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“Merry Christmas, everybody.” With Trip walking backwards ahead of him, clearing the path of over-excited children, toys, games and the muddy boots abandoned by said children and their boisterous Uncle Travis, Malcolm bore the golden-roasted turkey in triumph to the table, planting it four-square in front of his husband’s place. “And stand well back: Trip’s got the carving knife.”
“Eww, no fingers, Poppa!” Firmly conscious of his position as the firstborn, officious in directing his younger siblings to their places, nine-year-old Charlie wrinkled his snub nose. Trip glared.
“Charles Malcolm Reed Tucker, you been listenin’ to your Daddy again?”
Beating out a drum solo with his knife’s hilt Charlie grinned at Aunt Hoshi settling into her place on his left before looking his taller parent dead in the eye. “Nope. Uncle Travis told me ‘bout the time you tried choppin’ onions in the galley.”
“Well, they made my eyes water; that’s how I almost took the top off my finger. And Travis, just for that you’re gettin’ served last.”
Tossing aside the fluffy woollen beard he’d sported every Christmas since Enterprise, Commander Mayweather grinned. “That’s okay; I wanna make sure nobody else keels over from Malcolm’s cooking!”
“Daddy’s a good cook.” Always the first to defend her hero, Melissa stretched to prod his arm. “Except when he tries to barbecue,” she added truthfully.
“Help yourselves to veg.” Accepting the critique with a shrug Malcolm slipped into his place at the far end from his husband, lightly chucking their youngest under the chin. Jamie jerked back so hard his yellow paper crown came off.
“I want my hat back, Daddy!” he yelped.
Solemnly Malcolm placed the scrap onto his own head. On Hoshi’s other side little Kamui Nakajima squeaked and lunged over the table, almost knocking over his cup of fruit juice in grabbing at the matching pink crown on his older sister’s glossy head.
“That’s not your colour.” Facing his wife, Daisuke Nakajima removed his bright blue crown, solemnly swapping it with the chortling three-year-old before returning a now slightly tattered pink one to his indignant daughter. His empty hand was immediately filled by a hot plate from the head of the table.
“Here y’ go, Daisuke. You wanted one of Mal’s pigs in blankets before the kids get ‘em all, right?”
“Oh, thank you, Trip; and I’d like some of your mother’s stuffing as well, please.”
“If we can get the bowl off Johnny,” Tucker snickered. Melissa snatched the herb-and-chestnut scented basin from the laughing neighbour on her right and offered it with a flourish to the Japanese. “Mal, we need a bigger table.”
“Love, ever since Jamie started school you’ve been telling me we need a bigger house.” Dishing up sprouts, potatoes and gravy for the younger offspring on either side of him, Reed cast a guileless smile the table’s length, waiting for his own plate, piled high with meat, to reach his holly-painted placemat. “And on this one day a year, I might be persuaded to agree with you! Heaven only knows where you’re going to put all those toys, children.”
“Under the bed, of course,” Jamie announced happily.
“In the closet,” Charlie amended. Malcolm cocked an eyebrow.
“That would be the toy cupboard that already frightens every seismologist in the northern hemisphere when it’s opened because so much junk tumbles out?” he enquired. Melissa smirked.
“There’s room in mine, Daddy,” she announced, sticking out her tongue in perfect unison with her brothers. Trip scowled.
“Don’t do that at table, you’re all old enough to know it’s rude,” he admonished, giving a warning jab of the knife Travis’ way at the first appearance of the boomer’s between puckered lips. “And you think their rooms are a mess, Mal? Don’t look out the window. What did you drive across the garden, Travis, a goddamn tractor?”
“Just Jamie in his pedal-shuttle and Melissa on her new bicycle,” the younger man complained. “Heck, if you don’t want them playing with the things you shouldn’t…”
He couldn’t quite hide his start as a small foot made contact with his shin. “Ask Santa to bring them,” Charles suggested quickly. Travis gulped.
“Yeah. What he said,” he agreed lamely. “Mind if I start eating?”
“Putting food in your mouth rather than your feet?” Daisuke suggested with a wink. His wife sighed.
“That third pip hasn’t changed you, Travis,” she said sadly. He shrugged, a forkful of potato suspended halfway to his mouth.
