A short little story. Some fluff, lots of friendship. Set around the end of season four.

RoaringMice was my beta reader for this one. As always, my grateful thanks.

Trip was lying on his bunk with his eyes closed when he heard the door bell chime; he grimaced and wondered if he could avoid answering it. All he wanted was a quiet evening alone with his thoughts. After a hard day's work, was that really too much to ask?

The chime sounded again. He sighed, passing a tired hand over his eyes. Go away, dammit, he willed.

"Trip?" The muffled voice was quite distinctive and in that one word had conveyed quite a range of feelings, among them stubborn resolve to wait until the call was answered.

Grunting, he rolled off the bed and shuffled to the door. With another, frustrated sigh he commanded it open and, crossing his arms over his chest, leaned against the frame, blocking the passage and giving Malcolm a far from welcoming look.

"You oughtta have the last issue of 'Weapons in history' waitin' for you in your quarters, if I'm not mistaken," he drawled, without moving. The hint was painfully clear and Mal was no idiot. Trip figured he'd take it and leave.

"It's not going anywhere. It will also be there tomorrow," Malcolm simply replied, holding his gaze.

"Well, I'm not goin' anywhere either," Trip said coolly. "I'll also be there tomorrow."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't," Trip anticipated him brusquely. "I'm in no mood for your pessimism," he spat out more angrily than he had intended.

Malcolm pursed his lips, a fleeting frown knitting his brow.

"I was only going to say that drinking alone is not much fun," he said in a quiet voice, raising a couple of bottles of beer he had kept hidden behind his back.

Trip looked at the bottles, then lifted his eyes to his friend's. Malcolm's eyes could be cold and cutting, but right now they were full of concern. He suddenly felt disgusted at himself for being rude with the one person who seemed to have rememberd and cared.

He shook his head and pushed off the door frame. "I... I'm sorry," he faltered. "I had no right."

"Damn right," Malcolm replied in a pretty good imitation of Trip's accent and with a faint smile that took the edge off the meaning of his words.

Trip purposefully did not react to the teasing and remained standing in the door frame, and Malcolm sighed, lowering the bottles again.

"Well, then," Malcolm said, inclining his head. "I suppose I'll keep them for another time."

Passing a nervous hand through his short hair, Trip said levelly, "Malcolm, look, I'm not good company tonight."

"I know that," his friend replied softly. "Why on earth do you think I'm here?" He paused before adding, "All the same, I won't insist, if that's how you prefer it. I'll see you tomorrow." He turned to leave.

"Wait," Trip stopped him hesitantly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Alright, maybe... a beer is not such a bad idea," he relented.

Malcolm gave him one of his smirks. This specific one had relief written all over it. Trip turned and led the way into his quarters. He dropped on his bunk and leaned back against the headboard, watching Malcolm take a seat in his desk chair.

In the almost four years of this mission they'd met countless times for a peaceful evening of friendly conversation. By now they knew automatically where each would sit: the owner of the quarters on his bunk and the 'guest' in the desk chair.

"What's this, are we reversin' roles?" Trip asked with a snort, watching Malcolm's hands as they busied themselves with the bottles. Usually it was the outgoing engineer who would try to draw the reticent lieutenant out of his shell. In the fleeting glance Malcolm shot him Trip read a little amusement and a lot of unease.

Malcolm uncapped the bottles and flipped the caps dexterously in Trip's wastepaper basket, smiling smugly when they hit their mark. Trip rolled his eyes.

Offering him a bottle, Malcolm said in a hollow voice, "Can't hurt for an hour or so – to reverse roles, that is. But don't ever ask me to leave you in command of the Armoury."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't want you and your explosive mind anywhere near my warp engine," Trip commented wryly.

They drank in silence. When Malcolm finally spoke, there was an edge to his voice that was alien to their firm friendship.

"We may be reversing roles, but I'm afraid you're far better in mine than I am in yours," he said almost painfully. "Perhaps I should have taken your hint and left," he commented wistfully.

Trip bit his lip. "Hell, Malcolm, I'm sorry I was such an ass," he said, regret clear in his voice.

Malcolm let out a soft laugh. "I've suffered worse. I think I'll survive"

Trip waited until his friend met his gaze before continuing. "Don't feel like you have to say anythin' okay?" He shrugged. "There's nothin' to say," he stated.

Leaning back in Trip's chair, Malcolm just looked at him.

"And I'm glad you broke through my barricades," Trip added with a tentative smile that smoothed out a few of Malcolm's worry lines.

Another few minutes went by in silence.

"Don't you ever feel that being on a spaceship is... displacing in some way?" Malcolm suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes. "Sometimes I feel as if we're living in a bubble, as if time doesn't really exist for us."

