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Four days...
Had it really been four days since their run-in with that Romulan minefield? It felt like it had only been a few short hours ago. Then again, given how little sleep Trip had gotten in the last few days, it didn’t surprise him that time didn’t seem to be moving the way it should. He’d been so busy trying to make repairs and keep the engines running, he really didn’t have time for anything else.
Stepping off the turbolift on E Deck, Trip blindly made his way down the corridors towards the mess hall; his attention wholly on the PADD in his hands as he read over reports and repair estimates. He and Captain Archer were supposed to take an inspection pod out in a couple of hours to get a better look at the outer hull damage, but unless he managed to get some coffee streamlined into his system, Trip doubted he’d even make it as far as the inspection pod bay.
He needed coffee, maybe a quick sandwich, definitely a shower, and – if he was extremely lucky – an hour or so nap before having to meet up with Jon. Though, a nap was probably asking for a lot. He’d gotten three and a half hours of sleep last night...or...was it the night before last?
It had to have been last night.
No...he’d just spent a solid 18 hours in Engineering, and before that, two hours in the armory chasing down blown circuit relays.
Must have been the night before last he’d gotten some sleep. Though, he wasn't really sure it could be counted as sleep. More like his mind playing out every worst case scenario that could have happened less than a week ago when Malcolm had been pinned to the hull. God, those nightmares were brutal – and they certainly weren't helping his already stressed mind any.
Taking a deep breath, Trip was about to turn another corner when he was stopped dead in his tracks. Frozen in place by a tired voice. The tone weary and defeated, trying hard to hide the pain, but Trip could hear it.
“I appreciate the company, Hoshi, but I assure you I am more than capable of making it back to my quarters on my own.”
Trip swore under his breath and quickly glanced around for somewhere to hide. Correction: not hide, just detour through. He’d been on Enterprise for just about a year now, surely he hadn’t found all the different ways to get to the mess hall? Darting to the right, he flung himself through a door and slumped to sit on the floor, listening carefully to the sound of Hoshi, Malcolm, and Malcolm’s crutches make their way around the corner and down the corridor, before fading out completely.
A soft clearing of a throat brought Trip’s attention back around to his surroundings, and only then did he realize just what door he’d thrown himself through.
Chef stood over him, arms folded over his barrel chest, a spoon in one hand and a dish towel in the other. Though not entirely intimidating in stature, Chef still had a way about him that made Trip feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Short, stout, he reminded Trip of his great-Aunt Elise's prize winning bulldog, Sir Twiggly Toppin Middle Bottom. Or...something like that. Trip always just called him Twig.
Scrambling to his feet, Trip dusted himself off and offered a sheepish grin to the other man.
“Uh, afternoon, Chef! I was j'st...uh...”
“Hiding.”
Trip froze for a second, his mouth hanging open as he stared straight ahead of him. Boy, now he really felt caught.
“Uhm...pardon?”
Chef gave a small snort, already turning back to his prep table where two piles of vegetables sat, one chopped, one waiting to be chopped. He grabbed another carrot off the pile to his right and set to work chopping it before sliding the finished pieces into the other stack. He didn't even bother to look up as he answered: “Hiding. You were just hiding.”
“I wasn't hidin',” insisted Trip.
Chef gave another small snort. Another small pile of chopped carrots moved to the left. Another full carrot pulled across from the right. The knife blade moving at a frightening pace; light reflecting off it like little star bursts.
Trip straightened his shoulders, adjusted his jumpsuit, and held his head high. “I wasn't hidin'. I j'st stopped by t' make sure everythin' was okay in here. Lots of systems got fried when we hit that mine the other day, and I realized I hadn't stopped off in here t' see if you needed anythin' fix. Figured since--”
“Figured, nothing. You were hiding from Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato. If you weren't, you wouldn't have been sitting on my galley floor making a tripping hazard of yourself.”
Well , Trip thought to himself, man's got a point...
Point or no point, though, it didn't change the fact that he'd been caught being a great big coward and both he and the knife wielding cook knew it. Collecting what little bit of dignity he had left, Trip gave one last glance at the quickly vanishing pile of carrots, and turned to open the door out into the hall.
