Disclaimer: I do not own Enterprise or its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only, I make no money from these works.
Author's note: Thanks for the reviews, and sorry it's been so long between updates on this. I haven't abandoned it, I've just been really, really writer's blocked on it.
Actually, Starwind, 'Horsemen' is a term I picked up while doing volunteer work with the RCMP (if you're interested in doing that, and are 19 with no criminal record, check out your local Community Policing Access Centre (CPAC). It really is a great place to get some valuable experience, even if you don't plan to enter the Law Enforcement field). It is a term usually used by other law enforcement agencies (for example the Vancouver Police Department), to refer to the RCMP, but is occasionally used by Members – they're not generally officers, but Members of the force – themselves. While 'Mounties' is the more common colloquial term (especially among the general public), 'Horsemen' is used quite commonly in the Law Enforcement field, perhaps most famously and publicly by Larry Campbell, former City Coroner and now Mayor of Vancouver, though it was quite common in one of my criminology courses as well – the instructor's husband is a Downtown Eastside Vancouver beat patrol officer, and we often had visits from members of various police forces. (Might I also recommend the excellent documentary 'Through A Blue Lens' to anyone who might be interested in the issues involving one of Vancouver's most notorious districts. It was actually filmed by the 'Downtown Eastside' officers).
Sorry about the long explanation, but I wanted it to be clear that my decision to use the term was not taken lightly, and I am not intending to insult anyone by getting defensive, but rather to explain how I decided to include the information in question. I do – normally – appreciate corrections such as that, it's just that this is one of the rare times I've had information from outside the normally available circles. (Also, if you include a way for me to contact you, I can get back to you more quickly to answer any questions you may have).
Chapter 5: The Thin White Line
"So… how did you convince the 'Wicked Witch of the West' I could be trusted?" Trip leaned over and spoke out of the side of his mouth.
"Actually, it was her idea." Malcolm pretended not to look at Trip, but allowed himself a moment of enjoyment at the engineer's shock. I'll bet that was the last thing you expected. "I convinced her you were too basically stupid to pull this off."
"Well as long as you were only commenting on my basic stupidity. I don't know how you can stand it, Mal. And before you bring up Hess – she is smarter than anyone else around here… and she doesn't go rubbing it in everyone's face."
"T… Ensign Holley doesn't either." He nearly said Torey, but caught himself in time. The last thing he needed right now was for Trip to start hassling him on that point.
Trip raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"She's not saying she's smarter. She just knows more on the topic. And this is a very stressful situation for all of us. Just because she's dealt with it more doesn't mean that she doesn't experience the same amount of horror as the rest of us." He didn't feel like adding in the details. "And she is letting you in on this… which does seem to be what you wanted."
"I don't like sitting on my hands," Trip admitted. He picked up another piece of the bio-bed and ran his scanner over it. "So far there doesn't seem to be a hardware problem… which means it's probably in the programming. I'm okay with software… but I know somebody who's better."
"Do what you can, first," Malcolm advised. "We're trying to keep the number of people directly involved with this to a minimum. The gossip mill is bad enough as it is… we don't need more tidbits getting back to whomever is responsible. Worse yet, since we haven't eliminated anybody…" he made sure to emphasise the last word – Trip could get rather eager and talkative at times, "if the killer gets access to the evidence…"
"You mean the… the ensign is a suspect?" Trip's lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.
"I damn well better be." Both men jumped as Torey entered the conversation. "Despite my security clearance."
"Well, you would be the best equipped to pull something off." And Trip said Torey had trouble with basic civility. "After all, you do know more about this than anybody else."
"With the exception of the substances used. Lieutenant Reed seems to have an advantage over me there."
Now Trip did let the smile appear. "Malcolm. You've been holding out on me. I never knew you were an expert in pharmaceuticals."
"Hardly pharmaceuticals, Commander. More along the lines of toxic substances. They've been part of the history of warfare since there's been a history of warfare." Not to mention that a number of them were highly addictive substances. Scary, really, when you thought about it. Seems like an evolutionary flaw… that we can become hooked on so many deadly things. Even alcohol – common as it was – could be deadly in the right amounts, or over a long enough period of time. Then again, maybe it did feed in to 'survival of the fittest.' Those of the species smart enough to avoid such things…
Aren't always the ones who reproduce. And didn't the evidence point toward addiction – or at the very least the tendency towards addiction – as being hereditary? Suddenly Malcolm's lack of offspring in that alternate future didn't seem like an entirely bad thing at all. After all, God only knows what disadvantages I'd start them out with.
