Popcorn Pastime

A/N: written for Midnight Mess hall Munchies Month. Thanks go out to IchthusFish for betaing on such short notice.

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"I did not! Ask Phlox, he was standing ten feet away!"

"Well, maybe it was more a shade of green..."

"…this story is getting wackier by the minute, I think we should tell one about Travis..."

Malcolm's hand reached deep into the bowl, only to find kernels and salt at the bottom. Looking around Trip's quarters, it appeared as if they'd had an indoor snowball fight, the cream-coloured popcorn scattered all over the deck like molten chunks of ice. He shook his head, smiling. Poor Trip, he would have a lot of cleaning to do in the morning. He moved some of the puffs with his foot. Then again, Malcolm mused, it had been Trip who had done most of the throwing.

Watching "Rio Bravo" had been the engineer's idea, and the man had been shocked when Malcolm told him he'd never seen it. Comments like "You claim a 'well-rounded education'" and "true classic" had been on Trip's lips ever since that admission. Realizing that it had been a while since his friend had been so intent on movie night, Malcolm had readily agreed to this gathering. And he had to admit that the western had been quite good, their spirits rising even more every time popcorn hit the baddie on the screen.

Grabbing the empty bowl, Malcolm rose from his place on the deck, halting the chatter and laughter from his friends. Hoshi and Travis sat comfortably on the little couch, while Trip was lounging on the bed. They looked at him in surprise.

"Just getting us more snacks from the mess hall. Anything in particular that I should bring?"

Trip looked at the empty beer bottle in his hand, than at the others. "I wonder if there's still some of that Yupa juice that Chef brought from Altare."

"One pitcher of Yupa juice coming up," Malcolm cheerfully replied, making a mental note.

"Popcorn is fine." Travis grin was infectious. "Or peanuts. Anything that the commander can use as ammunition..." He ducked as Trip made a throwing gesture.

Hoshi's face lit up. "Chef told me about this sponge cake he was perfecting..."

"Let me guess the flavour," Trip butted in, smirking.

"Chocolate!" All three men cried out in chorus. Since he was the only one within arm's reach, Hoshi had to content herself with punching Travis.

"Where would I find this sponge cake?" Malcolm asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well, it should be stored in the refrigeration room. I happen to know that Chef has a shelf in the back where he likes to put his personal favourites." Hoshi's voice had turned conspiratorial.

"You might hit a little snag there." Trip sat up, sensing an adventure. "Chef requested a new lock to be installed on that unit. It seems he's had some frequent late night visitors."

Only Malcolm noticed the twinkle in the engineer's eyes as Hoshi was studying her fingernails, and Travis was looking intently at a light fixture.

"Need a hand?" Trip asked, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

It felt good to see Trip acting like his old self. And it also said something about his relaxed state of mind that Malcolm was not even frowning upon the idea of sneaking into Chef's cherished domain. He actually saw it as a challenge, maybe even a good training exercise.

"Thanks, but I think I'm well prepared for whatever Chef can throw at me. No pun intended!" Malcolm held up a hand to ward off the popcorn hailstorm coming from all directions.

Laughter followed him out of Trip's quarters until the door closed with a gentle hum. The silence that greeted him in the dimly lit corridor was like a cold shower after the camaraderie back inside, making him pause.

The feeling of loneliness came as a surprise, and it took him a moment to push the feeling away. It nagged him that these negative emotionsseemed to grab him at the most odd moments. He wondered if others felt this way sometimes, or if it was just a cursed inheritance from the Reed bloodline.

Still, he felt grateful for these moments where he was with his friends, being relaxed and free from worries, if only for a short while. The bond between them had slowly become stronger, cemented by the highs and lows in the years they had been in deep space. Volumes could be written about their bizarre away missions and wondrous first contacts. He started walking down the corridor again.

That had been the inspiration for Hoshi's idea. After the movie, no one had wanted to leave just yet, so the linguist had come up with a game. It was simple, and yet strangely addictive. One of them would start with naming a few key words of an event during their time on Enterprise. The others needed to guess which crewmember was talked about. Who ever came up with the correct answer first, would then start retelling that particular mission, adding some juicy details for flavour.

Malcolm rode the turbo lift to E-deck, shaking his head at the antics that had unfolded.

Although Hoshi reminded them that the game could be about any crewmember, it seemed that they mostly tried to guess if it was about him or Trip. Malcolm was starting to wonder if the two of them ever came back unscathed from an away mission. If Travis had a say, Malcolm would have broken every bone in his body by now, and Trip would be spending the rest of his days as a consort to a Beluvian princess.

