Title: Killing Thing

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to everybody who reviewed Chapter 5!

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Chapter 6

"Doctor?" Malcolm's voice broke the silence in sickbay's main room. He heard steps approaching, and then a soft rustle as the curtain was drawn aside.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm didn't turn his head as Phlox came in.

"I think Trip's waking up."

Almost as if on cue, the sleeping man stirred again, groaning slightly. Phlox stepped closer to check the readings on the bio monitor.

"Looks well enough," he said, and finally Malcolm lifted his eyes to look at the doctor.

"Is he... is he going to be okay?"

"He is "okay", as a matter of fact," the doctor replied. "His EEG readings have returned to normal."

A huge weight lifted off Malcolm's soul at these words. He had known, of course, that Trip's condition was only temporary - the Captain was living proof that the neurological imbalance had left no permanent damage. However, the memory of Trip curled up on his desk chair, muttering and rocking back and forth like a madman in a padded cell was too fresh in his mind to be ignored.

Trip's bruised face, almost peaceful in slumber, twitched, and he gave a small, pained moan. Malcolm watched him worriedly. No matter what the doctor said, Trip didn't seem "okay" to him. He tightened his grip on his partner's hand, and stroked its back with his thumb.

"It's alright, Trip. Open your eyes, it's going to be okay."

The hand under his fingers tensed, as if Trip had suddenly noticed that there was someone touching him. Then, he opened his eyes, turning his head away when the bright light hit him in the face.

"Trip!" Malcolm was so relieved he felt an actual smile spread on his face. "I..."

Trip turned his head back to look at them, and Malcolm's smile froze. The insane fear was gone from Trip's eyes, had apparently vanished along with the mysterious imbalance, but Malcolm wasn't sure if he liked the look that replaced it. Trip's eyes seemed different... bleak. No, that wasn't true, Malcolm realized with growing dismay. There was more to it. Trip's eyes hadn't only lost their usual spark... they seemed to hold nothing at all. Lifeless, Malcolm's mind added before he could stop himself.

"Mal?" Trip asked blearily, obviously trying to make sense of the situation. "Doc?"

"That's right." Malcolm forced another smile. "You're in sickbay, love. You... you gave us quite a scare, but you're going to be fine."

Trip only stared at him with those eyes that didn't seem to belong to him, then, abruptly, pulled his hand out of Malcolm's grip. He wrapped his arms around himself, hiding his hands in his armpits, and turned his head away again.

"I wanna be alone," he said, so quietly that Malcolm barely understood him.

Phlox, who hadn't said a word so far, cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "I'd like to notify the Captain."

Malcolm, still finding it hard to conceal how hurt he was by Trip's actions, only nodded. The Captain had been discharged from sickbay at his own request and had promised to spend the day resting in his quarters, on condition that Phlox called him immediately if Trip was to regain consciousness. The curtain rustled again as the doctor left, but Trip didn't even seem to notice and only pulled further into himself.

"Trip," Malcolm tried again. "Please... I want to help you."

He was painfully aware of how empty his words sounded, but what else could he say? It was true, he wanted to help, wanted to protect Trip from... anything. Everything. Except that he had no idea how to do so.

Trip wouldn't look at him, staring at the curtain as if he had never seen it before. "Leave me alone, Malcolm. Just... go."

At Trip's use of his full name, Malcolm felt something tighten in his chest. Trip had called him that before, in intimate moments or when he was teasing him, but never, never in this cold tone of voice. As if there were nothing but cool detachment between them.

He's not being himself, Malcolm told himself, remembering what Phlox had told him about the road to recovery never being a straight line. He's been through hell. Expecting him to wake up and give me a peck on the cheek would be ridiculous. And cruel.

"Trip," he said. "I know how you must feel right now, but..."

Malcolm wasn't even finished when he realized that his choice of words couldn't have been worse. Trip turned back to him, and finally an emotion appeared in his eyes, although it wasn't the one Malcolm had hoped to see.

"You don't know a thing 'bout how I feel," Trip said, his voice rising. "You don't know a goddamn fuckin' thing!"

