Title: Killing Thing

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Sorry about the cliffhanger... but hey, it was the first one ;)! Thank you for your reviews!

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Chapter 20

He had been walking forever, or at least so it seemed to him. Given the five or six hours it took Kira Mayiar to rotate on its axis, it occurred to Trip that nightfall could not be that far away. As a Starfleet officer, he should have started to get worried - he was all alone out in the open grassland, no shelter, food, or most important, no water in sight. But at that point, it almost seemed as if he had left the Starfleet officer back on Enterprise, circling the planet in a safe, warm and artificial environment; and Trip Tucker could not have cared less that he was going to spend the night out in the open. He supposed that, if he began to feel dizzy from the lack of sustenance, a vitamin injection from the medkit might do the trick. Or not. It wasn't as if the idea of collapsing from low bloodsugar was all that bad. At least it would take his mind away from... everything.

He supposed that the last several hours should have given him time to think, to understand what had happened back at the lake. Or, if not understand it, at least to indulge in a few revenge fantasies - not that those would bring him anything remotely like a peace of the mind, but at least he would have had something to occupy his thoughts instead of replaying the same scene again and again. With every new mile of grassy ground that he covered, the whole thing repeated itself in his mind like a movie being played on infinite loop. He saw Malcolm's smile turn into an expression of contempt, heard the things Malcolm had said to him, and the worst thing was that every time he remembered the pain was as bad, if not worse, than it had been the first time. Trip supposed that there was a reason why this hurt so damn bad, something about betrayal and having lied to himself for a long time, but with Malcolm's words echoing in his mind he could not even start to think about it. All he could do was walk, walk away from something that would stay with him no matter how many miles he covered. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Trip would have welcomed a seizure at that point, if only to divert his attention to something else and make that terrible voice in his head stop.

I'm so sorry, I can't help it, I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself to even consider getting back to a normal life one day!

Trip closed his eyes, for the hundredth time that day willing the burning sensation to go away. He had not cried so far, and he wasn't planning on giving up that one little thing, as pathetic as it was. If there was any way of doing so, he would keep the hurt inside, instead of allowing it to show above the surface. It didn't matter that there was no one here to watch him break down. He himself would have to see it happen, and that was enough. He was not going to cry over this. He had done enough crying in the past, and all the good it had done him was to drive away the man that he loved. Still loved.

God, just look at you.

Thinking about it, Trip could even see why Malcolm would be disgusted with him. The things Malcolm had said to him weren't new to Trip; he had told himself more or less the same on more than one occasion. He was the kind of person people expected to get over things, himself included - good old Trip Tucker, always there to crack a joke when things are getting too tense. The class clown, the good-natured guy who might not be the brightest candle on the birthday cake, but who was always ready to listen and provide a little cheerer-upper if someone needed a shoulder to cry on. Enterprise's walking, talking comic relief. You'd expect that guy to get over something like what had happened to him on the Ru'khi planet. Good old Trip Tucker would have shrugged it off, maybe seen to it that the guys who did it remembered their mistake by a missing tooth or two, and that was that. He wasn't supposed to crawl into a hole and inject plasma coolant into his veins. A guy like him just didn't do that kind of thing. And it was the class clown, the good ole Southern boy that Malcolm wanted; certainly not the depressive, jumpy nervous wreck that couldn't seem to cope with things. No, it wasn't really all that surprising that Malcolm Reed wouldn't want to waste his time. What else could he expect, had he expected?

Do you really believe that?

A voice spoke up in his head, so suddenly that Trip actually jumped. There was no one around, only the sky and the grass and the wind, and he knew that the voice could not belong to Malcolm. Still, he had heard something, and it had not come from within his own mind. Someone had to be there.

He looked down at the ground in front of his feet, and saw the fox sitting there, looking just like he had at their first encounter; his tail draped neatly across his front paws, his eyes solemn and at the same time twinkling as if he were smiling at some inside joke only he himself knew about.

