~*~Disclaimer=me no own~*~Just a lil one shot that was floating round my
brain, set in series 3,*pauses for dramatic effect* I know! I'm actually
writing something that's set somewhere!!~*~
The mess hall. Others are laughing and nattering away as he walks past them hands tightly gripping his tray. There's an empty table at the back. He won't be noticed there.
The MACO's are there too, Hayes is discussing the latest training session. Calmly he walks past and sits down at the table at the back. No one has noticed him.
Picking at his food he suddenly realises that he's not even hungry, he's just going through the motions, keeping to a routine.
Malcolm enters. He watches him grab a cup of tea. Good old Brits and their tea. Something's would never change. Malcolm caught he eye and nodded his head slightly. He looked down knowing he would now get company he didn't really want. He debated getting up and leaving but then he'd offend Malcolm and he couldn't really deal with that right now.
He had more important things on his mind.
Neuropressure had been helping but it wouldn't make the pain go away, wouldn't change what'd happened. Only make him refreshed for another day of going through the motions: eat, work, eat, work, eat, neuropressure, sleep.
Of course every so often the routine was disturbed. They'd get a new lead, bring him closer to the people who destroyed countless lives and wrecked billions of others.
But it seemed that with every step forward they'd take ten steps back, like the universe was against them, trying to thwart them at every turn.
Malcolm sat down jolting him from his thoughts.
He carried on light conversation though he honestly wasn't paying attention as Malcolm told him about what had happened to him that day. He felt jealous of him, jealous that the man before him could go home and give his sister a hug and laugh with her and talk with her.
*Why can't it be him? Why can't it be his sister?*
He felt a surge of guilt rush through him. He couldn't think such things; he could never wish the pain he felt on Malcolm.
*Save the anger for the Xindi*
Silence fell between the two men, Malcolm ate hungrily, but he found that he couldn't eat and fell back into his own thoughts.
*I'm so close to giving up 'cause faith is so hard to find*
The single song lyric drifted through his mind. He wondered what he would do once he'd found the Xindi-if they found the Xindi. Destroying the weapon was their main priority, no revenge to get in the way.
He found himself wondering if he really could continue like this. He stood up and made his excuses. One of the MACO's pushed his chair out sending him flying crashing to the ground landing face first in his untouched tray.
*Crash and burn, crash and burn*
His thoughts taunted him.
He opened his eyes and looked up. Malcolm was stood there holding out his hand.
*Why am I doing this?*
His thoughts screamed within the confines of his head.
Like a robot he reached up, Malcolm gripped his hand tightly and pulled him to his feet.
Suddenly he realised that sometimes you have to fall down, to remember why you need to get up again.
And with spaghetti sauce sliding down his face, a MACO apologising at his side and the rest of the crew watching on with morbid fascination he remembered why he was doing this.
*For Lizzie, I'm doing this for Lizzie*
~*~Um, yeah. Please review. I've never done a story without reams of dialogue, quite scary actually but anyway probably seems a bit OOC now I think about it but just humour me and review anyway~*~
The mess hall. Others are laughing and nattering away as he walks past them hands tightly gripping his tray. There's an empty table at the back. He won't be noticed there.
The MACO's are there too, Hayes is discussing the latest training session. Calmly he walks past and sits down at the table at the back. No one has noticed him.
Picking at his food he suddenly realises that he's not even hungry, he's just going through the motions, keeping to a routine.
Malcolm enters. He watches him grab a cup of tea. Good old Brits and their tea. Something's would never change. Malcolm caught he eye and nodded his head slightly. He looked down knowing he would now get company he didn't really want. He debated getting up and leaving but then he'd offend Malcolm and he couldn't really deal with that right now.
He had more important things on his mind.
Neuropressure had been helping but it wouldn't make the pain go away, wouldn't change what'd happened. Only make him refreshed for another day of going through the motions: eat, work, eat, work, eat, neuropressure, sleep.
Of course every so often the routine was disturbed. They'd get a new lead, bring him closer to the people who destroyed countless lives and wrecked billions of others.
But it seemed that with every step forward they'd take ten steps back, like the universe was against them, trying to thwart them at every turn.
Malcolm sat down jolting him from his thoughts.
He carried on light conversation though he honestly wasn't paying attention as Malcolm told him about what had happened to him that day. He felt jealous of him, jealous that the man before him could go home and give his sister a hug and laugh with her and talk with her.
*Why can't it be him? Why can't it be his sister?*
He felt a surge of guilt rush through him. He couldn't think such things; he could never wish the pain he felt on Malcolm.
*Save the anger for the Xindi*
Silence fell between the two men, Malcolm ate hungrily, but he found that he couldn't eat and fell back into his own thoughts.
*I'm so close to giving up 'cause faith is so hard to find*
The single song lyric drifted through his mind. He wondered what he would do once he'd found the Xindi-if they found the Xindi. Destroying the weapon was their main priority, no revenge to get in the way.
He found himself wondering if he really could continue like this. He stood up and made his excuses. One of the MACO's pushed his chair out sending him flying crashing to the ground landing face first in his untouched tray.
*Crash and burn, crash and burn*
His thoughts taunted him.
He opened his eyes and looked up. Malcolm was stood there holding out his hand.
*Why am I doing this?*
His thoughts screamed within the confines of his head.
Like a robot he reached up, Malcolm gripped his hand tightly and pulled him to his feet.
Suddenly he realised that sometimes you have to fall down, to remember why you need to get up again.
And with spaghetti sauce sliding down his face, a MACO apologising at his side and the rest of the crew watching on with morbid fascination he remembered why he was doing this.
*For Lizzie, I'm doing this for Lizzie*
~*~Um, yeah. Please review. I've never done a story without reams of dialogue, quite scary actually but anyway probably seems a bit OOC now I think about it but just humour me and review anyway~*~