Disclaimer: I don't own Malcolm or Trip. Also, I honestly don't know what kind of tests a Starfleet officer would have to pass, but for this one, there's swimming. Hey, be prepared for everything, right? BTW, you get a cookie if you can catch the homage line to one of my favorite-ever books, A Separate Peace!

Summary: After learning of Malcolm's fear of drowning, Trip is determined to cure him of it. Technically written as nonslash, but turned out to be very Trip/Mal friendly. Takes place between 'Home' and the Augments arc. Back to my own style for this one, done experimenting for just now.

Breaking Point

"Really, Trip," Malcolm Reed wheedled as they walked down the corridor of Starfleet Headquarters Athletics building. "I don't need to practice. I can pass the bloody test just fine without."

Trip Tucker adjusted the gym bag slung over his shoulder so that it hung more comfortably. "Nothing better to do," he said, glancing around ahead of them for signs pointing to the locker rooms. "Besides, might break a record or something."

"I thought you were spending the rest of our vacation with T'Pol on Vulcan," Malcolm said casually, looking straight ahead with a wry half-grin.

"I said," Trip grumbled tersely, "that I don't want to talk about it."

Malcolm shook his head, chuckling. "Right."

"Besides, aren't you going to visit your family?" Trip asked, changing the subject blatantly.

"No," Malcolm said simply, his smile gone.

Without warning, Trip began to laugh.

"What?" Malcolm demanded, confused.

"We are two screwed up guys," Trip grinned, shaking his head. "Hey. There's the locker rooms."

Trip pushed open the door and they entered the small, tiled room. It smelled of chlorine, industrial cleaner and mens sweat socks. Rows of grey lockers lined two of the walls and stood in freestanding rows in the middle of the room. Two doors at the back led to the showers and pool.

Trip and Malcolm selected two lockers near the doors and ran their ID cards through the scanners on the front. The locking mechanisms clicked and the locker doors swung open.

Leaning again the other lockers for support, Trip slid out of his sneakers and socks, then his track pants. He slipped out of his t-shirt as well, leaving him dressed solely in regulation blue swim trunks. He was tan and well muscled― even after all the stress they'd been through he was still in peak physical condition― and pale, scrawny Malcolm couldn't help but feel a little jealous.

Trip bundled his clothes together and shoved them, along with his bag, into the locker. He slung a towel over his shoulders and turned around expectantly. "Comin'?" He raised his eyebrows. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm was still dressed in his civvies, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Comin'?" Trip asked again.

Malcolm opened his mouth to explain his hesitation, but what came out was "just a moment." Sighing internally, he kicked off his trainers and pants, but left his t-shirt on. The nearness of a large amount of water was already leaving him feeling exposed.

"I don't see why we have to take these bloody performance tests, anyway," Malcolm commented as they entered the deserted pool room (most of Starfleet was on duty at this time of day; the off-duty officers were probably all sleeping).

"They want to make sure we're all still fit for duty, mentally and physically. We're coming off a damn-hard mission, y'know?" Trip sighed. "The cap'n innit happy about it either. But anyway, besides that," he said, flinging his towel on a nearby bench. "I like swimming. I haven't been in a pool for years. I wanna make sure I've still got it." They were standing by the edge of the twelve-foot section, and Trip dived straight in, splashing rather unceremoniously. Water leapt up at Malcolm, hitting him on the face. He winced automatically at the wetness.

The commander bobbed instantly back to the top, treading water with his legs while he wiped the pool water and wet hair out of his eyes. "Are you comin' in?" he whined. Malcolm made a show of sticking his foot in the water and pulling back quickly.

"It's freezing," he sniffed indignantly. He sat down on the edge near the ten-foot mark and lowered his legs into the water up to the knees. Instinctively, his arm wound around the bar of the ladder next to him.

Trip swam over and treaded water by the side near Malcolm's feet. He was frowning, concerned. "Yeesh, you are shivering. I thought you Brits were used to the cold."

Malcolm shrugged. "I'll acclimate."