"You all right, Mal?" Trip's voice cut into his musings.
Malcolm looked down and saw his hands shaking, just slightly. "Craving. It'll disappear. Excuse me." He stepped back and tried not to look like he was looking for a place to disappear to, himself.
"I still have a bucket of water," Trip called after him, as he headed off among the crates. "Don't make me come over there and use it."
"Bucket of water?" Torey sounded confused.
"He keeps setting himself on fire." The way Trip raised his voice, it was clear he wanted Malcolm to hear the conversation. "At least that's what smoke means in my experience. And being the conscientious person that I am…"
"Being the complete asshole that he is," Malcolm shouted back.
"Does it work?" Torey caught on quickly.
"Apparently not," Trip admitted, as Malcolm leaned around the corner and pointedly struck a match. "Some people need remedial training."
You wouldn't dare. Still, Malcolm inhaled quickly, wanting to get as much of it consumed as he could before the Mother Hen pulled something. He heard a rattle from Trip's direction and tried to ignore it.
"Fuck!" He screamed as water and bits of ice poured off his head and down his uniform, some of it working its way inside. "You bastard!"
"I warned you." Trip finished by dropping the bucket itself over Malcolm's head and knocking on it with his fist. "Why is it that you never listen to me?"
"Because maybe I keep hoping one day you'll wake up with a brain."
"I'm not that Scarecrow." Trip laughed maniacally at Malcolm's look of confusion.
"Batman." Torey supplied. "Scarecrow used fear and intimidation to control his victims. Not to mention the fact that he was a tall, skinny-ass loser with lousy social skills."
"Watch it." Trip's face darkened.
"You brought it up," Torey told him mildly. "I'm merely confirming that the label fits." She leaned against one of the containers. "Except, of course, the fear and intimidation part."
"Children," Malcolm figured he'd better step in before it got bloody. "Either play nice, or I'm sending you to the corner." Why else he felt the need to stop it, he wasn't sure, except for the lingering, involuntary jealousy he always felt. And you're not even aware that you do it, are you? Probably not. If Trip knew that whenever it was the two of them 'out on the town,' Malcolm always found himself with whomever was 'left over' after Trip had made his choice… well, Trip would probably fall all over himself to stop it from happening – which would only make things worse.
"Know-it-all, bitch." Malcolm barely caught Trip's mutter as the Southerner turned away, but he could tell from Torey's face that she heard him clearly.
Malcolm stepped in and spoke softly to Torey. "That is a sensitive point with him, you know."
"What? King of the Comic Book/Movie Trivia? It's not all that impressive, really."
"Actually, that's not it." Not that he expected her to believe the truth – if it hadn't been for that time on Shuttlepod One, he wouldn't believe it either. But despite his success at appearing confident, Trip didn't deep down believe that he was an important, or even a good person at all. That was the reason he took every slight personally, because to him they were real, and somehow more valid than a compliment. King of Illusions, maybe. People wonder how two people so opposite can be friends… but it's because we're not opposite at all. Trip had just come up with the more ingenious solution. Nobody ever guessed how private he kept himself, because he projected the image of being laid bare for the world to see.
But all they see is a caricature – a comic-book/movie character with as much dimension as a line. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. But you don't need to point a phase pistol at somebody confident just to get them not to kill themselves. Out of the entire crew, only Captain Archer and Lieutenant Hess knew more about that vulnerability, which was one of the reasons they were so damn protective of him. We're not friends, we're a cult. What was the line from that song? 'Everybody needs their kryptonite?' Trip just hid his demons well.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me what Mr. Sensitive's problem is, so I can avoid it in the future." There was no missing the sarcasm in Torey's voice; she was not a member of the cult.
"That he is sensitive. You might think he doesn't care about people, but he does. A lot." He leaned closer and lowered his voice further, though his tone left no doubt that what he was saying did not fall into the realm of common gossip. Malcolm hadn't even told Archer all the details of what happened on that Shuttlepod – he felt Trip needed to keep his dignity. "You want to know why we're friends? Because I found out that there are people out there more screwed up than I am, and he's one of them. You think I don't know what it's like to have a friend who can be suicidal? Try again, Ensign. People joke about him having no survival instincts, but it's true. He actually doesn't give a damn about his own life – someone else's is always more important."
