Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Malcolm Reed was a quiet, reserved man. Some might even call him taciturn. Some might call him stand-offish and unfriendly. He knew this about himself, and accepted it. He would never be able to make friends quickly and easily - unlike people such as, say, the Enterprise blacksmith, one Charles “Trip” Tucker - but to be honest, he didn’t mind that too much. There were very few people he found worthy of his time and energy when it came to keeping relationships running smoothly.

Trip was one such person; despite the Brit’s best efforts, Tucker had wormed his way into the man’s regard and settled himself there - quite comfortably, in fact. He had a way of drawing Malcolm out of his shell and into what the older man considered wild scrapes unbefitting a man of his 34 years.

Travis Mayweather was another who fell under the heading of close friend. The tall, gregarious stage-coach driver was ebullient, almost preternaturally aware of other people’s feelings and motivations, perpetually cheerful, but given to moments of startling clarity, when he gave the impression he could see into one’s soul. Malcolm found that the young man had a knack for drawing him out of his shell; when they were both in town at the same time, it was as though no intervening period had passed between them, and they picked up right where they had left off.

The year he had spent riding shotgun on the coach with Travis before becoming Mayor Forrest’s aide likely had a lot to do with it; one couldn’t spend so much time in close quarters, looking out for each other’s well-being, without forming a strong attachment. And there was just something about the friendly driver that wouldn’t allow him to be easily put out of mind.

Which brought Malcolm’s thoughts to another person who wasn’t easily dismissed from the mind. When Hoshi Sato had stepped off the stage-coach onto the dusty main street of Enterprise earlier that week, she’d looked around her with interest and almost immediately locked eyes with Malcolm as he’d walked through the doors of the town hall. Only his years of training had enabled him to keep his mouth firmly shut and his face almost expressionless.

He’d inclined his head to her and, after a searching look up and down his dark be-suited person, she had nodded in return. Dark hair pulled into a soft chignon, almond-shaped brown eyes under sharply-arching eyebrows that seemed to denote both curiosity and faint judgement; soft cheeks, and a rosebud-shaped mouth with full lips and a determined twist to it; his eyes had drunk in her features, committing them to memory. Her figure was trim within the confines of the navy travelling dress she wore, with its green travel coat that she carried over one arm.

She’d given him a small smile and then been distracted by Travis, who was handing down two other young women from the coach. One was slightly taller than the newcomer, wearing a brown travelling dress with a beige travel coat. Her hair was braided in rows around her head, revealing dusky skin offset by large, sparkling dark eyes and an exuberant grin. The third woman was shorter than either, her expression open and curious, with blue or green eyes above a friendly, smiling mouth. Hair the colour of toffee candy was pulled back into a low knot, but strands had escaped and were floating around her rosy-cheeked face.

The three conferred amongst each other before Travis took Ms. Sato’s green coat and placed it over the bags that had been unloaded from the coach and set beside the sidewalk. Malcolm felt an unreasonable prick of jealousy at the much wider smile the woman in blue bestowed upon the young driver, until Travis gestured in Malcolm’s direction, offered the lady his arm, and walked her over to the town hall while the other two sat on the luggage and watched.

Travis and his companion climbed the steps and came to a halt at the top, those dark eyes latching onto Malcolm as Travis grinned his greeting. Malcolm couldn’t help but smile back in the face of his friend’s enthusiasm.

“Here’s the very man to help!” Travis said cheerfully. “Ma’am, this is Malcolm Reed, Mayor Forrest’s aide and my former partner. Malcolm, this is Mrs. Hoshi Sato. She’s the new owner of the saloon.”

Oh. She was married.

Malcolm doffed his hat to the lady, then saw her reaching out her right hand to him. She gripped his firmly and gave it a shake.

“How do you do, Mr. Reed?” Her voice, like her grip, was firm and warm.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Sato.”

A nod. “Ms. Sato, please. I was looking for the mayor. I’ve come to take ownership of my new business.”

He gestured to the door, opening it politely. “Travis, will you be joining us?”

“Thanks, but no. I have to get everything offloaded and get the horses and coach to the barn.” The young man grinned and doffed his own hat at Ms. Sato. “It was a pleasure to talk to you on the journey, ma’am.”

She turned and held out her hand for a shake. “Thank you for the company and the stimulating conversation, Travis. And please, call me Hoshi.”

“Hoshi, then,” he echoed, then cast a glance at Malcolm. “See you for dinner?”

“Count on it,” Malcolm replied, nodding to his friend. Still holding the door open, he turned to Ms. Sato and saw that she was watching him closely. “Ma’am? Mayor Forrest is in his office.”

She looked away, brushing past him as she entered the town hall. Her movements were graceful and unhurried, though he fancied he saw a touch of tension in the set of her shoulders.

Closing the door to keep out the dust, Malcolm led the way down a short hall to the left, halting in front of a door at the end and knocking politely.

“Come in!” called an authoritative voice from inside, and he opened the door and once again gestured for Ms. Sato to precede him. As she entered, the man behind the desk rose to his feet politely. Tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, his bearing as upright and military as his aide’s, Mayor Forrest was an imposing figure of a man.

He came around the desk to greet her, holding out his hand as Malcolm spoke. “Mrs. Sato - apologies, Ms. Sato - has arrived to take ownership of her new saloon, Mayor.” Forrest nodded and a smile broke out on his face as he bowed over the lady’s hand.

“Of course! And the adjacent building, too, as I recall.”

Ms. Sato inclined her head. “Indeed, Mayor. I’m eager to look over my new property and begin setting all to rights for an opening soon.”

“I see. We’re quite eager to see a new business in action in the town, too.” Forrest offered her a seat in front of his desk, a sturdy and simple piece of furniture. Not particularly fancy or embellished, it spoke of an owner who was practical and forthright, wanting to get things done simply and without fuss.

Reed pulled out the visitor’s chair and handed her into it before going to stand against the wall in his usual spot, to one side of the large desk. The position gave him an unobstructed view of the room and guests, as well as out of the two large windows at the mayor’s back.

“And when will your husband be joining you, Ms. Sato? I assume you will need help with the set-up.”

She folded her hands in her lap and carefully intertwined her fingers, aware that Mr. Reed was watching her with the same close attention she had devoted to him earlier. “Never, I’m afraid. He is no longer with us.” She gave a non-committal moue as the mayor made the appropriate sounds of condolence, but couldn’t stop her fingers from tightening to white knuckles.

Mr. Reed said nothing, but her peripheral vision had caught the slight flare of his eyes and tightening of his mouth. She realised that the movement of her hands had revealed the simple signet ring on her ring finger, and quickly placed her right hand over her left as she continued speaking. “I was accompanied by my personal assistants, and we will move in and inspect what needs to be done. The rest of my staff will be arriving in a few days.”

“Very well then, Ms. Sato. Here are the keys to your new establishments.” The mayor opened a drawer and removed two bunches of keys, passing them to her across the desk. “The larger set is for the saloon, the smaller for the adjacent building.” He began to rise as she gathered them into her reticule. “Shall we go?”

“I don’t wish to take you from your work, Mayor,” Ms. Sato began, and he forestalled her.

“It would be no trouble at all.”

“Nonetheless,” she continued without missing a beat, “I confess I would like to see my new premises on my own, for the first viewing.”

The mayor hesitated, caught rising from his seat. For a moment he considered, then slowly sat back down again. “We do prefer that new owners are accompanied upon first inspection, in case there are any issues to be dealt with.”

“In that case, perhaps you would wish to send Mr. Reed in your stead, so that you may continue with the work of running the town.” Reed’s eyebrows lifted and so did Forrest’s. The two men exchanged a glance, and Forrest nodded.

“Very well, Ms. Sato. Mr. Reed will accompany you and bring me back confirmation of whether all is well.” She nodded and rose, reaching across the desk to shake the mayor’s hand. Her gaze remained direct, her grip firm.

“Thank you, Mayor Forrest. I confess I’m eager to look over my new business and dwelling.”

“If I may ask, what do you intend to do with the additional building? The saloon has living premises on the top floor, and Mohamed Abdel also rents rooms long-term at the Utopia Hotel.”

Ms. Sato grinned suddenly, full and genuine, quite unlike the polite little smiles she had given up to now. That grin transformed her from merely lovely to breathtaking, Malcolm thought, blinking at his own thoughts.

“I will be opening a library and study room, sir,” she said, her tone warm and enthusiastic. “I have a passion for books, and learning, and all my staff are expected to study and improve their minds, understanding, and skills.”

Mayor Forrest grinned, too. “A praiseworthy goal, Ms. Sato. Then I wish you all the best in achieving the outcomes you desire.”

Chapter Text

There was no conversation as Mr. Reed escorted Ms. Sato out of the town hall and down the street to her new businesses. She had politely declined the offer of his arm, electing instead to stride briskly beside him along the wide street until they reached the pile of luggage outside the saloon. Travis had already moved the stage-coach to the nearby barn, it appeared.

“Got the keys, Hoshi?” The taller woman had a lovely alto voice, musical and pleasant. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Ms. Sato, and her smile threatened to break into a grin at any moment. Malcolm noticed the town handyman, Michael Rostov, come to a halt as he crossed from one sidewalk to another, staring at the young woman, although her back was to him.

“I do, Janelle,” replied the new saloon owner, taking them out of her reticule. “We are now the proprietors of the Trove Saloon and Enterprise Lending Library. But first,” she indicated Malcolm at her side, “meet Mr Malcolm Reed. He’s aide to Mayor Forrest, and will be accompanying me on an inspection of the properties.”

A quick flash of some unidentifiable emotion swept across Janelle’s face, and then she was stepping forward and holding out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reed.” As he reached for her hand in turn, Ms. Sato spoke again.

“This is Janelle Kelly and Elizabeth Cutler - Liz for short. They are my personal assistants.” He nodded politely to both women as he shook their hands, catching a swift glance thrown between the two before they turned back to Ms. Sato.

“Shall we start bringing the cases inside?” That was Ms. Janelle. Behind her, Malcolm saw Mike Rostov swallow hard and take a tentative step forward.

“Mr. Reed, does the saloon allow for an entrance to the living quarters from the front? Or should Janelle and Liz take the luggage around to the rear entrance?”

“You’ll be able to access the living area from the front,” he confirmed. “Let me get someone to assist with moving the luggage.”

As he turned away, Ms. Sato spoke up. “There’s really no need; we are all quite strong enough to handle our own baggage.” Her voice was faintly defiant. Malcolm didn’t smile, wary of provoking her, but pushed back gently.

“That’s as may be, ma’am, but in this town, we like to be neighbourly and helpful. And I’m sure there’s a great deal of curiosity to be satisfied about the newcomers moving into two properties that have stood vacant for half the year.” He nodded to Rostov, beckoning the young man forward. “This is Mike Rostov, the town handyman. I’m sure he’d be delighted to help get you settled in, if only to lessen the load.”

Rostov had moved toward them eagerly, removing his hat, and now hurried down the stairs to greet Ms. Sato. He was a tall young man, dark-haired and sloe-eyed, with a friendly grin, dressed similarly to Travis – blue shirt, red neckerchief where Travis wore yellow, brown trousers, and low-heeled boots, useful for walking around town. His broad shoulders and long-fingered but powerful-looking hands spoke of easy strength; as Hoshi shook his hand, she thought it might well be useful knowing someone who was competent enough to be considered the town handyman.

More than that, though, she saw the side-long glances he kept flicking at Janelle, and smiled inwardly. A little devil inside her made her introduce him to Liz first, until finally he was able to turn to Janelle and take her hand in his.

The mutual attraction was instant; Hoshi saw it in the flare of Janelle’s wide eyes, the smile on Rostov’s face, and the answering beam from her assistant that clearly dazzled the young man now lifting her hand to his lips.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Rostov,” Janelle said, her eyes twinkling at him.

“You, too, Ms. Janelle,” he responded, then grinned. “Only nobody calls me ‘Mr. Rostov’ unless I’m in big trouble. Just Mike will do.”

“Very well then, Michael—do you mind me using Michael?”

“Not at all,” he hastened to reassure her. “It makes a nice change to hear my full first name being used.” By the look on his face, he wouldn’t mind hearing Ms. Janelle say his name every hour on the hour; infatuation shone in those limpid brown eyes, and Janelle herself wasn’t much better.

Exchanging an amused glance with Liz, Hoshi cleared her throat. The two suddenly became aware of their audience, and instantly dropped each other’s hands – though they didn’t leap apart as she’d half been expecting.

“I’m sure Janelle and Liz would appreciate the assistance, Mike,” she said placidly. “Let me open up, and find the entrance to the living areas. Then Mr. Reed will accompany me on an inspection of the properties while the luggage is moved inside.”

“I can help with that,” said a cheery voice, and the group turned to see a young person of indeterminate gender approaching. They stuck out their hand to Hoshi, and then the rest, while Rostov greeted them with a friendly wink.

“Ms. Janelle, this is Syd. They work at the Utopia Hotel, and they’d be a great help moving the luggage. Syd can lift some heavy items, right, Syd?”

“That’s for sure, Mike.” Syd grinned at Janelle and Liz, their manner open and friendly. “It’s great to see some new faces around town. My friend Monica – she also works at the hotel – will be over the moon to meet new people.”

“Really?” Janelle beamed again. “This must be the friendliest town we’ve ever set foot in! I think we’re going to like it here.”

Hoshi nodded, smiling, as Liz spoke up. “I think you’re right, Janelle,” she agreed. “I can’t wait to turn this into our new home, can you, Hoshi?”

“Neither can I, Liz. I have a good feeling about this town and its people.” She turned to climb the stairs and met Mr. Reed’s gaze. He’d been watching her, she realised. For the briefest instant a frown touched his brow; then it was gone, and his face returned to its carefully neutral state.

Chapter Text

As Hoshi climbed the stairs and unlocked the doors to the saloon, she was aware of Mr. Reed’s presence nearby; strong, solid, entirely masculine. He didn’t crowd her, thank goodness; she had a severe dislike of men forcing their presence on her, and it wouldn’t do to be seen attacking the mayor’s aide an hour after arrival.

In fact, his presence was comforting. From the moment she had seen him step out of the town hall, her gaze had been drawn to him.

Somewhat shorter than average, he was trim and neat in his dark blue suit, his waistcoat and cravat a deep burgundy, his long coat cut away at the front to allow for easy access to the two six-guns strapped to his sides, butts facing forward for a cross-hand draw. He wore black low-heeled riding boots and a curly-brimmed town hat, flatter and narrower than a Stetson but slanted rakishly atop his dark hair.

Even from where she’d been standing by the stage-coach, Hoshi had been able to see that his eyes were light-coloured below dark, straight eyebrows, his cheekbones high and face austere and clean-shaven, his mouth an uncompromising line. All unknowing, she did what he had done, drinking in his features to commit them to memory.

Shaking off her musings to come back to the real world, Hoshi realised that she was standing with her hands on the handles of the double doors, as though waiting for something. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder and caught Janelle and Liz’s eyes as they pressed up behind her, holding hands. Grinning, she winked at them.

“Ready?”

“Yes!” came the chorus, and with a laugh, Hoshi pushed open the doors and stepped inside, her assistants following closely.

The saloon was a large open space, with a sturdy wooden bar to one side and low tables and chairs scattered about. Dust drifted lazily in the air, caught in the light from four windows - two on either side of the doors, and two on either side of the small stage that stood directly opposite the bar. Across from the entrance, offset to the right so that it wasn’t in direct line of sight, was another door, closed to the room beyond.

On the far side of the bar was a set of swing doors with space above and below. She caught a glimpse of stairs ascending to the next floor; that must be the entrance to the living areas. Further along that wall was another door, set in the corner formed by the back wall. Perhaps that also led to the living areas.

The next moment her arms were clasped by Janelle on one side and Liz on the other. She looked from one to the other, pleased to see their wide-eyed excitement as they stared around their new premises.

“It’s really ours?” Janelle asked, her tone quiet with wonder.

Hoshi laughed, freeing her arms to slide them around the other women’s waists and draw them closer. “It’s really, truly, ours. All of us. This is our new home, finally.”

Liz laid her head on Hoshi’s shoulder and encircled her waist, hugging her hard. “Home. I like the sound of that. Thank you, Hoshi.”

Janelle put her arm around Hoshi’s shoulders, clasping Liz’s nearer shoulder at the same time. She leaned her head against Hoshi’s as she closed her other hand over Liz’s wrist where it rested on Hoshi’s waist.

“Yes, thank you, Hoshi. It’s a new life for us all, thanks to you.”

Hoshi turned her head to press a kiss to first Janelle, then Liz’s temples. “I promised, didn’t I? And I always keep my promises. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

For a moment longer the three stood in a little circle of their own making, quietly pondering, until Liz sneezed and they broke apart, laughing.

“It’s just the dust!” she protested, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and blowing her nose vigorously.

Hoshi patted her shoulder, chuckling. “There’s going to be plenty of dust stirred up as the luggage comes in, so why don’t you go around to the back and get some water to dampen the boards while the others bring in the bags? Otherwise you’ll end up in a sneezing fit for the rest of the day.”

Liz nodded, and they turned to the door, only realising then that they’d had an audience throughout. Mr. Reed, Mike Rostov, and Syd stood just inside the door. Mike’s face bore a delighted smile as he looked at Janelle; Syd was looking around the room with interest; but Mr. Reed was looking directly at her, an inscrutable expression on his face that she couldn’t quite fathom. Hoshi was a past master at reading people, but she couldn’t properly read this man.

Malcolm had been pondering the dichotomy that was Ms. Sato ever since he’d seen her alight from the coach. A businesswoman who’d bought a saloon – hardly a normal purchase for a woman, no matter how progressive. She planned to install a library and study hall right next to the saloon – and the thought of the library made her so happy she shrugged off her cool, calm, and collected demeanour and unleashed a completely unselfconscious grin.

He’d caught the flash of her wedding ring as her hands had moved in her lap; they’d been folded placidly, but upon mention of her late husband, they’d twisted and tightened, and the silver had drawn his attention. For the brief moment he saw it, that hadn’t looked like a standard wedding ring, but a man’s signet ring, small enough to fit a woman’s finger. He’d swallowed down the implications and maintained his unruffled demeanour; but he certainly wanted to get a closer glimpse.

