A bit of silliness for 'Tis But A Scratch Month.
Thank you to RoaringMice who beta read.
"'Tis but a scratch, Commander."
It was a bit more than just that, actually, and Malcolm almost winced; but the thought that right now his famous poker face would serve their Chief Engineer better made him school his features straight.
All for nothing. Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker III rolled his head with slow deliberation to give him a very direct look.
"Don't lie to me, Lieutenant," he retorted. A pained grimace twisted his face. "Damnit! A man can't even get distracted for a second!"
"That's all it takes, I'm afraid," Malcolm commented. "It could've been worse, though. You didn't break anything, Sir – I think." He bit his lip; he was feeling the well-known knot of regret under his solar plexus. "I am sorry. I tried to warn you, but it was too late," he forced out.
Tucker blew out a breath. "Not your fault."
Well, Malcolm would tend to disagree. He had been distracted too; should have been more alert. But saying it wouldn't change anything, so he pursed his lips, biting the words back. He studied the other man's unhappy features. Since the accident, some ten minutes before, the Commander's mood had been quite glum.
"Do you wish me to take the helm, Sir?" he asked, feeling it his duty to offer – all things considered, it would probably be better if he did. He got back a resentful scowl.
"I can pilot."
"Commander, I wasn't implying-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the Engineer cut in. "Sorry." His face tightened in a stubborn expression. "But I'll drive."
"Aye, Sir."
Malcolm cast another surreptitious glance at the sulking man. Tucker still puzzled him. He was impulsive – oh, yes, he was – and stubborn; yet he had a warm personality, and was a born entertainer. He could be simple-minded, even naive in certain respects, just as he was profound in others, almost a genius in his profession. Yes, the Commander had one of the sharpest brains he had ever encountered hidden behind innocent – the female members of the crew would collectively say charming – blue eyes.
"The Capt'n isn't gonna be happy," the man muttered, passing a taut hand through his short hair. "That's all he needs, to worry because his Chief Engineer's a klutz."
"It was an accident, Commander."
"Trip, Malcolm. Trip," was the huffed reply. "There's only the two of us, here, for Pete's sake."
Tucker had been trying to get him to use that improbable nickname for a while now. But it was improper to call a superior officer by his given name; let alone by his nickname; let alone by a nickname that counted how many Charles there had been in the family. Now that was definitely grotesque; and primitive. Numbering people! If the Tuckers liked 'Charles' so much that were stuck on giving the name to every new male addition to the family, why on earth use a bloody surname, then?
Hmm.
All right, 'Charles the Third' might have too much of a royal ring to it, but – Trip!? No, no; there was no way he could call a superior officer Trip.
The silence was so heavy that Malcolm had a feeling that if he had a scale he could weigh it.
He cleared his throat. "It happened to you before," he tried. The name wouldn't get unglued from his tongue, so he stopped at that, refraining from tagging a 'Sir' or 'Commander'; it was already a concession, and he hoped it would be noticed.
A groan met the words. Malcolm licked his lips and went on. "Although today you got a scratch and a bump, whereas that other time you..."
A louder groan cut him off. Malcolm shot a wary look at his colleague.
"Dammit, Malcolm, has anybody ever told ya that you're a real ray of sunshine?" the Engineer complained, in his Southern drawl.
"No."
Tightening his lips in slight irritation, Malcolm kept to himself the fact that it would have been impossible, for the simple reason that such an eccentric expression was not part of his family's lexicon. He started wondering what kind of expression would appear on his father's face should he or Madeline ever tell the old man that, but Tucker spoiled the fun.
"Well, if nobody has, then I will," he went on peevishly. "You're so damn negative, always lookin' at the glass half empty..."
The criticism made a blush creep up Malcolm's neck. He was quite aware of being a pessimist, but of course pitched against someone of the likes of Tucker, who was optimism incarnate, he felt even more so, and quite ill at ease about it.
"What I meant to say, Sir," he started, half in irritation, half in self-consciousness, "is that the Captain will be used to… He will not take it too badly if… Well, he won't be too worried, considering…"
Bloody hell, he sounded like an illiterate fool. Tucker's brow creased in a frown, and Malcolm closed his eyes, wishing he could be transported out of the small vessel; when he reopened them, the frown had turned into a smile. A moment later the Engineer was chuckling softly.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," the Commander drawled, shaking his head.
Malcolm looked back wordlessly. Was he was ever going to figure this man out?
"Holy smoke, Malcolm, loosen up a bit, will ya?" Tucker teased him. "I don't eat Armoury Officers for lunch; not the tough, sinewy kind like you, at least. I like my meat soft."
