Title
: Killing ThingAuthor
: Sita ZGenre
: Angst/DramaRating
: PG 13AN:
Thanks for letting me know what you think!Chapter 23
Looking out the window, Malcolm watched the planet's undulated surface growing smaller in the distance, and for a moment found himself wondering if any of it had actually been real. Maybe it was only a few minutes ago that they had seen this place for the first time... and maybe all they had really done was step outside the shuttle, take a good look around and then sit down in the grass for a little day-dreaming; a dream that included a talking fox, mind-voices and a wonderful night spent outside in the open grassland.
Then he glanced over at Trip and smiled. He might have been tempted to believe that it had all been a strange hallucination - in fact, he probably would have believed just that - had it not been for Trip sitting at the helm controls, his fingers passing over the console as if there had never been anything wrong. If their experience down on the planet had been a dream, then it was one of the rare dreams that could change the waking life... you woke up, and suddenly, there were solutions.
"Malcolm?"
Trip had half-turned his head, and Malcolm saw that the engineer looked worried, although he could not see why that would be.
"Trip? Is everything all right?"
"That's what I was gonna ask you," Trip said. "I..." He paused. "I can't really hear you anymore."
Malcolm knew immediately what Trip was talking about. He had hoped he was imagining it, the slow... drifting away that he sensed in his mind, but Trip's question confirmed that it was for real. Their telepathic bond, or whatever you wanted to call it, was growing weaker, and Malcolm could feel the murmur of Trip's thoughts fading away, becoming indistinct, as if someone were dimming the lights and all he could see were the blurred shapes of things he didn't recognize anymore.
Malcolm would not have thought it - after all, he had been rather suspicious of the idea of a telepathic connection - but somehow, he found himself wishing that this wasn't happening. Part of him had expected it - being a non-telepathic species, humans didn't have bonds - but all the same, the closeness of Trip's presence had been... comforting. He could see now why the Vulcans valued their mental partnerships so much; it was like a constant reassurance that the person you loved was still there, that they were all right.
"I know," he said softly. "Your... voice... it's disappearing as well."
In the meantime, they had passed the last layers of clouds, and all Malcolm could still see of the planet's surface was its moss-green color. Only now did he notice that Kira Mayiar had no oceans... or at least none that he could see. He had learned not to make any rash assumptions about this world.
"Doesn't necessarily mean that I'm all gone, though," Trip said suddenly.
Malcolm smiled. "No," he said. "I guess you're right. But I'm going to miss talking to you when no one else can hear it."
Trip grinned. "Their faces would've been priceless."
They both smiled as the shuttle continued its way to Enterprise.
"Doctor?"
Archer sounded nervous as he addressed the doctor.
"Just a moment, Captain," Phlox replied without turning around. He was standing in front of the imaging chamber, frowning at the monitor, and there was no way of telling exactly what he was seeing... and, even more important, if the frown on his face meant good news or bad news. The Captain shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Malcolm decided that Archer didn't only sound nervous, but that he was nervous, as nervous as, to quote a certain Southerner, a longtailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Malcolm tried not to smile. He didn't want Archer to think that he was not taking this seriously, although he knew exactly what would result from the tests Phlox had insisted on running - nothing. The poison was gone, as were the imbalances in Trip's brain chemistry that had caused the seizures. Malcolm could no longer feel it, as he had before, but that didn't change anything about the fact that he had witnessed it happen. He knew that Trip was going to be all right.
Archer shifted again, and this time, Malcolm did smile. Of course, being Enterprise's captain, Archer was concerned about his crew, but things were a little different when it came to Trip Tucker. Malcolm knew that to Archer, Trip didn't so much qualify under the category of "crew" as under "family", and while the Captain was an only child, his Chief Engineer and best friend of ten years had long since been adopted as Jonathan Archer's little brother. When it came to Trip, the Captain would fret and pace and worry, and, more often than not, deliver a lecture worthy of an older brother whenever Trip got himself into trouble.
A beep from the scanning chamber made Archer jump and brought Malcolm's attention back to the present. The scanner's door opened and the bed slid out, revealing Trip who was clad in his blue briefs and had his head slightly tilted backwards so he could look at the monitor over his head.
"Well?" Archer was beginning to sound impatient, and finally, the doctor turned around.
"Captain, I can't really offer an explanation as to the why and how, but it seems that the Commander has indeed regained his full health. The chemical alterations to his limbic system are simply... gone."
He said the last word in such a way as if he would have liked to give a more detailed description of what had really happened; an enzymatic reaction maybe, or a sudden immune response that had cleared Trip's metabolism of the foreign substance... anything that would have explained the poison's magical disappearance in a scientific way. However, Malcolm knew that there was no such explanation, and he saw on Phlox's face that the doctor knew it as well. It was exactly as he had said - the harmful substance was simply gone.
