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Chapter 2

The next morning, Malcolm woke up to the sound of rain smacking on the window. He rolled over, his mind still tangled in a confused and fretful dream. The sky was gray, darkened by the storm clouds and the rain so that Malcolm couldn't even make out the bay in the distance. Water was running down the window as if someone were pouring it out of a can, and the wind was howling from the sea.

He lay there for a few moments, listening to the rainstorm and allowing the dream to fade away into non-existence. It hadn't been the sort of dream he wanted to recall... more on the nightmare side, that one. Malcolm had had nightmares ever since he could remember, and he knew that it was best just to let them slip away. Eventually, they all did, even those that had him sweating and clutching his blanket.Tonight's dream had been of the latter kind, if his rumpled sheets were any indication.

Malcolm's eyes drifted over to the other bed, and paused. It was empty. He hadn't noticed before; daylight wasn't quite there yet, and the room was still dark. He looked closer, and saw that the sheets were missing, too.

"Trip?"

Immediately he felt foolish; even if Trip was somewhere close, he had no way of hearing Malcolm's query. Malcolm pushed his own sheets aside and was in the process of getting up when he noticed the figure lying on the floor in front of Trip's bed, its snoring muffled by the blanket cocoon that covered it from head to toe. Quite obviously, Trip had abandoned his bed at some point during the night – fallen out or climbed out, Malcolm did not know – and had opted to sleep on the floor for the rest of the night.

Malcolm stayed where he was, sitting on the edge of the bed with his own blanket across his knees. Trip looked funny down there on the floor; rather like an oversized sandwich, or a giant caterpillar with a strange blond tuft on one end. Malcolm didn't feel like smiling, though. Maybe it was the lingering dream, but the sight made him inexplicably sad.

After a moment of just sitting there, he got up and knelt down next to Trip. The floor was cool, and he doubted that the thin blanket did much to keep out the cold.

"Trip," he said again. The man couldn't hear him, and yet, Malcolm couldn't just not talk to him. It seemed unnatural to do so. "Trip, come on, wake up."

He reached out for the sleeping man's shoulder, and was surprised when he suddenly found himself touching soft blond hair. Malcolm didn't know how it had happened, but somehow his hand had found its way into Trip's hair. He knew he should pull away, and yet, his hand stayed where it was and began to stroke softly, combing through the tousled strands and smoothing them down. Malcolm had never been one for physical closeness, and so it was only now that he realized how much he had missed the warmth one felt when touching a human body. Reveling in the sensation, he allowed his fingers to dig deeper into the hair and travel down to the nape of Trip's neck where they encountered skin that was warmer still. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of sliding under that blanket and feeling the warmth on his whole body, skin on skin, touch on touch. It was such a long time ago that he had felt anything like it, and he wanted it so desperately. Pathetic, really, but he couldn't deny it.

Suddenly, the blanket moved and Malcolm, his fascination broken and shock setting in, opened his eyes again and pulled back his hand as if burned. Trip's face was no longer concealed by the blanket, and he was staring at Malcolm, the skin around his mouth tense.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I... " He didn't continue, didn't know what to say.

Trip sat up, his eyes still on Malcolm, and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. There was something strange in his expression, and it was only when his eyes flickered briefly to the door that Malcolm recognized it for what it was.

"I..." He shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't ..."

Didn't what? Mean to touch you? It would have been a lie, because he did want to touch Trip. Even now, he wished he could return his hand to where it had been, and more than anything else he would have wanted to see Trip close his eyes and smile in enjoyment.

"I didn't want to startle you or anything. I'm sorry."

Trip moved away from him and began to get up, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. His face was expressionless, and looking at him, Malcolm knew that the best thing would be to leave it at that. He could hardly make things better, and anything he said would only make it worse.

"Trip... please.".

Trip hadn't been looking at him, but somehow, he must have caught the words from the corners of his eyes. He turned around, and Malcolm saw a flash of anger on his face before he smoothed out his features.

"Y' don't have to do th't," he said, so quietly that Malcolm hardly caught the words.

"Do what?" he asked carefully.

Trip stared at a point behind Malcolm's left shoulder as he answered. "Y' don't have t' say please or 'ct as if you're sorry. Go 'head and fuck me or wh'tever you w'nna do, just don't do this, 'kay?"

Malcolm was used to swearing – he had served under Duvall, after all – but he still flinched at the crude word.

"I don't-," he began angrily, then realized that Trip wasn't looking at him. Humiliated and ashamed, this made him even angrier, and he raised his hand to draw the other man's attention. Trip turned and bit down on his lip, as if he were expecting a blow and was forcing himself not to flinch or duck away. Malcolm's face grew warm, and he lowered his hand.