Trip snorted. "Acclimate," he repeated, grinning. "Well, while you 'acclimate', I'm doing laps." He took off down the lane, alternating between free-style and breast stroke.

Malcolm watched him swim, and fought back another surge of jealousy. It wasn't the talent at swimming; Malcolm himself was a naturally good swimmer too, not that anyone would ever know that. It was more that Trip had a talent for being comfortable anywhere, in any situation. It had taken months of knowing him before Malcolm had noted any unease at all. In the water, on land, in space… Trip was a natural almost anywhere.

Unlike him, Malcolm the timid. Malcolm the coward.

The Starfleet logo was proudly displayed on the back wall, and stained into the tiles at the bottom of the pool. Malcolm felt his eyes trace the lines of the one on the wall, carefully not noticing the Olympic-sized body of water in front of him.

"Hey!" Trip shouted, waving his hand in the air. He was a few meters away, down the lane a little. "Acclimated yet?"

That was Trip. After all the part with his sister, his relationship with T'Pol, and his self-admitted 'messed-up' status, he still looked casual and carefree.

Malcolm felt horrible. He looked down from the wall and at his friend.

"Um… I really don't need to practice, Trip. I was on the swim team in secondary school; I know I'll pass the test." The fact that he left the team after three meets, Malcolm happened to leave out.

"Hey," Trip said innocently. "I grew up in Florida. I was raised in the water. And I―" he grinned― "am still practicing. C'mon. You need to relax, anyway." Two strokes had him once more by Malcolm's side, tugging at his arm playfully.

"Trip… getoffme." Trip was laughing. Malcolm recognized the giddy mood of someone coming down off a yearlong adrenaline spike. "Trip," Malcolm repeated. He clung tighter to the pole with his right arm. "Trip… Trip!" Malcolm shouted. He tore his left arm out of Trip's grasp, recoiling back from the water's rim.

Trip fell silent, blanked for a minute, confused, and then hoisted himself halfway out of the water, leaning his elbows on the concrete. "Malcolm? What is it?"

Malcolm told him. But his voice was so sort that Trip couldn't make it out.

"Come again?"

"I don't like the water," Malcolm repeated, hanging his head.

Trip cocked his head. "I didn't know that."

"Yes. Well."

Trip took up a place on the pool ladder, perched lightly on the penultimate rung. "You don't just dislike it, I'm guessing?"

Malcolm paused, then shook his head miserably.

"What, are you afraid of it?"

"Of drowning, actually," Malcolm said delicately.

Now it was Trip's turn to pause. "I never knew that," he said eventually.

"Yes. Well. It's not exactly something I advertise."

Trip gazed at him intently. "Well, why didn't you tell me? I wouldn'ta made you come."

Malcolm shook his head. "I felt… stupid."

"Why?"

"Why? Because most grown men aren't―"

"No," Trip interrupted. "I mean, why are you scared of drowning? After all we've been through… it actually seems like a peaceful way to go, if you ask me."

Malcolm paused. This, he had not been prepared for. "Um. Well. If you really want to know… when I was born, my father already had plans for me to join the Navy." He paused, waiting for Trip to say something along the lines of 'not your father again' but he stayed quiet. Malcolm went on. "By the time I was three, I still didn't know how to swim. So, my father took me to a nearby lake and rowed us out to the deepest part. And he threw me in."

Trip's look of utter disgust was heartening. Malcolm continued.

"He said he was swimming by the time he could walk, and his father before him. Said it was my time to learn and if I had to do it the hard way, so be it. So he threw me in. I couldn't swim; I couldn't even float. I sunk underwater, and even then, it was almost a minute before he finally dived in and saved me."

"Jesus," Trip whispered.

"Yeah," Malcolm agreed. "Jesus didn't do much." The last part was said in a whisper, so that Trip wouldn't hear it.

"What?"

"Nothing.

Trip paused, running his hand over his hair and parting the wet locks. "God. I'm sorry, Malcolm. That's horrible."

"Yeah. I learned how to swim, though, a few years leter when I fell overboard on a fishing trip." Malcolm spoke slowly, punctuating the irony. "I was on the swim team in ninth grade, too, but I didn't last long." There. He had said it.