For a moment or two, Trip only stared at him. Then he turned his eyes away, wordlessly continuing his walk. He wanted to be alone, and no cute little fairy tale creature was going to pull him out of this one. Especially if said creature was probably no more than a fidget of his own, strained imagination.

The fox didn't seem to mind being ignored. Swishing his tail, he rose gracefully and began to tag alongside Trip, reminding him absurdly of Bedford, the Golden Retriever, who had loved to follow young Trip on his expeditions through the forest behind the Tucker family home.

"Go away," Trip said quietly, not really believing that it would have an effect. "I wanna be alone."

I know, the fox said simply.

Trip stopped in his tracks and turned his head. "Then why're you followin' me?"

The fox sat down on his hind legs, studying him with a thoughtful expression on his face. You haven't answered my question.

Trip opened his mouth, then closed it again and turned away. Did he believe what his own mind was telling him, that it had only been a matter of time until Malcolm decided that he wasn't worth the effort?

Yes, Trip insisted, yes, I do believe it. I'm not too blind to see what's there in front of my own eyes. I'm not going to make a fool of myself - more than I already have - by closing my eyes and acting as if nothing's happened.

The fox said nothing, only looked at him with those soft brown eyes, and for some reason it infuriated Trip more than anything the Mayiari could have said.

"You were there, weren't you?" Trip noticed a quaver in his voice and swallowed hard to get rid of it. "You heard him. What the fuck's there not to understand?"

I was there, the fox replied. And Malcolm was there as well.

"Yeah." Trip turned his eyes away. "Yeah, he was."

Would you mind sitting down for a while?

The question surprised Trip, which was maybe the only reason why he didn't refuse. The fox watched in silence as Trip awkwardly lowered himself to a sitting position, carefully placing the medkit next to him on the ground. The grass came up all the way to his waist, and Trip realized that if he had lain down, no one could have spotted him even at a few meters' distance. Playing hide-and-seek. Drowning in a sea of grass.

"What do you want?" Trip asked. The fox was still looking at him, his head cocked slightly to one side.

You're angry, he said.

Trip said nothing. Yes, he was angry, angry and hurt, but there was more to it.

I don't know what to think or do anymore. I don't understand what happened back there. I mean, I can find explanations and I can even try to believe them, but somehow it just doesn't seem right. Malcolm... he wouldn't do that kind of thing. Even if he... if he was frustrated, or... or angry, he wouldn't...

Hurt you? the fox supplied quietly.

"He wouldn't!" Trip winced at the sound of his own voice. Here he was, claiming that he could face reality only to find that deep inside, he still didn't believe that Malcolm would do such a thing. Even if he had done it only a few hours ago.

Trip turned his head to look at the fox, and to his dismay found that his eyes were blurring, after all. "Y'know what? I guess he was right about me bein' fuckin' stupid."

You aren't stupid, the fox's mind-voice said quietly. You are right. Malcolm would not do such a thing to you.

Trip turned his head away to hide his tears; a futile thing to do when dealing with a telepathic being, but he couldn't help it.

"But..."

Malcolm would not do such a thing, the fox repeated. You know that as well as I do.

Slowly, Trip moved to look at the small being sitting next to him. His eyes were still moist and burning, but for some reason the hard lump in his throat was gone, allowing him to speak in a fairly normal tone of voice.

"Yes, I know that," he said, and at the same time knew that it was true. Malcolm would not do such a thing.

"But... how..." Something cold spread in his stomach, settling in his chest like a hard chunk of ice. "You... you didn't make him do it, did you?"

No, the fox replied. None of this is our doing, nor do we have any influence on it.

Trip shook his head. "But he was there. Malcolm. I know it was him, he..."

He trailed off. Yes, the person back at the lake had looked like Malcolm, had talked like him, had even moved with the agility and strength that characterized the armory officer. But Trip could not remember if he had felt like Malcolm. There had been no response in his mind, not a single time. Only cold emptiness, which at the time Trip had recognized for contempt and rejection. But there had not been even a single second when he had sensed Malcolm Reed, or heard his mind-voice.

"It wasn't him," he said, very quietly. "It wasn't him, was it?"

