been chastely
lusting after for the last two years.  Now that was
worth opening his eyes for.

He immediately squeezed them shut again as they were
hit with a light far brighter than any of
'Enterprise's' fluorescent bulbs.  

"What the hell..."

"Are you hurt?"  Malcolm asked, not particularly
warmly.  But it was a good question.  Trip took a quick
inventory.

"I've got a hell of a headache."

"Apart from that."  

"That's enough."  Shielding his eyes with one hand, he
opened them again, and saw something he hadn't seen for
a good long while.  "Where are we?"  The blue sky
wasn't enough to narrow it down, although he had
already eliminated 'Enterprise' from the list of
possibilities.  

"I don't know.  Can you sit up?"  He didn't want to,
but he struggled into a sitting position.  The strange
substance beneath him, he saw, was sand, white sand
that reflected the sun back into his bleary eyes. 
About a hundred yards in front of them, a vibrant blue
ocean lapped against the beach.  If Trip hadn't known
better, he'd have said he was home, in Florida.  Only
there didn't seem to be any trace of jellyfish or drug
runners, so it couldn't be that.  Malcolm put an arm
briefly around him, steadying him, but Trip was too
preoccupied to really enjoy it.  

"What's the last thing you remember?"  Trip cast his
mind back.  

"Weren't we on the shuttle?"  The captain had sent them
out to examine a strange ship they had come across.  It
hadn't responded to any hails, and, although officially
they were supposed to be looking for signs of life,
they had actually been looking for anything they could
salvage.  But they hadn't got anywhere near the ship. 
"Did we crash?"

"I don't know.  But I think we should reconnoitre."  It
was a good idea. Trip's mind knew that.  His body, on
the other hand, would have been content just to lie
there for the rest of his life.  Since he knew that, if
he didn't act now, he likely never would, Trip forced
himself to stand.

"Right.  Let's take a look see."  The first thing Trip
noticed was the decided lack of injury to either
himself or Malcolm.  Their uniforms weren't even torn. 
In fact, Trip thought, looking down, it looked like the
tiny but persistent oil stain that had been on his
right knee when they left the ship (he hadn't had time
to find a clean uniform---the captain wanted them to
"check for signs of life" before anyone else appeared
in the neighbourhood) had actually disappeared.  But he
wasn't about to mention that to Malcolm.  He could just
imagine the eye rolling that would ensue.  

Malcolm looked around and, gamely, Trip did the same. 
He didn't see anything gleaming at him, but there was
what appeared to be a small hut, about half a kilometre
down the beach.  He pointed it out to Malcolm.

"Think we should check that out?"  Malcolm shrugged.

"I don't know."  He patted himself absently and, even
in his preoccupied state, Trip had to look away.  "I
don't have any weapons."

"And that's a problem?"

"It will be if someone's home."

"Always think the best of people, don't ya?  Maybe
they'll want to give us a hand."  

Malcolm gave him a Look.  Malcolm had many Looks, but
this was one of Trip's favourites.  The one that said
Malcolm thought he was an idiot, but he was prepared to
tolerate it.  

"A word of advice, Trip," Malcolm said, wryly, even as
he started to walk towards the hut.  "That's only a
good thing if the hand they give is attached to their
own body."  

The hut was actually quite large, and surrounded by a
veranda that once again reminded Trip of home, this
time of his uncle's seaside cabin.  Malcolm motioned
for him to stay back and crept around to peer into one
of the windows.  For the first time, Trip felt a little
nervous, but the sight of Malcolm, in control as
always, checking all the windows before coming back to
whisper,

"I think it's clear," put his mind to rest.  He'd
always felt safe with Malcolm, a feeling which led him
to wonder when he'd stopped feeling safe with himself. 
"You stay here, I'll check it out."  Without waiting
for an answer, Malcolm walked up to hut and, pressing
himself against the wall, kicked the door open.  It
opened readily and, with utmost stealth, Malcolm inched
his way in.  A minute later, he called,

"You can come in, Trip.  No one's here."

