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The Aft Observation Room of the Enterprise was shrouded in darkness, the emergency lighting above the door the only source of light. The dim red glow was not enough to read in, but it showed Hoshi the silhouette of the man she was looking for. She crossed the room, stepping over a fallen metal beam and some splinters that crunched under her boot. The Expanse had not been easy on humanity's first Warp 5 ship, and even after their miraculous return through time and space, it would take months to repair all the scars of the previous year.
That sound gave Malcolm the first hint that he was not alone. His shoulders tensed slightly, but she waited until she was next to him before speaking up, watching the pale light Earth threw back into space and onto his face. They were above Australia, Sydney dock was apparently more than just a call sign. Despite the warmth of the continent below, the reflection was harsh, almost glacial.
"Ensign."
"Hey Malcolm. I just – You were not at the party."
"Didn't feel like it. How did you find me?" he asked without turning his head. "The internal sensors are offline here."
"They are not offline on B deck, so I knew you were not in your quarters. The logs showed that you never left after we came back from San Francisco, so it was only a matter of searching through the areas that are not covered. Half of E and most of F is still inaccessible, and I did not think that you would have been in someone else's room."
"You know, if you ever get tired of Communications, I can find you an opening in Security," Malcolm said, but his voice was oddly brittle. "And you figured out that I love pineapples."
"I don't think that I have the right talents for shoot-outs."
"You would be surprised, you have come a long way Hoshi. And Security is not just about gunslinging, at least not this side of the Delphic Expanse. Data analysis, looking for behaviour patterns, judging people's motivations, all of that is right down your alley."
"I'm not sure if I'd be a good Sherlock Holmes, either. Not enough drug habits, for once."
That drew a chuckle from him, but it died as fast as it had come. Frowning, she sat down on the floor next to him.
"You have read Doyle?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I am a linguist."
"Still, Doyle? If anything, I would have expected Tolkien," Malcolm said and drew a grin from her.
"I have devoured Tolkien, but little nine-year-old me has been obsessed with Victorian England."
"Huh? I would have guessed Regency."
The absurdity of the situation struck Hoshi as she dropped down onto the floor next to him. They were the last two people aboard their stricken ship, sitting in a ruined room looking down on the planet they fought so hard to save. And yet, they were discussing literature, in what had to be a stalling action.
"You should not be here all by yourself. Are you alright, Mal?"
The denial died on his tongue the moment he glanced at her. His look, instinctive from her hand on his shoulder, lasted perhaps half a second but the emotion he saw in those brown eyes was almost overwhelming. It was a mistake, but Malcolm could not resist the temptation to repeat it. Their eyes met again, this time longer, and his breath froze for a second. Lust, desire, annoyance, contempt; he knew those. And since he had come aboard Enterprise, a few more had become familiar. Trip's mirth when they were bantering about something inconsequential, T'Pol's respect when he behaved less idiotically than what she has come to expect from humans, Phlox' shit-eating grin whenever he got a new patient with a minor injury, or the Captain being torn whenever they got into an argument about Starfleet regulations. Enterprise had become his family, even if it had taken him some time to get used to it. But Malcolm could not even remember the last time anyone had looked at him with that much care in their eyes. It was alien, but strangely welcome. However, the warmth in her eyes was too much for his resolve.
"No."
Barely more than a whisper, he harboured the irrational hope that perhaps she had missed the confession. But with less than a foot between his mouth and her ear, it didn't take her superb hearing to understand. Hoshi did not say anything, but she scooted closer and put an arm across his shoulders. She was not particularly strong, nor trained in any discipline that could compensate for that. Her abduction had been a painful reminder of that, of his failure to do his job. Yet that simple gesture gave a sense of security long gone from his life.
Hoshi leaned her head into the crook of his neck, the silky texture of her hair pleasant against his exposed skin there. The fruity scent of her shampoo, mixed with a smell of the laundry detergent from their uniforms, might as well have been a nerve agent given what it did to his ability to think. Malcolm had been trained to resist interrogations; he had even been forced to use that knowledge a couple of times, but a few gentle touches from her was all it took to break him. After a year in the Expanse, a year in hell, he had no fight left in him. Not for this. If the Suliban or Xindi acted up again, he would be the first into the breach, but after everything that had happened, he couldn't find the strength to lie to Hoshi. Or maybe that was his subconscious telling him that he was at his breaking point.
He drank in the warmth of those big, brown eyes until the guilt was too much. Like a moth to the flame, even if it burned him. He had failed his duty, failed her, the dark rings under her eyes all the evidence he needed. Blinking rapidly, he looked away.
"You should be at the party, Ensign, not in this gloomy room."
"I am where I want to be, Mal. Right here, next to you."
She was not the first person to use that nickname, but Trip slurring it after they had 5 beers too many did not have the same effect on him. And despite his issues when it came to social interactions, the implications were not lost on him. The past months had been hard on them all, and while they had not broken any regulations so far, they both drifted towards that abyss. Together.
"Are you sure that you know what you are getting into?"
