Title: Killing Thing

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks for your reviews, everybody!

To "Totally Random": Thank you for letting me know, I'm sure it wasn't easy. If you would like to e-mail me (the address is on my profile page), I'd be happy to talk if you would like to do so.

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Chapter 12

Malcolm lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft beat of music coming from the adjoining bed. A brief glance in Trip's direction assured him that his partner was still resting quietly, the ear pieces of his music player plugged into place. As he caught Malcolm's gaze, Trip blinked once and smiled a little, about the only movement he could make in his current position. The new radiation treatment Phlox had come up with required that he lie perfectly still while the small devices attached to his forehead did their job, bombarding the affected cells with pencilled rays that were supposed to have an adverse effect on the poison. Whether or not the treatment would have any effect at all was yet to be seen, but there was no stone the doctor would leave unturned in his attempt to help Trip. To ensure that his patient didn't inadvertently move, Phlox had padded Trip's bed with at least twenty spare pillows, tucking them everywhere so that Trip was effectively immobilized.

"What if I need to... you know," Trip had asked, only to be assured that the catheter which was to be attached in a few minutes would take care of everything in that respect. Although Trip didn't let it show, Malcolm knew how his partner felt at the prospect of having to lie perfectly still for twelve hours, and did all he could to make it a little easier for him. They'd spent the first four hours watching movies, then Malcolm had to go on shift, returning six hours later with a book and several of Trip's music discs. At the time, Trip had been bored out of his mind and more than grateful for any diversion whatsoever, although he insisted that Malcolm take a rest and eat the dinner Phlox had brought for him.

Now with only about half an hour left, both Malcolm and Trip were counting the seconds until Phlox would remove the radiation devices. Trip was getting more than a little stir-crazy, and Malcolm found that it was about time Trip could scratch his own nose again. He didn't even want to know what they looked like, him getting up from time to time to scratch whatever body part Trip claimed was "itchin' like hell". Liz' barely suppressed snorts gave him a pretty good idea, though.

Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed, succumbing to a general weariness. The past few days had been straining, for him as well as for Trip. Ever since Phlox had found out about the belated response to the poison, he and Liz had holed themselves up in the science lab, running myriads of tests to find a loophole in the rather depressing diagnosis of four days ago. So far, Trip had spent hours in the scan unit, had been confined to the decon chamber for a number of times, and had even had a Mylgarian algae colony planted on his left forearm, to see if he developed an allergic reaction. Malcolm wasn't sure where the algae colony would go if Trip didn't show an allergic reaction, but he hadn't asked Phlox about it. Weird and exotic treatments aside, Malcolm trusted Enterprise's doctor more than any other physician he had ever met, and was grateful for the efforts Phlox went to in order to find a cure.

Trip had taken it all in his stride, never once complaining about the long hours he had to spent in some confined space or other while the doctor observed the effects of his latest concoction. Of course, Trip didn't say much at all these days, as opposed to the old Trip Tucker, who could happily talk the ears off of a donkey if he had a mind to do it. Most of the time, he kept up a well enough facade, eating, smiling at all the appropriate times in a conversation and showing interest in the books and movies Malcolm brought him. Some of it might have been genuine - or at least that was what Malcolm hoped, not wanting to believe that it was all a well-acted pretense. Still, he couldn't simply ignore the nightmares that woke Trip almost every night, or the fact that Trip was eating, but was doing so with the air of someone taking care of a mandatory chore. Malcolm had tried to talk to him, after he had woken for the second time in as many nights to find Trip hyperventilating in his sleep, but with little success. Trip had merely smiled at him, the smile almost turning into something else before he had cleared his throat and gently scolded Malcolm for not going back to his own quarters to catch some real sleep.

Malcolm sighed as he remembered their fruitless conversation that night. For Trip, it was either falling apart completely or burying it all six feet deep and rolling a large boulder on top of it, and nothing in between. And since falling apart hadn't worked, he was now veering to the other extreme, trying to convince everyone that he had "gotten over it". Malcolm knew better, of course, but there were times when he was tempted to play along, pretending that everything was just fine, that Phlox was going to find a cure and everyone would live happily ever after.

If we try hard enough, we might even reach a point where we actually believe that none of it ever happened, Malcolm thought with a dull self-contempt he was trying not to acknowledge. That is, if there weren't the seizures to remind us.

So far, there had been two of them, both leaving Trip shaking and exhausted and Malcolm wishing that he would never have to witness anything like this again. One time, Trip had bitten his tongue, hard enough so that blood and saliva had run down the sides of his mouth, reminding Malcolm of those awful minutes in the Jefferies tube when he had thought that Trip would die. The Captain had been there at the time, and as soon as Phlox and Cutler had arrived with their hyposprays poised and ready, he had taken Malcolm's arm and had pulled him away from the bed, all but forcing him down on a chair. Only then had Malcolm noticed that he had been biting his own lip hard enough to make it bleed. Mercifully, Archer had made no comment, had simply handed Malcolm a box of Kleenex and watched in silence as he wiped off the blood. Malcolm had no doubt that the Captain knew exactly just how messed up he and Trip really were, and he appreciated Archer's tactful silence. Seeing that Malcolm could hardly keep his eyes open, the Captain had ordered his Armory Officer to get some sleep while he stayed with Trip, refusing to take no for an answer. As he had lain on the adjoining biobed, Malcolm had listened to the soft rise and fall of their voices, catching enough of the conversation to understand that Trip was worried about him. Bloody Yank, as if he were the one traumatized and suffering from body-and-mind wrecking seizures. Malcolm hadn't caught the Captain's answer, falling asleep with sheer exhaustion. The next morning, Trip had been gone, in decon for another round of tests, and Phlox had informed Malcolm that his morning shift had been cancelled on Captain's orders. Trip's fault, of course, putting silly ideas into Archer's head. The Captain, inclined to mother his officers at the best of times, had of course been more than willing to comply.

