Title: Killing Thing
Author: Sita Z
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG 13
Summary: When a planetside mission wreaks havoc in Trip's life, Malcolm is the only one who can help him. T/R Slash.
Disclaimer: They're not mine... I just borrowed them for a while... honestly, I'll put them back! Enterprise and her crew belong to Almighty Paramount, the original characters appearing in this story are mine.
AN: First of all, I'd like to thank my wonderful beta readers, Gabi and T'eyla, for their patience and their help... thanks so much, girls! I couldn't have finished this monster without you.
Please note: This story deals with a m/m pairing, which means that Trip and Malcolm are in a loving relationship. If you don't like that, you probably won't like the story. Although there is no graphic content, some of the chapters are rated R for language and violence. Please read the Author's Note before each chapter to check the rating.
New chapters will be added every two to three days.
And now, on with the story... as always, feedback and constructive criticism are very welcome :)!
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"Anger is a killing thing: it
kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had
been before - it takes something from him. "
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Chapter 1
"Trip!"
There was no answer. Malcolm let his finger rest on the door chime for a second, hesitated, then pushed it again.
"Trip, please! Open the door!"
No reaction. Malcolm hadn't expected one. Usually, he would have given up at that point, reluctant to make a nuisance of himself. This was different, however, in every possible way Malcolm could imagine, and he knew that this time, he could not turn away.
He pressed the door chime again. "Trip. Open the door. Or I'm going to do it."
The door didn't budge, nor was there any sign that someone in there had heard Malcolm's announcement. Malcolm closed his eyes. Truth was, he was afraid. He had no idea what to expect when he went in there. Involuntarily, he counted the times he had stood in front of Trip's quarters during the last three hours, his finger on the door chime, his heart hammering in his chest.
If I only knew what happened down there.
He didn't, though, and that was the point. The Captain wouldn't talk to him, wasn't available, as he had been told. When Malcolm had insisted, T'Pol had given him the closest thing to a glare Malcolm had ever seen from her.
"I suggest your return to your post, Lieutenant. This does not concern you."
He could not tell her that it did concern him, or why. She wouldn't understand, and even if she did, Malcolm wasn't going to share that part of his life with the Vulcan science officer. Or anyone else. Not yet, and maybe not ever. It was a thing he himself couldn't quite understand, how or why it had happened. But it had, and that was why Malcolm couldn't turn away, why it did concern him when Trip hid in quarters and refused to speak to anyone.
"Trip, I'm going to come in now."
Silence. Malcolm began to enter the security override code, pretending that his fingers didn't shake as he did so. The door slid aside to reveal darkness. In the light from the corridor, Malcolm saw someone lying on the bed with his back to the room, bundled in a layer of blankets. Trip didn't move, but Malcolm knew at once that he wasn't sleeping.
"I'm going to turn up the light a little, okay?" he said as softly as he could, not expecting an answer. Malcolm turned the light to its lowest setting, moving into the room until the door automatically closed behind him.
Trip had not moved, hadn't even turned his head. The only thing Malcolm could see of him were a few sandy strands of hair sticking out of the blanket bundle.
Slowly, he approached the bed. "Trip?"
No reaction. For the first time, Malcolm noticed that Trip's closet was open, his clothes strewn across the floor as if someone had frantically pulled them outside. Trip's beloved Hawaiian shirts lay crumpled in a corner, the particularly horrible one with the palm trees and toucans on top of the others. Malcolm remembered the long and pointless discussion they'd had about that shirt, he trying to explain why that kind of shirt shouldn't be worn in public, Trip insisting that, being British, Malcolm just didn't understand about that kind of thing. Now, that argument seemed years - decades - ago, like something that had happened in another life.
Malcolm sat down on the edge of the bunk.
"Trip?"
Finally, the blankets moved a little, if only because Trip was trying to retreat further into his cocoon.
"Go away." Trip's voice sounded muffled and hoarse, but at least he had spoken.
Carefully, Malcolm laid a hand on where he assumed Trip's shoulder to be. "Trip, I-"
Trip's reaction was violent. He threw off the blanket, and pushed Malcolm's hand away, so hard that Malcolm almost lost his balance.
"Get your fuckin' hands off me!"
Malcolm stared. Trip's face was a mess. His lip was split at least twice, and his left eye was swollen shut, surrounded by one of the worst bruises Malcolm had ever seen. What was almost worse, however, was the crazed expression on his face.
"Get out!" Trip continued, in that strange voice that didn't seem to belong to him. "I don't want you here!"
"Trip, what happened? Who did this to you?"
"I said get out! Get away from me!"
Trip's anger seemed to fill the air between them. Malcolm backed off and got to his feet, trying hard to stay calm.
"Trip, I need to know what happened. I want to help you."
"Well, maybe I don't want your help!" Trip was shouting now, and Malcolm saw that his hands were shaking. Not with anger, though. The realization hit Malcolm like a sudden rush of cold air. Trip was afraid. "Leave me alone!"
