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Reed's Armory -- A Malcolm Reed Fanfiction Archive .. |
Title: The Price of Greatness
Author: Reedfem
Author's e-mail: [email protected]
Fandom: Enterprise
Pairing: Tucker, Reed, Phlox
Rating: PG
Category: Gen
Summary: When Malcolm is feeling bad, his friends try to help him out.
Comments: This is in response to Qzee's request for a comfort/massage fic with Malcolm and Phlox. Angst light. My creativity has been at a low ebb lately, so let's just go with it, okay? Title is part of a quote from Winston Churchill - "The price of greatness is responsibility."
Archived to Reed's Armory on 08/08/2003.
Phlox pulled the cover back up over the now lifeless body on the gurney. He turned solemn eyes on the pensive figure standing beside him, head bowed.
"There was nothing more you could have done, Lieutenant."
"There must have been. It was my responsibility. I should have been able to save him," Malcolm said tensely, clenching his fists at his side.
"No, Lieutenant, nothing you could have done after the initial attack would have made any difference. Crewman Barnes' wound was a fatal one. It wouldn't have mattered if I'd gotten to him immediately. He was already dead." Phlox was struck by an uncharacteristic urge to shake the young man beside him. "If you had remained to rescue him, you and the others with you would no doubt be lying here beside Mr. Barnes. You made the correct decision, Mr. Reed. Continuing to torture yourself about it will help no one."
Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath and settled himself resignedly. He reached out a tentative hand and laid it on the plastic cover.
"I'm sorry."
He dropped his hand back to his side, nodded to Phlox and walked wearily out of sickbay.
"Medical Officer's Log: It's been a week since Crewman Barnes was killed during the away mission to Shkval. I'm becoming concerned about Lieutenant Reed. He apparently feels that he is somehow at fault, that something he did or failed to do resulted in this crewman's death. The Captain has already talked to him, and I myself have attempted to discuss the situation with him several times, but the Lieutenant is reluctant to speak of it. He has in fact flatly refused to discuss it. I find myself out of conventional options. I may have to be creative. End log."
Doctor Phlox sat at his desk for several minutes, lost in thought. Finally, he reached out and activated the comm panel.
"Phlox to Commander Tucker."
Malcolm was exhausted. He'd spent a good half-hour trying to punch and kick the stuffing out of the heavy bag until he was too tired to even move out of its way when it swung back toward him. So now he sat on the floor of the deserted gym. He sat where he'd landed when the heavy bag had shoved him backwards onto his arse. He sat, the weight of his guilt and self-recrimination heavy on his soul, holding him almost physically to the floor. He didn't even hear the door open.
"Oh shit, Malcolm, what have ya done?"
Trip Tucker rushed over to the fallen man, quickly checking for obvious injuries. Finding none, he asked again, "Malcolm, what's wrong? Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?" Getting no response again, Trip snapped his fingers sharply right in front of Malcolm's nose. Malcolm turned dazed eyes to Trip.
"Tucker?"
"Yeah, Malcolm, it's me, Trip. Look, I'm gonna help you get back to your quarters, okay? Put your arm over my shoulders so I can help you up." Trip pulled one of Malcolm's arms around his neck and struggled to his feet, dragging Malcolm up with him. They staggered through the deserted corridors until they reached Malcolm's door. Once inside, Trip walked Malcolm to his bed and gently sat him down on it.
"Malcolm? You in there?" Trip knelt down and gazed worriedly into the slack face of his friend. "Damn, Phlox said you were skunked, but this is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. He propped Malcolm up against the bulkhead and went into the bathroom to turn on the shower. Trip considered for a moment, then turned the temperature control to cold before returning to the other room. He stood over the other man, shaking his head.
"You've really done it to yourself this time, Malcolm, that's for damn sure. You probably haven't eaten since we got back and you sure don't look like you've slept either." He bent down and hefted the other man up again. "Upsie-daisy, Malcolm. Doctor Trip has just the thing to perk you up," he said, muscling the smaller man into the bathroom and more or less shoving him under the shower spray.
Malcolm started spluttering and let loose with an impressive volley of foul-mouthed cursing as he attempted to evade the cold spray. Satisfied that Malcolm was out of his stupor, Trip reached in and turned the water temperature to something more soothing.
"You go ahead and clean up, Malcolm. I'll be in the other room. Take your time," Trip told him, stepping back out of the bathroom and letting the door slide shut. He took advantage of Malcolm's absence to comm Dr. Phlox and filled him in on the Lieutenant's condition. Trip had been frightened by the zombie Malcolm he'd dragged out of the gym, but the loud cursing he could still hear coming from the bathroom told him the zombie was history. What would take its place remained to be seen.
"You're doing fine, Commander. Try to get him to relax and eat something. Sleep should follow naturally after that," Phlox said in satisfaction. "I appreciate your assistance."
"Nothing to it, Doc. I'm just ashamed I didn't notice he was in such a bad way." Trip cut off the comm just as Malcolm was exiting the bathroom. He looked cleaner, but was clearly exhausted and on edge.
"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Trip greeting him jovially. Malcolm scowled at him and walked pointedly to the door.
"Thank you for your assistance, Commander. I assure you, I'm fine. You don't need to spend any more of your time on me."
"You asking me to leave?" Trip paused and Malcolm nodded curtly, not quite gesturing toward the door. "Well, now, that might be a problem," Trip continued slowly. "Ya see, Phlox asked me to make sure you were okay, and well, I'm not real convinced of that yet." As Malcolm's scowl deepened, Trip hastened on. "So, as I see it, you got yourself a choice, Malcolm. You can humor me by sitting yourself down and eating some of this wonderful food I had brought in, or you can go to sickbay and I'll let Phlox deal with you his way. I hear he's got some new kinda lifeforms down there he's just itching to try out," Trip finished with an evil smile.