“I wasn't hiding,” he mumbled one last time before ducking out of the galley.
Suddenly the thought of stopping off in the mess for a coffee and a sandwich just didn't sound appealing to him anymore. As the galley door whooshed shut behind him, Trip cast another look down at the PADD in his hand and instead turned to head back the way he had just come from. Maybe Not-Hiding in his room under a blanket on his bunk for a couple of hours didn't sound like such a bad idea after all.
~*~*~*~
Trip couldn't breathe as he stared at the screen in front of him. Malcolm. Pinned and trapped. A metal spike holding him down to the hull plating, having gone straight through his leg. A string of bright red beads trickled up from the wound, floating and shifting shape and size in the zero gravity like one of those ancient lava lamps he'd seen in an antique store as a kid.
Malcolm's body limp.
“I should go out there. I'm the engineer,” Trip heard himself say, even while his eyes remained on the image.
“Don't you think you've done enough damage?”
Archer was suddenly there in front of him. A stern, fatherly disappointed look on his face as he folded his arms over his chest. It was enough to break Trip's gaze. His brows furrowed in confusion. That wasn't what the captain had said to him. Was it?
“What?”
“You've done enough damage, Commander. I won't let you go out there and cause him any more pain.”
Heart racing, Trip shook his head. This wasn't right. None of it. It couldn't be. Reaching out to take Archer by the shoulder, he felt the ship start to shake under his feet. A slow rumble like an impending earthquake getting ready to knock him off balance and bring the world down around him. He had to get to Malcolm. They were wasting time!
“It should be me going out there to get him! Let me go save him! I can do it!”
“Trip...” The voice was thready, barely audible even with Trip kneeling right beside him. The oxygen tube kept fluttering just out of his reach. He couldn't catch it in time to secure it back into place. The hiss of escaping precious O2 rang in his ears louder and louder.
“Malcolm! Dammit, Malcolm! J'st hang on!”
“'s cold...”
“It's gonna be okay. Ah j'st need y' to hang on for me. We're gonna be okay! Ah promise!”
“How could you possibly make a promise like that, Commander? When you yourself were the one to walk away? Hmm?”
Cold, white-blue eyes stared down at him where he sat, huddled in the middle of the sickbay floor, clutching an empty E/V suit – one with a nasty hole torn through the left leg, stained in dark copper-red. He wasn't sure he'd ever really seen Phlox truly angry before, but he certainly looked it now.
Trip swallowed back tears as his body shook all over again. “Where's Malcolm? Is he okay?”
“He's dead.”
Spinning around at the new voice behind him, he stared in horror at Chef. The man stood there with a knife in one hand, a dish rag in the other, and what appeared to be a fresh leg of lamb on the table beside him.
“You were too busy hiding to notice. Now do you want any roast Reed or not?”
Trip sat up, a yell lodged in his throat while a firm grip held him by the shoulders. His hair plastered to his head in clumps, and his entire body trembled as he fought to fully wake himself up. Distantly, he thought he heard someone saying his name. A gentle, coaxing call; not the cold, harsh tones he'd just heard in his head.
He couldn't breathe. The air was too thin. He was suffocating. It was the shuttlepod all over again. It was Malcolm out on the hull, desperate to try to save the crew – to save him – by pulling out his own oxygen tube so he could be cut loose along with the plating. The world grayed around the edges even as he felt himself being moved and positioned with his head as close to his knees as possible. That same distant voice instructing him to slowly breathe, to make a fist and squeeze as hard as possible.
After an eternity, Trip felt himself calm down. The world began to right itself again and he finally recognized the familiar voice of his oldest friend. Unlike the Archer of his nightmares, though, this one wasn't accusing him of causing Malcolm any pain. He wouldn't do that. Jonathan Archer was many things, but cruel was not one.
“Easy, Trip. You were dreaming.”
“Roast Reed...” Trip mumbled, his eyes clenched shut as he shoved the heels of his palms against them. Beside him, Archer hissed in a quiet breath.
“Dammit. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have told you about that. I just don't think I've ever really heard Malcolm crack a joke before. I thought you'd have been happy to hear about it.”