Archer frowned. "Are you sure, doctor?"
"If you would take a look at this, Captain." The doctor pointed at the monitor that showed two images of a human brain, highlighted in several sections. "I took this scan of the Commander's brain shortly before he and the Lieutenant left for Kira Mayiar. The part marked red is where the poison had infiltrated his brain tissue." His finger traveled down to the second picture, which lacked any red markings. "This is the picture I took a minute ago. Not only are no traces of the substance left, but the damage it did has disappeared as well." He shook his head in very human gesture of surprise. "I must say, I don't understand it. It's as if someone turned back the time. There was no way the brain tissue could restore itself."
Trip sat up on the bio bed and glanced at the screen. "I don't think that's what happened," he said.
Archer sighed and leaned against the edge of the bed. "Trip... it's not that I don't believe you. I do believe something happened down there, but you've got to admit..."
He didn't finish his sentence, probably because there was no tactful way of doing so. Malcolm realized that the report they had given while they had waited in decon sounded crazy (secretly, Malcolm had wondered if Phlox might not keep them safely locked up in the decon chamber until he had found out whatever was causing their delusions). Both of them had tried to make it sound as scientific and down-to-earth as they could, but there was no denying that it was a story about a talking fox, telepathy and a planet that changed its appearance according to your thoughts. Not exactly your usual mission report, and certainly not what Archer or the doctor had expected. Still... Phlox' state of the art equipment confirmed what their colleagues had been reluctant to believe: Trip had indeed regained his full health.
"Captain," Malcolm said. Archer turned his head to look at him.
"I know our story sounds... somewhat unusual..."
"No kidding." Archer waved a hand. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Please go on."
"But I believe Subcommander T'Pol will confirm that the Mayiari have unique... powers, like no other species in the known universe." He decided not to go into the details of what T'Pol had said, not wanting to betray her trust. "I'm not sure how it happened, but I know that our... friend... said he was going to help Trip. We..." He exchanged a look with Trip. "We passed their challenge, and he said it was the only proof they needed."
For a moment, Archer looked as if he would have liked to ask about the challenge, but to Malcolm's relief he decided against it. Both Trip and he had decided that this was something that was going to stay between the two of them, at least for the time being. Maybe, one day, after the reports to Starfleet Command had been written and sent, Trip might want to tell the Captain about it, and Malcolm supposed that it was alright, but not today or tomorrow. For now, no one needed to know more than that they had passed the test... and if the paperpushers back at Starfleet Headquarters assumed that the "challenge" had been about climbing a tree or spending a night in a haunted place, well, that was fine with him.
Phlox cleared his throat. "Captain, as much as I would like to offer an explanation, I can only confirm what the Lieutenant and the Commander have said - there is no trace of the poison left that my scanners can detect." He looked at Trip and suddenly smiled his somewhat disconcerting smile. "To use one of your expressions, Commander - you're as good as new."
Archer began to smile as well. "Well, no matter how it happened, this is great news. I'm afraid Lieutenant Hess will have to wait a while for her promotion."
Malcolm took Trip's hand and squeezed it gently, wanting to let him know that he shared his excitement. Trip was grinning so widely that for a second or two he almost looked like a slimmer and younger version of Enterprise's doctor. His fingers tightened around Malcolm's hand, and Malcolm didn't need a bond of any sorts to know that they would have hugged and kissed, had it not been for the Captain and the doctor.
Archer glanced at the wall chronometer. "Alpha shift's due to go off duty in half an hour," he said and smiled at Trip. "Maybe you'd like to drop by Engineering and tell Anna about her bad luck."
Malcolm grinned; he knew that Anna Hess, like the rest of the engineering staff, had been furious when they had learned about Starfleet's decision to remove their Chief from his position. Of course, none of them knew the details (all the crew had been told was that Commander Tucker had suffered a severe case of coolant poisoning, although Malcolm guessed that Hess, one of Trip's good friends, knew what had really happened). In their eyes, however, the platform in front of the warp engine had had Trip's name engraved on it the day it was built, and it would be a sacrilege for anyone else to usurp Charles Tucker's rightful place. Anna had made it a point to let everybody know that she was only the "Acting Chief Engineer".
"She's gonna kick my ass when she hears about it," Trip said happily, and Malcolm suspected that in his mind, he was already going through his secret stash to check if there was enough booze for a little impromptu party in his office. Malcolm knew only too well how the Engineering crowd jumped on such events to have one of their little "get-togethers".
"Don't count on me to carry your sorry behind back to your quarters afterwards," he stage-whispered in his partner's ears, and the slight reddening of Trip's cheeks told him that he had hit the nail on the head. Malcolm smiled to let Trip know that he was only teasing; in fact, it would be good to see Trip hanging out with his staff as he had used to, even if it meant guiding a giggly Chief Engineer back to his quarters in the dead of night.
