The Way Things Are Going…

The pod made an emergency landing, Jon straining to hold it steady in the gale force wind, a blizzard obscuring most of his vision.

The storm had risen suddenly, driving them further and further away from the original landing site, unable to cut through the atmosphere, the winds and driving snow and ice making it impossible to maneuver up and out of the gorge. They were forced to ride the currents, being pushed along, following the icy river below them, Jon fighting not to get them slammed into the deep canyon's jutting walls.

It was an exhausting and terrifying hour of sudden dips and jerks, the wind howling, the curtain of white so opaque that only Jon's pilot reflexes saved them from being smashed against jagged outcroppings spotted at the last moment. They scraped along the rocky walls several time, alarms and warnings shrieking steadily, sensors going off line continually. Malcolm kept a semblance of calm, although Jon noted the tension in his lover's frame as he co-piloted, once quickly firing the phase weapons to destroy a ledge in their path. Ensign John Frost, called Jack by most of the crew in a good natured show of humor, stayed huddled in the back, his stocky form quiet except for a few gasps and moans during the more spectacular shaking to which the shuttle was subjected.

Even T'Pol looked a bit pale as the pod settled with a thump.

The comm was useless, the array torn off during one harrowing near collision. Communicators got nothing but static. And they were so far off from where they had been, that even if Enterprise could cut through the interference caused by the sudden storm, it would take the crew quite a while to locate them.

At least they had arctic gear—parkas, goggles and gloves. The pod was well stocked with blankets, food, and water. Malcolm had prepped the shuttle last night and Jon smiled to himself thinking that it wasn't the first time he was grateful for his beloved's cynical outlook. Malcolm had said he was just being prepared for any eventuality. Jon had retorted he was just being a pessimist. They had laughed and wrestled, arguing playfully, nipping and kissing the other, their horseplay turning into caresses and attempts to arouse the other. And after making slow tender love, Jon had savored the feel of Malcolm's warm compact body spooned against him, a perfect fit in his bed, in his arms…in his life.

He looked over at his lover who was pulling on a parka, a phase pistol to strapped his thigh. Malcolm looked up at him. "I'm surprised you got us down in one piece, love. You were piloting as well as a drunken sailor after a night in Singapore."

Jon chuckled as he put on his own cold weather gear. "And how would you know?"

"I've been to Singapore."

Jon laughed at the droll tone and was rewarded with that full smile of Malcolm's, the one that lit his eyes with a vivaciousness that made Jon feel like the sexist man alive.

Because he was the only one who got to see that smile directed at him. For him. Because of him. He was the only one who could prompt that particular smile with any frequency.

He watched his lover zip up the parka, T'Pol and Frost suiting up as well. T'Pol set the emergency beacon to broadcast and Frost, his usual cheerful demeanor recovered after the wild ride, assisted Malcolm with collecting the pieces for the back up comm array.

T'Pol opened the hatch and the frigid wind surged in, pushing snow and ice particles inside. She had a scanner in her gloved hand, ready to check the pod for any exterior damage that could prevent them from taking off when the weather cleared. Malcolm exited first with Frost following, their equipment in hand.

With any luck they would have communications up again soon, then they could all sit out the storm, cozy and warm in the pod.

***

Even with the thermal suit and bundled in his cold weather gear, Jon felt the chill. He and T'Pol scanned opposite sides of the pod, going slow in order not to miss the smallest imperfection or breach. They'd hit pretty hard a couple of times, and he didn't want to risk taking the pod out of this planet's orbit if there was any chance of a structural fracture.

Malcolm and Frost were on top of the pod, the backup array put together. They had rewired it and were just reattaching it to the roof when Jon saw Malcolm look about warily, hand hovering over his phase pistol.

"What?" he called up to his lover, glancing around. It was hard to see anything through the blanket of snow blowing in their faces.

Malcolm raised his voice over the wind. "I feel as if…as if we're being watched, sir. But I can't see a bloody thing through this."

T'Pol came around the front of the shuttle, her sharp Vulcan hearing catching their conversation. "I have…felt…the same, sir. For approximately the last five minutes?" she asked, looking at Malcolm. He nodded, still trying to see through the shroud of whiteness surrounding them. T'Pol made an adjustment to her scanner and her eyes widened.

