Title: Killing Thing

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks for the feedback :)!

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Chapter 16

Malcolm was woken rather abruptly by a bare foot hitting his right leg. Before he had really come awake, the foot collided with his leg once again, kicking harder this time.

Malcolm quickly moved aside. "Ow! Trip, what..."

But he didn't have to ask what was going on. Once he had switched on the flashlight they had tied to the ceiling of the tent, he could see it perfectly well for himself. Trip was lying on his side, face turned away from Malcolm, his hands clutching frantically at the soft material of the sleeping bag. His whole body was twitching as if a giant fist had grabbed hold of his waist and were now trying to shake the dear life out of him. His feet kicked at the restraining fabric as he desperately struggled to get away from the invisible assailant.

"Trip... oh bloody hell."

Malcolm wasted no time trying to rouse Trip; the engineer's eyes were tightly closed, as they had been when the seizure had overcome him in his sleep. His face was the grimace of a man in pain, unaware of anything but the terrible convulsions that were shaking his body.

Malcolm's own feet almost got caught in the sleeping bag as he scrambled to the other side of the tent where their backpacks lay. Cursing himself for not taking precautions, for not preparing the hypospray before they had gone to bed, he fumbled with the zipper of the side pocket and finally managed to open it. He felt around inside, and for one terrible second believed they had left the medkit in the shuttlepod. Then his fingers hit something hard, and he pulled out the small box, almost dropping it as he undid the sealings on either side. Neatly arranged inside were a dozen small injectors, each containing several doses of the "strong stuff", as Trip called it; the stuff that went directly to the origin of the seizure and knocked out the haywire brain impulses.

Malcolm took one of the hyposprays and carefully adjusted it so that it would release only one dosage into Trip's bloodstream. A glance at Trip out of the corner of his eyes told him that the seizure had not relented, was still holding his partner's body in its cruel grip. He went back to Trip's side, and gently, as Phlox had shown him, took the trembling arm and applied the injector. The hypospray emptied itself with a small hiss, and only a split second later, the twitching and trembling came to a halt. A final shudder raced through Trip's body, then he went limp, his head tilting to one side. The engineer's face was pale and slick with sweat, but at least there was no blood on his lips this time; Trip frequently bit himself when he was having a seizure.

Gently, Malcolm straightened his partner's awkward position, untangling Trip's legs from the sleeping bag and pushing his rolled up jacket under the engineer's head as a makeshift pillow. As always when a seizure had pounced on him in his sleep, Trip was slowly coming to, looking disoriented and confused as if he weren't quite sure where he was, and what he was doing here.

"Hey there." Malcolm forced a smile as he brushed a damp strand of hair out of his partner's face. "Are you alright? Trip?" he added, thinking of Phlox' advice to call Trip by his name after a seizure.

Trip's eyes came to rest on his face. "Enterprise?" he asked in a slurry voice that made Malcolm's heart sink.

"No," he replied, careful to keep his own voice calm. "We're not on Enterprise. We're on a planet, Kira Mayiar. Don't you remember?"

Trip knitted his brows as though he wasn't sure what Malcolm was talking about. Then, after what seemed like an eternity although it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, the bewildered haze lifted from his eyes, and he blinked.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I remember." He moistened his lips before he continued, "Another attack?"

It was painful to hear the carefully concealed shame in Trip's voice. Malcolm knew how much Trip hated it when this happened, when the poison in his brain reduced him to a bundle of twitching limbs that had no control whatsoever. All the more so when it happened during the night, startling Malcolm from his sleep with a sharp kick by one of Trip's flailing feet.

Not sure what to say, he simply nodded and handed Trip one of their water bags.

"Here. You must be thirsty."

Trip took it and unscrewed the cap with still-shaky fingers. "Mal..."

A soft chirp from the direction of their backpacks interrupted him. Leaning over, Malcolm reached into the top pocket of his backpack, took out his communicator and flipped it open.

"Reed."

"Ah, Lieutenant." Malcolm recognized the doctor's voice. "The Commander's bio monitor shows that he had a seizure a few minutes ago. I trust you have everything under control?"

Malcolm glanced at Trip, who avoided his eyes and fiddled with the screw cap of the water bag instead. "Yes, I gave him one of the hyposprays you prepared. He's awake now."

"I'm glad to hear it." Despite his efforts to sound upbeat, there was a touch of worry in Phlox' voice that was audible even through the crackle of the open channel. "May I speak with the Commander for a moment?"

"Of course." Malcolm handed the communicator to Trip, who took it with obvious reluctance.

"Hey, doc."

"Commander," Phlox returned Trip's less-than-enthusiastic greeting with his usual bedside cheer. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness or nausea?"