His own return to the Armory would be less... informal, but he was looking forward to it all the same. There was a long list in his head of things that needed to be done to get his department back to the 97 efficiency rate he liked to keep, and if he could get started tonight, it was fine with him. He was trying to decide whether to start with upgrading the targeting scanners or re-scheduling the training sessions when Phlox' voice drew his attention back to the present.
"If I remember my human idioms right, "to drop by" means a brief visit." He looked pointedly at the two of them, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I want you to get a good night's sleep before resuming your duties aboard. Or celebrating your return," he added, and Malcolm supposed that he wasn't the only one who knew about the secret cupboard in the Engineering office.
"You heard the doctor, gentlemen," Archer said. "Take it easy. Oh, and by the way, I'd like to see you both at 0800 tomorrow morning in my ready room. The after-mission report," he added. Malcolm sighed, trying for a look of long-suffering patience at not being allowed to start his weapon upgrades tonight, but he knew that he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself. He just loved it when things got back to normal.
Three days after the Captain had advised him to take it easy, Malcolm walked down the corridor to his quarters, resisting the urge to sniff his armpits to check if they smelled as bad as he thought. It wasn't likely that he would meet anyone at this time of the day (or night), but there was always a possibility, and Malcolm didn't want any unsuspecting crewpeople to be confronted with an armpit-sniffing Chief of Security.
They'd think I'd sniff their behinds next
, he thought, realizing that he must be really knackered for his mind to come up with that particular mental image. They had been doing hard-ware maintenance today, and Malcolm had not been joking when he had told Trip this morning that he would probably be doing overtime tonight. Hardware maintenance basically meant crawling into the bowels of the Armory to check if every screw was still in place, a job that tended to result in many a banged knee and bruised elbow. Trip's team usually came by every three months to do an overall maintenance check, but Malcolm felt safer having the delicate weapons hardware looked after every four weeks. It just wouldn't do to lose fire power in the middle of a battle because of a malfunctioning circuit.After hours of crawling through Jefferies tubes and climbing up and down the many ladders Enterprise's designers had somehow squeezed in between the bulkheads, Malcolm felt the way he had after a particular hard day at the Starfleet Field Training Camp: filthy, hungry and sore all over. All he really wanted to do was shower, eat and sleep (preferably in that order), but he doubted he would find the energy to drag himself to the messhall tonight. Trying to remember if there was anything edible hidden away in the drawers of his desk, Malcolm reached out to enter his door code - and stopped when he saw that someone had stuck a note to his door. He plucked it off, read it, and felt a smile (the first in hours) begin to form on his face. Stuffing the note into his pocket, he turned away from his door and continued his way down the corridor.
As he entered Trip's quarters, he found the lights dimmed, and for a moment believed that Trip had turned in for the night, after all. Then he saw that the engineer's quarters had undergone a subtle but noticeable transformation. While Trip was not a messy person, he did have a tendency to leave his personal belongings where he could easily reach them, including the occasional wayward padd on the sink and coffee mug on the desk. Tonight, however, the place was spotless, living up to standards that even Stuart Reed would have accepted.
In front of the couch stood a small table covered with a white cloth, complete with two carefully arranged sets of dishes and a floral decoration (well, actually Trip's little cactus, but the effect was still a festive one). The candles that had been placed on various shelves immersed the room in a warm, orange light, and made the austere Starfleet furniture seem almost cozy for a change.
"Mal!" Trip got up from the bed, and Malcolm saw that he was dressed in a pair of slacks and his blue shirt, one of the few that Malcolm actually liked. He came over, and, as if Malcolm weren't grimy and smelling of sweat and grease, wrapped his arms around him and kissed him on the lips. "How was your day?"
Malcolm tilted his head to look at his partner. "Getting better. Much better, actually," he added with a glance around the room. "How do I deserve this?"
Trip smiled. "Just wanted to do somethin' nice for you. Because I love you."
Malcolm glanced at the candles and the carefully laid table. He was beginning to understand what this was all about, and it touched him deeply that Trip would do this for him.
"Trip..." he began, "This is wonderful, but you know you don't have to..."
"Shhh." Trip silenced him with another kiss. "Just shut up, Brit, and let me spoil you a little."
Malcolm smiled. "Yes, sir."
Trip reached out and wiped something off Malcolm's nose, grinning when his finger came away black. "From the way things look, you might wanna start with a shower."
Wondering how he had managed to get even his nose dirty, Malcolm nodded. "Sounds good."
"Off you go to the bathroom, then."
Ten minutes and a very relaxing shower later, Malcolm returned to the main room, dressed in the sweat pants and t-shirt Trip had laid out for him. In the meantime, Trip had unpacked the thermocontainer on his desk, producing a plate with lamb chops, gravy, a bowl of brown rice and various Thai-looking vegetables. Already on the table were a salad and some sort of yellow pudding with cream and pineapple topping. Malcolm stared.