Ms. Sato travelled with two personal assistants, both of whom called her by her first name and without the title qualifier – and she never corrected them, or seemed even remotely irked by their familiarity.

He’d watched the assistants follow her in and grab at her excitedly; and she’d slid her arms around them and drawn them close in an almost sisterly fashion. The way they leaned on her spoke of deep trust and a sense of security. The way she leaned her head to theirs and kissed their foreheads indicated how protective she felt of her companions.

He couldn’t help but notice how the sun shining in through the windows picked out loose little strands of hair on each of them and created a halo effect, or how it highlighted the graceful curves and satiny skin of the saloon’s proprietress. Nor did he miss her words, though those had a far different effect upon him. Unwilling memories were being swirled loose in his mind … memories he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront just yet.

“Mr. Reed?” Her melodious voice was quizzical.

Malcolm realised that the others had moved outside to start gathering the bags, and Ms. Sato was regarding him with a touch of concern. He must have been staring; she’d moved closer and her hand was outstretched, as though she’d been about to place it on his arm. She withdrew it quickly and clasped her hands together instead. Malcolm felt a strange little sense of loss; she hadn’t even touched him, for goodness sake!

“My apologies, ma’am, I was wool-gathering,” he said instead, bowing his head to her. “Shall we begin the inspection?”

“Certainly.” As she spoke, she moved to one side, her hand stretching out once more but not touching him, in a bid to steer him out of the way of Rostov and Janelle Kelly, he realised. They were carrying a heavy chest between them.

“Where do you want it, Hoshi?” Ms. Janelle didn’t seem particularly out of breath. Even though she was clearly smaller than and not as strong as Rostov, she managed her side of the chest perfectly well. Hoshi concealed a smile at the look of awe on the young man’s face.

“In the corner for now, please, Janelle. I’d like to take a look upstairs before I decide. You know my room preferences.”

“At the back, yes. You’ll probably miss out on a nice balcony, though.”

Hoshi laughed, the sound musical. “That’s okay. I’d rather have a touch more quiet so I can actually sleep for a change.”

Janelle chuckled and nodded, though Malcolm noticed a flash of concern cross her face at the revelation that Ms. Sato was not sleeping well. “At the back it is.” And with that, she nodded to Rostov and led the way to the corner to deposit the luggage.

Hoshi turned and found Mr. Reed regarding her again. This time it was his turn to look quizzical. She felt her cheeks warm.

“My hearing is very sensitive,” she said by way of explanation. “I need to sleep in a dark, quiet environment if I can.” There wasn’t anything incriminating about that sentence, she was simply giving him an explanation, so why did she suddenly feel exposed?

For his part, Malcolm found himself suddenly having quite inappropriate thoughts about the sensitivity of Ms. Sato’s person. He had to pull up short before he embarrassed himself in front of her, so gave himself a quick but scathing internal lecture. The result was an expression that could best be described as ‘forbidding’. To his dismay, her flush turned scarlet and her chin came up defiantly. She clearly had the wrong impression about his feelings on the matter.

As he cast around in his head for something to put her at ease, she turned and began walking across the saloon. “Let us continue the inspection, Mr. Reed,” she instructed, her tone cool and emotionless. It said better than words might have that she was dismissing him from her mind.

“Ms. Sato,” he said abruptly. She stopped, but did not turn or speak, only cocked her head down and to one side as though listening. “I apologise if I gave an impression of censure or disapproval because of my expression. Though I know my approval is not required, I would not have you feel judged in any way.”

She half-turned and looked at him askance, if a little bemused. “I admit I was a little piqued by your response, Mr. Reed, so I appreciate your setting the record straight.” A small smile flashed across her face and was gone, but her tone seemed lighter when she repeated, “Let us continue the inspection.”

At least he wasn’t being shut out this time.

Chapter Text

Malcolm followed Ms. Sato across the saloon, watching as she threaded her way through the tables and the chairs that had been hooked onto each table surface. She looked around as she walked, checking the floors, ceilings, and walls.

First she headed for the bar, running her hand across its sleek, polished - if dusty - surface and seeming pleased by the sturdy build. Although plain, it was beautifully and solidly made, with a brass foot-rail running along the outside and brass edging on the lip of the inner work area, concealed from casual view by being a foot lower than the top of the bar.

“This is excellent work,” she praised. “I wonder from where the previous owner ordered this piece.”

“From just up the street – this was made right here in town,” Malcolm informed her.

She turned, looking a little surprised, and caught Rostov’s eye as he came around the corner, followed closely by Janelle. Understanding lit her face immediately.

“Did you make this, Mike?”

He flushed and ducked his head a little, but nodded. “Yes ma’am. Mr Tucker – he’s the blacksmith – helped with the brass-ware and any metalwork that was needed. And to put it together, of course.”

“If this is any indication of your talent, the town is lucky to have you,” she said warmly. “It’s beautiful, and we’re lucky to have this in our saloon – isn’t that right, Janelle?”

Her eyes twinkled as her assistant moved up beside Rostov, tucking her hand through his arm and clasping it with her other. Hoshi didn’t think Janelle was even aware of her actions, though Rostov certainly was, judging by the glance he threw her way and the beam that curved his lips.

“We sure are! And you should see some of the closets upstairs, Hoshi! Michael is brilliant with his hands.”

Hoshi couldn’t stop her mischievous grin, but managed to hold in her chuckle. Janelle seemed unaware of what she’d just said, and Hoshi wasn’t about to embarrass her in front of her crush.

“I can certainly see that,” she said instead, her tone warm as she patted the bar top. “I look forward to finding more of your work as Mr. Reed and I continue, Mike.”

With another friendly smile, she turned to Malcolm and, finding him close behind her, nodded at him, her eyes merry.

“Shall we?”

This time he smiled, and she marvelled at how it lit up his face, turning it from good-looking to outright handsome. For the briefest moment her fingers twitched toward him before she brought them under control. He didn’t seem to have noticed, but she smoothed them down her full skirts anyway.

“After you, Ms. Sato.” He gestured politely, waiting for her to turn and precede him. He hadn’t missed the sudden flare of her eyes or the twitch in her hands, but gave no indication that he’d seen them; he didn’t think she would be best pleased that her involuntary reactions had been spotted. Still, he couldn’t stop the surge of satisfied pride that he’d evoked those simply by smiling.

She headed around the little stage that stood opposite the bar, giving the structure a good once-over before passing by. It wasn’t particularly large, big enough for three, maybe four entertainers. The stage was ringed by two steps on three sides and, though small, showed clear evidence of the craftsmanship she was coming to expect from Mike Rostov's work. An empty space stood to one side of the stage; Hoshi stopped and looked at it pensively, as though measuring it with her gaze. As Malcolm moved up beside her, she glanced at him, clearly deep in thought.

“Probably big enough for the piano we’re bringing in,” she murmured; he could see that she wasn’t really focused on him, merely thinking out loud.

“Piano?” he asked, and she nodded, then gave a slight start as her eyes cleared and her head came up.

“Forgive me, Mr. Reed, that was rude of me. We’re having a piano carted in for music to accompany Janelle’s singing; she has the most wonderful voice.”

Her voice is beautiful, but yours is exquisite, he thought, but kept to himself. Out loud, he said, “No need to apologise, Ms. Sato, you were clearly deep in thought. No offence intended, I’m sure.”

Hoshi smiled at him and nodded. “None at all, sir. Besides,” she added archly, "if I were planning to offend you, you'd know all about it." She clearly found the idea amusing; her brilliant grin shone out, nose wrinkling in amusement.

That grin was contagious; he couldn’t help but grin back. She blinked, and bit her lip, turning away hastily to hide her suddenly flustered state. “Shall we?” she said again, her voice not quite steady, and he swallowed his reaction, simply nodding at her pleasantly when she turned back to him.

What the hell is wrong with you? Hoshi scolded herself as she headed for the door on the right of the far wall. Set a-fluster by a pair of fine eyes and a smile? You should know better! Especially with this man!

She reached for the door handle, but struggled to open the door. As she was about to put her back into it, a hand hovered over hers on the handle, not quite touching.

“Allow me, ma'am.”

She yielded her place at the door to Mr. Reed, stepping back to let him take her place. He pushed, and frowned; the door hadn’t budged. Placing his other hand flat against the door at shoulder height and the toe of his boot against it at the bottom, he set his shoulder against its surface, lifted while turning the handle, and gave a sharp push at all three pressure points. The door opened with a jerk and a scrape; the wood seemed swollen into the door frame.

Opening it fully, Malcolm looked along the door frame and the edge of the door, seeing some slight bulges. “We’ll have to get Mike to sand and shim this door for you, ma’am,” he said apologetically. Hoshi moved up behind him.

“At least it’s simple enough to fix.” She was watching those long-lashed eyes as they turned to hers, and saw his slow blink as he realised how close she had come to him.

“Yes, ma’am,” was all he said, though, his smile tranquil and open as he straightened, dusting his hands and carefully brushing off his shoulder where he had used it to push. He opened the door more fully and, standing against it, gestured politely for her to enter.

With a quick dip of her head and a smile of her own, Hoshi stepped over the threshold, her gaze panning over the room. It was large, but intimate; painted a dark red, it had two large windows set in each of the outside walls, both of which were covered in a black voile for privacy, with black and red curtains covering their lower halves. In the centre stood a round table made of mahogany and eight matching chairs, while a mahogany server stood along the longest wall, stretching under one window. A tray with twelve glasses and a matching jug – all turned upside down – stood atop the server.

“A gambling room,” she said thoughtfully. “Nice and private. Are there many gamblers in this town, Mr. Reed? Enough to require such privacy?” She cast him a glance and saw that he was looking reflective, his eyes on the table. “As the mayor’s aide, I’m sure you’re well-placed to know the foibles of many of the town’s citizens.”

His eyes cut to her at that, and she saw them crinkle faintly. “I have an idea, Ms. Sato.” His smile this time was enigmatic, more secretive, as though he had knowledge she did not; true enough, she reflected, or she wouldn’t have asked her question. “I must protect people’s privacy, of course, but I’m sure that once you open and it becomes known that the gambling room is ready for business again, as it were, all seats at this table will be filled with people who can and will participate.”

“And would you be one of those, Mr. Reed?” Her arched eyebrow was provocative, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“It all depends on the situation, ma’am. Were the company worth cultivating, I might be convinced to place a bet here and there; but anyone overseeing the proceedings would have to be quite persuasive.” It was his turn for his eyes to twinkle, though he managed to stay the roguish grin that threatened to break free and instead keep his face entirely innocent and placid.

Hoshi's lips quirked momentarily as she looked at him. “Persuasion can be provided with more than mere words.” His eyes widened slightly before he nodded. She bit back a smirk and swept past him through the door, resting her fingers momentarily on his crossed arms as she went. Her fingertips tingled where she had touched him, and she rubbed them together lightly as she turned right, toward the door closer to the main section of the saloon.

Chapter Text

Malcolm watched the saloon owner exit the room, his arms uncrossing as he moved to follow her. His fingers brushed across his sleeve where she’d touched him; despite the layers of fabric, he almost fancied he had felt the heat of her fingertips – an absurd notion, but pleasant nonetheless.

Once again he’d caught a glimpse of the silver ring on her finger, but too fleetingly to properly absorb how it looked. Still, he had an idea it was what he thought; which meant he had to have a conversation with Ms. Sato sooner rather than later.

For now, though, he followed her out of the room, making a mental note to get Mike Rostov to sort out that door before they finished up for the day. Ahead of him, Ms. Sato opened the next door and looked inside before stepping across the threshold.

Reaching the room himself, he stood in the doorway and watched as she moved around the room – this one fairly drab, the walls simple wood, like the rest of the main saloon area. The room was empty save for a chair and a small desk that looked more suited to being a dressing table, except that it was missing a mirror.

Hoshi stood beside the desk, one hand touching it lightly, looking at the furniture critically. As Malcolm came into view, she looked up and he saw her nose twitch in what seemed to be exasperation, especially when coupled with the way her brows had drawn together.

“Too small,” she muttered, and he realised that once again, she wasn’t actually talking to him, but to herself. So he stood still, not wanting to break her concentration, as she ran her fingers over the dusty surface of the desk, frowning down at them – and the dust that had gathered on them – while rubbing them together to disperse said dust.

From this angle, he had a better view of the ring that adorned her finger. It was, indeed, a silver signet ring; large enough to be a man’s ring, but small enough to fit the finger of the petite woman before him, albeit loosely.

Oval-shaped, it featured a falcon in relief, wings spread and talons raised as it swooped across the bezel. The sides featured a filigree pattern of delicately-crafted vines surrounding a shield with crossed swords. Although the ring itself was slightly too large for her finger, the open design of the filigree made it look lighter than solid sides would have done.

It was a distinctive design, and Malcolm felt his heart rate speed up as he beheld it. Raising his eyes, he saw that Hoshi was now looking at him, her eyes clear, but apprehensive. She closed her right hand over her left, shielding it from view.

He took a step into the room, closing the door behind him, and moved toward her carefully, as though she might bolt. But she stayed where she was, though her bottom lip disappeared as though she was biting it on the inside, her eyes never leaving him as he approached. Even though that tiny lip movement and a slight flicker of her eyelid betrayed her nerves, he knew that she wouldn’t back down. It wasn’t in her nature to do so.

Eyes still on hers, Malcolm reached down for her hands, lifting her unresisting right from her left, raising that one to look at the ring before returning his gaze to her. He felt the fine tremor in her fingers and tightened his grasp reassuringly.

“Hoshi.” His voice was low, quiet, full of wonder. “You kept it.”

“It was all I had of you, Malcolm. I’d never give it up willingly.” She sounded wistful, almost sorrowful.

His chest tightened painfully. How had he ever let her disappear from his life? Especially after falling in love with her so rapidly that he’d wanted to marry her then and there? How had he, with his much-vaunted experience and network of contacts, not managed to properly find her, not just rumours of her, after she'd vanished?

“I wish—” He stopped, unable to meet her eyes. There was a lump in his throat and he struggled to speak past it. “I’m sorry. I disappeared and—” he swallowed hard once more “—I realised when I came back, and you were gone, just what it must have seemed like to you.” He lifted his gaze to hers and, to his horror, found that her eyes were brimming with tears.

“I thought—I thought it was—that you’d got what you wanted." Her throat seized, and she had to force out the next words to make room in her lungs for air, her chest so tight she could scarcely breathe. “It was—you know that you were my first. We had that week. And then those last two nights, after my eighteenth birthday. When you gave me your ring, and asked me to marry you. It was the happiest I’d ever been.” Her voice dropped so low he had to strain to hear her. “Then you left to fetch your things … and you never came back.”

“And that left you with your foster parents, and their pressure for you to be with Tolaris.” His heart ached with what could have been and what they’d lost - nine years apart, nine years of searching to no avail. All he'd really known was that she was alive, but finding her had proven to be an impossibility. Every time he’d raced to where she’d last been seen, she was gone, ghost-like.

She nodded, not looking at him, but at their joined hands. “I went to the hotel. They said you’d checked out. That you were laughing when you left … about gullible little girls. And you’d left no forwarding address.”

His hand tightened on hers in outrage. “That’s not what—I had to go suddenly, it’s true, but I left a message to be delivered to you. That I planned to be back within two weeks. And that I was going to make arrangements to get you safely to my parents.” His thumb stroked gently across her cheek, wiping away the single tear that had fallen. “My father and I didn’t have the best relationship, but he would have sheltered you.”

He grimaced, sliding a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It was moot, anyway, because I was taken by the S31 gang as I left town. Tolaris had hired them. I didn’t get away until almost a month later. And by then you had disappeared.”

Hoshi’s hand came up to grip his where it lingered on her jaw. “I had to. My foster parents were insistent, especially when you disappeared. Tolaris had offered them … let’s just say it would have been a substantial windfall. But I knew if I went into that house, I was never going to make it out again. And he wanted my sisters, too. So I took Janelle and Liz, and we ran.”

Malcolm drew in a breath, but before he could speak, Janelle’s voice could be heard, calling for Hoshi. She started, and made to step away; then tightened her grip on his hand, her other coming up to grab his wrist, and turned her cheek into his palm, kissing the base fiercely before releasing him and moving back, her eyes on his.

Scrubbing her hands across her face, wiping away all traces of tears, she said in a low voice, “We can’t talk tonight. You’re having dinner with Travis and I’ll be pulling an all-nighter with the others, moving in. Breakfast?”

He nodded, his palm tingling where she had kissed it. “The hotel opens for breakfast at sunrise.”

Her mood had changed; although not entirely relaxed, she was calm enough to flash him a quick smile before opening the door to indicate their presence. “We’re in here, Janelle.” Moments later the young woman was at the door, her surprised eyes taking in Hoshi's equanimity and the speaking glances she and Mr. Reed exchanged.

“We’ll need Mike to sort out the door of the gambling room.” Hoshi had headed off through the main saloon and was waiting for Janelle at the far end. Janelle gave Mr. Reed one sharp, narrow-eyed, warning glare, and then turned and walked toward Hoshi.

"I’m sure Michael will do a great job of getting this fixed, Hoshi.”

“Good. Can I leave this with you, Janelle? I want to get the inspection completed as quickly as possible so we can move in properly.”

“Of course. Let me know where else you need repairs and I’ll keep an eye on Michael’s work.”

Hoshi’s eyes twinkled. “On his work?” Seeing Janelle’s glare, she covered her mouth to cough, emerging looking utterly innocent. “Yes, of course, Janelle. It’s a good idea to have someone oversee repairs. Thank you for assisting.”

And with that, she was gone up the stairs. Malcolm followed at a more sedate pace, his eye catching Janelle’s in passing and his lip twitching in response.

Chapter Text

The inspection went quickly after that, only a few small items - mostly swollen doors and a floorboard that needed fixing - requiring Rostov’s attention. Janelle stayed near him the entire time, keeping him company and handing over tools, she said. Still, Hoshi could see Janelle’s hands twitching to take up the tools herself, whenever she and Malcolm passed by during their rounds of the new saloon.