"Several life forms to the—"

She didn't get a chance to complete her sentence as several massive spears rained down upon them.

***

Malcolm pushed Frost off the roof the shuttlepod and the ensign landed with a soft thump in the wet snow. Jon helped him to his feet while Malcolm fired blindly through the blizzard in the direction the spears had come from. Jon was tugging Frost and T'Pol to the hatch when he was hit from behind and everything went black.

***

Jon came to, cold and head aching. He kept his eyes closed against the queasiness and just listened.

He could hear the crackle of a fire in the eerie silence, could smell the odor of meat cooking. He realized his wrists and ankles were bound and it felt as if he were suspended by them.

Opening his eyes he ignored the stab of pain caused by just the low light of the flames.

He was hanging from a thick piece of wood, hogtied, the crude woven fibers of the rope scratchy and stiff. He lifted his head, turning it and saw T'Pol next to him, unconscious, hanging from her hands and feet in a similar fashion. Within the odd acoustics of this chamber he could hear her quiet breathing, the only other sound besides the fire. He let his gaze drift downwards. They were suspended about two meters off the ground, wooden stakes on either end of the poles shoved deeply into the frozen dirt. Rocks and bones littered the ground, some sticking out of the large patches of ice and pristine snow. He and T'Pol were stripped down to their thermal suits, their cold weather gear and equipment lying between them and Malcolm's phase pistol carelessly tossed on top.

Malcolm and Frost.

He looked in the opposite direction and saw nothing but icy walls. He pulled up a little, looking past his feet, toward the fire.

"Oh my dear God…"

Frost was hogtied, the same as T'Pol and himself.

But his naked, lifeless body was suspended over the open flame of the fire pit, head dangling back and throat cut, the peaceful expression on his face a sharp contrast to his grisly death.

That scent of roasting meat now caused bile to rise in Jon's throat and his stomach churned. He closed his eyes, the afterimage of the fire and his crewman floating before him.

Jon fought down his nausea, his anger and his grief. When he felt himself under control again, he continued his search for his lover. Avoiding looking into the fire again and the gruesome sight it presented, he scanned the surrounding area, beginning to feel the first tendrils of desperation when he couldn't find Malcolm.

T'Pol stirred next to him.

"Sub-Commander. Are you all right? T'Pol?"

She heard the urgency in his voice, and a slight hoarse shakiness as well. She raised her head.

"Captain? Where are we?"

"I don't know."

"The others?"

"Frost's dead. Don't look at the fire."

T'Pol looked. He saw her eyes widen slightly and her expression changed, but so fleetingly that he couldn't interpret it. She met his eyes, her face composed once more. "And Lieutenant Reed?"

"I can't find him."

She heard the distress in his voice and then the sound of scuffling carried to her ears. She looked toward the fire again.

After a few minutes two fur covered and immense beings, walking upright although slightly hunched over, came into view. They checked their meal, turning it, allowing the other side to roast before they ambled toward T'Pol and the Captain.

They made soft vocalizations to each other, prodding T'Pol with their meaty fingers, each the size of her wrist. They turned their scrutiny on Jon, feeling him, poking and squeezing, like two old women at a market testing the produce.

They made more sounds, deep and actually quite pleasant. When one bent down, jabbing its thick fingers into Jon's belly, he saw its face. Elongated jaw and nose, large brown eyes—vaguely bovine in appearance.

They moved past him and he could hear them behind his head. He let his head hang back, ignoring the sharp pain it caused, keeping them in view and now seeing them upside down.

Jon felt a jolt of relief when he saw Malcolm lying on the ground several feet behind him. Malcolm was stripped down to his thermal suit as well, sleeves hiked up baring his forearms, his parka and Frost's clothing toss off to the side. A cursory glance showed that an enormous spear was thrust into the frozen ground at each end of his outstretched arms, his legs free from any binding. But Jon was looking at the steady rise and fall of his lover's chest, making sure he was still breathing, trying to determine if he was conscious or not.

One of the creatures bent over and poked at Malcolm, feeling along his ribs, saying something to its companion. It pointed to T'Pol and then to Malcolm, shaking its heavy head. It made a comment and the other one snorted out a few lowing sounds. Jon thought it sounded like laughter.