"Mal?"

Malcolm opened his eyes again, dragging his thoughts away from his broodings and back to the here and now. Trip was looking at him out of the corners of his eyes - any turn of the head being prevented by the pillows Phlox had positioned on either side of his face - and Malcolm couldn't help but notice the pleading in his voice.

"How long?"

Malcolm glanced at the chronometer on the wall next to Trip's bed. "Only a few more minutes, love."

Trip wasn't fooled. "How many?"

"Twenty-five."

Trip sighed, and Malcolm could sympathize; the last half an hour had to be the hardest. He went over to Trip's bedside and took a seat, glancing at the two innocent-looking devices that were attached to Trip's forehead. Lying completely still for twelve hours might come close to torture, especially for a person as active as Trip, but if those two had done their job right it would have been more than worthwhile.

Catching his partner's eyes, Trip smiled. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Malcolm said, pulling the plugs out of Trip's ears and laying them aside. He took Trip's hand in his own. "Nose still itching?"

Another smile tugged at Trip's mouth. "Now that you mention it... yeah, it is."

Malcolm reached out and gently stroked the tip of Trip's nose. "Better?"

Trip had his eyes closed. "No... keep doin' that."

Malcolm suppressed a smile and began to run his index finger along the ski sloped bridge of Trip's nose, eliciting a happy sigh from his partner.

"You've got a pretty nose, anyone ever tell you that?" Malcolm said, emphasizing his point by tapping on the object of his admiration. Trip opened his eyes.

"You're not serious, are ya? Kids at school used to tease me about it."

Malcolm grinned. "Bunch of bloody ignorants. I know a pretty nose when I see it, and I say you've got one of the nicest I've ever set my eyes on."

"If ya say so." Trip closed his eyes again, the smile still not completely gone. "It's still itchin' like mad, y'know."

Smiling, Malcolm resumed his nose-stroking, warm happiness spreading in his stomach at the look of utter contentment on Trip's face. It was obvious that Trip wasn't faking this time, that he really and truly enjoyed this. And the fact that Trip actually wanted to be touched, even if it was only by getting a nose massage, was more than Malcolm had dared to hope for.

They fell silent for a while, Malcolm continuing to stroke Trip's nose and smiling for no real reason at all. He was already starting to think that his partner had fallen asleep when Trip opened his eyes again.

"The Cap'n told me about the court martial," he said quietly. Malcolm stopped stroking and stared at Trip.

"So they've decided to hold one, after all?" he asked, trying to keep his anger under control. Of all the narrow-minded decisions Starfleet Command had come up with over the years...

"Nah," Trip said in an even softer tone, his eyes leaving Malcolm's and tracing the creases of his blanket. "Admiral Forrest thinks it should be up to me to decide."

"Oh." Malcolm was silent for a while, watching his partner. He knew better than to push Trip, and waited until the other man looked back at him again.

"I don't really see the point, y'know?" Trip sighed. "I mean, you know what happened, the Cap'n does, I certainly do, an' I don't think it's anyone else's business. And I'm not gonna satisfy some investigator's voyeurism by givin' them a detailed description."

Malcolm nodded. It was what he had expected. "So you're not pressing charges."

Trip glanced back at him. "You think I should?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No, I don't. Still..." He sighed. "Peters and the others can't stay on Enterprise."

Trip looked away. "Cap'n told me Peters has resigned," he said.

Malcolm said nothing. Peters, Kelsey and Florez were in their quarters under guard, their roommates having been assigned to different accommodations, and according to Phlox, all three men were experiencing more or less severe depressions. In the meantime, Malcolm's anger had mingled with a reluctant pity for his crewmates, but he hadn't found it in himself to go and apologize to Peters for his loss of control at the meeting. The Captain had told him that none of it would go down into his file - "extenuating circumstances", as he had called it - and the other Lieutenant was certainly not going to file a complaint. Still, Malcolm knew he should talk to Peters about it. He just couldn't bring himself to do so.

"Mal?"

His silence - or rather, brooding - had drawn Trip's attention. Malcolm shook his head, as if to chase away the thought.

"Sorry, love. I was thinking."

Part of him expected Trip to come back with their usual answer - "don't hurt yourself", which had become a rather silly private joke between them - but as he often did these days, Trip remained serious.

