This is an added scene to "Zero Hour", at the end of Season Three. The weapon has exploded and Malcolm has returned to Enterprise without Archer…
It seemed a pity to write this story only from either Trip's or Malcolm's point of view, so I contravened one of The Rules of Good Writing and wrote it from both… I inserted a line to make it clearer when I switch POV.
Thank you to Roaring Mice for beta reading, and to Gabi2305 for suggesting this would make a good subject for a Friend in Need story.
The Captain didn't make it, Trip…
What do you mean he didn't make it?
Reaching the wall yet again, Malcolm pressed a hand flat against the bulkhead and leaned his forehead against it, closing his eyes. He couldn't escape the voices in his mind any more than he could escape this cage of his room.
Where could he go? To the mess hall? Where people would stare at him? To the bridge? With its empty chair in the middle? To Trip's quarters? Yes, he ought to go to Trip, offer him whatever comfort he could, but he didn't know if he had the courage to face his friend just yet.
The Captain didn't make it, Trip…
What do you mean he didn't…
His body was sore with accumulated tiredness and drained from the adrenaline that had coursed through it. He needed rest.
Rest - Malcolm's hand clenched into a fist, and he let out a mirthless huff. Boarding the weapon he had been prepared for another kind of rest – a more final one. Eternal repose, that's what he should be experiencing now. Instead it was unquenchable fretfulness, a broken record painfully drilling his brain and - last but certainly not least - suffocating guilt.
Damn! The Captain just had to give him that order! His chest constricted painfully with the conflicting emotions that clawed at each other within it, leaving him raw and confused.
Archer had blown himself up with the weapon, that stubborn man. Anger flared inside him. It was just like the Captain, to want to step in everybody's shoes! Handling explosives had not been his job; he should have let his Armoury Officer do it. Why the hell had Archer brought him along, then?
Malcolm felt his pulse accelerate and for a few blessed moments his mind was lost in the hammering rhythm.
But he had let it happen, dammit! He should have insisted…
He squeezed his eyes tight, guilt resurfacing. Guilt and respect, for he had always admired bravery and couldn't deny that it had taken courage to do what Captain Archer had done. His sacrifice had been the ultimate act of loyalty to Earth and Starfleet, to his crew, to his Armoury Officer.
Thanks to him Earth was safe; his family, his species would survive. The thought made Malcolm weak with relief. Except that he had no right to feelings of relief. Archer was dead, along with too many of the Enterprise crew. It had been his duty to protect them.
His heart was once more in a vice.
He was gone. Vaporised.
It's done…
Done?
Captain Archer destroyed the weapon…
Where is he?... Is he ok?
The Captain didn't make it, Trip…
Trip felt the tears sting his cracked skin as they slid down the sides of his face into his pillow.
It wasn't fair. Not now, not at the very end, not like this. Jon couldn't leave him like this, without even a handshake.
I expect you to keep him in line
That's what he had told T'Pol before leaving. Yeah, well, 'keeping him in line' seemed all that Jon had done with him, lately. Once it had been watching water polo matches while sharing a beer and a joke, along with pieces of each other's heart.
Keep him in line
Archer was going to leave without even a word to him, without saying good-bye. He had rushed into the airlock and Trip had called after him, and he had turned. Their eyes had locked one more… one last time, and for a fleeting moment Trip had thought he had seen the eyes of his friend Jon, of the Captain he had once known; Trip had stood there dutifully still, almost at attention, unable to break the barrier that had risen between them. Had they been the same men as two years before he had no doubt that, in spite of the protocol, he would have run to grab his arm, even pull him into a bear hug. Instead…
Where had his friend Jonathan gone? The man with the warm green gaze full of spirit and sparkle, the man with understanding and compassion, the man with the easy smile and quick wit?
Trip let the tears roll freely, as an image of the two of them inside a pod, inspecting Enterprise in spacedock before their first launch, flashed through his mind. How happy had they been then! Ready to start on their adventure, confident and proud, and so damn innocent!
Where is he?... Is he ok?
He had asked the question to Hoshi, a cold knot forming in his gut. Hoshi - her ghost - had looked at Malcolm, deferring to his higher rank or, more likely, unable to speak. So he too had turned to Malcolm. That's when he had known.
Malcolm, to his credit, had not averted his gaze but fixed pained grey eyes right into his and, in a choked voice, forced out the words that nobody wanted to hear, the truth that undoubtedly weighed on him like a crushing burden.
The Captain didn't make it, Trip…
What do you mean he didn't make it?