Malcolm fought hard to keep his voice calm. "You're right. I don't know how you feel. But I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Trip. You-"

"I don't want your help, Malcolm." Again, his full name, and this time it sounded almost like an insult. Awkwardly, Trip pushed himself to a sitting position and shook off the blanket, not wasting a second look on it when it fell to the floor. Malcolm stared at him, not daring to touch his partner, not knowing what to say.

Trip, apparently, saw no need to say anything at all. For a moment he only sat there, breathing heavily and blinking as if to get rid of a dizzy spell. Then, with equal difficulty, he pushed his legs over the edge, steadying himself with his hands as he slid off the bed. The sight of his partner barely able to keep himself upright stirred Malcolm into action.

"Trip, please... you shouldn't get up just now." He got up from his chair and carefully reached out for Trip's arm. "Come on..."

Trip shrank back from his touch and, still unsteady on his legs, stumbled and would have fallen to the floor if Malcolm hadn't caught him. As he helped Trip regain his balance, Malcolm's hand came to rest on Trip's back. The other man's muscles were so tense they seemed close to tearing apart. Malcolm swallowed hard. Seeing Trip so scared - scared of him - hurt worse than he could have imagined. He felt the sudden urge to pull him into a hug, make it all go away, but a look at Trip's face told him that any further touches would not be appreciated. Slowly, Malcolm stepped away.

"I'm going to ask the doctor if you can go back to your quarters," he said quietly, watching his partner who was leaning against the bio bed for support. "That alright?"

At first, Trip didn't react at all and only stared at a spot between his feet. Malcolm was beginning to doubt that Trip had heard him at all when the other man nodded, an almost imperceptible gesture.

Malcolm nodded silently in response, and noticed Trip's lips move, as if he were about to say something. Malcolm waited, but no sound came out, and Trip lowered his head again, withdrawing back into himself.

"I'll be right back," Malcolm said, although he could see that Trip was not paying him any attention. He turned around and drew the curtain aside, only to find himself face to face with Phlox, who had obviously been about to do the same thing.

"Lieutenant," the doctor said, glancing past Malcolm at Trip. "I asked the Captain to postpone his visit... it doesn't seem to be the ideal time right now."

Malcolm shook his head, dropping his voice even though he was positive that Trip wasn't hearing a word of their conversation. "No, I don't think so. Doctor... is there any chance Trip could go back to his quarters? He... he might feel less uncomfortable there."

Phlox tilted his head, considering. "I'd prefer to keep him under close observation for a while, but... you may have a point. I'll discharge him, if he agrees to wear a sensor device."

Malcolm remembered the monitoring bracelet Phlox had fastened around a reluctant Captain's wrist. He wasn't so sure Trip would appreciate wearing one of those, but on the other hand he could see the doctor's point. They still had no idea how the alteration had come into existence, and whether or not it was going to reappear. Keeping his patients under observation was the least Phlox could do.

Speaking of whom... Malcolm glanced at the still closed door of the IC unit. "What about them?" he asked quietly. "You're not going to discharge them, are you?"

For some reason, an expression of sadness crossed the doctor's features. "Not today, no," he said quietly. "Lieutenant..." He paused. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of my patients' condition with you, but I think you should know that they're... extremely sorry. And that's putting it mildly."

"So they remember?" Malcolm asked, not quite succeeding in keeping the anger out of his tone.

Phlox nodded. "They do. As a matter of fact, Captain Archer seems to be the only one who has any trouble recalling his stay on the planet."

It was all he said, but Malcolm could see what the doctor was thinking: There's a chance they never wanted it to happen. A chance that they're all victims of... whatever it was that transpired down there.

Malcolm had considered this as well, but in all honesty he couldn't say that he felt any compassion for those three men. A rational part of his mind may have realized that they deserved at least a chance, an investigation of the circumstances, but at the same time he knew that they would have to turn somewhere else for help. All he wanted was to see them taken off the ship and transported back to Earth where they could rot in prison. Or a mental institution. He didn't really care which.

Phlox must have read Malcolm's thoughts on his face; he sighed and said nothing more on the subject, taking a handscanner and another sensor bracelet out of his pocket.

"I had a feeling I would be needing this," he explained at Malcolm's questioning look. "Well, let's see if Mr. Tucker is ready to be released."