The building next door had no issues requiring repairs; and both it and the saloon now required little more than a thorough cleaning and perhaps some paint and wallpaper to get them up the standard Hoshi expected before she was ready to open. There was something she wanted from Rostov, however.

“You want all the walls in this room to be fitted with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, Ms Hoshi?”

“Almost all of them. This part of the house will be a library, and the next room will be a study hall. I’d been planning to cart in bookshelves from Fleet City, but from what I’ve seen, your work’s at least as good as what I would find there, and there’s the advantage of being able to see the place take shape in real time. “

Rostov flushed slightly at the praise, looking pleased. Still, he had to caution the lady. “No need to cart in anything, ma’am; I can do it, but it won’t be a quick task.” He tugged at his bottom lip, his eyes far away as he considered. “And we should talk about the type of wood you want, whether I’ll have to import it or go into the woods and find something suitable. I’d say it’s going to take a few months, will that sort of timeline suit you?”

Hoshi smiled at Janelle, who stood nearby. “It’s a big undertaking, Mike, and I expect that you’ll need assistance. I understand the time frame, especially since you also have to make me a proper desk for my office at the saloon, and probably one for the office here, and a counter for the library section. I’d say we should expect at least three months of work, wouldn’t you agree, Janelle?”

Her assistant nodded. “At least that long, Hoshi, and very likely longer if wood needs to be imported or chopped down and sawn and prepared.”

“So with that in mind, Mike, don’t be too worried about time. We’d rather have the best work from the start, rather than have to keep fixing something not done properly the first time. Besides, you’re still the town handyman, I wouldn’t keep you away from other work that comes up.” She waited until Mike had looked at her in surprise, nodding at his new employer, before turning slightly to hide her smile. “The work might go a little faster with some help. Janelle’s good with her hands, and with tools, too. Would you mind if she assisted you?”

Rostov’s eyes widened and a half-believing smile crossed his face. “Ms. Janelle can—really? With me? She’d be—I mean, if you can spare her, ma’am, I’d—” He gulped, drew a deep breath, and started again. “If Ms. Janelle would be willing to help, I’d be honoured to have the assistance.”

Janelle imitated Rostov with a deep breath of her own, nodding slowly and thoughtfully, before saying, “Hoshi, may I speak to you for a minute?” She saw Rostov’s smile falter, and smiled at him reassuringly before following Hoshi into a nearby room and closing the door. Grabbing Hoshi’s hand, she pulled her friend off to one side, away from the door, and looked at her intently.

“Hoshi—you aren’t just doing this to push us together? Or because of Mr. Reed being around? And what’s going on there, anyway?”

Hoshi gripped Janelle’s hands tightly, smiling up at her taller friend. “Of course I think you’d be sweet together—you are sweet together, even if it’s barely been a day—but that isn’t why I’m doing it. You want to do engineering, or something close to it, and this is as good a way as any to give you a taste of practical work with someone who isn’t a sibling, make you part of regular planning and on-the-job training.” She paused, a little more serious, but still smiling. “As for the rest, I’ll tell you soon. Mr. Reed and I plan to meet tomorrow so we can talk properly. There’s a lot to catch up on. So it may be a while.”

Janelle nodded, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Tell me again.”

“Janelle, I would like you to do some in-service training with Mike Rostov, work alongside him for a few months, and see how you like it—and him.”

Janelle opened her eyes and began to bounce on the balls of her feet. “Really?”

“Really.”

That blazing grin shone out, and Janelle couldn’t help it; she started to squeal. "“Really really?”

“Yes, really!” Hoshi laughed as Janelle flung her arms around her, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you!” She started bouncing with Hoshi in her arms, lifting her off the floor and whirling her around as Hoshi gave a cry of laughter.

“Janelle! Put me down!”

Outside the room, Malcolm shared a smile with Rostov as the low murmuring from within turned into sounds of excitement and laughter.

Then the door opened and the two women exited, Janelle’s face beaming with an ear-to-ear grin, Hoshi looking a little flushed, but eyes sparkling as she patted her hair back into place.

“Guess we’ll be working together for a while, Michael!”

“You’ll still have your duties at the saloon, of course, but I’m sure we can work out a schedule, Janelle.” Hoshi smiled to take any sting from her words, and Janelle nodded.

“I’ll get right on that once the others arrive.”

Chapter Text

Malcolm undressed quickly, taking the time to stow his clothing neatly to avoid creases; then fell into bed wearily. A quick glance at his pocket watch showed that it was after midnight; usually he would read for a while before going to sleep, but tonight - or this morning - he decided to turn in straight away. He turned out his bedside lamp and let his thoughts wander over the day’s occurrences, knowing his inner meanderings would allow him to fall asleep faster than actually attempting to go to sleep.

After the inspection, he’d gone to Mayor Forrest with a report on the few minor fixes required at the new owner’s premises, and then returned to the hotel to have dinner with Travis. He hadn’t been very good company, distracted as he was, and Travis had eventually called him on it.

“Your mind on a certain newcomer in town, Malcolm?” The shrewd brown eyes twinkled as Malcolm looked up, not sure whether to be outraged at being read so easily, or impressed at Travis’ astuteness. “She is very pretty and an excellent conversationalist. But I’m guessing that’s not your only interest in her.”

Malcolm hesitated, not sure how much to tell. Travis sat patiently waiting for him to talk, and the Brit eventually sighed and acquiesced. “It’s a long story, and I can’t tell you all of it; it’s not mine alone,” he continued, seeing a crease in that fine brow across the table. “What I will say is that we knew each other before, a very long time ago. We lost contact, missed each other in passing over the years—though not for lack of searching. And now she’s here.”

“And how do you feel that she’s turned up now, having married and been widowed?”

Malcolm shrugged. “She wasn’t beholden to me—in fact, she must have thought I’d left her. How could I resent her for pursuing happiness any way she could?” Dark brows lowered for a moment as he looked down at the table; then his frown cleared and those grey eyes lifted. “I fell in love with her, Travis—fell in love almost immediately, and never fell out of it,” he said simply. “That’s all there is to it. I thought she was lost to me, but by some miracle, she’s back, and I’m not going to let her go this time.”

His friend regarded him solemnly for a moment, and then those white teeth shone out in a broad grin. “Good,” he said, reaching across the table to grab and shake Malcolm’s hand. “Ms. Sato is a lovely woman, I found out on the way here, and I’d rather not be forced to defend her honour against one of my closest friends.”

Malcolm let out a crack of laughter, squeezing that strong hand, feeling both the physical warmth and a warm glow in his chest from Travis’ concern and then simple acceptance. “You and what army?” he snorted lightly.

Travis grinned and shook his head. He knew the slight, short man across the table from him looked unassuming, but was fully capable of taking him down without a sweat. Best to never get on Malcolm Reed’s bad side.

He raised his intricately engraved coffee cup, gesturing to Malcolm. “I propose a toast,” he said, and his friend nodded, eyes crinkling at the corners. “To finding what was lost, and to reunions. May they bring you both what you want, and what you need.”

That warmth rushed through Malcolm’s chest again and he found himself grinning like a fool. Travis certainly knew how to render him speechless, he mused, touching his own cup to the tall young man’s and swallowing the strong Turkish-style coffee that Mohammed Abdel favoured, to seal the toast. He was lucky to know people like the stage coach driver. It had never been a given in his life that he would have that privilege, and he would not take it lightly.

After dinner, the duo made their way to the library to help Mike Rostov assist the ladies with their move; Syd had had to return to their duties at the hotel. Hoshi and her assistants eventually decided against moving into the accommodations above the saloon, since the library came with a partially-furnished, three-bedroom house at the rear. The three of them would occupy this, while the rest of their companions would stay above the saloon.

Malcolm helped carry trunks, bandboxes, and cases. As expected, Hoshi had taken a room at the rear of the tiny dwelling, trying to stay away from the noise of the street. Fortunately, the house was situated some distance from the roadway, so the main noise would come from the saloon itself.

They finished moving in just before one in the morning; since they didn’t yet have beds, Hoshi, Janelle, and Liz laid out blankets in one room, planning to grab a few hours of sleep before the work resumed the next day. Malcolm, Travis, and Mike Rostov bid the ladies farewell and headed off to their rooms at the Planitia boarding house, also owned by Mo Abdel.

Malcolm arose just before sunrise; twice a week he did so to see off Travis on a stage coach round - Evan Tanner, Steve Zabel, or Billy Burke riding shotgun - but Travis wasn’t due to leave until the day after next. No, this time he was up early for a rather more personal reason, and knocked quietly on Rostov’s door until he heard movement from within, then woke Travis in turn.

Dressing swiftly after performing his ablutions, Malcolm met the others at the back door. Not a word was spoken, though the men nodded at each other before stepping outside. He ensured that the door was locked before the three made their way down the back roads, Malcolm setting the pace with a brisk gait beside his taller companions.

They crossed Sloane Street and walked along quiet Fortunate Way, past the hotel’s courtyard entrance, boots thudding lightly into the sand of the streets they were traversing. All was still around them, although a few lights burned in some of the hotel’s rooms and golden light shone dimly from inside the courtyard as they passed.

Over Cochrane Street, heading along Armoury Circle between Trove Saloon and the library, they made their way around the rear of the latter until they reached the new Sato residence. They’d arrived just in time; Ms. Sato was turning from having closed the door, while Janelle and Liz Cutler waited to one side.

Hoshi stopped on seeing him, blinking a little in surprise; Malcolm knew she hadn’t expected him, but he had decided to grasp at any chance he had to spend time with her. Besides, a fine thing it would be if a newcomer’s first morning in town was spent wandering around an unfamiliar area in the dark under his watch - there was only the faintest lightening of the sky in the east.

Janelle’s face lit up at the sight of his companion, and he knew without looking that the handyman was grinning back at her. Stepping forward, Malcolm reached out to help Hoshi down the steps; not that she needed assistance, but being polite meant he had the chance to take her fingers in his, kiss the tips while she watched him with those dark eyes, and then tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow as he waited for Rostov and Travis to offer their arms to the others.

Today Hoshi wore a simple green shirt tucked into a long navy skirt, her green travel coat over the top to ward off the slight morning chill. Her hair was braided into a simple tail, small tendrils escaping at the sides.

He thought she looked utterly beautiful.

The silence of the morning seemed to keep them all relatively quiet; though the four young people behind them had murmured greetings to each other, there was none of the chatter one might have expected from a group that had proven to be quite gregarious the day before. They moved toward the hotel at a slightly more sedate pace than the men had essayed in their journey to the ladies, but it still did not take long before they were stepping up onto the establishment’s porch.

Malcolm released Hoshi’s hand to open the hotel door, allowing Rostov and Travis to hand Janelle and Liz over the threshold and follow them in, before he turned to usher his still-silent companion into the comfortable warmth of the front room. Syd was inside, and he greeted them with a nod as Travis and Rostov gave them their customary cheerful greetings - at least the two weren’t obnoxious about their morning cheer.

“A table for six?” Syd queried, and Malcolm stepped in before the arrangements went any further.

“Ms. Sato and I will take my usual table, Syd,” he said with a smile to lessen any sting. “There are a few topics we need to discuss.”

Chapter Text

Syd was too well-trained to betray surprise, Rostov too polite, and Travis, Janelle, and Liz seemed to have expected the change. The women gave Hoshi enigmatic looks before bussing her cheeks, one on each side, with Malcolm the recipient of assessing stares. He returned their gazes with bland equanimity, knowing that they were only showing their concern for their ‘sister’, and watched them follow Syd across the room to a round table that seated four.

As they seated themselves, he turned to Hoshi, and found her closer than he’d expected. He reached out and she carefully placed her hand in his. Her fingers were warm and light, and he could not be other than gentle with them.

“Will you join me?” he asked softly, his eyes on hers, and felt his lips curve as faint crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes when she nodded and stepped close beside him. He headed for the table he and Travis used whenever they dined together.

Tucked away in a corner, it offered Malcolm the opportunity to sit with his back against two walls so that no one could come up behind him unexpectedly. The other seat was situated kitty-corner, its back also against the wall. Because of a pillar close by, the table itself was set a little way away from the others, affording its occupants a measure of privacy.

He handed Hoshi into the chair against the wall before going around to his usual spot. Her hand lay on the table, and he was unable to resist; he lifted it to his lips, taking pleasure in the feel of the soft skin and delicate bones beneath his fingers. Naked vulnerability flashed across her face for an instant, constricting his chest, and he held his lips to her fingers a moment longer than decorum allowed. Those deep coffee-coloured eyes stared into his with a mixture of longing and trepidation, and when he finally released her, he felt her fingers squeeze his for an instant before he let go.

Hoshi mustered up a smile and drew a calming breath. “Still taking your usual precautions, I see.”

Malcolm grinned, a sudden lightness of heart sweeping over him. “Would you expect anything less?”

Seizing gratefully upon the distraction, she grinned back, the trepidation vanishing. “Never. I couldn’t forget. I learned that caution from you, and the only reason I’m not sitting there now is because you are, and if I wasn’t against a wall myself, I know I could trust you to watch my back.”

Malcolm leaned forward interestedly. “Why do you need someone to watch your back?”

As Hoshi opened her mouth to answer, a buxom redhead with a wide, friendly smile approached their table. “Good morning, Mr. Reed,” she greeted. Her voice was cheerful and melodious, lowered a little in deference to the hour. She wore her hair in milkmaid braids to keep it out of her face, but little curls had already escaped their confines, framing her hazel eyes and milky skin with a soft halo.

He nodded. “Good morning, Monica.” Despite himself, a small smile touched his lips; few could resist Monica McKee’s charm and personality. Malcolm gestured across the table. “Allow me to introduce you to Ms. Hoshi Sato. She’s our new saloon owner.”

Monica’s grin encompassed them both as she shook Hoshi’s hand; that warm, welcoming smile felt absurdly like being touched by sunlight, Hoshi reflected. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Sato,” greeted Monica. “It’ll be nice to have a new place of entertainment open up. The town needs it.”

“Please, call me Hoshi,” she invited, and Monica nodded in acknowledgement. “I hope to bring in enough business to energise the town further. But—Monica. You must be Syd’s friend?”

“I am! Syd told me they helped carry trunks into the saloon; I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to assist.”

“We managed. Mike Rostov very kindly lent a hand, too. My assistant Janelle was most grateful for his help.” She gestured at the four sitting across the room, sending a twinkling glance across the table at Malcolm, who had to wipe his hand over his mouth to conceal his grin.

“Ms. Sato will also be opening a library, Monica,” he said, emerging from behind his hand. Monica’s eyes widened in excitement, and he added, for Hoshi’s benefit, “Monica is a prolific reader.”

“A library? How wonderful! I’m always on the lookout for new books, but we get so few on the stage coach.”

Hoshi’s answering grin shone out; as before, she warmed to any discussion of the library. “We’ll have an abundance for you to devour, once the rest of our goods arrive.”

“Oh, I can’t wait!” The redhead seemed to vibrate with excitement before catching herself. “But where are my manners? You’re here for breakfast, after all. What can I get you? Your usual, Mr. Reed?”

“Please.”

She nodded and turned to Hoshi, who looked curious. “What is Mr. Reed’s usual, if I may ask?”

“Pancakes with th’vet - that’s a type of Vulcan nut spread,” she said in answer to Hoshi’s inquiring look. “Scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, and a pot of Earl Grey tea.”

“Then I’ll have the same, please, minus the sausages and with syrup instead of th’vet.” Hoshi pronounced the new word flawlessly, despite never having heard it before. Casting a swift glance across the table, she added, “I’ve developed a taste for Earl Grey tea as a morning drink.”

“Two helpings of pancakes, one with th’vet and one with syrup - we have maple,” she said in an aside to Ms. Sato, and Hoshi nodded enthusiastically. “Two orders of scrambled eggs and toast, one order of sausage, and two orders of Earl Grey. Shall I bring one pot now and the other with the food?”

“A fine idea, thank you, Monica,” said Malcolm, his eyes fixed on Hoshi. Monica opened her mouth to respond, but saw that her two customers were now wholly focused on each other, and slipped away quietly instead.

“However were you introduced to Earl Grey, Ms. Sato?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. She shivered infinitesimally, and knew that his sharp eyes had noticed, but he continued smoothly, “The variety is not particularly well known outside of England.”

“There was a young man, several years ago,” she responded, her voice equally low. “He caught my attention with his accent, quite unlike anything I’d ever heard before. We became friends, and he introduced me to various pleasures, including Earl Grey.” One corner of her mouth quirked as her eyes went soft, and Malcolm felt a rush of warmth across his chest.

Monica returned, bearing a tray holding a covered teapot and a beautifully-detailed tea set for two, including milk, sugar, honey, and lemon. “Here you go,” she said, bracing the tray against her hip as she set out the tea between them. “Mo said to tell you that the Earl Grey stocks are running low, Mr. Reed. You’ll need to order more for the next supply run.”

“Thank him for me; I placed an order with Travis this morning, so we should receive new stock in a few days.”

“I have a small workaround,” Hoshi offered diffidently, and they both looked at her. She shifted a little under their scrutiny, but continued. “Since Earl Grey is not that easy to find, I’ve taken to carrying dried bergamot leaf to replicate the flavour. It’s not an exact match, but it works in a pinch, when added to tea leaves.”

Malcolm looked thoughtful, Monica delighted. “I’ll tell Mo - I’m sure he’ll be happy to know of the possibilities, especially since he has a little herb garden in the courtyard.” She stepped back from the table. “Enjoy your tea; I’ll be back soon with your breakfast.”

Chapter Text

Hoshi reached to pour the tea, but Malcolm was there first. He lifted the teapot, folding back the cover, and looked at her expectantly. She turned the fine bone china cups for him, allowing him to pour the dark, delicious-smelling liquid, and waited for him to set down the teapot before adding a touch of honey to hers.

He held out his cup as though to toast, so she did the same. “I realise this may be presumptuous of me, given that we both have stories to tell,” he murmured, “but I’d like to repeat a toast Travis made for us at dinner last night.”

