Author: Lady Starblade -- [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: T/R
Category: Humor/Romance
Spoilers: Nope
Warnings: Nope
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.
Feedback: Yes, please. <Bambi eyes>
Disclaimer: I wish I may, I wish I might, but I don't own Enterprise or its denizens. And while I'm at it, I wish I got paid for this, but I don't.
Author's Note: Answer to Nijijin's err, what are we calling it? The "Malcolm Boo-Boo" Challenge? Havens know I've mangled Malcolm plenty...time to have some fun with it. Worked as many of my favorite body parts into it as I could, too. <wink>
Summary: Malcolm's just having one of those days.
**
Malcolm Reed sat on the floor of the Armory, both hands clamped over his left shin. He rocked back and forth several times as he muttered the vilest curses he could think of under his breath. Unfortunately, the only one that immediately sprung to mind was the ineffectual "stupid, good for nothing." It became worse when the woman hovering over him believed the phrase referred to her and acquired a frightened, hurt expression.
"Lieutenant, I am so sorry, I didn't see." Her voice was tight with worry, and Malcolm finally uncoiled his hands and rubbed the offended shin.
"It's all right, you didn't know I was standing behind you...." Getting back to his feet with the crewman's help, he waved her back to the torpedo loading rack. She nodded, then crawled back underneath to resume turning a large fastener with an equally large wrench. The long handle darted out several inches from the bottom edge on each swing, and Malcolm quickly took a step back. That was what had banged painfully into his shin. He flexed his leg twice as he darted his eyes around the Armory, sending his subordinates' full attention back to their own individual tasks.
This day was not getting off to the best of starts.
**
This time, several full-fledged "dammits" escaped as Malcolm shook his arm hard, trying to restore some feeling into it. A painful tingling sensation ran up and down his right forearm, courtesy of a hard hit to the part of his anatomy more commonly called the 'funny' bone. Although right now Malcolm could discern nothing funny about it.
He and another man had been carrying a crate from one end of the room to another, and Malcolm hadn't turned fast enough, resulting in an arm-to-ladder railing collision. He supposed he should be grateful he hadn't dropped his end of the crate on his foot. With the way his luck seemed to be going today, it wouldn't have surprised him. As it was, his arm slowly began to feel normal again.
Then he realized the Armory had gone quiescent again, everyone looking over, down, and up at their chief. Injecting as much meaning into a single word as he could, Malcolm said, "Well?" Immediately heads and hands bent back to their work.
**
With a yelp, Malcolm pulled his left hand back from under the tool box lid that had just decided to snap shut on his hand. He shook the hand a couple of times, then tilted it into the light of the nearby instrument panel to inspect the damage. All of the fingers were still there, but the fingernail on his index finger had been torn almost completely. And not only that, but it *hurt.*
Pinching the hangnail between two fingers of his other hand, Malcolm tugged gently, and the whole thing ripped off. He yelped again, then saw at the small welling of blood sluggishly oozing from what was left of the nail. He debated the hygienic merits of sticking the finger in his mouth, but decided that didn't seem like the recommended treatment. He sighed and scooted backward until he had enough room to stand up.
A surreptitious look around the room confirmed that everyone was busy and hadn't noticed his little accident. As casually as he could, Malcolm sidled over to the wall-mounted first aid kit that Phlox had insisted be installed in as many areas around Enterprise as possible. Moving quickly, he snapped the cover open and poked inside until he unearthed a short length of quick-seal gauze. He wound it snugly around his finger and shut the cover.
It was a unsuccessfully concealed giggle that warned Malcolm that his activities had not gone unnoticed. Turning slowly and deliberately on one heel, he fixed his now-attentive staff with a cool, calm stare. After almost two years working in the Armory, the crewmen knew what that look meant. In less than the blink of an eye, they had returned to their work.