Trip waved him off. He sucked in another deep breath, held it for a count of eight, and slowly let it out before he eased himself back up.
When Archer had told him about what Malcolm had said while they were out there, Trip had been happy to hear about the dark humor his partner had finally shown to someone other than himself. He'd worked hard to try and get Malcolm to loosen up, especially in front of a Superior Officer. Malcolm had come a long way in only ten months. Now thanks to Trip, though, all that hard earned progress was probably destroyed.
Instead of answering, or giving any explanation to just what he'd been dreaming about, Trip scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. He cringed at the feel of it as he swept it up out off his forehead. God, he needed a shower. It was going to have to wait, though. Just like his caffeine and sandwich...and sleeping could just go straight to Hell.
“What time's'it?”
“Just past 15:00,”
Trip's head popped up out of his hands, his eyes wide. It'd been 11:30 when he'd sat down on his bunk just for a little rest during his lunch break. Hell, he'd slept through most of his shift! Heat rose up on his cheeks.
“Shit, Cap'n, ah'm real sorry! I didn't mean--”
“It's alright, Commander. You've been working harder than anyone else these last few days. I think you've more than earned a nap.”
“I was suppose t' meet you in the shuttle bay an hour ago!”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Archer's mouth as he sat back in his borrowed desk chair. “I'm aware of that,” he teased fondly. “When you didn't show up and didn't answer my comms, I came looking for you.”
Embarrassed that he'd managed to not only fall asleep, but also miss his meet-up with Archer, Trip shoved himself off his bunk and searched the floor for the PADD he'd been looking over when he seemingly dozed off. Which was another embarrassment: Jon catching him in the middle of another damned nightmare. All he needed now was to find himself buck-ass nude in the middle of the mess hall at supper time for his Most Humiliating Things Ever Bingo card to be complete.
“Gimme a minute t' find the repair list an' I'll be ready to go.”
The PADD hovered into his line of sight from the left, held out by Archer – who still had that fondly amused, albeit sympathetic, smirk on his face.
“Go take a shower, put on a fresh uniform, and then you'll be ready to go. The damage isn't going anywhere. It can wait a few more minutes.”
Trip frowned. “Sir?”
“And then when we get back from checking on the repairs, you're off duty for the next 24 hrs. I need you to take care of yourself, alongside taking care of the ship. Understand?” Archer dropped a hand to Trip's shoulder, squeezing it gently to help make his point. While Trip might not have liked it, he reluctantly nodded and shoved himself up off his bunk fully.
“Aye, sir,” he muttered, making his way into his small private lavatory. He stopped only briefly to grab some clean clothes out of his locker before disappearing around a corner.
Normally, Trip was one who used up every last drop of his allotted ration of hot water with each shower, something Malcolm had routinely harassed him about during their short relationship. Malcolm could be completely showered, shaved, and respectable looking in ten minutes tops; while Trip was usually just washing the shampoo out of his hair at the ten minute mark. It just didn't make sense to him not to use up all his water rations each time, seeing as how the leftover never accumulated up for an extra one or two showers at the end of the week or anything. This time, though, he was in and out almost faster than the water could warm up. Absolute rudimentary wash-up, quick hair washing and he was done. Malcolm would have been impressed.
Trip shook his head, forcing those thoughts from his mind as water droplets flew across the room. He couldn't afford to be thinking about Malcolm and his now fourth failed relationship, right then. Not when he'd made the captain wait long enough for him already. With his wet hair swept up and back out of his eyes, he stepped back out into his main room, zipping his jumpsuit as he went.
“Ready when you are, Cap'n.”
With a nod and another clap on the shoulder, Archer turned to lead the way down to the inspection pod launch bay. Both he and Trip using the time to discuss how the internal repairs were going. It was familiar shop talk, and it helped to ease at least some of Trip's frayed nerves and take his mind off the nightmare he'd been woken up from.
~*~*~*~
“In other words, we're...a decade away from Jupiter Station.”
Well, when Archer put it like that, yeah...it sounded real bad. Wasn't wrong, either. Trip knew the chances of finding the materials they needed to repair the hull plating properly were slim to none. They were dead in the water and a great big sitting duck. Unless a Vulcan ship oh-so-helpfully happened to pass by and offered them a tow back to Jupiter Station...yeah. They were at least a decade out.
