Title: Seven Days
Author: T'eyla
Genre: Humor/Angst
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Guess what, I haven't bought Star Trek since the last time I posted here. I bought lotsa stuff... and that stuff's all mine now. Star Trek isn't, though :P
Warnings: Slash (Tucker/Reed-Romance), Futurefic
Beta: Sita Z, patient and thorough as always - thank you :)
AN: Prequel to "Bed Rest" (a fic that I wrote together with Sita Z).
This is for Romanse. I quote:
"I don't want you to tell me how and when Malcolm got sick, I want you to SHOW me through Malcolm's eyes!"
Well, the small, fluffy, cute, inconspicuous plot bunny that was sniffing around in my head before I read this in the review didn't need anything more to grow into a plot rabbit of frightening dimensions. There was no fighting it. So here it is, the prequel, dedicated to all the sick-Malcolm/poor-Malcolm/miserable-Malcolm fans in general and to Romanse in particular :). Have fun!
Day 1: Friday, 9 pm
"Stop it, Johnny," Trip said sternly, and the dog raised his head, ceasing his impatient whining and plopping down on his hindquarters.
"That's a good boy," Trip said. "Don' worry. Malcolm will be out in a few more minutes."
The engineer raised his eyes again and squinted, trying to read the announcements on the display over the heads of the other people in the waiting area. Malcolm's transport from Jupiter Station had been delayed; there had been some trouble with the space port's docking clamps, and by now, Trip had been here for over three hours. Much longer, and he would probably start whining right along with Johnson.
The light reflexes on the smooth material made it impossible to make out what the board was showing, but after a few more moments, there was a melodic "bling", and a woman's voice came from the small speakers integrated in the wall of the waiting area.
"The passengers of flight 0345 from Jupiter Station are deboarding now. Again, San Francisco Space Port would like to apologize for the inconveniences. There will be no further delays."
Trip heard a snort and turned his eyes to see a stocky, middle-aged man shake his bald head.
"Oh, delay all you want," he said, throwing the speaker a disgruntled look. "I've missed Baseball Daily by more than an hour anyway. I don't mind a little more waiting."
Trying not to smile, Trip turned back and stood on his toes for a moment, trying to see past the glass barriers into the deboarding area. Malcolm hadn't taken along any checked luggage, so he should be one of the first people to come out.
Actually, he was the third; after a bony woman who was greeted by her equally bony husband, and a very young and very important looking guy in a suit who hurried past the waiting people to the exit.
"Mal!" Trip called when he saw him, and waved. "Over here!"
Malcolm turned his head, and smiled as their eyes met. He weaved his way through the other people towards Trip, and they hugged and kissed.
"Hey darlin'," Trip smiled when they parted. "I thought they'd never let you go."
Malcolm answered his smile. "I'm sorry you had to wait," he said. "Seems like the ground crew buggered up the pre-docking procedures. Hey, Johnny," he added as the huge black dog demanded his attention by whining loudly and bumping his snout against Malcolm's hand.
"Yeah, that's what we've been told," Trip said as they made their way towards the exit, Johnson close on their heels. "Well, Johnny and I didn't mind waiting."
Malcolm only smiled without giving an answer, and Trip thought that he looked pretty tired. Well, no surprise there. Trip knew from experience that those conferences on Jupiter Station tended to be quite exhausting, and besides, Malcolm had spent the last five hours holed up in a shuttle together with cranky business people and harried moms with bored children, which was not a relaxing or refreshing way to spend your time.
He put an arm around his partner. "D'you wanna grab a bite to eat somewhere before we head back?"
Malcolm shook his head. "I'd rather go home, Trip," he said. "I'm in dire need of a shower."
Trip smiled and nodded. "Alright."
By now, they had left the space port complex and crossed the parking lot. Trip unlocked the aircar and opened the trunk for Johnson, while Malcolm climbed onto the passenger seat.
The journey home was a quiet one, Malcolm not seeming in the mood for conversation. When they were about halfway along the way, Trip glanced over at his partner to find that Malcolm had fallen asleep with his head resting against the window, and smiled a little at the sight.
Fifteen minutes later, Trip pulled into their driveway and set the flitter down. Then he reached over and gently shook Malcolm a little.
"Hey, sleepin' beauty," he said. "We're there." Malcolm slowly opened his eyes and blinked, disoriented. Trip smiled. "We're home."
"Oh." Malcolm looked out of the window into the dark evening. "Right."
He suppressed a yawn, then climbed out of the aircar and went around the flitter to open the trunk for Johnson. Trip felt the car shake as the big dog jumped out, and got out himself.
