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Getting Malcolm out of sickbay is the hard part, and it really shouldn’t be. Usually, the man is desperate to leave, to the point where he has made an escape attempt at least once in the past. But this time, he’s almost reluctant to leave, and Trip has to pull on his hand to get him to move.
“Come on, Mal,” he says in a soft voice. “Time to go home.”
Malcolm’s eyes drift to him, wide and frighteningly blank. “Home?” he repeats in a whisper.
Trip nods, offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Behind Malcolm, he can see Phlox gazing at them worriedly out of the corner of his eye. Trip knows he’s thinking that maybe releasing Malcolm this early is a mistake. But his physical injuries have been treated adequately, and now all that reminds are the mental wounds he sustained while trapped down in that prison. And Phlox can’t treat those the way he can a broken arm or a black eye.
Slowly, Malcolm begins to step forward, following Trip as they head for the door.
Trip leads Malcolm down the corridor, still holding tight onto his hand. They move slowly. Malcolm keeps his gaze downcast, staring at their feet, and they pass only two crewmen who don’t pay them any mind. Trip is thankful for this. The last thing Malcolm needs is more people coming at him with useless sympathy for what he’s endured, the details only Trip, Phlox, and Jon are privy to.
Finally, they reach Malcolm’s quarters. Trip keys in Malcolm’s code and together they walk inside. Trip commands the lights on and turns around to face Malcolm.
“Maybe you should have a shower,” Trip suggests. “You’ve been stuck in sickbay a few days. You might need one.”
Malcolm just raises his head to stare at him, not comprehending.
Trip’s expression softens. “I’m kidding, Mal,” Trip says gently. He steps forward and cups Malcolm’s cheek, worry filling him. “Hey. You okay?”
Malcolm merely closes his eyes and leans into Trip’s hand. His own comes up, fingers gently curling around Trip’s wrist. His hands are cold.
Trip frowns. Never has he seen Malcolm so… distracted. Off. He’s hardly even aware of his surroundings. “Come on.” He begins to lead Malcolm to the bathroom.
Letting go of Malcolm’s hand, Trip reaches inside the shower cubicle and turns on the water. He sticks his other hand beneath the spray and adjusts it until it’s just warm enough to be pleasant but not too hot that it burns, then he turns around—to find Malcolm staring at himself in the mirror. The man appears to almost be in some kind of trance. His mouth is slack, eyes wide.
“Hey,” Trip says again, walking over. He slowly turns Malcolm’s face away from the mirror so that they’re facing each other again. “Shower’s ready.”
Malcolm’s eyes flick to look over Trip’s shoulder, then back at Trip, something pleading in his face.
After a moment of confusion, realisation floods through Trip. “You want me to join you?” he asks.
Malcolm ducks his head, and a flush rushes across his cheeks, but he nods.
Trip chuckles. “Mal, it’s okay. Whatever you want, okay?”
They undress together. Malcolm does so in lazy, stiff movements, hesitating at every article of clothing. Eventually, they’re both naked, and Trip leads Malcolm beneath the showerhead.
It’s a bit of a tight squeeze with the two of them, but it’s not like they haven’t done it before. Of course, the circumstances were different, and Trip isn’t about to do anything like that right now, not while Malcolm is still so completely out of it.
Malcolm stands in the cubicle, head titled up slightly, watching the water spray down with a vaguely bewildered expression. Trip eyes him, frowning to himself, before he reaches for the shampoo. He rubs it between his hands, then reaches up to put some in Malcolm’s hair.
Malcolm immediately reels back at the movement, slamming himself against the glass.
“It’s just shampoo,” Trip says, wiggling his suds-covered fingers a little. “See? I gotta wash your hair, Mal.”
The trembling subsides and Malcolm relaxes. He turns around, his back to Trip.
Trip threads his fingers through Malcolm’s hair, massaging his scalp, spreading the soap. Malcolm’s eyes flutter closed. He gives a contended sigh, and Trip feels a faint smile spread across his lips.
