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Reed's Armory -- A Malcolm Reed Fanfiction Archive .. |
Title: Pennies and Promises
Author: Regina Bellatrix
Author's e-mail: [email protected]
Author's Web site: http://www.creativemachinations.com/
Fandom: Enterprise
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: R
Category: Slash
Warning: AU
Summary: Trip and Malcolm grow closer until the death of Trip's sister causes him to shut the other man out.
Spoilers: Shuttlepod One, Communicator, Cogenitor, Regeneration, First Flight, Bounty, The Expanse
Comments: N.B.: Once you get past the events of "The Expanse," it's definitely going to be an AU. This thing started under the twin impetus of me wanting to write a post-Cogenitor fic and the gnawing of a plot bunny that was born when B&B said that Q might turn up while Enterprise is in the Delphic Expanse. On a more general note, there are inconsistencies within the episode "The Expanse," as well as what I find to be extremely irritating scientific illiteracy. I've muddled through the inconsisencies as best as I could. To keep from making myself ill by repeating stupidity, I've ignored the whole issue of Archer's proof through "Quantum dating." B&B outlined perfectly well how they wanted it to work, and that left me no room to fix it and nudge it closer to reality. That's not what the story is about anyway. ~RB
Beta reader(s): Reedfem & shakespearespot
Archived to Reed's Armory on 10/13/03.
"Go 'way."
beep
"Goddamnit..." Trip lifted his head from his pillow and glared at the door. "I said, Go. Away!"
"No," came the voice of his tormentor over the comm. It was Malcolm Reed's voice. "Let me in, Trip."
"I wanna be alone."
"Too bad. Now, open this door. I'm not leaving until you talk to me."
"Fine," he growled, anger giving him the energy to lunge out of bed and slap the door controls.
Malcolm stepped into the room, looking Trip up and down critically. "You look like hell. Mind telling me what's going on?"
"Yeah. I do." Trip glared, willing the Englishman away.
Malcolm only crossed his arms over his chest and glared right back. "You've been snapping at people all week. No one ever sees you outside of Engineering. The captain's been an ogre as well, especially if anyone mentions you. This all started after we parted with that Vissian ship. Now, I want to know what's going on."
"It don't have nothin' to do with ship's security; ain't none of your business!"
"I'm not here as Chief of Security. I'm here as your friend. That makes it my business."
"Sure, Malcolm, you believe that if you want, but when I could'a used a friend, you were off lettin' Vaylo play with your phase cannon."
Reed looked stricken; his skin paled, and blue eyes went wide. "That's not fair."
It wasn't; Trip knew that, and under normal circumstances, he would have rushed to say whatever it took to wipe that hurt expression from Malcolm's face. Just at the moment, however, he was too caught up in his own pain to care.
"It's true," he said. "Now, get out. I don't wanna talk to you." Trip palmed open the door, and Malcolm moved woodenly out into the corridor. Another slap to the panel, and Trip had closed the door, locking it.
Failed. He'd failed his best friend. Malcolm was despondent...and he was angry. Angry with himself, then Trip, then himself again. He should have been paying more attention...Trip should have come to him...he should have talked to the Southerner once he'd heard that the man had been banned from the Vissian ship. The circle of accusations and self-recriminations was un-ending.
He was a terrible friend. It had always been true, hadn't it? He was forever saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, or not saying and doing enough. It was impossible for him to win. That was why he had been determined to avoid such entanglements on this mission, but Trip Tucker had wormed his way into his affections anyway.
Look what it had got him. A friend who hated him because he hadn't been around when he was needed.
Nothing new.
Malcolm watched as Trip stormed from the Armoury, leaving him alone with Captain Archer, who was obviously incensed.
"That man is an irresponsible pain in the ass! He never used to act like this."
"It's all my fault, Sir."
Archer half turned, squinting sideways at him. "Your fault?"
Malcolm nodded and hung his head.
Swinging full around, Archer grabbed hold of his lieutenant and shook him. "You were involved in this, too?! I suppose I should have realised...I used to think you were smarter than this, but you don't seem to have any compunctions about blindly following Trip on whatever half-baked scheme he comes up with, do you?"
"Sir, I..."
"Quiet!" He shoved Malcolm away from himself. "I'll tell you when you have permission to speak, Lieutenant. The two of you have obviously been keeping a great deal from me...Did he tell you that the cogenitor committed suicide?"
Malcolm's eyes went wide, the whites showing all around, and he managed a hoarse, "What?"
"So, he's been keeping things from you, too. Funny, it doesn't make me feel any better." Archer stopped to consider Malcolm a moment. "You're relieved of duty until further notice and confined to quarters. I need to have a little chat with Trip about the consequences of not telling the whole truth, then, I'll decide what I'm going to do with you. Dismissed."
"But, Sir..."
"Dismissed, Lieutenant! Before I call for an escort for you."
Archer's eyes were cold in a way he'd never seen them before, and Malcolm simply swallowed and did as he was told. He would have to trust that Trip would be able to sort out this misunderstanding. Before they were both busted down the ranks.
T'Pol could hear the argument going on in the captain's ready room. She wondered if she should intervene, but decided that the wisest course of action would be to wait until Archer was alone, then apprise him of the facts of the situation. He would be more likely to listen if he was not humiliated in front of Tucker in the process. Still, the Human men's raised voices were...wearing on her control.
"I told you, Malcolm had nothin' to do with any of that!"
"That's not what he said! He said that it was all his fault."
"Well, I don't know what the hell he was talkin' 'bout, but it wasn't what you think it was. I've never lied to you, Cap'n!"
"I would have believed that once, Trip. Now, I'm not so sure. I know you'd do anything to protect him."
"He don't need my protection! He w's too busy screwin' the Vissian Armoury Officer t' notice 'r care what I was up to!"
T'Pol's eyebrow twitched. She had seen Reed with his Vissian counterpart on numerous occasions during the days the two ships had been docked together, but she had not realised that the pair had been...intimate. More intriguing was the clear note of pain in Tucker's voice as he relayed this bit of information.
"He was doing what?"
"It's true. He was with Vaylo the whole time. Ask anybody. Talk's all over the ship 'bout the way they were makin' eyes at each other. He even gave her a tour of the Armoury. Malcolm never lets aliens in there."
Tucker's voice was petulant, wounded. She had always thought them simply friends, but suspicions began to form in the sub- commander's mind about the nature of the Southerner's true feelings for the lieutenant.
"Now, I get it. This mess you created with the cogenitor, Trip...You started it because you were jealous, didn't you?" Archer speared his engineer with an anger-filled glare. "Didn't you?"
"No. Yes. Not really." Trip looked down at his feet, his boots suddenly terribly interesting.
"Which is it, Trip?"
"Maybe lookin' for somethin' to take my mind offa him got my curiosity 'bout the cogenitor goin', but once I saw how she was bein' treated, I didn't have a thought for Malcolm, I swear." He looked up at his captain with pleading eyes, begging for some kind of understanding.
"You didn't have a thought for much else, either." Archer watched Trip flinch, ruthlessly suppressing the small twinge of guilt he felt at the unkind words. "Go tell Malcolm that he's not in any trouble. He can go back to work and do whatever he likes after he goes off-duty. He is no longer confined to quarters.
"I suggest that you tell him what happened, Trip. I don't want him claiming responsibility for anything else he didn't do. Dismissed."
The sound of his door chime brought Malcolm to his feet in an instant. He keyed the door open to find that his visitor was Trip. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but Malcolm simply settled for, "Commander?"
"Hey, Malcolm. C'n I come in?" Tucker glanced up at Malcolm's face and then away, never meeting the dark haired man's questioning blue eyes.
"Of course you may. Please, have a seat." Malcolm waited patiently while Trip shuffled in and settled himself in the desk chair. He almost offered the Southerner something to drink, but chose instead to remain silent and perched on the edge of his bunk.
"Cap'n said that you're back on duty and free from confinement, period." Trip studied his hands, picking at a hangnail.
"Oh. Was that all?"
"No." One hand came up, almost of its own volition, to scrub over his face. "He wanted me to tell you what all went on with the Vissians, so you wouldn't be takin' the blame for more stuff you didn't do." Trip paused, taking in a deep breath. "An' I think I owe you an apology. I shouldn't've said what I did; you were only tryin' t' be a good friend. I was j'st too much in pain t' really appreciate it. I'm sorry."
"No, Trip, you were right. I wasn't paying enough attention to what you were doing."
"You can't be expected to baby-sit me, Malcolm. You've a right to...entertain yourself." He tried for a glance up at his friend and a weak smile. "Lord knows it's been an age since either of us has been laid, considerin' our lack of success on Risa, and Vaylo sure was somethin' else. Might as well, while you've the chance."
Malcolm blushed. "I seem to recall finding you less than fully dressed with an alien princess not so very long ago."
"Can ya keep a secret, Mal? I never slept with her." Trip laughed, though it was more self-deprecating than mirthful. "It would have been takin' advantage, and I didn't really want to any way. We kissed a couple of times, kinda in the heat of battle, but it never went beyond that." The blush had faded, and Malcolm was giving Trip a considering look. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have assumed...If it makes you feel any better, I didn't sleep with Vaylo either."
