Title: Killing Thing
Author: Sita Z
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thanks for your reviews!
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Chapter 15
"Remember, Commander, you must not take it off, not even for a single minute!"
Malcolm glanced back to where the voices came from. Trip was crouched in the open shuttle hatch, sorting through their camping gear and not-quite-scowling at the doctor.
"I know, doc. I'm not even gonna touch the remote. Happy now?"
"More or less." Phlox sighed. "I'm still not really comfortable with the idea of the two of you going down there on your own."
Malcolm had finished his last routine check of the navigation controls, a green light indicating that everything was in perfect working order. He shut off the maintenance program and swiveled around in the pilot seat so he faced the doctor.
"Does your unease have anything to do with our track record of away missions, doctor?" he asked, smirking when he caught Trip's eyes. "What do they call us behind our backs? The "Disaster Twins"?"
"More like the "Duo of Doom"," was Trip's grumbled reply. He opened a compartment door and began to stow away the camping equipment. "That's what Hoshi and her gang call us, anyway."
Malcolm rolled his eyes.
"Actually," Phlox commented, "although both descriptions fit you somewhat - " it was Trip's turn to roll his eyes at that - "right now I'm not so much concerned about any of the mishaps that tend to happen to you planetside. It's more the fact that there are no medical facilities where you are going. I'm not sure if we should take such risks in your present condition, Commander."
Malcolm's amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. Over the last six days, ever since Trip had spent a night in sickbay after his so-far worst seizure, his partner's health had deteriorated in a slow but noticeable way. There were times when the trembling of his arms and legs got so bad Trip had no choice but to lie down for a few hours, and the movement disorders Malcolm had first noticed the evening after the seizure were now part of Trip's everyday life. According to Phlox, those were after-effects of the attack and would disappear as time went by, but of course only as long as the next seizure came along. And the next one, and the next. Malcolm tried not to think of what would happen if some day, Trip suffered an attack every day instead of every week.
"Doc." Trip's voice brought him back to the present. The engineer sounded slightly impatient, as he often did these days... although on most of these occasions Trip's impatience was directed towards himself. "I've got the remote sensor and you gave us a zillion hyposprays to use. We'll be fine."
Phlox let out another sigh. "As long as you make sure you don't..."
"...don't take off the remote bracelet," Trip finished for him. "I know, doc."
He slid the compartment door shut, and Malcolm almost missed the twitch of his hand as he let go of the handle. Almost.
"Ready to go?" Another voice drifted over from somewhere outside, and a moment later the Captain appeared next to Phlox in the open hatch. "Gentlemen? All done?"
"I think we've got everything, Cap'n," Trip replied. "The Vulcans give you the go-ahead yet?"
Before Enterprise left Vulcan's orbit for Kira Mayiar, Vulcan space control had requested that Archer send a message once they reached the planet, along with a detailed report on how they were planning to proceed from this point on. An understandable precaution, and even the Captain had not grumbled about Vulcan patronage this time, sending the report as soon as they had swung into orbit around the small green world.
"Captain Sirvek contacted me ten minutes ago," Archer said. "You can go whenever you're ready, Trip."
"Great," Trip replied, with a little too much enthusiasm. Malcolm knew just how nervous his partner was about going down to Kira Mayiar, and, to tell the truth, he was feeling a bit jittery himself. Of course, as security officer and the ship's chief paranoic, he was used to being nervous before away missions, but this was a bit different. It wasn't so much that he was afraid the Mayiari might hurt them - from the little T'Pol had told them about these people, hurting anyone was the last thing on their mind. No, the thing was that he had no idea what to expect, no plan, not even a hunch of what they were going to find down there. All he and Trip really had were a set of coordinates, their camping gear and one hell of a problem to take down to the planet. And hopefully, hopefully the Mayiari would be able to something about the latter.
"Did T'Pol say anythin' why we need to take our camping stuff with us?" Trip was still sitting in the open hatch with one foot tucked up beneath him. "I mean, she told us these people don't mind havin' visitors. Couldn't we stay with them?"
"I suppose you could," Archer replied, leaning against the shuttle with his arms crossed. "But it's not as if you're going to bring the shuttle down a few hundred meters from their settlement. The Vulcans were quite empathic on that. You'll have to land at least 50 kilometers away from the place where one of their... families is probably staying."
"Where they're probably staying?" Malcolm repeated. He left the pilot seat and stepped up behind Trip so he could look at Archer. "Do you mean they might not even be there?"
