Title: Killing Thing

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thank you for your reviews!

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Chapter 8

Malcolm woke to the sound of his alarm going off. The familiar beeping seemed to come from a different direction than usual, and it took him a second to realize that his head was resting on the hard surface of his desk, and not on a pillow. Slowly, Malcolm straightened up in the chair, his back groaning in protest at the movement. For a moment, he only sat there, in the same place where he had been sitting all night. The beeping of the alarm became louder, as it was programmed to do when it wasn't switched off within fifteen seconds, and Malcolm realized with a detached sort of surprise that he had only fallen asleep about an hour ago. He didn't feel tired, however. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all.

After returning from Trip's quarters last night, Malcolm had gone to his cabin, sat down at his desk and cried. Not the way he had seen other people cry, sobbing and groaning and slobbering snot all over their sleeves; after so many years of "Reeds don't cry", Malcolm couldn't bring himself to do so. He had simply sat there, allowing the tears to fall and waiting for the pain in his chest to ease. It hadn't, and after several hours Malcolm had succumbed to a fitful slumber that was soon to be interrupted again. Now, all that reminded him of his nightly crying session were the dried tears that were beginning to itch on his skin. That, and the pain, which was still there, like an open sore that doesn't seem to heal.

Wearily, Malcolm rose from his desk chair and walked over to switch off the alarm which had increased its volume to an unpleasant shrillness. Mechanically, he went through his morning routine as if he had just woken from six hours of healthy sleep, showering, changing into a new uniform and stuffing the old one into the clothes hamper. Memories of much more chaotic mornings came to his mind, he and Trip trying not to step on each other's feet in Malcolm's rather cramped quarters while getting ready for their shift. Malcolm had always left first, checking if the corridor was empty and thumping on the door when it was safe for Trip to come out. It was silly and at the same time exciting, sharing a secret no one else knew about. Taking his station on the bridge and nodding a professional greeting at Trip, as if they hadn't been in bed together only an hour ago.

Malcolm shoved the image to the very back of his mind. He didn't need that now, had no desire to add to the pain. He had a meeting to attend to, and knew that he needed all the control he could muster to get through it without hurting anyone.

Malcolm skipped breakfast, heading straight for the conference room where the meeting was going to take place. Only T'Pol was already there, raising an eyebrow when he entered the room.

"Lieutenant," she stated in her usual way of greeting.

Malcolm nodded at her, taking a seat at the table. "Good morning, Subcommander."

His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were developing a headcold. Discreetly, he cleared his throat, but T'Pol noticed all the same. She studied him calmly.

"You do not seem to be feeling well, Lieutenant. Maybe you should report to sickbay."

Malcolm knew what she was talking about; when he had looked in the mirror this morning, a pale face with dark, olive shadows under the eyes had stared back at him. He shook his head.

"I'm fine, thank you."

T'Pol watched him for another moment, as if she wanted to add something. Then, however, she returned her attention to the padd in her hands, and Malcolm inwardly sighed with relief. If he went to sickbay and Phlox found out he hadn't slept all night, the Armory would be off-limits for him for the next twelve hours. And all Malcolm really wanted was for this meeting to be over so he could go back to his routine, burying himself in his work so he wouldn't have to think.

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Captain Archer came in. Malcolm noticed that he still looked somewhat worse for wear, his face a few shades paler than usual. No surprises there, Malcolm thought; the Captain had barely taken the time to rest, going over the reports with T'Pol and keeping himself updated on the situation. Malcolm knew for a fact that Archer had more than once tried to contact Trip - in fact, stood in front of his friend's quarters and practically pleaded with him to open the door - but Trip had ignored him, just as he had ignored most of Malcolm's hails. Something tightened in Malcolm's chest, hard enough to hurt. Sure, Trip had let him in, eventually, but only to tell him to go away once and for all. And now... Malcolm doubted that Trip would even want to see him, let alone talk to him. He had made it very clear that as far as he was concerned, everything they'd had, everything they'd been, was over.

"Malcolm."

Archer's voice startled him; he hadn't even noticed the Captain taking a seat next to him.

"Excuse me, sir." At least his voice was back to normal. "I was lost in thought."

The Captain watched him concernedly. "Are you alright? You don't look so good."

It's that obvious, isn't it. Malcolm sighed. "I'm fine, sir."

Archer's eyes stayed on him, letting him know that the Captain wasn't fooled. "You don't have to do this, you know. I can ask your Alpha shift SIC to be present."

Malcolm shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but as Head of Security, it's my duty to be here."

He met Archer's eyes, and the Captain seemed to get the unspoken message. He wanted to do this, not only because it was his duty as Security Chief, but also because of Trip. Archer nodded slowly, then leaned back in his chair, turning his head so he was speaking to both of them.

"They'll be here any minute now. I've asked Ensigns Hsan and Schwarz to accompany them here... for safety reasons." He looked from Malcolm to T'Pol. "Anything you want to add before we begin?"

