Title: Killing Thing

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thank you for your reviews!

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Chapter 7

Malcolm tapped a pen against the padd lying in front of him on the table, ceasing abruptly when he noticed the doctor's eyes on him. There was no denying that Phlox had been watching him ever since they had entered the conference room, and even the Captain had spared him a few side-ways glances that let Malcolm know he was worried.

Typical, Malcolm thought with a trace of dry humor, that the Captain should worry about him, although it was barely a day ago that he himself had woken up in sickbay, shaky and exhausted from their ordeal on the planet.

Thinking of that goddamned planet, his amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. They were still in orbit around the Ru'khi homeworld, still sending out hails to a government that seemed unwilling to even recognize their presence anymore. T'Pol, with typical Vulcan persistency, had continued to send hourly messages to the planet while her Captain and four of her crewmates lay unconscious in sickbay, and two hours ago Minister Ma'khi had finally deigned to answer her call. From the little Malcolm knew, she had refused to talk to Captain Archer (or any member of the away team, for that matter), spending an hour in a "private conference" with T'Pol before she signed off once and for all. The Captain, of course, had been less than pleased when matters were taken out of his hands, and - over the protests of a worried Dr. Phlox - had immediately called a debriefing with all the senior officers present. Well, almost. Malcolm didn't have to look at the empty chair to his right to know who was missing.

Trip had not responded to his hails, refused to answer to the door signal, and only Phlox' reassurances that Trip's readings were stable had prevented Malcolm from using the override again. It didn't seem right to intrude on Trip's privacy when there was no vital need to do so... especially not now. Phlox had agreed with his decision.

"Maybe the Commander needs some time to himself to come to terms with things." Malcolm remembered the doctor's quiet, gentle tone after he had - haltingly - related to him what had happened in front of Trip's quarters. "Do not think he was rejecting you because he blames you for anything. I've known Commander Tucker for a while now, and I believe it's simply his response to the situation. He's been hurt so badly he doesn't know how to deal with it, and so he lashes out in an attempt to give back some of the hurt. Which, of course, will not make things better for him in any way. I'm sure that by now he wishes he had accepted your offer of help, but doesn't know how to say so."

Touched by the doctor's understanding and concern, Malcolm had decided to abandon his usual reserve. If he was being honest, the fact that there was someone who would listen, someone older and... more experienced, was about all that had kept him from breaking down completely.

"So... what do I do now?" he had asked, for some reason unable to meet the doctor's eyes. "I can't just..."

"Leave him alone, Lieutenant?" The doctor's eyes had crinkled in an almost-smile. "Ah, but that is exactly what you should do. Give him time. A day, maybe two days... don't feel you're abandoning him because you're not always with him. He knows that you're there when he needs you. It is quite enough."

Well, I don't seem to have much of a choice. Malcolm saw the reasoning behind the doctor's words, but at the same time he wished he could have done something. Sitting here when Trip was in his quarters, alone and hurting... it seemed so wrong to him.

The door to the conference room opened again and T'Pol came in, carrying a stack of several padds. She turned to Archer.

"Please forgive my lateness, Captain," she said. "The Minister needed reassurance that we are not going to take any hostile actions against them."

Malcolm saw his surprise mirrored on the Captain's face.

"Hostile actions?" Archer echoed. "Why would she think we'd want to attack them?"

T'Pol took her seat, carefully spreading the padds in front of her. "There is an explanation, Captain. However..." Uncharacteristically, she hesitated before she continued. "My report includes certain... details about the away mission. I believe Lieutenant Reed and the doctor are already informed."

Travis and Hoshi immediately turned their heads to look at the Captain, who in turn, was staring down at his folded hands. Malcolm lowered his head, wishing he could be anywhere but here. When Hoshi had asked him if Trip wasn't attending, he hadn't known what to say, and finally settled for "He's not feeling very well". He'd felt like a bastard when he evaded her concerned questions - as one of Trip's closest friends and his adopted "little sister", Hoshi had a right to know - but Malcolm could not bring himself to tell her. Or Travis, for that matter. Not like that.

Archer let out a small sigh. "Yes," he said. "I think everyone here needs to know."

"Is there something wrong, Captain?" Hoshi asked rather tentatively. Malcolm couldn't blame her, since everyone in the room seemed to do their best not to look at the two Ensigns.

Archer nodded. "I'm afraid so, Hoshi." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "What I'm going to tell you now is not to leave this room."

They nodded, now both openly concerned. "Yes, sir."

Archer held their eyes for a moment, then nodded before he continued quietly. "Commander Tucker... has been assaulted on the planet."

