Comfort Eating
Title:
COMFORT EATING (1/1)
Author:
Weebob
Fandom:
Enterprise
Pairing:
A/R
Rating:
PG
Category:
pre-slash
Beta:
Self
Feedback:
Yes
Pretty Please! ([email protected])
Archive:
EntSTCommunity; MEG archive. Others, please ask first
Summary:
A brush with death provokes confession.
SPOILERS:
Minefield, The Communicator, Shuttlepod One.
Warnings:
Sap alert!
Disclaimer:
I don't own or have any rights to the Star Trek
universe,
"Enterprise", or any of its characters they belong to
UPN/Paramount.
I am making no money from this story.
It
was after the debriefing that it began to really torture him - not
that
it hadn't been bothering him sooner, it was just momentarily
forgotten
during the fire fight and the dramatic escape in the
Suliban
cell ship.
He'd
almost got his Captain killed.
Trip,
Travis and Captain Archer had all been euphoric during the
short
journey back to Enterprise, and Malcolm had tried to join in
with
the excitement, but his participation was short-lived. By the
time
they were docking, he'd begun picking apart his actions,
counting
his errors, listing his inadequacies.
Dr
Phlox had fixed up his cuts and bruises in no time, but Malcolm
habitually
concealed the wounds that were giving him the most pain.
Now,
he sat alone in his quarters, scrutinising his failures with is
usual
meticulous precision. He'd been incredibly stupid to lose his
communicator:
so caught up in the excitement of the away mission, and
the
beauty of the city's architecture, that he hadn't even missed the
device
until they were back aboard ship.
He
knew he shouldn't have let Archer return with him to search for
it:
he should have gone alone, risked only himself, but he'd been so
panicked
by what he'd done that he couldn't think straight.
Malcolm
rarely made mistakes and, when they did occur, they were
usually
so minor as to be barely noticeable. You didn't grow up to
do
shoddy work when Stuart Reed was your father: the slightest error
would
have earned you a thrashing and a night shut in the cold, dark
basement
of the family home. You checked and double-checked,
memorised
the rules until they were second nature to you simply
didn't
allow yourself to fail. It was perfection or nothing.
But
he had failed. Badly. Instead of protecting his Captain, he'd put
him
in mortal danger. Instead of trying to plead for Archer's life,
he'd
stood; mute, at the steps to the gallows while Archer pleaded
for
his. Malcolm had been taught never to acknowledge fear or it
would
gain the upper hand and he'd told his Captain, only moments
after
hearing that they were to be executed, that he wasn't afraid -
but
standing there, beside the scaffold, and seeing the dangling
nooses
awaiting them, his courage failed and he'd been frozen into
silence.
The
doors of his quarters shut behind him and he slowly looked around
himself,
still a little dazed by all that had happened. Everything
was
in its place and pristine, the bed neatly made and his clothes
perfectly
hung or folded. The walls were bare of decoration and,
instead
of the usual family photographs and personal mementoes
favoured
by his crewmates, Malcolm's shelves held technical manuals
and
one or two old fashioned books. Trip had called his quarters
soulless.
Sometimes he envied them.
Bloodied,
unshaven and smelling none too fresh after his
incarceration,
he gratefully stripped off his clothing and drifted
into
the shower. Although Phlox had treated them both, they still had
some
bruising left over from their interrogation and Malcolm's lip
was
slightly swollen. He glimpsed it in the bathroom mirror and the
sight
triggered another surge of memories of watching his Captain
being
beaten while he stood by, held at gunpoint and powerless to
assist.
He scrubbed viciously at his eyes, trying to dispel the
accusing
mental images.
Jonathan
Archer had been the surprise to end all surprises when
Malcolm
had come aboard his ship. A spit-and-polish military man
through
and through, Malcolm had immediately been irritated by the
Captain's
easy-going command style and alarmed to discover he took a
personal
interest in his crew.
He
was a brave, kindly man - well meaning, if impulsive - but he had
absolutely
no concept of the necessity of maintaining a proper
distance
from his subordinates: nor did he appreciate the need for
caution
in such a ground-breaking, exploratory mission as was
Enterprise's.
As
Chief of Security, Malcolm lived on his nerves, trying to
anticipate
every possible threat to his Captain and crewmates. His
concern,
albeit with a smile and a gentle reproof, was usually
dismissed
by Archer as being over-the-top paranoia but, more often
than
not, Malcolm's instincts were right and it was he who ended up
paying
the price for Archer's trusting nature.
