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: Paramount owns 'em, not me. I am broke, and nobody's payin' me for this. Sue and all you'll get is a broken rubber band, a dogeared copy of "The Bartender's Guide," and 3 pieces of lint. Trust me, you don't want it.
Author's Note: Third in "Losing Grip" series. Follows "Are You Aware." This is the next-to-last story in the series. One more to go. There's a very brief reference to my gen fic "Beneath His Feet."
Summary: One night, and everything changes.
**
"They made a third. I cannot believe they made a third!" Malcolm Reed shook his head in amazement as he walked down one of Enterprise's hallways.
"Still stuck on those 'tactically inept' characters?" Travis Mayweather grinned as Hoshi Sato stifled a laugh behind her hand.
"I just can't believe it. Don't these people have any tactical sense whatsoever? Or is that expecting too much?" Malcolm slanted a half-smile at the helmsman.
A set of trotting footsteps came up behind the three crewmembers and a pair of hands descended on Malcolm's shoulders, causing him to lean backward to keep his balance. The small group came to a stop.
"Is Malcolm still all hot and bothered about the movie?" Trip Tucker's voice had a clear teasing note. "I woulda thought it had enough explosions even for you!"
Malcolm turned his head and looked up to meet Trip's laughing eyes. "Well...."
Hoshi piped up, "He just didn't appreciate the finer tactical points of 'Night of the Killer Androids III.'"
"What finer points? Analyze the situation with me. Two humans. One blaster. Over four thousand androids. The humans never had a chance. It's pure idiocy!"
Trip patted Malcolm's shoulder. "It's okay. It's just a movie. Don't worry about it." The group began to move again as Trip added, "Now, if it had been the two of us in there with that blaster against the bad guys, that would be a different story."
Travis let out a small whoop. "There's a movie I'd like to see. Hey Hoshi, do you think we could rig something like that up?"
Hoshi's eyes lit up with a frightening devilish twinkle. "I don't see why not. It's just video manipulation, after all."
Malcolm felt his eyes go wide as he held up his hands. "Oh no. You wouldn't."
"It's a bad thing to underestimate the Enterprise Ensigns. Am I right?" Trip was practically bursting with repressed laughter.
Both Travis and Hoshi nodded simultaneously, and Trip gave up the fight. Leaning against the bulkhead, he began guffawing, and Malcolm couldn't help reflecting how beautiful Trip was when he laughed. Even with his face red and pinched up like that, he was still lovely.
Malcolm gave an inner melancholy sigh. It had been hard, but he had finally resigned himself to the fact that Trip would only be a friend, nothing more. At least, that's what he kept telling himself, especially those nights when he still awoke with the ghost of Trip on his lips and fingers. Those nights came less often now, but Malcolm had a feeling that they would never completely leave him. It was the closest he would ever get.
Trip finally wound down and straightened, cheeks still a bright scarlet and tears giving his eyes a bright sheen. "Now that is what I call a good laugh!" Taking a deep breath, he added, "I needed one of those."
"Glad to help." Hoshi's grin only served to augment that still-existing twinkle.
They reached the turbolift at the far end of the hall and Trip posed a question. "Anybody wanna come over to my quarters for a beer? I've got a stash that I don't tell Chef about...it's for special occasions."
"And what exactly is your critiera for 'special occasions'?" Malcolm asked, in the slightly-edged tone he used when he suspected someone was skirting the rules.
Trip caught on right away and fired back in a mock-serious tone, "Whatever I come up with on the spur of the moment, Lieutenant."
"Very well, Commander."
Travis rolled his eyes as he turned to Hoshi. "Can you believe these two?"
Hoshi shook her head. "They are quite a pair, aren't they?"
"Take a note Malcolm, I'm writin' them up for disrespectin' a superior officer. Two superior officers." The comment was rendered somewhat ineffective by Trip's struggle to contain a second round of laughter.
"Duly noted, sir." Malcolm was having a hard time keeping a straight face.
Trip nodded before switching topics. "So, anyone comin'?"
Hoshi shook her head. "I'm going to have say no. I spent most of the day going round and round with the Universal Translator and I am bushed. Next time, okay?"
"Sure. Travis?"
Almost on cue, Travis broke into a huge yawn that he quickly clapped a hand over. Trip's eyebrows went up. "Okay. Malcolm? Don't tell me I gotta drink alone."
The wheedling tone in his voice made Malcolm smile. "All right."