The first one squatted down and opened its mouth. Jon saw a long silver-blue tongue appeared and it licked the side of Malcolm's head. Malcolm stirred, turning from the sensation and Jon could now see blood dripping from a gash on his beloved's temple.

The creature's tongue continued to lick Malcolm, laving away the last traces of blood, making contented sounds. A trail of thick sticky saliva matted Malcolm's hair, but the wound was no longer bleeding, that viscous trail of saliva apparently stopping the slow trickle.

Malcolm moved his head again, trying to get away from the feeling. Jon saw his hand twitch, attempting to lift his arm to brush away the annoyance. He heard his lover gasp and his eyes flew open, pain contorting his features.

That's when Jon saw that his lover wasn't tied to the spears as he had assumed. They were driven through his wrists instead.

***

The other creature spoke and stepped on Malcolm's right hand, wrenching away the spear piercing his wrist. Malcolm cried out in pain and the beings made that snorting sound again. Tossing the spear aside it hunkered down across from its companion, drawing Malcolm's arm toward its mouth.

Malcolm twisted in its grasp, trying to pull away, and Jon saw blood flowing down his lover's arm. Malcolm writhed and kicked the alien hard, but it merely snorted again. The first creature caught Malcolm's legs and held them as the other placed one huge hand over Malcolm's chest, effectively pinning him to the ground and holding him still.

"Stop! Leave him alone!" Jon shouted, furious and aghast.

The beings ignored him. The creature lapped at the blood running over Malcolm's arm, then squeezed, milking more blood, licking it up as it made its slow descent. It then suckled at his wrist, low satisfied noises emanating from it while its partner carried on their conversation.

When the creature dropped Malcolm's arm and rose, Jon could see that the bleeding had stopped, that glutinous saliva sealing the wound.

Their captors left, giving T'Pol one last jab, snorting again at her attempt to shy away.

"Malcolm! Are you all right?"

Malcolm struggled, drawing himself up and crouching on his knees, sitting the best he could with his left arm pinned to the ground. He leaned his head against the thick shaft of the spear impaling his wrist, panting harshly.

When he finally looked over at them, Jon could see his eyes were wide and dazed, the skin around them pale and tight.

"Malc?"

"Where's Frost?"

"Dead."

Malcolm leaned his head against the spear again and Jon could see his lover's body trembling.

"Malcolm?" Jon struggled against his bonds, repeating his lover's name. T'Pol had pulled herself up and was using her teeth, trying to bite her way through the fat woven strands.

"Mali?" When his lover didn't react to the hated diminutive, Jon let his head fall back to look at him again.

This time Jon let the consternation enter his voice. "Malcolm! Talk to me, Lieutenant."

Malcolm's reply was muffled, his voice rough, that gruff tone it took on when he was in pain.

"Oh god, Jon. It's through the bone…" He gagged and couldn't continued, letting his head slide off the spear and rest on the ground. He breathed through his mouth, the sound carrying over the crackling of the fire.

T'Pol stopped and looked at Malcolm. "You may be going into shock, Lieutenant. I can see that you are bleeding. Can you reach Ensign Frost's garments? Use them to make a tourniquet right now, Mr. Reed." Her sharp tone rang out in the silence and Jon was surprised to hear concern in her voice.

"Hurts…" came the mumbled reply before Malcolm retched, then cried out. Jon could see that the motion had tugged at his lover's wrist and a fresh trickle of blood appeared.

"Lieutenant! Grab Frost's shirt! That's an order!" Jon snapped out the command as T'Pol attacked her bonds again with her teeth.

Malcolm gathered himself and reached out, trying not to move his pinned arm. The tips of his forefingers grazed Frost's blue tee- shirt.

He stretched and Jon heard a faint scraping sound. He felt sick as he realized it was bone against metal. A moan escaped his lover as he reached the shirt and pulled it toward him.

Malcolm gagged again and pushed his face into the icy ground, trying not to pass out.

"Lieutenant. Wrap the shirt around your arm, below the injury." Jon's voice was firm, his orders direct. Malcolm obeyed, groaning as he slid his wrist up the head of the spear tip in order to slip the shirt under it.

The acoustics carried that scrapping sound to Jon's ears again.