Finding
it hard to keep his frustration to himself, Malcolm had
recently
lectured his Captain on how to do his job properly! There
had
been extenuating circumstances at the time, the Armoury Officer
having
been pinned to the Enterprise's hull, impaled by a defective
Romulan
mine he'd been attempting to defuse, but he felt a blush
rising
even as he recalled the incident. Archer had risked his life
to
aid Malcolm and Malcolm, shocked and under the influence of a
potent
cocktail of pain relievers prepared by Phlox, had repaid him
by
tearing his command style apart.
Through
it all, Archer, unlike most of the people in Malcolm's life,
had
patiently weathered the storm, refusing to give up on the injured
officer,
and, finally, he'd brought him safely into harbour, devising
a
daring but effective solution to the stricken Lieutenant's plight.
Although
he'd managed to reinstate his professional demeanour shortly
after
the event, Malcolm had been charmed.
Drying
off, he wandered back into his cabin and, distractedly, threw
on
a tee-shirt and sweats. How the mighty had fallen! He'd gone from
telling
his Captain how to do his job, to proving he couldn't do his
own
the security officer who couldn't even keep his own possessions
secure!
Desperate
to escape the downward spiral of his thoughts, he suddenly
remembered
a bottle of bourbon with which Trip had presented him, as
a
memento, after their brush with death on the damaged Shuttlepod
One.
Getting drunk seemed like a good plan right now and the
resulting
hangover would go some way towards the punishment he felt
his
negligence deserved.
Digging
around in the closet where he had hidden the alcohol, in the
hope
of someday having cause to celebrate, something else caught his
eye.
It had become public knowledge that he had a weakness for
pineapple,
thanks to Captain Archer's desire to find out his
favourite
food to mark his birthday in some way. Several weeks later,
Hoshi
had presented him with a tin of it as a "thank you" for the
extra
tuition he'd given her on using a phase pistol. A man of
moderate
appetites and iron discipline, he'd been hoarding it ever
since
- as a treat for a rainy day.
Well,
they didn't get much rainier than this.
He
really wasn't particularly hungry - his appetite had been gone
from
the moment his stomach began its sickly churning when he
realised
his communicator was missing but, in his misery, the
comforting
sweetness of the fruit suddenly appealed to him.
For
once in his life surrendering to a selfish impulse, he tugged the
lid
off the tin, peered in at the juicy yellow chunks and inhaled the
exotic,
fruity aroma. Memories of Nanny Barker, the one bright spot
in
his infancy, making pineapple upside-down cake for he and Madeline
when
their parents were away, brought a tired smile to his face.
Feeling
oddly decadent, he locked his door, put a "do not disturb"
signal
on it, then climbed into bed and guiltily, wolfed the
pineapple
with his fingers, drinking the juice straight from the tin.
It
all slid down rather nicely and, his inner hunger somewhat
satiated,
he began to unwind a bit.
Reaction
to the prolonged stress he'd so recently been under was
beginning
to set in and drowsiness was creeping over him. There was
no
place he had to be so, yawning, he squirmed down further under the
blankets
and, too tired to be tidy, put the empty pineapple can on
the
floor beside his bunk, killed the lights and closed his eyes.
It
was only when he felt the strange, tight feeling in his throat,
and
realised he was having trouble breathing, that he remembered:
Chef
had exhausted his stocks of pineapple and so it had been off the
Enterprise
menu for some time. Malcolm, therefore, had stopped
getting
injections for his bromelin allergy.
-/-
Jonathan
Archer had been troubled by his Armoury officer's withdrawal
after
the debriefing. Malcolm Reed was a highly-strung, socially
awkward
individual and, although he was an excellent Armoury Officer,
and
would have defended his ship and crewmates with his life, he was
shy,
distant and difficult to get to know.
Unfortunately,
getting to know him was Archer's fondest desire.
The
Captain had tried to shrug off the Lieutenant's hasty retreat as
just
being part of his complex temperament but, knowing Malcolm's
tendency
to take failures very much to himself, it had niggled him
all
the way through dinner and now, still uneasy, he found himself
heading
for Reed's quarters.
Seeing
the message at the doorbell, he rang it anyway, announcing
himself
through the intercom when no reply was forthcoming in a
reasonable
time. It wasn't hard to decide to use his override code.