“What about the transceiver array?”
Frowning, Trip shook his head.
“The sub-space antenna's damaged. All we've got is short-range.”
Grim determination deepened the creases on Archer's face as he leaned back in his chair. “We've answered enough calls for help over the past year. It's time someone returned the favor.”
“You serious?”
In the co-pilot seat across from Trip, Archer heaved a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably as he reached towards the control panel. Asking for help wasn't either his or Trip's strong suits. They were both too damned stubborn, too damned proud, to admit it when they needed help. A lot like someone else Trip knew, actually...
Still, it just didn't sit right with Trip, seeing Archer make the call to Hoshi about sending out a general distress call. Honestly, Trip almost felt like this was just another part of some damned bad dream.
Without another word, Trip turned his seat around and focused on the controls, easing them away from the gaping wound the saucer section was sporting and back underneath where the launch bays were located. They'd been damned lucky no one had been in their bunks when the mine had struck them. Only 17 injured was still too high, in his opinion, but at least it was only injured and not something worse.
Well...18 injured, actually. Once Malcolm got included in that count. Malcolm, who very easily could have become their first fatality. Who tried to become their first fatality.
Trip's grip on the controls tightened enough the plastic nearly creaked under the force.
“I heard Lieutenant Reed's physical therapy started up yesterday,” Archer casually said as the launch bay doors shuttered shut under them and the room's pressure equalized again. Trip pressed his lips together in a tight line but didn't answer. “From what Phlox tells me, Malcolm's feeling well enough to complain the entire time, so he must be on the mend.”
Trip kept his eyes on the control panel, going through all the post flight checks thoroughly even as the hatch lock popped, signaling they were safe to exit the pod. He didn't have to look up to know that Archer hadn't moved from his seat, or that the man was staring him down, waiting for some kind of answer. Trip didn't have an answer.
“Phlox mentioned Malcolm probably wouldn't be fit for duty for another week or two. I doubt he took the news well.”
Nope , thought Trip glumly, don't suppose he did.
“Apparently, Malcolm's still upset that one of the doctor's Regulan bloodworms is still somewhere inside his thigh...”
A cringe and shiver ran up Trip's spine at that. Bile rose up in his throat at the thought of any kind of bug being put inside him. Let alone one being lost in Malcolm's thigh. It was enough to make him want to retch for Malcolm. And frankly, he didn't want to even begin to think about how or where that damned creepy crawly would come out at later.
“I thought that might finally get a reaction out of you,” Archer hummed thoughtfully.
Slowly, Trip raised his eyes to meet Archer's. There was a knowing look there in his eyes; knowing and compassionate. Though he had never really come right out and told his friend about his and Malcolm's relationship, Trip knew Jon Archer was anything but an idiot and had managed to piece it together himself several weeks ago. At least Archer had always kept it to himself. Malcolm had never been overly keen with the idea of anyone, particularly their commanding officer, knowing about their relationship. Which had been another minor source of contention for Trip; that and his partner's damned Hero Complex.
With a heavy sigh, Trip glanced back down at the controls, then shoved himself away from them before turning to open the inspection pod hatch. He didn't bother to wait for Archer, or even let him get out first, he just hopped down and made his way towards the door. Soon as he crossed through them and into the hallway, he was on mandatory stand-down for 24 hours – per Captain's orders. And if it meant getting him away from the conversation he could sense coming, all the better.
“Trip.”
The tone had Trip's feet suddenly froze to the deck plating. He stood, glaring at the doors that seemed to be mocking him – so close but still too far away. It only took another moment for him to sense movement behind him, and for his shoulder to sag under the hand that landed on it. The gesture was enough to blast through his own carefully constructed defenses. Shoulders slumped and head drooped, Trip waited with a lump forming larger and larger in his throat.
“Trip, have you spoken to Malcolm at all in the last few days? We both know how he is with being inactive, I'm sure having you there to keep him company would go a long way to--”
“He doesn't want my company,” Trip muttered. “He doesn't want me 'round, period.”