No one was there at the moment, but it was clear that
the house was lived in.  It was immaculately clean. 
Trip spotted a neatly made bed in one of the other
rooms, and in the kitchen area, a table was laid for
two people.  There was even food on the table:  what
looked like pancakes on one plate and...God, it
couldn't be.

"Is that catfish?"  

"I don't know."  Malcolm, nearest the table, poked it. 
"But don't try it."  Trip wasn't particularly hungry,
but his mouth was beginning to water at the sight of
the food.  And, if he was honest, the man standing
beside it.

"Come on.  I ate it when we were on that creepy
station."

"Only because I wasn't there to stop you."  Malcolm
glanced around suspiciously.  "Help me look for some
kind of communication device."  

Sighing, Trip passed the catfish and went into the
living room.  He saw a couch, covered with a crocheted
afghan, in front of a screen.  Thinking this might be
the communication device Malcolm was looking for, he
kneeled in front of it, examining the buttons.  None of
them were labelled, so he reached out and pressed the
largest one.  The screen flickered to life, and Trip
was treated to a very familiar sight.

"What's this?"  Malcolm appeared in the doorway behind
him, staring at Ingrid Bergman in confusion.  He wasn't
the only one.

"Casablanca."  

***

"All I'm saying, Malcolm, is that there's no point in
sleeping out there on the sand if this place is goin'
empty."  Trip thought his argument made eminent sense,
but still, Malcolm resisted.

"And what if the people who live here come back?"

"We don't know if anybody lives here."  In the last
twelve hours, no one had showed up.  After about eight
hours, when his stomach was about to implode, Trip had
pulled rank and taken a bite of catfish.  And had then
clutched his throat and made choking noises.  He
thought he was lightening the atmosphere, but Malcolm
didn't see it that way, and looked very close to
punching Trip in the face when he realized his
commander was only joking.  A few minutes later,
though, Malcolm did cave in and eat the peanut-butter
pancakes on the other plate.  

"It seems pretty obvious they do."

"Why?"  The only signs of life were the food and the
movie on the screen.  "What if this is meant for us?" 
Malcolm snapped his head up.

"What?"  It had been a thoughtless, meaningless
comment, but the more Trip considered it, the more
interesting it seemed.

"Think about it, Malcolm.  Our favourite food on the
table.  My favourite movie on the screen.  In the
bedroom," Trip headed over to the bedroom, Malcolm
trailing after him.  "Our favourite magazines," he held
up a PADD featuring 'Guns and Ammo Monthly' and a
mint-condition Superman Number One.

"You can't think someone arranged this specifically for
us."

"Why not?  What about that repair station?"  

Malcolm raised an eyebrow in an almost Vulcan-esque
way. "I trust you remember what happened there."  
	
"Course I remember."  Trip rubbed an eye.  A day of
searching a small house, watching Casablanca on what
seemed to be a perpetual loop, and pretending to be
poisoned by catfish had left him tired.  "All I'm
saying is, I got no intention of sleeping out there
with the sandworms and God knows what else when there's
a perfectly good bed in here."  To prove his point, he
sat on the mattress, which was just the right firmness.
 He bounced a little, feeling like Goldilocks, then lay
down.  

"Fine."  Malcolm sighed.  "You sleep here.  I'll keep
watch."

"Malcolm..." It was a large bed, with more than enough
room for both of them and a separating curtain, if
Malcolm insisted on it.  Instead, Malcolm insisted on
leaving the room, calling: "I'll wake you in four hours
for your shift," over his shoulder. 

For someone who had no idea where he was or how he was
going to get home, Trip slept remarkably well.  That
surprised him, but not as much as waking up in
Malcolm's arms.

