Thank you for your kind reviews!
Part II
"Anyone sittin' here?"
Malcolm didn't look up. "Please."
Trip, of course, was not deterred by the curt reply, coffee slopping over the rim of his cup as he sat down. Why the man hadn't suffered a heart attack yet, Malcolm did not know; Trip downed the stuff like water, two cups in the morning, two in the afternoon, and another one for dinner if he had anything planned for the evening.
"Here." A second cup of coffee was pushed towards him. "Y'look like you need it."
Malcolm hesitated; he usually preferred tea for breakfast. But after last night, maybe one of Trip's caffeine killers was just what he needed. "Thanks."
Trip raised his eyebrows at the response. Trading insults over breakfast had become a daily ritual for them, and Malcolm's next line would have involved the suggestion to look in the mirror himself, Commandah. A mere "thanks" was not what he had expected.
Malcolm ignored the look he was getting and took a swig from his coffee. The hot liquid burned his tongue, and he had to force himself not to spit it back into the cup. On second thought, maybe he should have skipped breakfast altogether.
"Malcolm?"
Trip's tone boded no good, and Malcolm sighed. He knew how he looked; he had seen the pasty-faced zombie in his bathroom mirror. He didn't need anyone else to remind him that he'd had a rough night.
"I'm fine, Trip."
Tactical error, he realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Shouldn't have brought up the F-word at all.
Trip's disbelieving snort told him as much. "Last time you said that, half the armory was in pieces and the doctor had you chained to a biobed in sickbay."
"In my experience, the doctor doesn't use physical restraints on his patients." Malcolm almost winced at the blatant evasive maneuver. His tactical skills, like everything else, weren't really up to par this morning.
Trip didn't even dignify it with a remark. "Come on, Malcolm, what's up?"
"Nothing." Nothing I want to discuss, anyway.
Trip eyes him thoughtfully. "I could order you to go to sickbay, you know."
Malcolm put as much "why ever would you want to do that" into his voice as he could muster. "Trip, I told you there's nothing wrong. There's no reason why-"
"Your hands," Trip interrupted, gesturing with his cup. "They don't look too good."
Malcolm glanced down. Wonderful. He hadn't really paid attention to the stinging he had felt in the shower this morning; he'd been struggling to keep his eyes open at all, after falling asleep less than an hour before his alarm clock went off. Trip was right, though; his knuckles looked as if he had taken a cheese grate to them, bloodied and raw from yesterday's encounter with the punching bag. Automatically, he tugged at his sleeves to cover the offensive sight.
"You should let Phlox have a look at it," Trip continued. "You might've cracked a knuckle, the way you were layin' into that bag."
Malcolm said nothing. He had no wish to discuss anything to do with the incident in the gym, his obvious lack of sleep, the whole bloody mess. Bad enough he would have to deal with it some way, more sooner than later thanks to Commodore Payne. He hated it that the Captain knew, and he didn't need the oh-so-funny comments on top of everything else.
How about another swimming lesson, Reedie?Where we gonna to start... that's right, you got to get used to the water, head in first... stop kicking, you little fucker, or I'm gonna flush this thing till you really start choking...
"Malcolm?"
Malcolm blinked. For a second or two, he'd actually been there, dripping wet, biting back sobs as he picked his soaked books off the grimy floor of the school lavatory. He'd smelled like a sewer all day, and of course he'd gotten the belt for ruining his good clothes. He hadn't even tried to tell Father that he hadn't voluntarily rolled around on the floor in front of the toilets; it would have been a "pathetic excuse", and pathetic excuses were one of the many things Stuart Reed had no time for.
The next day, they had dunked his head into the toilet again, and, back home, Malcolm had found out how to work the washing machine, which turned out to be surprisingly easy. When Mum came home from her late shift, his clothes were slightly damp but presentable, and he escaped another beating.
"Earth to Lieutenant Reed, come in."
Trip's voice returned him to the present. The engineer was giving him a strange look, and Malcolm realized that he had been staring into blank space for the last five minutes. He had completely forgotten about Trip sitting there. The lack of sleep must be doing weird things to his brain.