Hoshi's eyes grew wide, and Travis asked, "Assaulted as in..."

"Sexually assaulted, yes." Archer averted his eyes for a moment, and Malcolm closed his eyes. It felt so wrong, calling a brutal rape "sexual assault" and discussing it openly while the person in question wasn't even present. It felt so goddamn bloody wrong.

Travis had gotten up, so abruptly that his chair threatened to topple over, and turned his back to the briefing table. Hoshi remained where she was. Her face was white.

"H-how did it happen?" she asked.

Archer held her gaze, and Malcolm admired his steadfastness as he answered. "That's what we're trying to find out," he replied. "All we know is that it were Lieutenant Peters and Ensigns Florez and Kelsey who attacked the Commander."

Hoshi clamped a hand over her mouth, but her gasp was drowned out by Travis' voice. The young helmsman had turned around again, his hands clenched to fists and shaking. "Not Martin Kelsey?"

Archer nodded. "I'm afraid so, Travis."

The ensign sat back down on his chair, hard. Malcolm knew that Kelsey belonged to Travis' poker club that met on Wednesday nights in the messhall. More than once, Trip and he had played as well, and for the first time Malcolm recalled what Kelsey looked like; a gangly young man in his mid-twenties, with a face full of freckles and a tendency to knock things over when he wasn't looking.

"But... why?" Hoshi's voice shook slightly. "Why would they... I mean..."

Archer shook his head. "We don't know, Ensign. Lieutenant Peters and the two Ensigns have no explanation for what they did. They're... in shock."

"Is the Commander okay?" Travis asked, then, realizing what he had just said, hastily added, "I mean, is he... injured or something?"

Phlox spoke up for the first time. "Fortunately, Commander Tucker's injuries are not serious," he said. "I released him from sickbay a day ago."

Hoshi shook her head. "I still don't understand it."

T'Pol picked up one of her padds. "I believe my recent conversation with Minister Ma'khi may be of help here. If I may, Captain?"

Archer nodded. "Please, go ahead."

T'Pol inclined her head. "Before I begin with my report, Captain... the Minister asked me to convey her heartfelt apologies to you and your team. She said she could not bear facing you after what occurred on the planet."

The Captain didn't look convinced. "Why couldn't she talk to me?"

"I believe it is a cultural issue, Captain," T'Pol replied calmly. "The Minister feels that she wronged you, and in her culture it's customary that after an offense where two parties are concerned, personal contact is minimized on both sides."

Archer's mouth hardened, but he didn't comment on the Ru'khi's unique way of dealing with a crisis. "So, what exactly happened to us on the planet? Did the Ru'khi have something to do with the alteration to our brain chemistry?"

"They did not do anything to cause it," T'Pol replied. "However, they were aware of the possibility that an alteration could occur." She paused. "It was not the first time an alien delegation began to show strange symptoms or... acted on violent impulses."

Suddenly, Phlox leaned forward in his chair and picked up T'Pol's padd, his face darkening as he studied the data on the display.

"Doctor?" Archer asked, sounding impatient.

Phlox lowered the padd again, and even though Malcolm was no expert in reading Denobulan facial expressions, he got the impression that the doctor was shocked. "It's the atmosphere of the planet, Captain," he said quietly. "Two chemical compounds interacting..."

Archer sat up straight. "You and T'Pol scanned the atmosphere, doc..."

Phlox placed the padd back on the table. "We did, Captain. And the two compounds we're talking about will do no harm to the human metabolism - separately. Scans indicated that they would not be dangerous if combined, but..." He sighed deeply. "It seems that our scan results were faulty."

Realizing what Archer's next question would be, T'Pol picked up again. "Minister Ma'khi referred several times to what she called the "sleeping fury". It appears that every time their alien visitors became violent, there was something that sparked the incident... a tense situation, or an unsolved conflict that occupied the persons in question's minds."

Malcolm surprised himself by speaking up. "Are you saying that it was a mere disagreement that made the three crewmen do what they did to Commander Tucker?" He could barely keep the anger out of his voice. If the Ru'khi had known about this and neglected to tell them...

"Not quite, Lieutenant." T'Pol's calm voice interrupted his thoughts. "I do not believe a simple argument could have caused the three men to lose control in such a way. There must have been... stronger emotions involved for the chemicals to have such an intense effect. Although I can only speculate about the nature of those feelings."

Archer's face was tight, as if he were having a hard time controlling his anger. "So someone was having a bad day... or bearing a grudge for some reason or other... and all Trip did was be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

T'Pol folded her hands on the table. "I'll have to study the chemicals in question to give you a precise answer, Captain, but basically I assume that is what happened."

