Title: Greatly Exaggerated
By: nancy
Pairing: Tucker/Reed/Archer
Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise
Rating: NC17
Warnings: 3some activity herein! if that's not your cup o'tea, don't read!
Summary: Malcolm is caught in an explosion, before Trip and Jonathan can tell him how they really feel about him.***
Malcolm stifled a yawn, trying to seem interested as Hoshi and the local tour guide talked in the other's language. Bad enough going on a tour of a federal facility when you knew what historical information was being dispensed. Going on one where you didn't know, well, it was a form of torture that really ought to be banished. A sharp, bony elbow nudged his ribs and he hissed in pain, then glared at Trip. "What was that for?"
Grinning, Trip answered sotto voce, "Pay attention."
"To what? Hoshi talking in another language?"
"There's going to be a test later."
"Is not."
"Sure there is. Didn't you get the memo?"
"Very funny."
"Are we boring you, gentlemen?"
Malcolm glanced guiltily at Jonathan and was relieved to see the other man amused by their sidebar, not annoyed. The way the Captain had been over the last couple of days, it could have gone either way. Talks with the Jomme had been tense and, therefore, so had the Captain. The last time they'd spoken, it had been a dressing-down for something Malcolm hadn't even done. He hadn't been given the opportunity to correct the Captain's misinformation, the other man had been so incensed.
Fortunately, the blue-green eyes belied the stern tone with a merry glint, so Malcolm relaxed a bit and answered, "No, Sir, of course not."
"Good."
When Jonathan turned back to Hoshi and their host, Malcolm viciously elbowed Trip in the side, earning himself a grunt and a glare. He smirked at the engineer in satisfaction and discreetly stepped away, forestalling retaliation as he pretended to look at the mosaic tiling on the wall. It really was a lovely old building, with painted tiles in geometric patterns and gilded lines. The ceiling was a single panel of curved, stained glass that had to have taken years to make.
His attention was drawn to two Jomme men standing a short distance away. They weren't moving around or looking at things as a tourist would, but they didn't wear the official federal uniform of an employee, either. Remembering what Hoshi had said about internal unrest among the more radical of the Jomme, Malcolm shifted subtly closer to them.
This was one instant where not knowing the language was a definite disadvantage. Still, body language was consistent through many humanoid species, and the Jomme didn't seem very much different than Earth humans, if you ignored the scaled, iridescent tint to their skin. If he went by what he personally knew of criminal behavior, then these two men were definitely a threat.
Malcolm returned to the group, stopped beside Jonathan to murmured, "Seven o'clock. Two men acting suspiciously."
Nodding, Jonathan crossed to Rosan, their host. He put one hand on the Jomme's shoulder, another on Hoshi's, and led them away with a jovial question.
Trip frowned at him and demanded, "What'd you say?"
"That you forgot to shower this morning," Malcolm retorted.
T'Pol arrived just in time to catch the end of their conversation and arched an eyebrow at both of them. "I don't believe that Commander Tucker's hygienic habits, or lack thereof, are for public discussion."
Flushing under her intent gaze, Malcolm apologized, "Sorry, Sub-Commander."
In typical Vulcan fashion, she sidestepped the customary response of forgiveness, even for such a mundane thing, and questioned, "Where is the Captain?"
Trip was smirking faintly as he answered, "I'll show you, Sub-Commander. I think Malcolm's a little busy getting the shoe-leather from between his teeth."
Itching to wrap his hands around the engineer's throat and squeeze, Malcolm instead settled for a haughty glare and, "I'll be taking in the architecture on the east side."
"Very well, Lieutenant," T'Pol agreed.
What they didn't know, of course, was that he was keeping an eye on potential criminals. And he couldn't tell them because while the men he was watching didn't speak their language, they'd most likely know something was up if T'Pol and Trip started acting differently. Well, if Trip started acting different, since T'Pol wouldn't change her expression in any noticeable fashion.
It wasn't for another twenty minutes that he realized that there were no more tourists or employees wandering around. It was almost unnaturally quiet and he froze for a moment, trying not to feel caught in the calm before the storm. He'd followed the men down a few different corridors and was now in some kind of museum wing. The paintings were a little strange to him, but held their own kind of beauty.
When Malcolm turned the last corner, they were waiting for him. He barely jerked back out of way of the laser ribbon weapon which seared into the wall. Heart racing, keeping to cover, he muttered, "Right. That would've hurt."
After pulling out his phaser and setting it on stun, Malcolm cautiously peered around the corner and got another blast for his trouble. He knew where they were now though, from the repeated angle, and simply shot his phaser towards them without looking. A muffled thump told him he hit at least one of them, and his lips twitched in brief triumph. Another noise caught his attention before he could do anything else, though.