Trip grinned back as he put a hand back on Malcolm's shoulder. "Good. We can plot out our next stage of universe domination."
"You've been reading too many of those comic books."
"Hey, wait a minute...."
Hearing the familiar argument getting started, Hoshi and Travis quickly waved and boarded the turbolift, leaving Trip and Malcolm bickering good-naturedly behind.
**
Malcolm sloshed his third beer from side to side, watching the liquid swirl around. He really shouldn't have had three beers, but right now it was the only way to blunt the growing awareness of the man across from him. Trip sat cross-legged on the bed and rolled his own third beer back and forth between his hands. Their conversation up to this point had been relatively light, including Malcolm sketching out his sister's horse show career and why he had never taken up the sport himself. Being thrown six times in one day had convinced the young Malcolm that he and riding were not meant for each other.
But now an odd silence had fallen, and Malcolm tried not to squirm under Trip's gaze. "Ya look better."
Startled, Malcolm replied, "Excuse me?"
"Ya don't look like you've been waking up in the middle of the night and goin' to the mess hall to snort tea."
Malcolm's lips quirked as he shook his head. "No, I haven't been. Thankfully."
"The dreams leaving ya alone?" Trip put his now-empty drink on the floor next to the bed and propped his arms on his knees.
"More or less."
Trip snorted. "Now there's a typical Malcolm answer."
Malcolm drained the last of his beer and set it on the desk before crossing his arms. "What sort of answer do you want?"
"How 'bout a truthful one?"
"I thought we already discussed this."
Trip snorted again. "That wasn't a discussion Mal, that was you refusin' to tell me anything."
"Trip, I told you, I just can't tell you." Malcolm felt panic rising inside, along with anger that their pleasant evening had taken this turn.
"Why not? What is so awful in those dreams that you can't tell me?" Trip leaned forward, that familiar irritation concern stamped all over his face.
Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe it was being caught off-balance. Or maybe the truth was tired of lying. "I'm dreaming about you."
That apparently was the one answer Trip was not prepared for. He blinked several times as his head cocked to one side. "Me?"
The panic was lost in the inner tide of realization. *The truth will out.* "Yes. Of you."
"Oh." Confusion stole over Trip's expression as his brain tried to sort out the implications presented. "What kind of dreams?"
Every muscle in Malcolm's body coiled and went rigid. Nothing, nothing ever created or spawned or dreamed of in this entire existence would pry the true answer to that question out of him. The shake of his head transferred down to his tensed shoulders, and they shook.
Trip unfolded himself from the bed and took the two steps to Malcolm's side. Kneeling down, he reached out with both hands, one landing on a knee, the other on a shoulder, the thumb brushing the skin of Malcolm's neck. "Mal, I....I want to know. What dreams?"
Convictions, determinations, resignations, and barriers all crumbled away, and Malcolm could not find the strength to deny it. He wanted this man, he needed him, he loved him. He could never fool himself into believing otherwise. It was a lost battle, and even Malcolm knew when to admit defeat.
Moving before he could think, Malcolm pushed forward and closed his mouth over Trip's. It was madness. It was tragedy. It was the one action Malcolm swore he would never take. Now that that oath lay shattered in the bittersweet taste of this kiss. Nothing would ever be the same. He would never go back. He had leapt, and he did not know if there was anyone to catch him.
Malcolm didn't know how long their lips touched, but he pulled away and lunged to his feet, turning his back to Trip for fear of what he would see. Wrapping his arms around himself, he said huskily, "Those kind of dreams. I've fallen in love with you, Trip, and that's why I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry."
The need for flight overtook him, and he ran out of the door as quickly as he could. He didn't know if Trip had said anything, had moved, or even reacted in any way. He just had to run. He didn't see the slate gray walls go by, didn't recognize the various crewmen he passed. The first information to register was the doorway to his own quarters. Barely breaking stride, he hit the control, dove inside, and shut the door.
Standing alone in his darkened quarters, Malcolm took several hitching breaths as his jaw began trembling. He had done it. He had thrown everything away in a single moment. With a terrible moan, he flung himself onto his bed and clutched at the blanket. *No. No. No.* The tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them escape.
*I'll put this all away. I won't think about it. I won't care.*
He knew it was a lost battle.
END
**
"Why should I care
If you don't care then I don't care
We're not going anywhere...." --Avril Lavigne, "Losing Grip"