This plot bunny started jumping around so high, today, that I just couldn't ignore it.

A great big hug and thank you to IchthusFish, who betaed the story at the speed of lightning in absence of my usual beta reader. And a very Happy New Year to all my readers and reviewers.

"Happy New Year!"

By now Trip was slurring the words. He wasn't smashed – that was for people like Rostov and Müller, though, to their credit, they were hiding it well. But it couldn't be argued that he felt comfortably relaxed, and so did his enunciation.

It was three in the morning, and the Mess Hall was finally beginning to empty. People were filing out, smiles on their faces, cheeks more or less flushed, some hiding yawns. This was a starship, and sooner or later all of them had a shift to work, so for some it was time to call it a day. Or a morning. Whatever.

"All those with a headache or an upset stomach follow me," Phlox called blithely, headed for sickbay. Not many had the courage to openly declare their tipsiness, but a few did.

"Nice speech, Capt'n," Trip said, grinning, as they waited for the turbo lift. "Don't know how you do it, but you always find somethin' meaningful to say."

"It's because I'm a profound man," Archer said with one of his funny faces. He entered the lift and turned. "Night, Trip." He pushed the button, the doors closed, and he disappeared.

Grin still plastered in place, Trip turned to walk on to his quarters.

"Still able to stand upright, Commander?" a distinct and slightly mocking voice said behind him.

Trip shot a glance over his shoulder. "How about you, Lieutenant?" He waited till Malcolm had caught up with him. He knew the man wasn't too fond of parties and celebrations, and he was pleasantly surprised with the light tone. Maybe these couple of years on board Enterprise had chipped his solid armour a little.

"Ah, well, if truth be told I was fine until I downed a glass of that new liquor we picked up on the last planet we visited," Malcolm said. "It's making me see two of everything. But I can't let a glass of booze defeat me. I have a reputation to defend."

They shared an easy chuckle and walked on, shoulder to shoulder.

"So, did you have fun?" Trip ventured to ask, as they came to Malcolm's quarters.

"Fun?"

Wrong question.

"Fun is a quiet evening with a good book," Malcolm replied wryly. He triggered the door open and turned to him. "Or a good friend. All that noise and fuss is entirely unnecessary."

Something about him had suddenly, if subtly, changed. The voice, his expression, or maybe… the eyes. Yes, the grey eyes had gone deep.

"Anyway. Good night," Malcolm said, his mouth twitching into a failed smile.

"I'm not likely to sleep for a while," Trip blurted out, making a fast decision. He hoped his slight intoxication would help him be a good liar. "Ya know, it's like after a workout; too highly-strung." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Mind if I come in for a few moments?"

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, studying him for a second as if to assess his good faith, or his intentions; then swept a hand. "After you, Commander." A moment later, taking off his jumper, he threw it on the bed and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. "I'd offer you a beer," he said, "But I think we'd better not do any more damage."

"Agreed," Trip replied deadpan. "As it is, I think I'll have to take Phlox up on his invitation, sooner or later."

"Bloody possible."

Trip sat down on the desk chair and watched Malcolm kick off his shoes and drop on the bed, getting into a cross-legged position, back against the wall. The man deflated in contentment, as if a heavy burden had been finally lifted off his shoulders.

"Was it so bad?" Trip asked tongue-in-cheek.

Malcolm darted him a look and considered the question.

Of course. Now that the two of them were alone, the man wasn't going to carry on saying platitudes. Those were for the crowded party, where real emotions had no room to surface. And then it struck him: that was probably one of the reasons why Malcolm didn't like parties.

"It's no secret that I'm no lover of parties," Malcolm said quietly after a moment, as if he had read Trip's mind. "But New Year's Eve is definitely quite low on my list." His brow creased slightly. "I've never felt comfortable leaving the old for the new; the known for the unknown."

Trip bit his lip. "The Armoury Officer's cautious approach to the New Year?"

It was a comment, more than a question. Indeed, Malcolm didn't deign to give it reply.

"We're supposed to be explorers," Trip went on. "I for one feel kind of excited when somethin' new begins."

"There is that, yes. But it's an excitement that carries with it a dose of unease." Malcolm heaved a pensive sigh. "Like when you're starting on a new path and you can't clearly see what's ahead.'"

Strange, how different people could be – Trip mused. "That's exactly what would whet my appetite," he said aloud, with a chuckle.

"Yours and the Captain's," was the immediate, dark comment. Shooting him a long-suffering look, Malcolm went on, "Don't I know. Good thing we have a Vulcan Second Officer who helps me rein in your reckless enthusiasm."

"Ah, that's unfair," Trip complained in mock outrage. But his attempt at fun fell short. Malcolm had evidently had enough of jokes and laughter for one night.

"And then there's the fact that on New Year's Eve you tend to take stock," the man said, drawing his knees up. "To ask yourself how well, or badly, you fared during the year that's dying."

"Dying? Why not… retiring?"

Malcolm tilted his head in that curious way of his, eyes averted in thought. "No, it definitely dies," he eventually said, without a trace of doubt, steady grey gaze now boring into him. "Once we decide it's gone, it's over."

Trip twiddled with a pencil on Malcolm's desk. Its tip, unlike his brain at the moment, was quite sharp. Thoughts were a confused jumble in his mind, one on top of the other. He wondered what Malcolm was doing with an old-fashioned pencil as he tried to remember if he had ever taken stock on New Year's Eve.