The weapon exploded… before he could transport to Degra's ship…
Trip brought both hands to his eyes, palming away the wetness, and heaved a deep breath, trying to regain control over his emotions.
He had to know what had happened. Why Archer had remained behind, what had gone wrong. He had to speak to Malcolm.
Trip pushed off the bed and glanced at the hour. It was late, but Malcolm would not be asleep. No way. Reed would be pacing his room, unable to find peace. And he himself had probably laid another layer of guilt on his friend's conscience with his poorly-worded question, his taut and virtually accusing tone of voice.
He bit his lip in regret. Malcolm didn't deserve that. He knew the Lieutenant would have done all that was in his power to protect his Captain.
He had lost a friend but another one remained. He'd wash his face and go to him.
Pushing wearily off the wall, Malcolm turned about and resumed pacing his quarters.
And then Trip…
Trips' numb disbelief was still imprinted in his mind. He willed the image to go away, but the memory was indelible. He quickened his pace, as if he could outrun it.
Telling Trip that Archer would not come back had been the last harrowing duty of that fateful mission. Trip's incredulous gaze had run him through like a blade.
The Captain didn't make it, Trip…
What do you mean he didn't make it…? What do you mean he didn't… What do you mean
Malcolm felt like banging his head against the wall to silence the words which played incessantly in his mind. Trip's voice had had a hard edge to it, and Malcolm couldn't shrug off the notion that it had also held a note of accusation.
Well, he couldn't blame him: the Armoury Officer, back in one piece, informing the rest of the crew that the Captain had died doing his job. What a joke! Except that it was no laughing matter.
No, he couldn't blame Trip…
He had lost Jon twice before already – or thought he had.
Trip shook his head and gave a crooked smirk as he remembered the first time, when he and Malcolm had been stranded on Shuttlepod One and believed Enterprise had crashed on that asteroid. He hadn't felt quite the pain he did now. Perhaps because, for all his flaunted optimism, he had been pretty sure that he and Reed would soon join the rest of the crew in oblivion.
The corridor on B deck was empty, and Trip slowed down, suddenly in no hurry to get to Malcolm's quarters. He felt spent. Knowing Malcolm, the man would be fretful and guilt-ridden, and Trip didn't know if he had the strength to offer him support. But this was his friend, a friend who needed him. He would not ignore a friend in need… At worst they would just share some silence. They'd done that often enough over the past few months.
The second time he had thought Archer dead had been not so long ago. Trip felt his pulse accelerate as he remembered the suicide mission, when Archer had piloted the Insectoid Xindi shuttle to the underwater site where the weapon had been hidden, hoping to blow it up. That time he had been torn by grief; but soon after they had suffered that frightful attack and all thoughts of the Captain had necessarily been pushed to the back of his mind.
It was different now. Now the nightmare of the Xindi was finally over. They could have returned to a more normal life, could have tried to sew up the tears that their friendship had suffered… The sorrow now was cruel and unbearable.
Trip stopped in front of Malcolm's door and closed his eyes briefly. He raised his hand to the bell.
The bell chimed and Malcolm froze in the middle of the room. Only one person would come to his quarters this late. He had known Trip wouldn't let him hide away for long. He had expected this visit; dreaded it, hoped for it. If truth be told he needed Trip to lean on, perhaps also needed to be there for him.
"May I come in?"
Trip's voice was carefully neutral. He had cried. Malcolm could see the evidence on his face, under that ugly spider web of lines the whole crew seemed to have collected in their mission to destroy the spheres.
Lucky man, to have been brought up in a family where tears were not taken as an indication of weakness… Malcolm glanced briefly into the swollen eyes of his friend and cursed his own rigid upbringing for depriving him of this very human way of easing one's pain. Well, it was too late to learn now.
"Of course," Malcolm mumbled. He moved aside and stood by the door as it swished closed. Trip trudged past him towards his desk chair, but remained standing, turned the other way, head down.
Forcing his limbs to move, Malcolm followed suit, stopping behind him. He waited for Trip to sit down, or turn to face him, or speak. But he just stood there, his focus inward.
The silence was loud, deafening, something that was happening a bit too often lately, and Malcolm wondered briefly whether his bond with this trusted friend of his – silence – was in danger. Silence had never seemed so threatening. He had to break it.
"I couldn't… I tried, but he…" To his dismay his voice cracked, the lump in his throat too big for speaking.
Trip raised his head and half-turned. "No one is blamin' you, Malcolm," he said hoarsely.
