Author: Lady Starblade -- [email protected]
Rating: PG
Pairing: T/R
Category: Angst
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Death-fic.
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.
Feedback: I know it may be shameful to ask, but feedback on this one would mean a lot.
Disclaimer: I own none of the Enterprise characters; that distinction goes to Paramount. I make no money from this writing.
Author's Note: I lost a very close friend of mine this past November. Here is my way of healing through writing.
Dedication: For Paul�I�ll miss you every day, my friend, but I know you�re still with me. I�ll try to remember you with laughter now instead of tears.
Summary: �And it's hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.�
**
It was strangely warm for a November night, but the soft rain pattering down on San Francisco kept its denizens undercover. Shut up in their bright little boxes, they ate, talked, and did whatever it is people do on a rainy fall night.
Trip Tucker found himself hating every single one of them. He stared past the water sheeting down the window�s glass at the wavering squares of light beyond. He knew his fury was irrational and unfair, but anger was not an emotion known for being predicable, especially when combined with grief. Now those two were an explosive combination.
Shadows flitted across the glass, and Trip�s head snapped back, his train of thought broken. He pulled in a deep breath through flared nostrils, reaching for an inner calm that wasn�t there. His head cocked to one side, then the other, but the tense, twisted muscles refused to relax. Frustration joined the emotion parade as he silently told himself to get his act together. How pathetic could one get? Flying all to pieces�.as a certain friend of his would say, that would be undignified.
Friends. The pain in his chest flared again. Ironic that, seeing as how a pain in the chest heralded the beginning of the end for his friend. Trip closed his eyes and breathed in again, trying to will the pain away. *Why did this have to happen?* He had been asking himself the same damn question over and over, and the fact that there was no answer made it even worse.
Jon was gone. Jonathan Archer, Trip�s best friend, had died suddenly four days ago. Trip didn�t claim to understand all of the medical jargon and the incomprehensible words being thrown around. All he really knew was that something had gone terribly wrong. Something had exploded deep inside Jon�s chest, and now he was gone. It had been fast, they said. Probably didn�t realize what was happening. But now he was gone. And there was nothing Trip could do to bring him back.
*It�s not fair!* Trip�s inner voice howled. And indeed it wasn�t. Enterprise had come home for good only two months ago. Now Starfleet was growing by leaps and bounds, building on Enterprise�s success�and Jon was gone. *It�s not fair!*
*But wouldn�t it be horrible if life was fair and everything that happened to us happened because we deserved it?* A familiar voice from a familiar memory penetrated through the haze of emotion. Trip couldn�t help a half-smile. *Just leave it to Mal to bring me back around.* He didn�t remember when his former crewmate had made the comment, but it had suddenly resurfaced at the most appropriate of times.
�Trip?� The soft question reached Trip�s ears, and he felt a strange laugh beginning to bubble up his throat. Hoshi Sato had once wondered aloud if the two of them were linked telepathically, the way they always seemed to know what the other was doing or even what they were feeling. *Who knows? Maybe she was right.*
Trip turned his head slightly and opened his eyes to see Malcolm Reed looking up at him with a blessedly pity-free expression. �Yeah, Malcolm?�
�I just wanted to make sure that you were all right.� There was no immediate embarrassed look, no stuttering backpedal, no flash of horror that that was the wrong thing to say. Nothing but an honest statement. The other man�s hand came up to rest lightly on Trip�s shoulder, and everything about Malcolm spoke of patience and calm. At this moment, Trip wanted nothing more than to bury himself in that calm, the one emotion he couldn�t find in himself.
Malcolm was the only person in this room, the only one among all these others gathered to remember Jon, that Trip would give the real response to. �I�m not.�
�I know.�
That was all. That and the slight tightening of the hand on his shoulder. This was what he needed. Trip knew that the storm of his grief would break around Malcolm�s solidity. He could rage, hate, cry, and grieve, and Malcolm would see him through. The knowledge battered against Trip�s already cracked fa�ade, and he could feel himself start to give way. *I can�t,* his pride stubbornly insisted. *I can�t break down now.*
Almost in response, Malcolm said in that soft, even tone of his, �You need to let go. You need to grieve. There is no shame in it.�
Startled by the answer to his thought, Trip retorted, �This from Mr. Stiff Upper Lip?� There was a harsh edge to his voice, but it seemed to dissipate before it reached Malcolm.
�I�ve learned the value in sharing, in trusting one�s friends to catch them. It�s easier when someone cares and is willing to share the burden. You taught me that.�
Shock welled up in him then, and Trip knew he was giving himself a bad case of emotional whiplash. �I? Taught?� He couldn�t seem to keep himself coherent. But another, smaller part of him whispered, *Yes I can�.I can tell him�.everything�.*
Malcolm�s lips lifted in a gentle smile. �Yes, you did.�
Feeling like he was moving underwater, Trip turned to fully face the other man and lifted his hands, wanting to reach out to that calm, needing it, needing Malcolm�.