**
Malcolm sighed heavily as he leaned back in his chair at one of the small two-person mess hall tables. "I don't know what I did to get the universe so angry at me today, but it is certainly taking its revenge for something." Eying his still-wrapped finger, he added, "And then some. And it's only noon."
Hoshi Sato hummed in sympathy from across the table. "But the day can only get better from here, right?"
Malcolm shook his head. "I wouldn't count on it." He paused to take a gulp of his drink.
He had expected it to be hot; the steam coming off the top had been a giveaway. But this...this was so hot he swore he could feel the top layers of his tongue being melted away. His only thought was to get the liquid out of his mouth as quickly as possible.
It had to be the universe's influence that kept him from spitting it out back into the cup. Instead, the universe forced the liquid to make its appearance in a dramatic spray that arched across the table. Hoshi tried to duck, but it was to no avail. Her face and the front of her uniform were now completely coated. She sat there, her eyes squinted shut and lips puckered.
Malcolm almost dropped his cup, but recovered enough to set it down. "Oh my God, Hoshi, I'm so sorry..."
Hoshi groped blindly for her napkin, and Malcolm quickly leaned over and pressed the square into her hand. As she ran it over her face, he became aware of a familiar sensation. He didn't need to check to know the entire mess hall was staring at the two of them. He resisted the impulse to crawl underneath the table, clinging to the last shreds of his dignity. "Hoshi...."
Her eyes finally opened as she dabbed hopelessly at her uniform. "It's all right, Malcolm, it was an accident. I'll just change before I head back up to the bridge." She shot him a smile as she stood up. "It's okay."
As she passed him, she patted him on the shoulder and said quietly, "But maybe the universe is out to get you after all."
Malcolm could only agree.
**
It was with great trepidation that Malcolm returned to the Armory. Everything looked normal, but he could almost feel the presence lurking, the old-fashioned gremlins ready to spring on him again. It was only a matter of time before they struck again. It turned out he didn't have to wait long.
Three steps, and his right foot connected hard with something quite unyielding. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the bolt of pain shooting up his leg. He settled for a barked "Shit!"
He looked down to see a large, heavy-duty tool kit sitting at his feet. "Who," Malcolm said calmly through clenched teeth, "left that there?" A very guilty-looking young crewman skittered forward, then used both hands and a lot of horsepower to haul the box back over against the wall.
Malcolm didn't need to pull off his boot to know that he had just stubbed his toe. He curled the toes inside the boot, grimaced, then glanced back up to see his staff rushing back to their various posts.
*This is getting ridiculous.*
**
*Just one more hour.* One more hour, and Malcolm could escape back to his quarters. Or, more properly, the quarters that jointly belonged to himself and Trip Tucker. He could only imagine the sadistic pleasure his lover would get out of this day's adventures.
Malcolm hadn't managed to do anything else to himself since the stubbed toe, but instead of being reassured, the feeling that the universe was saving the best for last was only building. He actually thought twice before crawling into one of the torpedo tubes with an alignment scanner. Shaking the silly thought aside, he climbed inside and began his work. Ten minutes passed with no difficulties. Then, the universe made its move.
There was perhaps a foot of clearance between Malcolm's body and the ceiling of the tube. His right hand held the scanner, his left braced against the wall. But when he reached back over his head to take the final reading, his left hand transferred itself to the ceiling. By some strange contrivance, the bandage snagged on a wire, and when Malcolm looked back, the wire sparked. He reacted by pulling his hand back as fast as possible.
Given the small amount of maneuvering room, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that the hand crashed into his face. And somehow, one of his fingers jammed smartly into his left eye. Clapping the hand over the eye, Malcolm focused the remaining eye on the ceiling. *I cannot believe it.*
After several seconds of shock, Malcolm hauled himself out of the tube as quickly as he could manage with one hand. His feet hit the deck with a loud clang that drew everyone's attention. Once he saw that every person was focused on him, he said loudly, "I am going to Sickbay. Forty minutes until end of shift. Use them wisely." Without another word, he strode out of the Armory with as much poise as he could summon.