Every muscle in Malcolm's body clenched. He started to look away but Trip turned all the way to him now, and he felt compelled, in fact eager to meet his eyes; to see if they would confirm or belie the words he had just spoken. All he read in them was composed grief. He supposed he ought to feel reassured, but he didn't, the weight on his heart still too heavy.
"I want to hear what happened from you," Trip said softly, slowly shaking his blond head. "I haven't come to blame you."
Malcolm couldn't suppress a mirthless sound. "No need, I blame myself," he breathed out.
"Yeah, I sort of expected that." Trip sighed, sitting rigidly in the chair. "That's the other reason why I'm here."
"Look, I'm sorry if before I made it sound like I was pointin' the finger at you," he added, raising eyes that tears had made even bluer. "It's that… I couldn't believe… didn't want to believe it was true. After all we went through…"
Suddenly Malcolm's legs could not support him any more, and he stumbled to sit on the bed.
"Trip, I… I don't know what happened. What… went wrong," he said haltingly, aware of his friend's uncharacteristic stillness. It was more than just exhaustion and it made him uncomfortable. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to put some order in his thoughts. "I've been going insane trying to figure it out. There were no more Xindi left… all we had to do was plant and detonate the charges..."
He closed his eyes and was there with Archer again, on that damn weapon.
I'll take care of it, Sir.
I want the four of you to beam back to Degra's ship.
As Chief Tactical Officer I…
This isn't open for debate, Lieutenant.
"It was my job, I wanted to do it…" Malcolm murmured in confusion. "Told the Captain, but he wouldn't let me. He ordered us to transport back to Degra's ship, said he'd be right behind us…"
Malcolm felt Trip's piercing gaze on him and opened his eyes to meet it. "I don't know what went wrong," he repeated numbly. "I'm sorry. It should have been me."
They looked at each other in silence. Silence had cemented their friendship as much as words had, but right now was still a menacing presence.
Yeah, that had been Jon alright. His friend Jonathan, the Captain Archer who looked after his crew like a mother hen. Knowing Malcolm as he had, Archer had addressed the disciplined man in him, the soldier who would respond to his order only in one way – only to brood over it later.
Trip watched Malcolm grow uncomfortable under his gaze and realised his prolonged silence could be taken as an accusation. He forced words out of his mouth. "It's not as if you had a choice," he said, thinking as he spoke that his soft tone lacked conviction. He felt so damn wiped. "Seems to me it wasn't the best time to question orders."
"I know," Malcolm agreed, and his voice, by contrast, sounded loud and distraught. "But I should have at least offered to stay behind with him, help him get the job done." He passed a tired hand across his face. "Instead I obeyed without a word, handed him the charges and detonator, and got the hell out of there."
As he said the words Malcolm must have realised what a coward they made him appear, for Trip saw him grimace and look away uneasily, almost in shame.
Trip waited for him to turn again. "You did the right thing, Lieutenant," he said in a more official tone. "You have nothin' to reproach yourself with. The Captain gave you an order and it was no time to question the chain of command," he repeated. It was true. Damn, but it was.
Malcolm lowered his head. Trip had succeeded in infusing the words with more strength this time, yet he wondered if his friend really believed them, or was just trying to make him feel better.
That he had had no choice was what he had been repeating to himself ever since the weapon had exploded, but he knew it was only a half truth, and it hadn't helped ease the pain or chase away the idea that he had failed his duty. For something had happened on that bloody weapon, something that had prevented Archer from transporting off it in time, something he might have been able to forestall, had he convinced the Captain that he should stay with him. It drove him crazy that he'd never know what.
"That was Jon: always protecting his crew," he heard Trip say after a long moment. Malcolm looked up and saw the hint of a sad smile on his friend's face. "He didn't want to risk your life, Malcolm."
Archer had indeed been that kind of Captain. A father-figure as much as a Commanding Officer.
"I was supposed to protect him…" Malcolm said numbly.
Trip's bitter-sweet smile widened a little. "I'd always thought you two had more in common than you both were willin' to admit," he said. "Both ready to jump into fire to…"
He faltered. The image had been a little too close to reality. Seeing Trip close to tears, Malcolm felt his heart go out to him. "Indeed, the Captain and I… well, with time we… He was a fine Captain," he stuttered.
Heavens, he ought to be able to find something to say to help a friend in grief. Why was he so inept at it? Like that time, after Elizabeth's death... He shot a tense look at Trip, who had let out a sound, something in between a laugh and a sob.
"It's ok," Trip said, glancing back at him. You don't have to… you know." In a near whisper he added, "I only wish we could have patched up our friendship."