The
room was occupied and, even if Malcolm had been sleeping, Archer
knew
he'd have been out of his bunk and all but saluting at the sound
of
his Captain's voice.
A
knot of fear was clenching in his stomach and, as the door slid
open
on a pitch-black interior, he felt his heart leap into his
mouth.
There was a sound coming from the bed, but not the peaceful,
relaxed
breathing of a sleeper. It was the harsh gasping of somebody
struggling
for air. He hit the lights.
Malcolm
lay on his bunk, head tilted back on the pillow, eyes closed,
and
mouth open. His lips were faintly tinged with blue and
perspiration
misted his skin and soaked his hair. Both hands were
grabbing
fistfuls of blanket and his chest rose and fell in a panicky
and
ineffectual struggle for breath.
Archer
pressed the comm-panel "Phlox. Get to Malcolm's quarters right
away.
He can't breathe." He darted back to the bunk and examined the
distressed
officer, checking for any obstruction to his airways.
Grasping
his shoulders, he shook him slightly: "Malcolm! Malcolm,
hang
on. Help's on its way."
Expressive
grey eyes were suddenly regarding him with a mixture of
panic
and fear. His body rigid, Malcolm worked to squeeze out a
reply
but it never came. Abruptly, he went limp and very, very
still.
Archer
was too stunned to react but felt himself being pushed aside
as
Phlox barrelled to the bedside. The Denobulan instantly scanned
the
Lieutenant's unmoving body then hurriedly loaded a
hypospray.
"He's having a serious allergic reaction, Captain. It
looks
like he forgot to get his bromelin medication - do you see
that
pineapple tin?"
Scanning
Malcolm again, and re-applying the hypospray with a stronger
dosage,
the doctor frowned: "One would think, at his age, he'd be
more
careful with his health. Still, it looks like we've caught him
in
time. It was fortuitous that you discovered him when you did,
Captain.
He's stabilising now but I'll just have him moved to sickbay
for
observation."
The
Captain blinked. Something the doctor had just said bothered him yet he
couldn't quite figure out what it was. He gazed at Malcolm's
now-peaceful
form and was suddenly loathe to disturb him, so seldom
did
he see his Armoury Officer so tranquil. "Is that strictly
necessary,
Doctor? I'd be happy to keep an eye on him here." He
abruptly
felt the need to justify his concern: "I mean, I doubt if I
would
be able to sleep tonight anyway still too wound up after our
little
experience planetside." He tried to sound casual and jocular
but
Phlox gazed at him quizzically
"I
do generally prefer to have recovering patients were I can see
them
but I suppose I can trust my Captain to alert me to any problems
in
this instance. Be sure to call me right away if anything seems
amiss.
He should be coming round any minute now ah, welcome back,
Lieutenant."
Malcolm
awoke to the familiar sound of the ship's doctor speaking in
his
peculiarly sing-song manner. He opened his eyes cautiously and
started
at the blurry vision of the Denobulan giving him a
disconcerting
face-splitting grin. Behind the doctor, however, was
another,
equally fuzzy figure one he had hoped not to see for quite
some
time.
A
wave of nausea rolled over him and he swallowed, only to feel like
he
was attempting to ingest broken glass. His grimace alerted Phlox
to
the problem and his head was gently lifted to allow him to sip
some
pink liquid which the doctor offered. A pleasant numbness
followed
it down as he swallowed and he sighed in relief. "Thank you,
Doctor.
That's much better."
Phlox
nodded "Glad to hear it, Lieutenant. I'm also relieved that
you
seem to have escaped unscathed from a very nasty allergic
reaction.
You really must be more careful about what you eat until
we
can find a way to permanently knock these food sensitivities of
yours
on the head."
Phlox
got to his feet again and headed for the door "He seems to be
recovering
well, Captain, so I'll be on my way. Keep him resting and
drinking
plenty of fluids. And try to get some sleep yourself, won't
you?"
Archer
nodded and watched him leave before pulling a chair over to
the
bed and settling himself beside his patient. His foot
accidentally
nudged the empty pineapple tin and the
illusive
"something" that Phlox had said came sharply into focus:
Malcolm
dear precise, meticulous Malcolm - DID know better than to
eat
pineapple without first having his medication, so why had he done
so?
The Captain could think of only one reason.
Trying
to control his whirling thoughts, he smiled reassuringly at
the
befuddled officer.