Trip's eyes went wide, his eyebrows climbing up in surprise. "But everybody on the ship..."
"I know what they all think," interrupted Malcolm, "and I also know what actually happened."
"Did she turn ya down or..." Trip shook his head, eyebrows pulling together now in confusion, apparently unable to fathom what could have gone wrong.
"No. She actually propositioned me, but I was, ah, uncomfortable with the situation and declined."
"You did what?"
"I," said Malcolm primly, "turned her down. My performance was apparently to be evaluated, and all future interaction was contingent on my being up to par. Rather a lot of pressure to put on a man, if you ask me."
"Got stage fright, huh?"
"Something like that." Malcolm smiled wryly. "Now, why don't you bite the bullet and tell me what you were up to while we were docked with the Vissians?"
The guilt was still a problem. It was inescapable, but thanks to Malcolm, Trip was learning not to wallow in it. He supposed that he shouldn't have been so surprised by the smaller man's intimate association with guilt. From what he'd learned of the man's parents, they were masters at wielding it to manipulate their children, and Malcolm himself had chosen a profession in which he was called upon to use deadly force in order to protect others.
"You can't shut it away and remain untouched by guilt," Malcolm had told him, "you'd become a monster if you did, but you can set it aside. Just far enough so that you can function. That's all."
"D'ya...d'ya ever have nightmares 'bout it, Mal?" Trip had asked, head bowed, as was becoming usual for him.
Malcolm had remained quiet until Trip looked up at him. He locked his intense blue eyes with the Southerner's watery ones, then, and said one word: "Yes."
That seemed to seal something in their friendship, and confidences became more frequent and more intimate. Trip began to spend the time he once would have spent in Archer's company with Malcolm. He tried to introduce Malcolm to the joy of watching American football, which was a distinctly qualified success. Malcolm had no actual interest in the game, but found it entertaining to make caustic comments about the game and players, deeming it "as good an excuse as any to sit around and drink beer."
In addition to their sporadic "football Sundays," as Trip called them, regardless of what day of the week it actually was when a new game came in, the two men had regular "tactical Thursdays." Thursday evenings Malcolm would teach Trip about tactics, often with the help of a board game such as chess or castles. Some weeks they would head to the gym for a lesson in hand-to-hand combat to provide a change from the dry, intellectual side of the lessons. One evening, Malcolm had quietly thanked him for taking the lessons seriously and sticking with them.
"Why're you thankin' me?" Trip had asked. "You're the one doin' me a favour."
"A number of reasons, I suppose." Malcolm had shrugged, then, shoulders rolling liquidly. "A lot of people don't take me very seriously--the gun mad, diminutive Armoury Officer--and it feels good to be...I don't know...respected for a change. Mostly, it makes me feel better to know you're doing this. As you learn to fight better, to think your way out of difficult situations more effectively, I find I worry about you a little less."
"Mal, I..."
"No, Trip, please...I don't have many friends. I like doing what I can to keep them in one piece." He'd raised a hand, then, resting it on Trip's bicep. After a long second, he'd given the arm a squeeze and, releasing it, turned, walking away.
Now, more smitten than ever, Trip could still feel his arm tingling from the touch whenever he thought about it. The extra time he was spending with the beautiful little man meant that he had to work harder to keep his feelings for him hidden. Malcolm didn't talk overmuch about past romantic relationships, but all those he had mentioned had been with women. Nothing indicated that he liked men sexually at all, and Trip cherished their friendship too much to ruin it by frightening the other man away.
He'd already lost Jon's friendship, he couldn't afford to lose Malcolm's as well.
He was going insane. There was no other explanation for it. Granted, there was nothing particularly strange about having erotic dreams, especially when one hasn't had sex in a long time, or in Malcolm Reed's case, an excruciatingly long time, but having erotic dreams about his very male best friend was distinctly out of the ordinary for Malcolm.
Looking down at the erection he'd woken with, Malcolm said, "Just what do you think you're doing? That's Trip you're getting all excited about. My best friend, Trip. Trip of the muscular arms. Trip of the bulging shorts..." He bit off a moan as his cock jumped in response. Trip of the beautiful blue eyes. Trip of the delicious bum. Trip of the beloved smile, his mind continued to supply. His cock twitched again, coming to full hardness, and he couldn't hold back another moan.
"Shit. I am going insane. Lying in bed, talking to my wank, which is hard at the thought of Trip Tucker; I must be crazy." Malcolm pushed off his pyjama bottoms in disgust and grasped his heavy shaft. "Think about T'Pol..."
Try as he might, Malcolm couldn't bring to mind a satisfactory image of the Vulcan woman, whom he'd once so admired. Her complexion kept turning pink, her ears rounded, her eyes blue...In short, her image was continually reverting to that of a certain blonde engineer. Eventually, Malcolm gave up trying to shape the fantasy and let his mind provide him the illusion of Trip sucking him off.
That was all his body needed for release. Malcolm came hard, bellowing Trip's name as he bucked forward into his own touch. He lay there, panting, for a few moments afterward, wondering how he had got into this predicament and how he was going to get out of it.
No answers were forthcoming, so he simply climbed out of his bunk, stripped the sheets from it, dumping them and his nightclothes in the laundry, and padded into his shower. Even if he was insane, he needed to be clean and well-groomed for his duty shift that day.
It was over. Thank goodness, it was over. Whatever those cybernetic creatures were, Trip never wanted to encounter them again. The only good thing to come out of the incident was the fact that Jon was talking to him again.
When it had started, their relations were still tense, civil, but tense. The night after they destroyed the modified arctic transport, however, Trip's door chime had rung, and instead of finding Malcolm on the other side, as he'd hoped, Jonathan Archer was standing there, looking shaken. Trip had invited him in to be polite, and Jon had collapsed in a chair and began apologising. Jon told him about what he'd seen on the transport, about his and Malcolm's many close-calls, about how it made him realise that he needed to make things better between the two of them before anything could happen to either one of them. The conversation had ended with the two men hugging and crying on each other's shoulders.
Trip was grateful for it. As much as he loved Malcolm and spending time with Malcolm, he'd missed Jon terribly. They had been through a lot together over the years, and the gulf that had sprung up between them because of the cogenitor had felt terribly wrong.
"Have a seat, Trip." Jon was sitting in his ready room leaning on the desk top. His expression was oddly immobile, and Trip knew immediately that there was something wrong.
Trip lowered himself into the chair opposite Archer. "What's goin' on?"
"I just got a call from Admiral Forrest. Trip...A.G.'s dead, Trip."
Stunned, Trip could only stare blankly at Jon for a few seconds before managing a breathy, "What?"
"It was an accident. He was climbing on Mount McKinley. I don't know much more than that." He bowed his head, swallowing hard. "I figured you'd want to know."
Trip nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Jon...for tellin' me...in person and all."
"If...if you want to take a little time for yourself, you have my permission."
This time, he shook his head. "Naw. I reckon I'll do better if I keep busy workin' on them charges for ya." Trip stood, hesitating as he moved toward the door. "We'll raise a toast to 'im after dinner, though, yeah?"
"Yeah." Jon nodded vigorously. "We'll do that. I'll see you."
"See ya," Trip agreed and then left Archer alone with his grief.
"Trip?"
"Huh?"
"Are you all right?" Malcolm stood next to his table in the mess, lunch tray in hand, looking down at Trip with a concerned expression.
Tucker had no idea how long the other man had been standing there. When the dark eyebrows began to pull closer together, he decided that it had obviously been too long. "I'm fine, Mal. J'st a bit spacey, is all. Sit down, will ya? You're makin' the place look cluttered." He gestured at the chair, and as pleased to see Malcolm sit at his bidding.
"The captain was a bit...spacey as well today." Malcolm cocked his head and leaned in towards Trip. "You two aren't having problems again, are you?"
The Brit was so earnest, Trip couldn't help but laugh. "You make us sound like lovers who need to be in couples therapy, Mal. No, we're good. Admiral Forrest called with some bad news this mornin', though. An old friend of the cap'n's and mine died in a climbin' accident recently."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Trip."
"It's okay. Well," he amended, seeing the stern look Malcolm was giving him, "it's not okay, but I figure, the kind of risk taker A.G. was, he shoulda been dead about ten times over already. And he died doin' somethin' he loved...That ain't too much to grieve about, all told."
"Do you mean to say that you wouldn't grieve for me if I got killed puttering about with the phase cannons?"
Trip could see the slight mischievous glint in his friend's eye and answered un-defensively. "No, I'd grieve plenty, I'd j'st grieve a bit more if you got killed by a bus, that's all."
"Hmmm...Now there's a lovely image. A greasy spot on Main Street, formerly known as Malcolm Reed, attended by a blubbering Trip Tucker."
He snorted at that and said, "Anybody ever tell you you've got a morbid sense of humour, Mal?"
"Yes," replied Malcolm, pausing to take a sip of his tea, "you and my sister."
"I'd like to meet your sister." The words were impulsive, but Trip meant them. Sitting across the table from Malcolm, watching the man eat, he had the sudden need to become acquainted with Malcolm's sister...and any other relative he could find.
Malcolm set his fork back down and stared at the Southerner with a perplexed expression. "Why?"