Frowning, he tried to categorize the noise: it was a roar of some kind. It hit him all of a sudden that the building was exploding and he was just far enough away from the blast not to be immediately blown up. Backing up, Malcolm looked for an escape route and saw only a window. He gritted his teeth, knowing they were on the third floor and that the fall could kill him just as easily as the explosion.
A slim chance was better than no chance, though, and he took a running leap at the large, stained glass window. He spun at the last second, throwing his arms up to protect his face and head, and crashed through. To his shock and horror, the glass had hidden a large tree just outside. Instead of free-falling as expected, Malcolm slammed into it, pain hitting his body at all points, but especially his head, which cracked savagely into the trunk.
The way down was almost comedic in a dark way, as he hit every large branch without enough time to grab and stop, or even slow, his path. By the time he crashed into the ground, he felt half-dead, his mind in a jumble and his body broken in too many places to even think about. If he could think, which he was having trouble doing. All he knew was that he had to get away, had to, and started clawing at the ground, forcing himself to move away from the building.
It was too late. The section he'd been in burst into flames, glass and wood and stone and metal shattering with the force. Large chunks of the building rained around him and Malcolm knew he wasn't going to make it.
Then something impacted with his head and he knew nothing else.
* * * *
Jonathan had never felt so helpless in his life. No, that wasn't true. But this was a damn close second. No matter what Hoshi said, or how much Jonathan backed it up, the Jomme officials weren't letting any of them back in the building to warn Malcolm about the bomb. The comms were useless, thanks to jamming by the terrorists, so there was no way to reach Malcolm.
Hovering almost obsessively close, Trip's eyes were wide with anger and worry, his brow furrowed, revealing his distress, even if his pacing hadn't. "They have to let us in! They have to!"
Gripping Trip's shoulder, trying to comfort the other man while not diverting his attention, Jonathan stated to Hoshi, "We're going in."
T'Pol stepped forward with, "You can not, Captain. Aside from the fact that you have no idea of the Lieutenant's position and therefore no way of tracking him down in the remaining time, there is the matter of security."
He followed her gaze to the Jomme equivalent of police that lined the area, making sure that no one got through. It was only a matter of minutes before the bomb went off, maybe less, but he couldn't just stand there and let Malcolm be killed. He caught Trip's eyes, and the engineer nodded, grim.
They'd get Malcolm out or die trying, no matter what.
Trip ran off to the side, yelling and screaming like a madman, drawing attention to himself. Most of the security detail went after him, and Jonathan rushed to the spot with none left. Before he could go any further though, the building exploded in a massive conflagration. He was thrown back by the blast and flew several feet through the air, to land hard on the ground.
Jonathan lay there, stunned. He'd acted too late and Malcolm was dead. He'd waited too long and one of his best friends had been killed. Maybe wasn't dead yet, but instead burning horribly in the final agonies. Moaning in pain at the thought, he shoved away the helping hands and sat up, wrapping his arms around his head and curling around himself.
Strong arms surrounded him and Jonathan knew it was Trip. Accepting the bitter comfort and rocking, his fingers clutched at Trip's uniform as his lover cradled him. His heart felt broken as he thought about Malcolm's pointless death.
"It's okay, Jon, it's okay," Trip whispered harshly into his ear, though it plainly wasn't. The engineer's voice was thick with unshed tears and had to be cleared twice just to say that.
Pulling a little away, Jonathan stared up at Trip, lost. "I failed him, Trip, I failed him! He's dead because I didn't act fast enough!"
The crystal blue eyes staring back at him were as agonized as he felt and Trip answered, "We both did, Jon. You're not alone, here."
But he was. He was the Captain and the responsibility for Malcolm's death was solely his to bear. Though it cost him dearly, Jonathan forced the emotions down, drove them savagely to the back of his mind. There were things that needed to be done. Help to be offered and bodies to be recovered. Malcolm hadn't been the only one unable to be reached, Jonathan knew. There was always collateral damage in a terrorist bombing like this.
Trip sensed the change from pained lover to determined captain and released him. They stood, using each other for balance, then Trip cleared his throat and said, "I'll coordinate with Hoshi about getting…"
"No, Commander. I want you and Sub-Commander T'Pol back on Enterprise. Ensign Sato and I will be handling things from the ground," Jonathan interrupted, forcing a hardness to his tone that he didn't feel.
That he didn't want to feel.
Trip blanched, then nodded and saluted. "Aye, Sir."
Unable to relent, Jonathan turned his eyes to the flaming wreck that used to be one of the most beautiful buildings he'd ever seen. Gone were the gently curved ceilings. The exquisite stained glass were shattered pieces on the ground or melting in insanely hot the flames.
"Captain."
"Yes, Sub-Commander."
"I do not feel it is wise to leave you here on the surface without a security detail," T'Pol stated.