Trip hadn't moved throughout their conversation, and barely raised his head when Malcolm and the doctor returned to his side. His earlier outburst seemed forgotten, and he didn't react in any way when Phlox briefly scanned him, then tucked away the device with a satisfied nod.

"You'll be pleased to know that your brain scan doesn't show any aberrations, Commander," the doctor announced a little too cheerfully. "I'll discharge you to your quarters, if you promise to stay in bed and rest." He held up the bracelet. "Your wrist, please, Commander."

This last request caught Trip's attention, and he raised his head. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

The doctor didn't miss a beat, although Malcolm saw that he, too, was surprised that Trip had reacted at all. "I must ask you to wear a sensor device outside of sickbay, at least for another twenty-four hours. I need to monitor your readings in case there are any unexpected complications."

Trip licked his lips, then, with obvious reluctance, held out his left hand. The doctor quickly fitted the device around his wrist, then glanced at the monitor to check if the data was transferred the way it should be.

"Very well," he said. "You can go. I'm sure Lieutenant Reed will accompany you to your quarters. And Commander..."

He waited, patiently, until Trip had turned back his head to look at him.

"Please, do not hesitate to call me if there's anything you need."

Trip nodded, although the gesture came across more like a shrug. Then, without a look at either of them, he slowly shuffled past the half-opened curtains and began to make his way to the sickbay doors. The way he walked, his whole body posture radiated apathetic indifference, and he didn't even seem to hear it when Malcolm called his name.

"Trip... wait for me!"

Malcolm avoided Phlox's eyes as he picked up the crumpled blanket and followed Trip. The last thing he wanted to see was pity on the doctor's face.

He quickened his pace until he had caught up with Trip and reached out for the door control.

"Here," he said, carefully wrapping the blanket around Trip's shoulders. "You must be cold."

Part of him half expected Trip to simply drop the blanket to the floor, but instead the other man held onto it, pulling it tighter around his shoulders in much the same way as he had done earlier that night.

The walk to Trip's quarters passed in silence. More than once, Malcolm came close to resting a comforting arm on Trip's shoulders - forget about anyone seeing them, he wouldn't have

given a damn if the whole bloody ship had stood lined up in the corridors. But there was something about the way Trip stared straight ahead, the way he clutched the blanket like a shield that stopped him from doing so.

Once they had reached Trip's quarters, Malcolm pressed the button to open the door. Trip stood passively until the bulkhead had slid aside, then limped inside, blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Malcolm made as if to follow him, but stopped short when Trip suddenly turned around, looking at him for the first time since his outburst in sickbay.

"No."

Something in his tone hit Malcolm like a slap in the face. "Trip? What..."

Trip only stared at him. "I don't want you to come with me. I wanna be alone."

At first, Malcolm couldn't bring himself to make a sound. It wasn't so much what he said... it was the way he said it. Coldly. Almost as if the words were meant to hurt. And maybe, Malcolm realized, maybe they were.

He swallowed, hard, and took a step back. "Okay," he said quickly. "That's okay. You..." call me if you need me, he'd been about to say, but somehow he couldn't work the words past his lips. He wasn't sure if he could face another rejection by his partner.

Trip stared at him for another moment, and Malcolm thought he saw... something cross his face, a strange expression that vanished again before Malcolm could make out what it was. Then the door closed behind Trip, and Malcolm found himself staring at the bulkhead, very suddenly and unexpectedly fighting tears. He turned around and leaned against wall next to the door, closing his eyes.

He didn't mean it. He's not being himself.

But somehow that didn't make it hurt any less. Malcolm knew he should go in there regardless of what had just happened, use the override, walk in there and pull Trip into a hug, hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay. Except that it wasn't going to be okay. Of course not. All Malcolm could offer were empty phrases, awkward attempts at comfort from someone who had no idea what to do. How to help. And it was obvious that Trip didn't want his help.

Malcolm stayed where he was for a while, listening, hoping for any sounds from within the room, maybe footsteps approaching the door. But there were none.

Finally, Malcolm realized that Trip wasn't going to come out again. He stepped away from the door, lingered in the corridor for another minute, and then slowly began to make his way towards his own quarters, never looking back as he walked away.

TBC...

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