Note the First: Sorry for another long wait. Both real life and I suck. But seeing as I am a graduate of high school now, this should go fairly quickly.
Note the Second: Trip reads a passage out of A Tale of Two Cities in this section. I would just like to say it is exactly as it is found in the book, because I couldn't write Dickens in Trip accent; it just seemed wrong. And, yes, that also serves as a disclaimer that I do not lay claim to Dickens.
Thank You's: Tata (I would like to apologize that I did it again and say that I refuse to let this thing end.), archteri, Exploded Pen (Hey, don't worry; the name made me laugh too—and I picked it.), jazzy, General Kunama, liz (Yes, zkurvysyne is a real word; it means 'son of a bitch' in Czech. And someone noticed Marlene! Yay! That, personally, gave me great delight in writing. I have deeply thought out notes on the backgrounds of Fritz and David. Fritz's parents died when he was twelve and he was legally adopted by a great-aunt of his in England whose surname was Dietrich. His then took that name for the time he stayed with her and had it for two years while working for the German Army, where he ended up getting the call sign Marlene because of the actress, Marlene Dietrich. Obviously, he eventually retook his original surname, Schlosser, but the call sign still stuck.), firebirdgirl, Boleyn, and Triptacular.
Random: I don't remember every stating what month this was in and so I therefore say something about June in this part; for the love of God, somebody correct me if I was wrong and this is taking place in, like September.
Eight: Like a Beating Heart
Well, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me
What would I do without you child?
I'm afraid I can't say.
--Janis Joplin, "Farewell Song"
With my feet propped up on the edge of his bed, I sit reading a comic book to Malcolm. He's unresponsive to the words, which is either because he doesn't want to talk to me about anything because, hey, who would after what he went through? Or he just really doesn't like the comic book. There's also the fact that he could be trying to come up with a clever escape plan out of sickbay and, really, any plan that he's going to come up with is going to be pretty damn clever because (a) he is still ex-Security and (b) not to sound callus, but the man can't walk.
Judging from the time a spent with him on Enterprise, it's probably all three.
It's a little something I like to call the Malcolm Reed Unholy Trinity of Doom.
I flip the page and Malcolm suddenly asks, "Is there supposed to be some sort of continuity to these things?"
Startled, I look up. He's staring at me, perfectly lucid—like he really had been listening to me as I read and had been trying to absorb the information. Phlox told me that Malcolm was going to have lucid days and days of not so much until he was taken off his pain meds. And, considering the whole Malcolm Reed, Medical Marvel thing that I've been contending with all these years, I kinda figured the lucid days would win out.
However, I was not at all expecting days of complete crazy.
"Yew were listening?" I ask, unsure.
Malcolm gives me a look like I'm the crazy one: "Of course."
I begin to consider the fact that maybe I am in an alternate universe and I don't like it.
I close the book. "Maybe you should get some rest."
"I would like to find out what happens, now that you have gotten me sucked in," he says and there he is, the old Malcolm, the Malcolm that I thought I would never get to see again and I open up the comic, reading again.
Two pages later, I realize the crafty bastard tricked me and I looked up to see him smiling at me.
"Well, yew know, yew suck," I tell him.
"I really did want to know," Malcolm says, gesturing for me to continue.
Despite his most probable craziness and his pain, he is still Malcolm and I read again.
And I keep reading for the next few days, because Phlox says he thinks it helps (I think Phlox actually thinks that it's keeping Malcolm out of his hair so more power to me, you know what I mean?) and because, yes, I do like hanging out with him—despite the crazy.
-
I've been granting the crew a lot lately: I know they're all hurt from what we found, from the idea that we only were able to bring one back alive. I am too. So that's why, as I sit in the sick bay for day three of reading, I'm completely prepared to gloss over the fact that there are movies playing nonstop in the Mess, music is now playing all over the ship, and Hoshi Sato's husband, Noah, is probably entertaining the Bridge crew with magic tricks—which means someone's putting out a fire somewhere, because I've seen Noah's magic tricks and not all of them end in bunnies.
Malcolm and I have gone through all of the comic books I brought with me and we are now on a borrowed copy of A Tale of Two Cities.
