Author: Lady Starblade -- [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: T/R
Category: "Hell-If-I-Know"
Spoilers: "Shuttlepod One" & "The Catwalk"
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: First in "Losing Grip" series. Sorry, I know, starting another series before others are done....bad writer. But this was just the biting bunny. And it's a short series....
Summary: Malcolm's going crazy on the catwalk.
**
Malcolm Reed had expected to live in close quarters when he joined the crew of Enterprise. But he had never imagined being cooped up with eighty other people in a tiny stretch of space. He wasn't claustrophobic; it was just so many people so close. And to make the situation even worse, there wasn't anything for him to do. He was reduced to prowling up and down the catwalk, checking in on their guests and making sure that frayed tempers didn't escalate into fights among the crowded crew. It was made more difficult by the fact that his own temper was not in the best of shape. The echoes alone were giving him a headache. Yet there was no escape from any of it. Not from the noise, the rising smell, the press of bodies, or the being that haunted his dreams.
He snorted loud enough to gain odd looks from a nearby trio of crewmen. He had never considered himself the fluffy-headed romantic sort, but whenever his thoughts turned to Trip Tucker, his mind went spinning off into wild fantasies and lyrical melodrama. It was quite irritating, really. But he couldn't stop it anymore than he could've stopped himself from falling in love with the man.
It had all started in Shuttlepod One. Convinced that they were both doomed, Malcolm had seen the engineer at his best and at his worst. Laughter, fears, anger, resignation, bullheaded heroism....it was the ice-cold shaft of fear that had convinced him. When Trip had tried to hoist himself into the pod's airlock, intending to kill himself to give Malcolm a chance, the terrified denial had moved Malcolm to draw the phase pistol, to refuse fate, to throw what was perhaps his only hope away. And all because he knew he wouldn't be able to live knowing that Trip had died because of him. He could not bear that thought. Better to die together than to live without him.
So Malcolm had forced Trip down, threatening to shoot him, willing to do whatever it took to keep this crazy man with him. They had argued, savaging each other with words, and Malcolm had screamed right into Trip's face. When Trip had backed down, dazed realization in his expression, he had been a bare heartbeat away from pinning the other man against the bulkhead and....
Malcolm stopped suddenly, hand grasping for a nearby handrail. He knew what he had wanted to do. He knew what he still wanted to do. And he knew that if he ever tried, he would lose more than the man he loved. He would lose his best friend.
A bray of off-key laughter broke into Malcolm's reverie, and he shied away from the sound. The idea of spending any more time under these conditions was rapidly becoming intolerable. He clenched his teeth to keep from yelling at the laughter's source, and instead spun and hurried back up the walk in a desperate search for somewhere, anywhere, to hide and collect his scattered thoughts.
He found himself slipping behind the jury-rigged curtain that now surrounded the area occupied by Phlox and his assembled menagerie. Almost everyone avoided this spot due to the proximity of the animals and their assorted smells. It was the closest thing to privacy one could find on the catwalk, save the command area. And he was far too likely to run into Trip up there. This situation was far too conductive to a slip of the tongue or ignorant revelations...and nowhere to run should such a thing occur.
Phlox glanced up, looking depressingly cheerful and unaffected by his rustling surroundings. "Hello, Lieutenant. Come to check up on me?"
Malcolm shook his head as he stepped off the walk itself to stand next to Phlox. "No, not really. I found myself in needing to get..." He gave a half-shrug as he let his statement trail off.
Phlox held up a hand. "No need to elaborate, I understand completely. In fact, I was just about to leave to speak with Chef to procure some food scraps for my animals. I was hoping to find someone to watch after them while I was gone. Would you be willing?"
The sound of the question hadn't even faded before Malcolm answered, "Yes."
Phlox smiled and gathered up a pair of small cases. "Very well, I should be back in about twenty minutes. Enjoy the solitude."
After Phlox disappeared behind the curtain, Malcolm slumped up against the wall with a sigh. He could still hear the muted rabble, but it seemed blessedly far away. For the first time since that hatch had been sealed, Malcolm was alone. Breathing slowly, he tried to ease some of the coiled tension inside.
He was having mild success when he heard the curtain move. *Is Phlox back already?* He lifted his head, wondering if he could talk the doctor out of five more minutes. But that thought fled, taking all of his coherency with it, when his eyes met the blue ones of Trip.
The other man blinked, then glanced around the small space. "Hey Malcolm....I was looking for the Doc."
Malcolm had to swallow hard before answering. "He went to find some leftover food for his..." he gestured with a sweep of his hand. "He should be back in a few minutes."