"The true hero."
"No." Malcolm fought down the urge to smack her. "Not because he's a hero, but because when it comes down to himself, he really doesn't think there's something there worth saving. Half the time, I think he's still alive simply because the rest of us want him to be, and he doesn't want to disappoint us." Trip had been so shocked when Malcolm stepped in to save him, as though it was impossible someone would even undertake that small effort to save his life. "Don't take away what little things he has." That was the other reason he couldn't see Trip as their killer: these didn't seem to be his style. Malcolm didn't harbour any illusions about his friend's capacity to kill, or even to commit premeditated murder, but from what they could tell, there was no passion to these kills. If Trip murdered somebody, it would be to send a message, and a very clear one at that.
Torey fell silent for a moment, studying him "Has anyone ever told you that you might have a natural talent for profiling?"
Malcolm blinked. "Profiling?" The comment seemed to have come from nowhere.
"It's a trick. I can't do it. There's too many little things to keep track of, and not all of them are quantifiable. But certain types of people do commit certain types of crimes. The trick is looking at the crime and figuring out what type of person would commit it, then narrowing your subject pool to people with those qualities. Most times, though, people don't recognise the signs. Most serial killers are described by their neighbours as 'nice, normal, quiet guys.' Ted Bundy actually worked a fucking suicide crisis line… and he was apparently good at it."
It sounds like your problem is that it requires empathy. His anger was fading, though, so he didn't say it aloud. After all, Torey had a lot of reasons not to have empathy. Because empathy could lead to sympathy, and therein lay madness. "Thank you for admitting I have some useful talent, Ensign."
"Careful, though." She seemed to grow distant. "It's dangerous. The best profilers learn to think from a killer's perspective. Nietzsche was right there: sometimes the Abyss does look back."
Do you know that from experience? He didn't dare ask aloud though, half afraid that she might give him an answer. After all, what is your monster, Ensign? "Don't worry about me on that front, Ensign. Been there, done that, taken the guilt trip afterwards. Captain might have given the order, but remember, I am the one who fired the torpedoes." He left her contemplating that, and headed back over to Trip.
"She's wrong, you know." Trip spoke softly, looking at Torey as though she was a spy. "He's not a drunk."
"Excuse me?" Malcolm knew who Trip must mean, but it seemed strange – like Torey, Trip was pulling comments out of nowhere.
"Jon. He's not a drunk. I've lived with it too… Ms. Merry Sunshine isn't the only one who knows the symptoms." Trip chewed on his lip, though, from him an indicator that he wasn't telling the whole truth.
"I never…"
"Hey. Just because you love someone doesn't mean that they don't have flaws." Trip tapped his hand against his leg, nervously. "I mean, she made great peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and she always made sure we got off to school in the morning… but there were days when you could count on her not being able to pick you up. And… and we always called first if a friend wanted to come over after school, because that's not something you want your friends to have to see. So, yeah, Malcolm, I know what it's like – I'm not naïve enough to say it doesn't happen – but I do know Jon, and I know that's not his problem."
Another Trip secret that nobody knows. No wonder sometimes Trip's depictions of his past were so small and vague. Yet it explained a lot: his protective streak for one. Even though he never indicated his mother was violent… it would still be something to shield his younger siblings from. And I'll bet you took care of her, too. It showed in his ability to accept so many flaws in people – his ability to shrug off a deep dark secret as 'just another thing.' And to think I used to be envious of that talent.
"I'm sorry."
Trip shrugged. "Nothing you can be sorry for, Mal. Sometimes I think I'm headed in the same way. But not Jon." He shook his head, staring off into space. "Not Jon." He blinked suddenly, and looked thoughtfully at Malcolm. "How do you know so much about poisons, anyway?"
"Suffice it to say, you're not the only one with a strange family."
"Any resource ideas? 'Cause I should probably try an' keep up with you guys if I'm 'sposed to be helping you." The second sentence came out almost too fast, like an excuse. Malcolm felt a sudden chill.
No, you wouldn't kill someone for you. But you'd risk your own neck to protect someone else's wouldn't you? Especially if you thought they'd done something. The question was, which 'cult member' was it? It could only be someone Trip was close to, because he did have some sense of propriety and justice – even if it could be skewed at times. Surely you don't think it's me…even if I do know more about poisons than the average person. Which pretty much left Hess and the captain. Again, these crimes didn't seem like Hess' work – she was brilliant, but tended to act on the spur of the moment rather than plan. Which left Archer.
