Title: Killing Thing
Author: Sita Z
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thanks for reviewing Chapter 12!
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Chapter 13
Malcolm leaned back in his chair at the conference table, sighing inwardly. He was seeing decidedly too much of this place these days, and none of the briefings he had been obliged to attend during the last two weeks had resulted in anything positive. And that was putting it mildly, considering that last time, he had interrupted the meeting by attacking Peters and breaking the man's nose. Malcolm's lips tightened as he remembered. It wasn't right that he should not receive so much as an official reprimand for what he had done, "extenuating circumstances" notwithstanding. An Armory officer couldn't afford to lose his temper, no matter what the circumstances.
He glanced at his partner sitting next to him. Trip had noticeably lost weight, his thin frame accentuated by the loose-fitting pants and t-shirt he was wearing. His left wrist was circled by the sensor bracelet that transferred his bio data to a monitor in sickbay, so Phlox would notice immediately if any changes occurred. Trip hated the device, but the doctor had left him no choice, insisting that Trip promised not to take it off before he officially discharged him.
"You won't be able to call for help when a seizure occurs," Phlox had explained, fastening the bracelet on his patient's wrist and ignoring Trip's scowl. "I need to know in advance so I can come to your quarters in time. If you find the sensor unacceptable, you are welcome to stay here in sickbay as a permanent accommodation." His blue eyes had twinkled mischievously. "I certainly don't mind the company, and your expertise would come in handy if there's a malfunction with any of the medical equipment."
Trip's horrified expression had elicited a grin from Malcolm, who had come to walk his partner back to his quarters. "I believe Trip's going to take his chances with the remote," he had said, earning a glare from the engineer. Trip's annoyance had quickly dissipated, however, once he was back in his own four walls. As Trip had announced, sitting down happily at his desk, it was good to be home, even if he was going to be confined to his quarters for most of the day and controlled by a remote sensor.
Trip, noticing Malcolm's eyes on him, turned his head and smiled. The expression seemed a little forced, as if he were struggling - and not quite succeeding - to cover up his nervousness. Malcolm couldn't blame him; after all, this meeting had been called because the Captain wanted to discuss how Starfleet was planning to "proceed"... meaning, if they had decided to let Trip stay on Enterprise or not. Not that there would be much discussing involved - if Command decided to withdraw one of their officers, even the Captain's hands were tied. And Malcolm had a feeling that they were going to do exactly that. Well, he had decided a long time ago that Trip wouldn't be going back to Earth on his own. If Command decided that their Chief Engineer was no longer fit for deep space duty... well, there were a lot of fine men and women who would be more than happy to accept the post of Enterprise's Armory officer.
Malcolm smiled back at Trip, and was glad to see his partner relax somewhat. No doubt they would have a screaming fight once Malcolm announced that he was resigning, and he was determined to enjoy peace as long as it lasted. Even more so since he intended to have the final say in this, which he knew would involve a sulking Trip and more than one heated late-night discussion. Well, so be it. Malcolm had found out long ago that he could easily out-stubborn the engineer, if need be.
"You're early, gentlemen."
Malcolm raised his head and saw that Archer had arrived, the doctor and T'Pol following in his wake. He tried to glean from Archer's expression if the Captain had good or bad news to divulge, but there was no way to tell.
"Good evening, sir," he replied politely, his formal greeting echoed by Trip's "Evenin', Cap'n". Malcolm noticed that they both sounded fairly normal, which was good. No need for the Captain to know that two of his senior officers had been too nervous to have dinner.
Archer took a seat, waiting until T'Pol and Phlox were sitting as well before he spoke up.
"As you all know, I had a call from Admiral Forrest this afternoon..."
Trip sat up a little straighter.
"...well, the good news first, you're going to stay on Enterprise, Trip."
Malcolm wondered if his own grin looked as silly as Trip's. Although his partner claimed to be the eternal optimist, Malcolm knew that Trip had not really expected to be allowed to stay, not when he needed medical observation basically 24/7.
Archer was smiling as well, and Dr. Phlox gave Trip the thumbs-up, a gesture that Liz had taught him a few days ago and which he now used in every given situation. T'Pol seemed unaffected by the news, although her left eyebrow did twitch a little once Archer was finished. Trip smiled back at Phlox, then, well aware that no one except Malcolm would notice, reached for Malcolm's hand under the table and squeezed it briefly before letting go again.
"That's great news, Cap'n."