“Travis?” She was a little startled; why would Travis be toasting them?

“I hope you don’t mind, but I told him that we knew each other before, years ago. And that—that I was hopeful things would be better now.” His eyes were both intense and soft as he looked at her; anticipative and apprehensive. He looked at her as though he wanted to grab on and never let go, as though she was the finest treasure he’d ever beheld - and if he looked away, she might vanish.

To be fair, she felt the same - as though she was dreaming, and when she woke up, he would be gone, as he always was when she awoke from a dream of him. But no. He was real, he was here, as was she. He was across the table from her, waiting for her to tell him that he could continue. Though she couldn’t imagine what he might say. So she simply nodded, silent and curious, and he smiled.

“Then, to quote Travis, here’s to finding what was lost, and to reunions.” His eyes stayed on hers, serious and hopeful. “May they bring what we want and what we need.”

Her heart fluttered like a moth bumping into her ribs and she closed her eyes, feeling her fingers shake minutely. Could it even be possible? Could the dream she’d failed to banish all this time really be within reach? Or were they just fooling themselves over a single week together nine years ago? Whatever her fears, she felt her mouth curving into a smile despite herself, and she opened her eyes to stare at that beloved face that had haunted her dreams for so long.

His gaze was troubled, watching her fingers quiver and the way the cup shook; but he saw her smile, and finally looked back to her eyes. She felt her cheek dimple; and at last his own smile blossomed again. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but touched her cup to his, nodding, and took a long sip of tea, keeping her gaze fixed on his as he followed suit, seeing the relief in his face, watching his throat move as he swallowed.

And then Monica was there, offloading food as swiftly as she could, aware that something important was happening and trying to give them as much privacy as possible. By tacit agreement, they ate without talking beyond the pleasantries, knowing that they couldn’t have a serious conversation whilst breakfasting. Malcolm offered Hoshi a piece of pancake with th’vet spread on it; she took a careful bite, chewing thoughtfully, before pronouncing it delicious, though she would stick to her pancakes with maple syrup.

They chatted of inconsequential matters until finally the food was done, and Monica returned to clear the table before bringing the second pot of tea. Hoshi looked up and caught her eye just before she left, and Monica gave her a reassuring smile that she was able to return with some equanimity.

Malcolm poured and served the tea once more and, as he handed Hoshi her cup, she reached out and laid her other hand across his wrist. He turned his own hand and captured hers in his, holding her fingers lightly. He watched her steadily, seeing her lick at her dry lips, trying to find the right words, her eyes fixed on their clasped hands.

“It was a lovely toast from Travis,” she began, her voice low and halting. “And I want so much for it to be true.” Her eyes lifted to his, but wouldn’t settle. There was a pinched look to her mouth that worried him; he pressed gently on her fingers, and she shook herself and focused on him again.

“I—have done things in the past nine years … some things of which I’m not proud, other things that were necessary and of which I’m not ashamed. I’m not that girl you knew from nine years ago, bright-eyed and shiny and optimistic. I don’t think I was ever that girl, given my life until then, but the woman I am now is a far cry from the one you met.” She hesitated, her eyes dropping to their hands, where she squeezed, before lifting her gaze once more.

“Not all of it is my story to tell, but I’ll tell you what I can, and what’s appropriate for where we are—physically and emotionally—and you can decide what you will and won’t accept. Because, Malcolm—” this time she closed her eyes and swallowed over a sudden lump in her throat “—I won’t apologise for what I’ve done to stay alive, or to keep my family safe.”

His eyes, when she looked at them again, were soft and understanding, accepting. She didn’t know how long they would stay that way, but for now, she would take what she could get.

Then he squeezed her fingers in turn. “You won’t have to apologise,” he assured her, his voice soothing and calm. “I haven’t exactly been a paragon of virtue throughout my life, and how could I fault you for doing what you needed to do? Especially when I should, and will, ask for your understanding and acceptance when I share what I did over the time since we lost each other.”

A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders; Hoshi wasn’t completely at ease, given what she would be revealing, but she felt she could trust that he would not judge some of the worst of her behaviour. Whether he would be able to accept some of the others - or whether Rostov would, for Janelle’s sake - was another matter entirely. But she would deal with that when it arose.

Chapter Text

“Tell me about your husband. What was he like?”

Hoshi hesitated, gathering her thoughts as she sat back against the armchair cushions, partially turned to face Malcolm. After another long day of setting up the saloon - and their new home - he had arrived to escort her and her companions to dinner at the hotel.

Rostov was eating with Janelle. They and Liz had been joined by the apothecary, Doctor Phlox, a Denobulan with cranial ridges running along the outside of his forehead and temples, alongside his startlingly blue eyes, and onto his cheeks. A smaller protrusion was visible on his chin.

He and Liz were engaged in a spirited discussion of the efficacy of Regulan Bloodworms in the cleansing of the lymphatic system, and under which specific conditions this would be deemed most effective. Their dinner companions seemed a trifle discomfited by the subject under discussion; Janelle turned to have several quiet asides with Mike Rostov before the two politely excused themselves to a table on the other side of the room.

Malcolm, however, had booked a private dining room for himself and Hoshi. After a simple but delicious meal of roast lamb, baby potatoes, and green vegetables - served by a friendly Monica - they had each had a slice of sour cherry pie with whipped cream before repairing to the small sitting area. A small fire burned merrily in the fireplace, more for ambience than any real need for warmth, as Hoshi poured herself a cup of steaming herbal tea and Malcolm sipped a strong black coffee.

He was quiet after asking his question, waiting patiently for her to consider how best to answer. Finally she sighed quietly and placed her teacup back in its saucer as gently as possible.

“He was a good man. Gentle, but an immovable force when he needed to be. Unutterably sweet and caring. Fiercely loyal, fiercely protective of his family. His tanpopo, he called us - his dandelions. He taught us to use that fragility so that those wishing us harm would underestimate us. He showed us new ways to fight, watched over our family as it grew, and helped us flourish.”

Malcolm watched as she stared, unseeing, into the fireplace, a soft smile curving her lips as she thought of her late husband. A sharp prick of jealousy stabbed his heart, and he had to curb it fiercely; he hadn’t been there, and this man had.

Hoshi shook herself, and looked up.

“He would have been happy for me. Happy that I finally found you.” She hesitated. “I just—he knew that I loved him, but that I was never in love with him. He knew that ours was a marriage of convenience. He deserved more than the way I loved him, but he never asked for more than I was able to give.” She looked a little stricken, and glanced away again, as though it was easier telling her tale to a blank wall that could not show censure.

“I cared for him deeply; he was wonderful, and kind, and he loved me, and I him - but not in the same way. And he accepted that. He accepted that I didn't love him romantically, but could only care for and appreciate him. Because I was pining for someone I would never see again.” Her eyes lifted to his, sorrowful, remembering. “He offered me his hand so I would have someone at my side with whom to protect my siblings. We were together for five years before he died, and he knew that if you had walked through the door, and I’d had to make a choice—” She stopped herself, compressing her lips. “Well, he wouldn’t have made me choose.”

“How did you meet?”

Now she looked uncomfortable.

“He was a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder he knew how to fight, then.”

“Yes.”

Malcolm waited for her to continue; when she didn’t, he decided to push gently and, if she didn’t want to answer, drop the matter completely.

“Who was he guarding?”

Hoshi seemed to come to a decision. Her chin lifted defiantly and she looked him in the eye.

“The brothel owner for whom we worked.”

Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Malcolm betray the slightest hint of surprise. It wasn’t difficult, for he’d begun suspecting as much, given her reticence and reluctance to give details. So instead he simply gave a noncommittal nod.

“And was this brothel owner a good person? Were you treated well?”

For the briefest moment Hoshi looked surprised, then forged ahead, obviously relieved that she wasn’t going to have to explain too much.

“She was wonderful. A Vulcan woman, V’Lar. It was from her that I learned how to treat my employees and run a business in the face of moral opposition.” She smiled. “I wrote to Mayor Forrest at one point during our negotiations, mentioning that I knew someone who would be interested in offering services for humans and Vulcans. Apparently there is a specific requirement Vulcans have for other Vulcans that humans cannot provide. But V’Lar would never go into details.” A chuckle. "She saw something in me ... something in my mind. In the way the cards spoke to me. She put me on the gambling floor as an attraction, made me a dealer after three months, pit boss six months later. I made her a lot of money, and she appreciated my skill."

He nodded again, then said delicately, “I imagine that at some point you weren’t the only one working for V’Lar?”

Hoshi looked away. “It’s not my story to tell, but no, I wasn’t. And that’s all I’m prepared to say.”

Malcolm forbore from pushing any further. She’d said as much as she was willing, and forcing the issue now would simply get her back up. So he focused on the matter that interested him most.

“What was his name?” he asked quietly. The question felt momentous, important. What was the name of the man who had protected Hoshi when he couldn’t? Whom did he have to thank for keeping her alive and safe and out of Tolaris’ clutches?

“Takashi.” Now her voice was contemplative. “Takashi Kimura.” She looked at Malcolm again. “He didn’t expect me to change my surname, so I didn’t.”

“How did he die?”

“His horse panicked because of a snake; he lost control, and it twisted and fell on him. His chest was crushed, but he still smiled at me as he died. He’d always said the last thing he wanted to see was my face. So I tried to be strong for him. It was—difficult.” Her eyes went distant again, her hand reaching for his unconsciously. Malcolm took hold of hers, his grip firm in sympathy. “We had to put down his horse, too; the poor thing had broken a leg. All my sisters helped me bury him—them. Out in the desert, a thousand miles from here.”

She wiped away a tear, and smiled tremulously. “He was very dear to all of us, and we honour him on his birthday every year. He loved a good Japanese pancake; it’s nothing like the ones you’re used to. It’s light and fluffy and spongy and delicious.” This time her smile was stronger. “You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. Not too sweet, either.”

Malcolm smiled back. “I’m sure I will enjoy it. Thank you.”

She understood that he wasn’t thanking her only for the offer of pancakes. What she had told him was momentous. Takashi Kimura had given her his heart and his protection; only someone completely without conscience would expect her to ignore the man who was more of a family to those she loved than he himself would ever be.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next day was a simple, group affair, with no real time for introspection and private conversations. The rest of the Sato family was due to arrive the next day, and Hoshi and her sisters wanted to get their little house ready before that happened.

After a good meal and several cups of coffee and tea, they parted ways - Hoshi, her sisters, Mike Rostov, and Syd heading to the house, Malcolm to the mayor’s office to check in on his tasks for the day.

As they sat going over his schedule, Mayor Forrest raised a letter, perusing it over his spectacles, then handed it across the desk to his aide. “Enterprise seems to be growing in popularity,” he remarked. “We have a brothel owner interested in providing services to the community. A Vulcan, at that.”

Malcolm strove to look merely interested as he reached for the letter; his boss was a shrewd observer of human behaviour, however, and he wasn’t sure his attempt was working. Still, the mayor said nothing as his aide perused the missive before looking up.

“A Vulcan woman,” he mused. “V’Lar. I’ve heard her name quite recently - yesterday, in fact.”

“Perhaps in conversation with Ms. Sato, whom she mentions as a possible sponsor. I recall a letter from our saloon owner indicating that she knew someone who might be a good fit. That was before she arrived in town, so I didn’t mention it at the time.” Forrest’s voice was bland. He looked down at his papers, writing in his calendar in his neat, flowing script, as he continued, “You and Ms. Sato have been spending a fair amount of time together. Privately.”

Malcolm felt his spine straighten; whatever his relationship with Hoshi - or with his boss, for that matter - he wasn’t going to be the cause of her reputation suffering.

“Ms. Sato and I have met before, but that was some years ago. We are … renewing our acquaintance,” he said, somewhat stiffly.

“And neither of you saw fit to mention this when she arrived?” Forrest’s voice was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. Malcolm knew that he wasn’t merely interested in a relationship between the town’s saloon owner and his aide, but in how this might impact the town as a whole.

“We were both taken by surprise to see each other.” Malcolm matched his voice to that of the mayor; it would not do to become defensive. “And since the main point of the meeting was for Ms. Sato to take ownership of her new business premises, personal matters and reminiscing at the time didn’t seem appropriate to either of us.” He paused, waiting for Forrest to look up into the silence. “I would not wish Ms. Sato’s name to be dragged through the mud or associated with any untoward gossip because of our previous acquaintance.”

“Then I have to ask, Malcolm, is this relationship with Ms. Sato going to be a problem for the town?”

Malcolm opened his mouth to answer, then closed it and gave the matter due consideration. “I can only say that I will strive to not let it interfere with my duties, sir, and I can assure you that Ms. Sato will do the same. She is determined to make a success of her business, seeing it as a fresh start; and on a personal level, if she is comfortable and feels welcome here, and considers it her new home, that bodes well for me. I would not do anything to hamper any positive developments.”

Forrest studied him for a long moment, those keen eyes piercing. Malcolm forced himself to sit still and calm, not to squirm under that sharp, assessing gaze, but to project an air of confidence. He was feeling confident about Hoshi staying, and knew that her feeling as though she had found a home would impact on her willingness to pursue anything more with him. All he could do was cling to that thought and use it to calm his nerves.

Finally the mayor nodded. “I’d expect nothing less from either of you. Ms. Sato certainly seemed determined enough when we met, and I have it on good authority that the ladies have barely paused in their efforts to set up the saloon. In fact, it appears young Rostov will certainly be benefitting from a large amount of work that’s landed in his lap.”

His aide relaxed infinitesimally. “Sir. Ms. Sato has indicated that she will release Rostov whenever he is needed around town, of course, instead of claiming all his attention. And Trip Tucker will also benefit, as he will perforce need to be involved in various elements of Rostov’s work, as well as in implementing a few changes at the saloon and their new home, before the official opening of the saloon and the library.”

Forrest nodded, and returned his attention to his calendar. “And when is that, exactly?”

“I believe it is planned for the end of August, though I am given to understand that Ms. Sato wished to consult with you on certain topics before continuing the planning. The rest of her team will be arriving tomorrow and I imagine there will be more to discuss before she approaches you.”

“Very well. I’ll await a visit from her.” He shuffled a few papers and retrieved the letter from V’Lar from where Malcolm had laid it on the desk. “Now, about this request for a brothel to join the community. There is an additional request, also from a Vulcan. This one is a man, Tolaris.”

Almost imperceptibly, the Brit stiffened. “Sir. Far be it from me to impugn someone’s reputation without giving them the chance to respond, but I feel I must add a note of caution. Tolaris has somewhat of a reputation; not to put too fine a point on it, he has been accused of—shall we say, unsavoury methods of acquiring workers in his brothels, for he has more than one, in different towns.” He hesitated. “At one point I was assigned to investigate these rumours. Though I may not divulge the outcome of the work in which I was previously involved, I feel it incumbent upon me to advise that certain business practises would be harmful to the town’s reputation and standing.”

His boss’ raised eyebrows spoke volumes. Malcolm never spoke about his past; Forrest knew he had been involved with the Pinkertons at one point, and that he had cut ties with the agency quite abruptly. Given the nature of the Pinkerton organisation, however, it was not hard to extrapolate what kind of work he might have been doing - or that the very nature of his work must mean that at one time, he must have had a thorough knowledge of the seedier aspects of human—and alien—nature.

The mayor was no fool; he knew that to have emerged from that with his honour and ideals still intact must speak to a great deal of determination and integrity in his aide. Malcolm did not offer his opinion lightly, but when he did, one would have to be a blockhead to dismiss it without due consideration.

So he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Other than that, what are your thoughts on the matter of including a brothel in the town planning?”

Once again Malcolm paused. “I think it would be a good idea, sir; while there is a saloon for entertainment, the railroad upgrade is expected to begin within a few months. A saloon will not be the only outlet the workers will require. And I would not want any of the ladies - or men, quite frankly - of the town to be accosted by drunken railroad workers who only have alcohol to sate their appetites.”

Forrest’s eyebrows raised. “You think it will come to that?”

“I’ve worked with many a group of men cooped up in circumstances requiring hard labour and very few options for entertainment and letting loose. Alcohol on its own as a release, with nothing else to temper any urges, is a recipe for building tension. Other outlets would be needed, and if we are able to provide such in a controlled environment, so much the better.” He paused. “I have it on good authority—not only Ms. Sato’s—that V’Lar is both a decent employer and a shrewd businesswoman. It’s unlikely that she would do anything to jeopardise the town’s standing, or Ms. Sato as her sponsor.”

The mayor looked thoughtful. “So you approve of the idea.” Malcolm inclined his head, and Forrest pursed his lips. “Very well. I’ll take that into consideration. But before I make a final decision, I’d like to speak to Ms. Sato and the sheriff. Today, if possible. I will refrain from discussing her other business with Ms. Sato until she is ready. See if they’re available around three.” Reed nodded and rose, stepping to the door. “Don’t mention either name to them. I’d like to gauge initial reactions for myself.”

“Very well, sir.”

As he opened the door, about to step out, Forrest called to him once more. “Malcolm.” The dark-haired man looked back inquiringly. “Thank you for divulging what you have, today. Your thoughts are always appreciated.” A look of pleased surprise flashed across the other’s face, so swift as to be almost imperceptible. Then, with a brief nod of acknowledgement, he was gone.

Chapter Text

The meeting with Mayor Forrest, Sheriff Archer - Deputy T’Pol also in attendance - and Malcolm had gone well, Hoshi reflected as she walked through the doors of the town hall afterward. In fact, the mayor’s office had been fairly crowded, since the blacksmith, Trip Tucker, had accompanied the sheriff and deputy, while the apothecary, Doctor Phlox, had also joined the group. She hadn’t objected to their presence, since it had been accepted with equanimity by both the mayor and his aide. Clearly Mister Tucker’s opinion was also of interest to the rest, as was the doctor’s.