"A wonderful fact to reflect upon," I read, "that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this."
I pause and look up at Malcolm, who's staring at the far wall. I turn my head back to the pages but his voice stops me.
"Is it true?" he asks.
I look back up; he's watching me.
"Is what true?"
"That I may never walk again," he says. "Is it true?"
I tell him what Phlox told me, that, with surgeries and PT, he could walk again.
"But there's no guarantee," Malcolm says.
"There's a chance," I say, my voice hard.
"But there's no guarantee," he repeats, turning his head away from me. His voice had been hollow, like the wind.
I try to keep reading but, after five minutes, I know it's useless. I still sit there, with the book open on my knees, for a long time.
After he falls asleep, I slam the book closed and fight the urge to cry.
-
I sit alone in the mess, a cup of cold coffee before me. Fritz and David have come and gone, leaving food for me that the other picks up. They tried to talk, but I just sent them back to work. There was nothing they could say to absolve me of my sins.
"So, Hoshi told Madeline," Noah says, sitting down next to me and beginning to eat.
"How'd she take it?" I ask, startled out of my silence. Also, I'm interested: I had started and stopped to Madeline as many letters as I had tried to write Malcolm when we first parted. I had wanted to tell Madeline myself that we found Malcolm but I couldn't find the words, so I asked Hoshi.
He takes a bite of his salad and says, "There was crying."
"There was crying?" I repeat.
Noah nods: "There was crying. Lots and lots of crying." He sips at his water, adding, "I'm going to need a check-up with Phlox because I think I may have grown ovaries just by watching."
We sit in silence for a while, him eating and me staring into the coffee.
"So, apparently, I killed it," I say suddenly. Noah looks at me, a piece of lettuce hanging out of his mouth. He pushes it in with his finger.
Noah isn't used to my abrupt sense of conversation, but, if there's one thing to be said about him, it's that he sure as hell knows how to roll with the punches. "Well, I'm sure whatever it was you killed, you sent it to a better place."
"No," I say. "It was—I said somethin' to Malcolm I probably shouldn't've said."
"Oh." He nods. "And now he's gone unresponsive again?"
"Yeah," I say. I pause and add, "It was 'bout his legs, and walkin'."
"Ah," Noah says. "Well, from what Hoshi has told me, there's a chance that, given the right surgeries and proper doctors and PT—there's still the chance, isn't there?"
"Yeah," I say, "but he's a pessimist."
"There's that," he replies around his fork. "But I like to look at it as the cup half full and if Phlox says there's a chance, then there's a chance and he should accept that."
"Malcolm's actually a cup empty kind a guy," I say. Noah shrugs and eats his salad.
"Any cup that's empty," he says, "is just waiting to be filled."
-
"Sadly, sadly, the sun rose," I read, lying in a bio-bed adjacent to Malcolm's with the book open on my stomach; "and it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away."
I looked over at Malcolm, putting the book down by my hip: "When I was a kid, I used to think Dickens was real depressing."
Malcolm doesn't say anything.
"I got halfway through Tale of Two Cities," I continue, "and was jus' like, That's it, I quit, I'm gonna go slit my wrists now. Because how can these people deal with what's goin' on about them, yew know? So damn depressin'." I pause. "I told that to my mama. She just looked at me and said: There are people in this world that are just ordinary at first, with no intentions of ever amountin' to anythin' great, and then they get thrown into something beyond their control an' they adapt and become extraordinary and that's not depressing—it's inspirin'."
He rolls his head over and looks at me, with the question of "Was this a pep talk you just gave me?" in his eyes. I shrug.
"Just tryin' to, I dunno, be profound about something." And get yew outta that goddamn funk you're in! I pick up the book as he rolls his head back and I read again: "Chapter Six, Hundreds of People. The quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a quiet street-corner not far from Soho-square. On the afternoon of a certain fine Sunday when the waves of four months had roiled over the trial for treason, and carried it, as to the public interest and memory, far out to sea—"
I stop abruptly, putting the book spine up on my stomach. I look at Malcolm.
"Yew know what Noah told me, the other day?" I ask him. He doesn't reply. I say, "He told me that, if there's a chance, then there's a chance, an' that shouldn't be ignored. Ya gotta take what yew get."