"That it is," Archer replied with a warm smile. "The Admiral told me Starfleet couldn't afford to call back their best engineer, not if there's a way you can still stay on Enterprise. However..." His smile faded as he continued. "It seems that some of the Command staff aren't willing to..." He hesitated. "I'm afraid there's no tactful way to put this, Trip. They don't feel they can allow a permanently disabled person to hold the post of Chief Engineer. Forrest filed an official complaint about their decision, as did I, but he's afraid that there's not much we can do. I'm sorry, Trip."
This time it was Malcolm reaching out for Trip's hand. Trip was trying hard not to give away just how hurt he was, but a slight trembling under Malcolm's fingers betrayed him.
"Well," he said heavily, "I guess it's fair enough, isn't it."
"It's not," Malcolm interrupted before Archer could say anything. "Trip's still best qualified for the job. His mental abilities weren't damaged by the poison. There's no reason why he shouldn't keep his position."
"Incorrect, Lieutenant," T'Pol replied calmly. "The responsibilities of a Chief Engineer include command situations, and the risk of Commander Tucker suffering a seizure in a critical moment is too great to be ignored."
Malcolm had never come so close to strangling the Science Officer. "There's always a risk of a commanding officer being injured or otherwise incapacitated," he replied, trying to sound as cool as the Vulcan. "That's no reason not to pick the best person for the job."
"Malcolm," Archer said quietly. "No one's happy about Command's decision, but it's not as if they're busting Trip back to crewman." He looked at Trip. "Forrest asks you to stay aboard as a Technical Counselor. You'll keep your rank and authority, and of course you're still going to be included in meetings and such." He sighed. "Believe me, Trip, I don't like the idea of anyone but you in charge of Engineering. Right now, however, as distasteful as it is, I think we'll have to go along with Starfleet's solution."
Trip nodded slowly. "I guess so." After a short pause he added, "They say anythin' 'bout who they're gonna promote?"
Archer nodded. "Lieutenant Hess. She'll be Chief on probation for three months and if her efficiency ratings are sufficient, they'll appoint her for good."
Trip smiled, although a little sadly. "Good pick. That girl's an engineerin' genius if I ever met one."
She's not as good as you, Malcolm thought, biting his lip to keep the comment from slipping out. His partner staying on Enterprise was more than he had dared to hope for, and still, it seemed unfair to take Engineering away from Trip. Trip had once called the warp engine "the other great love of my life" - as Malcolm suspected, only half-jokingly - and it was a fact that he was by far the best engineer of the fleet. Hess was good, no doubt about it, but she wouldn't have gotten them out of half the scrapes Trip's intuition had helped them wriggle out of, often at the very last minute.
"How about away missions?" Trip asked, returning Malcolm's attention to the briefing. "Can I still go?"
Archer seemed to be feeling uncomfortable. "Basically, yes, you can."
"What do you mean, "basically?" Trip wanted to know.
Archer sighed. "It depends, Trip. Command doesn't want you on any mission where your... health problem could turn out to be a risk." He glanced at Phlox. "It's going to depend on your judgement if Trip can join an away team or not."
"I see." Phlox didn't look very happy at the prospect. "Still, I refuse to make any decision without consulting the Commander as well." He looked at Trip. "We'll decide together if you're feeling up to an away mission or not. I can't go against my medical judgement, of course, but I'll take your opinion into consideration. You're an adult patient, after all."
Trip smiled at him. "Thanks doc. I appreciate that."
Malcolm also smiled at the doctor, grateful that Phlox was taking Trip's side in this. Of course, the final verdict still lay with Phlox, but the whole business would be a lot less humiliating if the doctor officially included Trip in his decision.
"Well," Archer began, "I guess for now, there's not much left to add..."
"Did Admiral Forrest say how they are planning to proceed should Commander Tucker return to full health?"
Malcolm turned his head in surprise. He would not have expected this question of T'Pol, of all people. Archer raised his eyebrows.
"Subcommander?"
T'Pol seemed to find nothing unusual about her inquiry. "It is only logical to consider all possibilities."
Archer gave her a long look. "If the doc gives Trip a clean bill of health, there's no reason why he shouldn't return to his former post."
T'Pol inclined her head. "Thank you, Captain."
Malcolm caught Trip's surprised look and shrugged in response. He had no idea what kind of logical twist had prompted T'Pol to ask this question.
Archer closed the meeting, and Malcolm followed his partner to the door. While they were heading for Trip's quarters, he glanced at Trip from time to time, but said nothing, accepting that the engineer didn't seem to be in the mood to talk.