He quickly locked the flitter, then caught up with his partner who was already on his way to the entrance door. He wrapped an arm around Malcolm's shoulders, and felt a hand slip around his waist.
"It's good to have you back," he said. "I missed you."
Malcolm looked up at him, a smile on his face. "It's good to be home."
--
Day 3: Sunday, 5 pm
Trip scooped some of the pasta off his plate into his mouth and began to chew, then stopped for a moment and blinked.
"Tastes funny?" Due to his stuffy nose, Malcolm's tone was nasal, his eyes watery and redrimmed. He had caught quite a cold on his trip to Jupiter Station.
"Uh... " Trip finished chewing and swallowed. "A little... unusual. What did you do?"
"Nothing." Malcolm shrugged. "Nothing on purpose, anyway. But I thought the sauce had a strange flavor to it. I wasn't really able to tell, though. Everything tastes strange at the moment."
Trip smiled a little, then raised a spoonful to his mouth, tasting the sauce. It did taste a little unusual; not bad, but more like one of those desserts that combined sweet and spicy flavors than a pasta sauce. He frowned. "You didn't by any chance use sugar instead of salt?"
Malcolm began to shake his head, then shrugged. "No. I don't know. I don't think so."
"Kinda tastes like it," Trip said.
"Really?" Malcolm put a small spoonful of sauce into his mouth, a concentrated expression on his face. After a moment, he swallowed and shrugged. "I don't know, maybe... "
Trip raised his eyebrows. "You really can't taste it?" he asked.
"No," Malcolm said, shaking his head, then added, "well, yes, I taste something, but as I said, everything tastes a little strange at the moment." He gave Trip an apologizing look. "Sorry, Trip."
"Never mind, that's okay." Trip smiled and got up. The pasta with the sugar-sauce was edible, but a little too exotic for Trip's taste, and he knew that while Malcolm dutifully complied with the task of cooking every other day, it wasn't something he took a lot of pride in, so Trip didn't think it would hurt his feelings if they skipped the sugar pasta. "We can jus' call a pizza or somethin'." He went over to the counter where they kept the pizza service leaflets. He sorted through them, then stopped for a moment to smile at his partner. "No more cookin' for you till your cold's gone, though."
Malcolm nodded, then sneezed and shook his head a little as if to clear it. "Maybe not," he said with a smile.
--
Day 5: Tuesday, 7 pm
Concentrate.
Malcolm stared at the padd in front of him, trying to make sense of the data on the display. He should be able to; after all, he'd given a lecture about this a little less than a week ago. And his listeners had agreed that it had been a very informative lecture. At least that was what the ratings had told him. During the lecture, he'd had the feeling he was boring them to tears. However, he had made the experience that it was always like that if you were presenting in front of Vulcans.
Concentrate!
Malcolm closed his eyes for a moment, chasing any stray thoughts of last week's conference out of his mind. Like this, however, there was only his droning headache left, and the full, crampy feeling in his stomach. He sighed and returned his attention to the padd.
The integral of the field strength over the time variable and infinity equals the function of the particle flux in time t in a stable EM field...
"What's up, Mal?" his partner's voice interrupted his thoughts. Trip was sitting behind him on the living room couch and had obviously noticed his sigh. Malcolm shook his head.
"Nothing, really," he said. "I just can't quite concentrate."
"My mom used to say that a person should never try to work on a full stomach."
Malcolm smiled a little, not giving an answer. Mrs. Tucker probably had a point, especially where a full, upset stomach was concerned. He swallowed, hard. He probably shouldn't have had any dinner. He hadn't been hungry, anyway. But he knew that Trip was worried about him already, and Malcolm hadn't wanted to give him any more reason to be, like not eating dinner three days in a row. Truth was, however, that emptying his plate tonight had been one of the harder things he'd done in his life.
He should stop thinking about food. Most definitely he should.
He returned his attention to the derivation of the particle flux function. After two lines, however, he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. It didn't settle the churning of his stomach, though, and Malcolm realized that he would have to move fast if he wanted to avoid making a mess. He got to his feet, his lips pressed together tightly.
"Where're you goin'?" Trip asked, raising his eyes from his book.
"Be right back." As soon as he was out of the door and Trip's field of vision, he quickened his pace and hurried to the bathroom. He only barely managed to close the door before he was on his knees in front of the toilet, retching and heaving.