"Use your teeth to tie it tightly, Lieutenant. There's a bone a few centimeters to your left. Use that to torque it." Again Jon gave his commands, slow and level, trying to keep Malcolm focused.

Jon could see that a small pool of blood had formed on the ground around the spearhead as Malcolm did his best to pull the shirt tight. When he finished he lowered his forehead to the ground once more, breathing harder now, sweating despite the chilly air.

"Good job, Malcolm. I know it hurts. Try to stay with us, okay?" Jon let his voice become tender, didn't let the fear and anxiety he felt enter his tone. He got a smothered grunt from his beloved in response.

T'Pol continued using her teeth and Jon talked to Malcolm between chewing on his own bonds, making sure Malcolm was still conscious, giving him words of encouragement and love. The odd acoustics carried Malcolm's murmured replies easily to his ears and Jon tried to keep him talking and alert.

At least twenty minutes passed, Jon making little progress on his bindings as he talked to Malcolm, but he was heartened to hear Malcolm sounding stronger and more lucid.

T'Pol stopped gnawing on her ropes, her lips slightly raw. "I do not think we shall be able to cut through these, Captain. And even if we could, it will take much too long. I detected several life forms before we were attacked, and I would surmise that rest of our captors will be back soon."

She glanced at the flames and their late crewmate before returning her steady gaze to Jon. "I believe they will return to kill one of us for additional…food. Their behavior indicates that they enjoy our blood as well, which may suggest that they will keep at least one of us alive for…milking purposes."

The grotesque irony of their situation coupled with the bovine appearance of their captors did not escape Jon.

It didn't escape Malcolm either. Jon heard a cynical chuckle from his lover. He looked back at him.

"Oh, that's bloody marvelous. Sounds like one of Trip's dreadful movies—'Children of the Cud.'" Malcolm was sitting up straighter, leaning on the shaft. He inhaled sharply then pushed against it with his shoulder, letting out a gasp of pain, but the spear didn't budge. He wrapped his thumb and forefingers of his free right hand around the shaft, and Jon saw that he couldn't move the other two.

"Malcolm—how's the tourniquet holding up?"

"Seems fine. My other wrist's numb; the pain and bleeding stopped as soon as that…thing…milked me." Jon could hear a hint of Malcolm's dry gallows humor in his strained tone as he tugged at the spear. He could see Malcolm's biceps flex and work as he tried to pull the spear from the ground, his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. Malcolm made one last labored effort then exhaled loudly, ending in a soft cry. He leaned his head against the shaft again, shaking.

"You okay?"

"Just stellar, Jon. I've been crucified by cows."

That husky pained tone had returned and it worried Jon.

"We'll keep working on our bonds. Just rest, Malcolm."

Malcolm shook his head. "I heard T'Pol. I don't fancy us being tonight's dinner special." Malcolm righted himself once more and looked at the pile of Frost's garments. He breathed deeply again and leaned toward them, snagging one of Frost's gloves, a faint groan escaping him as he moved.

He was sweating freely now, shivering in the chilled air, and Jon saw him shift slightly, backing up.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll never chew through those in time."

Jon saw Malcolm place the glove in his mouth, clamp down on it, and close his eyes. He cradled his pinned hand with his damaged right hand, inhaled sharply and then yanked with all his might.

"Malcolm! NO!"

Jon's horrified shout didn't drown out the sound of bone splintering and flesh tearing. It didn't cover the sound of the keening cry that erupted from Malcolm's throat, although it was muffled by the glove in his mouth. A few quick sawing motions against the serrated edge of the spearhead and then Malcolm fell backwards, free.

He struggled to his feet, bleeding despite the tourniquet. He spit out the glove and staggered over to them, holding his arm against his chest. Falling to his knees alongside his phase pistol, he lowered his head into the snow, scrubbing his face back and forth in it. Jon could hear him cursing softly, his voice thick and hoarse.

"My god, Malcolm, your wrist—" Jon could see bone and mangled flesh, Malcolm's left hand limp and listing at a grotesque angle, the blood tracking down his arm. "You need to tighten that tourniquet or you'll bleed to death!"

With an effort Malcolm managed to sit up and wiped his face on his shoulder. He grabbed his pistol with a shaky hand, barely able to hold the grip with his thumb and middle finger. Fighting to stand, he paled further, sweating and trembling. He checked the pistol and brought his torn left arm up, using the crook of his elbow to steady his gun hand.