Eventually, they arrived at Trip's door. Instead of following his partner inside, however, Malcolm remained next to the door.
"If you'd rather be alone..."
Trip shook his head. "There's no fun in gettin' plastered on your own, is there?"
Before Malcolm could react, Trip had closed the door behind them with his locking code. He walked over to a cabinet next to his desk and took a bottle out of it.
"I guess we've earned ourselves a nightcap." He shook the bottle so that the amber liquid inside was sloshed around. "My very last one, after I broke the other bottle."
Instead of lecturing Trip on the possible effects bourbon could have if combined with the doctor's medication, Malcolm accepted the glass Trip handed him and sat down on the bed.
"Thanks."
His own glass in hand, Trip followed suit and leaned against Malcolm's shoulder. The warmth that began to spread in Malcolm's stomach had nothing to do with bourbon, and he carefully slipped an arm around Trip's shoulders, happiness washing through him when Trip didn't tense or pull away.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their bourbon. With Trip's warm body close to his, Malcolm found it hard to hold on to the anger that had built up within him during the briefing. So Starfleet was run by a bunch of desk pilots, what else was new? At least they didn't have to go back to Earth, and, even more important, they could be together. He had come so close to losing Trip, and simply sitting here enjoying each other's company was more than enough, if you thought about it.
"Mal?"
Malcolm moved his head a little so he could look at Trip. "Yeah?"
Trip stared into his glass. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
Trip sighed. "Me bein' such an idiot. You, the Cap'n, Phlox... you're all bein' so nice about it, when it's really only my fault that I've lost my job." He began to move the glass so that the bourbon was swirled around inside. "Y'know, I keep thinkin'... if it'd been you, or the Cap'n, for that matter... you wouldn't have freaked out like that. You... you woulda pulled yourself together, instead of... of givin' up like a goddamn coward. You... you would've fought them off anyway, I guess."
The last few words came as a whisper, as if Trip wasn't sure whether he actually wanted Malcolm to hear them. Malcolm tightened his arm around Trip's shoulder, pulling him closer.
"I'm not superman, Trip. Granted, I'm a trained fighter, but that doesn't mean I can hold off three madmen whose minds are set on hurting or even killing me. They would have done the same thing to me."
"But you wouldn't've..."
"Trip," Malcolm interrupted. "I don't know what I would have done. I know I would have been angry, hurt and desperate, just like you were. And maybe it would have become too much and I would have tried a stunt like you did with the plasma coolant, who knows? Maybe you would have done a better job of being there for me when I needed you, and there would have been no need for me to try and kill myself."
Trip moved under his arm, turning his head so he could look at him. "Mal, you don't honestly think you're to blame for any of this, do you?"
Malcolm sighed. "I don't know, Trip. I wasn't there, was I, the day you..."
"Malcolm!" Trip turned around so that they were sitting face to face. "That mighta been because I was bein' a complete bastard. I told you to go away and not come back. But you didn't give up on me. You came after me when I'd crawled into the Jefferies tube to die and dragged me back to life." A sad smile played across his lips. "Seems to me I keep screwin' up and you keep savin' the day. So don't you go tellin' me it was your fault, 'cause it wasn't."
Malcolm took both their glasses and set them down on Trip's nightstand, then slipped his arms around his partner. A whiff of bourbon mingled with the scent Malcolm associated with coming back from a graveyard shift and finding Trip more or less asleep on his bunk, mumbling indistinct words when Malcolm slipped into bed next to him. A flicker of amusement passed through his mind; who would guess that Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's favorite smell included slightly unaired bedding, Starfleet issue shower gel and a touch of sweaty socks (why Trip insisted on wearing those in bed he had never been able to fathom).
The closeness of the moment made him whisper his next words.
"You didn't screw up, Trip... you simply made a mistake."
Trip chuckled softly next to Malcolm's ear. "There's a difference?"
"There is." Trip's hair tickled his cheek, and Malcolm turned his head to kiss the soft skin in the hollow between Trip's neck and shoulder. "Actually, there's a big difference."
Trip sighed, obviously enjoying himself. "Gonna trade semantics with me, are ya, Lieutenant?"
"No." Malcolm placed another kiss on Trip's neck, then looked up again. "I don't need to. Screwing up is for twits and idiots, and that-" he emphasized his point with a gentle kiss to Trip's lips - "- you are not. But it's a fact that absolutely everybody makes mistakes."