When there was nothing left to come up, Malcolm sat back on his heels and took a couple of deep, slow breaths. Then he flushed and got to his feet, ignoring the wooziness that made his head spin. He quickly rinsed his mouth of the vile taste and returned to the living room where Trip was still sitting on the couch, unaware of what had just happened. Only Johnson, who was sprawled on his doggy bed, threw Malcolm a questioning look and gave a small whine. Malcolm ignored him and sat back down in front of his padd. Maybe now he'd be able to finally get some work done.
--
Day 7: Thursday, 10 am
Very slowly, Trip swam his way up through the layers of sleep to marginal awareness. He felt the softness of the pillow and the blankets, and smelled the familiar scent of bedding in the morning. Sighing comfortably, he turned his head to the other side and kept his eyes closed. Sunlight was tickling his eyes through his closed lids, and he knew that in a moment, Malcolm would wake him by either giving him a gentle kiss or pulling away the blankets rather briskly. It always depended on the mood Malcolm was in when he woke up. Trip was okay with both techniques; the one involving the kiss was more pleasant, but a lot less effective than the other one. Besides, he wasn't going to complain as long as he could rely on Malcolm waking him up every morning. Trip had tried all the tricks in the book, but he just couldn't seem to manage to wake up, or, much less, stay awake when the alarm went off. Malcolm was usually awake a few minutes before the alarm went off, and so their morning routine had established itself.
Trip let himself drift, relishing the peace and quiet, until he was suddenly jerked awake by something cold touching his foot. His eyes opened, and he sat up in bed, pulling back his feet and turning around to meet Johnson's red-rimmed, accusing eyes.
For a moment, Trip only stared at the dog, who steadily held his gaze, then sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Johnny," he said with a sigh. "What was that for?"
Johnson whined and looked at the door, then back at Trip. Trip nodded, realizing what the dog wanted. "I'll get you breakfast in a minute, Johnny."
He yawned and stretched, while the dog pushed open the door and flopped down on the rug in the corridor, obviously deciding to wait for his master. Trip smiled, and briefly lowered his eyes to look at the heap of blankets beside him that was his partner. Malcolm had almost completely buried himself under the covers, and seemed to be fast asleep.
Trip shook his head a little, trying to chase away the sleepiness; then groped for his wrist watch that was lying on the night stand. He looked at it, and then closed his eyes for a moment.
Dammit.
He squinted at the small digits a second time, hoping that maybe he had been mistaken and it wasn't that late after all.
It was. His shift at R&D had begun about an hour ago. There was no way he was going to make it to work not at least two and a half hour late.
Shit.
He climbed out of bed and quietly walked around it, squatting beside Malcolm's side of the bed. Looking at his partner's face, Trip felt a surge of worry make his stomach contract a little. He had rarely seen Malcolm looking so exhausted and tired. Sick. Even in his sleep, his face seemed drawn.
The fact alone that Malcolm was still asleep indicated that something was wrong. Usually Malcolm was a very light sleeper and woke up at the proverbial drop of a pin. Today, though, he hadn't only slept through the alarm; even Trip's short conversation with Johnny hadn't woken him.
Trip hesitated. He knew that he should wake his partner, Malcolm was as late for his shift as he was himself. However, an idea had occurred to him. He wasn't entirely sure whether it was a good one, though. If Malcolm woke up, he'd have Trip's head.
Malcolm's pale face decided him. He got to his feet and went to fetch the thermometer, then quietly knelt back down next to the bed and slipped the small sensor into Malcolm's ear.
He'd forgotten about the beep. After a moment, the thermometer indicated that the measurement was completed by emitting a sharp electronic beep right next to Malcolm's ear. Malcolm stirred and opened his eyes.
"Wha-?" he said, his voice slurred, and propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at Trip. Trip had to admit that he would have preferred Malcolm sleeping through the procedure, but as he looked at the small display of the sensor, he knew his worry had been justified.
"You've got a fever, Mal," he said. "38.2 degrees. I think you should stay home today."
Malcolm just looked at him for a moment; then shook his head as if to clear it. "You took my temperature while I was asleep?" he asked, his voice rather hoarse. "Why are you awake, anyway? What time is it?"
Trip sighed and put the thermometer down on the nightstand. "It's late," he said. "We overslept. But... "
"Dammit," Malcolm muttered and shoved his covers aside. Trip thought he saw him grimace as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
"Mal..." he began in an attempt at protest, but Malcolm ignored him, grabbed his clothes and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Trip let out a breath and got to his feet. "Mal, you're sick," he said. "You look like hell, and I'm sure you feel like it. Why don't you stay home today?"
Malcolm's voice carrying in from the bathroom was rather testy. "I feel fine, Trip."
"Mal," Trip said, but he knew he was going to lose this one. "You've got a fever."
