It had been several days since the visit from Q, and Trip and Malcolm had still not had their talk. If they were on the bridge, they didn’t converse. Down in their respective departments, they rarely, if ever, ventured out to the other man’s area, instead sending crewmen to pass messages on.
Captain Jonathan Archer, having been privy to Trip’s unexpected breakdown in his ready room, watched them both. Firstly with amusement, but then, as time moved on, and no solution was observed, with concern.
He was even more disturbed when members from each of the men’s departments came to him; not to complain, but to express worry about their superiors. Not eating, not sleeping, losing weight, losing their tempers were just a few of the concerns voiced.
Brow furrowing, he decided that some sort of action was required.
“Archer to Tucker.”
“Tucker here, cap’n. What’s wrong?”
“Can you spare me a few minutes in my quarters, Trip? Say in, half hour?”
“Sure, no problems. Tucker out.”
“Archer to Reed.”
“Reed here, sir.”
“Malcolm, can you come to my quarters in about half an hour?”
“Yes, sir. Um…”
Archer heard the hesitance in the lieutenant’s voice, but refused to acknowledge it, knowing exactly what he would say.
“Half an hour, Lieutenant. That’s an order.”
“Sir, yes sir. Reed out.”
Perhaps now, Jon thought, they would get this solved. He couldn’t have this sort of behaviour on board his ship. He’d fully anticipated Trip carrying out his promise to speak to Malcolm, but he hadn’t. So, if they wouldn’t sort it, he would make sure he would sort it for them.
Half an hour later, the two men were closing in on Archer’s quarters, each unaware that the other would be there too. Turning their respective corners, Trip and Malcolm spotted each other almost immediately. They both halted, hesitant.
“Lieutenant,” Trip acknowledged Malcolm.
Quietly, Malcolm responded, “Commander.”
The door to Archer’s quarters opened, and Jon leant out. “Come on in, gentleman.”
Malcolm allowed Trip to enter first, following slowly after his colleague.
Trip was the first to speak. “What’s all this about, cap’n? I thought…well, I didn’t think he,” he gestured towards Malcolm, “would be here.”
“Take a seat, Trip, Malcolm. Please?” Archer pulled out three chairs, placing two opposite each other, for Trip and Malcolm, and the third in the middle, for himself.
After taking their seats, they looked warily at each other, and back to the captain, waiting for him to speak. The silence grew longer and more uncomfortable. Finally, Trip opened his mouth as if to speak, but was stopped by Jon.
“So, how’ve you two been? Don’t seem to have seen you together much recently. What’s wrong?”
Trip looked disgusted. “Is that all you’ve brought us here for? If that’s the case, I’m going. I have work to do in the armoury…erm.” He blushed at the Freudian slip. “Um, I mean I have work to do in engineering.” Cursing himself silently, he made to stand up.
“Sit down, Trip. I think you both know why you are here, and here we will stay until it’s sorted to my satisfaction. Now, why aren’t you talking to one another? Malcolm?”
The still quiet lieutenant jumped a little upon hearing his name. He’d listened to Trip, who obviously didn’t want to be there--not that he did, really--but now he knew for sure what his heart had told him during the last few days--that Trip Tucker didn’t love him, Malcolm Reed.
“Sir?” Malcolm eventually spoke, trying not to look at Trip.
Sighing, Jon realized the rift had gone deeper than he had previously thought.
“Talking! Why. Aren’t. You?” If they could plead ignorance, so he could treat them like children.
“Um, well, we are talking.”
“Trip?”
“Yep, we are. On occasions. Well, it’s been busy in engineering, haven’t really had much opportunity to catch up with each other, that right, Malcolm?” Trip glanced towards Malcolm.
“Yes, sir, very busy. The armoury has been very busy, sir.”
Archer sighed, again. “Okay, then. You wanna tell me why you both are displaying the same symptoms of not eating, not sleeping, losing your tempers?”
