Chapter Text
Malcolm Reed stared at the gray plating that made up his ceiling. Gray like his eyes. Gray like his soul. Like his life. He’d been on Enterprise for six months. He was happy – thrilled, really – to be in Starfleet, to have made it onto this ship, to be exploring the stars. So why was he lying on his back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling with such a sense of morose?
It wasn’t his career that had him at a loss. His career was going along just fine. It was his personal life. He’d tried to pay the feelings no mind, to subsume those feelings in his work here on the ship, but despite his satisfaction with his career – or perhaps because of it – he found himself thinking, more and more often, of where he wanted to be in five, ten, fifteen years. Not just in terms of his career, although there was that, but in terms of his personal life.
So far, in his own estimation of that very same personal life, in fifteen years, he’d be nowhere. Forget dating, he had a hard enough time making friends. The fact was, he’d not felt comfortable making friends on the ship, and he hadn’t dated anyone in an eternity. Sure, there had been Ruby; but despite the sex, they’d never really been close. Deborah, Rochelle, Caitlin, Tim – a series of people, each with their own charms, but their relationships had been tenuous at best – his own fault, more than theirs. There was that man he’d slept with on that one mission – lovely bloke, but they’d both known that nothing could come of it.
For so long, he’d been focused almost single-mindedly on his career – getting into the Academy, graduating, getting his first assignment, research, now Enterprise. It had taken all his time and energy to get where he was now. He was happy with where his career was heading. But his personal life? With all his potential partners on this long-term mission by necessity being made up of those on Enterprise – so crewmates, many of them his junior, thus not at all appropriate to think of in that way – things were looking about as blank as his ceiling. Even if he was willing to try for a relationship with someone on ship, his prospective candidates would need to be of his rank or… certainly not lower, and certainly not higher, so who, exactly, did that leave? He could count them on one finger: that left, as the closest fit, Trip Tucker, a man who had tried for friendship, but who Malcolm, through his own reservations, had rebuffed.
He’d seen Trip earlier that same night, and Trip had, once again, attempted to ask him… well, last time it had been to come to movie night with him, but this time, it was to come to his quarters for drinks. And Malcolm had rebuffed him, yet again. Although Trip was tenacious, at this point, Malcolm was getting the sense that he was starting to annoy the man.
Regardless, Trip was out. Malcolm rolled onto his side with a small laugh. That pretty much left no one.
x-x
Trip Tucker threw himself down onto his bunk, settling face up, fully clothed, boots still on. “Malcolm fucking Reed,” he growled, not sure if he was more angry or amused. Angry! That was it. Angry and… and intrigued, damn it.
Malcolm – Lieutenant Reed, that is – wouldn’t – just WOULD. NOT. get past that, “Yes, Sir, No, Sir” thing with him. And tonight had been the worst – he’d invited Malcolm to have a beer, and Malcolm had turned him down flat. They’d been serving on this damn ship together for, God, it had to be six months, now, and no matter what approach he’d tried – and he felt like he’d tried all of them – he just hadn’t been able to get past that damn military reserve. What the hell would it take to crack that veneer, and get to know the man beyond his name, rank and serial number?
Trip stared up at his ceiling. Gray. Boring. He really should put some little lights up along it, brighten the space up. Or maybe some of those glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars.
He flipped over and pillowed his chin on his arms. Why the hell did he care how Malcolm acted around him? What was it about Malcolm Reed that kept him trying?
Trip hesitated. There obviously was something about Malcolm that kept him coming back, despite how officious and sometimes, he swore, downright rude Malcolm could be. So, what the hell was it?
Obviously, he was attracted to the man. This much, he knew; had known since he’d met Malcolm that first day on board. Malcolm wasn’t his normal type – and on first glance, his personality seemed to leave a bit to be desired. But there was something…
Maybe it was that Malcolm was so hesitant to let anyone get close to him, and yet sometimes – just, every once in a while – Trip had glimpsed the person beyond the military bearing and long lists of past (Trip somehow suspected extremely short tenured) girlfriends. Or maybe it was those damn steel-blue eyes. Who the hell knew. There had to be something he liked about Malcolm, or he wouldn’t still be making so much of an effort.