Trip's eyes were still on him, and Malcolm suddenly wondered what the engineer would think of runty, pathetic Malcolm Reed, whose name the teachers kept forgetting, who choked if he even got near the school pool. Most likely, he wouldn't understand. Malcolm was willing to bet that Trip Tucker had never seen the horrible things that dwelled under the rim of a school toilet basin.
Which was why Malcolm was glad to call him his friend. Among other reasons.
He emptied his coffee with one swig and got up. "I'm sorry, Commander, I've got an appointment for target practise at 0800. If you'll excuse me..."
On his way to the door, Malcolm was only too aware of Trip's eyes on his back. The man was probably trying to figure out whether Malcolm had gone completely insane, or whether it was just a momentary bout of lunacy. That was all right, though. Better a lunatic than a loser with a big red L on his forehead.
Malcolm didn't look back as he left the room.
Time to face the lion in his den.
Under the circumstances, the saying was a little too close to the truth for Trip's tastes. Rubbing Malcolm the wrong way was never a good idea, especially since the man believed that revenge was a dish best served cold. Poor Ensign Craig had learned that the hard way, after doing an impression of a clipped British accent without realizing that his superior was standing right behind him. Trip had never seen anyone look quite so pale after hand-to-hand combat training.
But he'd dealt with snarky, snappy Malcolm before. It was the silent, absentminded Malcolm of this morning that worried Trip.
Having his hands full, he pushed the doorchime with his elbow. "Malcolm? You there?"
There was no answer, which was uncharacteristic. Trip's call might be about official stuff, and Malcolm would never ignore a superior officer on duty.
He had, on occasion, been known to ignore a friend.
Trip bit down on his lip. C'mon. I know you're in there.
There was, of course, the possibility that Malcolm was sleeping, but Trip didn't think it likely. Malcolm rarely went to bed early; he had admitted once that he was prone to reading until long after midnight. This morning, he had looked as if he had hardly slept at all.
Balancing his burden with one hand, Trip used the other to knock on the door. "Mal, you home?"
At this point, he was probably making a nuisance of himself, but he didn't really care much. Something wasn't right, and Trip was determined to find out what it was, even if he had to annoy Malcolm into telling him. Which was what he was going to do now.
"Mal, I know you're in there. I'm not gonna go away, so you might as well open the door right away."
At that, the door did slide aside, startling Trip. He'd been prepared to stand out here and holler for quite a while.
Malcolm looked exactly as peeved as he'd expected. "Trip, in case you didn't know, there is such a thing as taking a silent hint, and I'd have thought even you-"
He trailed off, his eyes growing wide as he became aware of the object in Trip's hands. "What is that, and why on Earth are you carrying it around the ship?"
Trip grinned and stepped past Malcolm into the Lieutenant's small cabin. "That," he said, setting it down on Malcolm's desk, "is dinner. Hawaiian Pizza, with extra ham and cheese. Here," he tossed Malcolm a can of beer, and the Lieutenant caught it out of reflex. "Careful when you open it, or it'll explode all over you."
"Well, it would, after you've thrown it across the room." Malcolm was still staring at the pizza, as if he couldn't conceive of it sitting on his otherwise painfully tidy desk. "What is that, giant size? Was there any left for the crew after you abducted this monstrosity from the messhall?"
Trip plopped down on Malcolm's small sofa and kicked off his boots. "Chef owed me a favor."
"Ah." Malcolm sat down on his desk chair, keeping a safe distance to the pizza. "And who is going to eat that? I know I'm not."
"Right." Trip was prepared for that. "Y'know, Chef was in a really good mood tonight. Even dug out the supply of non-resequenced pineapple he's been hidin' all this time. Somethin' about not makin' Hawaiian Pizza with anythin' but the real thing..."
Malcolm's glare could have melted an iceberg. Trip only grinned back at him. "Got any plates?"
Inspite of his earlier protest, Malcolm finished his first slice in less than two minutes, and Trip was relieved to see it. He knew that Malcolm hadn't been in the messhall since this morning, and then he'd only had a cup of coffee. Trip found himself biting back a smile when Malcolm lifted another slice onto his plate. The man had to be starving, and he had to admit that it was a kick, watching prim and proper Lieutenant Reed gobble pizza as if there were no tomorrow.