"Trip, I... I didn't mean to..." He took a deep breath, then continued, careful to mouth the words so he would be understood. "I never meant to hurt you, Trip. I don't know why I touched you, and I'm sorry. Really."

Trip stared at him, then turned away and sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked sad, his shoulders hanging as if in defeat, his hands plucking at the blanket. Malcolm looked at him and again had the overwhelming urge to sit down next to him and take him in his arms to stroke and kiss away the pain. Maybe it was because he had been alone for such a long time, and wanted to be close to another human being, if only for the physical contact. Maybe it was because he was a pathetic idiot and had fallen in love for the first time in his life, with someone who was afraid of him and more likely than not hated his guts. Malcolm didn't know, and at the moment it didn't really matter either.

He sat down on the bed next to Trip, careful to leave at least half a meter's distance between them. Then, he reached out and briefly touched the other man's arm to get his attention. Trip looked up.

"Look..." Malcolm shook his head. "I know how this... my touching you must have looked, but I promise you that I would never..." He hesitated. He didn't want to say it, and yet he knew that he had to be clear about this, even more since he knew that more often than not, Trip caught only half of what he was saying. "I would never force you to do anything you don't want. Okay?"

Trip stared at him, then suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Why're y' doin' this?"

Malcolm startled at the anger in the other man's voice. "What?" he asked. "Why am I doing what?"

Trip eyed him suspiciously, as if trying to assess whether Malcolm was making fun of him. Then he said, very quietly: "They'll send y' to jail or kill you f'r stealing me an' running 'way fr'm your ship."

Malcolm was silent for a moment. "Duvall wanted me to kill you. The Captain," he added when he realized that Trip wouldn't recognize the name.

Trip didn't seem particularly moved by the news. "So?"

"So?" Malcolm got up. "He wanted me to kill you." He pointed at his mouth and over pronounced the word – a cruel thing to do, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. Was the man so indifferent that he didn't even care whether he lived or died? Malcolm thought of himself throwing a lifeless body into the airlock and suddenly he was so angry he could have taken Trip's shoulders and shaken him. "Not that I expect you to be grateful or anything, but I did save your life, you know!"

Trip only looked at him. "Why?" he asked quietly.

Why? Malcolm was silent. The ever-busy cynic at the back of his mind had plenty of answers to that one: Because I felt like it. Never say never. Besides, our good doctor would have poisoned my next dose of happy juice if I hadn't.

He silenced the voice. He hadn't decided to escape with Trip because he was afraid of Phlox, and, although it was hard to admit it to himself, not because he was particularly brave, either. The way he had led his life, it was rather the opposite that was true. He had always bowed to those who were in charge; his teachers, commanding officers, and finally Duvall, because he knew that they could literally take his life away from him.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I... I don't think I could have killed you."

Trip was silent.

"You know... you're the first person who ever asked for my name," Malcolm said. "I... oh, well, I don't know. I thought..."

I thought we could be friends.

I thought that maybe, if we lived in a different world, I'd want to spent more time with you. I'd want to share my thoughts, my feelings, maybe my life with you. Now go ahead and laugh. I won't blame you.

Trip gave him a long look. "Y' never told me that," he said.

Malcolm nodded sadly. "I know," he said. "I... I was never very good at talking to people."

Trip was silent for a moment. "Me neither," he said then. "Most of th' time I don't even listen."

It was a bad joke, but for some reason, Trip's dead-pan expression and grave tone made it incredibly funny. Malcolm began to laugh, and didn't stop until his ribs were beginning to hurt. Trip grinned, albeit a bit nervously, as if he had secretly feared that Malcolm would take offense.

"Sorry," he said.

Malcolm shook his head. "Sorry indeed," he said. "That was not funny, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Trip said, his voice gaining confidence. "Not worth givin' ears to."

Malcolm stared at him, then went into another laughing fit. This time, he laughed until there were tears running down his face.

"That... has got to be the worst I've ever heard," he said when he could talk again. Trip had obviously not caught the words, and Malcolm, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, tried to pronounce more clearly as he repeated, "That was the worst joke I have ever heard."

Trip nodded solemnly. "I would think so."

Malcolm realized that in the last few minutes, they had talked more than in the entire week they had spent on the shuttlepod. Trip had never spoken like that before, either; his voice sounded stronger, and his words were far easier to understand than before.

They sat in silence for a while, then Malcolm touched Trip's arm again. The other man raised his head.

"About what you said earlier..." Malcolm hesitated, then continued, "I didn't "steal" you, you know. We're in this together, and... and as far as I'm concerned, I don't want to go back, ever. It's up to you if you want to stay with me, or do this on your own, but..." He took a deep breath. "I would like it if we stayed together."

Trip regarded him for a long time. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said quietly.

TBC...

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