He makes a noise, like a rush of wet air through his lips, like breathing to stop the pain.
"If there's a chance, then there's a chance," I repeat. "I think that's important."
Malcolm closes his eyes and breathes, in and out, in and out. I open the book again and continue.
"Far out to sea, Mr Jarvis Lorry walked along the sunny streets from…"
-
Fritz free throws the ball and there's the swish and clink of it going through. He and Noah high-five, scoring yet one more point for their team in our two-on-two basketball game.
David, hands on his knees and breathing hard, looks at me: "How about you start guarding Freak-boy"—he jerks his thumb at his tall best friend—"and I get the little one."
Noah looks at him, an eyebrow raised. "Who you callin' little, shrimp?"
Stirring himself to his fullest height, David looks at Noah. Or, rather, looks at Noah's chin, because Noah's five foot ten and David is incredibly not.
Hoshi walks in then, looks at us, and announces: "We're about to make port at Jupiter. I suggest you all clean up." She crooks her finger at Noah. "Come with me, husband."
"Yes, ma'am," he says and, with a short wave, wanders off after his wife.
The rest of us look at each other. Fritz says, "Yeah, Dave, you are pretty tiny."
David launches himself at Fritz with a yell and I exit; I don't want to witness the bloodbath. I go to my quarters (have I mentioned that it's good to be Captain?) and clean up. When I leave my quarters, I swing into the Sick Bay to check on Malcolm—who is still depressed and not really speaking. He's sleeping (or pretending to be, 'cause, hey, Malcolm) and I go up to the Bridge.
Most people of my senior crew are at their stations, except for David and Fritz who wander in ten minutes later completely clean and each sporting a new bruise or two. On the view screen, Jupiter Station is coming into focus, growing out from a glass marble to something larger and almost as beautiful. A lot of the crew sigh, happy to be in reach of home.
I lean in back in my chair and hope for the best.
-
Malcolm's taken onto a shuttle for transportation to Starfleet Hospital on Earth almost immediately, Phlox and some of his staff with him. I stay back with my crew to thank them for their dedication in coming with me before hoping a shuttle myself going to meet them.
Fritz, David, Hoshi, Noah, and Travis are with me. David and Hoshi are engaged in an animated discussion of some syntax thing or another—because Hoshi loves languages and David is the biggest geek, you know, ever—while Fritz and Noah discuss basketball, their mutual love. Travis turns to me.
"Are you going straight to the hospital?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say. "Probably."
"Yeah," says Travis. "I hear—"
"Yep." I nod, knowing almost instantly what he's going to say. It's what everyone says. "But we've got hope."
"That's good," he replies. "I can't imagine a Malcolm…" He trails off.
"We've got hope," I repeat.
We fall into a silence, before he suddenly says, "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I was out with him, about two years ago, and he fell into these cactus-bush-thingies?"
I shake my head. He laughs.
"Oh, God, it was the best! The Doc was pulling needles out of his butt for hours and he was just sitting—rather, lying—there, you know how he is, I'm Malcolm, manly and British and stoic and this doesn't hurt—I've had Nerf balls thrown at me that have hurt worse than this hurts right now…"
-
We get off the shuttle, bags over our shoulders—or, rather, bags over the shoulders of the men-folk and Hoshi filing her nails daintily—and we stand around for a moment. Collectively, we breathe in the air of our planet, the scents of San Francisco and the green grass around. It's good to be home, back where we belong, even though I'm sure we all feel so alien after weeks in space, even though we are not all here.
Putting her nail file away, Hoshi turns to us, asking, "Are we all going to drive together to the hospital?"
"Will there be food around?" asks David.
"I'm sure it can be arranged," replies Hoshi.
"Will you do it?" Fritz asks. Hoshi sighs.
"Yes, I will." She stares at us. "Are we going?"
There's a general chorus of 'sure' and, after a moment of staring at each other without emotion because we are the men-folk and staring without emotion is something we all have degrees in, Hoshi sighs again and trots off to get us a ride. Noah smiles.
"This is what I like," he says. "Having everything planned for me. Showing up, eating, and maybe taking a nap."
"Is that what it's like when you're married?" asks Travis curiously.