Trip shrugged. "I dunno. You always seem fond of her when you bring her up...guess it j'st piqued my curiosity."
"So long as you promise not to...charm her the way you do every other woman you come across, I suppose I could arrange it next time we're on Earth."
"No puttin' the moves on little sis' Madeline. Got it." He smiled winningly at Malcolm. "I swear I'll treat her like she was my own baby sister.
"I'm going to hold you to that." Malcolm pointed his fork at Trip meaningfully.
"I'll be a perfect gentleman. Don't you worry." When all was said and done, however, it wouldn't be his promise to Malcolm that would be what insured his good behaviour, but rather his feelings for Malcolm. As pleasant a woman as Madeline Reed might be, Trip was fairly certain that she would never be able to compare to her stunning and quirky older brother. One Reed already had his heart firmly in thrall; he would never be able to offer it to another.
Trip would grieve for him. Trip would grieve for him and wanted to meet his little sister. For some reason that Malcolm could not, or chose not to fathom, the thought put an extra spring in his step. Images had been whirring in his mind ever since their conversation at lunch. One inattentive moment in the Armoury had spawned a fantasy of Trip, Madeline and himself sailing in the Florida Keys. Never mind his fear of drowning. With Trip he would be safe, and the Southerner often spoke of the joy he had felt crewing his uncle's boat and diving there when he was younger. It would be lovely to share that joy.
Malcolm stopped, one hand raised to key open his door, and frowned at the turn his thoughts were taking. Granted, Tucker was probably the best friend he'd had since childhood, if not ever, but this raging sentimentality was a bit much. Coupled with his recent erotic dreams about his friend, this wave of sentimental feeling was distinctly disturbing. It was shameful, being infatuated with a superior like that, and no officer, no Reed, would allow it to happen.
He snorted at himself, finally opening the door and walking into his quarters. Allowed or not, he suspected the feelings for Trip would not be subsiding soon. The man had an irritating ability to sneak past his defences even when they were at their strongest.
When he stopped to think about it, it frightened him. Malcolm had always been careful to keep himself under control, and excepting one early love affair, heterosexual. Women, he'd reasoned once, couldn't make him lose control. He liked women, respected them, found a number of them highly attractive, and with a woman as his romantic and sexual partner he could remain in control of himself at least. Men were another issue altogether. Another man could take his control away.
The times he would find another man particularily alluring, Malcolm had always been able to distract himself with an equally enticing woman. Eventually, the habit of dating women exclusively was so ingrained that no man ever got more than a semi-appreciative glance from him.
Until he met Trip Tucker.
All unaware, Trip managed to throw Malcolm's rule book right out the airlock. The man was attractive, to say the least, but it wasn't Malcolm's libido that he had first set free, it was his temper. Usually, Malcolm had very good control over his temper. He even considered himself a fairly patient man. Not so with Trip. The smallest irritating thing the man did had Malcolm biting his tongue to keep from making a nasty comment, and he had blown up at him on a regular basis for a while.
Then had come the incident in Shuttlepod One, and they had become friends. That was when Trip acquired the ability to override Malcolm's better judgement. One fiasco followed another, and still he let Trip drag him along on ill-advised adventures. His anger at Tucker for conning him into these situations was lessening each time. Even when the captain had falsely assumed that he had been involved in the terrible incident involving the cogenitor, Malcolm had felt no anger toward the Southerner, only a deep concern for his friend.
The interviening weeks had brought them closer than ever, and Malcolm's control was slipping even further. Erotic dreams, silly daydreams, following Trip with his eyes, if not physically, whenever they were in the same room...All were signs of the disrepair his personal defences were falling into. It had to stop. Unfortunately, Malcolm wasn't entirely certain how to accomplish that.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" Malcolm's face was a shade away from beet red and darkening quickly. Trip stood in front of him, eyes wide and jaw slack, saying nothing. "Didn't it occur to you that, if I had locked the doors to the Armoury, it was probably for a reason? A very good reason?? Never override a lock on this room and just walk in! You could have been killed."
Trip swallowed and worked his jaw, trying to say something comprehensible. He'd really had no idea that Malcolm and Ensign Tanner were testing the phase pistols, with live rounds no less, in the Armoury and had locked the doors so that no one could stumble in and be hurt. The Southerner had simply assumed that the paranoid lieutenant had simply forgotten to unlock them when he'd gone on duty that morning, and he had punched in his override code and sauntered in.
He'd nearly been shot two steps into the room, and now Malcolm was absolutely livid. Although, Trip supposed he should be grateful for small favours; Malcolm had dismissed Tanner before laying into him.
"I'm sorry, Mal. I didn't realise...I swear I'll never do it again." He gave the smaller man an earnest, puppy-dog look and relaxed when he saw Malcolm's normal colour returning.
"It's alright. You just..." Malcolm took a deep breath and suddenly threw his arms around Trip in a brief but crushing hug. "You just scared the hell out of me, that's all," he finished when he pulled back. "Now, what did you come down here for? Trip? Tucker, answer the question."
Malcolm's fingers snapped in front of Trip's face, and the engineer snapped back to reality. He wasn't certain if the daze he was in was caused by Malcolm trying to break his ribs with that hug, or by the shock of having Malcolm actually hug him, but his whole body was beginning to tingle.
"Oh, ah...I came t' ask you if ya wanted to go hikin' or maybe campin' wi' me and the cap'n when we git to the planet tomorrow."
"You and the captain?"
Trip nodded 'yes.'
"No, I don't think so."
"What? Why not?" Trip didn't even try to hide his dissapointment. Perhaps he could guilt Malcolm into going.
"I really think that it would be better if the two of you went alone. After everything that's happened lately, you ought to have some time together, just the pair of you, to renew your friendship."
"But, Mal, I thought it'd be fun for the three of us to go relax, together." Trip was whining now, but he didn't care. He wanted Malcolm with. Wanted to spend his shoreleave with the man he loved, even if they were only good friends.
"I'm sure it would be, but it's for the best if I stay behind. Besides, T'Pol will likely be down there with her science teams; somebody has to stay and mind the ship."
Trip hung his head. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
"You know I am," said Malcolm kindly. "Next time, Trip. We'll do something together next time."
"Promise?" He raised his head a little, looking at Malcolm through his eyelashes and grinning at him like a little kid.
Malcolm smiled back. "Promise."
"So, Trip," began Archer uncertainly, strapping on his backpack, "we never really talked about what happened between us. I mean, I half-blurted out an apology, and we got all teary, but that's it...And you never explicitly forgave me."
"D' we need to talk about it? We're good now." Trip refused to look up. This was exactly the sort of thing he'd wanted to avoid. Although, it was exactly the sort of thing Malcolm had wanted him to be able to do.
"I think we do, Trip. I said a lot of things to you back then that were way out of line. I should have been more supportive, knowing how hard you'd take the cogenitor's suicide. Then there was the ah...incident with Malcolm. Let's face it, I was acting like a jerk. I was angry, but I should have dealt with it better. Can you forgive me?"
"Course I can, Cap'n, j'st so long as I know you've forgiven me." He raised his eyes to Jon's face, though he was almost afraid to look. The compassion he saw there made his eyes mist and his heart leap with joy, as did his friend's next words.
"Of course I have, Trip."
"Thanks, Jon."
"You're welcome, Trip. Now," he said, clapping Tucker on the arm and starting off across the rocky landsacpe, "I hear you and Malcolm have been spending a lot of time together lately. I want all the juicy details."
They had been camping for three days and were just debating whether or not to stop the hike they were on for lunch when they got the call from Malcolm. It was urgent, he said, that the captain return to the ship. Another vessel had arrived at the planet, and its captain was insisting on speaking to Archer, and only Archer. Lunch was put on hold until they returned to Enterprise and found out what the alien wanted.
Trip followed Archer as they retraced their steps along the narrow ledge back to the pod they'd flown down to the surface. The ledge itself was only two metres above another, much wider ledge, but he didn't relish the thought of falling on the rocks strewn below, or risking tumbling over the edge of the lower ledge, and stuck close to the face of the cliff rising above them. His foot came down on a particularly narrow spot, and the next thing he knew, he was falling that spare two metres, rocks from the crumbled ledge bouncing beneath him just before he landed on them.
"Oh, ow..."
"Trip! Trip!" Archer's frantic voice sounded over the edge. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. J'st a bit bruised. And dirty." Trip futilely tried to brush the dust off of his uniform, but it clung stubbornly to the fabric. "Good thing my clothes were already brown." He heard a sound that was annoyingly familiar and looked up to glare at his captain. "It ain't funny, so you c'n j'st quit laughin'."
"It is funny, Trip. You were inattentive and you slipped and fell. What would Malcolm say about his student now?"
"I did not slip. The ledge crumbled, an' Malcolm'd be down here fussin' over me now, makin' sure I was in one piece. He wouldn't be up there, laughin'." Trip pouted and stood, still trying to dust himself off. He swatted one butt cheek a little too hard in the attempt and started at the contact, then felt out the tender area. "Damn. That's gonna bruise." That sent Archer into another fit of laughter, and Trip realised that it was going to be a long walk back to the pod.