Mayor Forrest hadn’t wasted time on pleasantries other than a greeting and introductions where necessary; of the group, Hoshi had not met the sheriff, Deputy T’Pol, or Mister Tucker (“Call me Trip,” he’d said with an engaging smile as he shook her hand, and she’d smiled back and invited him to use her first name in return). It was her second time meeting Doctor Phlox, the genial Denobulan apothecary, who also served as dentist and undertaker. His eyes were a startling, almost cobalt, blue - a striking contrast to the bright blue of Trip’s gaze. The doctor greeted her cheerfully, a wide grin on his features; he seemed to be perpetually upbeat, though not annoyingly so.

After ushering everyone into a larger room beside his office, where they’d all been seated around a long oval table, Forrest had closed the door and nodded to Malcolm, who’d taken up his customary position against one wall. He hadn’t given much detail when he’d come to invite her, other than to say that the mayor was calling a meeting of the major business owners in the town. Despite the limited information, she’d received the impression that the topic was of some importance and prepared herself accordingly.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” Forrest said, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “We have received two requests to open a brothel in town. One I know you already know, Ms. Sato - the Vulcan woman, V’Lar.” Everyone turned to look at her; while Hoshi disliked being the centre of such undivided attention, her demeanour showed nothing of the sort.

“I know V’Lar well,” she said calmly. “She is an excellent businesswoman and is known to treat her employees with dignity and respect. Employment at her brothel is quite sought-after in some circles.” She paused. “I agreed to be her sponsor once I had moved into town fully, and in fact wrote to you prior to my arrival to advise you of this proposal, Mayor.”

“You did, and I considered it then, although since you were not yet in town at that point, I did not advise anyone else of your proposition.”

“The offer still stands, if you will accept my endorsement. V’Lar would be an excellent addition to the town; not only is she discreet and her brothel well-run and well-appointed, but she serves both humans and Vulcans.” The deputy’s eyebrow lifted at this last, and Hoshi directed her next words to the woman. “V’Lar informs me that certain services can only be offered by Vulcans, to Vulcans, and that the nature of these services are of no concern to anyone else.”

“I, too, have heard of V’Lar, though within Vulcan circles.” T’Pol’s voice was well-modulated, not quite monotonous - at least not to Hoshi’s practised ear, though she could imagine how it might be taken as such by anyone not quite as sensitive to sound. “The services she offers are indeed welcome to Vulcans. And with the IDIC Ranch in fairly close proximity to the town, it would be logical to place the brothel on the outskirts between the Ranch and Enterprise, to allow for discreet visits by Vulcans should these become necessary.”

“An excellent idea, Deputy, if only to cater for Vulcan sensibilities. Of course, humans, too, have a strange aversion to being seen to openly visit brothels, which is most peculiar, given the importance of the services they offer to the unmarried or lonely.” The doctor sent his beaming grin around the table as he spoke, and Hoshi thought privately that he made a great deal of sense. Prejudices and reputational stigma being what they were, however, it was unlikely that this would change any time soon, no matter how progressive Enterprise might seem to be. Hopefully those working at such an establishment would not be shunned or ill-treated by the townsfolk.

“You’ll be pleased to know that V’Lar is both careful and strict with the health of her employees, Doctor,” she interjected, and Phlox turned his bright gaze her way. “She insists on regular check-ups and all manner of precautions to prevent disease and the possibility of other untoward outcomes. I’m afraid you may be kept rather busier than you are at this point.”

He beamed again. “That suits me perfectly well; Denobulans don’t require sleep the way humans or Andorians do, or even Vulcans, hmm? I hibernate every few months, but otherwise am awake all the rest of the time, so I will be well-positioned to provide all manner of assistance whenever required.”

The mayor intervened at this point. “With that in mind, I feel it necessary to inform you that a second request has been received to open a brothel in town, also by a Vulcan. This one goes by the name Tolaris.”

Only by the slightest narrowing of her eyes did the deputy react, and it was only apparent to Hoshi because she was looking at the woman directly. She knew that her own reaction was far more visible; she hadn’t been able to prevent the expression of sheer revulsion that had crossed her face, though she immediately schooled her features into a neutral mask. She knew that Malcolm was looking at her, and couldn’t prevent herself from casting a swift glance his way; his face was like stone, but she saw the rage that flickered in his eyes. Even as she opened her mouth to reply, Deputy T’Pol was speaking.

“I would advise against allowing Tolaris to have any business dealings in Enterprise.” Her gaze had turned from Hoshi, but not toward the mayor. Instead, she was looking across the table at the sheriff, who was frowning deeply, his face hard. “His way of doing business does not align with the conduct we expect in Enterprise, even if he offers the same services as V’Lar.”

“Mister Reed has told me that he shares your concerns,” the mayor interjected, looking at his aide.

“I do indeed, for reasons of my own.” Reed’s face was now neutral, his voice carefully controlled. Only someone who knew him well would be able to pick up the tension in his shoulders; but otherwise he betrayed nothing through his expression beyond a tightening of the lips and a slight narrowing of the eyes.

If not for his looks and height, he could pass for a Vulcan, T’Pol thought fleetingly. She appreciated Mr. Reed’s ability to control his emotions, particularly his temper. She also knew that Ms. Sato had picked up her own reaction at the mention of that reviled name, and naturally she had seen the expression on the young woman’s face, in turn.

Sheriff Archer added his voice to the chorus. “I see Tolaris is trying the roundabout route to get into the town, Mayor, but to make it absolutely clear - he’s not welcome in Enterprise. Certainly not while I’m sheriff.”

“Or while I am the sheriff’s deputy.”

“Not while I am your aide, sir.”

“Nor while I own a business here.”

For once Phlox looked stern. “From what I have heard in medical circles, it would be wise to follow the advice of my fellow business owners.”

Mayor Forrest looked around the table, his shrewd gaze landing on each face in question, seeing the determination there. These people might not know each other well, he mused, but they were certainly united in one purpose. He looked at the one person who hadn’t spoken, the blacksmith, Trip Tucker.

“What do you have to say, Mister Tucker?”

“I dunno a darned thing about this Tolaris, Mayor,” said the man lounging in the seat beside Sheriff Archer, his blue eyes thoughtful as he looked across the table at the deputy. “But aside from my family, there ain’t no one I trust more’n Jon an’ Malcolm here. If they say no go, I’m inclined to listen, an’ listen hard. Add the ladies,” he tipped his hat to T’Pol and Hoshi, “and frankly, it’d be foolish to go against that kinda straight-forward advice. I’d venture to say, illogical.” He sent a sunny smirk in the direction of the Vulcan woman, though her expression didn’t change as she looked at him.

Mayor Forrest nodded thoughtfully. “Then I think the decision is clear. Tolaris’ proposal will not be accepted. As to V’Lar - perhaps you would explain your reasoning on the need for a brothel, Malcolm.”

The dark-haired man shared his thoughts, his voice calm and steady as he spoke of the need for railroad workers - and others - to have outlets other than alcohol to blow off steam, and prevent untoward incidents.

T’Pol nodded in approval. “The services V’Lar offers to Vulcans are sorely needed, Mayor. She is known to be discreet, if somewhat unconventional for a Vulcan. Still, she is not considered Ak’spra—heretical. That is a term we may apply to Tolaris; not only is he a member of the V'tosh ka'tur, Vulcans who allow their emotions to rule them, but he is known to—” she blinked, an infinitesimal pause “—impose his will upon others without their consent, through the use of a mind-meld.”

Hoshi shivered. She heard what the Vulcan was not saying - everything that she had escaped nine years ago. Her eyes tracked back to Malcolm, locked on his face, saw the rage as he battened it down once more. Those long lashes swept down, veiling his eyes; one slow blink, and his grey eyes were unreadable; another, and he was able to offer her a reassuring smile.

A small sound across from her caught her attention; the blacksmith was staring at T’Pol thoughtfully, watching her as she watched the sheriff in turn. Trip’s finger tapped against the arm of his chair; she had noticed that he was always moving in some fashion, very different from the calm stillness that Malcolm cultivated. The taller man’s foot would jiggle, or fingers would tap or rub, as though movement calmed his busy brain; by contrast, Malcolm’s every move was deliberate, unhurried; though he acted swiftly and decisively when the need arose.

That analytical mind did not seem to require an outlet, all its energy directed inward as he considered, weighed up risks and benefits, planned for every possible outcome as new information became available. He never stopped planning, she knew; and she had a feeling that neither did Trip Tucker, though in a very different fashion.

Her musings were interrupted as Sheriff Archer cleared his throat. “I believe you have your answer, Mayor,” he said, and a murmur of agreement went around the table.

Mayor Forrest inclined his head. “I shall send the appropriate responses. Thank you all for your input.”

His words seemed to be a dismissal of sorts; all attendees rose from their seats and made their way outside. Sheriff Archer’s beagle, Porthos, sat waiting patiently beside the front door of the town hall; crouching to rub the little hound’s ears, Hoshi looked up as Malcolm came to stand beside her.

“A fruitful discussion,” she observed, and he nodded thoughtfully.

“We’ll have much to discuss, later.” With that, he reached out a hand to assist her to rise. “Allow me to escort you back to the saloon.”

“Thank you, but I need to visit the apothecary before returning to the saloon.” She smiled to take any sting from her polite refusal, then turned her attention to Phlox. “Doctor, if I may accompany you?”

“Why, certainly, Ms. Sato.” His smile was wide as ever.

Hoshi turned her attention back to Malcolm, squeezing his arm. “I’ll see you later?”

“Count on it.” He watched her walk down the stairs beside Doctor Phlox, as the Denobulan asked, “Do you think we might see Ms. Cutler along the way?”

“Spending a lot of time with Ms. Sato, ain’t you?” Trip Tucker had come up beside him and was also watching the saloon-keeper and apothecary walk toward the next block of buildings.

“Renewing an old acquaintance,” Malcolm replied, giving Trip a sidelong glance before returning his attention to the two figures before them.

Trip shot him a look that he pretended to ignore; he saw the blacksmith’s mouth opening, but before Tucker could say anything, the sheriff had interrupted.

“C’mon, Trip, let’s head back. Got a few things I want to run by you.” He nodded at Malcolm. “Feel free to join us, if you don’t have anything to do for the mayor.”

Malcolm acknowledged the invitation. “I’ll check in with him, and if there isn’t anything, I’ll join you at the sheriff’s office.”

With a tip of the hat, Sheriff Archer headed off in the direction of the jail, accompanied by his deputy and Trip Tucker, Porthos bounding down the steps ahead of them, tail a-wag. Malcolm watched them go, then headed inside to talk to his boss.

Chapter Text

“By now you know a fair amount about what happened to me. But you said you were kidnapped, Malcolm. I know who - but why?”

He raised the glass of whisky in his hand, contemplating its amber depths. It was a very good Irish whisky from his private stores, and he’d brought it along - with Mo Abdel’s permission - to offer Hoshi. She had mentioned a liking for single malt whisky versus bourbon, and since this small batch was distilled and bottled by his mother’s Irish family, he felt the urge to share it with her.

He thought back to nine years prior, after he had placed his signet ring on Hoshi’s finger, a promise of more to come, a promise of happiness and a family to embrace her and her foster sisters, Janelle and Liz. He’d gone to the hotel where he had a room, intending to gather his belongings and head to the telegraph office to alert his family to expect him with a new bride and her companions in tow.

The last thing he remembered as he walked through the door, his bags in hand, was the fear on the telegraph operator’s face, a blow to the back of his head, a boot in his ribs and another in his back, before the heel of another boot had descended on his jaw. And when he’d awoken …

He was unaware that he had clenched his other hand into a fist and was scowling as he stared into the glass, his heart racing in his chest, thundering in his ears, his teeth grinding - until a gentle hand covered his fist. Startled, he looked up into dark eyes filled with concern.

“If remembering hurts you, then we can talk about other things, Malcolm.” Hoshi’s voice was quiet, sympathetic. She had leaned across the space separating them to take his hand, and was stretched somewhat uncomfortably to reach him. He shook his head, putting his glass on the table before him as he turned his hand to grasp hers.

He’d thought just her touch would be all he’d need to get through his tale, but suddenly he needed more. He needed her. To hold her, and know that she was here, alive, well, and he wasn’t in a dream. He gave her hand a gentle tug, then released her and held out his arms wordlessly.

For a moment Hoshi hesitated; then she rose, placing her glass beside his on the table, and settled beside him on the large armchair, lifting her legs across his, nestling into the curve of his arm and tucking her head under his chin. She seemed to know that what he wanted was comfort, nothing more, and slid her arms around his waist, clasping her hands at his side.

He buried his nose in her hair, smelling the faint, fruity citrus scent of whatever she used to wash her hair and skin. Breathing deeply, he wound his arms around her, pulling her close, lifting her onto his lap, filling his lungs with the scent of her, his arms with her solidity and warmth. All uncomplaining, she let him squeeze and manhandle her, accepting the discomfort of his tight grip for what it was—concern, and no little fear; that she might be taken, that he might be back wherever he was remembering, that all manner of ill might have befallen them both.

Malcolm felt his heartbeat slowing, his jaw unclenching, and bit by bit he was able to loosen his grip and allow her to breathe. When he finally calmed and settled, Hoshi lifted the arm at his back to sink her fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in the manner she remembered soothed him. He let out a quiet sigh and relaxed into the chair, bringing her with him as she arranged her skirts to allow her to curl up on his lap. “Better?” she asked softly, and he nodded into her hair, eyes on the flames dancing merrily before them.

“I only saw him once.” His voice was low, low enough that she had to sit absolutely still in order to hear him properly. “Tolaris. He’d hired the S31 gang; they were operating in the area, and were part of my investigation.” He growled, deep in his chest, and hugged her tight again for just a moment. “I was a fool. Too cocky, thinking I could handle them because I was so good with my guns and I knew martial arts while they were mere thugs. Believing we’d make it out of there easily, and I’d be a hero in your eyes, taking you to my family. My father would have protected you and Janelle and Liz. He was a hard man, but for family? He’d have moved the Earth to keep you safe.”

She said nothing, only kept soothing his scalp as his unwilling reminiscing continued.

“He had them take me so I wouldn’t be able to stop him from taking you. For his brothels. Your foster parents were making a great deal of money selling you and their other wards to him.” Hoshi shivered; she’d known what was planned, and what they’d escaped, but hearing it put so bluntly still sent chills down her spine. “They weren’t about to kill me,” Malcolm continued, his eyes far away, though at her shiver he rubbed Hoshi’s arm absent-mindedly, as though to warm her. “That would have brought the Pinkertons and the local authorities down on them, and I guess they weren’t powerful enough yet to take the chance. And Har—the man in charge wanted to turn me so I’d be a tool for them. Someone on the inside of the agency.” He scoffed at the idea, but the remembered pain made him wince. Thankful that she couldn’t see his face, he buried himself in her hair again, taking in a deep lungful of her scent.

“The beatings didn’t take place every day; bruises hurt more when they’ve started healing, after all, and those brutes took great satisfaction in inflicting as much pain as they could with fists, feet, and implements.” His smile was grim and fierce. “Unfortunately for them, I’m bloody stubborn, and the more someone tries to force me into doing something, the more determined I am to resist. Besides, I was trained to withstand beatings and torture. And I’d spent years in boarding school, where being the runt meant being everyone’s punching bag. At least, until you learned to fight back in ways that wouldn’t just get you more punishment. So I suppose you could say I’d become used to it even before my training.”

He didn’t say that he frequently baited his captors out of sheer spite, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in smiling bloodily at the end of a session, not saying a word, unless he was unconscious. And Harris didn’t want him unconscious too often; he wanted that brain intact for his purposes. The thugs beating him soon grew tired of his lack of resistance, anyway; he wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction they craved by fighting back. Instead, he simply took the punishment until it became boring for them and they moved on to other distractions.

When he’d finally escaped, he was gaunt, underfed, battered and bruised. But he was good at hiding, good at travelling unseen, armed with a stolen knife and a hastily-made spear that allowed him to hunt and feed himself. Thankfully it was the tail end of summer, so game was plentiful and the nights not overly cold; by the time he made it to a settlement, he was in much better shape than could have been expected.

And when his Pinkerton bosses had refused to follow up on Tolaris’ machinations within the small town, he’d quit and returned by himself, armed to the teeth, only to find Hoshi missing and Tolaris gone - at separate times, if the word on the street was to be believed. For he certainly had not believed the story Hoshi’s erstwhile foster parents, fearful at the thought of his retribution, had told him of her going East to family after they had agreed not to force her to ‘marry’ Tolaris.

For years afterward he’d used his network of informants to try and track her down, to no avail. Once or twice he’d come close, but he’d never actually seen her, or her sisters, and the chances of finding her had dwindled. At least he’d discovered that she had escaped Tolaris, her sisters in tow, although the fact that the other man was also searching for her - with as little success - made him uneasy.

But he knew Harris had a long memory and even longer reach. He would not soon forget or forgive the Pinkerton - and eventual British agent - who had first escaped his clutches and then been the cause of more than one S31 raid or attack going wrong. Eventually it had become safer for Malcolm to take a non-descript job under an assumed name. He’d done so, moving from place to place, until he’d taken on the role of security for the stage-coach run, met Travis, and resumed using his real name. With no real destination in mind, he’d joined Travis in the small town of Enterprise, moved in, and made a home.

Then she had driven into his town and walked back into his life just days before, and it was as though she’d never left.

For her part, Hoshi held back her shudder at the thought of all he’d endured - physical, at the hands of Tolaris and the S31 gang; and mental, at discovering she was gone and not knowing how to find her. She hadn’t left him a note, since there was no one she could trust with it. She’d left some markings at the spot where they’d had a picnic, once; but by the time Malcolm had escaped, Tolaris had cut down the tree in a fit of rage, destroying the evidence; something neither of them knew, to this day.

Once she and her sisters had escaped, they’d stayed on the run, hiding until their meagre rations and money ran out. And then they’d met V’Lar, and their lives had changed.

A growl from Malcolm brought her out of her reverie; his spine was stiffening again as he remembered, his breathing becoming more stertorous, his jaw grinding where it rested against her forehead. She raised her head to his in response.

Her soft cheek against Malcolm’s jaw brought him back to the here and now. “It’s alright, you’re here with me, now. Come back from wherever your mind is, Malcolm. Leave that pain where it belongs, in the past.”