“We gotta rinse it out, now,” Trip says. “Okay?”
Opening his eyes, Malcolm nods.
Once all the soap is rinsed out, Trip applies the conditioner next. He repeats the same movements which has Malcolm relaxing even further, like putty in his hands. Rinsing the conditioner out as well, Trip forgoes the body wash, and directs Malcolm out from under the shower. He turns the water off and goes to collect a towel. Fortunately, there are two of them for how often he and Malcolm share quarters.
He wraps one towel around his waist, then drapes the other over a shivering Malcolm’s shoulders. Malcolm’s hands immediately come up to tug it tighter around his body. His gaze has returned to somewhere far off, staring past Trip, worryingly expressionless. He continues to shiver, but Trip wonders if it’s more of a tremble.
“I’ll get your clothes.” Trip tosses one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into Malcolm’s main quarters to retrieve his pyjamas. Trip will just spend the night in his blues. He’s as quick as he can, and when he returns, Malcolm has moved over to the sink.
Trip watches as Malcolm rubs the fog from the mirror and leans over, staring at his own reflection. He seems to be examining his face, searching for something, but before he can find it, Trip speaks.
“Got your jammies, Mal.”
Malcolm’s head snaps around to him. He looks down at the bundle of clothes in Trip’s hand and nods.
Malcolm dresses without help, faint determination on his face that is a welcome change from the blankness he displayed earlier. When the last button of the shirt is done up, he stares at Trip as if looking for approval of some kind.
So Trip sticks his thumbs up. “You ready for bed?”
Malcolm purses his lips, and shakes his head.
“Why not? Hey.” Trip takes Malcolm’s arms as Malcolm glances away. “What’s wrong, Mal?”
With a shuddering breath, Malcolm’s arms suddenly come up to encircle Trip and he leans in, pressing his body up against Trip’s, burying his face in the crook of Trip’s neck. His breathing turns raspy, shaking, like he’s trying not to cry.
Trip, who is still undressed with only a towel around his waist, feels a bit awkward, but hugs Malcolm back and waits for him to pull back first.
“What’s wrong?” Trip repeats.
Malcolm looks away, looks back. “I’ll see them,” he whispers, speaking for the first time in days.
“See who?”
“The… ones I couldn’t save.”
Trip puzzles these words in his heads, then it comes to him: the other prisoners. Because Malcolm wasn’t the only one in that damn place. They’d found numerous bio-signs, but had only been able to save one, leaving the rest for Starfleet and the Vulcans to deal with.
“What do you mean?” Trip asks.
Malcolm draws in another breath. “They would… hurt them,” he says in a small voice. “When I refused to answer their- their questions. They killed two of them.”
Horror floods through Trip. “They did what?”
Malcolm flinches as Trip raises his voice.
“Sorry.” Trip rubs Malcolm’s arms. “I’m sorry, Mal. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
Malcolm snorts, half-hearted, and Trip knows what he’s thinking: that he’s not the one who was killed, so he shouldn’t be the one Trip’s saying sorry to.
“Are you worried you’ll have nightmares?” Trip asks, moving on despite the horror and rage still stirring within him.
Malcolm nods.
“It’s okay, Mal. I get it. We don’t have to sleep. We can just… cuddle.”
“Cuddle?” Malcolm repeats softly.
“Yeah.” Trip smiles. “So you know you’re safe. No one will hurt you again, I promise you.”
Malcolm breathes in shakily. “Okay.”
Trip changes back into his blue underwear while Malcolm politely turns away, then they climb onto the bunk together. They start spooning with Trip pressed up against Malcolm’s back, but soon, Malcolm shuffles and twists so that he’s facing Trip, and he buries his face in Trip’s chest. Seconds later, silent tears begin to soak through Trip’s shirt.
Trip doesn’t comment. He merely holds Malcolm as he cries, whispering soothing nonsense to the other man until his hitching sobs have tapered off into even breathing.
Neither of them gets to sleep that night. But that’s just fine by Trip.
Whatever the future holds, they’ll get through it. Together.