Malcolm frowned. The words seemed a bit harsh. "Do you really think there was something to patch up?" he wondered. "Surely you must know the Captain loved you like a brother, Trip."
Once again, Trip fought back tears. "Ah, that was before. Lately…" Elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, getting lost in the deck-plating.
Malcolm knew perfectly well what Trip was referring to: Archer hadn't been the same over the past few months. And, as his long-time friend, Trip was the person on board who had suffered most about it.
"It was the Expanse," he said. "It had nothing to do with you, or him, it was the Expanse. It changed us all."
Trip's head shot up. "Then how come you and I didn't lose our friendship? If anything we got even closer, were there for each other…"
Malcolm looked at him in shock for one long moment. What Trip was saying was true, but...
The past few months began to unroll before his eyes like an accelerated movie, and he couldn't sit still any longer. He pushed up and took to pacing again. He had to make Trip understand. For however Archer might have behaved, however distant he and Trip might have become during their mission in the Expanse, there was no doubt in Malcolm's heart that the two men's bond of friendship had never been severed, or even threatened.
Silence stretched again.
The Expanse. Not everything could be ascribed to the Expanse, Trip thought in anger. Sure, it had been a trying experience, but one that, if anything, had brought them all closer to one another. All except Archer.
Malcolm had become warmer, more comfortable showing his feelings. Even T'Pol's emotions were closer to the surface. But Jon… Jon had turned into another person and the change had been for the worse.
Trip's resentment had grown and grown because, he realised, he had felt betrayed. Jon had not been there for him when he would have most needed him, to help him face the grief for the death of Elizabeth. Worse, the deeper they had gone into the Expanse, the more indifferent Jon had seemed to his suffering. Perhaps the Expanse was responsible for… but no, Jon should have seen it.
He had received words of comfort from everyone, even T'Pol, but not from his closest friend...
"You never lost his friendship," Malcolm said, stopping in the middle of the room. "It was only… different." He saw Trip grimace.
"Malcolm, I know what you're tryin' to do, and I'm grateful," Trip said. "But… we had drifted apart. We no longer sought each other's company." His chin dropped on his chest. "Worse than that," he continued, and Malcolm heard an undercurrent of resentment in his voice, "he wasn't there for me when I needed him, bit my head off so many times… Like when Degra was on board: he didn't give a damn for what I was goin' through. I don't call that bein' friends," he finished almost angrily.
Malcolm looked at him speechlessly for a moment longer, then turned about and resumed his pacing. He was tired and unfocused, unable to see past the mist of his jumbled grey cells. He knew the truth was there, just out of reach. If only he could stop and organise his fleeting thoughts…
Suddenly he was stopped in his tracks by a hand on his arm. "You're wearin' a hole in the deckplating, Malcolm," Trip said as his eyebrows shot up. "Another thing you two had in common."
Malcolm dropped to sit on the bed with a sigh. "It… wasn't the same for him. The Expanse, I mean. He was the Captain," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth instinctively, without any real reasoning behind them.
"What's that got to do with our friendship?" Trip asked in frustration.
"Well…"
Malcolm had had more than a few issues with Archer, in the last months. The Captain had expected a lot of him and the others, and given them some questionable orders. He had often been mad at the man. Now all he felt was guilt. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard.
"He was the one who had to make all the decisions," he murmured. "It wasn't easy. He gave orders which might have saved Earth but…"
The mist was beginning to dissipate, his thoughts coming clearer as he spoke. "We could be there for each other, but not he… He had to stand alone if he was to be strong enough to do what he had to," he said, his voice growing steadier with every word.
He opened his eyes and pushed himself off the headboard, searching Trip's gaze and holding it. "To make the decisions he had to make – life and death decisions – he had to harden himself. Push his own feelings aside, force himself to become cold and insensitive." He shook his head, adding almost to himself, "That was not like him, can't have been easy..."
Yes. The Expanse had been hard on all of them, but hardest on Archer.
"You said it yourself: the Captain always tried to protect us. Consciously or not, pushing away from you was probably his way to protect you, to insulate you from his actions. Perhaps… maybe he didn't want you to be friends with the man he had become," Malcolm reasoned, "didn't want the man he had become to rub on you."
Why had he not seen it before?
"He was keeping you safe, Trip. Sometimes, to be a true friend, one has to do things that will hurt."
Trip was watching him intently. "But didn't he see what I was goin' through?" he choked out. "That I needed my friend Jon?"
"He needed you just as much," Malcolm countered, raising his eyebrows. "Or he wouldn't have done what he did to save your life, when you had that accident."
"He needed his Chief Engineer," Trip said bitterly.