His hands had tightened on her again, he realised; his body had gone rigid. As she murmured soothing words into his skin, gentling him with her hand in his hair and her other rubbing calming circles over his heart, he slowly relaxed, letting her voice wash over him, through him, pushing away the fear and pain and rage.

It would be so easy to turn his head and and kiss her; but no. The time wasn’t right, and he wouldn’t have their first kiss after reunion be tainted by bad memories. So he simply relaxed into her firm, warm embrace, letting the feel of her cheek against his anchor him in the present, slowing his heartbeat, steadying his breathing, accepting the comfort she offered, until at last he drifted on a sea of peace with her warm and solid and real in his arms.

Chapter Text

The chatter at breakfast was excited; the rest of their family was due to arrive soon, and all the sisters could talk about was the prospect of seeing their family and friends again.

Malcolm was subdued; but since he was quiet at the best of times, only Hoshi really noticed. Seated beside him, the wall at their backs, she pressed her leg against his under the table, offering him an understanding smile when he glanced at her. He relaxed infinitesimally, the little by-play going unnoticed by the rest of the group, and was finally able to enjoy his breakfast instead of only his coffee.

The group ate quickly, though not quietly; with unpacking likely to happen soon, they’d need a good breakfast to prepare for the day to come. Monica came by, a pleased smile lighting her face when she saw how heartily they were all eating and how much they’d enjoyed Mo’s cooking. As she packed empty plates onto her tray, she bantered back and forth with Janelle, Liz, and the others, the doctor having joined them.

“Monica, I’d like to place an order for lunch, when you’re ready, please.”

“Certainly, Ms. Hoshi. I’ll be right back. More coffee for the table?” At Hoshi’s nod in the affirmative, Monica grinned and headed off, handling the heavy tray with ease. She was back moments later, two carafes of coffee in hand, placing them at opposite ends of the table before pulling her notebook from her apron and coming to stand beside Hoshi. “Fire away.”

“We’ll need lunch for at least ten people, please. One person doesn’t eat meat, so perhaps whatever Mo cooks for Deputy T’Pol? And as much coffee as possible.” At Monica’s nod, she continued, “We’ll probably be quite a mess, so instead of coming to the hotel, I’ll send a couple of people across to fetch the meal, if that’s okay.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Monica confirmed. “We’ll pack some bowls and utensils - today’s lunch is a good, hearty lamb stew, plomeek soup for the Vulcan eaters, and Mo will have fresh bread for both - I’ll ask him to set aside two loaves especially for your party.”

The details were quickly worked out, and Hoshi rose and headed to the counter to settle accounts with Amira Abdel, laying down a line of credit for future meals while she was at it. “I’m sure at some point we’ll start cooking at the saloon, but even then, it’s worth ensuring we can have a meal at any given time.”

Amira’s eyes twinkled, though she nodded solemnly. “I couldn’t agree more, and my father loves feeding people, so you can’t go wrong with preparing in advance.”

With a friendly nod and shake of the hand, Hoshi returned to the table. As she was about to seat herself once more, the sound of a wagon and a babble of voices outside caught the table’s attention. A brilliant, beaming grin spread across her face. She reached out to Janelle and Liz.

“They’re here!” All three rose from their seats excitedly, Malcolm and Rostov rising too. The doctor took a last bite before laying down his fork and rising to join them. “Please, finish your meals,” Hoshi adjured the men. “I’ve settled the tab, and we can’t let good food and coffee go to waste.”

“We’ve picked the table clean, don’t worry. Mo will not be insulted by what goes back into his kitchen, I assure you.” Malcolm looked at Monica and she grinned, nodding.

Hoshi looked relieved. “Then come and meet our family and friends. You’d have to anyway, as the mayor’s aide.” She winked, and Malcolm laughed.

“We’ll be there soon. Why don’t you ladies go ahead? You’re practically vibrating from excitement.”

“We will! And thank you.” Quickly she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “For everything.” Her lips were soft and warm against his skin. Another quick smile, and she headed for the door, her sisters in tow. He heard her thank Amira, and then they were gone.

Malcolm turned his gaze to Rostov, who was looking at him questioningly. “Just giving them a minute or two to reunite in a little privacy.” The taller man nodded, and the two set a leisurely pace across the dining room floor, accompanied by the doctor.

When they stepped outside, Malcolm’s eye was instantly drawn to the little group clustered in front of the saloon. A Conestoga wagon stood there, a number of horses tied to the hitching rail or the back of the wagon. Hoshi, Janelle, and Liz stood in the midst of a group of people, laughing and vying for hugs.

As he watched, Hoshi took the hands of a tall, Germanic-looking woman whose hair was pulled back into blond braids that surrounded her head. Dressed in trousers and a dark red shirt, her face was stern but softened by a grin as she looked down at her friend. She said something he couldn’t hear, and Hoshi threw back her head and laughed, releasing her hands and hugging her close. She barely came up to the woman’s shoulder, so laid her head against the other’s chest, and saw Malcolm. Her smile widened, and she reached out a hand, beckoning him to the crowd.

Those around her turned to look at whom she was inviting over, and he suddenly found himself and Rostov the centre of scrutiny for more people than he was expecting. Still, their gazes were curious, not unfriendly, and if some eyes were particularly piercing, he could bear up knowing that they were simply concerned about their friend and leader.

“This is Mike Rostov, the town handyman, and Malcolm Reed, the mayor’s aide,” Hoshi said, a note of welcome in her voice. Several of the group looked at her sharply and then returned their gazes to him, renewed interest and speculation in their eyes. At least one - a curly-haired, black-dressed young person of indeterminate gender, wearing trousers, two six-guns and a large knife at their hip - narrowed their eyes at him, a disapproving expression on their face. Hoshi noticed, and gently bumped shoulders with them.

“I know you recognise the name. It was a surprise, meeting him here, but a pleasant one. I hope you will all welcome him, as he has done for us, welcoming us to his home.” There was a slight warning note in her tone at the last, and she cast a glance at her companion, who wrinkled their nose and then returned their gaze to him, looking a little less annoyed.

As he drew closer, Hoshi stepped through the crowd, reaching out a hand to him. He took it instinctively, and she turned, still holding his, and gestured to the group in front of them. “This is my family. These are my friends,” she said simply, and he could not react to that disarming statement with anything other than pleasure. These were the people who held her heart, in a far deeper way than his romantic intent, and it would be remiss of him not to acknowledge that fact.

“This is Anna Hess, our de facto eldest sibling.” The tall blonde woman stepped forward, holding out her hand for a shake, and Hoshi released him so he could respond. Anna Hess was at least a head taller than him, her grip strong but not punishing, and Malcolm looked up into pale blue eyes that searched his countenance sternly. He forced himself to return that searching gaze with equanimity instead of defensiveness, and after a moment she nodded.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Reed,” she said, her voice deep but surprisingly musical, with only the faintest German accent.

“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Hess.” He inclined his head to her, smiling, and an answering smile twitched her lips before she released him and stepped back.

Hoshi was watching them closely, and looked both pleased and faintly relieved. The group seemed to relax somewhat, and Malcolm realised that the scrutiny of their ‘big sister’ had been some kind of test, which he’d clearly passed by receiving her approbation.

Janelle had come up to take Rostov in hand, and now introduced him to Anna, whose sharp eyes softened at sight of their clasped hands. She shook the young man’s hand vigorously, grinning at her shorter sister, whose eyes shone as they crinkled merrily with her answering beam.

“And this is Esk Parker, our defender.”

The smaller person in black stepped forward, their expression far less welcoming than that of Anna’s. About the same height as Liz, they moved with an innate grace and assurance that gave the impression they were flowing across the ground instead of walking. Malcolm reached out his hand to them this time, and they shook it with a strong, sure grip despite their hands being much smaller than his. He looked down and saw faint scars across their knuckles; coupled with their fluid movements, he made a few assumptions.

“What’s your preferred style?” Their expression turned to surprise and faint interest.

“Capoeira. Among others.” Their speech was short, clipped, staccato; quite unlike the rhythm of their motion. “You?”

He nodded. “I like to combine styles, so I have my own version of kick-boxing. Among others. Perhaps we could spar some time.” The interest in their expression grew, and they looked thoughtful.

“We all spar every morning before breakfast—works up an appetite.” Those shrewd eyes assessed him. “You’re welcome to look in on us at any time this week.”

Malcolm was intrigued. They all sparred? This would be interesting. “I’ll certainly avail myself of the invitation, Ms—do I call you Ms?”

For a moment they looked surprised. “I’d prefer to be called Esk, or Parker.” That gaze sharpened. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not at all. Some of our older inhabitants may prefer only one option; but we’re all used to calling Syd, Syd, instead of a title. I’m sure they’ll get used to it sooner rather than later, though I must caution that they may automatically tend toward the use of Ms. based on your height and size., until they are corrected.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d share my preferences to avoid too many such incidences, though I’ll understand that they may happen by accident.”

Malcolm nodded gravely. “I’ll be sure to spread the word.”

The third person was Kiva Blake, a tall redhead about Travis’ height, with freckled olive skin, hazel eyes, and an aquiline nose, to whom Hoshi referred as “our armourer” with no hint of sarcasm. Those eyes were shrewd but calm; Ms. Blake seemed to be reserving judgement while gathering as much information as possible to aid in her assessment.

Having greeted her and been cordially greeted in turn, Malcolm watched as she gestured toward a stocky, brown-haired man who carried a little girl of about two years old in his arms.

“Ted Fuller and his daughter Grace travelled with us,” Ms. Blake introduced. Her voice was low and husky. “He’s a gunsmith. We have been discussing joining forces, since we both appreciate weapons and know how to create munitions.”

Malcolm nodded and shook the man’s hand, while the child stared at him with large hazel eyes, a solemn expression on her face and a thumb in her mouth. “This is Grace,” Fuller said in his pleasant tenor. “Meet Mister Reed, Grace.”

She lifted one small hand and waved. “H’ro,” she mumbled, thumb still in her mouth. Malcolm nodded, striving to make his expression pleasant; from the look on her face, he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. While he wasn’t terrible around children, he still wasn’t entirely comfortable around them, and recognised that more often than not, they felt the same way around him - especially on meeting him for the first time. And young Grace Fuller seemed shyer than others he’d met.

So he tried to smile at her reassuringly. She blinked, and her little mouth moved as though she might have been on the verge of smiling; then she buried her face in her father’s neck, hiding her eyes, and Ted Fuller looked at him and shrugged apologetically. No words needed to be said; he shrugged in return, then stood back and watched the rest of the reunion.

The four had not travelled alone; they were accompanied by a number of other travellers in wagons of their own. The small wagon train was large enough to fend off random attacks, and small enough to keep moving relatively quickly.

Malcolm felt a presence at his shoulder and looked up to see Rostov at his side. The tall engineer nodded at him briefly before returning his gaze to Ms. Janelle, who grabbed his wrist, giving her trademark grin, and drew him back into the throng for more introductions.

The Brit watched, amused, as Rostov was shown off to a group of admirers; then a movement at the rear of the Conestoga caught his attention. Hoshi had left the group and walked to the horses hitched to the back of the wagon. Curious, he followed.

She’d gone up to a small, beautifully-proportioned mare, liver chestnut with a prettily dished face and a flaxen mane and tail. The large, soft brown eyes complemented her owner’s as Hoshi laid her forehead against the horse’s, stroking that fine, narrow mouth and nose. The mare pranced in place for a moment, then settled, her silky mane stirring in the light wind. Hoshi lifted her head and kissed the mare’s nose, and the little horse huffed a breath at her.

Malcolm could scarcely believe his eyes. In front of him stood a creature close to perfection, one he’d never thought to see in Enterprise. A pure-bred Arabian mare, her face dainty and sharply defined, nostrils larger than most; neck proudly curved, short-backed, slender-legged, perfectly proportioned.

“Your horse is an Arabian?” he finally asked, coming up behind Hoshi. She smiled over her shoulder, stroking the mare’s muzzle.

“She is. This is Stardust. I won her in a poker game two years ago. We’ve become great friends.”

Malcolm ran his hand wonderingly over Stardust’s gleaming shoulder. Her skin twitched under his touch and she swung that pretty head to face him. He scratched gently at her muzzle and she snorted again, then lipped at his hair. Hoshi laughed.

“She likes you.”

“She’s beautiful.” For a moment he hesitated, then decided—nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Has she been covered?” Hoshi cast him a curious glance.

“Not yet. She’s almost four, and she’s purebred; I have her papers, but I haven’t found a suitable stallion yet. Why?”

“Because I have an almost-five-year-old purebred Arabian stallion I haven’t been able to breed yet.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What are the odds?” He grinned suddenly.

“Astronomical, I’d say.”

“Mmhmm.” She slanted a wicked look his way. “And rather symbolic of their owner situation, at that. Without the virginal aspect, of course.” He choked and fell into a coughing fit while she smirked at having discomposed him.

It took him a moment to recover; still not quite able to speak properly, he gasped, “I—I wasn’t intending on that, but yes, I suppose it is.” Curse his brain for being unable to come up with a witty retort! And was he blushing?

Hoshi laughed outright at his stunned expression, then held out her hand for a shake. Malcolm took it numbly as she winked. “We’ll see what can be done.”

Chapter Text

Excitement was palpable in the air; Malcolm could scarcely fail to notice it as he made his way past the crowd at the saloon door. As though she was waiting for him - and she probably was - Anna Hess opened the door just wide enough for him to slip through. A would-be patron made to climb the stairs, and the tall blonde frowned at him so disapprovingly that he wilted under her stare and withdrew his leg sheepishly.

“Patience,” she said in her Germanic accent. “It will not be long now.” The man nodded, and Anna added in a warning tone, “Do not rush in like a pack of unruly dogs. My sisters and I have worked hard on setting up the saloon and anyone breaking anything or hurting anyone in a rush for the bar will answer to me!” She waited for confirmation via nods from those in front, before bestowing a magnanimous smile upon the crowd and firmly closing the door.

Waiting patiently for her to finish, Malcolm surveyed the saloon interior with an admiring gaze. The wooden bar gleamed a rich brown with many applications of rich linseed oil, while a variety of tables in different sizes were surrounded by equally-shining chairs. Oil lamps on the walls lent the room a golden ambiance, enhanced by the sparkling of glasses on the bar shelves surrounding the large mirror in its centre. A number of people in brightly-coloured clothing were lined up near the entrances to the kitchen and beside the bar, carrying trays; the wait staff, he presumed.

Then Hoshi came out of her office, closing the door behind her, and he felt his jaw drop. She wore red silk; flowing sleeves that ended in long black suede cuffs, and a skirt that swirled around her ankles like water. A sleeveless, ankle-length garment in red brocade and black suede topped the silk, its weight pressing down without impeding the lightness of the fabric beneath. The double-layered skirt flared with each step to reveal wide-legged black silk trousers flowing over supple black leather split-toed boots.

Part of her hair was caught behind her head by a smooth ebony hair stick that jutted out from either side, small glass beads hanging from one end. The rest flowed past her shoulders, red brocade ribbon resting on the silky strands, dark and glossy as a raven’s wing.

The over-garment was held in place by a wide black-and-red leather belt hooked together by an intricately-carved, star-shaped buckle; metal inlays on the belt held it rigid while depicting sun-like rays and smaller stars embedded into carefully-carved lines in the leather.

A piece of fine black silk was wound over the belt. Two matching swords were thrust into its two layers at her left side - one long, one short - their gleaming black scabbards beautifully lacquered with the golden silhouette of a crane in flight. The longer sword, thrust into the top layer of the silk belt, overlaid the shorter, which was tucked into the bottom layer. It was angled to allow for a quick draw without the smaller one getting in the way. The hilts featured a diamond-shaped pattern in black and red thread, allowing glimpses of a rough-looking hide beneath, presumably for better grip.

Hoshi’s lips had been carefully painted in a bright red that emphasised the shape of her rosebud mouth, while dark kohl swept across the tops of her eyelids into long swoops that elongated the almond shape of her eyes.

She came toward him with a smile, hands outstretched. Malcolm knew he looked a fool, mouth still agape as he stared at the vision approaching him, but right at that moment, he couldn’t care less. Frankly, he felt a bit underdressed, even though he was wearing one of his smartest suits, a charcoal grey with a burgundy-and-maroon paisley-patterned satin waistcoat over a spotless white shirt, with a silk burgundy cravat tucked into the top and a jaunty black town hat perched at a roguish angle atop his dark hair.

He swept the hat from his head and bowed, making Hoshi’s smile broaden as she let out a little laugh of sheer appreciation. Replacing his hat, Malcolm gave her a playful smirk. Her hands still reached for him, so he took them, folding the tips of his fingers around the tips of hers.

“You look exceedingly handsome, Mr. Reed,” she praised, her voice warm with laughter, eyes twinkling.

“And you, Ms. Sato, are a true vision,” he returned. “Never have I seen the like, and I doubt anyone else here has, either.”

“Are you sure it is I who am the vision, or is your attention taken by my swords, sir?” She gave him a mischievous, sidelong glance, and he almost burst out laughing, but managed to curb it. The mayor’s aide, laughing in public? Now that would attract untoward attention!

“I am, of course, enamoured of both; but more particularly, of a woman who not only carries such weapons, but—I have a feeling—knows how to use them.” He watched a pleased little quirk twitch the corner of her mouth, and added, “I presume, though, that said weapons will not be used against patrons, no matter how truculent they may be?”

Hoshi affected a shocked expression, her eyes widening innocently. “Never! Though I admit to expecting a certain amount of personal satisfaction once patrons are educated on what I can do with these; not that I would ever do so with a naked blade.” That little quirk again. “Still, the scabbards provide satisfactory inducement to behave in a more seemly manner, should they be applied vigorously enough.” Her eyes twinkled again and she squeezed his hands before turning to tug him toward the front, discarding her more formal way of speaking.

“I thought you might like to be seated with Trip, Travis, Mike, and Deputy T’Pol. Unless you’d prefer to sit with the mayor, sheriff, and the doctor?” The two tables stood at either end of the small stage, a small aisle formed by the other tables scattered behind and around them. Hoshi hesitated a moment. “I’m afraid I couldn’t put you against a wall, but there’s a pillar behind your table that may suffice.”