No, the fox said. What you saw back there was not Malcolm.

"But..." Trip shook his head. "If it wasn't him, then who was it? One of your people?"

The fox didn't react to his anger. No. As I said, none of this is happening because we want it to. Everything you saw or heard is happening in your own mind, your own thoughts.

Trip stared at him. "You mean... none of this is real?"

Oh yes, the fox replied. It is real. It is the reality of your mind, not a dream, or a "hallucination". It is happening.

"But why would I want Malcolm to do such a thing?" Trip barely realized that he had raised his voice. "I know that he wouldn't hurt me, so how can it be my mind makin' this happen?"

The things he said to you...

Trip turned his eyes away, but the fox continued as if nothing had happened.

... you recognized them, didn't you? It's what you've been telling yourself all this time; your own guilt; your own fears.

"So it was really myself?" For some reason, Trip couldn't bring himself to look at the Mayiari. "The way I really see Malcolm in my mind?"

Is it? the fox asked. Is that how you see him?

"No!" This time, he didn't even care that he was shouting. "I love Malcolm, goddammit! I don't give a shit about your fuckin' mind games, I know that he wouldn't hurt me!"

The fox said nothing. Trip turned his head and saw that it was happening again, the strange thing he had witnessed once before; a being smiling without moving a single one of its facial muscles.

Yes, the fox said. I think you do know that.

Trip shook his head. "I still don't understand it. If all of this happened - is happenin' - in my mind... then Malcolm should be here as well."

Trip sensed the fox' amusement disappear; the mental equivalent of a fading smile. He is, he said. He's been here all the time.

Trip stared at him. Slowly, very slowly, all of this was beginning to make sense, in a terrible way. If the... person... back at the lake had not been Malcolm, only something dragged from the depths of Trip's mind where it had been spreading its poison, then...

"Oh God," Trip whispered. The cold feeling in his chest had suddenly grown into an almost physical hurt, making it hard for him to breathe. "He saw, didn't he? He saw me talkin' to... that thing."

The fox regarded him solemnly. Yes, he did.

"He..." Trip swallowed, then continued. "Does he know..."

At first, he thought he had died, the fox explained quietly. He was terrified, and angry, when he saw what the other Malcolm was doing to you. After you had left, he discovered that the person you believed to be him had disappeared, and became desperate, thinking that it might have been himself all along. When I told him that the intruder, as he called it, had come from your mind, he shut himself off, refused to talk to me.

"Oh God." Trip closed his eyes. And it was myself doing this to him. My own stupidity, my own goddamn fears. "But why didn't I realize that he was there? Why didn't he say somethin'?"

He couldn't, the fox replied. He was there, in your mind, but you didn't acknowledge his presence. There was no way he could reach out to you.

Oh God.

Trip thought of Malcolm watching himself - the cruel version of himself Trip's mind had called into being - doing and saying such terrible things, without being able to interfere, or to stop it. And he himself had not even tried to understand what was going on, had simply accepted the fact that it was his Malcolm doing this to him.

He must think I never trusted him at all.

Yes, he's hurt, the fox said. He's trying to understand that this is not how you see him, that it was something you had no control over, but he's still hurting.

Trip sensed that this was an understatement. Malcolm was not the kind of person who easily lent his trust, and Trip knew that sometimes, Malcolm did not even trust himself. He remembered the sparring lesson Malcolm had given him only a few weeks after the Shuttlepod incident that marked the beginning of their relationship. As Trip had half-expected (and secretly hoped), the lesson had turned into a rather sweaty but playful wrestling session, each of them trying to use unguarded moments to gain the upper hand and pin the other man on the sparring mat. Of course, Malcolm had won almost every round, but Trip had refused to give up, and Malcolm had been only too willing to comply when the engineer challenged him again and again. At the time, Trip had been secretly relieved that it was late at night and the gym was empty - it would have taken a very innocent bystander to mistake some of their "moves" for serious sparring. And the crew of the Enterprise, Trip had come to learn, was a lot of things, but innocent was not one of them.