For a moment, Trip was too surprised to think anything.
 Then, smiling, he slowly got used to the idea.  A
number of possible opening lines, such as 'Well, hello,
sailor', and 'What happened to keeping watch?' ran
through Trip's mind, but he didn't get to use any of
them.  Shortly after he awoke, Malcolm's eyes flew open
and, as soon as he realized his position, he jumped out
of bed like he'd been cuddling a cactus.  

"Oh, hell."  

Trip frowned.  "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"This isn't right."  Malcolm ran a hand through his
hair, disarranging it even more.  He was devastatingly
sexy, Trip thought, but apparently the feeling wasn't
mutual.  

"Well, I'm sorry if I ain't Caitlin or whoever the hell
you were expecting, but don't forget you're the one who
climbed in here with me..."

"I didn't mean that, Trip."  Trip was too busy
wondering just what he did mean to really take it in
when Malcolm added:  "I was drugged."

"Huh?"  Trip asked, flattering as that was.  

"That has to be it.  I was watching Casablanca when I
heard something outside.  I went to look and...I
think..." Suddenly, Malcolm pulled down his regulation
blue shorts, the only thing he was wearing, and turned
around to stare at his own backside.  Trip could
sympathize.  Malcolm had a nice ass.  He often had the
urge to stare himself, and he was only too glad to take
Malcolm up on the offer when the Lieutenant gestured
and said:  "Look."  

Sure enough, a red pinprick on his left buttock marred
the otherwise perfect skin.  Trip was about to ask if
Malcolm wanted him to kiss it better when Malcolm shook
his head and began to pace. "This is bad.  Really bad."

"Malcolm, calm down, would you?"  

"I knew there was something wrong.  Someone's here,
Trip."  He looked around, wildly.  "Something's going
on.  Look," he threw open the closet door.  Half a
dozen pairs of jeans and T-shirts hung on one side, and
six Starfleet uniforms hung on the other.  Trip began
to feel seriously uneasy, but that had more to do with
Malcolm's near-hysteria than with the situation itself.
 "We have to get out of here!  You know what happened
to Travis.  God knows what's going to happen to us.  We
have to find the shuttle, we have to escape..."

"Malcolm."  Trip got out of bed and physically stopped
him, putting his arms around the man and holding him
fast.  "It's gonna be OK.  I wouldn't let anyone hurt
you."

"And I wouldn't let anyone hurt you.  But what if we
can't do anything about it?"

"We'll find a way out," Trip reassured him, but he
couldn't help wondering if they had just made a
declaration of love.  No, he chastized himself sharply,
Malcolm was talking about doing his job.  And this was
hardly the moment to be dissecting his every comment
like a love-struck teenager.  

"We have to find the shuttle," Malcolm repeated.

"We will."

"Now."  

Trip hesitated, then nodded.  "All right."  He reached
into the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a
shirt.  The voyage had already afforded him more than
enough opportunities to run around in his underwear. 
Malcolm apparently felt the same, because he dressed as
well, choosing, not surprisingly, one of the uniforms,
and led Trip out of the house.  As they passed through
the kitchen, Trip glanced at the two cups of coffee,
bacon, eggs and pineapple rings which had appeared on
the table.  Malcolm didn't seem to notice the new food
and Trip didn't think it would be helpful to point it
out.   

They walked across the sand for more than an hour,
until Trip's stomach was growling and his feet were
dragging.  Malcolm, though, was a man on a mission.  

"Come on, Trip."  He glanced back at Trip. 

"Malcolm, I don't see anything."  The beach was flat. 
There was nowhere for the shuttle to hide.  But try
telling that to Malcolm.  "And I'm real hungry.  Why
don't we just go back to the house?"

"You want to give up?"  Malcolm asked, still walking
forward as he looked back at Trip.  

"Of course not.  But I do know a little bit about being
lost on sandy planets."  And, while the temperature was
still at a comfortable level, Trip doubted it would
stay that way for long.  "And I know this isn't
accomplishing..." There was a buzzing noise,
reminiscent of the bug zapper on his grandfather's
porch, and Malcolm hit the ground.  