"I'm okay," Trip answered - a little too quickly. Phlox seemed to have noticed as well.

"Commander, your remote sensor shows me that you're not "okay". I realize that you dislike discussing your condition, but since I can't examine you right now, I have to rely on your honest assessment."

Trip sighed. "I'm feelin' a little fuzzy. And my head's achin'."

"Any pain in your limbs or joints?"

Trip hesitated. "A little," he said then, which Malcolm translated into 'they're hurting like hell'.

Phlox, who was also well-versed in Trip-speak where health matters were concerned, made a soft clucking sound.

"I know you're not going to like this, Commander, but I must insist that you rest for at least twenty-four hours before you continue your hike. And I mean "rest" as in "lying down and allowing your body to recuperate"."

"But, doc..." Trip looked at Malcolm, obviously seeking his support. "We can't sit around here for a whole day doin' nothin'. I'll be fine. Jus' give me a few hours and I'll..."

"Commander," Phlox cut him off, his tone now sharper than before. "Either you follow my instructions, or I must ask Mr. Reed to see to it that you do. And I can assure you that the Lieutenant will follow my orders to the letter. It's for your own good, as Mr. Reed very well knows."

Malcolm nodded and raised his eyebrows at Trip at the same time, letting him know that he didn't regard this as a joking matter. Trip scowled as he turned back to the communicator.

"Seems I've got no choice, with the two of you against me."

"Exactly." Phlox returned to his usual joviality, and Malcolm had to bite back a smile. Phlox' newly discovered tactic - ganging up with his rebellious patient's partner - worked a lot better than all the doctor's lectures ever would. "And Commander?"

"Yeah?"

"I trust you to inform the Lieutenant immediately if you experience any further pain or discomfort. Don't wait until it gets too worse to bear."

Trip avoided Malcolm's eyes, and confirmed what Malcolm had already suspected; Trip's headache and soreness were not merely a result from the seizure, but had been there all along, maybe ever since they had begun their walk. And maybe, if a certain stubborn engineer had said a single word, they could have taken a few more breaks, could have taken things more slowly, could have avoided the seizure.

But of course you wouldn't, Malcolm thought. For some insane reason or other, you feel you've got to push it and push it until you hurt yourself.

"Got it, doc," Trip replied, sounding subdued. He was still avoiding Malcolm's eyes. "I'll tell him."

The fact that Trip knew he was in trouble gave Malcolm a certain, grim satisfaction. Once he had assured the doctor that he would take care of Trip, he closed the channel and stowed the communicator away, all without even looking at his partner. The medkit was still where he had left it after his frantic search for the hypospray, and Malcolm began to go through its contents until he found an injector labeled as painkiller. He took it out and adjusted the dosage. The soft hiss as he pressed the injector's spray nozzle against Trip's arm was the only sound in the tent. The engineer didn't even try to protest.

As Malcolm closed the medkit and put it back into the side pocket where it belonged, he could feel Trip's eyes on his back, could almost see the sad, "puppy-dog" expression that always seemed to do him in. Not this time, however. This time, no matter how much his heart ached at seeing Trip in pain, he was really, genuinely angry, and he intended for his partner to know it.

Finally, Trip broke the silence. "Ya mad at me?" he asked quietly, almost as if he were afraid of the avalanche his question might break loose.

Malcolm refused to turn around. "Yes," he said simply, without an attempt at his famous "snarkiness".

Trip seemed to sense that Malcolm was not in the mood for one of their usual squabbles. "Look, Mal..." He trailed off, then began again. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell ya. I thought I was gonna be okay... I haven't been feelin' well for a while now, not really, and I didn't think this time would be so bad."

This time, Malcolm did turn around. "It didn't have to happen, you know? The seizure, I mean. If you'd told me about your headache, we could have taken a few more breaks. We didn't have to walk for three hours non-stop."

Trip's face changed, the guilty expression disappearing to be replaced by hurt, then by anger. "You're sayin' this is my fault?"

Malcolm only looked back at him. A part of his mind, the part that usually said "I told you so" when Malcolm found himself wallowing in guilt after a fight with his partner, reminded him that this was a mean thing to do, that he himself never mentioned any physical discomfort unless it was absolutely necessary. Another part however, the part that felt weary and drained after all those weeks of emotional strain and struggle, waiting, hoping, praying that Trip would be all right, only shrugged. So maybe he wasn't being fair... but was it fair that he should watch his partner's condition deteriorate, and do so with a smile on his face, hiding his own fears and worries so Trip would not be discouraged?