As their "lesson" progressed, Malcolm had gradually abandoned his professional demeanor, had chuckled and finally laughed out loud every time he had Trip pinned on his back again. Then, after a rather unsuccessful attempt on Trip's part to get past Malcolm's guard, Malcolm had grabbed Trip's arm, intending to throw him over his shoulder. Unfortunately, however, his hand had slipped, with the result of Trip crashing into the mat face-down instead of falling on his back. Nothing had happened (except for a little nosebleed that stopped after a minute or two), but Malcolm had been mortified. He had fussed and worried, fetched at least a dozen handkerchiefs and two ice packs, and had insisted that Trip go and see Phlox before they went to bed. On the way back to their quarters, Malcolm had abused himself so viciously for his "unprofessional and dangerous conduct" that Trip had seen no solution but to silence him with a kiss, never mind that they were walking along a public corridor. (Fortunately, Murphy seemed to have retired along with the rest of the crew, and no one came along to see the Chief Engineer and the Armory Officer swapping body fluids). Later, Malcolm had admitted that there were few things he feared more than losing control and hurting someone, especially if that someone was Trip. It had taken a long time until Trip had convinced his partner to forget about it, that it had been an accident.

"Could've happened to anyone," he remembered himself saying, and Malcolm's gloomy reply: "Maybe so, but it must not happen to me."

"He's always worryin'," he said quietly, barely aware that there was someone listening besides himself. "Afraid that he might do somethin' wrong."

Yes, the fox said. He cares about you very much.

"Not anymore, I don't think," Trip said, and to his dismay found that his voice was beginning to sound hoarse. "Not after what I've done to him." He turned his head to look at the small being sitting at his side. "There's nothin' I can do, is there? I've failed."

And I'm not talkin' about your goddamned test.

In the meantime, Trip had come to understand that it had been a test, even though the Mayiari claimed to have no influence on what was happening. Of course, his failing meant that they would not be willing to help him, that he would leave the planet as a disabled person, but at the moment he could not bring himself to care. In the course of the Mayiari's little experiment, or whatever you wanted to call it, he had hurt Malcolm, so deeply that the other man might never even want to speak to him again. And the worst thing was that he had never even realized what he was doing until it was too late.

You haven't failed. The fox was regarding him calmly, soberly. What makes you think that you have failed?

Trip pressed his lips together. "Stop playin' with me."

You haven't failed, the fox repeated. You knew all along that it wasn't Malcolm doing this to you. You told me so yourself.

"I didn't...," Trip began, but he didn't finish his sentence. Yes, he had known, somewhere deep down, in the part of his mind that mattered, he had known, but what difference did it make? There was no way Malcolm would ever believe him.

Have you tried talking to him? The fox was still watching him, almost as if he were curious to see what Trip would say next. Trip felt a sudden dislike of the creature, a feeling so strong that he couldn't possibly hide it.

"You don't care, do you?" he asked quietly. "It's just a game to you, isn't it. You knew I was gonna hurt Malcolm, eventually, if we started this telepathic bonding thing, but you never thought it necessary to warn us."

There was no visible reaction on the Mayiari's face - or in his mind, although Trip believed that his posture might have stiffened a little.

This is no game. And yes, we knew someone was going to get hurt. But it is part of what happens in the khansara. There is no other way.

Trip shrugged. He suddenly felt weary, tired of talking about things he didn't really understand, tired of this place, and most of all tired of hurting.

All I ever wanted was for things to be like they were before. I never wanted... all of this.

Before what? The fox' mind-voice sounded gentle again.

Trip looked away. Before I hurt Malcolm. Before I did that idiotic thing with the hypospray. Before... you know.

Yes, the fox said. I do.

Trip let out a sigh. "So what can I do? Can I somehow... wake up? Make this whole thing stop?"

No, the fox replied. As I said, this is not a dream. It is happening, in the reality of your mind. And this is where you have to resolve it.

"But how?" Trip shook his head. "What can I do?"

Again, a smile appeared on the pointy face - or rather, in the Mayiari's thoughts.

Go, he said. Go and find him. It is going to be all right.

TBC...

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