"Yep," says Noah with a nod.
"Damn," says David. "I gotta get me a wife."
"Maybe you can talk Nia into tying you down," says Fritz. David starts to get own of his main grins again and kind of giggles like a school girl. Fritz thinks about what he said and turns to David. "Don't you start."
David giggles again and Fritz steps on his foot, hard. David stops giggling and Hoshi returns.
We wait a few minutes and then our ride arrives. We all pile into the car, tossing our bags in back, and drive off in the direction of the hospital. When we get in, we ask for Malcolm Reed. The woman at the counter looks at us and then at our uniforms. She gives us the information we want, but says that we cannot go in and see him yet as he needs to be settled; she suggests we go to the waiting room and someone will come get us when he's ready. We head off looking for the family waiting room.
Admirals Archer, Black, and Blanche are there when my group and I arrive in the hospital, all sat about in the room. I look around them for Madeline, who I was sure would have been here by now. I spy Ethan, whose sitting in a kiddy chair, calmly coloring away. I'm pretty sure my confusion is displayed on my face.
"She's en route," says Blanche, knowing what I was thinking about in the uncanny way of mothers and highly perceptive superiors. "I was watching Ethan for her today as well."
Black stands up and claps me on the shoulder. "Good job, son."
"It was all o' us, sir," I reply, gesturing to the five behind me. He congratulates them, too, and they disperse into chairs, Hoshi and Noah together, Travis to speak with Blanche, and David and Fritz to speak with Black. Our bags are left in one corner of the room.
Jon rises and comes over to me: "Phlox says we can't go in to see him yet; they're still trying to get him settled."
"Yeah," I say, "Nurse at the counter told us."
"How was he on the ship?" asks Jon.
"He's depressed," I tell him. "His people an' his legs—doesn't know if he'll ever walk again. I don't think I can imagine him..."
"PT," he says.
"Yeah. That's what they say."
We stare at each other for a long moment before slowly hugging each other, bound with a grief that we don't know how long we'll keep or if we'll ever let it go. When we move apart, our eyes are bright and I say, throaty, "I'm gonna go walk about for a little."
He nods and moves to talk with Travis and Blanche. I stand there for a moment, watching, and then I leave.
I wander about the hospital for a while, staring at the white walls and breathing in the antiseptic smell, so strong you can taste it on your tongue. My feet feel heavy, like my heart. I'm not sure if I can handle all of this, of dealing with him broken and healing myself. Maybe—maybe together it will be easier. Maybe we can heal each other.
Looking up from my thoughts, I find myself in the lobby of the hospital and I spy the gift shop. A manic grin spreads across my face and I feel lighter than I have in days as a bound into the shop, finding my way to the comic racks. I rub my hands; yes. I begin my search through, looking up briefly when I feel eyes on my back. I glance at the lobby, seeing people walk passed the shop and me, looking into it. I watch them, my eyes wandering about the lobby.
The doors of the hospital slide open then, while I'm watching, with a silent gasp and there's a rush warm June air that pulses in the cool of the hospital, like a beating heart in the snow.
A thread of people enters with the warm air, and I search through the crowds with my eyes, looking for her. She's not there though, and I turn back to the comic rack, looking through it. I pick out a few that I think Malcolm may find interesting (and a few that I like), my eyes always trailing back to an opening and closing door, and go to the counter to pay for them.
Bags in hand, I make my way to the lifts and climb in. I'm not alone and people stare at my shoulders, the display of my rank. A little girl waves at me and I think, waving back, This is what I forgot. I forgot that some good can come of this position.
When I return to the room, people have shifted and are engaged in conversations with those they weren't before. Travis is talking with Hoshi; Noah with Jon; and Black and Blanche are chatting on about something in French, Blanche's hands cutting rapidly through the air in gestures while Black nods. Fritz and David are sat on either side of Ethan, in the little kiddy chairs in the corner of the room, drawing with the boy. David nearly fits in his chair, his legs at only a somewhat awkward angle because he is pretty small, but Fritz's knees come up to his shoulders and his back is hunched in a near perfect oval, because he's pretty not small.