Malcolm ignored him, and briefly, Trip considered calling R&D and excusing Malcolm himself. He knew, however, that this would only accomplish that Malcolm would be mad at him for the next four weeks or so, and go to work today anyway.
For a moment, he stood beside the bed, indecisive as to what to do. Then he sighed and gathered up his own clothes, joining Malcolm in the bathroom. There wasn't much else he could do.
--
Day 7: Thursday, 7 pm
Even to himself, Malcolm didn't like to admit it, but he knew he should have listened to Trip this morning and stayed home. When he had arrived at work - more than two hours late - Jenningsen, his SIC, had taken one look at him and told him that if he didn't turn around and go straight back home and to bed, she would have to grab him and tie him to the sofa in the officers' lounge. At that point, he had already felt too miserable to do more than grouch a little about being ordered around by his SIC, and Jenningsen had ignored him.
So he had returned home. He hadn't called Trip; his already wounded pride hadn't allowed further humiliations. However, when he had entered the house and looked at the stairs leading to the upstairs bedroom, climbing them had seemed like an impossible idea, and he had dragged himself to the couch in the living room instead. And that was where he had stayed until now. He'd been too sore to get up, so he had slept through the afternoon, and then had just lain here, considering what to do, for the last hour or so.
He'd worked out several options up until now. Just staying where he was seemed the most appealing one, but he didn't think he would follow through on it. He was already getting squirmish; spending a whole afternoon on the couch just didn't sit right with him. So there was the option of getting up and going to bed. He knew that this was what he probably should do, but it would involve climbing the stairs, and that still seemed like something he would like to avoid. Besides, he had had neither breakfast nor lunch nor dinner. Trip would give him hell if he found out. That led to the third possibility of getting up and getting himself something to eat. The thought made his headache increase and his stomach cramp painfully, but his sense of duty was telling him that this was what he should do. And probably would do, as soon as he had convinced his body that getting up was indeed a good idea.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and immediately, the sensation of the room spinning around him returned, increasing the nausea that was roiling in his stomach. He swallowed, hard. He wouldn't be able to keep anything down like this.
A few more minutes passed during which Malcolm tried to convince his rebellious body to stop the mutiny and obey his orders. The sound of the front door being unlocked interrupted his concentration. Trip was home.
Malcolm knew that if Trip found him like this, he would start a fuss that was in no proportion to what was going on, which was a simple case of the flu. And Malcolm didn't want that. He didn't want Trip to worry.
Slowly, he sat up, pushing his feet over the edge of the couch. Immediately, his head began to spin and his vision wavered. Malcolm blinked a few times, wincing at the sharp stabs of pain that sliced through his head at every move, and carefully got to his feet. It was harder than he had thought it would be; he had to fight for his balance and took a few, deep breaths.
Pull yourself together!
An order. He would follow an order, even if it was issued by himself. He raised his head and blinked a few times, until the image before his eyes came into focus.
There was Trip standing in the doorway, and the look on his face told Malcolm that he was not going to be able to avoid the fuss. Trip was staring at him, the expression on his face almost shocked.
"God, Mal," he said, alarm clear in his tone. "You look terrible!"
Malcolm opened his mouth, thinking he should try and placate Trip. "I feel... " He swallowed and closed his eyes as the spinning sensation returned. "... a little weird... "
He hadn't known he was falling until he felt Trip's arms wrapping themselves around him, catching him in midair. Then darkness took over.
-
"I feel... " Trip could see Malcolm close his eyes. "... a little weird... " Malcolm's voice trailed away, and as Trip realized what was about to happen, he moved, fast, and managed to catch Malcolm before he hit the floor.
"Damn!" Gently, he let his partner slide down to the floor and knelt beside him. "Mal?" Trip patted one pale cheek with his palm. "Malcolm!"
There was no reaction; the ghostly pale face remained still, and Trip felt slight panic spread in his stomach. He cursed inwardly; himself, for not having seen this coming in the morning, and Malcolm, for being so damn stubborn.
"Mal, wake up, dammit!" He again patted Malcolm's cheek, a little harder this time, and felt a surge of relief as Malcolm's eyelids fluttered and opened. The look in the gray eyes was rather unfocused.
"What..." Malcolm raised a hand, and Trip took it, feeling the dry skin and the heat that was burning underneath it. "What happened?"
"You passed out, Mal," Trip said, noting a small tremor in his own voice. It was some time ago that someone had given him such a scare.
Malcolm blinked and pushed himself into an upright position, closing his eyes for a moment. "Bloody hell," he muttered, and Trip let out a short, breathless laugh.