"Oh, shit.  Malcolm!"  Trip knelt beside him, pressing
his fingers to the man's neck.  His pulse was strong
and his breathing was normal, although his eyes were
closed and he was clearly out cold.  Looking around
frantically, Trip tried to see what had done this to
him.  There was nothing unusual.  Apart, Trip saw as he
glanced down, from a line in the sand just in front of
Malcolm.

Picking up a piece of driftwood, Trip stood back and
threw it over the line.  Or at least, he tried to. 
With an identical buzzing noise and a crackle of blue
light, the stick bounced back, like it had hit some
kind of forcefield.  And, unfortunately, bounced
squarely off Malcolm's forehead.  

"Shit," Trip repeated.  He leaned over Malcolm, who
hadn't moved.  

***

The next thing he knew, Trip was opening his eyes to
find himself back in bed beside Malcolm.  But for the
large, driftwood shaped bruise on Malcolm's forehead,
Trip might have believed it was a dream.

"Trip?"  Malcolm murmured sleepily and, immediately,
Trip knew he could get used to hearing his name said
like that.  "My head hurts."  Trip had the urge to
stroke Malcolm's forehead, but, even though they were
in bed together, he didn't think it would be wise. 
Instead, he said:  

"Yeah.  You walked into a forcefield."  He cleared his
throat and added, quickly:  "That's where the bruise
came from, too."  

"Forcefield?"  Malcolm's eyes snapped open.  "How did
we get back here?"  He sat up, obviously too abruptly,
and put his hands to his head.  Trip touched Malcolm's
back and, when he didn't move away, took advantage of
the moment to rub it a little.  

"I'm not sure."

"We have to get out of here, Trip."  Malcolm swung his
legs to one side and stood up, wobbling.  "I think we
should split up.  If I head west and you go to the
south, we'll be able to cover twice as much ground.  We
can meet back here in three hours..."

"Malcolm, relax a little, would ya?  You can barely
stand."  

"Doesn't matter.  We've got to get going."

"Why?"  It seemed like a reasonable question.  "We
aren't in any danger right now."

"You don't know that," Malcolm snapped.  "Something
could happen at any time.  We can't give up..."

"We're not giving up.  We're just being sensible."  Or
at least one of them was.  Trip watched as Malcolm
tried to steady himself, and ended up sitting back on
the bed.  "Why are you doin' this?"  He asked, softly.

"What?"

"Acting like this.  I've been in tough situations with
you before and you aren't usually...panicky."  

Malcolm looked up sharply.  "I am not panicking.  We're
trapped here.  I think that's a good reason to be a
little concerned."

"I'm concerned, Malcolm.  You're panicking."  

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest.  "Maybe that's
because I don't feel like dying."

"And I do."  

"You've never even been close to it."  

Trip choked.  "I beg your pardon?  Have you been around
these last couple of years?"  Trip didn't know where to
begin naming off his near-death experiences.  Hell,
Malcolm had been there for half of them.

"You weren't close to dying, not really.  Not the way
it counts.  Because you never gave up hope."  Trip
could argue with that, but didn't.  Malcolm stared at
the wall.  "When the captain and I were about to be
hanged, I gave up.  I knew I was going to die, and I
didn't care.  He pleaded for my life, but all I
remember is wondering why he was wasting his time."  

Malcolm sighed.  Trip kept quiet, well aware that 
this was the most Malcolm had ever opened up to anyone.
 He didn't want to do anything to stop him.  "I'm never
going to let myself feel like that again.  I'm never
going to let anyone kill me like that.  On the inside."
 

Trip hesitated, then reached out to lay a hand on
Malcolm's shoulder.  "You never mentioned this."  

He had spoken with Jon, briefly, about the incident
that had almost led to their execution as
genetically-enhanced spies, but Jon's philosophy about
everything was, the less you talked about it, the
easier it would be to forget.  It was why they never
mentioned that drunken night in Australia, and the
hung-over next morning when they'd woken up together. 
Naked.  And covered in dried chocolate sauce.