Trip said nothing in response, but there was a slight smile on his lips telling Malcolm that he wasn't going to argue. The tenderness of the moment would have led to more, but Malcolm resisted the urge to slip his hands under Trip's shirt to touch the skin beneath. It was Trip's decision when and how they were going to be intimate again, and up to him to make the first move. Malcolm had sworn to himself that he wouldn't push his partner. It was going to take time to rebuild what they'd had, time he was willing to take.
Trip seemed to have read his mind, slipping closer and leaning his head against Malcolm's shoulder.
"Sorry, Mal. I know it's stupid..."
Malcolm silenced him with a kiss. "Don't. It's all right." He caught Trip's doubting look and smiled. "Really. Don't feel you have to do anything you're not absolutely comfortable with." He was suddenly reminded of their first few months together, when they'd both been new to the whole guy on guy thing, both nervous as hell and at the same time amused by their own awkwardness. He smiled. "We'll just take it really slow, like we did before, okay?"
Trip answered his smile. "Kay."
Malcolm retrieved their glasses from the nightstand and leaned back, enjoying the feeling of having Trip so close by him.
More than enough, indeed.
The combined warmth and aftertaste of bourbon on his tongue was beginning to make him drowsy, all coherent thoughts pleasantly melting away as his eyes began to droop. Malcolm barely noticed when Trip got up and walked over to the wardrobe, returning a moment later with his well-worn favorite quilt. The soft blanket was spread over both of them, then Trip slipped back into bed next to him, still in his clothes minus the shoes. Part of Malcolm's mind groused that they were both going to go to sleep unwashed and fully dressed if he didn't drag himself to the bathroom right now, but for once, he decided to ignore the irksome voice. There was no bloody way he was getting out of this bed again; not for the next seven hours, anyway.
The sound of the doorchime came as a shock to both of them, startling Malcolm so that he almost toppled over the edge of the bunk. A thud and a muffled swear told him that Trip had been rather rudely startled out of his own doze, hitting his head on the bulkhead as a result.
"Are you expecting anyone?" Malcolm asked. Reluctantly, he dragged himself back to a sitting position. "The Captain?"
Trip shook his head and began to climb out of bed, running a hand through his hair so that it stuck up in all directions. "Naw, Jon said he was gonna turn in early tonight. Guess it's Phlox. No need to get up, the doc won't mind."
Malcolm briefly debated whether or not he should let the doctor see him half-in and half-out of Trip's bed, his hair and uniform rumpled and disheveled, then decided that it didn't matter. After all, Phlox had seen him in far more undignified situations.
Sleepily, he watched Trip cross the cabin on socked feet and press the door button. The bulkhead slid aside, Malcolm doing a double-take when he realized who their visitor was. Standing in the corridor was T'Pol, of all people, looking as spit-and-polish as she always did, her hands folded behind her back.
"Oh," Trip said. "I... I thought it was... evenin', Subcommander."
Malcolm briefly considered if there was any inconspicuous way to get from the bed to the desk chair without T'Pol noticing, his tactical mind coming up with zero suggestions. It would have been too late in any case, since she had already glanced past Trip and spotted him on the bunk.
"Good evening, Commander. Lieutenant," she replied with perfect composure. "I apologize if I am disturbing you."
Malcolm felt his cheeks grow warm.
"Not at all," Trip said hastily. "D'you... do you wanna come in?"
"Thank you." She walked past him, while Trip used the unobserved moment to kick his and Malcolm's boots under the bed.
"Please, take a seat." He gestured at the desk chair.
She complied, lowering herself into the offered chair with her usual grace. Malcolm, trying to maintain a modicum of decorum, began to discreetly straighten the sheets he was sitting on.
"So, uh..." Trip sounded a little lost. "There somethin' I can do for you, Subcommander?"
"There is," she replied, glancing at Malcolm. "It is fortunate that you are here as well, Lieutenant. What I have to say concerns both of you."
Malcolm didn't know what to say in response, and eventually settled for a careful nod. T'Pol sounded even more grave than usual, if that was at all possible, and he wondered if she was here to reprimand them. Maybe as the ship's first officer, she considered it her duty to reinforce the anti-fraternization rules. He and Trip weren't the only couple aboard Enterprise, and so far, nobody had found it necessary to quote regulations, but things might be different where senior officers were concerned.
"Ya like a cup of tea first?" Trip seemed to have recovered enough to take on the role of the host. "I'm afraid I've only got teabags, though."
"That will be fine. Thank you, Commander."