He knew, by the set of the man's shoulders and by the sound of his slightly too hoarse voice, that Malcolm was furious. From his experience of the Englishman, Trip was willing to bet that most of that anger was directed inward. Malcolm had a tendancy to take responsibility for every ill that befell Enterprise and her crew directly onto his own shoulders, no matter how little responsibility he truly bore. In all likelihood, the lieutenant had come up with several reasons already why he should have forseen and guarded against Jonathan Archer's abduction. Trip was certain he could tell him that it wasn't his fault until he was blue in the face, but he knew Malcolm would never listen.
Trip's muscles were starting to stiffen up from his fall earlier, and he rolled his shoulders, rubbing aimlessly at the tense muscles. He'd noticed Malcolm giving him a concerned look earlier and had leaned over the lieutenant's station to assure him that he was fine. Trip explained about his little adventure earlier that day, joking that getting stunned actually seemed to have done his abused muscles a bit of good--for a while, at any rate. Malcolm had smiled tightly back at him, not looking particularily reassured, but some of the haunted look did dissapear from his eyes.
For his own part, Trip was feeling somewhat out of his depth. None of his few times in command had prepared him for this situation. He wanted to curse T'Pol for taking his position as First Officer at the beginning of their mission and then abandoning him now without the experience and confidence he would otherwise have had. It wasn't fair of him, he knew. T'Pol hadn't abandoned him. She was stuck in decon; it was just bad timing.
Instead, he silently thanked Malcolm for the lessons he'd been giving him and drew strength from the man's solid presence and determination. Trip wanted his friend back, and Malcolm wanted to redeem himself for allowing the abduction to take place at all. Yoked together in the same harness as they were, there was nothing that could stop them.
At least, that's what Trip hoped.
Perfect. Just bloody perfect. In the middle of pursuing the captain's Tellarite abductor, trying to intercept him before he could hand his captive over to the Klingons, he gets called upon to round up an irrational Vulcan. In his EV suit, no less. Malcolm was not a happy man. He issued orders and warnings to the two security personnel he'd brought with him and stalked off, following the information displayed on his scanner.
"Malcolm!"
He turned toward the sub-commander's voice, startled. She had never called him by his given name before. It was rare enough for her to use his surname; usually, she addressed him by rank. This, combined with the desperate, almost hungry look she was giving him disturbed him greatly. Then, she pressed herself to him, practically hanging off of his suit, and he became truly uncomfortable.
She started asking him about his sex life. Apparently she'd seen the glances he'd sent her way early on in the mission, when she was still a novelty in her tight catsuit. She either hadn't been watching him in return for quite some time, or her confused state blocked it from her memory, because he no longer saw her as a desirable figure and kept his gaze strictly professional. He was much more fixated on a particularly lovely blonde these days.
The situation was quickly tumbling from his control, and it irritated him. Of all the things to have to put up with during a crisis, inappropriate advances from this particular superior officer were not high on his list of preferences, and it angered him. Finally, she made a mistake, giving him an excuse to act on his anger. Through the bulk of the suit, he felt her hand tug at one of his air hoses.
In one cumbersome, but still effective, movement he shoved her away and reached for his phase pistol. Unfortunately, the nearly naked Vulcan was considerably faster than he was in his heavy EV suit, and she retaliated by pushing him off balance and into the wall behind him. While he flailed in the thrice-be-damned suit, she ran off in the opposite direction.
Upright again, he commed his team, sending them to cut off the sub-commander. They caught her in a junction a few moments before he caught up with her himself. This time, he was not surprised when she lunged for him. His phase pistol was already out and at the ready. He had but to stun her as she moved toward him. Child's play, really.
He and his team deposited her back in decon, and he rushed to strip off the EV suit and return to the bridge. He'd been gone too long as it was, and Trip might be needing him soon.
Jon stepped onto the bridge, and Trip smiled at his friend, moving gratefully away from the captain's chair. He took up his usual place next to Malcolm after he filled Archer in on the Klingon's status and received a pat on the arm. Understandably, the captain wanted to know where his First Officer was.
"Ah, she's in decon with Doctor Phlox."
"What happened?"
Recalling the odd look T'Pol had given him when he had delivered dinner and having to send Malcolm down to D deck to round her up, a task from which the lieutenant had returned looking like a thunder cloud, Trip glanced down at the brunette. They exchanged helpless, somewhat embarrassed looks before Malcolm finally replied.
"It's a long story."
"We're being hailed, Captain," cut in Hoshi.
Archer nodded for her to open the channel and turned toward the viewscreen where the Tellarite's smiling face had appeared.
Trip paid little attention to his captain's conversation with the bounty hunter, only noting something the man said about the Klingons doubling the price on Archer's head. Dealing with the Tellarite, however, was no longer his responsibility, and he was grateful for it. He simply stood, soaking up the heat from Malcolm's body, basking in it like a cat in a sunny spot. He'd missed just being able to stand here like this, with nothing to do but wait for orders.
Archer's expression, when he finished his conversation and turned back to Trip and Malcolm, was one of slightly confused concern, but all he said was, "I trust the two of you will tell me this 'long story' of yours sometime soon."
"Sure thing, Cap'n."
Nodding, Archer looked thoughtfully at his two officers. "So, you boys had to deal with this all by yourselves."
Trip and Malcolm both nodded in response.
"Good job. You two work well together."
The compliment was small enough, but the two men both brightened like little kids being given a special treat.
"Now, I'm going to go get cleaned up. If she's been in decon all this time, I'm sure T'Pol won't be at dinner. Malcolm, why don't you join me and Trip. The two of you can fill me in on everything then."
Dinner had been pleasant enough. With Trip there, Malcolm had been able to relax more than during the last meal he had shared with the captain. They had told Captain Archer about T'Pol's sojourn in the decontamination chamber with Phlox, as well as her subsequent escape and Malcolm's expedition to round her up again. Malcolm embellished the tale very little, only saying that the sub-commander had been irrational on the verge of delusion, and that he had been forced to stun her to get her back to the doctor in decon. Archer found the tale worrisome, and had vowed to go check on T'Pol, who was resting in her quarters now, as soon as they were finished eating.
The meal over, he and Trip were walking back to their quarters, and Malcolm was trying to find the courage to invite himself over to Trip's quarters for a chat. Even if he didn't want to reveal the nature of T'Pol's irrational behaviour to the captain, for his own sanity, he needed to discuss it with someone.
"Somethin' buggin' you, Mal?"
Malcolm started and looked up into Tucker's concerned blue eyes. He could, he decided just then, easily drown in those eyes. All he said, however, was, "I beg your pardon?"
"You were broodin'. Somethin' the matter?"
A perfect opening. "Well, there is something I'd like to...discuss."
"Wanna swing by my place? Maybe have a drink?"
"That would be lovely. Thank you."
It was obvious, upon entering the room, that Trip had not spent any amount of time in his quarters in several days. The place was spotless, save for some light dust, devoid of the bits of mechanical clutter, old coffee mug, and the odd wayward sock that were usually present. Trip motioned him to sit and headed for his closet.
"What d'ya want to drink? I've got the end of a bottle of whiskey and some sherry."
"Dry?"
Trip nodded. "Amontillado."
Malcolm brightened. He hated sweet sherries, but was quite fond of the dry, and it had been a while since he'd had any. "I'll have a glass of that, please."
Retrieving two glasses, Trip poured a generous amount of the sherry in each, handing one to Malcolm and then settling himself on the edge of his bunk. "So, what'd you wanna talk about?"
Malcolm took a fortifying sip of his drink and replied, "My encounter with the sub-commander this afternoon."
Trip looked confused. "But you j'st told me an' the cap'n about it at dinner."
"Not all of it. There were some details that I felt the captain did not need to hear, as an issue of both my and T'Pol's privacy. I do, however want to talk to someone about it. To get it off my chest, as it were."
"Sure, Malcolm, that's fine. I'm always here for that sort of stuff; you know that. What happened that's got you so riled? I kinda figured somethin' was up when you came back to the bridge lookin' so angry."
"Sub-Commander T'Pol made inappropriate advances toward me."
"Say what?"
Malcolm pressed his lips together in a tight line and said, "She hit on me."
"T'Pol?" Trip goggled at him.
"Yes, T'Pol," Malcolm snapped. "She was all over me. For once, I was very glad of the EV suit. If I hadn't been wearing it her hands would likely have been going places they shouldn't. She hung on me, asked me how long it's been since I last 'mated,' suggested that we go to her quarters rather than decon, and called me by my name."
"Called you by your name?" Trip's brow furrowed. "I don't get it."
"Malcolm. She called me Malcolm. The sub-commander has never addressed me as anything but Lieutenant, or Mister Reed. It was...intimate and disturbing."
"Cap'n and I both call you by your name."
"So you do, but you're both Human and prone to informality. The sub-commander is neither. It set off immediate warnings that something was terribly wrong."
Trip gave his friend a considering look. "She really freaked you out, didn't she?"
"Yes, yes she did."
"How come? I mean, I thought, you know, that you liked her."
"I did," Malcolm said, stressing the past tense, "but it was rather inappropriate," he shot Tucker a dark look as the Southerner made a face, "and she's lost her appeal."
Surprised, Trip asked, "How's that?"