“Just because I outrank you now, Lieutenant-Commander!”
“Oh, be quiet the pair of you, you’re worse than the children,” Malcolm exclaimed, the laughter stopped on his tongue at the look exchanged by the Japanese couple. In an instant his festive high spirits dissolved. “Something up?”
Daisuke sighed, setting down his cutlery. “Hoshi always says you don’t miss a thing, Malcolm.”
“Not when the thing in question jumps up and whacks me in the face I don’t.”
In the silence that had settled over the table in the wake of his words, Kimiko’s spoon clattering into her dish sounded like a dozen bells tolling. Trip frowned the length of the table, the same sensation of ice at the base of his spine he’d associated with Xindi attacks prickling uncomfortably. “What’s goin’ on, Hosh?”
On Malcolm’s right, his youngest son whimpered. Absently he ruffled the dark hair, his slitted gaze never leaving his friend’s solemn face. Hoshi exhaled gustily.
“I’ve resigned from Starfleet.”
“You’ve what?”
Four horrified male voices exclaimed in unison. Malcolm bit his lip.
“I know you’ve not been especially satisfied in your work, Hoshi,” he said, focussed on the stricken face of his husband rather than the sickly roll of his guts. “But – well, isn’t that a bit drastic?”
“I’ve been offered the senior professorship of Linguistics and Communication at the new university on Indura Colony.” With the worst said, she positively glowed with delighted pride. “Daisuke’s going to head up the terraforming team investigating its moons for future colonisation, and the university’s brand-new.”
“Hoshi, they only set up the colony six months ago!” Trip protested. “It’s still a Starfleet enclave.”
Their Japanese guests nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! We’ll be among the first civilians to call it home – kind of like the frontiersmen of the old Wild West.”
“Without the ridiculous hats, I hope.”
For a moment they gaped at him, open-mouthed. Then laughter erupted like lava, flowing down the table toward him, and Malcolm basked all too briefly in its warmth.
“No Stetsons,” Hoshi assured him firmly. Jamie frowned.
“What’s a Stepsan?”
“Stetson, darlin’. It’s the kind of hat the cowboys wear in those movies Daddy thinks are dumb.” Briefly his baby’s innocent question diverted Trip from the horror of what he’d just heard. “Hoshi, that’s right on the edge of the territory the Romulans’ve been claimin’!”
“Which is why Starfleet has guaranteed to patrol the area until the colony’s properly defensible.” Daisuke grinned at the horrified Starfleet men. “It’s a challenge we can’t turn down – and if we’re going to make the move, we’d rather do it now. Kimiko starts school in the spring. It’ll be easier for her to settle someplace new before then.”
“Uncle Dai, this mean you won’t be comin’ next Christmas?” Charlie demanded. Melissa’s delicate features twisted, bottom lip beginning to quiver.
“Aunt Hoshi, we don’t want you to go!” she squealed. Hoshi smiled.
“And we’re going to miss you,” she promised, stretching to squeeze the dainty hand offered. “But you can come visit, and we’ll always come home on vacation.”
Trip grimaced. “I’m not takin’ my kids near ‘til the Romulans’ve signed in blood – their own this time – promisin’ never to set foot on Indura or any of its moons,” he muttered. Malcolm’s lips twisted into a definite sneer.
“They’d sign, then set their agents to work in their place,” he growled. “Hoshi – Dai – are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
Both raven heads nodded. “And you’re not going to listen to logic?”
“Not even from T’Pol,” Hoshi affirmed cheerfully. “We’re going, and you, Malcolm Reed, are going to be happy for us. Understood?”
“I don’t hafta, do I?” Charlie put in defiantly. “’cause I’m not gonna be glad for anybody if it means you’re leavin’.”
The sight of his big brother’s jutting lower lip evidently decided Jamie on a course of action at odds with his precocious five-year-old solemnity: he burst into noisy tears that set the two young Nakajimas off, and not even Malcolm’s offer of chocolate pudding was enough to restore order to the table. It was a relief all round when, loosening his belt a notch, Travis dragged himself upright, reattached the stupid Santa beard to his chin, gave a knowing look to Jonathan opposite and asked loudly, “Who’s coming for a game of hide-and-seek?”