Malcolm shuddered slightly, then sniffed the air appreciatively. His stomach decided the matter by growling long and loud. Trip laughed and Malcolm actually cracked a tiny smile. Then he sighed and gave in, sitting down at his desk, uncovering the tray, and eating. Trip sat in a chair off to the side, reading some reports on a PADD, letting the silence continue undisturbed. Malcolm ate quickly and soon pushed away from the desk and the mostly empty tray.
"Thank you, Trip. I apologize for my behavior earlier. I've been out of sorts lately." Coming from Malcolm, that was tantamount to confessing a mortal sin.
"I gotta apologize to you too, Malcolm. I didn't notice you were in such a bad way. I feel like I let you down." Trip watched Malcolm carefully and could see the exact instant he started stiffening up, closing back in on himself.
"I assure you...," Malcolm began, only to be cut off.
"Don't go pulling that "fine" act on me, Mister," Trip interrupted, shaking his finger at Malcolm's face. "You're damned lucky Phlox called me instead of the Captain. You'd probably be tied to a bed in sickbay being force fed some kinda liquid nutrient and pumped full of sedatives. Insteada here, enjoying my company and Chef's finest cuisine. You were not to blame for Barnes' death, Malcolm," he went on harshly, seeing Malcolm flinch at the mere mention of the man's name. "And alienating yourself from your friends, turning yourself into some walking automaton, it isn't going to bring him back." Trip finished his tirade and sat back with a sigh.
"He was my responsibility." The words were so softly spoken Trip had to strain to hear them. "It's my job, my responsibility, to protect this ship and its crew. Now Barnes is dead. I didn't do... enough. I made a mistake, and someone died. There must have been something..." Malcolm's voice faded off and he bowed his head, resting it on his hands.
Trip stared at him in mute horror. He'd known Malcolm took his duties seriously, but he'd had no idea it went this deep. Instinctively Trip moved to sit beside Malcolm.
"Malcolm?" he said gently, "I won't pretend to understand everything you're going through here. But you can't keep doing this to yourself. We're all upset about what happened. It's never easy losing someone. But we all volunteered to come out here, we all knew the risks. Barnes knew it too. He knows you did your best."
"But it wasn't enough," Malcolm muttered miserably.
"Like my daddy used to say, Malcolm, sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. You pick yourself up, you grieve, you learn from your mistakes," Trip said lightly, trying to dispel the heavy aura of gloom in the atmosphere. He put his hand tentatively on Malcolm's shoulder, patting it soothingly.
Malcolm sighed. He knew he should be able to get beyond this, but all those years of being told he was incompetent, unworthy and good-for-nothing were hard to shake. He'd known he was going overboard, but hadn't been able to stop the cycle, to ask for help. Thank God for Tucker. No, thank God for Phlox, who had sent him Tucker. Who, Malcolm realized with a start, had progressed from patting his shoulder to rubbing rather fiercely at the rock hard structures that were currently his upper back muscles. He opened his mouth to protest this intimacy, but what came out resembled more a groan of pleasure than a protestation.
"Damn but you're tense, Malcolm. You're wound tighter than a frog's ass. Lay down, lemme loosen some of this up for ya," Trip said briskly, not waiting for Malcolm to respond before pushing him to lay face down on the bed. Malcolm started to object, even going so far as to open his mouth to speak, but Trip had begun to expertly knead his shoulder muscles and it felt so bloody wonderful that Malcolm overrode his internal voices, shut his mouth and just enjoyed. Tucker was actually quite good at this, he realized with some surprise and not a little gratitude.
Trip continued kneading the tight muscles of Malcolm's upper body. They were finally relaxing enough that he was now able to lift and squeeze, throwing in some deeper stroking movements down his back, finding more tension. He could hear Malcolm grunting softly now and then, whenever he encountered a particularly tense area and started working it out. Trip knew he was making headway when some fingertip work on the back of Malcolm's neck produced a slight shudder and a rash of goosebumps.
"Doing okay?" Trip didn't really expect a reply, but he supposed Malcolm's rumbled growl sufficed. He chuckled and continued stroking his way down and across Malcolm's back, eventually putting his hands on either side of Malcolm's spine and stroking upwards firmly, hearing the multitude of muffled pops as it realigned. That brought forth a satisfied cursing groan from the rapidly decompressing body under his hands.
Trip moved on down to his legs and quickly discovered several highly ticklish spots, judging by the way Malcolm occasionally jerked and sniggered. Slightly firmer strokes disarmed the tickle trigger and by the time Trip was beginning to demonstrate his extensive knowledge of reflexology, Malcolm was hovering on the cusp of slumberland. Trip finished up the massage with a slow, gentle percussion, lingering on the now relaxed upper back and shoulder area. He gradually stopped and left one hand resting on Malcolm's back, who had at last succumbed to his exhaustion and was breathing in the slow, steady rhythm of a deep and peaceful slumber.
Trip eased himself away gingerly, unwilling to chance jostling Malcolm out of his desperately needed rest. He gazed down fondly at the now relaxed and younger-looking face of his softly snoring friend and was unable to resist stroking the hair back from Malcolm's forehead.
"With your shield, Malcolm, not on it," Trip murmured, before dimming the lights and leaving quietly. Once out in the corridor, he found a comm panel.
"Tucker to Phlox. Mission accomplished."
~the end~