Malcolm watched Trip fuss with his kettle, surprised that T'Pol hadn't declined the offer. So maybe she wasn't here to deliver a reprimand, after all, although he still had a hard time imagining T'Pol coming over just to have a drink and share the latest gossip. The idea almost made him smile before he caught himself.
"Like one too, Mal?" Trip asked over his shoulder and Malcolm nodded.
"Sure, why not."
Soon enough, Trip came back over carrying three steaming mugs, one of which he handed to the Subcommander (Malcolm smothered a smile when he saw that Trip had picked his only plain white mug for T'Pol, keeping the Snoopy print and the sunflowers for Malcolm and himself). T'Pol accepted the cup as if her having a nightcap with the Chief Engineer and the Armory Officer were nothing unusual.
"Thank you, Commander."
Cradling his own cup with both hands, Trip sat down on the bed next to Malcolm. "So... you said there was somethin' you wanted to talk about?"
T'Pol inclined her head. "Indeed. I do not think it was necessary for Starfleet Command to remove you from your post."
Trip seemed surprised. "But... at the conference you said it was the logical thing to do."
She regarded him calmly. "No, I did not. I merely contradicted the Lieutenant's assessment that there was no reason to withdraw you from your position."
Trip frowned. "I'm not sure I can follow you there, T'Pol. So Command has reason to fire me, but it's still not logical for them to do so?"
"Correct. Your illness is reason enough for Command to consider seeking a replacement, but there is no logic in doing so when there is a chance you can return to full health. To quote Lieutenant Reed, you are, after all, the best person for the job."
Trip sighed. "It's nice of you to say so, Subcommander, but I'm afraid the doctor's done all he could. I won't be returnin' to full health for a long time, probably not ever. Starfleet knows that."
"Their information is insufficient."
Malcolm stared at her over the rim of his cup. She couldn't be implying what he thought she was... could she?
"What do you mean?" Trip wanted to know.
"There is a way to heal an illness like yours," she replied. Malcolm wasn't sure whether he had imagined the small hesitation in her voice before she continued. "I do not believe that Dr. Phlox has heard about it; in fact, very few people have."
Trip sat up straight, his tea forgotten. "Some Vulcan healin' technique? Is that why no one knows about it?"
"Not a Vulcan technique, no." This time, she did hesitate, lowering her eyes for a second before she went on. "It is true, however, that we do not share our knowledge of the khansara with many others. There... are Vulcans who disapprove of the procedure."
"Not a Vulcan technique, you say." Trip frowned. "But there are people on Vulcan who know how to perform it?"
"No. The khansara involves powers of the mind that no Vulcan possesses. But we know where to go if someone wants to undergo it."
"So where do you go?" Malcolm tried not to sound impatient; he sensed that T'Pol found it difficult to talk about the khansara, whatever it was, and was trying to hide her discomfort behind a very formal way of speaking.
"There is a planet on the outer fringes of the Eridani system, Kira Mayiar. The Mayiari have been known to the Vulcans for four hundred years, ever since Vulcan developed space travel. Since it is so close to our home world, Kira Mayiar was one of the first planets our ancestors visited on their expeditions."
"They're not on the Vulcan star charts," Trip said. "The T'Sia Colony is the next inhabited planet nearest to Vulcan."
"That is because the Mayiari do not wish to appear on the charts."
Malcolm frowned. "Why?"
T'Pol's eyes came to rest on him. "The Mayiari lead a very secluded existence. Their view of life is different to that of most species. They do not wish to explore their world or what lies beyond it, or expand their territory. Accordingly, they do not embrace technology as most known species do."
"So they're not on the charts to keep unwanted visitors away?" Malcolm asked.
"No. In fact, the Mayiari welcome visitors from other worlds. They are afraid, however, that if their existence became common knowledge, there would be those who would want to... exploit their gift."
"Their gift?"
T'Pol inclined her head. "Indeed. The Mayiari are powerful telepaths, like the Vulcans. However, their telepathic powers are not limited to communicating with others. They can also... change their surroundings, if they wish to do so."
"Change their surroundings?" Trip repeated. "You mean, telekinesis?"
"Not quite. The Mayiari do not simply move objects around; they can change the nature of matter."
Her words were followed by a brief silence. Finally Trip said: "I can see why they don't want anyone to know."
"The Vulcans have kept their whereabouts a secret," T'Pol continued. "There have been very few non-Vulcan visitors to Kira Mayiar, and all of them were deemed completely trustworthy by the Vulcans. We would not have shared our knowledge otherwise."