He could've sworn he heard the explosion of laughter even through the closed doors.
**
Malcolm hurried down the corridor as fast as possible. His foot still throbbed, his finger still burned, his shin ached, his arm still tingled, and his now blood-red left eye protested every time he blinked. At least his tongue had stopped hurting. All he could think about was getting into a quiet room that wasn't out to get him.
Finally reaching the welcome sight of his door, he hit the switch and walked through it. The room was empty, and Malcolm felt disappointment wash over him. He found himself needing a sympathetic hug, but Trip was nowhere to be found.
Until a sliding door and a cheerful, "Hey!" from the direction of the bathroom made Malcolm jump. He winced as his weight came back down on his sore foot and shin.
Trip's head poked around the corner. "Hi Mal, I was wondering when...." The greeting died as Trip took a closer look. "What the? What the hell happened to you?"
Sighing, Malcolm replied, "Long story."
"Wait a sec." Trip's head disappeared. Several seconds later, the whole man made an appearance, clad in shorts and shirt, rubbing a towel over his still-damp hair. After tossing the towel at the clothes hamper--and missing, Malcolm noticed with a flare of exasperation--Trip stepped closer and examined Malcolm closer. "Do I even want to know?"
Malcolm sighed again. "I had a rough day."
"That I can tell."
A semi-pleading note worked its way into Malcolm's next words. "This may sound silly, but can I just have a supportive hug?"
Trip grinned and wrapped his arms around Malcolm. "Of course, darlin'. I shoulda thought of that anyway. But you just surprised me, comin' in looking like you've been trampled by a herd of berserk llamas."
Malcolm leaned his head on Trip's shoulder. "Llamas?"
Trip nodded sagely. "Saw it happen once when I was a kid."
Echoing Trip, Malcolm asked, "Do I even want to know?"
Laughing, Trip replied, "Maybe someday. Now, I want an injury report here. You did go and see Phlox, didn't you?"
"Yes, but not until injury number five."
Trip twisted his head around to look at Malcolm's face, trying to see if he was kidding. "Five? What the hell were you doin' down there today? How did you get nailed five times?" Trip's expression suddenly began to contort, and Malcolm knew he was trying to keep the threatening smile at bay.
"Would you like them by degree of severity or in chronological order?"
Struggling to keep a straight face, Trip said, "Oh, let's go with chronological."
Malcolm nodded, slipped away, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Rolling up his left pant leg, he pointed to the bruise on his shin. He took some satisfaction in the slightly concerned look developing on Trip's face. "This was the first. Crewman Alonin hit me with a wrench. By accident, of course."
"Of course." The smile was twitching Trip's mouth again.
"Second was the hit to my arm." Rolling up his right sleeve, he displayed the less-impressive bruise on his forearm. "A direct hit, I might add, to the inappropriately-named 'funny' bone while carrying a crate."
"And you didn't drop it on your foot?" Trip's eyes went wide with comic wonder.
Somehow Malcolm kept from snarling at the love of his life. Instead, he held up his left index finger. "Next, the tool box decided to bite my hand. It succeeded in tearing off most of my fingernail."
Trip sucked in his lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep his disintegrating composure. "A hangnail."
Gritting his teeth, Malcolm continued. "Then I went to the mess hall around noon to get something to drink."
"Ta get out of the Armory, ya mean."
Malcolm's look darkened, but he stayed silent.
"I'm sorry I couldn't meet ya down there, but I was really wrapped up with something down in Engineering."
The topic finally diverted, however temporarily from his embarrassing day, and Malcolm bobbed his head. "That's all right. I was only there for a few moments. I stopped to talk to Hoshi...." His voice trailed off as he remembered how that conversation ended.
"She did say somethin' about having to change..." Trip's eyebrows went up as his brain made a connection. "Don't tell me you had something to do with that?"
