Author: Lady Starblade -- [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: T/R
Category: "Hell-If-I-Know"
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Nope
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.
Feedback: <in best Roger Rabbit voice> Pppppleeeease!
Disclaimer: Hahaha.....I don't own 'em, Paramount does. And someone's making a lot of money off of Enterprise, but not me, and not with this fic.
Author's Note: Fourth and last in "Losing Grip" series. Follows "If You Don't." Deep-a-deepa-a-deep---That's All Folks!
Summary: Dreams drive Malcolm toward his worst fear.
**
His heart thundered in his chest, and Malcolm Reed found it nigh impossible to catch his breath. It whistled through his raw throat as he sprinted down the hallway, arms and legs pumping furiously. Thankfully, there was no one to see him at this hour of the night. He hadn't even stopped to pull on a uniform or even a robe over his sleepshirt and shorts. His bare feet slapped the deck in a strange melodic rhythm, broken only by the skitter-stop of turning corners.
The nightmare chased him down the corridor, its claws still reaching for him. Never in his life had he experienced such a vivid and horrific dream. Most of the images just jumbled through his head, but one scene stood out with razor-edged clarity. It was the image that had sent him, wild-eyed and breathless, on this insane run.
He had dreamed of Trip Tucker, eyes blazing with hatred, standing in front of him while clutching a phase pistol. In a voice dripping with bitter fury, he had said, "I can't believe you did that. That was so damn disgusting. How dare you? I'm fucking filthy now." And then he had turned the pistol inward towards himself and pulled the trigger. Trip had vaporized in agonizing slow motion, screaming the entire time.
Malcolm had woken with a scream of his own, bolting upright in his bed, slicked with sweat and tears on his face. Even before the echo of the scream had faded, he had been on his feet and running. He had to know, had to convince himself that it had been a nightmare, that Trip had done no such thing. Trip would never do that. Malcolm had managed to avoid Trip since last night's kiss, but in his mind Malcolm knew Trip would never do that. Malcolm's heart, on the other hand, had demanded proof. And for the first time in his life, Malcolm listened to his heart first.
Coming to a sliding stop outside of Trip's door, he palmed the call panel repeatedly. His breath still came in rapid gasps and his pulse roared in his ears. *Please answer,* he thought frantically. *I need to see you're all right."
The door slid aside, and an unhappy, sleep-rumpled Trip squinted out into the brighter lights of the hall. "Wha?" His voice was a low growl, but somehow it still sounded like music to Malcolm's ears. Trip was alive. Trip was fine. And Trip was angry at being woken up.
Then Trip's eyes went wide, and for the first time, Malcolm thought about what he must look like; in shirt, shorts and nothing else, hair practically on end, out of breath, tear tracks running down his face, and eyes crazy with a wild, lost stare. "God Mal....what the hell?"
The adrenalin that had propelled him evaporated, and Malcolm began to slump against the doorjamb as his knees went weak. "I'm sorry..." he gasped out.
Trip reached out and grabbed Malcolm's arm, hauling him into the dim quarters behind him. Half-dragging him across the room, Trip settled Malcolm onto the bed, and Malcolm felt dizzy as the scent of Trip overwhelmed him. Trip grasped Malcolm's chin and tilted his head up. Those fingers felt like fire. Worry bordering on fear looked down at him, and Malcolm could only blink tiredly in response. "I'm callin' the Doc." Trip let go and spun to make for the comm unit.
From somewhere, Malcolm summoned the energy to latch onto Trip's wrist. "No, don't. It's fine."
"Like hell it is!"
"No, please, don't. Just let me....collect myself." Malcolm tried to channel as much reassurance and confidence as he could through the words. Trip's face was still fixed in a disbelieving mask, but he slowly nodded and Malcolm let the wrist slip from his hold. His chin fell to his chest and he took several deep, slow breaths. The bed underneath him moved slightly as Trip sat next to him.
"A nightmare." It wasn't a question, just a plain statement of fact.
Malcolm turned his head minutely in Trip's direction. "I've never had one so bad before. I woke up screaming."
In a neutral tone, Trip said, "By the way ya came tearin' down here, I'm guessing it had something to do with me."
Malcolm nodded again. "Yes."
"What happened?"
"Do you really want to know?"
The silence that followed was a weighty one, and Malcolm's shoulders slumped even more beneath it. Then came the whispered, "Yes, I do."
"I dreamed that you killed yourself because of what I did last night. You said that I was disgusting and that I had made you filthy. And then you vaporized yourself. You were screaming..." His voice broke and he had to work to swallow against the lump in his throat. It seemed even more horrible in the telling, but Malcolm had no resistance left in him. Trip could ask anything of him now, and Malcolm would not be able to refuse him.