Jonathan turned to her and replied, "You may send down three officers, but not Ma…not Lieutenant Reed's replacement."
"Sir?"
"I want no senior officers on this planet in case of another situation," Jonathan informed her.
"Sir, you are the most senior officer we have."
"And I will remain here until we find Lieutenant Reed's body. Am I understood?"
T'Pol gazed at him dispassionately, taking his measure, then nodded sharply. "Aye, Sir."
As she saluted and left, Jonathan's gaze returned to the burning hulk that used to be a building. He desperately wanted Trip to stay, needed his support and comfort, but couldn't accept it. Not until he was back on Enterprise. Not until they could properly mourn the man that both had wanted to bring into their bed.
The man who was already in their hearts.
* * * *
Pain was pretty much his entire world. Pain and darkness. Though considering that he should be dead, Malcolm figured it was a fairly decent circumstance. He had no idea how long since the blast that he lay there throbbing in misery, because he kept drifting in and out of consciousness.
When he woke for real the last time, Malcolm was clear headed, if still in a goodly amount of pain. There was only one real pain that concerned him, though, and that was his arm and shoulder. He didn't know if it was broken, smashed, or dislocated, but it was agony every time he tried to move. Which made for digging his way out, an excruciating exercise.
The only thing that really kept him going was knowing the guilt and pain that Jonathan and Trip would be feeling at his supposed death. And his other friends back on Enterprise as well, though he suspected none would feel it so keenly as Trip and Jonathan. They'd been making subtle overtures towards him for a few months now, though Malcolm had remained just on the other side of the fence, not wanting to ruin their incredible friendship.
Now, however…now he wished that he had just chucked everything to the wind and taken them up on their offer. He wished to have kissed and touched them intimately, made love with them, at least once before he died.
And as that was looking more and more immanent, given his lack of progress, the regret grew.
* * * *
Three days and still, the Jomme were sifting through the rubble. Thanks to continued jamming from the terrorists, Enterprise couldn't scan for life signs and couldn't simply beam away the wreckage. It was just their luck to have arrived on the verge of a civil war that not even the Jomme had anticipated. They knew there were people alive in the wreckage, but could only narrow it down to a general area. And as time wore on without enough progress, those life signs ceased.
Every time that particular news was reported to Jonathan, his already twisted heart cracked into another piece. He wanted nothing more than to go through the building's remains and dig into it with his bare hands. Poor Hoshi looked like she was walking the ragged edge, but unfortunately, Jonathan needed her on hand to translate for him. He was in constant contact with several of the authorities, not that that seemed to do anything to speed things up.
In reality, he knew they were moving as fast as they could. There had been three bombs to take out the massive structure, which had blown in such a way as to make the remaining pieces very unstable. That didn't help the darkness seeping inside as his thoughts dwelled more and more on the many different possibilities of how Malcolm could have actually died. Seeing the smoldering ruins only reinforced his black mood and as days passed, he felt permanently cold and depressed.
* * * *
"Commander, the Captain expressly forbid anyone from going down to the planet," T'Pol repeated.
Trip glared at her and snapped, "I don't care! Malcolm was my friend too, and the Cap'n's going to need someone for support."
"He has Ensign Sato."
"That's not enough, damn it!" Trip snarled.
T'Pol eyed him for a long, silent moment, then informed him evenly, "You will remain on Enterprise, Commander. If I feel that you are in danger of breaking the Captain's orders, I will confine you to the brig. The Captain has enough on his mind right now and does not need to add worrying about you to the list."
Trip flinched, not having thought of that. He'd been so wrapped up in helping Jon and being with him, that he hadn't thought past getting back to the other man's side. But sure, of course, Jon would feel like Trip was in danger by being on the surface. That was why he'd ordered everyone off in the first place. Rubbing his temple, Trip apologized, "Sorry, T'Pol. It's just killing me, knowing what he's going through all alone down there."
There seemed to be a softer look in T'Pol's eyes as she observed, "Even were you there, Commander, I doubt the Captain would avail himself of your…comfort. Certainly not until he retrieves the Lieutenant's body, and possibly not until after the memorial service, if even then. I have noted the Captain to be surprisingly private in matters of grief."
Which was also true, much as Trip hated to admit it. Sighing, he agreed, "Yeah, I know. I guess it's more for my benefit, than for his. I feel so useless up here."
"I assure you, Commander, keeping Enterprise safe and working is far from useless," T'Pol stated. "Having a refuge to return to will improve the Captain's mood immensely when he has achieved his object."
It occurred to Trip just then that T'Pol was using more formal than was normal, even for her. She had been sober and even quieter than usual since returning to Enterprise, too. And then, belatedly, it hit him: T'Pol and Malcolm had been good friends. Certainly better than most of the crew was with the Vulcan. Part of it, of course, had to do with Malcolm's crush on the officer towards the beginning of their voyage. It had seemed to develop into an honest attachment over time, though, if not a romantic one.