Malcolm entered the dark mess hall, the only source of light coming from the serving cabinets. He picked up a food tray, and then started perusing the snacks on the shelves. He located the Yupa juice and filled the bowl with peanuts and pretzels.

The next item on the list was Hoshi's sponge cake. Malcolm left the tray behind and carefully opened the door to the kitchen area, or Chef's 'Inner sanctuary' as Trip liked to call it. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and Malcolm debated on finding the light switch. Only emergency lighting was on, and the cold white light made his skin look translucent. When his eyes could discern the even darker silhouettes of racks and cupboards, he slowly started to weave his way to the other side.

Malcolm suddenly hunched down near a cabinet filled with cutlery and napkins. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something wasn't right. Wishing he had the night vision of a cat, Malcolm's eyes swept the dark recesses of the kitchen, finally landing on his initial objective, the refrigeration room. A small, green light was blinking lazily. The door was unlocked.

Several scenario's popped up in his mind: Chef lying in wait with a roller pin, daring anyone to open the door; a Suliban stowaway gathering rations; or a crewman with a big appetite and a knack for puzzles. Not that any of those thoughts were reassuring. After all, the armoury officer did have a reputation to uphold.

He now noticed that the door was slightly ajar and diffused light was faintly visible through the crack. Even though a tactical retreat would probably be the most logical course of action, Malcolm could not help but be curious about the other nightly visitor. He carefully moved closer, finally dropping to a crouch next to the door.

As he used one hand to open the door another fraction, Malcolm carefully peeked inside. Blinking quickly, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the harsh light, as well as the chilly temperature. When his vision cleared, he first saw two strongly built legs, clad in grey sweatpants. Moving his head he could also make out a red, long-sleeved shirt. The man was tall, and Malcolm silently checked off two of his alternate possibilities. But he couldn't get a better look at the man's face, because the intruder was at the far end of the room, partly hidden behind another cupboard.

For a moment, Malcolm thought the silhouette looked suspiciously like the form of Ensign Müller, his SIC, but that would have been absurd. Bernhard Müller followed regulations to a T, even if he was a notorious eater. Malcolm had seen the man polish off three plates of lasagne at dinner.

Just when Malcolm tilted his head for a better angle, there was a blur of movement, and a small body collided with such great force against his jaw, that Malcolm fell unceremoniously to the deck, dragging the door wide open. For a moment, his mind went blank, as his face seemed to be sucked up by an alien predator.

"Porthos!" came the surprised cry from the back of the room, and understanding dawned on Malcolm. He needed both hands to keep the exuberant dog from giving him hairstyle tips.

"Easy, boy! What's got you all excited…" There was a sudden silence when Archer came into view.

Malcolm wondered who was looking the guiltiest. This definitely hadn't been a contingency while planning his career in Starfleet. Being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, by the captain no less, while being slobbered by the man's dog. Then a little voice tickled inside, but which one of you is holding the cookie?

"Eh, Malcolm…I…are you okay?" Archer was the first of the two to recover. He seemed genuinely concerned, so Malcolm quickly scrambled up from the floor, trying to regain some of his dignity. A quite difficult feat, if you're wearing flip-flops. Although it had to be said, the sight of the captain in a faded shirt and with dishevelled hair was making it difficult to maintain a proper attitude. Still, he was a Reed, so…

"I'm alright, Sir."

Another silence. Malcolm cleared his throat, not sure what else to say. His cheeks were burning, and he was vividly reminded of the strained relationship between the two of them not so long ago. Things had mellowed lately, but Malcolm couldn't help but feel anxiety gnawing at his rebuild confidence.

When he finally dared to look up at his captain, he was surprised to find Archer leaning against the doorframe, absentmindedly feeding Porthos pieces of cheese. The captain looked deep in thought, as if he had forgotten the armoury officer's presence. Puffs of cold air glided past them, creating a subtle barrier.

Without intending to, Malcolm blurted out: "Is that sponge cake, sir?" He felt the epitome of embarrassment.

The captain blinked in confusion, then looked down as if realizing for the first time that he was holding a tray. Lying next to the cheddar cheese and crackers was a formidable piece of dark brown cake.

Archer's smile was wry. "I forgot how fast news travels aboard this ship. Chef was gushing about this one when he…." Here Archer paused, looking sheepish, then continued, "…expressed his concern about kitchen security."

The captain did not seem to be bothered by Malcolm's late night snooping, and Malcolm let out a deep breath. Something else was bothering the captain, though.