The Captain sighed. "Wish I knew. The Vulcans refused to tell me any more than this. Fact is, it'll take you about a day to get there, and since Kira's sun only stays up for five or six hours, you'll need a place to spend the night."
Malcolm nodded slowly. The fact that they would have to abandon the shuttle admittedly didn't sit well with him, but at least no one had said anything about leaving their communicators behind. It was the least thing that he - and Trip - needed, being stranded on an alien world with no means to contact the ship. Not when Trip's condition was as critical as it was turning out to be.
A soft chuckle came from Trip's direction. "This is startin' to sound like a shoreleave expedition," he said, and turned his head so he could look at Malcolm. "You up to a hike, Mal?"
"I guess so," Malcolm answered and chased away his next thought before it could take hold: I hope you are. "If we still have a walk ahead of us, I'd say we'd better get started," he added.
"Right you are, Mal." Trip began to climb to his feet, one hand cautiously on the frame of the hatch, but before he could straighten himself up, his left leg suddenly gave way as if someone had kicked it. Trip stumbled, falling backwards, and would have likely suffered a nasty bruise on his bottom, had it not been for Archer catching him a second before he hit the deck.
"Careful, Trip," was the Captain's only comment as he helped his former Chief Engineer regain his balance, but all the same, Malcolm couldn't help but notice the worried look in his eyes. Archer knew as well as he did that Trip had not simply lost his footing. Phlox, hovering in the background, looked very much as though he would have liked to comment on what had just happened, maybe utter another warning, but to Malcolm's relief he refrained from doing so. Trip's smile had vanished, and after a muttered "Thanks" in Archer's direction he turned his back on everyone else, pretending to busy himself with the medkits. The Captain caught Malcolm's eyes, conveying a mute message. Malcolm knew that Trip would have been annoyed, had he known what the Captain was telling his partner behind his back: Keep an eye on him.
Malcolm nodded in Archer's direction, aware that Trip would have resented his silent response just as much: I will. If you asked Trip, it was him keeping an eye on Malcolm, never the other way around. Unfortunately, Malcolm viewed the matter just the same, only with the roles reversed. And he would keep an eye on Trip, he silently swore to himself. Even if he had to make it so that Trip never noticed.
"Well, then," the Captain said, "I guess it's time. Doctor..."
Trip turned around again, even managing to smile a little as he got to his feet. "See ya around, Cap'n."
Archer answered his smile. "Don't forget to contact us once you've landed."
Trip nodded. "Sure thing."
The Captain regarded both of them for a moment. "Good luck down there," he said quietly. Malcolm didn't miss the undercurrent of worry in his tone, and found that for once, he could fully identify with his Captain's feelings where an away mission was concerned. It wasn't supposed to be done like this, jumping into things like two children exploring a deserted house, not sure what they were going to find or if, in fact, they were going to find anything at all.
Trip reached out to close the hatch, returning Malcolm's mind to the matters at hand. The lights outside were dimming, as always when the shuttle bay was being depressurized, and a red light on the helm console flashed up, warning them not to activate the thrusters just yet.
"Mal?" Trip was watching him closely. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Malcolm said absently, and only when Trip rolled his eyes realized that he had just used the "f" word again. "Really, I'm okay," he added with a smile, and this time, Trip seemed to believe him.
Malcolm returned to the pilot seat and activated the starting sequence. He watched the red light blink a few more times, then turn into the bright green beacon that let him know he had another 30 seconds before the hangar doors would open.
Trip had taken a seat behind him, and Malcolm didn't have to turn around to know that his partner was eyeing the navigation controls with a longing look. Both Trip and Archer were crazy about "teaching those babies a few more tricks", as they called their occasional pilot practice, crazy enough in fact to help Travis install a flight simulator in one of the cargo bays. Malcolm, for one, was happy enough to do without a go at the simulator (or any other cubicle that was designed to shake about the contents of your stomach), and found himself wishing he could have given up the helm to his partner, just so things would have felt more normal.
A beeping sound from his console announced that the doors were being opened. Malcolm fired the thrusters, tilting the shuttle's nose downwards once the gray metal plates had slid back into the hull. As always, there was a slight lurch as the shuttle dropped into space, just enough to remind you that you no longer were in an environment designed to resemble Earth's gravity. Once the shuttle was safely on course, Malcolm slightly turned his head and saw that Trip was smiling a little. "Feels strange, huh?"
Malcolm knew that Trip was not merely referring to the bumps and shakes of a shuttle start, and answered with a slight smile of his own.
"Yes," he said. "It does."