Silence hung in the air between them, heavy and thick enough to cut with a knife. The lack of sleep and stress of the last few days piled up inside Trip, pushing all his heartache and hurt closer to the surface. He'd tried so hard not to think about Malcolm's ultimatum. Not to think about the fact he'd come out and told Malcolm he was in love with him, only to be broken up with in the next instance. Now? Standing there alone in the launch bay with his oldest friend, Trip felt the weight of it all start to crash in on him all over again.
“Ah told 'im that Ah love 'im...an' he broke up with me. Told me until Ah could accept the fact either one of us could die out here, that we shouldn't be t'gether. Told me not t' contact 'im again...” God, how Trip hated the way his voice broke and shook as he talked. “Ah haven't seen or spoken to 'im since.”
“I can't begin to pretend to understand how you must be feeling, right now,” Jon finally started after another moment of loaded silence, “but I think it's safe to say that you both were terrified out of your minds the other day. It's easy to say things you don't entirely mean, or for the things you say to be misinterpreted, when emotions are high like that.”
Trip huffed and scoffed, his eyes cast down to glare holes into the toes of his boots. “Pretty hard t' misinterpret, 'Ah'd like for you t' leave now', an' 'best not t' contact me again until you can decide if you can accept the risk of bein' in a relationship with me.'”
The hand on his shoulder gave a firm squeeze, drawing his attention away from his glaring contest with the floor and up until he could meet Jon's green eyes. In that moment, he wasn't Jon Archer the captain of Earth's first Warp 5 starship. He wasn't even Jonny Archer, Trip's best friend and mentor for the last near decade. In that moment, he was Jonathan Archer, the older brother and nearest thing most folks had to a father figure this far out.
“Do you want my opinion?” He asked. Though, Trip could tell it was more of a rhetorical question than anything else. When he only gave a small frown and shrug of acceptance, Archer continued. “I don't know how long you and Malcolm had been together, not as anything more than friends, at least. But I do know, that the last couple of months, I have seen a stark difference in both you and Malcolm. You two are good for each other. Personally, I don't know why you're running yourself ragged trying to avoid him, when you should be there helping him to recover.”
“I told'ja why. He--”
“Trip, if you love him like you say you do, don't you think you should be spending every possible moment with him instead of running scared because of a risk? Isn't being with someone you love worth a risk? Wouldn't it even be considered an acceptable risk?”
Trip made a face as he turned his gaze back down to his boots and scuffed his feet against the plating awkwardly.
“Malcolm must have thought it was an acceptable risk to snuff regulations and start a relationship with you.”
At that, Trip flinched and sighed. They hadn't meant to start a relationship, not really, anyway. It had just sort of happened over the course of a few months – both of them finding their friend in a rough way, taking pity on them and helping to make them feel better as best they could. Until one day they just...were. It happened so naturally, they hadn't even really noticed when it did. Still, Jon was right, though. About Malcolm ignoring all those ingrained rules and regulations about fraternization with superiors in order to be with him. It was, Trip hated to admit, probably the biggest risk Malcolm could have ever taken – career wise, at least.
“Go talk to him, Trip.”
Sniffling softly, Trip met Archer's eyes one more time before he gave a reluctant nod. He wasn't so sure Malcolm would even still want to speak to him. He wasn't so sure that Malcolm would want anything to do with him anymore, but...well. He had to try. It was a risk, but Jon was right. It was a risk he had to take.
~*~*~*~
The door to Malcolm's quarters never looked so large and intimidating before. Standing there in front of it, Trip felt like it was looming over him, judging him, for what he'd done to Malcolm. How pathetic had he become that he felt judged by an inanimate object, now?
He lifted his hand to reach for the comm and then stopped. His fingers hovered just over the button for a moment before dropping away. In all his thirty years of life, Trip had only ever had three relationships before Malcolm – none of the three went anywhere, and honestly, he hadn't fought very hard to keep them working. In the past, he'd just simply accepted the fact that the relationship didn't work out, mourned the loss for a few days, and then carried on. This time was different, though. Not just because it was his first real relationship with another fella, but because...well, it just was. It was different in ways Trip couldn't even begin to describe, and Lord help him, he wanted it to work! He wanted it to last!