Feeling abruptly like a heel, Trip asked, "How are you doing, T'Pol?"
"I am fine, Commander, thank you for the inquiry," T'Pol replied. "Once we have held the Lieutenant's public memorial, I will be performing a private Vulcan ritual to honor the dead."
Which was equivalent to T'Pol taking out a full-page ad, Trip figured. "I'm sure Malcolm would've appreciated that."
Her lips twitched faintly as she stated, "Lt. Reed had many…unique qualities which are a loss to Starfleet and the universe in general. He should be mourned."
"He will be," Trip murmured, rubbing his temple again.
"Are you all right, Commander? You look unwell."
"Just a headache. Haven't been sleeping good."
"You should take a break," she suggested, not unkindly.
But Trip shook his head. "I'd just go nuts staring at the wall."
"Dr. Phlox…"
"No, no meds. I'm fine, T'Pol, thanks."
After a brief silence, she acquiesced, "Very well, Commander."
Which signaled the end of Trip's unplanned conference in Jon's ready room. Sighing, Trip nodded and left the office, heading back to engineering.
* * * *
Jonathan was actually trying to sleep when an urgent shout sounded directly outside the tent set up for him and Hoshi. He rolled off the cot to his feet, Hoshi right behind him, though it was clear that she was barely awake. There was a jumble of words on top of words from multiple Jomme before Hoshi shouted with a volume that shut everyone up. Jonathan looked at her in surprised respect, not having realized just how much force she could put behind her voice.
When the Jomme recovered, somewhat awed, one of them explained in a fast, sharp and ecstatic tone. Jonathan looked between Hoshi's stunned face and the Jomme official's expectant one, and demanded, "What!? What's going on!?"
Hoshi's mouth opened, but no words came out, so he grabbed her shoulder and shook her gently, but firmly. She came to attention abruptly and exclaimed, "He's alive! They found Malcolm!"
Jonathan froze in shock and croaked, "What?"
But Hoshi was talking to the Jomme rapidly, ignoring his faint response. The official nodded repeatedly, then pointed. Without waiting for a translation, Jonathan ran flat out in the direction the man had pointed. Dodging rescue workers and security people, Jonathan kept running until he actually heard Malcolm's querulous and exhausted demands. It cut off too soon, though, before Jonathan could get a real lock on it.
Unable to help himself, growing more and more frustrated at the too-dark maze of the area, Jonathan shouted, "Malcolm! Malcolm, where are you?"
"Over here! I'm over here!"
After a twisted version of Marco Polo, Jonathan finally found him. Lying on a stretcher, battered and bloodied from what little Jonathan could make out, was Malcolm. He stopped short a few feet away, throat sealed shut with emotion as he drank in the sight. The left side of Malcolm's face was one dark bruise, his hair matted and caked with dried blood. His uniform was ripped and torn in too many places to count. His left arm was strapped to his body and his left leg wrapped in several places.
Offering a weary smile, Malcolm observed, "Took them long enough. I was going out of my mind with boredom."
And still, Jonathan couldn't speak.
Malcolm ordered softly, "Come here, Jonathan."
Mute, Jonathan obeyed, stopping directly beside the stretcher.
Reaching up with his free hand, Malcolm grabbed Jonathan's uniform and tugged him down. Before he really knew what was going on, Jonathan found himself involved in a slow, deep kiss that was literally taking his breath away. When he reluctantly straightened a bit to breathe, Jonathan dropped to his knees. His legs actually gave out as the emotions he'd bottled up came flooding up.
A warm, solid hand cupped the back of his head, drawing Jonathan close. It was an incredibly awkward position, but Jonathan didn't care. His head rested on Malcolm's side and his arm was draped over Malcolm's torso. He could feel and hear the other man breathing, feel the connection and the hand on his head reassuring him that Malcolm was alive.
It was far more than he'd ever expected.
* * * *
T'Pol had joined him in the mess room, though she didn't normally take dinner there. Then again, neither did he.
Grief makes strange bedfellows, he thought sourly.
"And the malfunction?"
Bringing his attention back to the conversation, Trip answered, "All taken care of. I…"
Travis' voice interrupted them with, "Sub-Commander! The Captain and Hoshi are on their way back with Lieutenant Reed!"
There was way too much happiness in the young man's voice for it to mean anything except that, miracle of miracles, Malcolm was alive.
"What is his condition, Ensign?" T'Pol demanded, stiffening in apparent surprise.
"He's alive and it looks like he's only got a concussion and a busted arm and leg! Dr. Phlox is on his way to the shuttlebay," Travis reported enthusiastically.
