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There was a tickle in the back of Malcolm’s throat and a pressure behind his eyelids when he woke up. Groaning, Malcolm rolled over onto his back and flung his arm over his eyes. Fantastic. Utterly fantastic. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know he’d finally caught whatever it was that was currently going around the ship. Some kind of alien flu, Phlox had said. Completely harmless, but made one feel absolutely lousy. Malcolm was supposed to have gotten inoculated today.
Too late for that now.
Malcolm sat up and his head instantly began throbbing even worse. His limbs were stiff and heavy, and his nose was stuffed up. “Guh,” he said inarticulately, rubbing at it, then he stood up and hobbled over to the comm. “Reed to Captain Archer.”
The captain could obviously hear it in his voice, for his response was, “Let me guess. You caught it too?”
“It appears so, sir,” Malcolm said hoarsely.
“Don’t worry about it, Malcolm. Get some rest. The armoury will still be there for you when you’re better.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Malcolm terminated the communication and leaned heavily against the wall. He felt disgusting already. Straightening up, he limped for the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Sore feet was the price he had to pay for feeling just a little cleaner. The hot water cleared his sinuses a bit and relieved some of the aches in his joints. He turned off the spray and towelled off, then entered his quarters again and looked around for something to wear.
Unfortunately, most of his civilian clothes were in the wash. There was a bit of a backlog down in the laundry room, apparently, and now he had no t-shirts or even a sweater to wear. He could wear his uniform, he supposed, but the mere thought of the crisp fabric made him feel itchy. He dug around in his closet—and pulled out a sweatshirt he’d never seen before. It was grey, with some kind of band logo on the front of it.
Trip’s. It was Trip’s, Malcolm’s foggy mind supplied. Somehow, one of Trip’s sweatshirts had gotten into his closet. Sure, they shared quarters sometimes—they were together, after all—but Malcolm couldn’t recall an occasion that would cause an item of Trip’s clothing to end up in Malcolm’s wardrobe.
Nevertheless, it was all he had. He pulled it over his head and smoothed it out. It was a little big, falling off his collarbone and reaching well past his waist. He brought some of the fabric up to his nose and drew in a breath. It even smelled like Trip. A small smile spread across his lips.
He put on a pair of comfortable pants, and by now his entire body was protesting being upright for so long, so he stumbled back to his bunk and fell onto the mattress. Rolling over to curl in on his side, Malcolm brought the covers up to his nose and closed his eyes.
“You know, I haven’t seen Malcolm today,” Trip quipped at lunch. “I wonder where he is. Probably buried in one of the Jeffries tubes fiddling with systems.”
Jon looked up. “I didn’t tell you?”
Trip frowned. “Tell me what?”
“Malcolm caught it, Trip. That sickness that’s going around.”
“Oh.” Trip pursed his lips. “He alright? Has he seen Phlox?”
Jon sighed. “I suspect he hasn’t gone to see Phlox, but I asked the doctor myself. He says the best cure is bedrest, so as long as he’s getting some sleep…”
“Jon,” Trip said, “this is Malcolm. How much you wanna bet the man’s tapped into the systems from his monitor or a PADD or whatever?”
Jon was silent for a minute. “I didn’t think of that. But he sounded really bad, and grateful that I’d given him the time off. But if you’re worried…”
“I think I’ll go see him.” Trip stood up, pushing back his chair.
Jon blinked up at him. “Right now?”
“I’m practically done anyway,” Trip said, waving his hand in the vague direction of his nearly cleaned plate. “Um, you don’t mind, right? I’m just…” He bit his lip.
“Of course I don’t mind.” Jon smiled. “I know how much he means to you.”
Trip relaxed. “Thanks. I know, it’s probably nothing, but I gotta make sure the guy ain’t workin’ himself to death.”
Jon nodded in understanding.
Trip made his way out of the captain’s mess and out into the corridor. He stepped into the turbo-lift and pressed the button for B Deck. Once the lift stopped, he started straight in the direction of Malcolm’s quarters.
He tried to the door chime first. When there was no answer, he tried again, calling out, “Malcolm?” Still no response.
Maybe Malcolm wasn’t even in his quarters. Maybe he’d gone to Phlox, or slunk off to the armoury. Trip rolled his eyes. That would be just like him.
He keyed in Malcolm’s code—they both had each other’s—and opened the door and stepped inside.
At first, he didn’t see Malcolm through the darkness. All he saw was a lump of blankets on the bed. But when he commanded the lights on, the lump shifted.
Trip’s eyes flicked towards it and he caught sight of a head of tousled brown hair poking out from underneath it. He smiled and approached the side of the bed, kneeling down. Gently, Trip reached out and touched where he was pretty sure Malcolm’s shoulder was. “Malcolm.”
“Mm?” came the murmured inarticulate response.
“Malcolm,” Trip tried again.
Malcolm’s eyes cracked open into slits. “Mm… Trip?
“Yeah, darlin’. Good to see you followin’ the doctor’s orders for once.”
Malcolm sat up, the blanket slipping off his shoulders and pooling around his waist. He blinked, bleary-eyed, at Trip. “What?”
“You’re restin’. That’s good. Now I feel bad for accusin’ you to Jon of tryin’ to get some work done while you’re sick.”
“I’m not,” Malcolm said. Then, “I really do feel positively awful, Trip.”
“I don’t doubt.” Trip hadn’t caught the alien flu himself, but Hess had, and she’d relayed her experiences to Trip. It didn’t sound pleasant.
Suddenly, something caught Trip’s eye. Something familiar. His gaze flicked down, and his eyes widened when he realised what Malcolm was wearing.
“Malcolm,” he chuckled, “where’d you get that shirt?”
Malcolm looked down at himself. “Oh. My closet.” He glanced back up. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
“It is. I’ve been lookin’ for it.”
“You can have it back if you’d like. I just don’t have anything else to wear.”
“In that case, keep it,” Trip said, adding to clarify, “for now.”
“Thank you,” Malcolm breathed. Then his arms couldn’t seem to hold himself up any longer, for he fell back down onto the bed.
Trip smoothed back some of his sweaty hair and Malcolm leaned into the touch, seemingly unconsciously. His green-grey eyes fluttered shut.
“You just get some rest, now, y’hear?” Trip said softly. “I’ll be back soon with some soup and water for ya. Gotta keep you fed and hydrated.”
Malcolm nodded, eyes still closed.
Chuckling softly, Trip leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Malcolm’s temple, then he got up to retrieve the promised items from the mess hall.