His thoughts must have been written on his face, for Trip suddenly glanced away. The anger on his face was gone and only left sadness in its wake, sadness and guilt that made Malcolm feel like the lowest piece of shit in this universe and those beyond it.

He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say. "Trip..."

Trip shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mal," he said very quietly, so that Malcolm had to strain his ears to hear him. "I'm sorry for doin' this to you, and I only wish... I wish I'd handled things differently. But I guess I've told you that a hundred times before and you're sick an' tired of hearin' me harp on about it. I know I'd be."

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm not sick and tired, Trip." It wasn't true, however, not entirely. Maybe he wasn't sick, but, God, yes, he was tired. Not tired of Trip - Malcolm knew he'd never be tired of Trip. But he was tired of Trip being hurt, Trip being sick, of Trip still flinching from his touch when he was having a nightmare, of Trip not smiling when he would have smiled before, not laughing as he used to... before. Before one man's prejudices and a chain of unfortunate circumstances had changed everything.

"Yes, you are." Trip was talking very gently, his voice carrying no trace of accusation. "An' that's okay. You've always been there for me, all the time when I was hidin' away and whinin' and wishin' I could crawl into a hole and die. I dragged you down with me an' you never said a word. I know it changes nothin', but I want you to know that I'm sorry. I... don't know what else to say."

Malcolm shook his head. "It's just that... I wish things could be back to normal," he admitted in a voice that had almost dropped to a whisper. Yes, that was about it, as pathetic as it was. He wasn't sure what had brought on the sudden down, but right now this was about all he could think about. He wanted things to be like they had been before, wanted to go to work every day, live his life on Enterprise, which was - contrary to most people's beliefs - dull old routine most of the time, and he wanted to do all of this in the happy knowledge that he had found someone who loved him, and whom he loved back. He wanted things to be simple again.

An arm slid around his waist and Malcolm looked up to find that Trip had abandoned his side of the sleeping bag. A moment later he found himself being pulled into a hug and for the first time in all those weeks, he simply allowed himself to be held without trying to return some of the comfort Trip was giving him. Right now, Malcolm was too weary to comfort anyone and as Trip's arm tightened around him, he realized, with a certain dull surprise, that it was okay. He wasn't letting anyone down and he wasn't being the world's worst boyfriend. He was simply tired.

"Me too, y'know," Trip whispered, his breath tickling in Malcolm's hair. "I wish things could be like they were before. You know, this afternoon... it almost felt like the old times. We were havin' such a good time, and I didn't want to spoil it. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but..."

Malcolm only shook his head. "Not stupid," he muttered sleepily. "It's alright, love."

Trip began to run his hand down Malcolm's back and up again, a soothing motion meant to lull him to sleep. Once more, his conscience stirred, reminding him that he was being terribly rude to fall asleep in the middle of what was supposed to be a serious discussion. But he was so tired and Trip wasn't helping, stroking his back like this and humming something that sounded suspiciously like a lullaby. The last thing Malcolm knew was Trip carefully lowering both of them back on to the sleeping bag, still holding him close and caressing his back. Then he went back to sleep.

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When Malcolm woke up again, the sun was shining and filling the tent with a strange dusty light. For a moment he couldn't remember exactly what he was doing here, wrapped up in a sleeping bag that seemed far too large for one person. Then he noticed that Trip was gone.

Malcolm propped himself up on one elbow. Someone had rolled up the door of the tent and tied it into place, and for a second he was blinded by the bright light. He blinked, and suddenly noticed a smell he wouldn't normally associate with waking up on an alien planet. Malcolm sniffed again. Yes, no doubt about it. Someone out there was making coffee... and, if Malcolm could trust his sense of smell, was frying bacon, of all things.

Malcolm pushed the cover half of the sleeping bag aside and, after some digging around, found his uniform at the end of their makeshift bed. Trip's was still there, as well, and Malcolm took them both, carrying them loosely over his arm as he ducked through the door.

Once outside, Malcolm couldn't help but smile at the sight that greeted him. Trip, wearing only his blue shorts and undershirt, was sitting on the ground by their rekindled campfire. On a small grill, heated by the flames beneath, stood a pot with coffee and a frying pan with several slices of bacon sizzling inside. Trip was using a charred stick from the fire to turn over one of the slices, operating as diligently as he did when handling a warpcoil.

When he became aware of Malcolm, he raised his head and smiled. "Mornin', Mal. Have a good sleep?"

Malcolm nodded. "You should have woken me up though."

Trip grinned and shook his head. "Nah. Cookin's somethin' I like to do without anybody lookin' over my shoulder."

Trip's good mood was infectious. Malcolm made a show of inspecting the pot and pan, raising his eyebrows as he turned back to his partner.