"She was physically attractive, mysterious, and unavailable, emotionally and otherwise. The perfect object for an infatuation destined to go nowhere. In other words, Mister Tucker, she was safe. T'Pol would never hurt me because she would never get close enough to do so. I could worship her from afar 'like Dian in her orb,' and remain unscathed.
"Thanks to the efforts of certain individuals," he smiled slightly at Trip, "I'd come to realise that that was a rather empty way to live. As I grew closer to the people on this ship, I began to understand the value of opening oneself up to that sort of hurt, the value of those sorts of relationships, and she slowly lost her allure." What he didn't dare mention to Trip was that, as he had lost his infatuation for T'Pol, he had gained a love of Tucker himself, which far outstripped the paltry emotion associated with his attachment to the Vulcan woman. "So, yesterday's fantasy became today's waking nightmare."
"Something like that, yes."
"Well, I know this is gonna sound funny, but I'm happy for ya, Malcolm. You deserve more'n a one-sided love affair. I'm glad you're figurin' that out on your own."
Malcolm ducked his head, thoroughly embarrassed now, but oddly pleased as well. "Yes, well, thank you...I think." The pleasure was a bittersweet one, however, thanks to the irony of Trip's words. If only the commander knew that Malcolm had moved from one one-sided affair to another. The object of his fantasies may have changed, but the effect was still the same.
Malcolm was the first to arrive for the briefing the captain had called. Knowing there would be a wait, he pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat down. No sooner was he in his seat than the door opened to allow Sub-Commander T'Pol into the room. He leapt to his feet and stared at her, unsure of how to react to her now. For her part, T'Pol simply stood uncomfortably in front of the doorway.
"Sub-Commander," Malcolm finally managed, inclining his head slightly.
"Lieutenant."
Malcolm shifted nervously in the following silence. He wasn't certain how much of their encounter of yesterday she recalled, but he now knew that she had noticed his former admiration of her, and it put him off-kilter.
"I feel I ought to apologise for my behaviour yesterday." She held him silent with her inscrutable gaze when he would have told her that it wasn't necessary and continued, "It was most inappropriate, and I put you into an uncomfortable situation. I am sorry."
"It's alright. You were ill; it wasn't your fault."
"That is true. However, it could still damage our working relationship, and I would not like for that to happen."
"Not to worry, Sub-Commander," Malcolm smiled slightly at her. "It won't, I promise you."
"Then, I will not mention it again." She gestured for him to retake his seat and settled herself in the chair to his left.
After a few moments, they began to talk. The conversation shifted when Hoshi arrived. The ensign perched on the table directly across from Malcolm, looking worried. She told them what little she knew about why Archer wanted to talk to them, which wasn't much, just that Archer had been on the comm. with Admiral Forrest all morning. A few moments later Travis and Phlox walked in, each taking up a position on either side of the table and joining in on the speculation about the nature of the briefing. Malcolm was in the middle of saying that whatever this was about, it was obviously very important, when Tucker strode into the room.
He seemed to know less than the rest; Malcolm guessed that Trip must have been nose into engine work when the call for the meeting came. He was just barely on time as it was, and Malcolm knew how easy it was for the man to lose track of the world when he was tinkering with his precious engines. It was one of his more endearing traits, so far as Malcolm was concerned.
When Archer arrived, those who were seated rose to their feet, Malcolm himself springing to attention. The news the captain carried was more than important. It was devastating.
An attack on Earth. A four-thousand kilometre long swath cut into her surface from Florida to Venezuela. It hardly seemed possible.
At the mention of Trip's home state, Malcolm shot a quick glance at the Southerner, in time to see the man blanch and go rigid. He looked down as Archer began to tell of the casualties, his head snapping back up at the estimated count.
"A million?" His voice sounded hoarse and grating to his own ears, and he swallowed back the rising lump in his throat. Through the numbness that began settling over him, Malcolm heard the captain say that Enterprise had been recalled and Travis comment that it would take a while to get there.
It wouldn't take so long to get back as it had to get to their current position. They would take a direct route and, now that Tucker's ceaseless tweaking had made warp five a sustainable speed, they could travel at a much faster rate. Still, it would be torturously long, filled with the pins and needles of anticipation and worry. Malcolm spared another glance for Trip, knowing that it would be especially hard for some.
She'll be alright. She won't have been home. It was Trip's mantra, repeated to himself nearly every waking moment since the briefing two days ago. Occasionally, he would also add, Thank God Mama and Daddy moved to Ireland so they'd be near their grandson, and Becky is up in Alabama with her husband. None of us left in Florida, 'cept for Lizzie.
He'd wanted to know who had commited this atrocity, so that he'd know who to blame if his worst fear was realised. No one had been able to tell him, however, until the captain was briefly abducted by the Suliban. Their shadowy leader had told Jon that the destructive probe had been sent by a people called the Xindi, whose ultimate goal was the genocide of the Human race. He'd even given the captain coordinates, and Jon had promised Trip that he'd do his best to get Command to let them go stop the Xindi before they could destroy Earth.
It gave him something to focus on besides his worry over Lizzie's probable fate. Still, he ended every day by checking to see if he'd recieved any messages from home telling him that Lizzie had finally managed to contact someone in the family. Every day he was dissapointed.
Malcolm wanted to offer Trip some comfort, but he didn't know how, or even if he should. There had been no word yet, so far as he knew, as to whether or not Elizabeth Tucker still lived. He didn't want to seem to be assuming the worst, be a 'Grim Reaper,' as Trip had once called him, what seemed a lifetime ago. For the Southerner's sake, Malcolm wanted to remain positive, though he feared that cheering phrases would sound false falling from his lips.
So, he watched Tucker, waiting for the man to reach out to him, hoping that he would do so soon. In the meantime, Malcolm felt an intense desire to contact his own baby sister, and vowed to do so that very evening.
Malcolm so rarely sent out any correspondence at all that Archer had given him permission to talk to his sister over a live subspace transmission. There was a time limit, of course, but Malcolm didn't mind a bit because it meant that he was now seeing Madeline's smiling face as he carried on a conversation with her, rather than trying to pack everything he wanted to say to her into a letter.
"It is so lovely to talk to you, Malcolm, even if the prompting was such dreadful news." She frowned a bit at that, then shook herself and met his virtual gaze, smiling a little again. "You must tell me everything that's happened since I last heard from you."
Malcolm chuckled a little at that and shook his head. "There's definitely not enough time for me to tell you all that. It's been too long."
"Well, give me the highlights then. How do you like Enterprise? What exciting things have you done?" Her expression went slightly serious. "Have you friends there? I worry about you, your know, all alone in space. You never did make friends easily."
"To answer your first and last question, perhaps even all three at once, I love Enterprise, Maddy. She's home. I've been through heaven and hell with her crew and I care for them a very great deal."
Madeline gave her brother an appraising glance. "'A very great deal?' In Malcolm-speak that's an awfully strong sentiment. So, they're your friends, family too, I suppose."
"To a degree," he agreed.
Her eyes narrowed. "Do you have a lover?" she demanded.
"Madeline!" "Yes or no? Answer the question."
"Why I should tell you..."
"I'm your sister; that's why."
"My baby sister."
"Your baby sister who does a whole lot better than you in the romantic relations department. Now, answer the question, big brother."
Malcolm glared at her. "No, I do not."
"Why not?" she persisted.
"Do anti-fraternisation regulations sound familiar to you?"
"Ah!" She brightened. "So, you're in love with a subordinate!"
Malcolm was certain he looked horrified. The idea was not only ridiculous, it was repugnant as well. "Of course not!"
"Hmmm...a superior officer, then?"
He tried hard not to blush, though he was sure his ears at least must be reddening, and he refused to look at her. "What makes you think I'm...in love with anybody."
"You are though, aren't you?" She was grinning widely now, intent on worming Malcolm's secret from him. "Who is it? Please, Malcolm? Please tell me. I won't breath a word of it to a soul, I swear."
Malcolm looked up at her, back down at his hands, and mumbled, "Cmmdr T'ker."
"What was that, Malcolm dear?"
"Commander Tucker, I said. Pathetic creature that I am, I've gone and fallen for Charles Tucker the Third." Malcolm paused before continuing in an voice that mimicked Tucker's own, "But ev'rybody j'st calls him 'Trip.'"
"Commander Tucker?" Madeline goggled at him. "That blonde Adonis? Lord, Malcolm, there's nothing pathetic about that. He's gorgeous! And smart, too--he'd have to be to be the Chief Engineer."
"And funny as hell," Malcolm added. "How do you know all this, anyway?"
"I've been reading up. All the old press releases, and everything new that comes in about your ship. Had to keep up on what you were doing somehow."
"You don't seem very surprised about the, ah, sex of my infatuation."
"Malcolm," she said sternly, "I remember Ewan. And I remember how you were after he...he left you. I'm glad you're letting yourself feel for a man again."
"Believe me, Maddy, I didn't want to. Trip...Trip just managed to trample all of my defences, without even knowing it."
There must have been a note of sorrow in his voice that he didn't realise was there, because Madeline's expression softened into one of compassion, and she murmured, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright. I love him, but he loves me too, in his way. We're very good friends, Trip and I. Sometimes, I think he considers me on par with the captain; they're like brothers, you know."
"But you, Malcolm," his sister said sadly, "neither need nor want a brother."
