Late the following evening, the newest member of the family was making his presence felt.

It was understandable, of course. He was suddenly alone, without his Mum, in a strange house full of strange smells. While there had been people around him it had been different; he didn't have time to worry. Now, however, he was very worried indeed. His cries resounded through the house; both Jessa and Charles had come into their parents' bedroom almost in tears, and even Hoshi was suggesting gently that 'leaving him to settle down' was unkind.

Malcolm was a firm believer in discipline, but he was far from unkind. In truth, the piteous wails from the kitchen were tearing at his conscience too. He had far too much experience of his own of loneliness and fear, and he could sympathise all too closely with the plight of the forlorn little animal downstairs.

With a sigh, he threw back the quilt. What the hell, it was Saturday; he could always catch up with his night's sleep on the morrow.

There was a fur throw in the ottoman at the foot of the bed. He fished it out, kissed his wife and went downstairs; pausing only to shoo his children back to bed, while assuring them that everything was going to be all right and they should get to sleep.

A night-light had been left on in the kitchen, in hopes of making its small occupant feel less afraid. Its light was more than sufficient to show him the puppy scampering across the slate floor-tiles towards him, tail a-wag with joy and relief.

This was the moment he'd been waiting for ever since deciding what the pup should be called. He folded his arms, assumed a look of exasperation and said, "Mistah Tuckah, what on earth is the meaning of all this?"

The puppy of course, was sure of his welcome, and the joke went entirely over his small head. Laughing, Malcolm squatted, holding his hands out to catch the delighted pup. Almost without realising it, he spoke in the language of The People: "Vhé, nechí, herchi vo masere?" 'Eh, littl'un, did you miss me?'

"I still get a kick out of hearing you speak a different language," said a low, amused voice behind him. "On Enterprise you were the last man on board who was interested in linguistics. Though I believe Em taught you a few words you probably wouldn't have used for choice in front of the captain."

"You should still be in bed. God knows I wish I was." He picked up the wriggling puppy and fended off enthusiastic attempts to lick his face. "Young Master Tucker, you are a pain in the arse and a general nuisance, and this once I'm going to stay down here with you. But be advised, this is my very sexy and shaggable wife and I am not going to sleep down here with you every night when I could be upstairs with her."

"I'm sure he'll be okay tomorrow." Hoshi put her arms comfortingly around him. "Do you think it'll take him long to settle down?"

"Well, ideally I'd prefer it if he sleeps downstairs, but I suppose I might have to shut my eyes if his basket mysteriously wafts its way up to the kids' room tomorrow." He grimaced. "But a basket it is, and a basket is where he sleeps. If I find him on or under a duvet, it's back to the kitchen for him, and you can tell both of them that from me. The one place I regard as sacrosanct is our bedroom." He kissed her again. "One night I say and one night I mean. This is the one and only time in my life I'm going to share a sleeping space with a Tucker. The only one I want in my arms from tomorrow night onwards is you."

She smiled. "I'll hold you to that."

It was the work of moments to put together a makeshift bed on the sofa. Malcolm lay down on it and got comfortable, his back to the hearth, and Hoshi spread the throw over him. As soon as he nodded he was ready, she picked Tucker up and placed him in the curve of her husband's body, where he settled down with obvious eagerness and relief, his tail thumping. "Sleep well, you two."

"Switch the light off before you go," Malcolm said resignedly. There was the click of a switch, and the low radiance of the night-light disappeared. But as he listened to the faint sound of her footsteps retreating towards the door, he said suddenly, "Hoshi?"

"What?"

"Please come here a minute."

There was a tiny pause, and then the footsteps came back towards the couch. She knelt beside him, and he put out a hand.

"There's something I want to say to you," he said softly. "About the dog's name."

"Well, it wasn't exactly the sort of name I was expecting you to choose. And I thought you might leave it up to the kids to find a name."

"I could have done, but then if they couldn't agree one of them would have lost, and that wouldn't be fair. I thought about asking you to choose, but then there was a particular reason why I wanted that name."

"Trip's your best friend," she said quietly.

His grip tightened around her fingers and he held her gaze seriously. "Yes. He is. And he's the man I trust above everyone else to protect the people I love when I can't be there to do it in person. So what better name could I choose?"

She blinked, brushed her free hand across her face as if to wipe away an unnecessary tear, and then lifted his fingers and kissed them. "I love you, Malcolm."

"And I love you, Hoshi. With all my heart." His eyes were growing accustomed to the dim light and he thought all over again how beautiful she was. "Now I have everything I ever wanted: a wonderful wife, two wonderful children and a dog. I want to thank you for all of it."

Even in the dimness he saw her smile; and with that, his world was complete.

"Night night, love." She dropped a kiss on his lips, patted Tucker, and went back up the stairs to bed. The silence of the country night settled down on the house, and Malcolm snuggled himself down under the throw.

Peace finally descended on him, and he slept at last.

THE END.

Author's Note: The name and the 'Mistah Tuckah' line were entirely the creative genius of Seacook, in whose honour I could do no other than rewrite the chapter accordingly.