*
Malcolm perched on the edge of his fireside chair, chin resting on his steepled fingers as he stared into the winding flames, oblivious to the shadows dancing across the strong planes and angles of his face. “You okay, darlin’?” Tucker asked tenderly, already sure of the answer.
“I suppose so.” With a sigh Reed stretched, raising a wry smile at his husband’s obvious concern. “I’m just moping about Hoshi’s news, that’s all.”
“I don’t like it either, but in their position I guess I’d be tempted – havin’ the chance to make a mark on a whole new human settlement an’ all.”
The smaller man convulsed with a silent chuckle. “And you’d be taking the daftest hat you could find,” he accused, amusement restoring the starry light to his eyes. Trip shrugged.
“Gotta add some colour to life, Mal,” he quipped, accepting the mute invitation as Malcolm shifted to the side of his big chair. Draping an arm around those deceptively narrow shoulders Trip pulled his husband close, rubbing his chin through the ruffled sable locks. “And if they think it’s the best thing for them an’ the kids, they have to take the chance. I’ll miss ‘em too; and so’ll Johnny.”
Malcolm would, he knew, deny ‘til his ears turned Andorian any suggestion of sulking, but with his bottom lip sticking out and his head dipped down his resemblance to an overtired and grumpy five-year-old of Trip’s intimate acquaintance was irresistible. “I love it when you pout, babe,” he whispered, tensed in readiness for the inevitable jab to the ribs both endearment and accusation would merit. “But we’ll still have Jon comin’ next Christmas – Travis too, if he’s in the right star system. And you know Hoshi’ll always stay in touch.”
“I do.” Trip Tucker being the rational one. It didn’t happen often, and when it did Malcolm knew it was time to get a grip on himself. “I just hate things changing all the time.”
“Lots of changes are for the better.” A gleam of silver in the shadows caught his eye and with an inelegant stretch Trip brought the little model ship from the mantelpiece. “Hell, if things didn’t change we’d still be on Enterprise with me fallin’ into bed with anythin’ female an’ interested ‘cause I didn’t think you cared and you mopin’ in the corner on Christmas Eve!”
“That’s not the same at all.”
Trip rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s not exactly, but you get the point. Someday the kids’ll leave home. Travis’ll meet the girl of his dreams and have his own family Christmas. We’ll have grandkids to spoil and in-laws to make nice with. It’s life, Malcolm. Ain’t nothin’ certain but death, taxes an’ the pronouncements of the Vulcan Science Directorate.”
The uniquely Trip Tucker addition to an ancient saying broke his resistance and Malcolm laughed, tension leaking out of his still-slender frame. “Come dance with me,” his husband whispered, easily able to pull the unresisting Englishman upright. Finely-shaped pink lips turned down.
“You can’t dance to Christmas carols,” Reed objected. With a shrug, his partner changed the track. “Mmmm. That’s better.”
The strains of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Waltz oozed out of the shadows and they drifted between chairs, table and the glistening tree, content just to be together. At the end of their second lap, right before the fire, Trip removed one hand from his husband’s arm and brought it up to cup the brunet’s chin, leaning in for a butterfly kiss.
“It’s not gonna be the same without them,” he whispered. “But you know what? Long as I got you an’ the kids, Christmas’ll be okay for me.”
As he gazed up into the summer-sky eyes of his life’s mate, crinkled at the corners with the deep lines of love and laughter, Malcolm allowed himself a low, rueful and, in Tucker’s opinion, terribly sexy little laugh. “You know I hate it when you’re more sensible than me,” he murmured, captivated by the play of firelight on those strong, even features. Trip shrugged.
“Hey, it’s a special occasion,” he drawled as Malcolm pulled him in for a longer, more lingering kiss. Both men were breathing hard by the time the smaller let go.
“And as long as we’re together, it always will be,” the Brit pledged huskily “Finish off the champagne before we turn in?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Not long ago he’d been cursing Hoshi for ruining the festivities with her big news. Now, Trip figured, he could gladly kiss the Japanese and her husband for reminding him – and Malcolm – what really mattered most on Christmas Day.