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Once they had passed the last layers of clouds (not that there were that many to begin with), Malcolm saw that Kira Mayiar's surface did not look very different up close. Mostly, it was green, a wide prairie stretching into all directions, undulating shadows suggesting that the landscape consisted of a number of shallow hills; waves on a gentle green ocean. Even the sky was tinted mossy green, and it was difficult to tell where the hills ended and the clouds began.
"Nice," Trip said, and Malcolm found himself agreeing with his partner. It wasn't the sort of landscape that made you go "oh" and "ah" (well, that made most people go "oh" and "ah" - Malcolm had never been given to rapturous cries of enthusiasm over any kind of scenery), but it was nice, in a quiet, peaceful way. Like a picture you would look at to gather your thoughts for meditation.
He brought the shuttle down on top of one of the hills, a few dozen meters away from a clump of small, birch-like trees. The noise the thrusters made as they were deactivated seemed unusually loud, maybe because of the silence that reigned in this place.
When they opened the hatch, the first thing Malcolm noticed was the smell of real, unrecycled air he had come to associate with planetside missions. It wasn't always a pleasant thing, bearing in mind the occasions when they had visited civilizations that saw no need to do anything about pollution. This time, however, it was pleasant, a smell of grass and wind and untouched nature.
Trip smiled. " Nice." He climbed outside, more carefully than he usually would have done, and looked down at his boots, which had disappeared in the shin-deep grass that covered the ground. "Smells great."
"It does at that." Malcolm followed him outside, routinely scanning their surroundings. Other than the birch trees to their right, he couldn't see anything larger than a bush within miles of their current position. It did seem a peaceful place, and for a moment he almost felt as an intruder. This wasn't a place made for exploring, for trampling around with heavy boots, lugging equipment and interrupting the silence that seemed to have been here centuries before any living soul had ever set foot on this earth.
In the meantime, Trip had taken out his communicator and flipped it open. "Tucker to Enterprise."
A short burst of interferences followed, then: "Archer here. Are you okay down there, Trip?"
"Couldn't be better," Trip replied. "We're gonna set off southwards in a few minutes, once we've got our stuff out of the shuttle."
"Stay in touch," Archer said. "I want you to contact the ship every five hours at the least. Don't forget."
"Sure thing," Trip said.
"Good. Let us know if anything unexpected happens."
"Will do. Tucker out."
Trip stowed the communicator into his arm pocket, then looked at Malcolm. "I guess we'd better get to work."
A few minutes later two backpacks, mostly containing camping gear, stood next to the open hatch. Malcolm had insisted on taking a full set of field equipment with them, including flashlights and a sensor designed to announce the presence of any approaching biosign larger than that of a rabbit. The various parts of the device were currently stowed away in the top of Trip's backpack, an impressive heap of tent poles and a rolled up sleeping bag rounding off the picture.
Trip sighed. "This is gonna feel like carryin' a small house."
Malcolm grinned, hoisting up his equally large bundle. "Didn't you want to go an a camping expedition?"
Trip only rolled his eyes and lifted his backpack off the ground. Malcolm's amusement faded when he noticed the slight tremble running through Trip's arm as the engineer adjusted the straps to his shoulders. Knowing they would only end up arguing, he didn't offer to take part of Trip's share of the load and looked away again as if nothing had happened. Maybe there was a way he could smuggle some of those tentpoles into his own backpack when they broke camp in the morning.
Trip was doing his best to ignore what was happening, waiting until the trembling had subsided with the air of a man waiting for a drained battery to re-charge itself. Once his hand was steady enough, the engineer took out his scanner, his fingers slowly and carefully searching the keys to activate the grid of coordinates that pinpointed their current position.
"I think we should be okay headin' this way," he said after a second of studying the display, and nodded in the direction of the birch trees. "It's as good a guess as any."
Malcolm barely suppressed a sigh, wishing for the hundredth time that the Vulcans had given them more precise instructions where to find the Mayiari "family". Like this, it was like chasing a herd of deer through a thick forest.
"Let's hope they're not moving camp as we're talking," he said. According to T'Pol, a Mayiari family never stayed in the same place for more than six months.
Trip tucked his scanner away. "I seem to remember a conversation about thinkin' happy endings," he teased, smiling to take the sting out of his words. "We're gonna be fine, Mal."
Malcolm followed him down the hill, deliberately putting on his best scowl. It was nice to be able to do this again, some plain old bickering, Trip "Sunshine" Tucker versus Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Predictor of Gloom and Doom. It made things feel pleasantly normal.