Trip wondered why T'Pol looked and sounded so far away all of a sudden as she turned a concerned face to him. She lurched across the table towards him, but before she got to him, darkness encroached.
* * * *
Despite his embarrassment at having fainted in front of a good third of the crew, Trip was in the shuttlebay when the vehicle landed. There was no way that he would miss Malcolm's homecoming, and it seemed that half the alpha shift had the same thought. Which actually, really and truly, sucked. Trip had wanted the other man all to himself, well, al to himself and Jon. That wasn't to be, though, and it wasn't as though he could deny the others their happy reunion.
Even T'Pol smiled now and again in anticipation, though when she realized it, it vanished.
The shuttle door opened and Phlox and two assistants rushed forward. Trip was restrained by T'Pol's hand on his arm as she said, "It will be easier to see him in sickbay."
"Good point," he agreed, even as he strained for a view of the stretcher.
Malcolm was rushed by and Trip again felt unsteady as he saw the extent of the other man's injuries. Malcolm was unconscious, so he didn't see all the people who turned out to welcome him back, but Trip would tell him later. When the medical brigade was out the door, he turned to Jon and nearly rushed to his lover's side. It was with severe restraint that he stayed put and allowed Jon to come forward to him and T'Pol.
T'Pol nodded and greeted, "Captain."
"Everything all right, Sub-Commander?" Jon questioned.
"Beta shift has reported no problems since I left the bridge," T'Pol reported. "All department heads reported status quo as well."
"Good," Jon acknowledged with a slight nod.
T'Pol hesitated, then said, "It is good to have you back, Captain, as well as Lt. Reed."
Smiling now, Jon replied, "It's good to be back. Thank you for your assistance."
"If I may, Captain?"
"Yes?"
"Perhaps a night's rest and a shower is in order," T'Pol suggested diplomatically.
Trip didn't bother hiding a grin as he chimed in, "She means, you're ripe, Cap'n. And it wouldn't do to have you keeling over on the Bridge."
Jon snorted, blue-green eyes sparkling as he countered, "What's your excuse?"
"Hey, I'm not the one that stinks to high heaven," Trip announced, smirking.
Eyes rolling a bit, Jon pointedly ignored the comment and said to T'Pol, "I believe that I will leave the ship in your capable hands for another twenty-four hours."
"Yes, Sir," she acknowledged, inclining her head.
When they were alone, Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and whispered, "He's going to be fine, Trip. We got so damn lucky."
Nodding, Trip agreed, "I know. How bad is he, though?"
"Shattered left shoulder blade, severe concussion and multiple lacerations on his left leg, deep ones."
"Fuck!"
"I know. But he's okay, Trip, he's going to be fine."
Trip rubbed his temples, feeling the headache return with a vengeance. Finally, he asked softly, "Walk you to your quarters, Cap'n?"
"That's the second best thing I've heard today."
"What was the first?"
"I have no idea, because it was in Jomme, but it woke me up."
* * * *
The moment the door closed, Jonathan sagged into Trip's arms. For an eternity, they just stood there in the safety and quiet of his quarters. Jonathan rested completely on his lover, relishing the strength holding him up and the fresh, clean scent that filled his nose, driving away the smell of blood and dirt and fear.
When he thought he could stand without falling over, he pulled back and gripped both of Trip's shoulders, just drinking in the sight of his earnest face.
"You okay? For real?" Trip asked, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked up at Jonathan.
Sighing deeply, Jonathan answered, "I will be. Shower with me?"
Trip nodded and they moved to the bathroom, stopping for a few minutes to pet and say hello to Porthos who was ecstatic to see his master again.
It took longer than usual to get undressed because Jonathan was so unsteady on his feet, but they made it into the fairly small shower without incident. Once under the soothing, hot spray, Jonathan just let Trip do what he wanted, which involved a lot of gentle caresses with a wash cloth and kisses to all the bruises along his back from where he'd landed after the explosion.
All of which was perfectly fine with Jonathan.
"Close your eyes and sit, I'm going to wash your hair."
Smiling now, Jonathan did as instructed, perching on the narrow ledge while Trip's fingers massaged his scalp for far longer than was needed to wash his short amount of hair. It was intensely soothing and erotic at the same time, but even though he shuddered and gooseflesh erupted, Jonathan knew he had zero energy to follow through.
"Up."
Obeying the soft command, Jonathan stood and let Trip position him under the spray for the soap to be washed clear.
"Okay, we're good."
Jonathan opened his eyes and leaned in for a long, deep kiss, reacquainting himself with Trip's incredible mouth. He drew back slowly and smiled at the dreamy look on his lover's face. It was a rare sight and to be enjoyed. Trip was generally too sharp and animated to be this relaxed. That was when Jonathan realized that Trip was practically asleep on his feet. Grinning now, he murmured, "Bed."