"Is there anything in there I should worry about?"

Trip shook his head. "Nah, the heat's gonna kill most of the germs." He laughed at Malcolm's expression. "Don't worry, it's all straight out of Chef's pantry."

Malcolm sat down on the ground next to Trip, their uniforms forgotten. The cool wind that had started in the evening had turned into a gentle breeze over night, and the sun was warm enough so that he felt comfortable wearing only his shirt and shorts.

"Smells great, no matter where it came from," he said, and Trip laughed.

"Wouldcha hand me those plates?"

Malcolm set down the two plastic plates next to the fire and watched Trip place five slices of bacon on each of them. The sight and smell of the food made his mouth water. Seemingly from nowhere, Trip produced another plate with toasted slices of bread and added them to the bacon.

"Coffee needs to steep for awhile yet, I'm afraid."

"That's fine." Malcolm took his plate and began to eat, relishing each bite. Somehow, the fresh air had stirred his appetite... or maybe it was the fact that Trip, the proverbial anti-morning person, had gotten up early just to make him breakfast. "This is lovely, Trip."

The engineer seemed genuinely pleased. "I used to do this as a kid when I went campin' with my buddies. We'd put a fryin' pan on the fire and threw in jus' about everythin' we'd brought from home. My mom used to say she was afraid we'd end up eatin' our socks and shoes if we weren't careful."

Malcolm laughed. "When I was nine, Madeline and I started a fire in the garden shed trying to make popcorn."

Trip's eyes grew wide. "You're kiddin'."

"No, really. Mum wouldn't let us use the microwave oven, but I was convinced that all you needed was a proper source of heat, so we started a fire using a few crumpled newspaper sheets."

A grin was starting to spread on Trip's face. "And?"

"Well... it was microwave popcorn, the sort that comes in a paper bag. Suffice it to say that it's a very bad idea to hold such a bag over open flames where it could catch fire."

Trip cracked up and Malcolm smiled as well. Now, twenty-three years later, he could see the funny side of the whole affair, although the memory of his father, red-faced and soaked with the water he had used to extinguish the fire, still made him shudder.

As he watched Trip laugh, Malcolm felt a pleasant warmth spread in his stomach. Right now, although he was still pale, Trip looked as if there was nothing wrong with him at all. Sitting by the campfire on this bright morning, Malcolm thought of last night's rude awakening and subsequent scramble for the hypospray like a bad dream. It was a wonderful feeling, even though he didn't miss the slight tremble of Trip's hand as the other man poured coffee into their two cups. What was important, however, was that the sadness he had seen on Trip's face was no longer there, not even lurking in the corners of his eyes where it had always been present for so long.

He raised his cup to his mouth, savoring the taste of the freshly brewed coffee on his tongue, and so he missed the quick, darting movement that caught Trip's attention.

"Mal, look!"

Malcolm followed Trip's outstretched hand . Between two of the small green bushes sat, its ears cocked forward, the small fox-like creature they had seen yesterday. In the bright sun, its fur sparkled as if someone had sprinkled it with gold powder.

Strangely enough, it didn't so much as startle at Trip's sudden movement, and regarded the two humans with quiet curiosity... or, Malcolm thought with a touch of bewilderment, maybe even amusement.

"He looks like he's laughin' at us," stated Trip, answering the creature's calm gaze over the rim of his cup. "Strange little fellow."

Not laughing at you. Laughing with you. There's a difference, is there not?

Malcolm's head snapped up. "What?"

Slowly, carefully, Trip set his cup down in front of his feet, never taking his eyes off the fox. "I didn't say anythin', Mal."

"But... I heard..." He trailed off, not sure how to explain. He had heard the voice, as if it had spoken right next to his ear... although that wasn't quite what had happened. It had spoken inside his ear, and, to be exact, inside his head as well.

Trip nodded. "I know. I heard him too."

I'm not sure if "he" is the right term... although if I'm going to be what you call a "fox", then I guess I'm a "he". A female fox would be a vixen, would it not?

A sound like laughter followed, and this time, Malcolm knew it had been inside his head... and, although he could not have explained how he came by that knowledge, inside Trip's head as well.

The fox smiled. Malcolm had no idea how he did it, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was sitting by a campfire, holding a cup of coffee and being smiled at by a fox.

Hello, said the fox, swishing his furry tail through the air and settling it gracefully on his front paws. I believe it won't surprise anyone when I say that I'm very happy to meet you.

Malcolm exchanged a glance with Trip.

I'll be damned, Trip thought as their eyes met.

And although he really had no way of knowing what Trip was thinking, Malcolm found that he couldn't help but agree.

TBC...

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