"There's no point in discussing it," Malcolm's voice
changed, returning to the brisk, businesslike tone Trip
was so familiar with.  Except this time, he wasn't
about to let Malcolm get away with it.  

"There's a hell of a lot of point in discussing it,
Malcolm.  You don't have to deal with that shit on your
own.  Not when you've got people around who'd be happy
to help you, if you gave 'em the chance."  

Malcolm looked up at him.  "Which people?  You, Trip? 
All right, the next time you're getting it on with some
alien with enormous tits, I'll interrupt you to talk
about my neurotic emotional issues.  I'm sure you'll be
thrilled."

"I will be," Trip replied.  This was getting into
territory he wasn't sure he wanted to explore, but
then, on the other hand, he'd been avoiding it for two
years.  Maybe it was time to, as Malcolm would say,
reconnoitre.  "You're important to me, Malcolm."  

Malcolm smiled a little.  "More important than your
little extra-terrestrial flings?"  

Trip swallowed and took the plunge.  "Ever think," he
answered, keeping his voice as light as possible, "That
maybe I only get involved with those women because I
don't think the person I really want will ever let me
in?"  

Malcolm's smile disappeared, but he didn't look away.  
"And who is the person you really want?"  

Trip had never been big on literature, but he
remembered a professor back in his English for
Engineers days who had said the most effective writing
was that which showed, instead of told, you what it
meant.  So Trip decided to show him.  

Kissing Malcolm was everything Trip had imagined it
would be.  Soft, tender and hot.  Extremely hot.  Trip
wasn't fooled by the aloof, almost cold, persona
Malcolm presented in public.  He had a good knowledge
of people, and he'd known, ever since he met the man,
that there was an entirely different person lurking not
too far under the surface.  A person who, after the
briefest hesitation, came to the forefront now and,
moaning a little, rolled Trip onto his back. 

***

"I don't see anything of note."  

Trip could hear, but he couldn't open his eyes.  He
felt woozy and too disoriented to really worry much
about anything.  Instead, he listened, passively, to
the unfamiliar voices around him.

"Del'zaal assured me the larger one has borne young in
the past."

"That may be so, but there's nothing there now."

"There is no need for concern yet.  It may take several
attempts.  We know so little of their physiology."  

"We will need to ensure that they mate again soon.  The
facility on Tettara is most eager for the offspring."

"I told you it was premature to promise the Tettarans
anything."

"They have a pair of breeding Klingons.  It will be a
mutually beneficial exchange.  Now, we should return it
to its enclosure before its mate becomes distraught." 
With that, Trip was once again engulfed by
unconsciousness. 


***

"Trip..."  

"Relax.  I'm right here."  Trip, standing knee-deep in
the warm, clear blue water, held out a hand to Malcolm.
 His friend, coworker, and, as of the last twenty-seven
hours, his lover.  His handsome, amazing, wonderful
lover.

"I don't think this is a good idea."  

Trip smiled, feeling as content as was possible for
someone who still didn't know where they were or how
they were going to escape.

"I thought that about us for two years, Malcolm.  And
look how that turned out."  

Malcolm stepped into the water and stood for a long
moment.  Trip waited, his hand extended, until Malcolm
moved close enough to take it.  As soon as he did, Trip
pulled him into his arms, leaning down to kiss him,
moving backwards as he did so.  Malcolm, Trip was
pleased to notice, was so distracted by what their
mouths were doing that the water had become waist-deep
before he even noticed that they'd moved.

"Trip!"  Malcolm held him tightly, and Trip returned
the pressure.  

"See?  I knew you could do it."  

Malcolm shivered a little, and Trip kissed him on the
forehead.  "I'm ready to go back now."  