A sharp intake of breath was the only sound Malcolm heard. Then he felt a hand slide over his and hold tight. "Malcolm. Look at me." Slowly, painfully, Malcolm lifted his head to meet Trip's eyes. As in the dream, they were blazing, but not with hate. Not with anger or disgust, either. But they were so bright, they seemed to burn away all of the shadows in the room.
Words rushing out of his mouth, Malcolm said, "I just want to go back. I just want to put everything back the way it was."
"Is that what you really want?"
Malcolm shook his head, confusion penetrating through his mind's fog. "No. But anything would be better than knowing you hate me."
Trip leaned his head forward, gaze boring into Malcolm's. "I don't hate you. I could never do that. There is nothing you could ever do to make me hate you."
In a choked whisper, Malcolm asked, "Even fall in love with you?"
Trip reached over with his other hand and lightly trailed a finger from Malcolm's temple to chin. "Of course not. I just didn't expect that. Kinda surprised me."
"It surprised me as well. I never meant to..." Malcolm's confusion was joined by a strange sensation; hope.
Trip's eyes took on a speculative cast. "It was probably a good thing you ran. Gave me time to think instead of just reactin'. And I thought about it. All night. Your dreams ain't got nothin' on your kiss."
Feeling completely lost and vulnerable, Malcolm breathed, "And what did you decide?"
"That I do love you. I just don't really know how. I've never been attracted to another guy before, and I don't know how to deal with it."
All of the air left Malcolm's lungs in a rush, and he began to sway as the meaning hit him. Trip's expression became worried again. "Mal? Are you goin' to pass out?"
An unexpected laugh burst from Malcolm's lips. "The damsel in distress swooning into the knight's arms. How appropriate. Oh God." His free hand came up to run through his hair as Trip gave him an odd look.
"You ain't exactly a damsel." Trip said cautiously.
"And you're hardly a knight in shining armor. Dented armor, maybe." Giddiness flooded through him, and Malcolm found himself lightheaded with dawning joy.
"Hey, it's better than nothing!" A cautious smile began working across Trip's face at the familiar banter.
"You're better than anything. Infuriating, but somehow you're worth it."
Trip rolled his eyes in the general direction of the ceiling. "Oh, what am I getting myself into?"
Malcolm sobered immediately and fixed Trip with an intense stare. "Are you sure? You're not just...?" The question hung in the air as Trip turned his body to face Malcolm squarely.
"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't nervous and a little scared. But I know....dammit, I know I love you. I know I want to be with you. Somewhere along the line, you got under my skin, and I know I'll fight to keep you. Let's just....move slow, okay? I need to get used to this."
"Used to..." Malcolm cast around for a phrase "....male companionship?" He made a face at his word choice. *Articulate. That's Malcolm Reed, all right.*
After a moment of shock, Trip's grin pulverized the last of Malcolm's fear. "No...that sounds more interesting than anything else." Malcolm felt his jaw drop and Trip laughed at him. "No, I've just gotta get used to having such an intoxicatin' partner. Gotta kick myself a little for being so dense, too." The smile faltered a bit. "I was thinkin' about the last few months, and I'm sorry for what I've been putting ya through. I just didn't know what to do."
Malcolm took Trip's other hand and put them together, then surrounded them with his own. "It's all right now." He looked up, knowing that there was no lost look in his eyes now. "Everything is."
Trip leaned in even closer, stopping unbearably close to Malcolm's mouth. "Can we try this again, without any interruptions this time?"
**
Malcolm woke up and it took his eyes several seconds to focus. This dream had been the worst. He dreamed that he had gone to Trip and discovered that he was loved in return. They had kissed, touched, and talked for several hours before falling asleep in each other's arms. And now, to wake and find it was all a dream....
The movement behind him startled him, and he almost jumped when an arm appeared across his waist. "You twitch in yer sleep, babe, and there ain't much retreatin' room here." The sleepy drawl in his ear was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
Turning his head, he quietly said, "Sorry."
"S'okay. Go back ta sleep." Trip quickly followed his own advice.
Malcolm gently took the hand of the slung arm and pressed his lips to it before snuggling back into the other man's body. Now he knew that those loving dreams would never haunt him again.
They were coming true.
END
**
"Everything wasn't okay
I was left to cry there, waiting outside there
Burning with a lost stare
That's when I decided...." -- Avril Lavigne, "Losing Grip"