The floodgates opened for Trip and it all came spilling out in a vitriolic outburst.
“Well, it’s his fault, Jon. We met Q when you were taken somewhere, and he said we were in love. Malcolm denied it. He doesn’t love me, he hates me. He wouldn’t talk, he hid himself wherever he could…I don’t know what the fucking hell I’ve done wrong. He wont answer my comms, he’s alw’s busy. I’m j’st pullin’ ma hair out. It’s frustratin’.” Trip’s accent thickened as his anger overflowed.
Trip scrawled a hand across his face before continuing, this time turning on an extremely shaken Malcolm Reed.
“Why the fuck don’t you speak to me anymore? What the hell did I do wrong? We were fuckin’ friends, supposed to be, weren’t we? Well, with friends like YOU, who needs fuckin’ enemies?”
Malcolm just gawped, he couldn’t speak. Trip hated him, he truly hated him. He bent his head, trying desperately to prevent spilling the sudden tears that had sprung up. He swallowed, hard.
Trip was continuing with his tirade, before Jon calmly stood up, put his hands on Trip’s shoulders, and shook his head, urging him to look at Malcolm.
Trip was utterly appalled at what he saw. Malcolm was sitting there, head bowed, tears pouring down his face, as if his heart was breaking.
Without giving another thought, Trip rushed to his side, knelt before him, gathered up the exceedingly distressed man into his arms, and started whispering endearments. “Shush, shush, Mal, its okay, honey, it’s going to be fine. I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Jon stood quietly back, watching the scene unfold, listening to Trip comforting Malcolm. Eventually, the lieutenant’s sobs lessened, although Trip never wavered from his position, his arms still around his friend.
Reaching out for the tissues proffered by Jon, Trip grabbed a handful, and gently wiped Malcolm’s remaining tears.
“I’m…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Malcolm.”
Voice shaking, Malcolm replied “I…I…it’s al.all right, T.t.trip.”
“No, it’s not all right. I was a bastard to ya, and ya didn’t need or want that. Can I explain to ya?” Trip loosened his grip on Malcolm, grabbed hold of the empty chair before pulling it across directly in front of the still upset man, and sitting in it.
He then reached out and took both of Malcolm’s hands in his, not encountering any resistance. Squeezing them, he began to elucidate.
“Mal? Look at me. I have something that I have to…*need* to tell you.” He automatically corrected himself.
Malcolm looked up, his red-rimmed eyes focused on Trip. Neither man noticed Captain Archer leave the room, a satisfied expression on his face.
“Ya know when Q came some days ago? When he asked us…” here he faltered slightly, unsure of what the reaction would be, “asked us…if we were, ya know, um, in love?”
Trip could feel the quivering in the other man’s hands, and gave them another squeeze.
“Well…I lied.” Trip bowed his head, whilst taking a deep breath. “I lied, I told him I wasn’t in love with you. But…the reality of the situation is…I am in love. Completely, utterly, absolutely in love…with you. I just didn’t know it until then, and I haven’t dared be with you because I wasn’t sure how you would react to me. I don’t want this to end our friendship, because that sure means a lot to me. I will understand if you don’t want anything more to do with me, but I would like to hang on to our friendship, if at all possible.”
Trip ended his long speech, and there was…silence. The two men sat there, holding hands, the sounds of their breathing the only noises in the room.
A timid voice spoke. “T…Trip?”
Trip raised his head to look directly at his companion, his breath catching as he saw the emotions there. Need, want, desire, and…was that love he saw?
“Yes, Malcolm?” he softly replied.
“I lied too." Malcolm sniffed back a tear and looked up, meeting Trip's gaze. "Trip, I love you," he said.
No other words were necessary, nothing else needed to be said. The two men leant towards one another and shared their first, tender, gentle kiss.
Parting, they looked at each other in quiet wonder. Then, as one, they both spoke. "Bloody hell!"
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