Author: Lady Starblade �[email protected]
Rating: PG
Pairing: T/R
Category: Slash � Nothing in particular
Spoilers: �The Expanse�
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: No, I didn't fall off the face of the earth-just been way busy. But I bought a brand new drum today (and a gorgeous one it is!) and this story popped full-fledged into my head. It's cheesy, but I'm rusty, so please bear with me. This takes place sometime during the journey to the Expanse.
Summary: Music has a way of getting a point across.
**
The fiddle and the harmonica finally slowed and stopped, the last shared note dying a slow death in the acoustics of the cargo bay. As the two players lowered their instruments, the five other crewmembers broke into spontaneous applause. "Bravo, bravo!" one of them called out.
Crewman Jackson Carter laid his fiddle across his knees and transferred his bow to his now-free left hand before vigorously shaking his right arm. "Damn right, bravo! I think my arm's about ready to fall off at the shoulder!"
The group laughed for a moment before another member added, "What's the matter, Jack, slowing down in your old age?"
When it became obvious Jack couldn't think of a comeback, the harmonica player jumped in. "If he's old, what does that make me?" Trip Tucker's voice was slightly breathless from the riff he had just finished playing.
Without missing a beat, both Jack and his questioner answered, "Commander, sir."
Laughter reigned again as a fourth person wagged her finger. "Hey now, we all know the rules. No ranks in here." Crewman Marcela Ordonez fixed a mock serious expression on her face as she spoke.
"Hey, I think we're all pretty rank in here," piped up a guitar- wielding woman with a smirk on her face.
Marcela rolled her eyes before looking back over at Trip. "It is good to see you back, Trip. We've missed you."
Trip quickly looked down to his hands, hitting his harmonica lightly to clear it. "I think I've missed being here too."
As with any sizable group of individuals, Enterprise's crew harbored several musicians. And unsurprisingly, they had clumped together within a bare two weeks after launch with the instruments they had refused to leave behind. Three times a week, all who were able congregated in Cargo Bay Three to play together. Of the seven currently in the bay, three were guitarists, one a fiddler, one a clarinet player, one a drummer, one a harmonica player, and one with four different instruments. Because of her multiple skills, Marcela had become the unofficial "den-mother" of the group.
Trip was the only officer and spotty in attendance, but the informality and camaraderie he found here was a pleasant escape from the structured world of a Starfleet officer. Even now, in this place, he was finding it hard to remember what they were all flying towards and why. But after everything had been turned upside down and inside out by the Xindi attack on Earth, Trip had found himself retreating from everyone and everything around him. And that "everyone" had included his lover.
He stared even harder at the silver harmonica in his hands as the frustration threatened to swamp him again. He had royally screwed things up with Malcolm, and he had no idea how to set it right. As if the six months of love and laughter he had shared with Malcolm Reed meant nothing, Trip had completely pulled away after the attack. Consumed by his own grief and fury, he had shut Malcolm out, his interaction with the armory officer narrowing down to occasionally sniping work discussions. And Malcolm, in that silent way of his, had retreated as well. But as Enterprise neared the Delphic Expanse, Trip found himself missing Malcolm with a painful intensity. He needed Malcolm. He felt lost without Malcolm. And it was all his own damn fault.
Trip was jarred out of his familiar thoughts by Marcela's bright, accented voice. "Okay, how about some rhythms?" She reached to her side and rolled out a large drum, one that almost reached her waist when she stood next to it. It had been carved from a single log and it weighed a good ten pounds. She had been allowed to bring it aboard only with special approval from Captain Archer. Clenching it tightly between her knees, she angled it toward her to allow air and sound to escape through the open bottom. She gave it a few light taps, assessing the sound. Satisfied, she looked up at the other drummer. "Ready for a beat, Sarah?"
Crewman Sarah Worthy bobbed her blond head and lifted her circular hand drum up. "Ready when you are."
Marcela nodded. "Okay, if anyone thinks they can keep up, they're welcome to join in." The familiar challenge brought the other instruments into ready positions. Trip shifted the harmonica back into his playing hand, ready to bring it into play if the beat proved harmonica-friendly. Marcela was pretty good about making sure everyone could join a given beat, no matter what instrument they played.
But instead of launching directly into music, Marcela struck the very center of the drumhead hard, producing a deep bass rumble that Trip could feel through the soles of his feet. His startled glance locked with Marcela's dark eyes. In a soft tone barely audible above the dying drumbeat, she said, "I've heard people say they can't play the drum because they have no sense of rhythm. That's ridiculous." She hit the drum again, sounding another crashing note. "Everyone has a rhythm. Right here." She tapped her chest as she hit again. "It's called a heartbeat. The most basic rhythm of all." Another drum strike. "And only death can interrupt that rhythm permanently." Now both her hands struck the instrument, the result sounding eerily like a pounding heartbeat. Her voice rose over the beat. "Just listen to the heart rhythm. Follow it. It won't lead you wrong." She finally broke eye contact before leaping into a beat so fast and furious that Sarah scrambled to catch up.
As the pounding filled the bay, quickly joined by strings and winds, Trip had to restrain himself from shaking his head in surprise. It sounded to him that Marcela had just given him the sonic equivalent to a smack upside the head. His relationship with Malcolm had not exactly been a secret, but Trip had thought everyone had written his recent mood off solely to his sister's death in the Xindi attack. It looked like he was wrong. Preoccupied with this realization, Trip didn't join into the music.
It almost came as a surprise when Marcela brought the music to a stop. She raked several wisps of black hair away from her now sweat- damp face. "Wow! Now that is what I call rocking!" Cheers, ever so slightly ragged, went up. Jack and Sarah exchanged an odd hand move they used after a particularly successful set. Marcela laughed and waved her own hands, which were now bright red from the drumming. "And it is now 2100 hours, which means time to say farewell for now. Great time, everybody!"
After another round of claps, everyone occupied themselves with putting instruments away and exchanging good nights. Trip stayed seated, intent on talking to Marcela. The group left in ones and twos, all tossing "welcome backs" and waves in Trip's direction. When the last had gone, Trip stood up, eyeing Marcela as she slung one instrument over her shoulder and hefted her drum up to carry under an arm.
He cut to the point quickly. "Did ya just tell me something there?"
Marcela ducked her head slightly. "Yes. Was it a little over the top?"
Trip let out a little laugh at her sheepish expression. "Maybe. But I got the message."
"Good. The worst thing you can do in times like these is push away the people that love you."
"I think I'm learnin' that the hard way."
"But those are the lessons you don't forget." She took a couple of steps forward in the general direction of the door. "Whatever happened between the two of you, figure it out, fix it, and keep on loving each other. Those murdering bastards took your sister away from you. Don't let them take Malcolm too."
Trip slowly nodded. "I won't."
"Good." She tapped her drum lightly in the heart rhythm, drawing a smile from Trip. "Are you coming next time?"
"Maybe. I hope so."
"You should bring Malcolm sometime. Who knows, maybe he'll have a hidden talent!" With a last quick smile, Marcela ducked out the door. After a last glance around the bay, Trip followed her, his step brisker than it had been in months.
He had a long overdue apology to make.
END