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Reed's Armory -- A Malcolm Reed Fanfiction Archive .. |
Title: Viscous
Author: Lexx
Author's e-mail: [email protected]
Fandom: Enterprise
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: PG
Category: Slash
Summary: The truth often isn't a concealed as you would like to
think.
Comments: God, she's at it again. Malcolm wants me to write fluff, but we can't have fluff without tragedy, can we? Well, Malcolm and I came to a sort of compromise here. This started as an answer to the November 'Drown Malcolm Month' challenge, but as you might have noticed, this is being posted in *February*. What can I say? I'm slow.
Archived to Reed's Armory on 04/22/2004.
The steady thudding of the drops of water, big as golf balls, beat a sickening, taunting melody onto Malcolm's skull as blood poured out of the wound on his head. The rock fall had been, at best, quick. He could still feel the echo of the knot of dread in his stomach that had formed as he realized what was happening, and his throat was still raw from yelling, ordering the rest of the crew to get out, and the sudden crash of the rocks as they came down on top of him, possibly the others as well. Who knew if they had gotten out in time?
Trip had been there. Malcolm had no idea whether he was still alive or not. Beloved Trip. He had embraced the cave exploration with his annoying, yet endearing, gusto. Trip, whom Malcolm loved so much, yet could never bring his voice to form those special words.
The water pounded against him, streaming through the rocks above him that moaned and groaned under their own mass. The water had risen over his pinned limbs and was slowly trekking to his throat, ready to flood over him, to deliver the final blow.
Trip... Malcolm closed his eyes, fending off the bitter tears that rose as the first touch of water caressed his lips. Trip... He would never know.
Malcolm brought his arms up in graceful arcs as he swam towards the glimmering surface above him. His lungs we ablaze with an unquenchable fire as the need for breath tore at him. The water was viscous--was it even water?--and he struggled upwards toward the light. His shoulders screamed as pain lanced though him with each revolution of his arms, sweeping upwards and pulling him through the mire towards the gleam of life above him.
He was going to die.
Panic rose like fire inside him as his vision began to grey, and the movements of his arms became laboured and sluggish. He tried to remember how he had gotten here. On moment he was pinned, the water level over his head, and the next he was swimming, his whole body thrumming with the aching need for breath.
For life.
Malcolm clawed towards the surface of the gelatinous substance, desperately praying that he would make it. He had no idea where he was. All he knew was that he had to break the surface of the viscous liquid.
Before he died.
The all-too-familiar sounds of sickbay surrounded Malcolm as he pawed at his eyes, squinting against the glaring lights as he returned to consciousness. Pain throbbed on the inside of his skull, though much less so than it had the last time he remembered being awake. His lips twisted in concentration, his brow furrowed as he struggled to remember back further. There had been something about a cave...and water. There had been water. Viscous water. Malcolm shuddered as threads of memories surfaced in his mind. He wasn't sure what was real and what was not. Though he did know that whatever had happened, it had terrified him
The world seemed to have taken a misty, ethereal quality, Malcolm decided as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the biobed. It was all very strange. His mind was cloudy, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool
He hopped down, steadying himself before taking a few tentative steps away from his bed. Once he was confident that he wasn't going to collapse and that the ground wasn't going to fall out from under his feet, Malcolm wandered into the centre of the room. His fingers absently played with the drawstring of his generic, grey sickbay bottoms as he gazed around him, wondering why everything seemed so...bright. Surfaces gleamed and glimmered in the clear sickbay lighting, and the metal was like polished silver.
"I must be on one hell of a painkiller concoction." Malcolm muttered as he walked in a circle, gazing up at the painfully vivid strip lights.
"Malcolm!" He spun around towards the voice and winced, as the room didn't stop spinning when he did. "You shouldn't be out of bed."
Trip Tucker hurried towards him and took his elbow, gently steering him back to the biobed.
Trip was nice. Malcolm felt a shy smile tug at his features as Trip gently walked him back across the room. He was funny and sweet and kind and gentle. He was just wonderful. But most of all, he was alive. Through his drug-addled mind, Malcolm hazily recalled something about Trip almost dying. Though why he wasn't the one in sickbay if that were true, Malcolm couldn't say.
A few more threads of memory resurfaced in his mind, and Malcolm stopped walking. He felt Trip tug on his arm lightly, and he cocked his head as he looked up at the man's confused, but amused expression.
"C'mon Malcolm. The doc'll have my head if you're not in bed when he gets back. He asked me to look after you for a minute."
Trip cared about him, Malcolm decided. Otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to stay. Yes, that was definitely true. Malcolm's mind swirled with confusion; viscous memories spun and whirled around each other. He wasn't quite sure where one ended and one began. He dimly remembered something from that night in the cave...Trip...Malcolm loved him, didn't he? And Trip obviously cared for him to some extent, didn't he?
Yes, yes he did. Malcolm reached upwards, standing on bare tiptoes to press his lips to Trip's gently. It felt good. It felt natural. It just felt...right.
Trip looked surprised for a moment, and then chuckled. He ruffled his fingers through Malcolm's hair and helped the man back into bed. He pulled the covers up, and Malcolm felt himself growing sleepy. His eyelids began to droop, but he fought against the sudden fatigue, reaching out to catch Trip's hand. The gravity of what he had done was seeping through the drug-haze his head was swimming in, and he felt fear begin to snap at him like electric shocks and build into a heavy ball in his stomach.
"Trip...Trip, I..." He forced out through the fear-induced silence.
"Shh." Trip brought a tender finger to Malcolm's lips. He smiled, his mouth moving into a gentle curve, and pressed a kiss to Malcolm's forehead. "I know." He said quietly. "I've always known."
Malcolm succumbed to the weight of the weakness and painkillers, falling into a shallow sleep. Trip brushed a hand across his face and up into Malcolm's hair, trailing the fingers down slowly across his temples and around the curves of his cheeks. Trip allowed the fond smile to stay on his face, even as he heard the hiss of the sickbay doors heralding Phlox's return.
"I've always known." He whispered. "I've always known."
~the end~