"Right," he said, putting a supporting hand on Malcolm's back. "Mal, we're going to San Francisco to see Phlox. Right now."
Malcolm opened his eyes and squinted up at him, but Trip smothered any potential protests by resolutely shaking his head. "No, Mal. We're going."
Malcolm lowered his head and nodded in surrender. "Alright," he said.
Trip bit his lip, then wrapped an arm around Malcolm's shoulders. "Can you get up?"
Malcolm nodded again, and with Trip's help staggered to his feet. When he was upright, he took a couple of deep breaths; then swallowed.
"I'm okay, Trip," he said. "I'm not going to fall if you let go."
Trip wasn't entirely sure about that, but let go of Malcolm's shoulders anyway, keeping his hands close in case his partner should collapse again. Malcolm didn't, though, merely shaking his head a little as if to clear it. Then he turned his eyes to look at Trip.
"You were right," he said. "I should've stayed home today."
Trip looked at him for a moment and opened his mouth to say something; then closed it again without making a sound. He only shook his head and helped Malcolm out into the hall and to the flitter that was parked in the driveway.
--
Day 7: Thursday, 9.30 pm
Trip pulled into the driveway and killed the flitter's engine; then turned his head to look at Malcolm, who had fallen asleep next to him in the passenger seat. Worry surged through him as he thought of what Phlox had told them. An APV infection. Well, the symptoms had been harmless enough; even Phlox had told them that APV infections in their early stages were often misdiagnosed as a simple flu. Still, Trip couldn't quite ward off the feeling of guilt, thinking that he should have said something earlier, been more insistent that Malcolm took better care of himself. The thing was, he knew that he wouldn't have succeeded. When it came to his health, there was just no talking to Malcolm.
With a sigh, Trip pushed those thoughts aside, got out of the flitter and walked around it, opening the passenger door.
"Mal," he said quietly, putting a gentle hand on his partner's hot cheek. "Mal, I'm sorry, you gotta wake up."
Malcolm turned his head a little and blinked his eyes open. It was a moment before his eyes focused. "We're there?"
Trip nodded. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get you inside."
Awkwardly, Malcolm climbed out of the flitter. Trip saw him shiver in the cold night air and wrapped an arm around his sick partner. Together, they walked to the front door, and Trip let them in. Johnny greeted them upon entering, but even the dog seemed to notice something was wrong, quickly ceasing his enthusiastic barking.
Trip helped Malcolm out of his coat, then steered him towards a chair.
"I'll be right back, Mal," he said. "I'll just make you some tea."
Malcolm nodded, and Trip quickly hurried into the kitchen and boiled up some water. He poured the hot water into a thermos flask and added a couple of tea bags - chamomile tea. It wasn't Malcolm's favorite, but as a remnant of his childhood, Trip had the firm belief that if you were sick, you had to drink chamomile tea to get better. "Good for the stomach," his mom had always said.
He tucked the thermos under his arm and returned to where Malcolm was sitting on the chair, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. He put a hand on his partner's back.
"Let's get you upstairs, what do you say?"
Malcolm nodded and was about to get up, then stopped and frowned. "Damn," he muttered after a moment. Trip raised his eyebrows.
"What is it?" he asked. Malcolm looked up at him.
"I just remembered something," he said. "Could you get my padd? I think I left it in the living room earlier."
"Your padd?" Trip squinted suspiciously. "What d'you want with your padd?"
"I promised Jenningsen I'd review her calculations on the transporter matrix until tomorrow," Malcolm said. "I haven't even looked at them all week."
Trip was silent for a moment, not quite able to believe this. For a moment, he considered laughing out loud, then, getting angry. In the end, he just settled for a headshake. "Mal," he said, holding his partner's gaze. "You do remember what Phlox told you about - hm - maybe an hour ago?"
Malcolm looked at him for a moment; then grimaced. "Trip, I-"
"No, Mal." Trip shook his head. "Bed rest. No calculation reviewing. Bed rest."
Malcolm looked as if he wanted to protest, but at a hard stare from Trip he simply sighed and shrugged.
"Alright." Slowly, he got up, and Trip put a hand on his back, guiding him to the stairs. He looked at his partner's tired face, and shook his head.
Keeping Malcolm in bed for at least three weeks, he thought and sighed inwardly. This is definitely not going to be easy.
At the moment, people don't seem to be too generous with feedback. But please, if you've got something to say about this... down there on the left, that small button :)
For the sequel to this prequel visit www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net(slash)(wave-thingie)sitateyla and look for a fic called "Bed Rest":)