"You're going to be fine. I for one could do without a few additional days of crossing alien territory."
Just as Malcolm thought he would, Trip rolled his eyes at his choice of words. "Sometimes I can't believe you were a Boy Scout as a kid. Don't these guys spend all of their time runnin' around in the woods and explorin'?"
"Eagle Scout," Malcolm replied archly. "As to our "running around in the woods", that was called survival training. And one of the first things you learned there was never to invade potentially dangerous territory if it can at all be avoided."
"Sounds like a fun way to spend your summer vacation."
"It was." Malcolm smirked, remembering one particular week of "survival training" that had included twelve-year-old Malcolm Reed smoking his first cigarette, together with a few other daring survivor trainees who had managed to elude the sharp eye of law, or, in that case, the sharp eye of Danny, their patrol leader. At the time, not even the gruesome taste of smoke on his tongue had spoiled the thrilling feeling of doing something that was not, repeat NOT, allowed.
Trip regarded him with one eyebrow raised. "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not." Following a sudden urge, Malcolm reached out for his partner's hand and squeezed it gently. "You do know that I'm looking forward to spending some time with you?"
Trip smiled, closing his fingers tighter around Malcolm's hand. "Same here."
Malcolm knew he should let go again - it wasn't exactly Starfleet protocol for two officers to be holding hands while "crossing alien territory" - but he held onto Trip's hand all the same. More's the fun, as twelve-year-old, lawbreaking Malcolm might have said.
Together, they climbed the hill adjacent to the one where they had abandoned their shuttle, the shin-deep grass brushing over their ankles as if they were walking through a giant angora rug. For some reason, the sensation made Malcolm smile, and he suddenly knew he would mind an additional few days not at all.
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True to the Captain's words, the sun began to set a mere two hours after they had climbed the first grassy hill. During their hike, their surroundings hadn't notably changed, except that the sloping hills had given way to a more or less even plain. Once or twice, Malcolm thought he had seen a glimpse of something brown and furry move in the grass, but whenever he tried to make out what it was, it seemed to disappear again. Some sort of animal, he supposed, but very likely nothing they had to be afraid of. For some reason, Malcolm had a hard time convincing himself that they needed to look out for dangers in this place. Like the brown animal, everything around them seemed to acknowledge their presence in some way, give a passing nod to the fact that there were two strange, blue-clad figures making their way through the quiet grassland, would maybe even watch them for a while, but not with any exaggerated interest. Malcolm wondered if the Mayiari were going to react the same way... that was, if they ever encountered any of them. Until now, there hadn't been the slightest indication of anyone - any sentient beings - living in this place.
About half an hour after the first red streaks appeared on the evening sky, they discovered a clump of trees much like the ones back at the landing site; with their whitish bark and pale green leaves, they looked like birch trees, except for the fact that they only reached up to a grown man's shoulder. "Bonsai Birches", Trip called them, and for some reason Malcolm found the name the funny enough to chuckle like a fool whenever he looked at one of them. Or maybe it was just the fact that he and Trip had been laughing and teasing each other for most of the afternoon, and at that point it didn't take much to set him off again. Malcolm couldn't remember the last time he had felt so free simply to enjoy himself.
After they had set up their tent (Malcolm dutifully placed the warning sensor a meter away from the entrance, although he didn't really believe they were going to need it), they abandoned the camp site long enough to do a little exploring of their surroundings - and, following Trip's suggestion, to see if they could find some dry branches for a campfire. The Bonsai birches were scattered over an area of maybe 50 square meters, interrupted here and there by small green bushes, some of which carried tiny, cranberry-like fruit. Several of the bushes gave the distinct impression as if someone had been here before, diligently picking the berries off the lower branches, and Malcolm was reminded of the small, brown animal he had seen. Maybe it came here to feed, choosing another bush each time for its daily meal. After a moment's hesitation, he tucked his scanner back into his pocket. There was really no need for them to take any of its berries, not when they had several rations of prepacked food back at the camp site.
"Mal!"
He raised his head, his mind still on the brown animal which kept darting back into his thoughts, just as it kept darting by on the periphery on his vision whenever he wasn't paying full attention to his surroundings.
"You gotta look at this!"