"Wow…" Trip was still shaking his head. "So, did you actually drown?"

"Trip!" Malcolm laughed, not sure hot to reply to that. "Yes, I actually drowned. As in stopped breathing. As in needed emergency resuscitation. Twice. The time with my father, and when I was fourteen."

Trip had the look of someone marveling over something. "See," he said slowly, "I never thought it was that bad. Drowning. I kinda like it." He glanced over at Malcolm, an odd look in his eyes. Malcolm recognized it― it was the same one he had when he talked about his late sister, not about her death, but about the way things used to have been. Malcolm couldn't place he emotion, though.

Trip continued. "When I was little, we had this huge pool― about the size of this one, actually― and I used to dive to the bottom and stay there, on purpose. It's like a whole other world down there, and you can't hear much but the pool filter and your own heart. And everything's distorted from the waves, and all you can really see is different shades of blue." He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "I stayed down there for a minute, sometimes. As long as I could stand it. Mama always worried… threatened to call am ambulance the few times I came up looking blue."

"You didn't actually drown, though," Malcolm pointed out. "I mean, you never actually stopped breathing, did you?"

"Well, no. and you must think I'm crazy. But it's so calm… I guess being one of four, you come to appreciate silence or something, right?"

"I guess so," Malcolm parroted softly. One of his feet had gone numb from being crouched in such an awkward position; he looked down, shifted it, and when he looked back, Trip was gone.

"Trip?" Malcolm was on his feet in an instant, most out of instinct than any real logic. Then he spotted him: a blur of peach and navy in the otherwise chemically-tinted blue water. It was hard to tell with the waves, but it didn't look like Trip was moving.

Malcolm's heart beat faster. Should he jump in after him? No, no, this was Trip he was talking about. Trip the invincible. After all they'd been through, he wasn't about to drown in an empty gym pool. And still… it had been thirty seconds already.

"Trip!" Malcolm said loudly. "Commander Tucker!"

Then, mercifully, the blur began to rise higher to the surface, and in two seconds, there was Trip, flushed and smiling a near-hysterical smile.

"Have fun?" Malcolm asked, dead pan.

"Yep. Whole 'nother world. So. Are you comin'?"

"What!?"

Trip looked up at him intently. "Are. You. Coming?"

Malcolm just stared at him. "Well. No. I'm afraid of water, remember?"

"You're afraid of drowning," Trip corrected. "And you can't drown as long as I'm here. So climb in already. I'm not going to let you be scared forever."

Malcolm just marveled at him. Here he was, having just left himself vulnerable― just confessed his deepest fear― and now Trip was asking him to face it? Right that very moment? It was crazy. But still… Trip had a commanding way about him, that made Malcolm believe him. Trust him.

"I can't," Malcolm heard himself whisper. Pathetic. Patheticpatheticpathetic…

"Yeah," his friend said firmly. "Yeah, you can."

Malcolm was still standing, but now he was swaying slightly on unsteady knees. Feeling as though he wasn't entirely in control of his body, he lowered himself down to a kneeling position and looked at Trip for confirmation. The other man nodded, and Malcolm grabbed the ladder pole and slid into the water. Trip was smiling reassuringly, treading water a short distance away.

Finger by finger, Malcolm let go of the ladder. The water supported his light body easily; there was no effort in keeping his head above the surface.

"See?" Trip kicked his legs lazily and glided through the water towards him. "Easy. Now, just stick your head under and swim. Betcha remember how."

Like he always had, Malcolm did as he was told, ducking his head under the surface and kicking his legs against the wall for leverage. Trip was right; he did remember how― at least, his body did.

He swam gracefully, if he did say so himself, even though Malcolm Reed had never thought of himself as a particularly graceful person. He made it quickly to the other side of the pool and made to turn over and head the other way.

And it hit him. He had been swimming with his eyes open, and when he turned, he had mistakenly looked down. The water directly beneath him was cold, and a darker blue than the rest around him. Twelve feet deep… just over twice his height. That was plenty of water to drown in.