Malcolm smiled, touched that she had thought about him. “That’s perfectly fine,” he reassured her. “I won’t always get to sit in my preferred manner. And in any case, Travis is there to watch my back, and I’m quite sure the deputy wouldn’t allow anyone to sneak up behind me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze, and she smiled back, mollified.

As they approached, Travis caught his eye and grinned. “Malcolm! Saved you a seat.” He patted the chair between himself and the stage, which offered an excellent view of the platform and most of the room. Malcolm greeted his friend amiably and sat down, releasing Hoshi’s hand and politely tipping his hat to the deputy.

“I hope all is to your satisfaction?” Hoshi bowed slightly to her guests, casting her glance over the contents of the table; a pot of tea - presumably for the deputy - several glasses of beer, and a platter of sandwiches and small pies. She signalled for one of the wait-staff.

“Indeed, Ms. Sato,” returned T’Pol; the corner of Hoshi’s mouth quirked. Although she had invited the Vulcan to call her by her first name more than once, she had ceased reminding her upon realising that T’Pol called everyone by their surnames except Trip Tucker; she wondered if the deputy even realised that she did so.

“Then I must return to my duties. I hope you all enjoy the show.” With a quick smile and a squeeze of Malcolm’s shoulder, she instructed the waiter to take the Brit’s order, then moved to another table, where Monica was sitting with Syd, Amira, and—to Hoshi’s pleasure—even Mo Abdel. The flame-haired young woman was fairly vibrating with excitement, as was Syd.

“Ms. Hoshi! Are you expecting trouble?” Monica’s eyes went wide at sight of the weapons the petite woman wore. Hoshi chuckled.

“Not at all. Though you may see these put into action before long.” She winked and, having looked over their table and ensured that they had everything they needed, moved on to the next group of friends.

By the time she had reached the entrance, Anna had allowed through several more people, directing them to a table beside the door, where Evan Tanner was seated, an open lockbox at his side. Hoshi heard Anna’s firm voice as she approached.

"No weapons are allowed. Put them on the table to your right as you enter, and Mr. Tanner will take care of them for you. You may go in if you do so calmly, or I will be forced to hurt you."

“Malcolm Reed got to keep his weapons!” The speaker was lost in the crowd, and Anna simply glared.

“Malcolm Reed is the mayor’s aide, and one of those responsible for keeping the peace in town and beyond.” Hoshi had reached her sibling’s side, keeping her voice calm and low. “And, as The Trove is our saloon, it is at our discretion who we will allow onto our premises while bearing arms.” She rested her left hand almost negligently on the scabbard of one of her swords, and the muttering died down. Hoshi smiled. “Now then! This is an equal-opportunity saloon, and we already have some women of the town attending opening night. If you will allow other ladies through? I promise there is enough room for all to enjoy the show.”

So saying, she laid a hand on Anna’s arm as they waited for a group of young women to enter and seat themselves, before turning to her sibling once more. “We may open up fully, Anna. Let the show begin sooner rather than later.”

With a nod, Anna threw the doors wide, and those outside began to stream in. Anna stepped back to join Hoshi; Janelle, Esk, Liz, and Kiva joined them, and the newcomers were directed to Tanner’s table, or to the bar or tables if they didn’t appear to be carrying weapons. Hoshi made a mental note of the one or two patrons who seemed like they might be open to causing trouble, and from the way Anna, Esk, and Kiva tracked the same people with their eyes, knew that they were doing the same.

Finally the last stragglers made their way inside, and Hoshi nodded to her companions. Esk headed for Tanner, Anna joined Fletcher behind the bar, and Hoshi, Janelle, Liz, and Kiva made their way to the stage and the small group of performers sitting to one side. Kiva sat down at the piano, nodding to Ted Fuller, who was quietly tuning his violin and had a spare fiddle on a low table beside him. Janelle picked up her guitar, grinning happily; she was wearing a striking ensemble in cobalt that perfectly complemented her dark skin and eyes and showed off lovely shoulders that had completely captured the attention of Mike Rostov, who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

“All ready?” Hoshi had opening night nerves, and was trying not to let them get to her family and friends; she was an anxious enough person as it was. There was a lot riding on the successful and well-received opening of the saloon and its companion library. Of course the saloon would probably flourish in a town that had none, but she wanted it to be more than a watering hole, and a different type of saloon than the men’s club most of them seemed to be.

The smiles of anticipation that greeted her—also tinged by nervous excitement—reassured her. She had no doubts about her own skills, or that of her companions, but whether they would be appreciated by the townsfolk was another question. Casting a last glance around the room, she saw everyone seated, the wait staff moving easily among the tables, low chatter and laughter from every corner.

She felt Malcolm’s eyes on her, appreciative and expectant; as she looked at him, he gave her that quiet, encouraging smile he reserved for her, and she felt her nerves settle just a bit. With a deep breath and a last nod at each of her family scattered around the room, she lifted her skirts and climbed the few stairs to the stage, moving to the front.

The chatter began dying down, but not fast enough for Anna, who tapped the side of a glass until it rang. The room fell silent, and turned toward Hoshi. The weight of eyes on her made the blood roar through her ears as her heart sped up; for a moment she couldn’t speak as the crowd waited expectantly. And then she looked down at Malcolm, saw him smile and wink at her, and all at once her chest eased, allowing her voice to fall from her lips naturally.

“When my family and I first arrived in town, we were apprehensive, not sure if a newish town so far from other human settlements was the right choice for us, disparate as our family is. But within less than an hour,” her eyes moved from Travis to Malcolm to Syd before tracking to the mayor, who nodded at her, “we met people who were eager to help, to get to know us, to welcome us. And we knew we’d made the right decision, that Enterprise had the potential to become a place we could call home.

“It’s been a month of hard work getting to this point; but also a month of getting to know the town and its people, of making acquaintances and friends and colleagues.” Her eyes met Trip’s as he grinned and winked, before moving around the crowd, alighting on Rostov, Monica, the doctor, the sheriff, and finally the deputy, who gave her the tiniest nod. She looked up and let her eyes roam the room, the crowd, all of whom were watching her and listening intently.

“I speak for myself and my family—as odd a family as we may seem to be—when I say we’re glad to call Enterprise home. You’ve played a vital role in that, extending the hands of friendship and camaraderie. And we hope that The Trove Saloon and the Enterprise Lending Library will become as integral a part of this town as we ourselves have been welcomed to be.”

For a beat there was silence; then Malcolm, Monica, Trip, and Rostov began to clap, followed swiftly by the rest of the crowd, and cheers came from all corners. Hoshi smiled, and as she saw her family and friends deliver thumbs up, it turned into a full-fledged grin. She let the applause continue for another moment, then raised both hands to call for quiet.

“Anna Hess and Esk Parker have some house rules laid down, which I’m sure were shared while you were waiting to enter. Mr. Tanner will take good care of your weapons. We offer both alcoholic and non-alcoholic refreshments, delicious food provided by Mo Abdel, and the wait staff will be happy to help those who would prefer not to stand at the bar.

“Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!” With a final flourish, she sketched a bow to the crowd, and as applause erupted yet again, she made her way down the steps as Liz Cutler bounded up them and the music began.

The effervescent young woman had the crowd eating out of her hand as she bounced around the stage, sending her attention to every corner of the room. Hoshi grinned to hear Fuller’s fiddle keep a lively tune going, to the accompaniment of the piano and guitar; and then she was standing beside Malcolm, her hand resting on his shoulder almost unconsciously, as her gaze scanned the crowd.

“Good speech, Hoshi.” Trip’s drawl was accompanied by a mischievous grin and sparkling blue eyes; she wrinkled her nose at him.

“It is satisfying to know that Enterprise has welcomed you so effectively, Ms. Sato.” Deputy T’Pol’s voice was calm, as was her face. Hoshi nodded at her, lips quirking.

“Told you you’d fall in love with Enterprise.” That was Travis, brown eyes twinkling.

Hoshi grinned at him. “That you did, and you were right on the money.”

Fingers tightened on her hand, and she looked down to those mercury-bright eyes, their underlying sage lost in the lamp-light, but still gleaming up at her with pride and affection. Not a word needed to be said; her heartbeat calmed further and she flashed him a pleased smile; then her attention was claimed by Monica, and with a squeeze of his shoulder, she was gone.

The night wore on with laughter, music, and an air of comfort. Drinks flowed, and food catered by Mo Abdel was born around the room by the wait staff. Janelle Kelly sang two lovely ballads that had the room quiet as her audience concentrated, her rich voice soaring into the rafters to the accompaniment of Ted Fuller’s violin, her chocolate eyes roaming the crowd but always returning to Mike Rostov. Esk Parker performed a series of tumbling acrobatics that saw them whip that small body around the stage with boundless energy, the crowd gasping and cheering as they leapt and spun high off the ground; and then Hoshi took the stage once more.

Silence fell as she stood in the middle of the platform, head bowed, hands at her sides; and then she moved. One hand flashed to her sword, and in barely a second it was drawn, slashing through the air to be held out rigidly at a diagonal, pointing toward the ground. She froze in place once more; and then she began a deadly dance.

Her skirts and those wide trousers flowed around her as she went on the attack against invisible opponents; the sword spun, sometimes wielded in one hand, sometimes in two. Short pillars of wood lined each side of the stage; the crowd gasped as that keen edge sliced through them diagonally as though they were sticks of butter, almost negligent power in each stroke.

They gasped again as Hoshi threw herself into the air, skirts billowing as her legs arced, feet punching out before she landed, crouched on one knee. As she rose, the sword was tossed into the air. She took a step forward, one hand going behind her back as the weapon turned and fell; and a moment later it was snatched out of the air, Hoshi once again dropping to one knee, skirts flowing out around her like water so she rested in a puddle of red, lethal blade stretched out to one side.

Malcolm watched in open-mouthed admiration as she spun, sword wielded with smooth grace as she attacked, deflected, and occasionally leapt into the air in smooth motions that sent her flying across the stage in giant parabolas. She landed surefootedly each time, bringing up her weapon to block, parry, or land a sneak attack on her invisible opponents. She wasn’t silent; yells of defiance and battle cries left her lips as she leaped or landed or slashed.

Then a fast-moving shape somersaulted up the centre aisle and the next moment Esk Parker was on the stage, rolling into Hoshi’s path so she leaped over that dynamic form. For the briefest second the two were still, facing each other; and then a sabre was in Esk’s hands, and steel clashed against steel as they put on a fight the likes of which Enterprise had never seen.

Hoshi’s graceful movements were emphasised by her flowing garments, juxtaposed against the fluid motions of her black-clad adversary, whose soft trousers were tucked into boots of a similar design to her own. Together they spun, parried, attacked, the clear notes of metal striking metal ringing through the room, the audience silent except for gasps as Hoshi dropped to one knee, sword blade dropping over her shoulder to prevent a sabre blow from landing, or as Esk brought up their sabre to deflect a slashing swipe from their sibling that would have cut into their chest had it landed.

It was a stunning display of skill, speed, and martial artistry, choreographed to the highest degree. And when Hoshi finally disarmed Esk, flipping their sabre toward the rear of the stage so it spun and buried its tip into the wood, her own sword immediately turning so the blade whipped forward and stopped an inch from Esk’s throat, the room was so silent a pin could have been heard dropping.

Hoshi stepped back, breathing heavily, her slim, elegant blade re-sheathed in the scabbard in one swift move; Esk whirled their legs and jackknifed into a kneeling crouch with a powerful surge from their shoulders; and the crowd erupted, rising in a roaring wave as the two grinned at each other before Esk moved to the back of the stage to retrieve their weapon. Panting, the siblings clasped hands and bowed deeply to the crowd, forward, left, and right, lifting their joined hands triumphantly as the audience cheered and whooped.

Releasing Esk, Hoshi moved forward, grinning. “Friends, neighbours, fellow citizens; that concludes the entertainment portion of the evening. Thank you all for joining us in the opening of The Trove Saloon! As it’s now midnight, we are calling last round. I hope to see you at the opening of the Enterprise Lending Library in the afternoon.”

To a final round of applause, the two stepped off the stage and headed for the band. Their family was waiting to dispense hugs and congratulations; then Hoshi turned toward Malcolm’s table. As she got there, Mayor Forrest rose and climbed the stage stairs. Once again, Anna struck a clear note on a glass, bringing attention to the front of the room.

“As our gracious hostess put it so beautifully: friends, neighbours, and fellow citizens of Enterprise,” he began, and paused to look at Hoshi. “I’ll keep it brief, but as mayor, I’d like to extend our gratitude to Ms. Sato and her family for taking a chance on a new young town like Enterprise, and investing with a view to not only making the town a success, but a place to put down roots.

“Tonight you’ve opened our eyes to the value of unexpected abilities, and I hope we can put that kind of thinking behind making our little town a place of welcome to all. So, to the Sato extended family, I say: on behalf of all of us, thank you for making Enterprise your new home. Long may we all move forward together.”

To cheers from the crowd, Mayor Forrest raised the glass in his hand, eyes on Hoshi and her family, and bowed his head to her in a little salute. As the gathering followed suit, she returned his salute; and the party resumed once more.

“Hoshi! I had no idea you could do that! Come to think of it—” Travis’ voice turned thoughtful “—I had no idea that anyone could do that outside of circus performers. And I’ve never seen any of them using weapons.”

Hoshi chuckled, nodding gratefully at Malcolm and sinking into his chair as he rose and offered it to her. “Esk was born a carney, and when they joined our family, they took it upon themselves to teach the rest of us how to tumble. And then my late husband taught us his style of martial arts, which focused on bladed weapons.” She patted her scabbards. “These were inherited from my grandfather, Michio, before I went into foster care. I’ve always loved blades, and these are specific to the type of fighting Takashi taught us. It was a natural fit.”

“Those moves weren’t all kenjutsu, though,” Malcolm said thoughtfully, seating himself in an unoccupied chair he’d taken from another table and instinctively taking Hoshi’s hand. “I take it Esk incorporated some capoeira and taekwondo into your routines?”

Hoshi’s eyes twinkled at him. “Esk would make my life hell if I gave away their secrets, so I’ll simply say that they weren’t prepared to have us tied down to only one form of combat.”

“Can you all do that?” The blacksmith looked like he didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified. T’Pol merely looked vaguely interested. Hoshi let out a peal of laughter at Trip’s expression, then managed to collect herself.

“We can all fight, but only a few of us take it to that extent. For instance, Janelle and Liz mainly focus on defence, and don’t use the same methods that Esk and I do. Or even the same methods as Anna and Kiva, who’re the biggest and strongest amongst us.” For a moment she paused, and looked around the table. “I’ll offer a standing invitation to all of you to join us for our morning sparring sessions here in the saloon. They usually take place at sunrise, or six in the morning, depending on what arrives first. We do something different every day, to avoid getting stale and overconfident.”

Travis looked thoughtful. “I just might take you up on that.” He winked at Malcolm. “How about you, Mal?”

“I already have a standing invitation from Esk, and now that the saloon is open and the library due to be, I think I’ll take them up on the offer.”

Hoshi squeezed his hand and rose. “I’d better help close up; most people are leaving, given the hour.”

Trip and T’Pol rose, too. “That’s our cue to leave, too.” Trip shook Hoshi’s hand. “Thanks for an exciting evenin’. I’d venture to say that’s the best business openin’ Enterprise has ever experienced - an’ I’d be surprised if other towns have seen its like.”

Hoshi chuckled. “Well, this is our first saloon opening as a family, so Enterprise is the first to enjoy such performances. We won’t do them all the time, but they’ll happen again. Thank you for attending.” She and T’Pol nodded at each other, and the couple left, Trip’s hand solicitously at the deputy’s back.

Travis and Malcolm got to their feet. “We’ll help you close up,” Malcolm offered. As Hoshi opened her mouth to demur, he raised a hand. “Many hands make light work, as the saying goes. We’ll sort out the tables and chairs so you and your family can deal with everything else you need to do. It means you can close quicker.”

“Thank you both—and you, Mike,” she said, looking over Malcolm’s shoulder at where the handyman stood, holding Janelle’s hand. “We’ll gladly take you up on your offer.”

With the extra hands helping, clean-up was swift. Hoshi locked away the night’s takings in the heavy safe in her office and she, Janelle, and Liz left the saloon by the rear door to head across the road to their little house, accompanied by Malcolm and Mike, while Travis went back to the boarding house. Anna locked the door behind them, since she, Esk, Kiva, and the rest had bedrooms upstairs.

Hoshi paused on the little porch as Liz unlocked the door and she, Janelle and Mike entered the house. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

“I’d love to, but Travis has a stage run at sunrise, so we’d better get some sleep while we can.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll see you at the library opening?”

“Count on it.”

He watched her go inside the house and close the door before he turned and made his way down the steps. As he reached the bottom, he heard the door open and swift, light footsteps run out onto the porch.

“Malcolm!” The call was quiet, in deference to the lateness of the hour, but urgent enough to make him stop in his tracks and turn. The next moment his arms were full of silk-covered Hoshi, her arms around his waist and lips on his.

The kiss was enthusiastic, eager, and all too brief. As she drew back, her eyes sparkling, he tried to resume, but she chuckled and put a finger to his lips.

“That was just to let you know what you’re missing,” she teased, and winked. “More where that came from later.” Her hug was as exuberant as her smile; she must be riding the high of a successful opening party.

“When do I get to return the favour?” he asked, his voice low.

Hoshi cocked her head. “Maybe after the library opening; it won’t last all night, after all.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I can’t wait.”

Chapter Text

Nineteen months later: 14 March

“Hey Malcolm! Get a move on, or we’re gonna be late!”

“Hold your horses, Trip. We still have time.”

“Nope.” That was Travis. “We’re not gonna risk getting into trouble with Hoshi just so you can primp in the mirror. Let’s go!”

With a long-suffering but secretly pleased sigh, Malcolm grabbed his hat and took a last look in the mirror to ensure that he was up to scratch in his charcoal suit with its blood-red vest, cravat, and snowy white shirt. Giving himself a satisfied nod, he set the hat just so on his carefully-brushed hair and left his room in the boarding house for the last time.