"You're sharin' it with us," Trip said softly.
"Yes," T'Pol said simply.
Another moment of silence followed. Malcolm, knowing that any "emotional displays" at her mark of confidence would only embarrass the Subcommander, eventually returned to the subject at hand.
"So... I take it the khansara has something to do with these mind powers?"
"Indeed." Malcolm had never seen the Subcommander anything but self-confident, sure of herself and the omnipresence of her logic. Now, however, she seemed almost vulnerable, like someone revealing their innermost secrets. "I do not know if you are aware of Vulcan's... cultural taboo where brain impairment is concerned."
They shook their heads, waiting for her to continue.
"For a Vulcan, brain injury is a fate worse than death. Losing the power to control your emotions, your... instincts..." She glanced away as if to gather her thoughts. "For most species, brain impairment means that they are limited in their physical and sometimes mental abilities. Vulcans, however, will lose their mastery of the cthia, the Logic, and their...basic instincts will run amok. Often, they become violent, a danger to everyone around them."
"And the khansara can help them?" Trip asked quietly.
"Yes. The Mayiari have the power to heal such an injury. Our two worlds have lived in peaceful coexistence since the first contact was made, and the Mayiari know that we won't betray their trust. They agreed to help our sick, as long as we do not try to take more than they are willing to give us."
Malcolm and Trip exchanged a look. "Do you... do you think they'd be willin' to help me?" the engineer asked finally.
"I do not know, Commander," T'Pol answered calmly. "There is no way to find out but to go there and ask them. It is what Vulcans have been doing for hundreds of years."
Malcolm considered. "You said this khansara would concern both of us. How so?"
She looked at him. "The khansara is a very straining procedure, physically and emotionally. The Mayiari will only help someone who is supported by a strong mental bond; with adult Vulcans, their bondmate will accompany them, and with children, one of their parents. The khansara cannot be performed otherwise."
Malcolm bit his lip, his own disappointment reflected on Trip's face. "Humans don't have mental bonds, Subcommander," he said quietly. "There might be a few of us who have some sort of... extrasensory perception, but even they can't use their powers to communicate or anything."
T'Pol tilted her head. "I am aware of that, Lieutenant. It does not matter. The Mayiari can join two people in a mental connection, even if the persons in question are non-telepathic. It has been done before."
"With humans?" Trip wanted to know.
T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "Not to my knowledge, no."
Trip exchanged a look with Malcolm, his doubts so clearly written on his face that Malcolm didn't need a bond of any sorts to read his partner's thoughts. Trip had never been comfortable with the idea of telepathic communication, suffering nightmares for weeks after he, Archer and several other crewpeople had been forced into a mental union with the stowaway being in the cargo bay. Malcolm knew he would never forget their visit to the being's planet when they had returned the "part" so it could join the "whole" again. The thin air had buzzed with a strange, vibrating force, and Malcolm hadn't needed to consult their communications expert to know that it was the being's joy they were sensing, its joy at being whole again. And although the sensation had not actually caused him any discomfort, it had been an unsettling experience. More than once, Malcolm had secretly thanked his lucky star that the being had not managed to catch him in the cargo bay, guilty as he felt about being the only one who had escaped. No, he couldn't honestly say that he felt any more confident than Trip when it came to telepathic "connections".
Not really the best foundations for a bond that includes the both of us, he thought with a dry inward chuckle. We'd probably scare each other right out of our minds.
"If you do not wish to undergo the khansara, I understand," T'Pol said. "There are many Vulcans who would never submit themselves to the Mayiari's powers, even if their injuries were too severe to be treated in the usual way. However, I thought it logical to present you with the possibility, even if you decide against it."
"Mal?"
Malcolm turned his head. Trip was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, as if he were unsure how to express his thoughts.
"I... I don't really know how to say this..."
"You'd like to try it," Malcolm interrupted quietly.
Trip chewed on his lower lip. "I can't really ask you to do this... I mean, it's me who needs their help, not you. An' I know you're not comfortable with the whole telepathy thing..."
Malcolm was aware of T'Pol's eyes on them as he answered. "Nor are you."
They held each other's eyes for a few seconds, and Malcolm was silently amused how well he could "read" Trip's mind even without any telepathy involved.
I don't even want to know how it's going to be if we go ahead with this.
Finally, he reached out for Trip's hand and squeezed it gently, turning back to T'Pol as he did so.
"I think we're going to give it a try," Malcolm said.
TBC...
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