Malcolm shook his head, and T'Pol mirrored the gesture with a slight tilt of her own. "No, sir."

"Fine." Archer activated the recording device. "For the record, this hearing falls under Starfleet regulation 041-B. What is said in here is for the eyes and ears of the responsible department at Starfleet Command only. The officers present are Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, First Officer Subcommander T'Pol and Captain Jonathan Archer."

The door chimed, and Archer looked up. "Come," he said.

When the door opened, Malcolm found himself stiffening in his chair. He had been dreading this moment, when he actually had to face them, had to confront the fact that it were his men he was going to interrogate, people he had known and trusted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed T'Pol watching him, and made a deliberate effort to appear relaxed. I can do this.

Peters, Kelsey and Florez were back in uniform, looking pale and exhausted as they slowly walked into the room. The two Ensigns kept their eyes fixed on the floor, and only Peters briefly met the Captain's gaze before he looked away again. None of them said a word.

Archer nodded at Hsan and Schwarz, who were still standing in the doorway. "Thank you, Ensigns. Dismissed."

The door closed as they left, leaving silence behind. After a moment, Archer leaned forward in his chair, gesturing at the opposite side of the table.

"Take a seat."

The three men complied silently. Malcolm noticed that Florez' hands were shaking slightly, curling around the armrests until their knuckles turned white. Martin Kelsey still hadn't looked at anyone, stiffly perching on the very edge of his seat.

Archer folded his hands on the table, and only someone who knew him as well as Malcolm did would have noticed the strain on his voice as he spoke.

"You're here because we need several questions answered," he said, wasting no time with a preamble. "It's in your own interest to answer these questions to the best of your knowledge."

He waited. Both Florez and Kelsey nodded quickly, still avoiding his eyes, and only Peters looked at him as he answered. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Archer paused. "Do you recall what happened on the planet?"

Again, the two Ensigns nodded silently. This time, Peters averted his eyes. "Yes, sir," he said very quietly.

T'Pol exchanged a glance with the Captain, mutely asking for his permission to continue. Archer inclined his head, and T'Pol turned to the three men.

"Describe what you remember."

Kelsey's eyes were still on the table top. Florez swallowed and looked at Peters, obviously waiting for him to begin talking. The young Lieutenant took a deep breath, then, never, looking at either of his colleagues, he replied quietly, "I don't... remember everything. We attended the banquet, then the Captain and the Minister left for the negotiation hall. Commander Tucker said he wanted to go for a walk, and we... went upstairs to our suite in the embassy."

"Why didn't you accompany him?" Malcolm interrupted. "As the highest-ranking security officer present, it would have been your job to make sure he was safe."

Peters swallowed, hard. "I... I wasn't feeling myself at that point, sir."

T'Pol regarded him coolly. "Specify."

The man stared down at his hands. "I... was angry. At Commander Tucker. I... we... talked about him, and..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I believe Dr. Phlox has informed you about the chemical compounds and their unique effect," T'Pol said. "There must have been a reason why you were angry with the Commander."

Peters only shook his head, unwilling - or unable - to say more. For a moment, no one spoke. Then, suddenly, Martin Kelsey raised his head, and Malcolm startled when he saw that the young man's face was wet with tears.

"C-captain...," he said, his voice cracking as he tried to regain control. "I'm s-so sorry... I don't know what happened to me down there. I... I never... never w-wanted..."

He couldn't go on and lowered his head again, sobbing quietly and wiping the tears off with both hands. Malcolm averted his eyes. Seeing Kelsey cry like that was almost more than he could bear. Somewhere in his mind he pitied the man, but at the same time it made him think of Trip, who hadn't shed any tears, hadn't been able to. Malcolm closed his eyes. Snapping at Kelsey would not help anyone, including himself.

No one really seemed to know how to deal with the distraught man, whose sobbing was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Finally, it was Archer who broke the silence.

"Do you need a minute, Ensign?"

Kelsey shook his head. His breath hitched as he tried to hold back the tears. "N-no, sir... I'm s-sorry..." He pulled a used Kleenex from his pocket and wiped his nose, his voice sounding somewhat steadier as he repeated, "I'm sorry, Captain."

Archer nodded. T'Pol, who seemed relieved that the young man had regained a certain amount of control, returned her attention to Peters.

"Please describe what happened after you went back to your room in the embassy."

Malcolm noticed that Peters was scratching the cuticle of his right thumb, as if he were trying to get rid of a maddening itch. The skin surrounding the fingernail was raw and bloodied, but the Lieutenant didn't even seem to notice.

"We... we talked."

"And then?" Archer pressed on.

Peters continued to torture his fingers until his thumb began to bleed again. "Commander Tucker came back..." He took a deep breath. "He asked if everything was alright, and I... attacked him."

"Is that true?" T'Pol turned to the two Ensigns. "Did Lieutenant Peters initiate the attack?"