"OK."  Trip kept an arm around Malcolm as they headed
back towards the beach.  When they arrived, Trip sat
down on the towel they had laid out, and Malcolm, to
his surprise and delight, immediately snuggled in
beside him, his head on Trip's shoulder and his arm
around Trip's waist.  The sun was setting, bathing the
beach in a pinkish orange glow, and Trip couldn't
believe how happy he was.  It was almost painful to ask:

"What are we gonna do, Malcolm?"  But it was an
important question.  They might have found paradise,
but somewhere, there was a ship trying to find them.  

"I think tomorrow, we should take a walk and see what
we can find."  Blue eyes looked up at him and Trip's
heart skipped a beat.  "A nice, slow walk.  No need to
panic."  Malcolm smiled a little and Trip was seized by
a feeling that was entirely unfamiliar and completely
overwhelming.  Since he didn't know how else to act on
it, he pushed Malcolm onto his back and lay on top of
him, kissing him for all he was worth.

***

"I don't understand it.  Del'zaal..." Trip was dreaming
again, that dream where he couldn't open his eyes but
he could hear voices around him.

"Del'zaal is clearly not the expert she believes
herself to be.  I have examined both specimens and
neither shows any sign of pregnancy."  

"Perhaps there is something not right about their
habitat.  You remember when we first acquired the
Ferengi..."

"You can make any excuse you like, Thorin, but the fact
of the matter is they are not reproducing."

"They are still a popular attraction.  Even if they
never breed..."

"If they don't breed, they are of no use to us.  I have
received an offer from a private collector.  A very
generous offer.  If I don't see some developments soon,
I may be inclined to accept."  

***

As was becoming usual, Trip woke with the sun streaming
through the bedroom curtains, Malcolm's head on his
chest.  From the other room came the voice of Humphrey
Bogart yammering on about regretting it, maybe not
today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of
your life.  Trip knew that, once they got out of here,
he'd never be able to watch that movie again.

This morning, though, something was different.  Trip
had an uneasy feeling, like he was forgetting something
important.  When he felt Malcolm stirring against him,
he greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Morning, darlin'."

"Good morning."  Malcolm smiled, but there was
uncertainty in his eyes.  

"Something wrong?"  

Malcolm shook his head, but then said:  "I don't know. 
I think I had a dream..."

"Me too."

"But I can't remember what it was about."

"Me neither."  That scintillating conversation
finished, Trip kissed Malcolm again and sat up.  "Let's
go see what we can find."

The short answer was, nothing.  Trip kept a close eye
out for lines in the sand that might indicate another
forcefield, but there only sand.  For kilometres and
kilometres.  Trip was ready to head back when he heard
a noise.  Malcolm looked up sharply, and nodded in
answer to Trip's unspoken question.  Cocking his head,
Malcolm listened, then pointed to the left.  Trip crept
alongside him, the noise getting louder.   

Suddenly, Malcolm grabbed Trip's shirt and pulled him
to the ground, pressing a finger to his own lips. 
Motioning for Trip to stay down, Malcolm raised himself
onto his elbows.  After a moment, he lay back down and
leaned into Trip, his lips brushing his ear as he
whispered:  

"Eleven o'clock."  

Trip couldn't resist it, and whispered back:  "What
happens at eleven o'clock?"  

Malcolm paused, opened his mouth, shut it again, and
bumped Trip with his shoulder, smirking.  

Trip grinned and raised his head enough to see two
figures, about a hundred metres away.  The smaller one
was blue, with three tentacles and eyes on long stalks.
 The larger was dark pink, with four tentacles.  As he
looked, the smaller one wrapped a tentacle around its
companion, then waved another tentacle, seemingly in
Trip's direction.  Trip flattened himself against the
sand. 

"Jesus," he muttered.  "Think they're dangerous?" 
Malcolm shrugged.  Then, without any preamble, he
grabbed Trip and kissed him hard.  He stood up, leaving
Trip gaping.  