Travis shook his head. "If the Ru'khi knew this could happen, why didn't they warn us? Or offer to negotiate via comm channels?"

"I asked the Minister the same question," T'Pol replied. "She said that they tried subspace negotiations in the past, but found that too many of their trading partners used the opportunity to deceive them and leave orbit without fulfilling their part of the agreement. Besides, the negotiation ceremony is an important part of their cultural identity."

Malcolm pressed his lips together, wishing he could say aloud exactly what he thought of the Ru'khi's cultural identity and their people as a whole. "So they accepted the fact that they were endangering their guests, for a trading agreement?" He couldn't quite keep the cold anger out of his tone.

"Yes," T'Pol said simply, for once not commenting on human emotionalism. "Although not all of their alien visitors were affected by the planet's atmosphere. Minister Ma'khi told me that every time they're about to receive guests, she goes to pray with the priests that the sleeping fury won't raise its head this time."

For a moment no one spoke, then Hoshi said quietly: "What I still don't understand is... what sort of feelings would make anyone do such a thing? I know Ramon... Ensign Florez, I mean, and he's not a violent person."

"He's not?" Malcolm asked, more sharply than he had intended. "Rape is one of the most violent crimes in existence, Ensign."

Another moment of silence followed. Malcolm realized that he had done it, had said the R-word everyone was so desperately trying to avoid, but he couldn't bring himself to care. That was what those men had done, they had raped Trip, and he'd be damned if he was going to beat around the bush just to protect anyone's feelings.

"Malcolm," Archer admonished almost gently, as if trying to let him know that he understood. "Hoshi has a point. We need to find out what exactly made those crewmen do what they did."

He looked at every one of his officers seated at the table. "And I believe the only way of doing so is asking them."

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"Trip!"

Malcolm waited, then raised his hand again, knocking at the door. Not surprisingly, there was no answer.

"Trip, please, it's me. Malcolm. Please open the door."

The silence was beginning to grate on his nerves. Malcolm knew that the doctor had a point; maybe Trip needed to be alone, needed to "come to terms with things". All the same, however, he couldn't bring himself to believe that hiding in his quarters would do Trip any good. Malcolm knew more about Charles Tucker III than anyone else on board, with the possible exception of the Captain, and he knew that Trip was not the kind of person who "came to terms with things" when left on his own. Trip would run away from his problems, hide them in the darkest corner of his mind, push them back whenever they tried to rise above the surface, but he wouldn't deal with them. Malcolm was fairly certain that ever since that first panic attack after his nightmare, Trip had mercilessly crushed any feelings, any emotional reaction to what had happened. It was easier not to face the pain inside. Easier to run.

Malcolm knocked again, louder this time. "Trip, open the door. I'll use the override if you don't let me in."

Malcolm waited, listening for any sound on the other side of the door. This time, there was a faint rustling, then, suddenly, the bulkhead slid aside, startling Malcolm who hadn't really expected it to happen. Trip stood - or rather, leaned - in the door, once again clad in his flannel sweater, pajama pants and what looked like at least two pairs of socks. He was rather pale, a dark shade on his chin testifying to the fact that he hadn't used a razor in more than three days. The bruises had somewhat faded in the meantime, although Trip's left eye was still slightly puffy, the skin surrounding it a mottled brown and green. His face was blank, devoid of any expression.

"What d'you want?"

Malcolm rested a hand on the doorframe. "I wanted to see you," he said, not knowing what else to say. Trip only stared back at him with those dull eyes.

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Can I come in?"

Finally, Trip's face changed a little, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"I need to talk with you," Malcolm said. He wished he could have done more, pulled Trip into a hug or at least touched his arm in a gesture of comfort. But he didn't, realizing it would not be appreciated. Trip didn't move or speak for several seconds, and Malcolm was about to give up hope when his partner suddenly stepped aside, turning away from Malcolm. It wasn't exactly an invitation to come in, but Malcolm took it as one and followed Trip inside the room.

The lights in Trip's quarters were dimmed and the bed unmade, clothes strewn over the floor as if someone had kicked them across the room. Next to the window, Malcolm saw something glistening and wet on the deck. There was a slight whiff of alcohol in the air. Stepping closer, Malcolm saw shards, and a large puddle of an amber liquid. The dark spot on the wall above the puddle suggested that the bottle had been thrown against the bulkhead, where it had shattered on impact. From the amount of liquid on the floor, it had still been almost full when it was broken.

He turned around to Trip who was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest - or rather, wrapped around his upper body. Malcolm glanced at the empty glass on Trip's bedside table, then back at his partner who was staring back at him with that blank expression.

"Bourbon didn't help, did it?"