Blinking clear at the word, Trip nodded and turned off the water. They dried each other off and were in bed in less than five minutes. Once there, Trip plastered himself over Jonathan's chest and fell almost instantly asleep. With a deep, contented sigh, Jonathan followed him down.
* * * *
When Malcolm woke, he was blissfully pain-free and in the almost blindingly, in comparison, lit sickbay on Enterprise. The last thing he remembered was the explosion.
"Back with us, Lieutenant?" Phlox's cheerful voice asked.
Turning his head, Malcolm saw the Denobulan coming towards him from across the room. It took a few tries, and he had to clear his throat, but finally Malcolm said, "Yes."
"Good! How do you feel?"
Malcolm thought about it, then answered, "Fine. A little rusty, but good."
Phlox's grin broadened. "No pain or aches, not sore?"
"Not at all," Malcolm assured him. "What happened?"
For some reason, that pulled Phlox up short. He frowned and asked, "You don't remember?"
Malcolm shook his head with, "No. Well, I remember there was an explosion, but I should have died, shouldn't I?"
"Most indubitably," Phlox agreed. "You were very lucky. Apparently a tree was in the way of most of the debris that was sent your way. It fell, but protected you from the falling building."
"I remember that tree. Bloody painful thing to crash into," Malcolm stated darkly.
"Crash into?"
Sighing, Malcolm explained, "I heard the explosion before it actually happened and jumped out a window. Problem being that the tree was right outside the window, but had been hidden by the stained glass. I used rather more force than I should have and crashed into it."
Phlox's mouth made a small 'O' of understanding. "Well. That explains all the splinters I had to remove. I was wondering considering that they told me you were protected by the tree, but it looked to me like you'd used it as a slide."
Malcolm groaned in embarrassment and replied, "Not on purpose, Doctor, believe me."
Chuckling, Phlox commented, "I do, Lieutenant, I do. Now, onto more practical matters. Your shoulder has been reassembled and your leg regenerated. Most of the bruises have faded by now and your concussion is also gone."
Jaw dropping, Malcolm demanded, "How long have I been out?"
"Oh, about a week, give or take."
Malcolm surged upright, then gasped as a wave of dizziness assaulted him. Phlox's strong grip was the only thing that kept him from tumbling out of the bed.
"Careful, Lieutenant, don't want to undo all my hard work!" Phlox exclaimed, easing him back down on the bed.
Gritting his teeth, Malcolm demanded, "What's wrong with me?"
Phlox was serious as he answered, "You've been unconscious for nine days, Lieutenant. Your body has suffered several traumas, as well as your psyche. You can't just expect to jump out of bed and pick up as though nothing had happened. For the most part, you are healed, but you need to take it slow. I'm not going to let you back on duty for another three days, and I want someone with you at all times to keep an eye on you once you're out of sickbay. Just in case."
"What? But I feel fine!" Malcolm protested.
Phlox tutted, pointing out, "And as your little demonstration just proved, you are not."
Glowering at the man, Malcolm subsided with ill-grace.
"Now then. You have some friends who would very much like to see you awake and complaining, so I'm going to call the Captain and Commander Tucker, if that's all right?" Phlox questioned sincerely.
Malcolm felt heat flush along his face again, embarrassed both by his outburst and his selfishness. Trip and Jonathan must have been going out of their minds, thinking him caught in the explosion, and then again waiting for him to be dug out, and now unconscious for a week. "Yes, of course, Doctor."
Beaming again, Phlox moved towards the comm console.
* * * *
"Captain?"
Jonathan looked up from his reports and leaned over to press the comm button with, "Yes, Doctor?"
"Lt. Reed is awake now, if you'd like to come down?"
On his feet in an instant, Jonathan had to bend over to say, "Be right there."
"Captain!"
Pausing, Jonathan questioned, "What is it?"
"I thought you should know...he doesn't remember anything after the blast. Apparently, his mind blocked out everything, including the rescue and any, ah, subsequent actions."
Thrown, it took him a second to respond. "Understood, Doctor. Thanks for the heads-up."
"You're welcome, Captain."
When the screen went blank on Phlox's compassionate glance, Jonathan had to take a breath, disappointment running through him. Malcolm didn't remember the kiss or their brief conversation on the shuttle before losing consciousness. Had his mind deliberately blocked them out so that he wouldn't have to deal with what was a potentially trauma-related impulse, or was it just collateral damage from not wanting to remember any of it?
Either way, he had to get down to sickbay and see Malcolm. The security officer had been in an induced coma since his return so that Phlox could speed his recovery artificially. The human body wasn't meant to heal at such a rate, so there was sure to be after-effects that would be unpleasant.