I do not want to believe that he's been killing off members of his own crew… no matter what kind of stress he's been under. His own choice of words worried him however. Not 'I can't believe' but 'I don't want to believe.' I don't have ultimate faith, either.
"Once you have eliminated the impossible…" Malcolm whispered it under his breath. Of course just because Trip believed it was possible, didn't mean that it was the truth. How many people did stupid things because they thought they needed to protect someone who didn't really need protecting? Too many to count. Besides, he didn't even know for sure that Trip did suspect Archer of anything.
Well, yes, I do… because the only reason Trip would mention something like his mother being an alcoholic would be to send me off somewhere else. Because Trip doesn't say things like that, he's always presented the 'happy family' image in the little things he's told us. Another memory flickered in from Shuttlepod One, Trip's stubborn refusal to write any letters home. I doubt it was simply because you were trying to convince me that we weren't going to die. No… Trip probably knew that part before Malcolm had, and had just reflexively fought against giving up. But he'd written letters to nobody, not his sister, not his brother, not his parents – almost as though he'd had no one to write to. True, he'd gone nearly insane with the news of Elizabeth's death, but hadn't Malcolm read somewhere that such a thing was common among families with unresolved issues and a lack of ability to communicate?
Malcolm took a step backward and looked over at Torey and back at Trip. Profiling, is it? Well, there did seem to be some commonalities, even if they dealt with it in different ways. A lack of desire for sympathy. Torey was so hard-nosed and hard-headed about things that people had trouble mustering any kind of sympathy for her, and Trip rarely gave people things to feel sympathetic about. I'll bet even Captain Archer doesn't know about your mother.
Or how about a need to take on a 'caretaker' role? For Torey it was law-enforcement and protecting the weak from the predators. Whereas Trip took the 'mother' route, fussing over people when they were sick or injured, and doing his best to be sure that he could bandage the wounds when they fell down and skinned their knees. Then again, Torey had grown up needing to protect herself from a predator, while Trip had been forced to take on that mothering role when the person who should have been doing it sequestered herself in a bottle. Wasn't that something else the scientists had tracked down? That among men it was generally 'fight or flight,' but among women it tended to be 'protect or nurture.' What if that response wasn't entirely biological, however? Because these two did seem to have it backwards, but if Torey had only ever known a male caretaker and Trip had been forced to take on the role of a female one… Just call me Malcolm Reed, amateur psychologist.
In fact, looking at it… Trip's response to his sister's death had been more in line with a parent losing a child, than a brother losing a sister. Every little fact explains a little bit more.
"Is there a problem, sir?" Torey seemed more aware than Trip that she was being watched.
"No… no… just seeing if I can work on some of this profiling you mentioned."
She gave him an odd look, but said nothing. He nearly smiled. Just call me Malcolm Reed, natural oddity.
He woke to emergency alarms, and threw himself out of bed, not even bothering to get dressed. It's not the first time I've been seen in the halls in my underwear lately. At least this time he had a decent excuse.
The computer read-out identified it as a fire alarm in – of all places – the botany lab. Sighing, he took off at a jog, wondering what had happened in there this time. Black smoke still billowed from the doors as he approached – it appeared as though the extinguishers hadn't functioned properly.
People milled around in various stages of dress, muttering nervously.
"What the hell is going on here?" Archer grabbed Malcolm's arm. "Has somebody got a grudge against plants or something?"
"Sir?" As he pried the captain's hand away, Malcolm noted that the other man was sweating. He also looked like he'd been in there, either fighting the blaze, or helping rescue specimens.
"I just got here, sir. Why didn't the extinguishers take care of it?" Something about the air here seemed to be muddling his thought processes.
"I don't know." Archer sounded more agitated than usual. "I'm going to have Trip take a look at them. In the meantime, I think this one falls to you and Ensign Holley. I assigned you to stop the crime spree on this ship, Malcolm, not encourage it."
Right, right. Right now, however, the problem seemed to be crowd control. "If you could please return to your quarters or your stations… the situation is under control here; there is no danger to the rest of the ship." He coughed as another gust of smoke came through the doors. Ironic, that: you of all people choking on smoke. "We'll let you know what happened as soon as we know."
"Come on, sir… I'm going to need your help on this." Torey's hand landed on his shoulder, and Malcolm winced. She was fully dressed, and had even taken the time to grab her evidence kit.