Malcolm groaned. "Where have you been, Trip? I was certain the entire ship had heard about it within an hour."
Trip shrugged. "I haven't heard. Why don't ya enlighten me?"
"My drink was too hot. It burned my tongue. I...." He fought to find a different word, but failed. "I spewed it all over her."
Trip's hand clamped over his mouth as his face began to go red. A brief snort escaped from his nose, but otherwise managed to keep quiet.
Trying to finish his story as fast as possible, Malcolm said, "When I got back to the Armory, I stubbed my toe on another tool box." Yanking off his right boot, he held up his foot and wiggled his big toe. It looked much better now than it had when he first saw it in Sickbay. But it still looked angry and purple. He continued, "And last but not least, I poked myself in the eye and burst a blood vessel. The doctor assures me that none of the injuries are major and they will all be healed in a few days."
Not looking up at Trip, Malcolm finished with, "It's all right Trip, you can laugh. I won't hold it against you."
The whoop of laughter erupted out of Trip with a force that startled Malcolm. Finally glancing up, he saw Trip crumpled against the wall, gasping for breath. He folded his arms primly and straightened his position until he was sitting bolt upright, the very picture of affronted dignity. "It wasn't that funny."
Regaining enough control to stagger to the bed and sit down next to Malcolm, Trip wheezed out, "Babe, in three days, you'll look back at this and laugh just as much, trust me."
Malcolm just shook his head and buried his face in his hands. "I just cannot believe this day. I can *not* believe it."
Trip slid an arm around Malcolm's waist and pulled him closer. "I can't believe Malcolm Reed got five boo-boos in one day."
"Boo-boo?!" Malcolm stared at Trip. "You still call injuries 'boo-boos'?"
"Only when I know it'll irritate a certain gorgeous tactical officer." Before Malcolm could think of a comeback, Trip continued, "And do you know how you make boo-boos better?"
For the lack of anything better, Malcolm said weakly, "Do I even want to know?"
Eyes sparkling, Trip answered, "You kiss a boo-boo to make it better." He slid off the bed onto his knees and lifted Malcolm's left leg. Starting at the ankle, he scattered light, feathery kisses all the way up to Malcolm's knee, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "For the shin." Trip said.
Shifting to take Malcolm's right arm, Trip did the same from elbow to wrist, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on Malcolm. "For the funny bone," he said in a quieter voice.
Then came the left hand. From the wrist to the tip of the newly wrapped finger, Trip trailed his mouth against the skin, and Malcolm couldn't stop the moan at the teasing. Now in a whisper, Trip hummed, "The finger."
Leaning back down, Trip pulled the injured foot toward him and studied it. "Ya don't mind if I just..." He blew, and the tickling breath across his bare foot made Malcolm shudder.
"Ahhh" was all Malcolm could muster.
Rearing up on his knees as high as he could, Trip reached up and took Malcolm's face in his hands. "And for the poor eye...." Malcolm closed his eyes and felt Trip's lips press gently against his wounded eyelid, then against the other. The touch continued down to Malcolm's mouth, and he melted into the familiar taste of his lover's kiss.
When Trip finally pulled back, he asked, "Feel better?"
"Hmmm." Oddly enough, Malcolm did. He lifted his hands to take hold of the other man, but Trip leaned away. "Sorry, but the Cap'n's expecting me for dinner in about, uh, twenty minutes."
Malcolm forced his lips to stay in a neutral position instead of pouting. "Can't you just tell him not tonight?"
Trip laughed softly. "Tell 'im I'm needed elsewhere?"
Malcolm nodded fiercely. "Especially today."
"Okay. You got it." Standing up to head for the comm unit, Trip looked back. "Today may have been a bad day, but tonight's gonna be a great night."
Blinking fiercely, Malcolm felt his first smile of the day appear on his face. Today may have been one of those days, but tonight would be one of those nights.
All in all, a fair trade.
END