Kelsey nodded, his eyes still red and watery. Florez, who seemed close to tears himself, echoed the gesture. "Yes, ma'am," he said hoarsely.

"So why did you join in?" Archer asked. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Florez' eyes were bright with tears. He shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I don't really remember. All I know is that I was... angry... I can't remember ever being so mad before. And then we... attacked the Commander... He fell down and we... we kicked him and..." The tears began to spill down his cheeks. "Oh God... I'm so sorry, sir..."

"Sir." Peters' voice was so raw with despair that everybody turned in his direction. "Please, sir, it's not their fault. It was me."

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" Archer asked. His face was set into grim lines, the expression reflecting how Malcolm felt inside. It was more than strenuous to continue as if this were a mere routine briefing on an away mission. When Florez, tears running down his face, had recounted his recollection of events, it was all Malcolm could do not to grab the man and shake him, yell at him that he had no right to feel that way, not after what he had done.

"What we did to Commander Tucker... it was my fault." Peters didn't look at anyone as he continued. "I made them do it."

"Explain." Archer's voice was very tight, as if he were getting that close to shouting.

Peters lowered his head even further, beginning to worry his thumb again. "I... disliked the Commander even before we went down to the planet."

"You must have had a reason for your resentment," T'Pol stated. "Especially if it was strong enough to trigger an act of such violence."

"Yes," Peters said quietly. "I don't like homosexuals."

Archer got up from his chair. "What?"

The Lieutenant was still talking down at his hands. "I... I found out about the Commander's relationship with Lieutenant Reed a few weeks ago. I... don't approve of that kind of thing. Down on the planet, I... somehow I lost control of what I was feeling. I was so angry..." Finally, he looked up again. His eyes were very bright. "Captain, all I can say is that I'm terribly sorry for what happened. I don't know what else to do."

Something snapped in Malcolm, so quietly that he barely noticed it happen. This man had turned the happiest part of Malcolm's life into something dirty, something lewd, had finally managed to destroy it, all because he didn't approve of that kind of thing. Malcolm never knew when he had left his chair, or how he suddenly came to be on the other side of the table. He grabbed Peters by the front of his uniform and punched him in the face, so hard that the other man was thrown backwards and fell down.

"You bastard!" Malcolm went after him, shaking with fury. Somewhere, Archer yelled his name, but the sound was drowned out by the wild pounding in his head. "You goddamned bastard, I'll kill you!"

Straddling the sobbing man, Malcolm punched him a second and a third time, feeling bones crack and a sharp throb shooting up his right arm. The pain only fuelled his rage, but suddenly a strong pair of hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from Peters.

"Calm down, Lieutenant," T'Pol's voice said next to his head as she held his arms in an iron grip. "Or I'm going to have to render you unconscious."

Malcolm knew that he stood no chance against T'Pol's superior Vulcan strength, but he struggled all the same, barely aware of anything but his anger. It came as a shock to him when T'Pol suddenly rested two warm fingers on the nape of his neck, applying pressure in a deliberate, rhythmic pattern.

"Breathe, Malcolm," she said so quietly that only he was able to hear her. "Concentrate on breathing."

Completely taken by surprise, he did as she said, and suddenly found the storm of emotions within him ebbing away. T'Pol, one hand firmly on his arm, continued her gentle massage - if that was what it was - until the aggressive tension had eased from his body. She let go of him, her dark eyes once again calm and distant as he turned around to face her.

"Lieutenant," she said.

Malcolm didn't know what to say in response, and so he only nodded, turning back to the Captain, who was helping Peters back to his feet. The Lieutenant was pressing a handkerchief against his upper lip to staunch the flow of blood, careful not to jostle his nose which was obviously broken. Only now did Malcolm realize that he had just injured a fellow officer, and one of his subordinates to boot. He forced himself to meet the Captain's eyes, steeling himself for the anger and disappointment he was sure to encounter. Instead, however, Archer only looked weary and sad.

"Your hand's injured, Malcolm," he said. Malcolm glanced down at his right hand, and saw that the knuckles were bruised and bloodied. They were throbbing painfully, and Malcolm supposed that he had managed to break at least one of them.

He raised his head again, but Archer wasn't looking at him anymore, having turned to T'Pol instead.

"The meeting's postponed," he said. "We'll-"

The sound of the comm cut him off. "Phlox to Captain Archer."

Archer went over to the speaker. "Archer here."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain," the doctor said, sounding worried. "It seems as if we have a problem. I cannot find Commander Tucker."

Malcolm froze at that.

"What do you mean, you can't find him?" Archer asked, frowning.

"Exactly that, Captain," Phlox said. "The readings from his remote sensor device have disappeared from my bio monitor. I've conducted a full scan of the ship, but I can't detect his bio signs anywhere."

Malcolm never heard Archer's answer as he ran for the door. He knew with a cold clarity what Trip's bio signs disappearing meant, and if there was even the slightest chance of him stopping what Trip was about to do, he had to be fast.

TBC...

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