The blue gaze shifted back to the windscreen and a lopsided smirk appeared below it. "Will you look at that," the Engineer muttered, unhappiness re-entering his voice. "Didn't even have to page them. Someone's eager to see us back."
Aware that he was still staring with an idiotic expression on his face, Malcolm roused himself and turned to the windscreen. The launchbay doors had opened and the docking arm was extending; soon they would be home again.
"Whatever you do, Loo-tenant," Tucker continued quietly, "I wouldn't mind if you didn't remind the Capt'n of that other time."
Indeed. Malcolm had a good idea why he was asking. Taking advantage of Tucker's concentration, he allowed himself a private smile.
"I have a feelin' it's gonna be painful enough as it is," the Engineer tagged quietly to himself.
"A bump and a scratch are nothing serious, Sir," Malcolm blurted out, consciously seeking something positive to say. He was beginning to feel bad for the man. "You shouldn't worry."
"Easy for you to say."
Conversation lulled as the docking manoeuvres took their attention.
As soon as the small pod was inside the launchbay and this was pressurised again, Malcolm opened the hatch. T'Pol was there waiting for them.
"It appears that Humans do not learn very much from past mistakes," she said to the Commander, with the subtle lift of just one of her graceful eyebrows.
The Engineer rolled his eyes. "And you Vulcans never miss a chance to remind us, do you?"
Crossing her hands over her chest, the Science Officer gave him a scrutinising look and enquired, "Have you at least been able to complete the survey, Commander, despite your… accident?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Trip replied, with mock politeness. He threw out one arm and handed over a padd.
T'Pol took it. She switched it on and her gaze dropped briefly as she read the report. Her eyes lifted again and alighted on Malcolm. "It appears that-"
"Archer to Tucker," the Captain's voice cut her off.
Biting his lip, the Engineer dragged himself over to the comm. link.
"Tucker."
"Report," Archer asked.
Malcolm cringed. He darted the blond man a supportive glance.
"The impact with that asteroid did more damage than Lieutenant Reed and I had anticipated, Sir," Tucker croaked out, steering clear of the sore spot. "The port cannon turret is in need of external repairs."
There was a pause, during which he lifted his shoulders at Malcolm in a 'maybe I'll get away with it' shrug. Malcolm felt his mouth curve in a small smile, but the Captain's voice brought it back down.
"Lieutenant?" Archer prompted.
"The turret is jammed, Captain," he said, automatically straightening his shoulders. "I will need to suit up and go out on a tether to work on it. Repairs shouldn't take more than a couple of hours, though, Sir."
"I see." There was another pause. "How about that accident, Commander?" Archer finally added.
Tucker stuck his tongue over his lower teeth and grimaced. T'Pol lifted both her eyebrows, tilting her head to one side. Malcolm shifted his gaze from one to the other.
"I… well…" the Commander croaked out.
"Out with it: how serious is it?"
The blond head turned to Malcolm. "'Tis but a scratch, Captain," Tucker said, trying to drown awkwardness in fun.
"Nothing that a little plaster won't fix," Malcolm added, playing along.
"How bad?" Archer insisted, threateningly.
The Engineer winced. "A scratch and a little bump, Sir, to be honest."
"Great," Archer's dark voice came back. "I can't believe you did it again."
On impulse, Malcolm butted in, "It's in a delicate spot, Sir, but it won't impair the vision. Minor damage, really."
All he got for it was a stern reproach.
"The Commander doesn't need a lawyer, Lieutenant."
Tucker sighed, bringing a hand to his neck. "I'm sorry, Capt'n," he blurted out regretfully.
Unexpectedly, Archer's tone softened. "I understand, Commander," he said, almost soothingly.
"Thank you, Sir, I promise-"
"Go out there with Malcolm and fix up my ship," Archer cut him off. "And make sure you bring the right colour of paint."
Tucker's blue eyes rolled once again. "Aye, Capt'n."
"I suggest you take care not to get any paint over the long-range sensor, Commander," T'Pol added impassively, once the connection had been closed. "That scratch may not have impaired its vision, but paint undoubtedly will."
Tucker silently flashed her a winning grin.
A grin? – Malcolm did a double-take. The man definitely wasn't normal.
A heavy hand on his back propelled him forward.
"Come on, Malcolm," Tucker said with positive exuberance. "Let's get this show under way. I'll finish the paint job in a stitch, and then I'll give a hand with that turret."
"Why, thank you, Comm-"
"Trip, Malcolm. Trip."
THE END
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