Trip only shook his head. Malcolm held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Trip, I... can we sit down?"

The formal question sounded odd to his ears, but Trip only shrugged. "Sure," he mumbled. After a short hesitation, Malcolm took a seat on the desk chair. Trip remained standing for a few seconds, then slowly walked over to his bunk and sat down on the edge. With his sagging shoulders and empty face, Trip looked so sad and lonely that Malcolm almost gave in to the urge of going over there and wrapping his arms around the other man. He knew, however, that he was likely to end up on the floor again if he tried any such thing.

"So.. what d'ya wanna talk about?"

Malcolm almost startled. He hadn't expected Trip to say anything.

"I..." He trailed off. There it was again, that feeling of helplessness, of not knowing what to say. "I wanted to see how you were doing," he said finally. It sounded awkward even to himself, and Trip only shrugged, staring at the floor between his feet.

Silence followed, and Malcolm found himself almost wishing he hadn't come here, after all. It hurt, sitting in this messy room and realizing that the comfort he had to offer wasn't wanted or needed. That Trip only waited for him to leave again. At the same time, however, Malcolm knew that he couldn't simply walk out, even if it might be the least hurtful option for both of them.

"T'Pol found out what happened on the planet," he said. Trip raised his head at that, but said nothing. Malcolm continued, "She talked to Minister Ma'khi. It seems that there's some sort of chemical in the planet's atmosphere that kindles... violent responses in some species, including ours." He left out the part about the dormant anger or tension that triggered the violence, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. "We believe that this is what happened to Lieutenant Peters and the two Ensigns." Trip didn't react when Malcolm mentioned the three men; in fact, Malcolm's words seemed to flow past him as if nothing of this really concerned him. Malcolm hesitated before he added, "Trip, I'm not sure if it is the right time to tell you this, but... they're truly sorry. They... they didn't want for any of this to happen."

He steeled himself for the angry outburst he was sure to follow, but it never came. Trip only stared at him for another moment, and suddenly the corners of his mouth began to twitch. His face turned into a distorted parody of his familiar cheerful grin, and he laughed, a short, barking sound that carried no mirth at all.

Malcolm tried - and failed - to hide his shock at Trip's reaction. "Trip..."

"Sorry, Mal." Trip chuckled. "But it's funny in a way, isn't it?"

"No, I don't think it is." Malcolm studied his partner closely, and realized that there was more pain in Trip's laughter than in most people's tears. "I don't think there's anything amusing about it at all."

Trip snorted. "I guess the crew'd disagree with you there. 'Hey, wanna know what happened on that freaky planet we went to, me an' the guys kinda went mad and fucked Commander Tucker till there was blood all over the bed. Kinda stupid, I know, but hey, it was the nasty alien chemicals that made us do it, and at least we got some-"

"Stop it!" Malcolm got up, barely realizing that he was doing so. "God damn it, Trip! There's no need to do this to yourself!"

He almost wished for Trip to jump up as well, yell at him, even hit him, if that helped. Malcolm would have been glad to have a fist fight with his partner if it allowed Trip to let go of the pain. But Trip remained where he was. The grin had vanished from his face and he met Malcolm's eyes with seeming indifference.

For a moment, Malcolm came close to grabbing his partner's shoulders and shaking him, if only to startle a single honest reaction out of him instead of that terrible cynicism. Then, however, he remembered the pain in Trip's voice, and his anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. Before he could think about what he was doing, Malcolm sat down next to Trip on the bed and pulled the other man into a hug.

Trip didn't push him away. He sat motionless, not reacting in any way except for a slight stiffening of the back, and seemed to wait for Malcolm to let go again. Although he got no reaction, Malcolm tightened his hug, refusing to let go of the unresponsive man.

"Talk to me, Trip," he whispered into the tousled blond hair. "You need to stop doing this to yourself. None of this was your fault, but you need to let go. You need to talk."

"Let me go," Trip said very quietly.

This time, Malcolm complied, fighting back a hard lump in his throat. "Trip, please. You can't go on like this."

Trip only stared at him.

"I love you, Trip. I want to help." Malcolm reached out, his hand stopping in mid-movement when Trip shook his head.

"It's better if you go, Mal."

Something in his tone told Malcolm that Trip wasn't only talking about leaving the room. Despair settled in his chest like a heavy stone.

"Trip..."

Trip only shook his head, and there was something final to the gesture. Malcolm got up and stood in front of Trip's bed, waiting, hoping for any sign that Trip didn't want him to go away, after all. But Trip only sat there, his arms wrapped around himself, and at some point Malcolm turned around and left, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss.

TBC...

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