"Trip... how on Earth did you get Chef to make this?"
He didn't have to check the menu to know that none of this had been served in the messhall today; it would have been too great a coincidence to have all of Malcolm Reed's favorites combined in one of Chef's daily compositions, especially since hardly anybody knew that he had any favorites at all... except for pineapple, of course. Malcolm had always wondered how they had found out about that one. Trip, of course, was a different story; they ate together almost every day, and since the engineer loved to discuss food (another American thing, Malcolm supposed), Malcolm had by and by confided to him which foods he liked best, and why. And as it seemed, Trip had remembered that Malcolm loved lamb chops, that there was a small restaurant in London serving the most amazing brown rice and Asian vegetables, and that Malcolm wished Chef would serve traditional English trifle instead of cake and pie from time to time.
Trip managed to smile and look nervous at the same time. "Well, actually I didn't."
Malcolm frowned, then, as realization hit him, felt his eyes widen. "You made this yourself?"
"Yeah, well, Hoshi helped me with the vegetables and the pudding, and made sure I didn't burn the chops... I'm sorry 'bout the gravy, Hoshi said there would be lumps in it if I poured the flour in too fast, but the bag kinda slipped and I..."
"Trip." Malcolm pulled the other man close and silenced him by laying a finger on his lips. "You got Hoshi to help you, sneaked into the galley, and spent your entire evening off to make this for me?"
Trip blushed. "Well... yeah."
Being a Reed, Malcolm wasn't used to getting sentimental over anything, and usually found himself smirking when people started to pull out their handkerchiefs at movie night. This time, however, he couldn't deny that his voice was a little on the hoarse side when he spoke up again.
"Trip... I can't believe you did this, just for me. I..."
"Hey." It was Trip's turn to lay a finger on Malcolm's lips. "Not "just" for you, okay? I did it for you, and I'm nervous as hell whether I did a completely crappy job or not, so why don't we get started and find out. I don't think I can stand the tension any longer."
Malcolm laughed, hoping Trip would ascribe the brightness of his eyes to the candlelight. After all, Reeds did not snivel.
"Sounds like a plan to me."
It turned out that Trip need not have worried. The lamb chops were exactly the way Malcolm liked them, as were the rice and the vegetables, and he had two helpings of pudding before he finally slumped back on the couch, feeling as if he were going to burst at the seams.
"That was delicious, Trip," he managed, surveying the remains of their feast with a longing eye, but there was absolutely no way he could fit one more morsel into his aching stomach. "Best bloody dinner I ever had on Enterprise."
Trip flushed with pride. In an obvious attempt at covering up his reaction, he punched Malcolm lightly in the shoulder and grinned.
"Don't you let Chef hear that. He wasn't too excited in the first place when Hoshi asked if she could use one of the stoves, and even less excited when it turned out that I was gonna be the one doin' the cookin'. Muttered somethin' 'bout his precious galley not bein' a spare time amusement, and I had better not get any machine oil on his equipment."
Malcolm smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe he even let you in there. The way he guards that place, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a trapdoor at the entrance, to stop any potential invaders."
Trip shuddered ostentatiously. "Don't you give him any ideas."
He reached out and picked a piece of pineapple out of the pudding, dragging it through the yellow mass before he popped it into his mouth. Malcolm was surprised that Trip could still find room for more, after polishing off three heaped plates of chops, rice and vegetables, but he had learned that a Tucker only stopped when there was nothing left on the table (how they all managed to stay so slim was one of the unsolved mysteries of the universe). Watching his partner's glowing face, Malcolm suddenly wished that he could still hear Trip's thoughts, feel what he was feeling. Being surrounded by Trip's mind had always been a comforting experience, and right now, he wished Trip could have looked into his mind, to see how much all of this meant to Malcolm. After sharing his thoughts with the other man, words suddenly seemed insufficient to express what he was feeling.
Trip seemed to have noticed Malcolm's eyes on him. He looked up and smiled, as if he did know what Malcolm was thinking.
Malcolm returned the smile. "Did I tell you lately that I love you, Mr. Tucker?"
"You might've mentioned somethin'..."
"I love you. And thank you for tonight."
Trip grinned. "Actually, I had a second part planned..."
Later, as they lay together on Trip's bunk, Malcolm listened to the other man's soft snoring and watched the stars outside pass by. He thought about the feeling of loss he had experienced earlier this evening, and wasn't surprised when he found that it was gone. It was true, he could no longer hear Trip's thoughts, or listen to his mind-voice... but he could feel the other man's warm body close to his, watch him sleep and know that tonight, there would be no nightmares. And if you thought about it, it was really more than enough.
Epilogue soon to come up!
Please let me know what you think!
