Malcolm looked at Trip over his Aldarian beer. "Does anyone ever tell the truth about what happens on shore leave?"

Trip eased himself into the chair across from Malcolm's bed, his eyes taking in the sight of the smaller man. "Travis might have. Prob'ly the Cap'n—this time, anyway. Alone by the beach with a dog? That's wild excitement for you. Usually, no. All a pack of lies."

"I guess we certainly have one gigantic pack of lies about this trip," Malcolm chuckled. "It's not often one shows up at the pickup point in nothing but one's underwear—unless you lost everything in Rigelian Strip Poker, anyway. But both of us…"

Trip glowered. "Well, if you hadn't gotten carried away and shredded my shirt when you ripped it off of me…" He gulped his beer.

"Sorry. As I recall, it was *you* who ripped *my* pants when you had to show off and open my fly with your teeth."

"Look," Trip placated, "I was drunk. *You* were drunk. Those two we picked up at the bar were drunker." Trip stared at his beer. "Is that a word?"

"Then it *is* all your fault," Malcolm crowed. "You're the one who said we needed to do something really kinky just once; you're the one that wanted to go to that damned drag bar and pick up a couple of TV's."

"Yeah, but you and that one in the halter top didn't have to get in a tug-of-war over my jacket. Do you know how hard it is to find vintage Twentieth Century leisure suits? That thing cost me a fortune back in South Beach! And it's ruined. I had to leave it there. With my best Hawaiian shirt."

"And I suppose it's not all your fault you thought four men who were three sheets to the wind each ought to be playing bondage games?"

Trip downed the remainder of his beer. "Good thing everyone believes my yarn about the shape shifting alien hookers who got us drunk, mugged us, and stole our clothes…"

"That story's an improvement?"

A knock at the door. Malcolm sat up quickly. "Come in."

The door slid open to admit Captain Archer. He looked over the two men. "Good evening, gentlemen. Oh, don't get up." They slid back into their respective seats. "You seem to be recovering pretty well from that mugging. Although," he chided, "Malcolm, you of all people should be alert to the possibility of crew members being attacked on a shore leave. You've certainly warned the women about it often enough."

Malcolm nodded. "Very true, Sir. You're absolutely right. It won't happen again."

Archer nodded. "I'll count on that. A transmission came in for you; by the way—I was coming this way so I thought I'd bring it to you." He dangled the message in front of Malcolm and Trip. "De'Ahn thanks you for the party and is sending her drag show schedule for the next year in case you want to come by the club the next time you're in town. And she wants you to bring standard issue handcuffs next time. She's got rope burn on her hands. Anything you want to tell me, gentlemen?" He grinned at them. "Sorry, Trip, but I've known you too long. I *know* your idea of a good time on shore leave."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at his lover. "Do you do this sort of thing often, Commander?"

Trip blushed. "Jon's gotten me out of a few scrapes in the past. I think maybe he's kinda got a clue."

Archer tossed the communication on Malcolm's bed. "Malcolm, I've known Trip for years. I have to expect you to be the sensible one. I'm not getting him out of these any more—he's your job now. Don't let him talk you into any more shore leave orgies, please."

"You won't tell anyone, will you, Sir?" It was Malcolm's turn to blush.

"Of course not. It's shore leave. Everyone's entitled to a few lies about how they spend it. Even captains." Archer smiled. "Later, gentlemen." He exited the room, chuckling to himself.