"Well,
Malcolm, I think two close calls in one day is overdoing it,
don't
you?"
Malcolm
felt his face grow hot: "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry to have been
such
a nuisance. And my incompetence earlier
"
Archer
shook his head "At ease, Lieutenant. There's nothing you can
teach
me about making mistakes so don't waste your time trying."
The
younger man was growing agitated "Sir, I must protest. I almost
got
you killed! As Captain of this vessel, it is your duty to
"
Standing
up so suddenly that Malcolm was surprised into silence,
Archer
lost his control. "My duty is as I see fit, Lieutenant."
Startled
eyes stared up at him "But Sir!"
Archer
held up a hand, enjoining silence "In the very recent past you
made
it perfectly clear what you think of my command style, Malcolm,
but
I really don't give a damn."
Malcolm
was sitting up now, squashed as far as he could get into the
furthest
corner of his bunk. He was still very pale but now his eyes
were
moist too and he looked a little scared. Archer softened at the
sight.
"Oh
Malcolm, what is it with you? You seem to be fitted with some
kind
of self-destruct mechanism. Have you any idea what it does to
me
when you try to throw your life away?"
The
figure on the bunk blinked "Sir? I don't understand what
"
Archer
was into his stride now: there were things he needed to say
and
he wouldn't let himself be interrupted "I love you Malcolm. I
didn't
come out on the hull when you were pinned under that mine just
because
I needed the exercise! And there you were, trying to force
my
hand, trying to get me to leave you to die in space. And tonight
I almost lost you again. I saw you when you left the briefing
room.
I should have known you'd try something like this."
He
gestured toward the empty pineapple tin then his attention was
abruptly
drawn back to Malcolm, who seemed to be reacting badly to
what
he was saying. The officer was holding his breath and had gone
rigid
where he sat, his face even paler than before. Archer panicked
and
darted forward to shake him. "No! Don't do this to me! Breathe
Malcolm."
Shocked
out of his stillness, Malcolm gulped in air but the Captain
watched
him anxiously: "Are you alright?"
The
Armoury Officer nodded dazedly, warily watching Archer as if
searching
for an opportunity to bolt for the door.
The
Captain sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start lecturing you.
I
just came here tonight to see if you were OK. You seemed so lost
after
we got back to the ship that I was worried about you. You're
always
beating yourself up for something and you don't seem to
believe
me when I tell you what an excellent officer you are. Losing
your
communicator was an aberration: it could have happened to
anybody.
And you didn't nearly get me killed. I chose to go with
you.
You had no say in the matter."
Malcolm
looked stunned and fought to control himself enough to
speak
"Sir, I
I'm very grateful for your concern but I honestly
didn't
try to harm myself tonight. It really was an accident. Hoshi
gave
me the pineapple ages ago and I found it when I was looking for
something
else. I was feeling miserable and I suppose you could say
I
was comfort-eating. I was tired and it was a spur of the moment
thing
- I forgot I hadn't had any medication for weeks."
Mortified
at baring his soul for nought, Archer dropped his head
forward
to bang it softly on the nearest bulkhead "Oh!"
After
a moment, there was a whisper of movement behind him then he
was
aware of Malcolm's hand tentatively grasping his arm: "Sir, I
hope
you're not seeing this as another of the mistakes you say you
keep
making?" His voice was hesitant and nervous but he battled on
regardless:
"You've always seemed so concerned for me, but you take
good
care of all of your crew. I I never dared hope that you might
see
me as something, well, special"
Slowly,
afraid to believe what he was hearing, Archer turned and
found
Malcolm's earnest grey eyes looking, unflinchingly, into his
own.
Surprised and delighted, he smiled: "I've never been able to see
you
as anything but special even though you've been trying to push
me
away as hard as possible."
Malcolm
blushed and lowered his gaze "I'm sorry. I was afraid you'd
realise
I had feelings for you too. Where I did most of my officer
training,
its not appropriate to be attracted to one's Captain and it
felt
so wrong. Today, though, every time I looked at you in that
cell,
knowing there would never be another chance to tell you how I
felt
how much I wanted still want you."
His
heart soaring, Archer stepped forward and wrapped his arms around
the
smaller man, feeling the slight body tense then relax against him
as
Malcolm shyly returned his embrace.
"If
you want me, you've got me. But do me a favour, Malcolm. Next
time
you need comforting, come to me and leave the damn pineapple
alone."