As if reading his thoughts, Archer soberly continued: "I couldn't sleep after reading the latest reports from Earth. Small pockets of xenophobic extremists are still stirring up trouble in the media, and there are riots in the slums of major cities in the US and Europe." He sighed, frustration evident in his voice. "I'm confident that they will not do any serious damage to the mission, but I'm just not happy about it."

Malcolm thought of the angry mob in the streets of San Francisco, waving their toxic banners at passing 'fleeters. He also thought of Trip and T'Pol. The death of baby Elisabeth had hit them hard. He was sure that Archer still felt the weight of their loss, too.

It suddenly dawned on Malcolm that Archer might be feeling a bit lonesome himself. The armoury officer had never given it much thought before, perhaps in part because he saw it as something that came with the territory of being in command. And even that did not seem to stop Captain Archer, social creature that he was, befriending almost anyone, from the lowliest crewman to an exotic, extra-terrestrial head of state.

But here was Jonathan Archer, barefoot and crumpled, cradling a piece of sponge cake as if it was the only thing that could console him right now.

On instinct, Malcolm offered, "Captain, there is somewhat of a 'party' afoot in commander Tucker's quarters. Would you care to join us?"

Archer's eyes widened in pleased surprise, also seeing it as a good sign that Trip had been the instigator, but then his demeanour faltered again. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I'm not sure if my presence would be appreciated…"

Malcolm thought of Hoshi's game and he could not suppress a mischievous smile. "I think everyone would have a ball, Sir."

Archer's eyebrow did a perfect T'Pol imitation, his curiosity now peaked. "Are you sure?"

Malcolm nodded at the tray in Archer's hands. "I think you have your ticket right there."

Suddenly, a high-pitched wail penetrated the shadows around them, making both officers cringe. Malcolm realized that they had left the door of the refrigeration room open for too long, causing the temperature inside to rise.

"I think that is our cue!" Archer shouted, as he quickly closed the door. It took the cooling system a moment to stabilize before the alarm was automatically switched off. By then, Malcolm and Archer had already left the mess hall, both carrying heavy-laden trays. Porthos traipsed after them, sniffing at a lone pretzel along the way.

Riding the turbo lift, Malcolm mentioned the game they had been playing. Archer had to chuckle at his colourful retelling of the Kli'acka incident. "I'm sure that Travis and Trip will not be sitting in the same boat on their next away mission." Archer now grimaced. "That fish hanging from Travis' boot sure looked like a piranha to me. But at least we got Minister Rat'ee to cooperate. The man was giggling like a schoolgirl."

When Malcolm entered Trip's quarters, he could tell that there had been another popcorn fight during his absence. The puffs on the ground had been rearranged, and Hoshi had tears of laughter in her eyes, unaware of the popcorn still stuck in her hair. He raised an eyebrow. "I see you guys have been busy." He took a step aside to let Archer pass.

Trip's grin was as bright as a warp coil. "Cap'n! I'm glad you're here, these two are vultures." The engineer blew an exaggerated huff of frustration, while messing up his hair with one hand. "I need someone that I can trust to uphold the truth, and nothing but the truth!"

Travis started to get up from the couch, but Archer waved him off. "That's why I'm here, Trip." Archer's eyes had a sudden sparkle, and Malcolm was glad he had acted on his instinct.

Hoshi also seemed to notice the captain's newfound cheerfulness. "Then I think it's your turn to tell a riddle, Captain." She looked at Malcolm askance, and he nodded back. The captain knew what she was referring to.

Archer put down the tray he was holding, eliciting a cheer from Travis and a bark from Porthos, who had been anxiously waiting for the cheese to be lowered down. The captain sat down on the floor, stretching his long legs and scratching the dog's ears.

As Malcolm put his own tray on Trip's desk, his friend tried to get his attention, raising his eyebrows in wonder at the captain. Malcolm just smiled and mouthed, "long story".

Archer's eyes shifted from one to another, and Malcolm silently acknowledged the gratitude that was there. As the captain's gaze landed on Trip, he said: "If I understand the rules correctly, I am to mention a few key phrases that will lead you in the right direction." He suddenly chuckled, muttering, "This can't be too hard…".

Trip started to fidget. "Remember, the truth…", and now all eyes were upon the engineer.

"Oh, don't worry Trip, I will only be speaking the truth. The plain, 'naked', truth…"

Malcolm felt a low rumble rising in his throat, threatening to burst. Travis' smile quivered in anticipation, while Hoshi's cheeks started to glow as she delightedly held a piece of sponge cake.

"I'll even use only three words," Archer continued deadpan, "and they are 'Big ears' and 'underwear'."

The expression on Trip's face was priceless, Malcolm mused. As was the feeling of being home.

THE END

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