Thank you for your comments. Poor Malcolm!

x-x

-Then-

Malcolm braced his hands against the wall of the shower, letting the water wash away the dirt and blood of the day's mission. How many times had he found himself here in his quarters, the water his only comfort as he tried to push past the events of the day? Raising a fist, he hit the wall gently. How many times?

This last mission had been a disaster. Good lord, the captain could have died today, and it would have been his fault. Some tactical officer he was. How had he miscalculated things so badly?

Malcolm had been suspicious of the aliens' motivations from the start. Maybe it was his cautious nature, or maybe it was the fact that, between their red skin and the horn coming out of the centre of their foreheads, they looked rather demonic, but the combined effect was a sense of deep unease. But Archer, despite his experience with the Xindi, was still entirely too trusting. And sure enough, their new friends' definition of "peaceful exploration" didn't quite match up with his own. Not when they tried to take Hoshi by force it didn't.

Malcolm had thought he'd been prepared. Well, as prepared as Archer would let him be, going down to a strange planet with minimal security so as not to come across as "threatening". Still, he'd been suspicious from the start, and he hadn't been surprised when they'd finally made their move. He'd thought he'd brought appropriate weaponry, and from his quick analysis of what little they knew of this species, his devices should have worked. But there had simply been too many of them. It was only the aliens' own mistake, which he'd seen and taken advantage of, that allowed him to get his party out of there. But not before Archer had nearly been shot.

No, he thought, splaying his fingers across the surface in front of him. It wasn't entirely his fault. He'd insisted on more security from the start, but to no avail. Archer had hamstringed him yet again, this time with a biting, "Why don't you let me play captain for a while, Malcolm?"

No, the problems on this particular mission weren't entirely his fault. But his inability to manage his own captain, to have the man respect his opinions when it came to mission security - that certainly was.

How many times? he thought, punching his fist against the wall in rhythm with the words. How. Many. Times.

Sometimes, when things had been relatively calm and peaceful, he felt he was still able to grasp a sense of the hope and import of their mission. Then something would go horribly wrong. It had gotten so he was constantly on edge, continually waiting for the next tragic incident. He wasn't quite sure how others were able to live with the constant dread. Turning, he slumped back against the stall, the water flowing over him. He shut his eyes. He was so damn tired.

It was only when the water went cold that he stood stiffly, unsure of how long he had been standing there. Palming off the water, he stepped from shower, grabbing for the towel.

Despite his fatigue, he knew he was wound too tightly to sleep, so he shrugged into a t-shirt and shorts, slipped on his trainers, and headed for the gym. If he was lucky, he could work himself into physical exhaustion and give himself the gift of a few hours of dreamless sleep.

When he entered the gym, Trip looked up from an exercise bike and nodded at him absently. The man was sweating, obviously in it for the long haul. Malcolm stepped onto the nearest treadmill and started a light jog as a warm up. He glanced at Trip, then away.

He still mourned the loss of that friendship. The Xindi had killed Trip's sister, and Trip had pushed him away. After that, their friendship - if it could even still be called that - had been limited to surface-level conversations. Nothing more. So when the world had started bearing in on him, he hadn't gone to Trip. He hadn't gone to anyone.

And something about him changed. Where earlier he'd always been able to get past certain events, now... Now he didn't seem to have it in him. Instead of being able to leave incidents in the past where they belonged, they built up; each tragedy adding, with nothing being taken away.

Malcolm picked up the pace a bit, the whir of the treadmill and his thoughts driving him on.

He'd never been all that comfortable developing friendships with people he worked with. He'd had a small group of friends prior to shipping out on Enterprise, people outside of Starfleet. No one he was all that close with - just people to talk to from outside of the job. But here, basically everyone on the ship was military, and certainly everyone was a co-worker. He was uncomfortable getting too close. So when Trip had broken through his walls and become his friend, it had surprised him. And when Trip had withdrawn from that friendship, it was almost as if he was worse off than before. So he'd devoted himself wholly to the job. And he was doing his best, whatever needed doing, to ensure the safety and security of his ship and his crew.

He almost tripped when the alarms went. His eyes met Trip's, and they both headed to the bridge.

x-x

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