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Giggles from around the corner. Echoing snickers. He could feel their eyes tracking his movements.
Trip kept his head held high and his eyes front as he strode down the corridor, back straight, each step long and wide. His jaw was clenched tight, fingers curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms.
What did this make? The fifth or sixth time he’d had to wander these corridors in just his underwear? Well, this time it was worse—he didn’t even have his blue undershirt on. Just his boxers, which were singed at the edges and he was damn near worried they’d fall apart as each step stretched the fabric, and then he’d really be left exposed.
Someone whistled. Trip stopped, but didn’t turn around, and after a moment he carried on.
He didn’t stop again until he reached Malcolm’s quarters. He pressed the chime and, without waiting for an answer, tapped in Malcolm’s code and stepped inside.
Malcolm was sitting at his desk peering at his monitor. He looked up. “Trip,” he said, smiling, but the smile faded into a look of surprise when he noticed Trip’s state of undress. “Erm…”
“Don’t,” Trip snapped wearily. “Don’t say anything.”
“I have to, Trip. What happened on the away mission?”
Trip sighed. “Ritualistic flamethrower.”
Malcolm blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“There was some kind of ceremony. The aliens had this ritualistic flamethrower. Said it was harmless.” Trip bowed his head and stared down at his feet. “Burned my uniform right off.”
“But your…” Malcolm cleared his throat and gestured vaguely in Trip’s direction.
“My underwear was spared, luckily enough,” Trip said tightly. “Most of it, anyway.”
Malcolm stood up. “Were you hurt?”
“No. Apparently, the flames only burn fabric. I’m alright.” He offered a reassuring smile, but even he could feel it was slightly strained.
Malcolm reached up and caressed the side of his face. “What’s wrong, love?”
Trip took Malcolm’s hand and held it tight, sighing again. “They were laughin’ at me. In the halls.”
“Who?”
“I dunno. Some of the new crew, I guess.” Trip shrugged. “Someone whistled at me, too.”
Malcolm’s face was steadily growing darker as Trip went on. “I need names, Trip.”
“What are you gonna do? Report ‘em to the captain?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Malcolm.” Trip squeezed his hand. “I can handle it. It’s alright.”
“Objectifying you is never alright, Trip,” Malcolm said firmly. “You didn’t consent to being in your underwear. And frankly, I’ve found the jokes that have been going around rather distasteful.”
Trip pursed his lips. He was getting sick of the nicknames and the taunts. He found it wore on his patience and his self-esteem was taking a hit.
“You’re the chief engineer, Trip,” Malcolm continued. “You deserve some bloody respect.”
“Yeah,” Trip said quietly. “I guess.”
Malcolm reached up and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. “Let me handle this, okay?”
“Okay, Mal.” Trip paused. “Thank you.”
“You can raid my closet for something to wear,” Malcolm added.
Trip smiled. “What did I do to deserve you?”