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A waste of resources, T’Pol had said. Trip still bristled when he thought of her words. She was merely being logical, he knew that, and somewhere deep down, he agreed with her as he carried his precious bundle to sickbay. It was a pointless, frivolous gift, and one that would probably wilt before Malcolm even woke up.
If he ever did wake up.
Trip shook his head. No, Malcolm would wake up. He had to believe it.
He reached sickbay and reached out with one hand towards the door controls. He walked in.
Phlox stood in the middle of sickbay, peering at something on the screen above the imaging chamber. He turned his head when Trip walked in.
“Doc,” Trip greeted tightly.
“Commander.” Phlox’s eyes drifted down to the flowers in Trip’s hands, then back up. “Come to see my patient?”
Wordlessly, Trip nodded. He didn’t ask how Malcolm was doing. He didn’t ask if there’d been any change. He already knew the answer.
Malcolm’s condition hadn’t changed in weeks. He was still in a coma, his injuries healing on their own, but his mind unable to break through to wakefulness again.
Phlox pulled back the curtain and Trip stepped inside. A small part of him hoped he would be met with Malcolm’s grey eyes staring at him, some kind of quip, “flowers, commander?”, but Malcolm’s eyes were closed. His mouth was still pried open by the ventilator, his chest moving up and down in artificially even movements. He didn’t so much as twitch an eyelid.
Trip stood there for a moment, swallowing thickly. He was surprised when Phlox reappeared with a tall, large glass that was full of water. Seeing Trip’s look, he said, “For the flowers.”
“Oh. Thanks, doc.” Trip hadn’t even thought of that.
Next to the bio-bed was a tray table that was being used as a bedside table. It was filled with home-made get-well cards. Trip set the glass on it and then gently stuck the flowers in the water.
That done, he perched himself on the edge of the bed, balanced with his hands. He stared at Malcolm underneath all those wires. After a minute, he leaned forward and kissed Malcolm’s forehead.
“You gotta wake up soon, hon,” he whispered against Malcolm’s skin. “Everyone’s waiting for you. …I’m waiting for you.” He drew back and sighed. With one hand, he brushed back a lock of Malcolm’s hair.
Malcolm still didn’t stir.
Trip stayed half an hour, sometimes talking about what had happened lately and what Malcolm was missing, but for the most part he merely sat in silence, staring down at his comatose lover. Finally, with a hushed promise to return tomorrow, Trip stood up and left sickbay.