Neither of them said aloud what this conversation was really about, yet there was no doubt. Malcolm knew what he wanted, but he also knew that he would never dare to ask it of her. A part of him wanted nothing more than to drag her to his cabin, but he had not got where he was by giving in to urges, no matter how tempting they were. Yet now, a room that was symbolic for the state of the entire Enterprise as well as her crew, he could only put forth a token protest.
"Your past with the Federation Security."
"Is that what they call it in my records?" he asked, but the joke fell flat. As part of his training, it had been drilled into Malcolm that he should never even mention that he had a secret past, but after the past few months, he found himself unable to care. They had been through hell together, the bonds between Enterprise's crew forged under fire. And just maybe, what he could tell her would be enough to drive her away. Not what he wanted, but what he needed. "We were black ops. Officially, the whole section never existed, so that the brass could have plausible deniability. When people think of operatives, they think James Bond seducing some exotic beauty on a beach straight from a tourist advert before stopping a villain and riding into the sunset. The truth is closer to Casino Royale, you get interrogated for hours, and the girl turns out to be a Soviet agent while you are left bitter and branded by scars."
"Did that really happen to you?"
"Well, not the double agent lover, but it is definitely not a nice job. At first, it felt like I was doing good. It might not be pleasant work, but it needs doing. For King and Country, and all of that. But the longer I was there, the more I felt like a thug rather than an officer serving Starfleet. When I was offered a place aboard Enterprise, I practically jumped at the opportunity."
"I'm glad you did," Hoshi replied, her voice quiet but firm. She shifted her hand so that her thumb could trace the collar of his uniform. The muscles in his neck were tenser than a cadet who just got his first surprise inspection. And even though she could only see one side of his face, the haunted look in his eyes was unmistakable. "I would not have met you otherwise."
"I have done things I am not proud of. I am not a good person, Hoshi."
"You are Malcolm, the man who spent days of his free time teaching me how to use a phase pistol. Who raided the kitchen after hobbling through half of the ship after I said that I could eat a sandwich."
"That was after Phlox injected me with those weird antibiotic amoebae of his. I was high as a kite there."
"You sat with me each time I ended up in Sick Bay. And don't think that I didn't see through your pretences about Andorian encryption algorithms or Tellarite ciphers."
"Well –"
"What is bothering you, Mal? You don't need to justify that you are attracted to me, you know?"
"I failed you!" he hissed in response. "You were kidnapped by those Xindi from right under my nose. Because of me –"
"Stop! We all knew the dangers when we volunteered for that mission," Hoshi said, quiet but forcefully. She did not want to think about those hours, but neither should anyone else.
"You should hate me. If not for my mistakes –"
His voice was barely above a whisper, but with iron in it. Nonetheless, Hoshi cut him off with a squeeze of her hand.
"Mal, you are not responsible for all evil aboard the Enterprise. You don't see me blaming the Captain for ordering us there, or Travis since he could not outfly a transporter lock. Don't hate yourself in my stead."
"I knew what I was getting myself into. I was raised on stories of ancestors and kinsmen dying for the Empire. Be it a Reed who lost a leg aboard Royal Sovereign, or the ancestors who succumbed to tropical disease while serving in the West Africa Squadron to end the slave trade. Of Reeds who gave their lives to light a mine under the German trenches, who died aboard HMS Braham, Coventry and Clement," he replied darkly. He had known the part he was to play before attending Kindergarten, and he had long made his peace with it. Hoshi had been an academic; a professor rushed through a couple of courses at Starfleet Academy after the Captain had recruited her. "You were a linguist and a teacher, a gifted scholar who got roped into this mess because you were and still are the best in the field. I can't –"
As far as first kisses went, the peck on his cheek was as chaste as it could get. However, as her lips lingered, Malcolm slumped forward. Almost like a puppet that had its strings cut. There were no tears in his eyes, but he clearly needed a moment to deal with his emotions.
"I know whom to blame for my nightmares, Mal. And you are not Dolim, so do not blame yourself in his stead."
Hoshi's absolution had been more than he had hoped, nor had Malcolm realised how much he needed to hear it. Even if he could not fully believe it, the words were a welcome relief. The arm across his shoulders, her body leaned into his side - it was too easy to just give in. Steeling himself, Malcolm was about to shrug off her touch, to get some distance between them. Emotionally as well as physically. However, Hoshi saw through the attempt before he could do more than return to a ramrod straight posture.
"Don't hide away, not from me. You don't need to prove anything to me, not in a long time."
"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked, halfway between wariness and desperation. If her eyes were a forbidden temptation, her voice was his Achilles heel.
"Being the comm officer means that it is my responsibility to go over logs and transcripts after each EVA mission. Including one where the security officer gets impaled by a mine and pleads with the Captain to be left behind in order to save the ship."
"Oh – well, it seemed like the right choice at the time. It still is, my life or the ship…"
"We both know that you are an exemplary officer whose professionalism is beyond reproach. But you do not have to keep up the act all the time. You are allowed to show some emotions, at least in private. What else is bothering you?" Hoshi asked gently before he could come up with a tangent to distract her. They were not as close as she would have liked, but over three years, she had learned to read some of his tells. And she knew that if it was just one thing haunting him, he would have just swallowed it down like he had done so many times before. "Why did you come here?"