Malcolm shook his head. How could Trip be so blind? "He didn't want to lose his best friend," he said firmly. "And it's just possible that Sim's death also affected the way he acted around you." He grimaced. "He made a pretty debatable choice when he ordered Phlox to create that clone; it must have left a deep mark on his soul."
Trip's eyes suddenly hardened. "I hate these last few months, I hate the Expanse and all of its twisted consequences," he spat out. "I hate war, I hate death, the finality of it, I hate…"
"Trip!"
Malcolm nearly reached out to shake him. "Please," he mumbled. He didn't need Trip to make his heart sink even deeper.
"Death might not be all that final, for all we know." He couldn't believe he had said that, and he saw his own surprise reflected in Trip's eyes. "Let the grim reaper remind you," he added, with a taut smile.
Trip smirked, leaning back in his chair as he slowly deflated. "It's been a while since I called you that, Malcolm," he said in mild reproach. "In fact, I never did. If I recall that's somethin' you called yourself…"
"Yeah… it seems like ages ago."
Trip studied the pale man before him. He looked brittle, and he felt sorry for his own outburst.
"What you said about the Expanse bein' different for the Capt'n… about him wantin' to keep me safe," he murmured. "Well… it was good to hear."
He saw Malcolm pass a hand across his chin, and when he lowered it again an expression of resolve, one that Trip had read many times on his face, had appeared.
Trip saw him search his eyes.
"It was a privilege to serve with Captain Archer," Malcolm said in a remarkably steady voice. "The best way to honour the Captain's memory is to get over my guilt and your regret and remember him as the fine Commanding Officer and good friend he was."
Trip nodded, feeling his heart warm up. "I'll drink to that."
Malcolm hesitated for a brief moment, before getting up and going to his closet, from where he got out a bottle. "Sorry, not much left," he said, raising it to show its content.
"Well, maybe it's better that way," Trip commented with a soft chuckle. "'Cause if it were full I doubt I could stop at one glass."
Trip's tone had lost a bit of its tense edge, and Malcolm felt the weight on his own soul beginning to ease just a little.
He filled a couple of glasses and gave one to Trip. "To Captain Archer," he toasted softly, raising his. "A fine Captain."
Trip clinked. "And a good friend." He bit his lip. "Understanding and compassionate."
"A determined leader."
Trip frowned. "You mean stubborn? Well, that's another thing you two had in common," he commented wryly.
Malcolm broke into a faint smile. "Us, stubborn?"
Trip gulped down the liquor and reached for the bottle, emptying what was left in it into their glasses.
Malcolm swirled the golden liquid around in his glass and lost himself in it.
As Chief Tactical Officer I…
This isn't open for debate, Lieutenant.
"A loyal friend... and a brave man," he murmured.
For a long time they were each lost in their own thoughts. Then Trip patted Malcolm's knee and pushed tiredly to his feet. "We'd better try and get some shuteye, Lieutenant," he said, setting his glass down on the desk.
Malcolm couldn't argue with that. They walked to the door.
"Are you going to be all right?" Malcolm asked, suddenly aware once again of the lines marring Trips' face. "Your skin, I mean," he added, realising the question could be interpreted in different ways.
"Yeah. Phlox says in a few days we'll be back to normal." Trip let out in a mirthless huff. "We narrowly escaped death ourselves."
Malcolm felt a lump form in his throat – good grief, his emotions were much too close to the surface. He looked away, afraid that his eyes would show too much. Back on Degra's ship he had actually been terrified to find that after his Captain he had also lost the rest of his crewmates. As usual, Trip read him like a book.
"But we didn't," he said firmly. "We both survived and are here."
Malcolm nodded silently. They were both here – alive and still friends. More importantly, they would be there for each other. Together they'd find a way to get over this loss.
"Are you going to be ok?" Trip asked.
There were no lines marring Malcolm's face, other than perhaps those etched there by tiredness and sorrow - no way to misinterpret the question. "Eventually," he replied.
A moment later Trip triggered the door open and stepped out. "You said before it should have been you, Malcolm," he said, turning. "That's not it. It should have been nobody. Losing you, or Hoshi, would've been just as painful."
Malcolm felt the lump in his throat get bigger. ""We both survived and are here," he repeated in a choked voice.
"Yeah." Trip gave him a pale smile. "I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Night, Commander."
The door swished closed just in time. For in spite of his upbringing Malcolm's eyes stung somewhat. He leaned with his back against it and brought a hand to them; it came away slightly wet. Perhaps he could learn, after all. And silence, thank God, was again his friend.
THE END