Maybe that was why he was too terrified to press the comm. He'd already convinced himself he'd screwed it up beyond repair and now...
“Have you made up your mind?”
The quiet, calm, smooth voice behind him startled him so bad he practically crawled the wall in front of him. Spinning around, Trip stared at Malcolm with wide, surprised eyes.
“Huh?” Smooth, Trip. Real smooth...
Malcolm huffed softly and carefully swung himself closer to the door. It was then Trip noticed how tired Malcolm looked. The way his eyes pinched at the corners as he fought back his urge to cringe and flinch each time his left leg was jostled. The crutches pressed against his sides, helping him to get around without putting too much pressure on his injury.
“Have you made up your mind?” repeated Malcolm, already reaching to unlock his room door to head inside. When Trip still didn't give an answer, just stood there looking dumbfounded, Malcolm rolled his eyes. “About pressing the comm to see if I'd answer or not?”
Trip stood frozen in place. His brain was having one hell of a time playing catch-up.
“Why would I press the comm when you're standin' right there?”
For a moment, Trip couldn't breathe. Malcolm glanced over his shoulder with such a fond, bemused look in his eyes that made it feel like nothing had happened between them in the last four days. That Malcolm was going to tease him for being intentionally thick and obtuse. Before he could catch his breath again, though, the look had vanished and once again Malcolm just looked tired and in pain.
Sighing heavily, Malcolm shook his head dejectedly and opened the door to his quarters, already moving inside as he called over his shoulder: “Was there something you required, Commander? I'm afraid Doctor Phlox hasn't cleared me for duty, yet.”
Trip's brain finally came back online, firing off at warp 4 to catch-up with the rest of the world and get him moving again. Hopefully, with something almost intelligent to say, too. Swallowing thickly, Trip took a deep breath to rally himself up before he motioned inside.
“Mind if I...”
With a shrug, Malcolm moved out of the way of the door and further into his immaculately tidy room. Trip slipped in after him, letting the door quietly slide shut once he was inside. He stood fidgeting by the door for a moment, just watching as Malcolm carefully leaned his crutches against his desk and then turned to – honest to God – hop his way to his bunk on one foot. It had to be the most adorable thing Trip had ever seen Malcolm do, and he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his face. For the briefest moment, he imagined Malcolm as a small boy, hopping and skipping his way along sidewalk curbs and up steps. The image didn't last long, of course – not when Trip reminded himself that young Malcolm probably hadn't been allowed to do such foolish and childish things as hopping or skipping. Least wise, not while his father was around.
Once Malcolm had finally made it to his bunk and carefully levered himself down onto it, Trip shuffled further into the room. He really wasn't sure where to start, or how to start, he just knew that he wanted to try and make things right. To fix the things he'd broken by being a jackass. He stole a glance to the computer and frowned. Malcolm, ever observant, drew Trip's attention away from the screen.
“A letter to my sister. I haven't finished it yet. Did you want something, sir?”
A swift kick to the seat of his pants wouldn't have made Trip flinch near as much as hearing the annoyed tone in Malcolm's voice. His window of opportunity was getting smaller by the second, and he was going to miss it all together if he didn't start spitting some words out soon.
“Thought we agreed no ranks off duty,” he finally muttered, his eyes fixed on his hands as he fidgeted. When silence was the only answer he got, Trip lifted his gaze to find Malcolm staring at him, one fine brown eyebrow arched almost as well as T'Pol could do.
A lack of answer was answer enough.
Frowning, Trip gave a small nod.
“Right...” he floundered for a moment, his fight or flight instincts screaming at him to just get the hell out the door and keep running until he'd run out of space on the ship. Instead, he turned to grab the desk chair and bring it closer to the bed. He might as well attempt to be comfortable.
“Look, Malcolm...I know that I said a bunch of rotten things t' you the other day. Thing's I shouldn't have said, an'...I'm sorry. I'm real sorry I said 'em an' that I hurt you like I did. I was scared an' worried. Not that that makes it right, I know it doesn't. I'm j'st...” an idiot. Terrified. A jerk. So completely in love with you.