Trip was a few meters ahead, crouching down next to a mossy boulder. When Malcolm came closer, he noticed a faint sound like a tap turned on, and a moment later saw what Trip was looking at: from beneath the boulder, almost as if it were coming directly out of the stone, bubbled a small stream of water, disappearing back into the ground less than a meter from its origin. It looked perfectly real, the tiny brook having burrowed a small, pebble-filled bed into the ground, and yet Malcolm couldn't help the impression that this was something more than simply a spring that had dug its way to the surface. For all its natural appearance, it almost seemed as if someone had put it there, very deliberately picking this place, sheltered by the birches and close to the berry-laden bushes.
Malcolm crouched down next to Trip, who scooped some of the water into his cupped hand, bringing it to his lips.
"Smells great," he said, cautiously dipping the tip of his tongue into the clear liquid. "Tastes great, too. Don't worry," he added as he noticed Malcolm's eyes on him. "I scanned it, there's nothin' in there that could give us the runs."
Carefully, Malcolm immersed his hand into the water and brought some of the cold liquid to his mouth. Trip was right; the water did have a special taste to it, a faint trace of something he could not quite determine. Malcolm had a feeling he would recognize the taste if he waited only a few seconds longer, but all of a sudden, he wasn't so sure if he really wanted to know.
"Remind me to re-fill our water bottles in the morning," he said, shaking the water off his hand and getting back to his feet. He knew he had surprised Trip with his business-like tone, but there was something to this place that made him want to be as rational and down-to-earth as he could... if only to stop his thoughts from taking him somewhere he'd rather not go. There were some things, like physics, maths and strategics, that Malcolm believed in, and some he did not, and he knew he preferred to keep it that way.
On their way back to their tent, Trip discovered several dried-up cranberry bushes, and they pulled them out of the ground, shaking off the last, shriveled leaves before they carried them back to the camp site.
Against Malcolm's expectations, the brittle twigs burned well, and as he watched the flames, he felt a twinge of the afternoon's excitement return. Sitting close to Trip in front of a crackling campfire, sipping tea and watching bursts of sparks explode when another dry branch broke in two was the best thing he had done in a long time, the best he had felt in a long time. They had eaten their meals, which Trip had heated on their camping stove - "too bad we don't have any marshmallows", he had commented - lighting the dry branches only when their empty containers and plates were stowed away with the rest of their equipment. After all, the fire was only "for mood", as Trip called it, and not to actually cook their meals on.
Malcolm felt an arm slide around his waist, and a warm weight settle against him as Trip leaned on his shoulder.
"Nice," the engineer commented somewhat drowsily, sighing when Malcolm's arm came to rest on his shoulders. "I've always wanted to do somethin' like this, y'know. Jus' the two of us, somewhere nice and quiet. Like this place, or the beach you told me about."
Malcolm knew immediately what Trip was talking about; the night after the away team had returned from the Ru'khi homeworld, when he had sat at Trip's bedside telling his unconscious partner about a white beach, palm trees and sunshine.
"I didn't realize you heard me back then," he said, not sure whether to feel embarrassed or not. "I thought you were sleeping."
"I was," Trip replied quietly. "Most of the time, anyway. But I remember wakin' up for a few moments, jus' barely. I knew I was hurtin' all over and I was terrified, but then there was your voice, tellin' me 'bout this great beach you wanted us to go to. You said you would only wade around in the shallows and not to dunk you under, not even think about it. Then I fell asleep again."
Malcolm nodded. "That's about what I said," he said, watching another shower of sparks rain onto the ground in front of their feet. "I didn't know what else to do. I..."
He trailed off. He didn't want to think of how helpless he had felt, that night and the days that had followed.
"I love you, Malcolm," Trip said suddenly. "I love you, and I'm sorry for every time I made you think any different. I'm so sorry for puttin' you through all this mess. If there was somethin' I could do..."
"Shh." Malcolm reached out and turned Trip's head around, leaning forward until their lips were touching. "Don't. Don't apologize." He kissed him, softly, slowly. "I love you too, Trip. There's nothing you have to be sorry for."
A quick, darting movement at the very edge of his vision caught his attention, and this time, Trip seemed to have noticed it as well. They turned their heads, spotting it both at the same time. A small animal, doubtlessly the one whose presence Malcolm had noticed before, was sitting on the ground about ten meters away, the fire illuminating its chestnut fur. It was about the size of a cat, its torso, legs and brush like those of a fox, the large, slanted brown eyes adding a completely alien feature to its appearance. Now that he really saw it for the first time, Malcolm was surprised how beautiful it was.
Another surprise followed hard on the heels of the first one when Trip chuckled softly. "There you are." With a glance at Malcolm he added, "This little guy's been followin' us for a while. I saw him first about an hour after we started walkin', but I wasn't sure then."