Malcolm panicked. The air went out of him and his arms lost their motion through the water. With nothing in his lungs to hold him afloat, he sunk like a stone instantly. All the while, he was so confused, so desperately lost, that the only thing he was aware of was the dull burning in his chest and the fact that nothing in the world made sense. Nothing really ever had, had it?

And then Trip was at his side, pulling at his arms, dragging him about the water and making sure his head stayed there. Choking and spluttering and unaware of his actions, Malcolm grabbed onto Trip like a life buoy. Trip, for his part, grabbed the edge of the pool with one hand and held Malcolm steady with the other. He kept them both floating there, at the side of the pool, safely.

"I've gotcha," he murmured. "I toldja I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Malcolm didn't answer, just closed him eyes tightly and put his head on Trip's shoulder, shaking, ashamed and tired of the world.

A few minutes later they were sitting on the bench. There was a towel wrapped around Malcolm's shoulders, but his soaked t-shirt was clinging coldly to his skin, so the towel wasn't helping the shivering much. Trip was at his side, using his towel to dry his hair, currently the coffee-bean color that dark blonde hair turns when wet.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said suddenly.

"For what?"

"That. Whatever that was. No, listen… I don't know what happened. Even when I've been… scared before. Even when it has to do with water or drowning, I've never―" he brandished a finger at the pool to illustrate― "done that."

Trip didn't say anything, just kept drying his hair, for a very long moment. Then he said quietly: "I think I know what happened."

"Do enlighten me," Malcolm said gloomily.

Trip was talking in the carefully paced tone that he used when relaying particularly important information. "That was your breaking point. You just broke."

"Pardon me?" Malcolm tried to look affronted, but he knew that it wasn't working. "One does not simply 'break'."

"Yeah, one does," Trip argued, gently but firmly. "Look, we've all been through a helluva lot. I'm startin' to understand why Starfleet's testing us all again to make sure we're fit for duty 'n' all. When you go through a mission like we just went through, it's inevitable. You crack up a little. Eventually, all of us just… break. Some of us shatter. On the mission, or a few weeks after. You… just broke."

"I'm still not following," Malcolm said, although something inside him was seeing the point. "It's just weakness. I'm just being weak. I mean, when did you 'just break'? The captain?" He shook his head, his eyes narrowing in self-loathing. "Breaking point," he muttered unbelievingly.

Trip was frowning. "My psyche didn't make it through that mission in one piece. Trust me. And Cap'n Archer… well, I don't think he'd let us know if he had. Broken. He's like that."

"Breaking point," Malcolm said again. "It's an interesting theory, Commander. I don't know if I believe it, but…" he broke off, coughing slightly.

"You okay?"

"My throat hurts," Malcolm replied honestly, realizing it for the first time himself.

"Well, you swallowed alotta chlorine, I'm not surprised."

Malcolm shook his head, not entirely believing the sound of his own voice. "Breaking point." He closed his eyes.

And then Trip was hugging him, awkwardly, but openly. Malcolm felt himself returning it, clutching his arms around Trip's neck and holding on. Suddenly, they weren't Starfleet officers, they were just two men who had been through hell together, and had broken, and helped each other pick up the pieces.

"Thanks for pulling me out," Malcolm murmured. He supposed he could thank Trip for a lot more, but emotions and sentiments weren't his strong point. It was bad enough that he still had the damn shivers, and the situation couldn't get much rawer for him anyway.

"Uh-huh," Trip said simply.

"But how am I going to pass the physical testing next week? I can't get back in that pool."

Trip broke apart the embrace to look at Malcolm directly. "Yeah, you can. You will. You've gotta."

And there was Trip's 'way' again. looking at his sincerity, feeling it lingering there even as Trip stood up and left for the locker room, Malcolm felt he had no choice but to trust his friend. He'd get through this; he could, he would… because he had to.

The end. Damnit. I never know where to end these things.

Anyway. That was a platonic friendship story… well, it started that way. Sigh. Review, please? Pleeeeeease?