�Come �round everyone, and raise your glasses to the memory of Jonathan Archer!� The powerful voice rang out, freezing the moment in time, then shattering it. Trip took a stumbling step backward, then groped wildly for a drink someone else was shoving in his direction. His fingers grasped the smooth glass so hard he was surprised it didn�t break. His feet moved of their own volition, carrying him forward into the group of people, his own voice joining in with the cry of �to Jonathan Archer!�
The sound drowned out Malcolm�s soft cry of another name.
***
Trip�s hands were balled into fists, held tightly against his legs lest they lash out and destroy something. He walked swiftly toward the tall glass doors that led to the building�s balcony. The rage he had felt earlier had returned with a vengeance, and it rose up, threatening to choke him with its violence.
*These bastards don�t know him. They don�t care.* His anger was directed at the mob of people, all standing around and acting like Jon had been their best friend. *I am his friend,* Trip thought. *I am his friend, and so are Malcolm, Hoshi, and Travis. Even Phlox and T�Pol are his friends. Hell, Porthos is more of a friend to Jon than these people!*
Trip finally reached the doors and flew through them, exercising every bit of control left in him to shut the door carefully instead of slamming it. Now sealed off from the cause of this rage, he felt it immediately begin to ebb, sinking down to a manageable level. He watched the rain continue to fall, splashing down onto the part of the balcony exposed to the sky. He focused in on the sound, trying to employ what little he had learned from T�Pol about mediation.
*Dammit Jonny, this hurts. Why the hell did this have to happen?* There was, of course, no answer, and Trip felt the hot tears collecting in his eyes again. But he would not let them fall.
The door whispered open, letting the flood of sound out into the night. It swung shut again before Trip had finished turning around. A familiar form was outlined in the light seeping through the door�s gauzy curtains. Malcolm.
�Go away, Malcolm.�
As if he hadn�t heard, Malcolm said, �Hoshi saw you stalking out here. She and Travis were about to come after you.�
�And I�d tell them the same damn thing.�
�But unlike our valiant lieutenants, I will not take that as an order.�
Trip felt his eyes narrow. �Malcolm, leave me alone.�
�No.� The voice was still calm and patient, but there was underlying steel to the word. From long experience, Trip knew Malcolm would not yield.
�How did you get so stubborn?� Weariness laced his own voice now as Trip acquiesced.
�That�s something else you taught me.� The silence lay still until Malcolm continued. �Trip, please let me help.�
The tears that were now swarming Trip bottled up his throat and reduced his words to a throttled, �How can you?�
The moment of silence had the feeling of being perched on a precipice that they were both balanced on. Trip could only hold still and wonder�.
�I love you. Is that enough?�
Trip�s breath flew out of him, taking the tears with it. A sob escaped, and he felt like he had fallen over that edge and kept on falling�.
Until Malcolm caught him. Burying his face in Malcolm�s shoulder, Trip cried. He poured out fury and grief, finally letting the emotions reign. His world narrowed down to the anguish and the man holding him through it. The storm raged, and Malcolm held steady.
Time ceased to hold meaning, and Trip�s eyes hurt by the time the tears ran dry. His breath still came in rapid gasps, wildly out of tune with the even rise and fall of the chest he was pressed against. He tried to match his own breath to that rhythm, and finally he felt some of that elusive calm seep into him. He gradually became aware of the soft voice against his ear, speaking words he couldn�t make out, but the sound soothed his tattered psyche, and his mind clung to it as surely as his body clung to the other.
In a sudden flash of realization, Trip knew that if anything were to happen to Malcolm, he would be lost. It would tear the very soul out of him. The thought knifed through him, and his grip on Malcolm tightened.
Finally, the words began to make sense. �I�m here. I won�t leave you. I am here.�
His voice down to a rough whisper, Trip said, �But you won�t be forever.�
�I will be here as long as you want me to be.�
�I want it to be forever.� There. He had said it. Malcolm knew.
�It can be.�
The matter-of-fact pronouncement brought fresh tears to Trip�s eyes, and he pulled away enough to swipe at them with a hand. He took the opportunity to look closely at Malcolm, only to be stunned at the tears on his face.
That famous half-smile appeared. �He was my friend too, Trip. I don�t claim to be as close to him as you were, but I miss him too.�
Trip lifted his hands again, this time actually touching Malcolm, holding his head gently between them. �I know.� Then the heads touched, and the sorrow shared became the sorrow halved.
Then, silence. This time, a more complete silence. Both men looked up and out to see the last few drops of rain fall. The steady rain had stopped.
Trip could almost hear the same thought spinning around Malcolm�s head. Finally, he voiced it. �Do you think someone just told us somethin�?�
Malcolm shook his head slowly. �I don�t know.�
�That�s the first �I don�t know� I�ve heard from you all night.� Trip felt odd cracking a joke, but it seemed right. The pain was still there, but it was muted somehow, not as sharp and piercing.
Trip returned his eyes to Malcolm, staring at him until the other man realized it and met the look. �What?�
�It is enough. And I love you.�
�I know, love. I know.�
END
***
�So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
�Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain�.� --�November Rain� by Guns �N Roses