The morning he'd woken up after returning from Jomme, Phlox had discussed treatment with him. Malcolm's injuries would be fine at the end of the enforced recovery, but his overall condition would be weak from the strain. It was either that, or allow the body a lag-time of at least a month to heal at a faster-than-normal speed, but a much more acceptable one.
And maybe it was Jonathan's own reluctance to be without Malcolm for that long, but he also didn't want the other man to suffer consciously through the pain of healing from those injuries. They may not have been life threatening, but they were certainly painful. So he'd okayed the doctor to put Malcolm under and start the process.
"Cap'n?"
Jonathan blinked in surprise, his thoughts so focused on Malcolm and what he might or might not remember that he hadn't even realized that he'd arrived at sickbay. He smiled at Trip and, after a quick look around to make sure they were alone, brushed his fingers over the other man's cheek.
Trip grinned and replied, "Good to see you too."
"Did Dr. Phlox tell you..."
"About the memory loss? Yeah."
Sighing a bit, Jonathan said, "We'll just have to take it slow. Let him come back to his memories on his own."
Trip's eyes rolled. "This is Malcolm we're talking about, Jon. If there's a way for him to remain blissfully ignorant, but with his pride intact, he'll find it. I say full speed ahead and dam the torpedoes."
"So, what, you want to just jump him in sickbay?" Jonathan suggested, amused.
Chuckling, Trip shook his head and answered, "No. I was thinking something a little more subtle."
Jonathan choked a little. "Subtle? You?"
"Hey! I can do subtle."
"Like a two by four."
Glaring a little, Trip retorted, "I have a plan."
Jonathan didn't bother to hide his grin. "Okay, now I'm scared."
The lift at the end of the corridor opened and a couple of crewmembers came out, ending the conversation. Jonathan stepped close enough to the sickbay entrance for the doors to open. He headed towards the bed that Malcolm had been occupying and found the man sitting up, talking to Ensign Cutler. The words died off as Jonathan and Trip approached though, and blue-gray eyes widened for an instant, before flickering away almost guiltily.
Interesting.
Smiling, Jonathan stopped at the bed and greeted, "Good to see you awake again, Malcolm. We were worried there."
"Thanks, Captain, it's good to be awake," Malcolm answered, the faintest of discomfort apparent. Then he seemed to come to the conclusion of some internal debate and forced a smile, offering, "The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."
Cutler excused herself and Trip took her place on the other side of the bed, resting his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. When Malcolm looked at him, Trip said, "Don't even joke about that, Malcolm. And it's been too damn quiet without you around."
"Oh, well, sorry?" Malcolm replied.
Jonathan noticed that Trip's hand remained where it was and the fingers moved lightly over the back of Malcolm's neck. He snorted to himself, thinking, Subtle, hm?
Still, it wasn't a bad idea. Give Malcolm a taste of what he could have, without going overboard. Taking his cue from Trip, Jonathan put his hand on Malcolm's thigh, his thumb moving slowly back and forth as he asked, "How are you feeling?"
Distracted now, surrounded on both sides, Malcolm replied, "Good. Weak, though. I guess that's a common occurrence for this type of treatment."
"Yes, I hope you don't mind. Dr. Phlox gave me the option and I thought that you'd rather be knocked out for a week, than lingering for a month," Jonathan informed him. He squeezed lightly, and continued, "Not to mention, I didn't really want to be without you for that long... Enterprise needs her senior tactical officer after all."
Malcolm blinked a few times, then cleared his throat. "Yes, of course, Captain. I, um, no, it's fine. I mean, I'm glad you made that decision, Sir."
"Captain. Commander," Phlox's amused voice said from behind.
Jonathan turned to find the bright blue eyes twinkling merrily, the Denobulan not missing a trick as he took in the scene. Chuckling to himself, Jonathan questioned, "How's the patient, Doctor?"
"As well as can be expected. I do, however, want someone to accompany him for the next few days. Not only to make sure that he takes it easy, but to be sure his system doesn't encounter any stress," Phlox replied.
Oh now, that was perfect. Jonathan glanced at Trip and saw the engineer completely on the same page. "I think we can manage that, Doctor."
"Yes, I thought you might," Phlox agreed, lips twitching, but not actually forming a smile. "But I should stress that Lt. Reed is to be kept from any...strenuous...activity for at least the next seventy two hours."
Jonathan turned on his most innocent expression and replied, "Of course, Doctor. I think Trip and I can sit on him for that long. Make sure he doesn't do anything...strenuous."
"Captain, Doctor, really. I feel fine!" Malcolm protested weakly.
Phlox did grin at that and replied to Jonathan, "Excellent! You may come for him, er, can take him...you can bring him to his quarters anytime."