It was time to face the truth; Lizzie was dead. She must have been home when the alien probe came and incinerated her in an eyeblink. It had been just over a month, and none of the family had heard from her in that time. If she was alive, she would have called someone. He'd told Malcolm as much as the two of them had stood at the edge of the trench nearest the neigbourhood of his youth, looking out over the devistation. It should have been underwater with no more than a few feet showing near the top of the trench, but someone had made the decision to dam up the open end and pump the water out...and keep pumping it out as it seeped back in from below the surface. Trip couldn't fathom why they bothered. The whole project was a waste of resources and rather like keeping a grave open.
He had almost mentioned it to Malcolm, but had stopped himself, knowing that it would only upset him more to voice his displeasure. Trip had specifically asked Malcolm to come with him rather than Jon because he knew Malcolm would provide quiet support where Jon would be demonstrative and send him over the edge into tears.
Trip didn't want to cry. Somehow, giving in and crying for his sister would make it all too real, and he didn't want it to be real. Anger was the only thing that kept the tears back, so Trip banked his anger, maintained a steady burn, and channeled it to get him through each day. Only when he could become fully absorbed in the repairs and refits being made to Enterprise did he not need the anger, for then the whole universe dropped away and it was just him and his ship.
Trip had said, once, that he wanted to meet Malcolm's sister. Malcolm, however, did not think it likely that the Southerner would want to be reminded of his own loss that way. So, despite his promise to take the man to meet her when they got to Earth, Malcolm currently stood on Madeline's doorstep, sans Trip Tucker.
The door opened, and Madeline burst out with a happy squeal. "Malcolm!"
He was unexpectedly engulfed in a hug and he hugged her back. "Hello, Maddy."
Madeline pulled back, smiling, and gave her brother's biceps an experimental squeeze, eyes widening a bit. "Where did all of this muscle come from, Malcolm? The last time I saw you in person you were as scrawny as a sapling."
Malcolm shrugged. "I am Head of Security. I have to work out a lot. Besides," he grinned, "Commander Tucker and I found our first stint in the decontamination chamber with Ensign Mayweather a rather disheartening experience, so we've been going to the gym to bulk up to keep from getting depressed whenever we're in decon with him."
"Working out with Commander Tucker, are you?"
He frowned at her. "Not like that, and you know it." Malcolm's frown became real, and he continued, "Trip's been getting distant lately. I've barely seen him, even on duty, in weeks. I'm starting to worry..." He shook himself abruptly. "I'll talk to him next time I see him. Now, are you going to stand in the doorway and interrogate me, or are you going to let me in?"
Their little row in the corridor, if it could be accurately called a row, was truly spectacular in its own way. It certainly left Malcolm feeling like he'd been punched in the gut as he watched Trip stalking off.
All he had tried to do was to show his concern for his friend. It had been a little over a month since they'd stood together, looking out over the destruction of Trip's childhood home, and the Southerner had yet to properly grieve for his sister. Malcolm thought that, perhaps, if he could gently steer Trip toward considering a memorial service of some sort for Elizabeth, he would be able to grieve naturally. Trip had wanted none of that and had turned some of his pent-up anger on Malcolm for suggesting it.
He knew that he shouldn't take the outburst too personally; Trip was simply reacting, letting his anger guide him. But it hurt. The renewed accusation of being death-obsessed brought back unpleasant memories.
You're a real Grim Reaper, Malcolm. Anybody ever tell you that?
He had denied it then and had worked hard ever since to shed that image. It hadn't even done it for himself, not really. He'd done it for Trip, so that Trip would be pleased with him, proud of him. Then, it had been because the gregarious Southerner had seemed to be offering him friendship, a friendship which he so desperately needed. Now, it was because he loved the beautiful blonde and craved the man's approval.
Malcolm would do anything for Trip. Right now, that meant pulling himself back together and finishing the installation of the new weapon systems. In the future...Malcolm was almost afraid to think about what it might mean then.
He probably shouldn't have blown up at Malcolm the way he had a few weeks ago, but he had been chomping at the bit to get going, and the lieutenant had kept going on about Lizzie. Trip was itching to get out of spacedock, to go coursing after these Xindi like the bloodhound he'd once claimed to be. He wanted to teach them, teach the galaxy, that one didn't treat Humanity that way and get away with it.
Trip couldn't understand why Malcolm wasn't straining at the leash alongside him. Had the man no imagination? It could have just as easily been his sister rather than Trip's dead now. Besides, he was the one who had a nearly unnatural attachment to his weapons. Didn't Malcolm want to get out and put the things to use?
No, Trip didn't understand the man at all. It briefly flashed through his mind that one often does not understand the person one loves, but he squashed it before it could get too far. He couldn't afford the luxury of being in love anymore. Love was a weakness, especially since the man he loved didn't love him back and was to be his weapon against his enemies. Trip needed to keep his head clear for doing what needed to be done. After all, love couldn't be allowed to get in the way of vengeance.
Malcolm wasn't sure either what to think of, or do with the small contingent of soldiers Enterprise had been loaned. Technically, these were his troops. They answered to him, or were supposed to, anyway, but he couldn't help feeling that it would be a real power struggle actually getting them to acknowledge his authority over them. It had been hard to ignore the look of near contempt the young Major Hayes had given him when he had introduced himself and his policies to his new people.
Presumably, it was because they thought he was just a weapons man. Granted, ordinance was his passion and specialty, but that hardly meant that he couldn't fight without it. He guessed that his small size had confirmed the prejudice in their minds, though in truth, all it meant was that he'd had to become twice as good a fighter, because he would never be able to rely on winning through weight and brute strength. Malcolm would have thought that the women at least would have understood that, but they had fixed him with the same vaguely bored look the men had worn.
In the end, he had decided to leave them to themselves for the most part. He would meet with them individually to clear them on the phase pistols and modified pulse rifles, but otherwise Hayes could just as easily deal with their training. Malcolm would leave off fully asserting his authority over them until he either came up with a way to do so without beating one or more of them senseless, or fate left him no other choice.
For now, he had his hands full when he wasn't on the bridge making certain that Enterprise's defensive systems were running at peak efficiency, just in case those damned Klingons decided to have yet another go at them. Since the captain and T'Pol between them had decided to eschew their planned trip to Vulcan, the ship was decidedly more vulnerable than it would have been. Malcolm was constantly tense, sleeping only lightly at night in anticipation of another attack. And another attack there would be, he was certain, for the Klingons had proven to be as persistent as Porthos after cheese in their attempts to bring down Archer to assuage their bruised honour.
Trip, Malcolm mused, was becoming every bit as blinded by his need for vengeance as the Klingons. He was occasionally tempted to mention it to him, but recoiled from the thought of Trip blowing up at him again. It was weak of him, perhaps, but Malcolm still liked to think of the Southerner as his friend, despite how little they saw of one another these days, and he was afraid that if he roused the man's anger too many times, he wouldn't even have that anymore.
The Klingons had, predictably, returned. It had taken them far longer than Malcolm had anticipated, but the reason for that was clear enough. They had been recruiting reinforcements. Three Birds- of-Prey were really much more than Enterprise could handle alone. It was lucky for them that the bellicose Klingons were just as skittish about the Delphic Expanse as the Vulcans. Two of the ships had abandoned the pursuit, leaving Enterprise to defend herself against Duras' ship alone. The only thing that had saved them from Duras was some fancy flying by Travis which allowed Malcolm to take advantage of the Klingons' weak aft shielding.
And take advantage he had. The Bird-of-Prey had exploded rather spectacularly. When it was over, Malcolm had looked to Trip, who was hunched over the engineering station, hoping for a look of approval, gratitude, something. It was Tucker, after all, who had wanted him to blow their enemies to hell; Malcolm had hoped that the display would have pleased the commander. Trip, however, didn't so much as look at him.
He had been disappointed then. Now, sitting in his empty quarters, reviewing the incident himself, the reality of what he'd done was starting to sink in.
Malcolm Reed was a murderer. He couldn't, wouldn't dance around the truth. Never had he destroyed a ship the size of that Klingon Bird-of-Prey before today. Suliban cell ships, attacking Enterprise with their single pilots he had destroyed on more than one occasion. This was something else entirely. This ship had had a full crew, people who neither knew nor cared about the vendetta their captain had against his. There had been the opportunity, as Enterprise swooped down on the Klingons, to simply disable their ship, leave them floating in space until they made repairs. In all likelihood, they would not then have pursued Enterprise into the Expanse. He had killed innocents in the heat of battle, for approval that he never even received, and it made him ill.
His gorge rose in his throat, and Malcolm just made it into his small shower room in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet. When he finally finished retching, he stayed on the floor, leaning against the wall for support, little tremors running through his body.
He felt filthy. Malcolm peeled off his uniform slowly, stopping whenever his hands began to shake too much. Once naked, he hoisted himself up off the floor and shuffled into the shower. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and pumped a liberal amount of shampoo into his hand from the wall dispenser. Lathering his hair, he gouged at his scalp with his nails, trying to relieve the un-clean itch he felt. That done, he snatched up his manicure brush and loaded the bristles with soap. He scrubbed the dirt from under his fingernails and then used the little brush to scour the rest of his body, paying particular attention to his hands. Hands of a killer, he thought and scrubbed harder.