"Kelsey and Florez are gonna leave as well. The Cap'n said they're goin' back to Earth with the next Vulcan ship we're meetin'." He looked back at Malcolm. "He said I ought to talk to them before they leave. But..." His eyes dropped again. He hesitated, then: "You must think I'm a coward."

"Trip." Malcolm rested the tip of his finger under Trip's chin, waiting until the other man looked up. "I don't think that you're a coward, and I never did. You're stubborn and you're pigheaded - no need to give me that look - and you're a bloody idiot for injecting yourself with plasma coolant instead of talking to me, but one thing you are not, and that is a coward." Trip had flinched a little at the mention of the plasma coolant, but Malcolm had long since decided that he wouldn't tiptoe around the subject. He sighed. "Frankly, I don't see why the Captain thinks that you need to speak with Peters and the others before they leave. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I believe there are some things that cannot be solved by discussing them in a "good long talk". If you feel that talking to them won't do any good, then don't. You have every right to say no."

Trip's eyes stayed on him for a while. "Guess you're right," he said then, slowly.

"Of course I am." Malcolm smiled. "Now why don't you lie back and I'll take care of that itching nose of yours."

This time, Trip answered his smile. "If anyone hears you talkin' like that, they're gonna think that you're up to no good."

Malcolm had no time to burst out laughing; the door opened before he could think of an appropriate comeback, and he hastily pulled his hand back from Trip's face. No need to provide Phlox with a demonstration of what he would probably interpret (and note down) as a peculiar human mating ritual.

"Gentlemen." The doctor smiled, stepping up next to Trip's bed and glancing at the monitor. "Well done, Commander, it seems that you hardly moved at all."

Trip grinned. "Yeah, well, Malcolm's done a wonderful job of keepin' me entertained."

"I see." The doctor's smile grew wider, and Malcolm felt his cheeks grow warm. Obviously, Phlox had his own ideas how to keep your partner (or, in his case, partners) entertained if they were confined to bed and unable to move. Struggling to erase that particular mental image from his mind, Malcolm decided to change the subject.

"When will you know if the treatment was successful?" he asked, watching as the doctor carefully removed the devices from Trip's forehead. Once they were gone, Trip stretched his arms above his head and began to massage the nape of his neck, sighing as he did so.

"That feels better."

Phlox activated a small switch on top of each device, carefully studying the bio screen. Malcolm waited, and finally, the doctor turned back to them, slowly, as if he were reluctant to do so.

"Bad news, huh?" asked Trip, who seemed to have noticed as well.

Phlox laid the radiation devices aside. "I'm afraid so, Commander."

"No effect?" Malcolm asked quietly, although he already knew the answer by looking at Phlox' face.

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant." The doctor looked back at Trip. "It seems that the poison is resilient enough to withstand even such a strong dose. I'm sorry, Commander."

Trip shook his head. "Not your fault, doc."

"What about a stronger dose?" Malcolm asked. It had seemed such a good idea, destroying the poison through radiation, and he wasn't willing to accept that it wouldn't work at all.

Phlox shook his head. "I'm afraid this isn't the time to "bring up the big guns", Lieutenant. A stronger dose would likely do more damage to the Commander's brain than the poison itself."

Malcolm leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh. They'd tried so many things during the last four days, and he could see that Trip was growing tired. They both were. And it was growing increasingly harder to silence the small voice at the back of his mind suggesting that maybe, there was no cure. No ingenious way out this time. Deal with it.

"Doc?"

Malcolm glanced back at Trip and saw that he had propped himself up on his elbows.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Is it okay if I get up? Gotta take care of somethin'."

"Oh." Phlox seemed to have expected something else. "Of course."

Slowly, Trip pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He seemed a little disoriented at first, which was not surprising after twelve hours of strict bed rest, blinking a few times as if to get rid of a dizzy spell. Eventually he slid off the bunk, but to Malcolm's surprise he did not walk over to the IC unit's small bathroom.

"Trip?" Malcolm got up. "Are you all right? Don't you need to..."

He was silenced by a pair of arms sliding around his waist, and a warm body pulling him close. "I don't need to go anywhere," Trip whispered next to his ear. "But I need to do this."

Malcolm closed his eyes as his partner's lips found his own, leaning into the kiss. It was the first time since the assault that Trip had initiated any physical contact between them; not something Malcolm had expected to happen so soon. Not that he was complaining; Trip's approach seemed genuine enough, and Malcolm was certainly not going to stop him.

Eventually, they broke apart, both of them rather short of breath. Trip leaned forward again, talking softly that only Malcolm could hear him.

"I'm worried about ya, Mal. You're so wound up. You need to relax, get some real sleep. Y'can't keep goin' like this."

"Trip." Malcolm sighed, allowing himself to relax in the embrace. He sensed that this time, it was Trip holding him instead of the other way around, which was fine. No way he would admit it to anyone, but he needed this; had needed it for a long time. "It's just that... I was really hoping it would work this time."

Counting on it, actually.

"I know." A careful hand found its way into Malcolm's hair, moving up and down in gentle strokes. "But it's gonna be fine, okay? Don't worry."

Malcolm smiled a little, resting his head on Trip's shoulder.

Now let's just hope that for once, you're right, Mr. Tucker.

TBC...

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