He fired, cutting through the bonds around Jon's feet, and Jon's legs dropped. He stood, wide eyed and numb as his lover lurched forward. Malcolm steadied himself again and aimed, freeing Jon's hands.

Jon caught him as Malcolm sagged, harshly panting now, allowing Jon to support his full weight. Jon took the phase pistol from him and started to ease him to the ground.

"No," Malcolm gasped. "I won't be able to get up again." He tried to push away from Jon, but his lover held him.

"I'll have you loose in a minute, T'Pol. Let me stop the bleeding first." Jon re-tied the tourniquet quickly, tighter, as Malcolm leaned against him, trying to hold back the panic and sick feeling at the sight of Malcolm's torn and ragged wrist. Satisfied with his work, Jon propped Malcolm up as he freed T'Pol.

T'Pol quickly gathered their equipment, parkas and clothing, taking the rest of Frost's garments as well. She held Malcolm upright as Jon put on his own cold weather gear and then helped him dress Malcolm. She took Frost's black undershirt and wrapped Malcolm's arm, covering the gaping wound and splintered bone. T'Pol then took Frost's thermal suit top, gently placing it under Malcolm's arm and tied it off into a sling. They carefully slid Malcolm's right arm into Frost's much larger parka and then zipped him up, leaving the left sleeve empty and dangling.

Jon gave T'Pol the phase pistol and wrapped his arm around his lover's waist. He gave his dead crewman one last look before they set out, Jon's scanner open, searching for an exit.

***

They crept through the icy passageways, Jon practically dragging Malcolm along. The tunnels were a maze, dead ends and circular twists leading back to where they had been. The frustration and sense of urgency was beginning to wear on Jon. His beloved wasn't doing well, his breathing shallow and rapid, head down and stumbling, and Jon was certain that Malcolm was slipping into shock.

They came to a juncture with several tunnels radiating from it. Jon looked at his scanner again. It was useless. He couldn't home in on the shuttle, couldn't even determine if there was an exit close by. He looked at T'Pol who looked back at him, eyebrow raised.

"Breadcrumbs."

Jon was surprised to hear Malcolm's mumbled comment. He rearranged his grip and tilted his lover's head up. He was concerned to find that Malcolm's lips were bluish, his skin clammy and cold.

"What?"

"Blood. Down there. Probably when they carried us in…"

Jon cast around at his feet and saw a drop and then another, then a few more leading down one of the tunnels.

"Come on." He pulled Malcolm forward to follow them when Malcolm collapsed.

***

"It's easier this way," T'Pol said as she handed Jon the phase pistol. She checked Malcolm's vitals and announced that he was stable for the moment, merely unconscious, then lifted Malcolm easily, her greater Vulcan strength making the motion effortless.

She slung him over her shoulder, placing the extra parka between her body and Malcolm's to cushion his arm, the position the best way to allow her to travel swiftly. She took the scanner from Jon. "It is unfortunate that human males resist the concept of allowing themselves to be carried. However, we should be able to move more quickly now. As long as Mr. Reed continues to cooperate." She set off following the blood trail at a rapid pace.

Jon shook himself, surprised by her words and actions, then set off after her.

***

They had to fight their way out. Jon stunned at least eight of the bovine creatures along the way, and the acoustics made it sound as if a whole herd was stampeding toward them. Not wanting to find out, they ran. Jon could see daylight ahead and they sprinted, finally outside, the air even colder than before, but the wind had died down a little.

Jon turned, firing at the rocks over the exit, and he felt a stab of satisfaction as the wall crumbled, sealing the outlet.

He glanced at the scanner in T'Pol's hand and was relieved to find that the shuttle appeared only a few kilometers away.

"I would imagine they would have another means of egress. We should hurry," T'Pol said, readjusting her hold on Malcolm.

She set out at a brisk pace and Jon had no choice but to follow.

***

By the time they were nearing the pod, Jon wasn't surprised to see that T'Pol was sweating. The footing was treacherous and slippery with occasional deep drifts they had to plow through. But at least they weren't being followed.

Jon's attempts to contact Enterprise were in vain. He suspected that the communicator had been damaged. He called a halt to their little party, needing to catch his breath.