Out of the shower, he pulled on a pair of soft grey shorts and a t-shirt. He ought to go to bed, he knew, but his guilt was making him restless. After several arguments back and forth with himself, Malcolm pulled on a pair of pants, slipped his shoes on and walked out of his quarters.
He had helped Trip with his guilt once. Maybe Trip would be able to help him with his.
Trip was lying abed, staring at the far wall of his quarters, considering sleep when the chime on his door sounded. Despite the fact that he wasn't actually asleep, or even near it, he found it enormously irritating to be forced up to answer the door. It opened to reveal Malcolm, clad in worn jeans and a clinging t-shirt.
"Trip." Malcolm shifted uncertainly in the doorway, obviously hoping to be invited in.
The Southerner simply stared back, equally obvious in his unwillingness to do so until he knew the reason for the lieutenant's nocturnal visit. "Malcolm."
"Ah, I was hoping we could talk."
Talk. It was not what Trip wanted to hear, and he said as much. "I've j'st spent most of the afternoon and evenin' tryin' to cobble together one working antimatter injector from three fried ones. I'm tired and even if I wasn't, I'm more'n a little sick of you an' your idea of talkin'. Good night, Lieutenant." Trip shut the door in Malcolm's face, not giving the other man a chance to reply. He didn't want to hear more about how he ought to be grieving for Lizzie.
There were times, he mused, that he wished Malcolm had remained a recluse afraid to "fraternise" with his fellow officers. The man was too damn stubborn for his own good and was like a bulldog with its jaw locked on a steak when he got it into his head to do something. That the description applied equally well to himself never occurred to Trip.
Malcolm felt like someone had delivered a sharp blow to his solar plexus. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was stand in the corridor like an imbecile, eyes bulging in shock. He hadn't expected Trip to be completely welcoming, not at first, and not at this time of night, but he hadn't expected the man to turn him away without a hearing, either.
A fresh wave of nausea swept through him, but he battled it down. Malcolm couldn't afford to be found retching in the corridor outside his commander's quarters, even if they were only dry heaves. The whole ship would find out about it, and he would lose the respect of his new troops before he had a chance to gain it.
Trip hated him, that much was obvious. He had finally come to terms with having fallen in love with another man, only to find that the man in question didn't even want his friendship. That alone was painful; on top of the pain of his guilt it was devastating.
Malcolm eventually forced his feet to carry him back to his quarters and lay down on his bed, curling into a foetal position. He vowed silently as he fell asleep, wound up in his own pain, that nothing now would cause him to reveal his feelings for Trip. It would be his secret. His and his alone.
It was a wall. A wall of intense, shining light. A wall of pure destructive energy. Trip could see it, feel the heat radiating from it. He couldn't understand why Lizzie didn't. She just sat at her drafting table, in the full afternoon sunlight streaming through her window, and drew her plans as if there was nothing out of the ordinary happening.
He started walking toward the house. His stride was purposeful, but not panicked. The wall was unmoving. He had time.
Even though his back was to it, Trip knew the precise moment the wall of light began to move on his sister's house, and he started to run. If he could just make it to the house, to Lizzie, before it did, he could get her away. He could protect her. Just like he always had.
He wasn't fast enough in the end. On his own two feet, deprived of Enterprise and her engines, Trip couldn't outrun the light. Lizzie looked up from her work seconds before the wall swept through Trip, a look of pure horror on her face. The light washed over him, gentle as a summer's breeze, but it devoured the house and Lizzie with it.
Trip was alone then. Standing on a plain of cracked and blackened soil, he howled out his anguish for all the galaxy to hear. When he was done, there was no sound save for the wind; a wind which spoke to him in Lizzie's voice. It asked why he hadn't saved her. And it cried out for vengeance.
Travis and Hoshi ate their dinner together as always. If conversation was more subdued that it once had been, it was no more than was becoming usual, and neither thought to comment on it. They spoke of everyday trivia, Hoshi quietly commenting on the fact that she hadn't had the chance to catch up with her friends Allison and Liz in a while, Travis making sympathetic noises back at her. Neither spoke of the Delphic Expanse, or the reason they were in it. Neither brought up Commander Tucker, though he was on both their minds.
That the older man was still deeply pained by the loss of his sister was clear to both of the ensigns. While both were friendly with the commander, they didn't consider themselves to be the sort of friends that could attempt to comfort him. Usually, he did that for them, acting as a sort of older brother when they were unsure of themselves. Now, they just hoped that Trip's close friends, the captain and the lieutenant, would be able to help him.
It never occurred to them, in their worry over the commander and their own uneasiness about the future, that one of those men would try and fail to aid Tucker, or that the Southerner would hurt him in the process. They simply ate on, chatting away, totally unaware of the lonely, pained figure eating at a table in the back corner of the messhall, his back turned to the room.
The Military Assault Command Operations troops, or MACO's as they were called, took a great deal of energy from Malcolm. For that, he was profoundly grateful. By the time he had tinkered with his weapons and equipment, gone through the new training sessions with his regular staff, and then worked with the MACO's, with all of the posturing and jostling for control that involved, Malcolm was dead on his feet.
That was just the way he liked it. If he was nearly too tired to eat and shower at night, he was definitely too tired to either wallow in guilt or dwell on his broken friendship with Trip Tucker. And if it meant that he was tense and a bit hard-nosed, causing his own people as well as a few other hapless crewmembers to resume referring to him as "that hard-ass Reed," so be it. It was worth it just for the unbroken nights' sleep and the abilty to keep food down long enough to digest.
As fire-fights went, it was an awfully uninspiring one. Still, it was enough to keep Malcolm, along with Captain Archer and two of the MACOs, pinned down behind an over-turned kiosk in a nearly- deserted section of the old spacestaion they were in. The trip to the station was ostensibly for supplies, but was in reality a fact- finding mission. They were looking for the Xindi and had, to date, precious little information on them.
T'Pol and Tucker were off in another section of the station with their own pair of MACOs, searching for engine parts and information. Travis was in charge of the ship, and Hoshi was tinkering with the UT at her station of the bridge so that those on the station would be able to communicate with all and sundry.
Archer's end of the search had been going rather well until he came up against the suspicious and taciturn food merchant they were currently at odds with. The scrawny, androgynous looking alien had been very unwilling to part with much information, and Archer's temper grew quickly shorter, until he finally insulted the merchant, who had promptly started shooting at them. The few nearby sellers had joined in on the merchant's side, as much for the fun of it as anything, judging from the banter flying between them. Malcolm guessed that they must not get much excitement down this way.
A white bolt lanced into the bulkhead behind the Enterprise officers, releasing a shower of sparks on their backs. Malcolm half- heartedly sent a shot back, wishing profoundly that he had been the one left to mind the ship. None of his shots were intended to kill, or even disable, really. Those he fired were meant to distract, to keep the merchant and his (or was it a her?) cronies from moving in to pick them off. Not that the aliens seemed particularly inclined to do so, which only confirmed in Malcolm's mind that they considered the duel sport. Malcolm was heartily tired of it. Truth be told, he was just plain tired. Wearing himself out to avoid his guilt and pain was fine for a few weeks, but a whole month? That was too much, and that fact was making itself known, causing him to be either high-strung or nearly comatose most of the time.
Two days ago, it had worked in his favour. He had been sparring with the MACOs, judging their continuing fitness, when a couple of them had thought it might be funny to try to surprise him.
One went flying across the room, barely able to fall into a roll rather than unceremoniously smashing into the mat. He did smack into the wall, however. The other ended up on the mat at Malcolm's feet, bare seconds from having his wrist snapped when the lieutenant realised who had attacked, and why, and had released the man. Since then, the group as a whole, as well as those particular men, had been showing Malcolm a great deal more respect than they had before.
At the moment, he was sorely tempted simply to stand up and see what would happen. Then it occurred to him; why couldn't he do just that? He'd already noted that the whole thing seemed more like a game than anything serious to the aliens. What if he stood up and called a...a timeout, as they would say in one of Trip's American football games?
Sergeant Kemper gave him a bit of an odd look when he holstered his phase pistol, but said nothing, finally trusting that Malcolm knew what he was about. Malcolm nudged Markson into switching spots with him, feeling Archer's curious eyes on him as he moved closer to the edge of the kiosk. Once there, he stood, stepping out into the line of fire, hands held out and away from his body.
"Could we call a bit of a truce here for a moment? As much fun as it has been playing with you here, we need to get back to our ship. Personally, I've been up since four this morning, haven't eaten since six, and I'm getting rather tired and hungry."
For a long moment, both sides simply gaped at him. Then, the aliens began to laugh. They were still guffawing as they poured out from behind their defences to crowd around Malcolm in some sort of congratulatory rite of backslapping. It only occurred to him much later how incredibly dangerous his little stunt had been.
"...and they just laughed," Jon said to Trip as they sat together in the deserted mess hall, drinking. "I admit, for a moment there I thought he'd gone insane, but it worked. It really worked."
Trip just grunted in response, barely looking up from his glass of bourbon.
"You don't seem to be enjoying the story, Trip."
The Southerner glared up at his captain. "Should I be? I thought you were s'pposed to be tellin' me what you learned 'bout the Xindi today."