"Trip, I can't leave you alone." Aware that his actions might evoke another violent response, Malcolm approached Trip. "Not like that. You're-"
Trip came at him so suddenly that Malcolm almost had no time to react. He blocked Trip's fist only barely, catching the other man's wrists before Trip could pull back for another punch.
"Let me go!" Trip struggled to get away, his bruised face a grimace of uninhibited panic. "Get away from me you bastard let me go-"
Trip had no chance if Malcolm meant business; the few centimeters he had over the Armory Officer couldn't compensate for Malcolm's combat training. Still, Malcolm let go, sensing that holding on to Trip would be the worst thing he could do at the moment. He braced himself to block another attack from the distraught man, but it never came. Trip's breathing came heavily and he stumbled back to his bed, his upper body slightly bent forward as if in pain.
"Trip!"
Malcolm reached out to help him lie down, but Trip flinched away from his touch.
"Leave me alone, Malcolm."
Awkwardly, he lowered himself back on to the bunk, and Malcolm saw him wince as he pulled the blankets closer to his stomach.
"Trip, you're in pain." He sat back down on the bed. "Let me help you."
Trip turned away from him. "I said I don't want your help. Get out."
"No." Malcolm tried for a firm voice. "I'm not going to leave until you tell me what happened."
Trip said nothing, only pulled the blankets closer to himself and closed his eyes. Malcolm didn't need a translator to get the unspoken message: You do what you want, but I'm not going to talk to you.
"That's not going to work, Trip," he said. "I'm not going to go away."
He studied Trip's unmoving back, noticing that Trip was wearing his thick flannel sweater, on top of another woolen shirt. The short-cropped hair at the nape of his neck was drenched with sweat. A glance at the environmental controls confirmed Malcolm's suspicion; the room's temperature had been raised by at least five degrees.
"Trip, don't you-"
He stopped short. The sweater and shirt had ridden up Trip's back, revealing a narrow stretch of skin around the waist. Skin that was mottled with dark spots.
Without thinking, Malcolm pulled the fabric aside and saw the full extent of the bruises.
"Trip, what-"
Trip whipped around. "What are you doin'?"
Malcolm saw the panic and fury in his eyes, and quickly withdrew his hands.
"What happened to you?"
But Trip wasn't listening. He sat up, back flat against the wall, and stared at Malcolm with narrowed eyes.
"Don't you touch me," he whispered. "Don't you ever, ever touch me again, y'hear?"
Malcolm nodded and raised his hands to show that he meant no harm. "Okay, Trip," he said, forcing his voice to sound calm. "Okay. I'm not going to touch you. But I want to know what happened to you. How did you get those bruises?"
Trip clutched the blankets to his chest, as if trying to erect a shield between himself and Malcolm. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"Did Phlox take a look at you?" Like everybody else, the doctor had been less than forthcoming, and had mentioned only reluctantly that Commander Tucker had been "uncooperative about the examination". Judging from the med equipment scattered all over the sickbay floor, that had been putting it mildly.
Trip turned his head away. "Go away, Malcolm."
"Trip." Malcolm leaned forward, careful not to touch the man sitting across from him. "I can't do that. I need to know what's going on. I don't know what happened down on that planet, but I can see that something went wrong. The Captain's been hiding in his quarters ever since you came back. T'Pol refuses to talk to anyone. And you..."
You're not acting yourself.
"I want to help you, Trip. But I can only do so if you tell me what happened."
Trip stared straight ahead. "There's nothin' to tell. I have nothin' to say to you."
Malcolm saw the moisture rimming Trip's eyes, the way he furiously wiped at it with his hand, and did the only thing he could think of: he reached out and pulled Trip close.
It was a mistake. Trip pushed him away, and this time Malcolm did lose his balance. Sitting on the floor, he stared up at Trip who had retreated to the farthest corner of his bed. Panic that came close to insanity glinted in his eyes.
"Get out!" he hissed. "Get away from me!"
Very slowly, Malcolm got up, retreating to the door. Trip watched his every move, and only relaxed when Malcolm reached for the door opener.
"I'm going to come back later," Malcolm said softly. "I never meant any harm, Trip."
Trip only stared at him. His hands were clenched to fists, shaking.
Malcolm stepped outside, watching as the door slid shut behind him. His hands were trembling, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Crazy. This was crazy. Something terrible had happened, and all they got from the people involved was silence. Or, in Trip's case, anger and fear that bordered on insanity. Trip's bruised face came back to Malcolm's mind, the way he had cringed back from his touch. It hurt Malcolm's very soul to think about it.
I'm going to kill them, he thought, irrationally, not sure if it was his own, sensible mind speaking or... something else. Something so deep within himself that rational thought couldn't touch it. Before Trip, he hadn't even known that part of himself existed. But it came to the surface, every time Trip joined an away mission or ended up in sickbay, leaving Malcolm worrying and pacing and tearing his heart out. And now, after he had seen Trip hiding in the dark like a frightened animal, it left him angrier than he could remember ever being before. Don't give a shit who they are, or what they've done, or why they've done it. Someone had hurt Trip. And Malcolm was going to kill them.
TBC...
Please let me know what you think!