T'Pol sat, Malcolm partially in her lap, checking his vitals once more, keeping him warm as Jon checked the tourniquet.

Jon steeled himself for the sight of his lover's half severed wrist as he gently removed his arm from the makeshift sling and checked under Frost's black shirt. He couldn't help exhaling in relief—it wasn't bleeding and although Malcolm's fingers were icy and white, there was no sign of frostbite or tissue damage yet.

He tucked the extra parka around Malcolm and T'Pol, her higher body temperature warming his lover better than he could. After about ten minutes Jon indicated that they should get moving.

"Wha's that?" Jon heard his lover's drowsy voice.

He saw Malcolm stir, pulling back from where his face had been nestled into T'Pol's neck, his nose wrinkling a little as he sniffed her. T'Pol raised one eyebrow and Jon thought she looked miffed.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm took another sniff, nuzzling T'Pol a bit. "Sandalwood and sex. Had a girlfriend that smelled like that," he muttered, eyes closed and a small crooked smile playing upon his lips. He snuggled in closer.

T'Pol pulled away. "I certainly do not smell of sex, Lieutenant."

Jon could swear that T'Pol sounded offended.

Malcolm's eyes fluttered open at the sound of T'Pol's voice. He nearly fell off her lap, but she restrained him. Two bright red dabs of color painted his cheeks and Jon couldn't help himself; he laughed.

***

They made it to the pod, Malcolm insisting on walking and Jon helping him. The hatch was open, the array torn off again and the pod ransacked—blankets, food, water, and medkit gone. Malcolm just leaned against the side of the shuttle, shivering and exhausted, as Jon and T'Pol pushed out as much snow as possible.

Jon helped his lover in and sealed the hatch while Malcolm, ashen faced and completely drained, sank to the floor, unable to take another step.

Jon settled into the pilot's seat, relieved as the engine started and they lifted off. He glanced at his lover and turned the heat on full; he could see their breath clouding in the chilly air of the pod. T'Pol settled herself around Malcolm, tugging him back as she leaned against the bulkhead. She insisted that since there were no blankets, it was only logical they continue to share her body heat. Jon could tell Malcolm was embarrassed as she wrapped herself around him, layering the parkas on top of him.

Jon had a feeling that T'Pol was enjoying his lover's discomfort.

He flew the pod cautiously, occasionally buffeted by the wind, but the shuttle seemed to be intact. He took it out of the atmosphere and into orbit, concentrating hard, trying to check all systems while simultaneously piloting, hoping that the structural integrity of the pod was still solid.

He was never so happy to see Enterprise.

As the docking door slowly opened, Jon finally had the chance to shoot a worried look at his lover and he located the sound he'd been hearing in the background. T'Pol was humming softly, rocking slightly, his lover fast asleep and curled up against her.

***

Jon balanced the tray with one hand, punching his room code in with the other.

Porthos greeted him, tailing wagging, sniffing loudly, eyes on the tray with a hopeful expression.

Malcolm smiled up at him from Jon's computer.

"Hey, now. You're not supposed to be working…"

"Just checking a few reports, love. It's not as if I can do much of anything else," he indicated to his arm, encased in a protective covering and immobilized by a sling.

Jon put the tray down on the desk and gave his lover a quick kiss.

"How's your other arm?"

Malcolm flexed his fingers, showing him. "Almost as good as new. I suppose I should be grateful that they drooled on me."

Phlox had been fascinated by the properties in the alien saliva—by the time Malcolm had been released from sickbay, after a marathon session to repair his wrist, the wound to his right hand was almost healed. Apparently there had been phenomenal restorative properties in the alien saliva; Phlox had been astonished to find that the slashed tendons and tissues had begun to repair themselves, new cells growing at an accelerated rate, mending the damage as well as if Phlox had performed hours of surgery on them. The gash on Malcolm's head had healed just as quickly and wouldn't even leave a scar.

Of course, Phlox hadn't allowed anyone to wash it off Malcolm during his stay, much to Malcolm's disgust when he was finally woke and discovered his arm still coated in that hardened gelatinous mess.