"I'm getting there, but I thought you'd like to hear how we got it, too. Especially since Malcolm was instrumental in retrieving it."
"Why would I care about that?"
Archer gave him a perplexed look, eyebrows pulling together as he shook his head slightly. "You used to like talking about Malcolm. Besides, it's a fun story."
"Fun." Trip snorted derisively. "We ain't out here to have fun, Jon."
"I know we're out here on serious business, Trip. I never forget it. That doesn't mean we can't appreciate it when something amusing happens."
"Yeah, whatever. You know, I'm gettin' kinda tired here. Think I'm gonna head back to my quarters, get some shut-eye."
"You don't have to go, Trip."
"No, Cap'n, I think I do."
"Don't you want to know what the merchants told us?"
"I'll catch it at the briefin' in the mornin'. Fewer distractions then. Night."
Archer watched his friend leave, confused and not a little concerned. This obsession with finding the Xindi and, Jon suspected, eradicating them was eating Trip up. His light-hearted joie de vivre was gone. The man was barely recognisable as the charming engineer he'd met nearly a decade ago. Silently, he wished for something to knock Trip out of the unhealthy rut he was in.
Much later, he would remind himself to be careful what one wishes for, because someone might overhear and grant it to one. Especially in a place as unnatural as the Delphic Expanse.
The briefing was a quick, quiet affair. T'Pol, wearing the loose tunic and pants that Archer was finally getting used to seeing her in, looked every inch the exotic advisor as she made comments and suggestions. Tucker would make terse observations from time to time, but the rest of the senior staff remained quiet. Hoshi and Travis both listened carefully. Phlox, Archer thought, seemed more concerned with Trip's reactions than the actual briefing. Malcolm was seemingly as attentive as ever, but the captain thought he detected the shadow of dark circles under the man's eyes and the occasional straying of his attention.
When it was over, a course decided upon, everyone filtered back to their posts, Phlox joining T'Pol at the science station to confer quietly with her, Tucker ambling over to check something on the engineering console. Archer reached out to take his chair and jerked his hand back at a sudden flash of light emanating from it. Once his vision cleared, he stared at it in total dumbfoundment, or more precisely, at the strange man now sitting in it.
"Who the hell are you?" he managed to splutter.
"Me?" The man placed the fingertips of one hand on his chest. "Oh, just a god. Here to answer a prayer."
The creature smiled then, and Archer suddenly felt chilled and very exposed.
Malcolm watched the intruder and his captain. The being radiated power and a sort of slow menace. He wanted to at least place himself between it and Archer, to protect his captain, but he doubted that such a gesture would do any good, and there was the suspicion that it might provoke the creature.
He was still considering his options when Trip chose to revert to something of his loud-mouthed old self and began interrogating it.
"What do you mean, you're here to answer a prayer?" Trip was being aggressive, too aggressive, he knew, but it was prompted by a sudden, almost dizzying hope. It claimed to be a god; what if it could bring Lizzie back? He could see the others going tense as the alien's gaze slid off of the captain and onto him, but he couldn't pause to consider their concern.
"Oh, not your prayer, Tucker," the being replied. "I know what you want. Revenge. Your sister, alive and whole. Those aren't anything I'm inclined to help with. Omnipotence doesn't require me to grant everyone anything they want. Rather the opposite.
"No, the prayer I'm going to answer won't serve just you. It will benefit many," it paused a moment, then added, "and it will nudge the course of history the way I want it to go. The way it's supposed to go. All with very little effort on my part, and hopefully some amusement."
Trip had a glimmer of misgiving over what the being meant by amusement, but he ploughed on, blind as ever in his obsession with his sister's death. "If you're so powerful, why won't you bring Lizzie back?" he demanded, ratcheting up the tension on the bridge a notch as he thrust his lower jaw out at the powerful alien being.
"I'm a god, Tucker. Gods don't pick and choose who to bring back based on the whims of mere mortals. We have to be impartial, considered in our judgements. The universe would be too messy otherwise."
"It's already messy! Those people who killed my sister wouldn't have done it if some sonovabitch from the future hadn't told 'em to. You can fix it!"
The alien looked peeved, as if he was considering swatting Trip Tucker like a mosquito. "Your sister is dead, Commander. I'm not going to change that for you. Why don't you quit obsessing over her and worry about people who need you more?" His eyes flickered over Malcolm as he said this, causing the Armoury Officer's heart to lurch unevenly in fear at the thought that his secret would be uncovered for all to know.
"What's that s'ppossed to mean?"
"Oh, come on, Trippy-boy. Look around you." The alien made a grand sweeping motion with one arm, encompassing the bridge. Vanishing and reappearing behind Archer, he placed his hands on the captain's shoulders. "Jonny here needs you to be the First Officer Miss Pointy over there will never be able to be. He needs you to relax with, to keep him Human." Another twin flashes of light and the creature was sitting on Hoshi's console. "Hoshi and Helmboy," he wiggled his fingers at Travis, "need big brother Trip. They need your guidance, your reassurance. Phlox and Pointy need you to help them understand humanity and it's many...quirks."
"D'ya have a point here? 'Cause if ya do, I really wish you'd j'st spit it out."
"Patience, patience, Trippy. I haven't even gotten to the person who needs you most."
Malcolm had just enough time to feel the weight of the being's glittering eyes on him and for his heart to drop into his stomach before the alien was behind his seat. A hand settled on his shoulder and then snaked down his chest, and he closed his eyes as the alien pressed its cheek to his own, fighting not to be sick.
"Malcolm. He's really flourished under your friendship, don't you think, Tucker? Used to be a bit of a stiff. Now look at him; a real team player. All because of you. All because he loves you."
The words seemed to hang in the air, and Malcolm shuddered. A cruel smile spread across the creature's face, and he released the mortified lieutenant. Trip was staring so hard at Malcolm that he didn't notice the alien vanishing from behind the Englishman.
"He does, you know."
Trip jumped six inches in the air at the breath tickling his neck and the sound of Malcolm Reed's voice in his ear. His eyes bulged out of their sockets at the sight of the alien, now transformed into a likeness of Malcolm, dressed only in clingy black pants of cotton gauze, lust shining in the dark blue eyes.
The being laughed Malcolm's laugh, white teeth flashing in a dazzling smile. "I know all about his little fantasies of you." He reached out, stroking Trip's bicep. "Naked in his bed, vowing never to leave him." The sensual baritone continued, and the creature wearing Malcolm's form took a step closer. "His lips pressed to yours on your wedding day. A brood of blue-eyed children with his cheekbones and your nose. I know about them all."
Trip only snapped out of his shocked trance when the alien leaned in to kiss him with Malcolm's lips. "Get off! You're disgustin'!" He shoved the creature away, and it fell back against the captain's chair, returning to its original form.
"You should watch what you say, Commander," it spat, anger flashing in its eyes. "Now you've made him cry."
Trip's head snapped around to where Malcolm sat, bound to his station by regulations despite the tears of humiliation and heart- break streaming down his lowered face. "Shit. Malcolm, I didn't mean you. I could never mean you; you gotta know that." He took a half step toward the unresponsive man, unsure of what to do or say next.
"Why don't ya tell him about some a' your fantasies?"
Malcolm's head came up, teary eyes going wide, and Trip's jaw dropped open as he followed his friend's gaze back to the alien, who was now wearing Tucker's form, this time in white gauze pants that left little to the imagination.
"Like the one where he rescues you an' then tells ya never to frighten him like that again, all while kissin' every bruise on your body. Or how 'bout the one with little Charles Tucker the Fourth buildin' castles in the sand on a beach in the Keys wi' his little brother, Malcolm Reed the Second? And then there's that really naughty one where the two of ya are on top of the warp core with strawberries an' whipped cream..." A bright flash and the being shed Tucker's skin. "You see, I know all about your fantasies, too.
"My point, Commander, is simply this: The dead don't care for your anger, your obsession with vengeance. They're beyond your reach. The living need your consideration far more. You should be worrying about starting a new family, not resurrecting members of your old one. Not turning yourself into a murderer for the sake of some barbarian ideal of justice. Lizzie would have agreed with me."
The sharp retort died on Trip's tongue. As much as he hated it, the being was right: Lizzie would have told him the same.
Turning away from the haughty expression on the alien's face, Trip looked over the faces of his friends and crewmates. All met his gaze expectantly, waiting to see if he would acknowledge the truth in the creature's words, or continue to fight it.
He bowed his head and turned his back on the alien being. His feet carried him around behind Malcolm's station, and he halted there, reaching out to pull the Englishman to his feet. Trip brushed the remaining tears from the man's chiselled features and leaned in for a kiss.
The lips he'd dreamed of kissing until nightmares of Lizzie's death had intruded on his sleep opened under his gentle assault. Malcolm's arms snaked around his waist, and Trip silently vowed to himself and to Malcolm that he would never again let the dead steal him away from the living.
"Glad to hear it." The creature smirked at Trip. "I expect you to keep that oath." He looked around at the rest of Enterprise's crew like an exasperated adult eyeing naughty children. "Now that that's been dealt with, don't make me come back here." With that, he left even as he had come, in a blinding flash of light.
~the end~