"Aren't I allowed to put a uniform on, first?" He tried for sarcasm, even as he knew it would be useless.
Torey shook her head. "No time. Evidence disappears quickly after a fire, and you'll be able to log it for me, even if you're not well set up to collect it."
"Right." He suppressed a sigh. She has – after all – seen worse.
They were about half-way through their initial survey when Trip joined them.
"Hands off, Commander," Torey warned. "I don't want you touching anything."
"Do you mind if I use a scanner to do a diagnostic? Captain does want me to figure out why these extinguishers never kicked in. I don't think it's a system-wide problem… but not every department keeps their Health and Safety inspections up to date."
Right… and that's one of the committees you sit on. People laughed at that: one of the top members of the H&S committee tended to be one of the people who ended up in Sickbay the most. "Let me guess… botany is a problem."
"In some areas," Trip confirmed. "Like regularly scheduled tests and drills. Maintenance."
"I'd like a look at those logs, Commander." Torey regarded Trip with a new light in her eyes.
Trip didn't even turn around. "Sure… it's not like they're restricted. OSHA doesn't let us… and, while we may be an international vessel in deep space, they've still got some say in how we run things. Frankly… given Starfleet's track-record in the area, it's pretty damn good that they do."
"Commander, you're responsible for a good portion of Starfleet's track-record in the area." Malcolm wasn't sure why he felt the need to argue with Trip, except that he was irritated and the engineer was sounding a little too distracted. For one thing, he hadn't made a single remark about Malcolm's mode of dress.
"I keep a good Engineering, Malcolm… but there's only so much you can do when you're a Lieutenant and your captain won't pick up things. Captain Jeffries built shrines to occupational hazards. Which is one of the reasons I got onto the committee in the first place."
"Founded it, more like." Malcolm muttered. He hadn't even heard of Occupational Health and Safety until Enterprise was halfway built, and suddenly teams of bureaucrats started doing monthly walkthroughs and pointing out all the problems.
"I'll admit, they weren't very active until I got in there… but I've got enough coordination problems without somebody building a labyrinth of spare parts on the floor. Besides, I thought you – of all people – would have an appreciation for the protection of life and limb."
"I don't have an appreciation for extra memos and meetings – or someone with a suit and a clipboard telling me how I'm supposed to build a torpedo launcher." Though, he had to admit, it did tie in with the new vision of Trip as a 'concerned mother.' Wanting to make sure that the kiddies are protected. What was interesting was how Sim had mentioned none of Trip's issues, either. He had the memories… and he must have somehow known that he wasn't supposed to tell.
Come to think of it, that little bastard was pretty close-mouthed, too. Of course, at the time, Malcolm hadn't thought to ask – respecting Trip's privacy instead. The kid had pulled the same deflection techniques, though… hadn't he added some happy anecdotes of his own? But it was always just incidents, just the way Trip did – bits and pieces that, when it came down to it, told you nothing. Oh well, he had another source to try on that – he just had to make sure he convinced them that he was trying to help.
Malcolm took a deep breath and pressed the door buzzer. Torey'd finally finished collecting her evidence, so her need for a secretary had vanished. Malcolm had gratefully escaped and returned to his quarters for his morning ritual – reworked as it was to add the new step – and now prepared himself for battle. This was worse than dealing with a Klingon, or an Andorian, or even an insane Xindi reptilian. This was…
The door hissed open. "Malcolm. What do you want?"
… a lawyer. Not only that, but a founding member of the Cult of Tucker, and rather irrational when it came down to things like that.
"Can we speak…" he cleared his throat nervously, "… inside?" He'd heard nearly every rumour Torey had mentioned the other day, and knew that every time he and Hess spoke it added more gunpowder to the load. At least right now she wasn't too outrageously dressed – some of her clothing had been purposely torn and worn out. At least this was an actual T-shirt – sometimes he'd swear she was wearing just lingerie – and the skirt reached down to the knee.
"Sure, Malcolm." She stepped aside to let him past. "I didn't know you could talk to me… given the nature of our respective tasks, and all."
"Don't police officers and attorneys speak all the time?" At the same time, her training was in American law, and the procedures could be quite different.
Her eyebrows rose, telling him that she was having trouble believing it could be as simple as that.
"Erm… yes…" How to put this… "You know Commander Tucker fairly well, right?"
