Work Text:
She stands in the centre of the room, still a little unsure of why she’s there in the first place. With her arms holding a precious bundle to her chest, she turns in a slow circle, taking in the meticulously made bed, the postcards over the desk, the wardrobe that is cracked open to reveal an array of casual wear shirts. A fine layer of dust covers the untouched desk. She traces her finger over it, over the top of the computer monitor that hasn’t been turned on in three weeks.
Because it’s been three weeks since Lieutenant Reed was killed. Three weeks since he placed the explosives on the Xindi weapon and saved the world, at the cost of his own life.
“Where’s Lieutenant Reed?”
Tucker looking behind them, searching for the one crew member that didn’t make it back. Captain Archer, unable to even voice what had happened, instead looking away.
The realisation crossing Trip’s face. “No…”
Hoshi wrapping her arms around him in an attempt to find comfort that didn’t exist.
She leans heavily against the desk, hanging her head as she forces deep breaths into her lungs, tears crowding at her eyes.
It doesn’t work. The tears fall, disrupting the dust that has gathered on the desk.
Why you, Malcolm? Why did it have to be you?
She opens her palms and looks down at the bunched up blue fabric in her hand. The shirt Malcolm lent her two years ago during the incident with the Suliban. She never returned it, and he never asked after it.
Tomorrow, Trip and Travis will help clear out the room, packing up all of Malcolm’s things to send home to his family. Tomorrow, every physical trace of him will be gone.
She holds the shirt tighter to her chest, inhaling the remnants of Malcolm’s familiar scent. The last she’ll ever get of him.
The last time she’ll ever get to hold him.
A quiet sob escapes her throat. They didn’t even get enough time together. And now all she has left of him is this shirt and her memories of him.
Tears blurring her vision, she takes one last look around, and slips quietly out of the room.