Malcolm polished off three slices in surprisingly little time, and even smiled a little when he finally set his plate aside.
"That was actually quite good."
Trip, knowing a "thank you" when he heard one, returned the smile. "You're welcome. I noticed that you didn't really have time to stop by the messhall today."
Malcolm took a swig from his beer. "Yes, the hardware overhauls took longer than I'd expected."
Trip said nothing, simply looked at Malcolm. A moment's silence followed, then Malcolm let out a small sigh and dropped his hands in his lap. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Look at me like that. I know I was somewhat... tired this morning..."
"I noticed you weren't quite your usual charmin' self."
Malcolm narrowed his eyes at him. "I didn't sleep very well. It happens."
Trip wasn't fazed by the hostile tone; he knew that it was the only way for Malcolm to approach problems on a more personal level than "I'm fine, sir". "You didn't go see Phlox about your hands."
"It was hardly necessary." Malcolm's voice dropped another few degrees. "I'm not a child, Trip. I can take care of myself."
There was something about the statement that went beyond mere snarkiness. Trip sensed that any response on his part would be resented, and so he said nothing, simply leaned back and waited for Malcolm to continue.
He wasn't too surprised when Malcolm did.
"In fact, that's exactly what I would have written in my reply, had I been in the position to speak freely. Here," he grabbed something from his desk, and it was Trip's turn to catch the object flying towards him. "You wanted to know what was wrong, didn't you? They sent it just yesterday. The Captain gave me the good news after my shift."
Shortly before Malcolm had stomped into the gym with murder in his eyes. Trip took a closer look at the thing Malcolm had tossed to him. It was a simple padd, with an official-looking Starfleet memo on it. Trip began to read, stopping when he caught the name at the top of the page.
"Commodore Payne? Not that Payne, right?"
"The one and only." Thunderclouds gathered behind Malcolm's eyes. "One would think they'd have sent the man to the Mars colonies, or maybe Terra Nova II, but I suppose that would be asking too much. Every bloody-minded, idiot paper pusher they can find, Starfleet's going to preserve for eternity."
"Was him who told Jon he'd never have given him command of Enterprise. And at the official reception, no less."
It wasn't the only "objection" Payne had brought forward. In fact, he had felt obliged to remind Jon that space exploration was a "responsible task", which was unsuited for "the young, the provincial and to a certain degree even the fairer sex". Jon had told the man in so many words to fuck off, but for Travis, Trip and Hoshi, standing right next to Jon, Payne's little remark had pretty much killed the party. Eventually, they had laughed it off, but Trip still wished he had decked the man, Starfleet brass or no.
Malcolm nodded darkly. "I'm not surprised."
Trip scrolled down the memo. The further he got, the less he found himself able to believe his own eyes. Finally, he lowered the padd, realizing that he no longer wanted to deck Payne. He wanted to rip off the man's balls, roll them in breadcrumbs, deep-fry them and serve them to him with a full English breakfast - as one of the less violent options.
"He can't be serious."
Malcolm's mouth was a thin, hard line. "I assure you, he is. The Captain checked with Admiral Forrest. Payne's request is well within regulations."
"It's completely insane!"
"That, too."
Trip shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the most ridiculous – and spiteful – piece of red tape he'd ever come across.
"So... basically they're sayin' you've got to give them proof that you're able to do your job? Because..."
"Because I'm aquaphobic, yes. It's in my personal file." Malcolm wouldn't meet his eyes. "Payne told Forrest that he wouldn't recommend letting me keep my post if I'm not "fully reliable" in all situations. He included a list of potential circumstances under which my phobia might become a problem."
Trip was livid, but he still heard the strange undertone in Malcolm's voice. "Malcolm, don't go and tell me you think he's right."
Malcolm's eyes were fixed on an invisible spot on the wall. "It's true that I might not be able to react as I would under different circumstances... circumstances not involving close contact with water."