"Hmm. Nope, never felt like that," Trip replied. "It would be nice, though, "he added dreamily, shifting to find a more comfortable position and closing his eyes. "If time didn't exist, for one, we'd never get old," he slurred.

Malcolm chuckled. "That would surely boost enlistments in Starfleet."

Trip snorted: then he fell silent, lost in his thoughts, his breathing becoming deep and even.

"Trip... you still awake?" Malcolm asked softly after a few moments.

"Hmm. Just thinkin'," Trip murmured, with his eyes still closed. "If time did not exist for us..." his voice trailed.

"Yes...?" Malcolm prompted him.

"I guess... I could stop wishin' that I was able to rewind it back to before..." Trip's voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard.

"Do you still think of her?" Malcolm asked numbly. "I mean, a... a lot – do you still think of her a lot?" he amended awkwardly.

Trip opened his eyes and studied his friend. No doubt Malcolm was berating himself for the clumsily worded question. Usually he was quite an eloquent speaker, although offering words of comfort was definitely not his strong suit. But Malcolm was there for him, and despite his earlier misgivings he was grateful for the company.

"No, I don't," he admitted gravely. After a moment he added, "And I hate myself for it. I feel like I'm betrayin' her, not thinkin' of her all the time." He was expecting Malcolm to say that is was not so, that he shouldn't feel that way, so his answer caught him by surprise.

"Yes, that's the way one feels, isn't it?" he said, emotion uncharacteristically lacing his voice. "One tells oneself it's normal; that grieving must come to an end and life must go on. But that feeling of guilt resurfaces, every time we remember the dear ones we lost and realise we haven't thought of them in a long while," he commented bleakly.

Trip was struck. This was yet another unexpected glimpse that Malcolm was allowing him to take of his secretive self. He frowned, realising he knew really close to nothing of his friend's past. He had been under the obviously wrong impression that Malcolm had no one to grieve, let alone 'dear ones'. He pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"Do you feel like that for someone?" he ventured to ask looking at him with open curiosity.

Malcolm cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "Quite a few people, actually," he murmured. After a moment he drew a deep breath and continued, "But I suppose as long as we do remember them from time to time, we are fine."

"Yeah," Trip slowly agreed, turning Malcolm's words in his mind. "Yeah, you're right," he repeated more convincedly.

Silence stretched once again. Trip felt the anguish that had troubled him all through the day ease a little. Mal had been more help than he'd know.

"Thanks for carin'," he told him sincerely. "No one else remembered, it seems; not even the Capt'n," he said, disappointment evident in his voice.

It had hurt him to realise that Jon had forgotten the anniversary of the Xindi attack, and of Elizabeth's death. And in a way he'd been surprised to find that Malcolm, instead, hadn't. One more time the lieutenant had proven that his feelings ran much deeper than his cool exterior would let one think.

"Well, he and T'Pol are busy negotiating that treaty," Malcolm reminded him. "I'm quite certain that in a couple of days, when he's through with it, he'll suddenly remember."

"You're probably right," Trip replied thoughtfully.

Malcolm raised his beer and took a last swig. Shaking the empty bottle he sighed and said, "Sooner or later all good things come to an end..."

Trip's budding grin immediately faded and he saw Malcolm stare back at him in shock.

"Bloody hell, Trip, I... I'm such an idiot," he cursed under his breath. "I come here full of good intentions and all I seem to be able to do is..."

"Ah, take it easy, Malcolm," Trip interrupted him. "I'm not that brittle."

To prove the point he forced a chuckle and tried to make fun of the situation. "It was rather stingy of you, Lieutenant, to bring only two beers," he said, raising his own empty bottle.

Malcolm shook his head and eyed him as if gauging how safe it would be to joke back.

"As I was saying," he replied, "the Captain and T'Pol are busy. You and I, if you haven't noticed, are in charge of the ship these days. Can't have us end up in sickbay with a hangover, Commander."

"Ah, so it's for security reasons that we're not getting smashed tonight," Trip commented with a grin.

"Precisely," Malcolm replied. But once the Captain is back in his chair..." he left the rest unspoken and raised his eyebrows eloquently.

"Then we can get pissed and end up in sickbay?" Trip asked.

"Well, perhaps we just won't get so pissed that we need to disturb the Doctor," Malcolm suggested, cringing.

Trip's mouth curved up in a genuine smile, soon mirrored by his friend.

Another few minutes went by; then suddenly Malcolm got up and stretched, letting out a loud groan. He looked at Trip with searching eyes. "Call it a day?" he asked, and Trip knew he really meant will you be all right?

"Yeah," Trip simply replied, knowing his friend would understand I will, now.

"Night then, Commander."

"Night, Lieutenant."

THE END

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