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As Malcolm exited the lift after the meeting, he felt a strong tug at his arm, and Trip pulled him aside roughly.
"We need to talk," Trip whispered, his eyes flashing. Then he waved him forward. Concerned, Malcolm followed him down the corridor and into Trip's room.
Trip turned on him as soon as the door shut, distressed, his hand thrust forward. "I found this."
Malcolm looked down into Trip's palm and saw his tubing and the cap from his needle. He felt his stomach drop and he looked up sharply. "Have you been searching through my things?"
Trip stepped forward. "What is this?" When Malcolm didn't answer, Trip yanked up Malcolm's sleeve, exposing his arm. Seeing the fairly fresh needle marks in the crook of his elbow, Trip asked, his voice almost plaintive, "What the fucking Christ are you doing to yourself?"
Malcolm pulled his arm away and rolled his sleeve down rapidly. He didn't want people to know...he didn't...he couldn't...he tried to use his anger to focus, but he could feel his heart racing, his breath coming in short gasps.
Trip sank down onto his bed. "Sit, Malcolm," he said, his voice flat.
Malcolm sat next to him, staring at the far wall, the desk, anywhere but at his friend. After a moment, he managed to gain control of his breathing.
"Malcolm..."
"I did it to get close to the smugglers," Malcolm said in a quiet voice. "They were drug runners. There was no other way to complete the mission on Denox." He glanced at Trip, then away. "It was part of my cover."
Trip shook his head. "Jesus."
"I'm trying to stop," Malcolm said, and turned to fully face Trip.
"You need help."
"No. I'll quit on my own." As Trip shook his head, Malcolm leaned forward. "I don't want it to become part of my record." Seeing Trip's doubt, he said, "You don't understand."
Trip took Malcolm's hand. He stared into his friend's eyes, and then he sighed. In a soft voice, he said, "You can't keep working while you're like this. There's no way that someone in this job can be wanting a fix."
Malcolm tried to pull away. "You can't tell anyone."
Trip held his hand firmly. "I can't promise that. This is too important." As Malcolm tried to pull away again, Trip leaned in. In a near-whisper, he said, "This is your life, and perhaps even more than that, this could affect the lives of others. If you weren't doing drugs, you'd see that."
Malcolm stopped struggling, and Trip went on. "I need to at least tell Phlox. And the Captain."
Malcolm sat, staring at his friend. Then he sighed. "Give me an hour."
Trip's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Trip, please. I just want to get my head in order before..." He hesitated. "Before my life changes," he said wryly.
Trip gave a brief nod. "One hour. Then I'll come get you in your quarters, and we're going to Phlox. Right?"
Malcolm nodded and gave Trip what he hoped was a sincere smile.
x-x
Once Malcolm reached his own quarters, he began frantically packing a bag: his knife, ration bars, some random clothing, and toiletries. When the bag was ready, he stripped off his uniform, changing into civilian attire. Picking his uniform up from the floor, he shook it out, then folded it carefully and placed it neatly at the end of his bed.
He lifted his bag, and stepped towards the door. He turned back to his room for one last look, letting his eyes rest on his uniform, the commendations above his bed, and finally a framed photo of himself and Trip, taken on their ill-fated shore leave on Risa. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself, then triggered the door and left.
Once inside his office, he opened the drawer, slid aside the false bottom, and removed the silver case. Knowing his time was short, he pocketed it and walked quickly to the shuttlebay, striding purposefully to a shuttle, locking its doors shut as he triggered the engines.
Hoshi's voice came across the comm. "Shuttlepod One, please respond." Malcolm ignored her as he triggered the shuttlebay's doors and began lifting off.
The Captain's angry voice was next. "Shuttlepod One. Power down and prepare to be boarded."
Malcolm quirked a half-smile and gunned the engines, moving the shuttle out of the docking bay and into space. Working quickly, he triggered a new trick he'd been wanting to try; something special to take the shuttle off Enterprise's sensors.
Then Trip's voice came over the comm., and Malcolm froze. His friend sounded hurt, betrayed. "Malcolm, what are you doing?"
Malcolm opened the comm. "Trip, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking.
"Malcolm..."
"I only did it because I had to, and now, I can't stop." He paused, trying to control the shaking in his voice. "I've tried. I can't."
He heard Trip sigh across the link. "You told me that you did what you did for duty, because you had to. But I don't believe that you really had to put a needle in your arm."
Malcolm sat there, unmoving.
"And I don't believe that you really want to stop," Trip continued. "What's your pain, Malcolm? What does the needle make go away?"
Malcolm sat in silence for a moment, shaken. Then he steeled himself and said, "I'm programming the shuttle's beacon to go off an hour after I land so that you can find her and bring her back."
Trip's voice came again. "Malcolm..."
Malcolm turned off the comm. and manoeuvred the shuttle towards the planet below. Denox. Fitting that he should be returning so soon, back to where all this started, he thought. Back to the life he was living whilst he'd been undercover.
He landed in a remote area, setting the shuttle down in a small, well-sheltered clearing. Stepping outside with his bag on his shoulder, he shivered against the cold, wrapping his arms around himself. He tilted his head up towards the sky and let the cold rain trickle down his face.
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