Trip stared down at his hands, his thumbs drumming on his thighs as he tried to fix the damage he'd done. He was the best damn engineer in Starfleet, he should be able to fix his own fuck-ups. So why was he having such a hard time now? Probably because the messes he was used to fixing had clear solutions to them, most times. Find the fault, replace it, test it, move on to the next. With Malcolm...Trip didn't have the first clue what to do except apologize.
Across from him, Malcolm sighed dramatically. “Commander...” his tone was almost bored and definitely annoyed. It was enough to make Trip's blood instantly boil.
“Will ya cut that out?” Snapped Trip. His head shot up and his eyes flashed irritation as he met Malcolm's glare. “It's not helpin' things any! So j'st knock it off. Ah'm tryin' to apologize here, Malcolm!” It should have been funny to watch the way Malcolm had sat up straighter on his bunk at Trip's tone. Almost like the little prick planned to fight him word for word and intended to win. Except, it wasn't funny. It was devastating. How could he make things right if Malcolm didn't seem the slightest bit interested in letting him try?
“Dammit, Malcolm. Ah'm not here as your superior officer. Ah'm here as your friend – your partner! As the guy who knows he fucked up the best damned thing t' ever happen to him an' is tryin' t' put things right! So will y' let me try, or not?”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was absolutely silent save for the background noise of the warp engine as it did its best to move their battered ship through space with a chunk of its saucer section missing. All either of them could do was sit there and stare at each other: Malcolm with barely concealed defiance, Trip with frustrated sorrow. The last thing he'd wanted to do when he'd walked through that door was start a fight or lose his temper.
It was just his luck that the love of his life tended to cause both to happen. Not near as often as they use to, but it still wasn't uncommon to catch them arguing their way from one department to another from time to time. Or for Trip to lose his temper about something Malcolm had said or done while on duty. Still, he hadn't wanted it to happen now.
Shoving himself up from his chair, Trip let out a dejected sigh. His hands rustled through and gripped at his hair, causing it to stand up in all sorts of ridiculous ways. He turned to pace the room, needing to work out his frustrated energy before he did something he couldn't come back from – like wring Malcolm's neck...or fall to his knees sobbing and begging for forgiveness. Either one were likely to happen.
“You're going to wear a hole through the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Malcolm's quiet voice finally broke the silence that had surrounded them. It was enough to make Trip stop mid-stride and turn back to look at the other man. When he did, Malcolm made an awkward motion to the chair Trip had abandoned. It wasn't exactly an apology, but it was definitely an invitation that Trip wasn't about to turn down.
As he moved to sit back down, Malcolm shifted carefully on his bunk, obviously trying to get more comfortable, but not so comfortable that he risked falling asleep while Trip was still there. Trip wanted to kick himself even more. It was obvious Malcolm was still wiped after his last physiotherapy session. He should just let Malcolm get some sleep and try again later. Except, Malcolm had also drawn himself up a bit more and looked like he might actually say something. Probably j'st gonna tell me to beat it so he can get some rest...
“You're not the only one who needs to apologize.”
Whatever Trip had expected Malcolm to say to him, it certainly hadn't been that. For the second time in less than an hour, Trip sat speechless. Malcolm, oblivious to Trip's gaping, kept his eyes cast down to where he absently picked at the hem of his gym shorts and continued on.
“I apologized to the captain about my behavior out on the hull; it was a rash decision made in the heat of the moment. But I never thought to apologize to you, for it. At the time, when I pulled the air tube from my E/V Suit, I hadn't seen any other way to ensure the safety of the crew, the ship, or you. Those Romulans weren't exactly giving us much of a choice, or a chance. I knew there was no way to safely disarm the mine - not with the few scant moments we had left to try. I was scared and desperate. I'm sorry.”
Once again, silence fell over top of them. This time, though, it wasn't the horrible, tense silence like it had been just a few minutes before. It was still a heavy one, of course; how could it not be given the things Malcolm had just said. Sitting there across from the bunk, Trip felt his heart breaking all over again. They had both messed up. Only difference was, Malcolm's had been in an attempt to save the ship – Trip's had been out of anger and fear. Either way, they had deeply hurt each other and they both knew it.