There had to be some way to get Malcolm to be human around him. He’d figure it out; and until then, he wouldn’t stop trying.
x-x
“Hey, Lieutenant!”
Malcolm turned to find Trip striding toward him across the armoury.
“Nice work on the phase cannon issue,” Trip said with a smile. Reaching his side, Trip placed a hand on his shoulder. “I never would have thought to try that fix if you hadn’t mentioned it.”
Malcolm slid out from under Trip’s hand, trying to make the move seem casual. “No worries, Commander,” he said, picking up a nearby padd to give himself something, other than Trip, to focus on, hoping it seemed natural. “Just glad I could help.”
When Trip didn’t reply, Malcolm raised his head only to catch Trip looking at him consideringly. Trip cocked his head to the side. “Listen, I’ve got some beer in my quarters. Stop by tonight, we’ll celebrate putting this particular project behind us.”
Malcolm hesitated. He should say no, just as he’d said no so many times before. This wasn’t the first invitation that Trip had given him, in terms of getting together off-shift. Trip and he did meet for the occasional work-focused lunch, but that wasn’t the same thing at all. Those lunches had been purely business. He knew that Trip socialized all the time with Travis and Hoshi, with the Captain; he’d even seen the man try to invite T’Pol. So far, he’d turned all of Trip’s more social-seeming invitations down. He hadn’t felt it appropriate to socialize in such a way. But what had all that proper, official, correct reserve got him? All that had done was leave him alone in his quarters, moaning about a lack of friends, hadn’t it?
He found himself saying, “Yes, all right,” before he could stop himself.
And that was how Malcolm found himself standing at Trip’s door, in casual wear, with a bag of crisps in his hand. He rang the chime, then nodded at Hoshi as she walked by. After a moment, Trip opened the door and met him with a smile. “You look good,” Trip said, clearly evaluating him as he waved him through the door.
Malcolm supposed he had gone through some effort with his appearance. Never entirely sure what to wear when not in uniform – after all, he’d been wearing a uniform for most of his life – he’d deferred to his sister, who had sent him this particular outfit last Christmas. Dark trousers, a bit tighter than he’s normally wear, dark jumper, sleeves a bit too long, but his sister had insisted it was the current style. He pulled down on the sleeves awkwardly. “Thank you,” he finally managed, brushing past Trip and into the room. He put the crisps down on the nearest surface, then stood there self-consciously, at a bit of a loss.
“Have a seat on the bed,” Trip suggested. When Malcolm hesitated, Trip added, “Don’t worry, it’s clean,” with a laugh. Then, instead of taking the things off the room’s only chair and sitting there, Trip sat right next to him on the bed. Trip handed him a beer and turned on some sort of game. They spent the evening in a surprisingly companionable silence, occasionally exchanging comments about the game, but Malcolm realized he really had no idea what sport they were watching - he was more enjoying the company than anything else.
x-x
Trip stared at the door as it closed behind Malcolm. He’d managed to get Malcolm to agree to a non-work-related, one-on-one get together. Hallelujah!
They’d spent the evening doing not much, and it had been – well, at first, it had been awkward as hell, but that’s why he’d plunked himself down on the bed beside Malcolm, rather than in the chair across the room – to see if he could get those walls to erode by sheer force of will (or closeness of body.) Not that he’d been trying to hit on Malcolm; that wasn’t the deal at all. But he’d figured that if he sat beside Malcolm and Malcolm didn’t immediately run from the room, he was already winning.
He’d felt Malcolm relax beside him as the night had progressed and as they’d kept their conversation focused on the game. Trip laughed out loud. God, he wasn’t even sure that Malcolm knew what sport they had been watching, which was all kinds of awesome when he thought about it. Because it wasn’t as if – at least, he wasn’t sure that Malcolm was just staying there and chatting to be polite to a fellow officer. That wasn’t the vibe he got at all. No, he thought that Malcolm stayed and watched something he was clueless about so that he could spend that time with Trip. And that, kind sir, was intriguing.
That this ended up being the first of many evenings they spent together was also… promising. Not that Trip was necessarily after that at all. If they ended up as friends, or as more than friends in the end, Trip felt pretty damn good about finally getting Malcolm to come out of his shell. Even a tiny bit.
x-x
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