"Malcolm!"  Trip watched, horrified, as the lieutenant
walked towards the two creatures.  They didn't move,
although the smaller one began to wave all three
tentacles in what could have been excitement.  Malcolm
held up both hands and kept advancing, until there was
a familiar zap and he fell backwards, unconscious.

***

"This is not working out, Thorin.  That child was most
upset.  I had to explain four times that the specimen
was not hurt.  And I will still be surprised if they
come back."

"But Farral..."

"You are to be commended for your innovation.  It is
simply unfeasible for us to keep this species in
captivity at this time."

"So what will happen to them?"  Trip thought he
detected worry in the voice.

"They will be well taken care of.  The Denobulan
collector assures me they will have pride of place in
his menagerie." 

"That is of some comfort.  I've grown quite attached to
them.  There's something about this species..."

"We'll try it again some day, Thorin.  When we have
learned more about what they require."

***

Trip was missing something, and it didn't take him long
to figure out what.  Instead of lying in the sunshine
with Malcolm at his side, he was alone on a hard
biobed, machines beeping all around him.

"Malcolm," was the first word out of his mouth.

"Don't worry, Commander," Trip looked up to see Phlox
standing over him, smiling.  "Lieutenant Reed is
perfectly safe.  He came around an hour or so ago."

"What..." 

"We were just about to explain that."

Captain Archer, T'Pol and Malcolm were waiting in
Archer's ready room when Trip arrived, accompanied by
Phlox.  Malcolm glanced over his shoulder as Trip
entered, but looked quickly back at his other superior
officers.  

"Trip."  Archer got up embraced his friend, his voice
cracking a little.  "It's so good to see you again."

"We weren't gone that long."  A few days at most, Trip
thought.  T'Pol and the captain exchanged glances, and
Malcolm cleared his throat.

"Two months, Commander."

"What?  That's..."

"True," Archer replied, with a furrow of his eyebrows. 
Trip felt a sudden need to sit down.  Preferably in
Malcolm's lap, but since that didn't look like an
option, he settled for a chair.  "We think you spent
most of the time heavily sedated."  

"Sedated by who?"  

"The Vulcan High Command knows little about the
Darconians," T'Pol put in, less than helpfully.  "They
are..." She hesitated.  "Most appreciative of other
life forms."

"Appreciative how?"  

"The entire population is very keen to observe the
habits of different species."  It sounded suspiciously
like T'Pol was hedging, which Trip didn't like one bit.
 She wasn't exactly the most tactful of people.  If she
was dancing around the truth, then the truth had to be
pretty damn bad.  

"That doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot to me,
Sub-commander."  

"Trip," Malcolm looked at him and, for a moment, Trip
detected a flicker of the feeling he'd thought they'd
shared.  Then it disappeared, and he was Lieutenant
Reed again.  "Commander, we were in a zoo."  Trip
blinked.  He knew there were a number of things he
should be feeling, but the only thing he could think
was: Hell, that Twilight Zone episode was realistic,
after all.  

"A..."

"More of a wildlife park," Archer put in, as if that
would help.  "The Darconians are very advanced in that
regard.  They're big on animal rights."  He coughed. 
"I mean..."  

T'Pol saved him.  "It is my belief that the Darconians
mistook the two of you for a breeding pair.  Not having
come across humans before, they could not know you were
both males."  Suddenly, Trip remembered one of the hazy
dreams, in which someone had spoken about a specimen
that had borne a child.  
	
"They knew I'd been pregnant."

"Perhaps," T'Pol conceded.  "They would certainly have
run all possible tests.  They take their wildlife
breeding program very seriously."

"How did you get us back?"  

"I was pleased to assist with that," Phlox replied. 
"The Denobulans have long had a peripheral association
with the Darconians.  I was able to convince the
zookeepers I was a wealthy collector who wished to add
a pair of humans to my menagerie."  Trip sighed.  He
and Malcolm were alive and hadn't sustained any serious
injuries.  It wasn't an ideal situation to have gone
through, but he guessed things could have been worse. 