Jonathan nearly burst out laughing at the doctor's unintentional innuendo and saw Trip having the same problem. Malcolm, however, had dropped backwards against the bed with an embarrassed groan.
Subtle had never really been his style anyhow.
* * * *
Malcolm couldn't really believe this was happening, let alone with whom. His mouth was being gently plundered by Jonathan's insistent tongue, and Trip was kissing his way across the back of his neck and shoulders.
The walk to Jonathan's quarters had been quiet and slow, he'd been flanked on both sides. It hadn't taken long to get there, of course, and once inside, Malcolm had just stood there, kind of helpless, unsure what to do or say. As soon as he'd seen Jonathan, he'd remembered the rescue and kiss and subsequent conversation about lost chances and regret, even if he probably hadn't made much sense at the time.
Then the choice was taken from him when Jonathan had come right up to him and put his hands on Malcolm's hips with, "Don't miss this, Malcolm, please. We want you, so much. We both love you. The thought of losing you...it drove me to my knees."
"And he's not being dramatic, neither," Trip had whispered from behind, his hands joining Jonathan's. "We were both of us devastated when we thought you were dead. Please stay with us, Malcolm."
His heart had been thundering so loud, that he'd been sure it would beat right out of his chest. But his cock had already started responding to their proximity and his mouth had gone dry. Without thinking, forcing aside all the doubts and hesitations, remembering the cold, empty grave he'd thought to inhabit, he'd simply leaned forward and kissed Jonathan.
Which led to the present situation of being slowly devoured by the two most important men in his life. Trip's hands were moving up and down his flank, heavy and slow as he kissed and licked his way over Malcolm. Jonathan's hands were still on his hips, though now they were bare and every so often when Malcolm leaned forward into the kiss, their cocks met in the open, drawing a shudder from them both.
He definitely had new appreciation for the phrase, 'monkey in the middle.'
John pulled back with, "Let us take care of you, Malcolm, you're not supposed to do anything strenuous, remember?"
Eyes rolling at the innuendo, Malcolm nonetheless nodded and allowed them to lead him to Jonathan's bed. What followed was a strangely dream-like encounter the stuff that fantasies were made of. He was on the bed, half propped up on Trip while Jonathan continued to lavish his front with attention, sucking and kissing his way down Malcolm's body. He gasped in shocked pleasure when Jonathan's mouth sucked gently at his cock, the tongue licking and wrapping around his shaft.
Moaning at the heat that shot through him, Malcolm relaxed completely into Trip's arms, which immediately went around him. Strong fingers pinched his nipples gently, adding to the sensation. As did Trip's voice urging him to let go, to let them take care of him, whispering nasty things like when he was better, how they'd fuck him until he couldn't walk, how they'd take his mouth and use it for their pleasure, how they'd never let him leave the bed.
How much they loved him and never wanted to let him go.
It was the last utterance that sent Malcolm over the edge, crying out hoarsely with his release, his seed spilling into Jonathan's mouth and his vision sparking white, then fading to darkness.
* * * *
"Do you think we overdid it?" Jon questioned, worried.
Trip looked at him pointedly and answered, "I'm not calling Phlox here to check him out, are you?"
Debating internally, Jon finally shook his head.
Thankfully, Malcolm came around just then with a groan. Trip's arms tightened around him and he kissed just under Malcolm's ear, asking, "You all right, Malcolm?"
A silly, sated smile appeared on the other man's face as he replied, "I can't feel my body, so yes, I'm fine."
Laughing, Trip said, "Good. Let's get settled for the night."
That seemed to bring Malcolm around even more, though, and he protested, "What about the two of you? It hardly seems fair that..."
Jon stopped the words simply by putting his hand over Malcolm's mouth. Then he said, "This was just for you, Malcolm. We're just happy to have you here. Once you're a little stronger, we'll talk about doing more. Have you even had a male lover before?"
Flushing, Malcolm shook his head. "No."
Heat of a different kind surged through Trip at the revelation, and he nearly groaned in anticipation. God, this was going to be good.
"So that's definitely it for tonight," Jon continued, swallowing heavily at the admission.
It took a few minutes for them to get settled, but finally, Malcolm lay on top of Trip, chest to chest, and Jon curled around Malcolm from behind. Trip sighed in deep contentment and closed his eyes, murmuring, "Night guys. Love you."
Malcolm kissed his collarbone and answered, "Night, Trip, Jonathan."
There was a warm chuckle from Jon as he said, "Good night, guys."
But Trip's curiosity was roused at the chuckle and he asked, "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, really. Just reminded of an old, 20th Century television show. I'll show you later," Jon answered, one of his hands reaching out to cup Trip's face.
Trip yawned and nodded, kissing the palm. "Okay."
Now that they had Malcolm, there was plenty of time, after all.
***