Trip decided that frying Payne's balls was too good for the bastard. He'd feed them to him raw. "Listen, Mal. That man – " he raised the padd for emphasis – "has never done anythin' but sit on a chair, scratch his nuts and dig up dirt on people who managed to do somethin' else with their life than flyin' a desk. He has no basis at all on which he could ever hope to judge your ability to do your job."
Malcolm shrugged, still not looking at him. "It's true, though. I can't stand to be close to large bodies of water. One time..."
He trailed off and shrugged again.
"Mal?" Trip prompted quietly.
Malcolm took a deep breath. "I start hyperventilating when I get too close. Back in primary school, a few classmates thought it funny to throw me into the school pool. I passed out... choked. If the swimming instructor hadn't happened to be there, I might've drowned." Finally, Malcolm raised his eyes, lips pulled into an ironic smirk. "I could swim, I knew how to do it. But I panicked."
Trip shook his head, hating the casual self-loathing in Malcolm's tone. "How old were you at the time?"
"Eight or nine."
"Eight. And you panicked. Yeah, I can see why you'd feel bad about it. Any other kid that age would've just laughed it off to be confronted with their worst fear."
Malcolm frowned. "It doesn't matter how old I was. It's not as if I've grown out of it." He let out a mirthless laugh. "Much to the disappointment of my father, of course. He went berserk when he heard about the incident at school."
It was said with a dry half-smile, which Trip didn't return. He could count on one hand the times Malcolm had spoken of his family, and he had never liked the half-sarcastic, half-apprehensive undertone when he did. Or the fact that the Reeds didn't seem to care exactly what their son did when he was hundreds of light years away from home.
Trip sighed. "Mal... when I was eight, a girl in my class stuck a spider down the back of my shirt. You know how I hate bugs and the like. I totally freaked out. When the teacher finally got it out, I had a cryin' fit. And the spider wasn't even poisonous or anythin', there was no reason for me to be scared."
Malcolm seemed surprised. "You were teased at school?"
Trip nodded. "Not so much about the spider thing, the teacher gave them hell for that. It was more about wearin' my brother's old clothes and shit like that." He shrugged. "We were five kids at home. Was no sense in buyin' new stuff for everyone when the old things were still okay."
Malcolm nodded, and Trip sensed that somehow, admitting that he, too, had been subject to teasing had done more than all his earlier rhetoric. He was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to pull Malcolm close and hug him tight, in spite of the fact that he'd end up on the floor of the cabin if he tried any such thing. Or maybe with an alien spider down the back of his uniform, depending on how the mood took Malcolm.
The familiar half-smile crept onto Malcolm's face. "Well, they used to call me "Runtie" and dunk my head into the toilet."
Trip paused for a moment; he hadn't missed the flash of pain in Malcolm's eyes. But the other man was smiling, chuckling even. "And it seems that they're still doing it." He nodded at Payne's memo. "In their own, Starfleet way, of course. I suppose I'm the eternal loser."
Trip grinned. "That makes two of us. Don't forget those pictures they've got of me at Starfleet Medical. You know, after... when I was pregnant. That spells..." He formed an L with his thumb and index finger and held it to his forehead. "Loser."
Malcolm actually laughed at that, and Trip was happy to see it. "You're about the last person I'd call a loser, Trip."
"Same here." Trip shook his head. "Mal, you saved our asses more times than I can count. Your staff practically worship the ground you walk on, the Armory Department back at Headquarters fight over who gets to read your monthly report first..." A blush crept up Malcolm's neck, engulfed his ears. "I don't gotta tell you all that. I just don't see why you'd ever think you're in any way unfit to do your job."
"There's still Payne," Malcolm pointed out.
"Screw Payne. He says he needs a superior officer to confirm that you're able to deal with that kind of situation. Well, he can have that."
Malcolm frowned. "You're not planning to falsify reports, are you?"
"I'm not gonna falsify anythin'. He'll get what he wants."
"But how-"
"You leave that to me."
Malcolm looked suitably horrified, and Trip grinned. The longer he thought about it, the better he found he liked his idea.
TBC...
Chocolate-covered pineapple chunks to everyone who presses the blue button :)!