Jon had empathized with his beloved. When they had brought Malcolm to sickbay, Jon had been surprised to find that he too had a deep laceration in the back of his head, his hair swirled into a congealed rat's nest, the bleeding stop and the cut healing. Phlox hadn't let him wash it off either until it had completely mended. Jon had felt filthy and miserable for two days.

"Phlox was disappointed that we couldn't collect some, but understands that returning wasn't an option."

A service had been held for Ensign Frost and Jon had recorded the letter for his family. T'Pol had added her own addition to the letter. Their Vulcan science officer continued to surprise Jon. Especially after she had claimed that the tune she had been humming to his beloved was an old Vulcan lullaby used to soothe fussy babies to sleep.

Of course he didn't tell Malcolm that.

Jon came around the side of the desk and kissed Malcolm again. Malcolm rose and returned the kiss with a fervor. Jon drew away and looked at the arm in the sling, once again thankful for Dr. Phlox's skill.

He gently massaged Malcolm's fingers. "Wiggle them for me."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. Jon had insisted on helping with Phlox's prescribed physical therapy. Malcolm moved his fingers and Jon delighted in the warm feeling of his lover's skin tickling his hand.

"Better than yesterday," Jon commented, satisfied.

"It's all a pain in the arse if you ask me."

"No, this is…" and Jon reached around and pinched Malcolm's ass. Malcolm yelped, moving out of range. Jon made to go after him and Malcolm scampered away, lifting the lid on the tray and holding it like a shield in front of him. He glanced at their dinner, then laughed hard.

Still grinning broadly, Jon melted at the sound of his beloved's unrestrained laughter. "You told me you wanted revenge."

Malcolm met Jon's eyes, that wide smile of his lighting his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous twinkle.

"I'd just woken from surgery; I wasn't quite coherent."

Two thick steaks were on plates, along with two glasses of milk.

Jon walked over and kissed his beloved on the temple. "Well, you have a morbid sense of humor. It took a while to get used to, but I like to indulged it once in a while."

"Me morbid? You should hear your Chief Engineer. If he calls me 'Coyote Boy' one more time…" and Malcolm laughed again.

"Damn it, that's not funny, Malcolm," Jon said, frowning.

Malcolm reached up and kissed him, his right hand tracing along Jon's cheek. "Don't be angry with him, Jon. I have to admit, the first few times were amusing. Although Trip's reaching a bit…I didn't try to gnaw my hand off…"

Jon embraced Malcolm with a sudden fierceness. "You could have lost your hand, Malc. You could have bled to death. If you had died…" He choked up, unable to continue.

"But I didn't." Malcolm's voiced was muffled, still pressed against Jon's shoulder. He raised his head and kissed Jon again, a sweet, lingering kiss filled with love and tenderness. "It's my job, love. We'd already lost Jack…I couldn't let them kill all of us…"

"But you just…could you just wait for other options…just once, without rushing in and hurting yourself?"

Malcolm drew away. "I didn't see any other options. We couldn't talk to the them, you couldn't escape your bonds quickly enough, and we knew what their intentions were. I knew Phlox could repair my wrist if we could get back to the ship, but we certainly wouldn't have had a chance if we'd just stayed there!"

Jon caught Malcolm again, holding him close, rubbing his back trying to soothe away his lover's agitation and his own. "I don't want to fight, Malc…"

Malcolm relaxed immediately and exhaled deeply. "Neither do I, Jon." He stretched up and kissed Jon, tongue gliding across Jon's lower lip, then gently sucking on it. "I'd rather be a lover tonight…" he murmured with a small smile.

Jon chuckled then deepened the kiss, his passion fueled by his gratitude that his lover was safe and within his embrace once more.

Lips still pressed together, Malcolm unzipped Jon's uniform. With one hand he expertly divested Jon's shoulders of his attire, pulling it down around his lover's waist.

"Wait a minute. Phlox said nothing strenuous for a few more days."

Another movement and Jon's shirt was off, then Malcolm shoved Jon's uniform and skivvies down past his legs and pushed Jon down on the bed. "This isn't strenuous. Besides, I don't plan on using my hands at all."

"But dinner—" Jon managed to pant out as Malcolm wrapped his mouth around Jon's cock.

Malcolm paused for a moment. "It'll keep. Besides, I've always heard that revenge is a dish best served cold."

Jon laughed, then moaned as Malcolm enveloped him again.