"Your use of colour is impressive," Fritz is saying to Ethan quietly. Ethan looks up at him and Fritz adds, "But I especially like the wombat. It's a most striking shade of violet. Which did Crayons did you use?"
Ethan hands him some Crayons. Fritz inspects them: "Ah, yes—Eggplant, Outer Space, Desert Sand, Scarlet, Pink Sherbet, Mauvelous, and Jazzberry Jam. Good choices."
Laughing gently, I sit down in one of the chairs, between Jon and Travis.
The door to the room swings open and Madeline enters, her hair wild and eyes wide: "He's—he's—"
I stand up again, going to her. "He's back," I say, "we got him back. We can't see him yet but we got him back."
"Thank you." She whispers the word again and again and reaches out, taking my head and her hands. She pulls me down and—
Now we're kissing. I'm kissing her. I'm kissing Madeline. I'm kissing Madeline Reed. I'm kissing Madeline Reed.
The part of me that's always been and probably always will be irrationally (or, really, maybe not so irrationally) terrified of Malcolm is screaming: Stop! Stop, you dumb mother fucker! Think about what yew're doing and stop, for the love of God. Stop!
The other part of me is giggling and kind of hopes I'm going to die, because this is nice and I think I could get used to this.
Breathless and dazed, the first words out of my mouth as we part—her hands still tangled in my hair and mine dumbly at my sides—are, "Your brother's gonna kill me." Because, obviously, the irrational part has totally won out in the vocal part of my brain. The giggling part however wants to add: Because we are totally going to keep doing this.
She laughs lightly, her sweet breath curling against my face and into all the hollow spaces; and the sound of her is a thousand wooden chimes in the breeze. Madeline stares up at me and her face is the world: Galaxies and stars to which I've never been. I long to go there. But in her eyes—in her eyes there is still a fear and love for her brother that takes precedence and she asks, her voice soft and tossed low, "When I get to see him—will-will you come with me?"
I'm nodding before I even speak: "Of course. Always."
Madeline takes my hand and it will not be until many years later that it will occur to me what this moment meant.
We stare at each other's eyes for a long moment and then Fritz coughs in the background.
Separating quickly, she and I dedicate ourselves to the study of the floor and ceiling, respectively. I'm pretty sure I've turned a lovely shade of red too.
"Mazel tov?" Noah says uncertainly and I want to punch every single person in the room in the face. Except of course for Madeline and Ethan, though I'm sure that attitude is what got me in this position in the first place.
Ethan starts to giggle in his chair, like he gets the joke, and then Fritz and David are laughing and so is everyone else. Madeline and I are even laughing.
(I'm swearing swift and painful retribution in my head though.)
"What's so funny?"
We turn to the door, where Phlox stands, taking in the sight of us all laughing. David opens his mouth like he actually is going to tell Phlox what had just happened; Fritz puts his hand over his best friend's mouth, shaking his head.
"Ah," says Phlox. "One of those jokes that should only be repeated under the influence—I get it."
"I wish I did," I mutter.
"Miss Reed," Phlox is saying, "I'm sure you'd like to go see your brother, wouldn't you?"
She nods rapidly.
"Come with me, then."
Madeline turns to me, searching. I hold out my hand to her and she takes it. We follow Phlox from the room, hand in hand.
He leads us to a private room on floor up from the waiting room and lets us in, closing the door behind us. Malcolm lies on the bed in the middle of the room, attached to beeping machines. Phlox told us, outside, that Malcolm was still unresponsive and probably wasn't going to be speaking much.
Letting go of me, Madeline walks to the bed, unsure at first. But her step gets quicker and she's kneeling at the side of the bed, reaching out and clutching at his hand.
From the corner of the room, I stand and watch as Malcolm opens drugged eyes, very slowly, and finds Madeline's galaxy face. He smiles at her, brokenly: "Hi." And Madeline, eyes bright in her face with salt stains on her cheeks and, a gentle smile in place, looks at him.
-
One more chapter left! YAY. But, before I rush off to finish it, I'd like to inform you all that, after it is finished, I will be changing my writing name to 'greatunironic', mainly so it will go with my journal. Just thought I'd put that out there. Now, I'm going to go finish this before the month of June is over. (And I already have nearly 1,500 words written too.)