"Everything feels - unreal - muted. A year ago, I would have relished the thought of a hero's welcome at Starfleet, but now it was – alright, I guess. I have noticed that in the Expanse. At some point, it felt like we, like I, lost my joy. You kissing me would have been a dream come through. And while it still is, I just – I'm not sure if I can be truly happy anymore."
"I think we all lost something in the Expanse," Hoshi admitted. "And in return, we got the fuel for a thousand nightmares."
"I'm sorry— "
"Don't. If you want to help me, be my rock, not my confessor."
The vehement refusal of his apology shut Malcom up for a second, and he mulled over her words. There was an easy way out, but after a year of hell, he no longer had the will to fight his heart. Not against Hoshi. Instead, he put his arm across her back and pulled her closer against his side. She felt warm in the cool room, warmer than physics alone could explain.
"I did not come here to work. I just – After I put Trip straight, I could not take the atmosphere at Headquarters," Malcolm admitted. "Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won."
"Nelson – no wait, Wellington?"
"Wellington. Nelson would probably have relished our assignment, and come back with half-a-dozen Xindi ships as prizes," Malcolm said with a chuckle that still sounded far too brittle. Hoshi squeezed his shoulder again, and they sat in silence for a moment. "I needed a place to think, or maybe deep down I was wishing for a pretty woman to find me up here."
"Now what was the chance for that?"
"Anywhere else, absolutely appalling, I would say."
"Luckily for you, impossible odds are just a regular Tuesday aboard the Enterprise," she teased, and for the first time that evening, there was a genuine smile on Malcolm's lips.
"It's Thursday."
"Close enough," Hoshi said and kissed his cheek again. "So why did Trip need to be put straight?"
"Girl trouble. Ever since Lorian, he and T'Pol have been – confused."
"Confused?"
"Bloody dense might be more accurate. They are both attracted to each other –"
"Both? Trip is obvious, but T'Pol?" Hoshi asked, her interest piqued. Subcommander T'Pol had been an intimidating figure when she first came aboard, and although always cordial, the gap in experience had seemed insurmountable at first. The Vulcan had received her commission before Hoshi went to school.
"Vulcans are good at concealing their facial expressions, but at least as far as Trip is concerned, her body language betrays her."
"I didn't know you were an expert on Vulcans."
"I am not. But I've watched her for three years. Spent embarrassingly long trying to prove that she was spying for the Vulcan High Command," Malcolm admitted, his faint blush hidden by the darkness. "It's all about the azimuth and elevation of her eyebrows."
"I will get a sextant the next time I talk to T'Pol," Hoshi replied, and they shared a chuckle at the image.
"For someone who wouldn't even shake a hand, she is practically all over the Commander. At least by Vulcan standards. You saw their son from the future, and you must have noticed that they have been acting strange ever since."
"But - I don't - You might be onto something there," Hoshi conceded after a moment where she thought about the more recent interactions between her superiors. "So Doc Love, what's the prognosis?"
"I told Trip that he needs to take the mother of his would-be child and strike while the iron is hot. With enough time, T'Pol would probably find a way to rationalise the whole thing as a result of extraordinary circumstances. Or she would be whisked away by some Vulcans under the pretence of an extensive debriefing. At that prospect, he looked at me as if I had just killed his favourite puppy. All he needed was a nudge in the right direction, that's why they are now in a mountain lodge in Montana for the next two months, conveniently cut off from communications."
"Wait, they are there already?"
"The benefit of knowing Starfleet protocol by heart is that you also know the loopholes. Such as that requests for shore leave cannot be denied if the ship is docked and the leave is overdue for at least six months. And that if you submit the request through one of the secondary offices such as Liverpool, it will be granted before anyone who wants to play politics can get involved."
"What do you hope will happen?"
"They will have one of their epic arguments, do their neuropressure thing, and then get it all out of their systems," Malcolm predicted. Not that he knew what Vulcan neuropressure was really about, but he could make an educated guess. "They are good together. You saw how Trip was when we left Earth. T'Pol is balm on his soul, and he rubs off onto her in return. She even started cracking jokes. Dry as the deserts of Vulcan, but he brought that out."
"That was very insightful of you."
"I also told him that if he follows the Rockies North far enough, he might find some civilization."
"Oh Mal, never change."
"I think it is too late for that. I am no longer the man I was when I first came abroad. Or even before the Expanse," he replied, his jovial mood gone again.
"You mellowed out, but you are still Malcolm Reed, the man who wormed his way into my heart."
"Sorry about that."
"An officer and a gentleman my ass."
"Without further study of the matter at hand, I am unable to comment further, Ma'am."
"Keep this up Leftenant, and you will get the opportunity for a hands-on study," Hoshi giggled and enjoyed the deer-in-the-headlights look that spread across his face. Who would have thought that little old her could render him speechless? The man was ice-cold under fire, and practically relished any opportunity to test his mettle in combat, but she was the chink in his armour. "Since you are so knowledgeable about Starfleet bureaucracy, how about you file two more applications for leave that will be rubber-stamped before the brass will be any wiser?"