"The time lapse is over," Malcolm expounded, getting his attention back. "The specific number of days and hours conventionally designated by a four-digit date. Impressions, memories live on, of course." He gave a soft huff of a laugh. "I wouldn't want them to vanish, like the ticking seconds. At least not all of them."

One thing was slowly becoming clear. At each yearly appointment with Time, Malcolm seemed to be projected in the past, while he, Trip, was projected towards the future.

"So," he said softly, for he wasn't sure he had a right to ask. "What's the result of your survey? How have you fared, this past year?"

Malcolm seemed reluctant to answer. "I tend to be quite strict with myself," he finally said, evasively, but at the same time rather eloquently.

In the past year Malcolm had had some tough moments. He'd been speared to the hull by that mine; almost hanged with the Captain after losing his communicator; had been taken over – like himself – by incorporeal aliens; and had had to fight off cybernetic ones. Not that the year had been a walk for himself. Trip had almost been burnt alive on that moon with that hostile alien; almost met an untimely death again on that prisoner transport; and, especially, he had touched the lowest point in his career when he had caused the suicide of that cogenitor. He still felt his heart heavy when he thought of it, and probably always would.

"Well, I'd rather concentrate on the future," Trip blurted out. Archer's lashing words, after they'd learnt of the cogenitor's death, still echoed in his mind, tore at his conscience. "It's pointless to cry over spilt milk."

No, not pointless – he secretly amended. Painful. Trip knew that he must be wearing his heart on his sleeve; he'd never been good at hiding his emotions. But Malcolm, sensitive as always, fell silent, giving him time to recover.

"It's important to stop and think, instead," the man eventually offered, in a quiet but self-assured voice. "The future has no meaning, without the past. Indeed, the past can make our future better. Or worse, if we choose not to take it into account."

Trip looked up into the grey eyes. The light was dim, and he couldn't quite read them. As if the dim light were the only reason – he mused sarcastically. Malcolm could be one of the most secretive persons he'd ever met. Save for letting you in, when he chose, to his rich inner world. Like now.

The digit on Malcolm's alarm clock flicked to show O-four-hundred. They really ought to catch some shuteye. But Trip was reluctant to break this comfortable mood. He was glad he had followed the spur of the moment and asked Malcolm to let him come in. He'd done it for his friend, for he had sensed the man could use some quiet company. Now, after ending one year in cheerful revelling, he was discovering how good it felt to be starting the next one in meaningful conversation. Trip had also never met anyone who, like Malcolm, could bring out a part of himself he almost didn't know. His poised self.

"Ya know," he drawled. "Here in space I find that everythin' is a bit different."

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked.

"Space is so vast and dark that... you lose your bearings, sort of. Take the notion of time, for example." Trip shifted in his chair. "We virtually need to look at the clock to know if it's day or night. So even the passin' of the months and the comin' of a new year feels… different, more artificial, out here."

Malcolm shrugged. "It's always felt like that to me. Time is a continuum. It cannot really be divided into watertight compartments. That's why I don't see the point of getting so excited on New Year's Eve. It's silly."

"All right, it is," Trip agreed with a smile. "But what the heck: nothin' wrong with silly, once in a while."

He watched Malcolm roll his eyes while hiding a yawn behind a hand. Suddenly he was aware of his own tiredness. "What time does your shift start?" he enquired, pushing to his feet. They shouldn't forget that they had a ship to run.

"Too early," Malcolm groaned.

They walked to the door.

"Were you really so highly-strung that you couldn't sleep, Commander?" Malcolm quietly asked when they got there, darting him a knowing look.

Trip, bit his lower lip. "Damn it, am I so obvious?"

He watched a full smile blossom on Malcolm's face. "Thanks," the man simply said, a moment later, as he triggered the door open.

Trip stepped out into a dimmed and quiet corridor. Celebrations over, only the background and – to his ear – comforting rumble of a well-oiled warp engine could be heard. He turned to his friend, who was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, dark circles of tiredness under his eyes.

"Any New Year's resolutions? Trip asked, giving in to another spur of the moment.

Wrong question number two. Malcolm looked at him straight-faced.

"Stop tasting liquors from alien planets," was the deadpan reply.

"Ah." Trip raised his eyebrows. "Headache, huh?"

"No, it's that one Chief Engineer is quite enough, thank you." A wry smile took the sting out of the words.

Trip rolled his eyes. "I oughtta have known. Tough luck," he teased. Innocently, he added, "Night, Lieutenant."

"Good night, Commander."

Trip started to walk away.

"What's yours?" Malcolm's voice called after him.

Trip turned.

"New Year's resolution."

Studying for a moment the face of his friend, Trip tried to understand how serious the question was. But of course Malcolm had put on his impenetrable look "Find a way to deceive a certain Lieutenant," he quipped.

"Not a chance," Malcolm said, with a challenging grin.

Trip started to walk again, backwards. "We'll talk about it next New Year's Eve. Ya know, when we take stock."

"Is that a deal, Commander?"

Malcolm was still leaning on his door frame, legs crossed, arms crossed, but more relaxed that Trip had seen him in the whole evening. Trip smiled.

"It's a deal."

THE END

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