“I keep havin' these nightmares,” Trip started, keeping his own voice quiet and level. “Can't hardly sleep 'cause of them. Keep...seein' you floatin' all limp like out on the piece of hull as it drifts away from us. Ah keep screamin' that I gotta get out there t' save you an' people keep grabbin' me, forcin' me t' stay on the bridge an' watch those Romulans blow that piece up 'fore we go to warp.”
“Oh, Trip...”
A small, choked up sob escaped him at Malcolm's reply. More so at the gentle care in those two small words. He couldn't bring himself to look up and meet Malcolm's eyes. He knew if he did, it'd be all over for him and he'd wind up on his knees sobbing and clinging to any little piece of Malcolm he could get his hands on.
In the end, he didn't need to try and grasp around in desperation. A slim, long fingered hand slid into his line of sight, took hold of his own hand, and squeezed for dear life.
“Do you remember --” Malcolm started, “--what it was you said to our teams when we came together to fit the phase cannons into place?”
Sniffling softly, Trip finally lifted his eyes. He could feel the tears that clung to the ends of his lashes, teetering on the edge of falling down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away with a huff and shoulder shrug.
“You told them, that we all signed up for this trip because we wanted to do something no one had ever done before. Not because we thought it'd be easy, or safe. But that we weren't here to take foolish risks, either.” Malcolm reached out to wipe away the one tear that managed to escape. The moment his hand touched Trip's face, Trip caught it and held it in place so that he could lean into the touch. So gentle and loving. He'd been so certain he'd never get to feel those random rough callouses catch on his end-of-day stubble again.
“I took a foolish risk out on the hull, Trip. If any one of us should be apologizing, it's me.”
Trip fought back the urge to cry all the harder as he shook his head and finally met Malcolm's gaze full-on. No, Malcolm wasn't the only one who should be apologizing. Trip was just as much at fault for the last four days of Hell as Malcolm was. Reaching out, he placed his own palm against Malcolm's cheek and simply savored the feel of those high cheekbones and smooth shaven skin for a moment before he spoke up, himself.
“You're worth the risk,” he murmured shakily. “We're worth the risk. I won't lie an' say I like it, the risk that either one of us could get killed out here, but...God, Malcolm. These last few days without you, I...I never wanna go through that again. We both take stupid risks all the time, s'kinda j'st who we are.”
“Trip...I never should have given you that kind of ultimatum. I didn't--”
“Shh, no. No. You did, an' you were right to. It made me actually stop an' think for a while.”
“You know, I thought I'd smelled burning coming from your quarters every time I went by it,” Malcolm flashed a quick quirk of a smile. The kind that only tugged at one corner of his mouth and that he usually gave just to Trip when he was poking fun at him.
God, Trip missed that little bastard's dry sense of humor!
With a laugh startled out of him, Trip was once again out of his seat, but this time his body only moved as far as the mattress in front of him. He collapsed down onto the bunk, mindful of Malcolm's injury, and pulled the smaller man into him for a crushing hug. He held tight for as long as he dared, face buried in the crook of Malcolm's neck as he just breathed him in. Soap, sweat, and the sickbay – not Trip's favorite scent, but somewhere below all of that was the ever present hint of aftershave and armory that he loved so much.
After a minute – an hour, a day, Trip couldn't tell time anymore – he pulled back to press a soft, lingering kiss to Malcolm's lips. The feel of those soft, thin lips against his felt like the gravity plating had gone offline again and Trip couldn't care one bit. He'd missed having Malcolm in his arms, missed kissing him and being the cause of all his little sighs and noises. As Malcolm slowly pulled away first, quietly gasping in air as he tried to catch his breath after Trip sprang the kiss on him, Trip brushed his nose against Malcolm's and rested their foreheads together.
“I wanna be with you, darlin'. For however long it is we get t' be t'gether. Risks an' galaxies laughin' at us be damned.”
Malcolm smiled as he tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to Trip's lips in return.
“You know,” he whispered against Trip's mouth, “I think I quite agree with your risk assessment. I suppose we're stuck with each other, then. Poor galaxy...”
“Mm...lucky me.”