Trip, Travis, and Rostov were waiting; Mike also at his best, in a smart brown suit with blue shirt and red tie, his wavy locks neatly trimmed and styled, boots shiny, and a sense of restrained excitement surrounding his solid frame.

“Looking good, Mal!” enthused Trip, holding in his laugh at the mock glare Malcolm sent his way.

“Don’t call me Mal,” he grumbled, only making his friends laugh harder until he smiled reluctantly. “Come on, let’s go then.”

The four trooped out of the boarding house door, heading for the town hall. Syd and Mo Abdel were nearing the building, carrying trays of food. Travis quickly stepped forward to help, while Trip opened the double doors to let them in.

“Need us to bring anything else across, Mo?”

“One more tray, and then we have some jugs of sun tea and coffee. Amira will show you.” Travis nodded and headed out, waving over his shoulder to his friends. The others turned back to the town hall, Trip clapping both his friends on the back as he followed them inside.

The space was simply but beautifully decorated, with five rows of six chairs on either side of a wide aisle, colourful bunting on the walls and chairs, and long strands of origami paper cranes below the bunting. Rostov looked pleased.

“Janelle’s going to love all the colours,” he enthused, long-lashed brown eyes crinkling at the thought. “And I can’t believe they managed to fold all those paper cranes in time.”

“Did you try to fold some?” Trip asked. “I’m good with my hands, and I kept messing up.”

Malcolm smirked and wiggled his fingers. “Clearly not so good with more delicate work then. I managed to fold a hundred.” He gave Trip the most supercilious look he could manage, trying to hold in his amusement; but the disgruntled glare the blacksmith threw his way, accompanied by a gesture most unsuitable to polite company - casting a wary eye over his shoulder to check if Mo could see him - made it impossible to stop a snort from erupting.

Walking to the front of the chairs, the Brit grinned at his friend, unable to conceal his delight, and Trip grinned back. “It’s gonna be a good day,” he predicted, putting his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.

“That it is,” agreed Mike Rostov; Malcolm remained silent, loathe to tempt fate, but he couldn’t stop his grin from widening. Not long now.

Syd and Mo were working at the tables against the wall of the room, carefully laying out pies, cold roast chicken, sliced roast meat, mounds of freshly-baked rolls, and fresh fruit, before covering the lot with a thin swathe of fabric to protect the food from insects before serving.

Guests started arriving, filling up the chairs on either side of the aisle. Travis returned and stood beside Malcolm, while Trip stood beside Rostov, all four grinning at each other like loons. Sheriff Archer and Deputy T’Pol took seats at the back, on either side of the aisle. Hoshi’s family scattered themselves among the chairs, not choosing a particular side.

Ted Fuller had his daughter, Gracie, on his lap, and she stared excitedly at the bunting on the chair in front of her, wanting to reach out and play with the bright fabric; after the third time Ted had to gently remove a piece of bunting from her little hands, Amira Abdel appeared in the aisle and tapped him on the shoulder, offering the child a peppermint stick to gnaw. He gave her a grateful smile, quietly reminding Gracie to thank her benefactor; the child looked at Amira with her wide hazel eyes, saying “t’ank ‘oo” in her soft little voice.

Kiva Blake, in dark green, auburn curls somewhat contained in a single long braid that looped around her head, slipped into the seat beside Gracie, taking charge of the little girl as Mayor Forrest came out of his office and walked over to his aide. Fuller left his seat, carrying his violin, and moved unobtrusively to the front.

“Ready, Malcolm?"

“Almost, sir,” he said, somehow managing to keep his voice calm. He’d glimpsed a flash of red from the corner of his eye, and his heart had started beating faster. Nearly time.

He and Rostov shared an eager glance and then, compelled by one thought, headed for the main door. “Malcolm, Mike! Where are you going?” Trip’s voice was faintly alarmed.

Malcolm turned, but kept walking backward, Rostov guiding him. “We’re not going to wait for them to come to us. We’ll walk in together.” He turned and hurried out even as Trip opened his mouth to object; by then the Mayor had called the guests to order, ignoring the murmurs as the two grooms disappeared through the door to one side of the hall. Mayor Forrest shook his head with an amused quirk of the lips; this wedding really was turning his usually stoic aide inside out.

Liz and Esk entered the room, the former in a butter-yellow dress, the latter in their ubiquitous black, albeit smartened with the addition of a satin waistcoat and red tie. Behind them came Monica, wearing simple mint green, half her hair tied back so that a riot of blazing red curls spilled over her shoulders; and Anna, following Esk’s example and dressed all in black, with a blue tie this time.

The others reached their places and stepped to either side of the aisle, preparing to take their seats in the front row; their expressions turned quizzical to find only the groom’s companions, not the grooms themselves, at the head of the aisle.

Outside the hall, Malcolm followed that flash of red he’d seen from the corner of his eye; as he rounded the corner, Rostov hot on his heels, Hoshi and Janelle were about to enter the hall.

“Hoshi, wait!” he called, as Rostov called to Janelle in turn. The two stopped and turned, looking somewhat bewildered. As she caught sight of Malcolm, Hoshi’s face cleared, and she let go of Janelle’s hand and reached out for Malcolm.

She was resplendent in red silk taffeta, dark hair up in a soft chignon, eyes kohled but lips free of colour. A stiff standing collar lined in white framed her slender neck, around which hung a filigree heart-shaped locket on a fine silver chain. Glossy red ribbon pulled together the front of a corset-like bodice, emphasising her trim waist, while white ruffles peeped from beneath the ends of elbow-length sleeves.

At her side, Janelle’s cocoa-coloured skin and large, dark eyes were offset by a jewel-toned cobalt, cut in a very similar manner to Hoshi’s. Her hair was gathered atop her head in a soft bunch of waves tied back with blue ribbon, wayward curls refusing to be tamed and popping out to frame her face prettily.

Malcolm raised Hoshi’s hands to his lips, kissing the ends of her fingers. Beside them, Rostov was doing the same to Janelle, though each couple scarcely noticed the other.

“You look—” Words escaped him. He wanted to say she was beautiful, but more than that; that seemed so surface-level. She looked like everything he’d ever wanted, ever needed, like a piece that would not only fill a hole, but bind with and improve existing pieces of himself, of herself—make those pieces something shared, something to be treasured. Those limpid brown eyes looked up into his, and crinkled at the corners. Hoshi raised his hands to her lips, kissing them in turn.

“You look like coming home feels,” she finished, her voice low.

Yes. The excitement and trepidation that had been keeping him on tenterhooks for the entire morning faded into simple, happy certainty. This, right here. This was what it was all about. What he needed, she needed, what they deserved. He leaned down and brushed her nose with his, resting their cheeks together. Beside them, Janelle and Mike murmured to each other in low voices before her lips touched his cheek and his forehead lowered to her shoulder.

The two couples stood and simply breathed in each other, taking this moment to synchronise, to harmonise and attune. Finally they drew apart, and a calm, fatherly voice intruded.

“It’s time for you all to come inside and take your vows in front of your loved ones.” Mo Abdel stood just outside the doors, his eyes twinkling as he gave them an all-encompassing smile. Without another word, he turned and walked inside.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm took one last look at Hoshi, then smiled at Rostov. Taking Hoshi’s left hand, while Rostov took Janelle’s right, the four stepped inside the town hall. Hoshi and Janelle gripped each other’s hands tightly, beaming at each other in excitement. The soft strains of Fuller’s violin began; and the four moved together toward the start of this new phase in their lives.

The ceremony concluded, the couples were being wished by their family, friends, and neighbours - as Hoshi had declared them almost two years before. Hugs, backslaps, squeezed hands and many kisses to cheeks; the four were overwhelmed in a tide of joy from all who knew and loved them. Even Malcolm submitted to being part of group hugs with his new wife, while Hoshi drew her new husband into as many group congratulations as she thought she could get away with.

“You changed rings?” That was Trip, looking at Hoshi’s hand.

“We did,” she confirmed, proudly showing off her new ring. It was a signet ring, this time cut to fit her slender fingers. The falcon, vine, and crossed swords over a shield remained. But now the falcon hovered over a tiny, eight-rayed star with a small sapphire in the centre.

She took Malcolm’s hand to show off to Trip how his signet ring had been updated with the star, too, the chip at the centre of his being a ruby. He finally had his ring back on his hand after almost eleven years, and it still fit perfectly. She raised his hand to her lips again, smiling at Trip as she did so.

A child’s voice cut through the hubbub surrounding them. “Take me to Unka Meow-komm, Daddy!” The Brit turned, still holding Hoshi’s hand, looking for his little fan.

After their awkward first meeting, Malcolm had made a point of greeting Gracie Fuller whenever he saw her - which was fairly often, since he was a frequent visitor to her father’s business that was shared with Kiva Blake. Whenever he visited, Gracie would be playing quietly in the corner, dark curls tumbling about her serious little face, hazel eyes huge. Depending on what time he got there, Ted Fuller would eventually stand up from the table to take Gracie to her small truckle bed for her afternoon nap.

One day, the discussion between Malcolm, Ted, and Kiva was more intense than usual as they pored over explosives designs, with minimum yields and force output the order of the day. His coat off and shirt-sleeves rolled up in the heat, Malcolm felt a little hand on his knee. Looking down, he saw the toddler rubbing her tiny fist into her eyes, a sure sign of over-tiredness; and instinctively lifted her onto his lap, gently bouncing his knee.

When both Ted and Kiva looked across the table at him and smiled, Malcolm looked down to find the little one curled into his chest, long eyelashes sweeping across sleep-flushed cheeks, little rosebud mouth half open, her curls already damp against her temples, as often happened with very young children. This time, his shrug to her father was more one of resignation and acceptance; he simply secured her on his lap a little more firmly, and continued the debate.

From then on, they became great friends, Malcolm being tasked with carrying around his little fan and letting her sleep on him when her father wasn’t available. He introduced her to his Arabian stallion, Cannonade, sometimes putting her on the saddle before him so she could learn how it felt to control a beast as big as a horse. She had already started learning to ride, thanks to his efforts, and often went out with them when he and Hoshi took Cannonade and Stardust for a ride.

Now, as her father put her down and she ran up to him, Malcolm knelt to get down to her level, Hoshi crouching with him. Gracie stared, wide-eyed, little hand reaching out to touch his bride’s cheek. “P’tty,” she breathed, fascinated.

“That’s right, she’s very pretty,” agreed Malcolm, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Hoshi. “Come on then, up you go.” He put out his hands and Gracie immediately went to him, hands on his shoulders but twisting in his arms, unable to tear her gaze away from Hoshi, resplendent in red. Malcolm put his head close to Gracie’s. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said confidingly, and she looked back at him. Secrets were a great intrigue.

“What izzit?”

“Do you know why she glows like that?” Gracie shook her head, fascinated. “Because she’s a star.” The child drew in a happily shocked gasp.

“A thtar?”

Malcolm nodded seriously. “Hoshi means ‘star’. So she’s my shining star.” Gracie clasped her own cheeks in delight, little mouth open in awe. Hoshi bit her lip and smiled, flushing at the warmth in her husband’s eyes as he pressed his lips to the youngster’s temple, gaze steadfast on her.

“Daddy!” Gracie reached for her father, who took her from Malcolm. “Aunty Hoshi izz a thtar!”

“I heard,” said Fuller, amused. “A very lovely, very happy star, to judge by that smile.” He leaned over and hugged Hoshi, Gracie hugging her from the other side and giving her a child’s smacking kiss on the cheek, before he reached out to shake Malcolm’s hand. “Be happy together, you two.” For just a moment his breath seemed to catch as a memory passed through his mind. “Enjoy every minute you can with each other.” Holding his daughter close, he seemed to recover. “Now, let’s give Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Hoshi some time together, Bug. We’ll get some food, and you can talk to them later, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” She turned one hand upside down and waved at them, blowing kisses.

“Save a dance for me, young lady.” Malcolm smiled, tapping the tiny hand with one gentle finger. “Aunt Hoshi and I will want to dance with our favourite angel before bedtime.”

As the afternoon wore on, they made their way around the room, talking, laughing, eating and drinking with their friends, their family. The gathering wasn’t particularly large, but it was filled with those important to them. Malcolm was quiet, as was his habit, but today, he allowed his infrequent smile to be seen more often. If ever there was a day for it, this was the day.

He and Hoshi had their dance with Gracie, holding her between them as she crowed with joy; the excitement of the day seemed to have infected her, too, as she was far less quiet than usual. Passed from one set of loving arms to the next, she ended up on Trip’s shoulders, then on Travis’, before being carried around under Anna’s arm like a particularly wriggly log, giggling madly all the while. Janelle fed her apple slices with th’vet and Rostov procured her sugar plums, secreting a few into her pockets. Eventually she found her way back to Malcolm and Hoshi, her tired head heavy on Malcolm’s shoulder as they went looking for her father.

“Bed time for this little Bug,” Fuller said, his voice low, as he took his daughter and carefully gentled her head down to his shoulder. Outside, the sun was setting; Fuller shook Malcolm’s hand while Hoshi laid a soft kiss on Gracie’s forehead and Malcolm trailed a finger down her small nose. Then he headed out and home, ready to pull of his boots and spend the evening relaxing.

Taking their cue, Malcolm and Hoshi, Janelle and Rostov started thanking their guests for attending. Mayor Forrest stepped to the front and cleared his throat loudly; Esk Parker put their fingers in their mouth and blew sharply, bringing all chatter to a halt.

“This has been a wonderful day of celebration and joy with our friends, as they take the next step in their journeys together. Pi Day, so they inform me, and the reason we had apple pies instead of cake today.

“And, as mayor and, more importantly, as their friend, I am taking this opportunity to outlaw any form of shivaree. Not only for them, in fact, but for anyone who chooses to get married in and around Enterprise.” Murmurs of pleased surprise could be heard; shivaree could be fairly unpleasant, even if the instigators tried to pass it off as community-building.

“Let them start their lives as newlyweds in peace - and ensure that my aide doesn’t get himself thrown in the brig on his wedding night.” Chuckles rang out around the room at that; no one would be foolish enough to cross Malcolm Reed, let alone interrupt his wedding night. His bride would be just as likely to get involved, with her sharp swords and oft-displayed ability to use them.

Still, Sheriff Archer noticed movement outside the hall, and chose to add his voice. “Now I know no one in this room would dare cause trouble with any of our newlyweds, whether or not their name is Malcolm Reed; but let me convey the same message outside and to the rest of town. Shivaree will not be accepted in Enterprise, and anyone wishing to carry it out should find somewhere else to play their pranks.” With murmurs of agreement within the hall, he listened for what was happening outside; the slight scuffling outside the door and footsteps hurrying away seemed to satisfy him, as he turned to the four young people.

“A long and happy life ahead for all of you,” he congratulated them, shaking everyone’s hand and clapping Malcolm and Rostov on the shoulders. “Now, why don’t you four head home?”

“You won’t get any argument out of me for that, Sheriff.” 

“Or me,” chimed in Mike, flashing his wide, friendly smile. Malcolm’s gaze had scarcely left his beloved vision in red all day, and the same could be said for Rostov, whose eyes had followed Janelle everywhere when she wasn’t close by.

With a few more cheery greetings and calls of farewell, the four left the town hall and made their way through the slowly gathering dusk, touched by the rays of the setting sun. Passing the Sheriff’s office on Main and turning at Cochrane Street to pass the saloon, they headed right into Armoury Lane to pass between the library and the rear of the saloon.

Hoshi looked up at the library; a second storey had been added for her and Malcolm, and this would be their first night in their new home. She turned and pulled Janelle into a tight hug.

“You deserve all the joy,” she whispered as she held her sister close. “Mike is a good man. Make each other happy.”

Janelle closed her eyes and tightened her grip on Hoshi. “So is Malcolm. I’m glad you found each other again. Now make it count.” Kissing her sister’s cheek, she hugged her fiercely before letting go and stepping back. Hoshi reached for Rostov, and Janelle for Malcolm; both men submitted, surprised but pleased, as their new sisters kissed their cheeks.

“You make her happy, Malcolm Reed, or you’ll answer to me.” Janelle’s tone was stern, but loving; Malcolm looked into her eyes and nodded seriously.

“It will be my life’s work,” he assured her.

Meanwhile, Hoshi stood on tip toe to reach the ear of her tall new brother. “She adores you, Mike. And I see how you adore her, in turn. Be happy. Be strong together. Love each other no matter what. That’s all I ask.”

He nodded, his face buried in her shoulder. “I will, always,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Letting go, the four smiled at each other as the couples reunited.

“Happy Pi Day, by the way!”

With a laugh, Rostov swept Janelle off her feet, then winked at Malcolm. “A little birdie told me that there might be something celebratory for Pi Day awaiting us in our kitchens.” He looked down at a laughing Janelle, who clung to his shoulders. “Let’s go and see what it is!” With a nod to the others, he headed up the stairs to the little house in which the sisters had begun their lives in Enterprise, and they vanished through the door.

Malcolm looked down at Hoshi, his lips quirked in amusement. “I wonder what kind of pie we’ll get?” She squeezed his arm, laughing.

“If I know Mo? Rhubarb season has just started, and he happens to know that's one you enjoy, since even he can’t conjure up cherries at this time of the year!” Malcolm licked his lips in anticipation, his mouth beginning to water.

He grinned. “I do like a good rhubarb pie, and Mo’s is one of the best,” he proclaimed. Then he swooped on his bride, swinging her into his arms as she gave a little squeal, clutching at him. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way her eyes widened as his biceps moved under her hands. “Let’s enjoy the first meal in our new home, shall we?”

“Let’s!” Her laugh was giddy, before her smile turned slightly mischievous. “I do believe it won’t be the only enjoyment to be had tonight.” Malcolm gave a shout of laughter as she winked wickedly; she pulled his head down to rub her nose along his, merriment in her eyes. “Take me home, hero.”

“I thought you’d never ask, minx.” She reached out and swung open the door, and Malcolm stepped over the threshold, carrying Hoshi into their new life.