"Does that mean we have to sleep with the bat?"  Phlox
smiled.

"No, Commander.  I think I can build you and the
Lieutenant your own cage."  

***

It wasn't until later that evening, after he'd
undergone a thorough medical examination and been
ordered to spend at least three days recuperating, that
Trip was able to speak privately with Malcolm.  

At first, he wasn't sure it was a good idea.  When the
lieutenant opened his door, Trip saw him stiffen a
little, and even shrink away.  Trip's heart fell.  He'd
been vaguely worried, when he remembered to think about
it, that things would change between them once they
returned to 'Enterprise'.  Now, he saw that it was
worse than that.  Things were exactly the way they had
been before they'd left.  

"You'd better come in," Malcolm finally said.  It was a
less than overwhelming welcome, but Trip took it.  They
had to talk.  Or, Trip had to.  "Can I get you a
drink?"  Malcolm asked, the perfect host.  Trip was
tempted, but shook his head.

"No, thanks."  

"All right."  Malcolm sat on his bed, pointing out the
chair to Trip.  Who elected to stand instead.  The
silence dragged on, changing from uncomfortable to
awkward.  When Trip couldn't stand it any more, he
blurted:

"Why did you do that?"  

"What?"  Malcolm asked, not unreasonably.

"Walk up to those...Draco-whatevers.  On the planet. 
You didn't know if they were dangerous.  You could have
been killed."  Trip took a deep breath, knowing that
his future, not to mention his happiness, hinged on
Malcolm's reply.  "Didn't you care?"  

He thought he'd done Malcolm some good.  Their mouths
had been too busy doing other things to spend much time
talking, but he had convinced Malcolm to enter the
ocean more than once.  And he thought that, by paying
him that kind of attention, by looking after him, Trip
could prevent the very thing Malcolm had been worried
about.  He thought he could keep Malcolm from losing
hope.  But it didn't look like he had.

"Oh, Trip."  Malcolm put his head to one side, and
Trip's heart melted all over again.  He didn't even
think to wonder when, exactly, he'd become so entranced
by Malcolm Reed.  He knew had been the first moment
they met.  "Of course I cared.  I wanted to find a way
out.  I thought they might be able to help us."

"But you could have been killed."

"I didn't think so.  But it was a risk I was willing to
take."  

"You didn't...you didn't want to die, though, right?" 
Trip asked, just to be clear.  

"Not in the least."  Malcolm stood, but didn't approach
him.  "But I'd rather it have been me than you."  

Trip frowned, unsure whether he should be annoyed or
flattered.  Annoyance won out.  "You bastard.  You'da
left me there alone?"  

"If I had to."  Malcolm smiled.  "I love you."  And,
just like that, flattered took over.

"You..." Malcolm stepped forward, quickly closing the
distance between them, and put his arms around Trip. 
Who kissed him back.  He couldn't have helped himself,
even if he'd wanted to.

"Malcolm, I..." Trip squeaked, when Malcolm finally
pulled away.  Then he cleared his throat and repeated,
in a slightly more manly voice,  "I love you, too."  

Malcolm nodded.  "I know."  He gave Trip one of those
dazed, sexy smiles that made Trip feel like he was
going into warp speed in a bathtub.  Trip ran a hand
through Malcolm's hair.  He responded by nuzzling into
Trip's neck.  Trip, trying to remember when he'd last
felt this satisfied after learning he'd spent the last
two months under sedation in an alien zoo, pressed his
lips to Malcolm's forehead and murmured:

"We may not be a breeding pair, but I'm more than happy
to mate with you."  

Malcolm laughed and pulled away to look into Trip's
eyes.

"You're..."

"Sweet?"  Trip suggested, with a smile.  "Sexy?  Funny?
Wonderful?"  

"Captivating," Malcolm replied, leaning forward to
recapture Trip's mouth with his own.          
       

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