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“I don’t know what to say.”
And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? That’s the festering root of the issue. The roadblock preventing them from being on the same page, the same level. Because Trip never seems to know what to say anymore. Not since Malcolm’s incident. These six words have become a mantra, a motto; one Malcolm is tired of hearing.
“I don’t know what to say.”
These words have become a staple of their relationship. The tagline to their lives. The uncertainty surrounding anything the other says or does is the theme to their interactions.
“I don’t know what to say.”
The words ring in Malcolm’s ears, a taunting echo. A flicker of anger wells up within him; he’s too tired lately to feel anything stronger. This simple flicker is crushing, not just because of his weakened body, but because he’s feeling it towards Trip. The man he’s called his best friend and loving partner for the past six years. It’s almost unbearable the weight it puts in his chest that has nothing to do with his ruined lungs.
Standing before him, Trip frowns. “Malcolm?”
Malcolm’s taken too long to respond. Trip is on an intercept course towards him, and Malcolm just barely manages to duck away from his hand about to land on his shoulder. Trip hides his emotions well now, no longer wearing his heart on his sleeve like he used to, but even he can’t hide the hurt that flashes across his face for a brief moment.
Malcolm forces himself not to focus on that. “You never know what to say when I bring something like this up,” he whispers.
“Because you’re always bringing it up! And we know the answer. You can’t.”
“Says who?”
“Your doctors, Malcolm? Me?”
“How do they know me better than I know myself?” Malcolm asks sardonically.
Trip shakes his head. “Malcolm-”
“Don’t,” Malcolm snaps.
Trip frowns. “What?”
“Don’t use that tone with me, Trip. I’m not a bloody child or a pet.”
Trip sighs. “Sorry. I…” Clearly frustrated, he huffs and hangs his head. “I just… this is a bad idea. I know that. And I know you know that. So I don’t understand why you’re insistin’ on this.”
“Because I haven’t had a normal bloody life in nearly five years!” Malcolm exclaims with a slight wheeze, leaning heavily against the wall. “My old, comfortable life was ripped from me, replaced by this.” He gestures to himself, at the oxygen tank with the cannula that snakes upwards, looping behind his ears before coming together under his nose. “This is misery, Trip. Plain and simple.”
“Do I need to remind you of the alternative, Mal?” Trip says it so quietly, a slight crack to his voice.
Malcolm barrels on. “No, you don’t. I live with that looming possibility every bloody day. A dip in the air quality, a stray speck of pollen—if you or I don’t get the medicine in me in time, I’m gone.”
Trip winces.
“But I can’t bear this, Trip!” Malcolm rasps, ignoring his suddenly racing heart and the shakiness of his legs. “I’m stuck inside every day. Tied to this stupid thing half the time.” He kicks the oxygen tank half-heartedly. “Aren’t you going to let me get at least a taste of what I once had?”
“It’ll just make it all worse,” says Trip. “The reminder… you don’t need that.”
“You don’t know what I need!” Malcolm shouts, then doubles over in a coughing fit. He hears Trip’s shout of alarm, catches a blur out of the corner of his eye as Trip races towards him, and then he feels his partner’s hands on his back and shoulder. Malcolm’s coughs turn airless, desperate, and he can’t suck in enough air. His head begins to spin. His fingers come up to claw at his throat, desperately trying to ease the blockage that isn’t even physically there. He falls to his knees, still coughing.
And then suddenly there’s oxygen, blissful, beautiful oxygen, and he can breathe again. Trip must have adjusted the tank. One hand on the wall, Malcolm’s body trembles violently as he comes back from the fit.
Trip kneels next to him all the while.
“I hate this,” Malcolm gasps softly.
Trip squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”
“I have to rely on you all the bloody time. I’m a grown man! I’m…” He coughs again, into his elbow. “I should be…”
“I know,” Trip says again.
“I just wanted to see Enterprise again,” Malcolm continues miserably. “With them docking for a resupply, I wanted…”
“Malcolm, we both know you can’t. It could… Hell, it could literally kill you.”
Malcolm hangs his head, his hair obscuring his face.
“You think it’s worth the risk?” Trip goes on.
“Yes. No. I…” Malcolm sighs unhappily. “I don’t know.”
Trip rubs his shoulder again. “You good if I unhook you from this thing? It’s 1700. Or would you rather keep it on for now?”
Malcolm shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”
Trip seems dubious, but together, they set about detaching Malcolm from the oxygen tank, tucking it away in their room for when Malcolm will inevitably have to use it again later. Malcolm wobbles slightly as they return to the living room, concentrating on nothing but his breathing as Trip guides him to sit on the couch.
Malcolm leans his head back against the cushions. Trip puts his head on Malcolm’s shoulder. They sit there in silence for a long minute.
“I’m not going to visit Enterprise, am I?” Malcolm asks in a low voice.
Trip hesitates. “No.”
Malcolm closes his eyes. “I didn’t think so.”
“Maybe, one day, they’ll come visit us,” says Trip. “For shore leave or somethin’. We could have a big reunion party.”
Malcolm hums noncommittally.
Next to him, Trip shifts. “I am sorry, Mal.”
“It’s not your fault, love.”
“I hate seein’ you like this, too. I hate living every day prayin’ you’ll still be here by the end of it. I hate what that alien planet did to you.” Trip shakes his head. “I’d change it all if I could.”
“But we can’t,” whispers Malcolm.
“We can’t,” Trip echoes.
They lapse into silence again.
Finally, Trip straightens up. “I’ll make some tea.”
“Okay,” says Malcolm.
Enterprise leaves spacedock the next day. Malcolm watches it on the news, from the comfort of his home, Trip next to him. The ex-engineer squeezes his hand reassuringly as the warp trails vanish amongst the darkness. The picture changes to the newsroom, a new story beginning.
Malcolm turns to Trip only to find him already looking at him. Neither man knows what to say, and for once, that seems okay.