Title: A Beagle's Tale

Author: Weebob

E-mail: weebob@fsmail.net

Date: 01/09/20004

Archive: Permission to archive granted to EntSTCommunity, Reeds Armory, Archer's Enterprise—and probably anyone else if they ask first!

Series/Fandom: ENT

Category: Slash

Rating: PG

Status: Complete

Pairing: Archer/Reed

Summary: A pissed-off Porthos struggles with jealousy!

Warnings: Cheddariness alert?

Series: n/a

Sequel to: n/a

Spoilers: None

Author's Note: Sorry if this fic is difficult to read. I wasn't sure how to lay it out in a coherent fashion! In the first part, Porthos is conversing with friends, but towards the end, he's just mulling things over in his own mind. Confused? You should be!

Disclaimer: I don't own or have any rights to the Star Trek universe, "Enterprise", or any of its characters—they belong to UPN/Paramount. I am making no money from this story

Hi folks! Mind if I come in? I'm having a kinda hard day with ol' Ahab and I thought I'd take a break in sickbay. If he doesn't stop bouncing that goddamned water polo ball off the bulkhead, I swear I'm gonna rip his throat out! You have no idea what a relief it is to come down here and talk to you normal people!

What did you say? Oh, the "celebrity beagle" crap again? Huh! You think that's funny do you? Sure, it really tickled Mom and, oooh, about 67 of my brothers and sisters, but its getting old really fast.

Anyhow, you guys got your 15 minutes of fame too, when Newsnet 24 did that piece on "The Incredible Dr Phlox and his Medicinal Menagerie", just before we launched. Kinda sad, I suppose, that four of you Edosian Slugs dried up in the studio lights, especially since the producer thought your Aunt Edna was a liquorice lozenge and chewed her for about 20 minutes, but, hey, that's show business! She shouldn't have slithered out of your tank anyway. A true star knows her place in the firmament.

Uh? What's bothering Ahab? Jeez, you hafta ask? Now you have to admit, I'm the cutest puppy you ever set eyes on—and when I came aboard, I made friends with just about everyone on the ship within two days. Except for that arrogant, tight-ass, hyper-allergic Armoury Officer, that is, who sneezes whenever he gets near me. Mr "I don't see the point of pets."

I could live with that but, well, Ahab just HAD to take a shine to the little shit and he's been mooning over him ever since we left space dock. I can't remember when he last looked happy and every time his shift ends, he talks my ears off: "Malcolm this, Malcolm that, Malcolm said, Malcolm did…" Doesn't the guy know its ME he's supposed to adore?

Its been even worse since he returned from that away mission at the start of last week—you know, the one where he came back with his nose plastered all over his face. He probably got into a bar brawl with Trip—they used to do it every weekend back home.

Anyway, he hasn't said a word to me since. I've heard him on the comm. a couple of times, talking to your boss, but its been all quiet otherwise. He feeds me, goes on shift, comes off shift, bounces the ball then goes out for a few hours, comes back, feeds me, bounces the ball then goes to bed, miserable. If he was a dog, I'd say he was pining.

Maybe the dashing Lieutenant has spurned his advances once too often! Sheesh! Life's much simpler when you just eat, sleep, lick your balls and pee all over the ship when nobody's looking. Works for me anyway.

Excuse me? Look, you know I don't speak bat. Anybody here have a UT? Oh. Oh, I see. Oh, no, I hadn't heard that. He did? He saved Ahab's life? And got hurt—real bad? A coma! That's not good, is it? Where is he? Oh! Here comes Ahab! Just let me hide under this bench for a minute, while he talks to the doc—

He's going over to that bed by the wall. Phlox is shaking his head and going back to his office. OK, I gotta get up on this countertop, so I can see properly. Dammit! I hate having short legs—

Oh no! He's crying. Ahab's crying—and Malcolm… He's so still and so white… I've never seen a dead person. Could he be dead?

Ahab's holding his hand and kissing it. And crying… still crying… Oh Poppa, don't cry, I'm here.

Ooops! Didn't mean to bark so loud. He's seen me and he's calling me over. Guess I'm in trouble.

"Hey boy, I should be angry with you for being here but, well, I'm kinda glad of the company really. Doc says there's still no improvement and I'm so scared Malcolm's going to die. Oh God, he saved my life, Porthos, and got so very, very badly hurt doing it, but I never told him how much I love him and now it looks like I've missed my chance. How could your poppa be such a coward, huh?"

He's lifting me onto his lap and we're both sitting watching Malcolm: the man I thought was my rival—my enemy—but he's not. I'm not even in the running after what he did for Poppa, and its really weird, 'cause I don't mind a bit now. I want him to get better, and go on keeping my Poppa safe.

Its funny, seeing him lying here, with all those tubes and wires and machines attached to him. Usually, he's so highly charged—like one of these god-awful phase pistols he loves so much. Damned things make a disgusting, high-pitched noise, which really sets my teeth on edge, but humans can't hear it. Huh! They don't know what they're missing!

Poppa's crying again. I really wish I could help: I hate it when he's sad. Wake up, Malcolm! Please! We need you.

Oooh—now what's that? His breathing sounds different—I think. I can't hear properly for Poppa's sniffling but—yes. There's definitely something funny—



"AAAAACHOOO! Bloody hell! AAAAAA—"

"Doctor! Quickly! He's coming round!"

"…CHOO! Captain? Captain, could you…AAaaaAAACHOO! Please take Porthos awaaaaaCHOO!"


Huh! What a nerve! Banished to the corridor, and all because of that poncy Englishman's allergies. Think its time to howl a bit—you know, the "Hound of the Baskervilles" stuff I usually save for Halloween—and that'll get their attention!

Good! That didn't take long! Here comes Poppa—and he's smiling.

"Porthos! Bad dog! Malcolm's got a terrible headache already, without your help, but he said I shouldn't scold you, since you helped him come round again, and I think he's right."

Heh! He's kneeling down beside me now and—ooooh, bliss, he's rubbing my tummy. Result!

"Now don't get too cocky, young man. We need to have a serious guy talk. I've already told YOU that I love Malcolm and now I've finally told him too. The best part is, he says he's loved me from the moment we met—isn't that terrific?

"I've asked him to move in with us as soon as he's well enough to leave sickbay and he's agreed. Dr Phlox can give him something to control his umm… beagle allergy—but I need a little cooperation from said beagle too! No more growling at him, or peeing on his boots, or humping his leg. And when I finally get his gorgeous little bod into my bed, remember YOU HAVE A CUSHION TO SLEEP ON!

"Now, be good for just a little longer. I want to get back in there and order him to get well soon."

Oh well! Every silver lining has a cloud. Still, I suppose I can force myself to share Poppa since it makes him smile.

And, although Malcolm's not very tall, I think he'll just about be able to reach the shelf Poppa keeps his cheddar on—!

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to the author.

Star Trek and Enterprise are copyrighted by Paramount. We don't own 'em—we just play with them. No money was made.
Please do not repost material without requesting permission directly from the author.
Archer's Enterprise is maintained by the Webmistress.