She raised her hand and turned her head away. "No way, Lieutenant. You know I can't discuss anything like that. Especially not now, and especially not with you." Of course not – out of everyone, Hess would know best that Trip remained an obvious suspect, and she was his lawyer after all.
"How much do you know about his family?" He rushed it out, so she wouldn't have a chance to interrupt.
Her hackles dropped a little, but not entirely. "Some… where is this going, Malcolm?"
"How much do you know about his mother?"
She walked over to the bed and sat down, not looking at him. "You're probably right, Malcolm… he probably doesn't want you looking at something else."
I didn't say that. Then again, he probably didn't need to say it. If anyone knew Commander Tucker – more than Malcolm, more even than Captain Archer – it was Hess, his partner in crime, his confessor, his surrogate sister. "So he doesn't talk about her a lot."
"Once or twice he's mentioned a few things… I can't tell you because I'm sworn not to, and it's unreliable testimony anyway…"
In other words, he couldn't even tell you without being drunk. Even when he couldn't walk, even then he could never let go of all of his sorrows. Oh, they'd catch up to him then –Malcolm had seen enough evidence of that – but Trip would just gather them up and hold them close so none of them would get away. Protecting them. Playing mother.
"He told me that Captain Archer hasn't been drinking… even though everyone else says that there's something going on with the man." He sat down in the desk chair, unable to remain standing. Besides, this wasn't an interrogation, he didn't need any implications of power imbalance. This was a sharing, a mutual interest in helping a friend. Or maybe a confession of his own, to cleanse his troubled soul. "Even I know there's something. He's been out of character lately, and I know Trip can worry, but he usually doesn't worry this much for no reason."
Hess shook her head. "He hasn't told me anything, either. Whatever it is, he wants to handle it himself. Which probably isn't smart…"
But it's empathetic. Trip's 'kryptonite' wasn't what he thought it was: it wasn't a predisposition to drink. In fact, if he needed to, Trip could probably abandon any pretence towards rebellion and actually live a life more suited to a monk. But don't ask him not to care.
Hess studied him, trying to read his face. "Something interesting happened today, didn't it?"
Like you didn't know. Hess was as well-connected as Trip, if not more. Then he realised that she'd never expect him to be that stupid, that in a roundabout way she was trying to tell him something, probably something she couldn't tell him directly.
"There was a fire in botany," he confirmed, cautiously.
"Wow. Someone got a grudge against plants?" She appeared to be acting innocent, which was another big clue.
"You know, Captain Archer asked me the exact same thing." He realised how to play this game now: neither one of them could acknowledge that they knew or suspected anything. He had enough to get started on, and better it was only one person to betray trust than two.
"Okay, there is something wrong if he and I are thinking alike. Check with Phlox to see if his brain was stolen by aliens." She stood up as Malcolm did, and walked him to the door.
As the door slid open, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, and Malcolm?"
"Yes?" He turned to look at her, puzzled.
"You really might want to consider giving those things up. It's not like you don't know you can do it, and we're all here for you if you need us."
"What things?" After all, any lingering smoke smell could be blamed on the fire. And he didn't see Trip as being the tattle-tale, even to Hess.
She stood up on her toes and kissed him behind the ear, the way a mother might with a small child. "I think you know what things I'm talking about, Malcolm. They're really not that good for you, and they can do such horrible things to your skin and your teeth and your breath. And you've already got enough problems when it comes to breathing, why do you need to give yourself more?" She tapped him on the chest, and her eyes were serious. "The Boy's worried about you, too. So…" she clasped her hands together as though in prayer or supplication.
"Right." Trust Hess to use cult affiliations to try for a commitment. How many people misunderstood her nickname for the commander? But the way she used it… to her Commander Tucker was like Evil Thing from the Great Beyond, or Igor, or Porthos sometimes, even… just another helpless creature in need of protection. And now I've become that, too. He decided to go for at least some semblance of honesty, even if it was only to the squirrel. "Just… not right now." After all, as every addict knew, there was always later to kick the habit. Or as the honest man said: Yeah, right.
A/N2: The song quote by Malcolm in this chapter actually reads… 'I guess Superman was right, some people need their kryptonite, gotta have something to take them away.' It's from 'Thin White Line' by Trooper, and thematically the song does touch on many of the same things as in this story, which is one of the reasons I used it for the chapter title. It's one of the saddest songs I've ever heard.