Malcolm nodded. "I've seen him too." He regarded the creature which was sitting perfectly still, watching them with its strange brown eyes. "He doesn't seem to be dangerous."
"Nope." Trip grinned. "S'almost as if he's keepin' an eye on us, to see where we're goin'."
Malcolm smiled, but at the same time he never took his eyes off the animal. The fox, as he had started to call it in his mind, calmly met his gaze, sitting there with its tail neatly draped across its paws as if it were a guard on duty. And maybe, a voice at the back of Malcolm's mind added, maybe it was.
As if it had picked up on his thoughts, the fox flicked one large, triangular ear, then turned around and disappeared between two bushes... or, at least, Malcolm believed that was what had happened. In the flickering light of the fire, it had almost seemed as if the fox had simply... vanished.
"Strange," Trip said quietly, looking at the spot where the fox had been sitting only a second before. "It wasn't afraid of us at all."
Malcolm said nothing in response and they simply sat there for a while, watching as the fire slowly consumed the last dried-up twigs and branches. Finally, the flames died away, leaving only a faint red glow behind. In the meantime, the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the air had noticeably cooled down, a strong wind blowing over the open grassland. Trip's head had come to rest on his shoulder, and the engineer's deep, even breathing suggested that he was very close to dropping off right then and there.
Gently, Malcolm prodded his partner. "Trip."
"Mmmmph," Trip said, coming fully awake when Malcolm prodded him again. "Whassup?"
Malcolm smiled. "We should go into the tent. I wouldn't want us to catch a cold out here."
As always when he was sleepy, Trip's accent thickened. "Sleepin' next to the campfire's part of the tradition, Mal."
"Well, we'll have to skip that particular part," Malcolm replied, wisely not asking what "tradition" Trip was referring to. "I'd rather not listen to you cough and sneeze for the next five days, thank you very much." He carefully extricated himself from Trip's arm and got up. "Come on."
Trip sighed and stood up as well, gathering up their empty tea cups. The wind had gained strength, scattering the ashy remains of their campfire across the ground and making the door of the tent flap wildly as they ducked inside.
"Reminds of the first M-class world we found," Trip said, once the door was safely secured. He unrolled his sleeping bag and started to open the zipper. "There was one hell of a storm goin' on even before we went into the caves. Nearly blew out our campfire."
Malcolm smiled. "I bet Travis jumped on the chance to scare you all out of your mind."
"Yeah." Trip shrugged out of his uniform overall, discarded the black shirt and kicked off his boots before he started on the task of zipping their two sleeping bags together. ""The Ghost of George Webb", it was, I think. I guess even T'Pol was gettin' the goosebumps, although she'd never admit it. All done," he added, holding up the lumpy something that was two Starfleet issue sleeping bags converted into one large enough to hold two people. "Let's hit the sack, shall we?"
"Absolutely." In the meantime, Malcolm had stripped down to his briefs as well, and was glad to crawl into the warm sleeping bag next to Trip. Outside, the wind continued to whistle eerily, and Malcolm found himself hoping the tent pegs would stay where he had planted them into the ground earlier on.
He felt two arms snake around his waist, Trip's mouth placing a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck.
"Night, Mal," Trip muttered sleepily, and pulled him close so that they lay spooned together. Malcolm put his hand over Trip's and stroked the long fingers that were intertwined on his stomach.
"Sleep well, love."
He listened as Trip's breathing quieted down, then turned into an even rising and falling. More often than not, it was Trip who fell asleep first, and Malcolm loved to simply lie there and feel the warmth of another presence at his side. The first few weeks when they had been sleeping together, Malcolm had even found himself reluctant to drop off, secretly afraid that the arms holding him would be gone when he woke up. He needn't have worried, though. Trip was always there, and in the end it was often Malcolm who put his foot down and insisted that they get out of bed in time for their shifts, and no more cuddling. In the meantime, Malcolm had gotten so used to serving as Trip's oversized pillow that he found it difficult to fall asleep without his partner quietly snoring next to his ears.
Carefully, so as not to wake the other man, Malcolm half-turned his head and listened. Yes, there it was, very soft but distinctly audible, the sound he needed to go to sleep. He smiled into the dark, and only a few minutes later, Malcolm Reed was fast asleep.
Outside, next to the charred twigs that had once been a campfire, the being Malcolm had called a fox sniffed the air twice, then, with the air of someone who found things to be to his satisfaction, turned around again and disappeared into the night.
TBC...
Please let me know what you think!