Trip shot him a half-smile. "Finally found some privacy, huh?"
"Hmm. And not a moment too soon. I'm afraid I'm not dealing with this situation very well."
"Hang in there. It's only for a few more days."
Malcolm made a noncommittal noise. Then he noticed a tiny line between Trip's eyebrows. He knew what that meant. Trip was in pain. "Are you all right?"
Trip made a brief face before shaking his head. "I'm fine." At Malcolm's continued stare, he added, "I'm just a bit sore. Too long hunched inside panels, I guess. Shoulders and neck are complaining a bit. I was gonna see if Phlox had a muscle relaxant or something. But it's okay, I'll come back later."
He turned to go, and Malcolm surprised himself. "Care for something a little more old-fashioned?"
"Huh?" Trip looked back over his shoulder. "Old-fashioned?"
Malcolm nodded. "If you'd like." His hand raised in a beckoning gesture.
Lines of puzzlement joining the pain line on his forehead, Trip stepped down and walked up to Malcolm, who made a small spinning motion. "Turn around and sit down. It's easier for me to reach."
Trip's face cleared as the proverbial light bulb blinked on. "Oh, good with your hands?" He grinned and spun around, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor, missing the open-mouthed shocked look provoked by the comment.
Shaking his head as he took up a kneeling position behind Trip, Malcolm said, "My sister Madeline was an excellent horsewoman. But she would often come home from training and competitions tense and sore. Instead of watching her take a myriad of medications, I developed this technique." He didn't mention that his sister was the only one he had ever worked on this way.
Malcolm carefully placed his hands on Trip's shoulders and bore down. He could feel the tenseness and the bunched muscles and gently worked at them, pushing and forcing them to unclench. His hands slowly moved across the blades and up to his neck, using his thumbs to massage the sides of the neck. As slow as his hands were, Malcolm's mind was firing at a wild pace, and he found his concentration slipping. *Dammit, Malcolm, pull yourself together!*
Then Trip let out a moan and leaned backward, and only through a herculean effort did Malcolm control himself. "God Malcolm, that feels great. If I had known..." He sighed happily, and Malcolm bit the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea.
Trip leaned even harder into Malcolm's touch, a tuft of rumpled blond hair brushing against the bottom of Malcolm's chin, and Malcolm reconsidered. The feel of this man underneath him was worth any mental chaos. It was the sweetest form of torture. Only the dim awareness of where they were restrained him.
The pale skin at the neck's nape hypnotized Malcolm, and he knew a quick duck of his head, and he could press his lips against it and taste it....and it would probably follow with a painful taste of Trip's knuckles. *He wouldn't do that,* his mind whispered. "I don't know what he'd do. And I'm afraid to find out.*
The muscles were quickly relaxing, but Malcolm didn't want to stop. Instead, he worked his hands up the neck, fingers tentatively venturing into Trip's hair. Much to his surprise, Trip didn't protest, just hummed contentedly and tilted his head back. *Maybe, maybe...*
Before Malcolm could follow the thought any further, Phlox pushed the curtain aside and re-entered, startling both men enough that they jumped. Malcolm swiftly withdrew his hands as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. Phlox looked surprised for a brief moment before recovering. "Hello, Commander."
Malcolm couldn't see Trip's face, but was that a faint note of irritation in his voice? "Hi Doc."
"I was told you were looking for me."
"Nah," Trip said as he climbed to his feet. "Malcolm took care of it." Malcolm sat stupidly on the floor of several seconds before standing.
"Indeed." The doctor's gaze flicked back and forth a couple of times.
Trip noticed and hastily said, "I was kinda sore and bunched up, but turns out Malcolm's got a nice all-natural cure."
"Ahh, yes, a good, non-medicinal massage. Nothing wrong with that. No side effects, either." Malcolm carefully tongued his bitten lip, thinking that there were side effects indeed.
Trip bobbed his head and moved away, climbing back up to the catwalk. "Well, better get back to work." Turning his eyes to Malcolm, he continued, "Thanks Malcolm, I 'preciate it. If ya need more quiet sometime, just come on up to the engineering compartment. I'll scare everyone else off." Then with a quick grin, he was gone.
Malcolm rubbed his hands together absentmindedly, still unbalanced by what had just happened.
"Did your respite help?" Phlox asked, busily arranging his gains.
Malcolm just nodded and mumbled a brief affirmative before slipping through the curtain. He reflected that, in the long run, it hadn't helped.
Not at all.
END
**
"You, you need to listen
I'm starting to trip, I'm losing my grip
And I'm in this thing alone...." --Avril Lavigne, "Losing Grip"