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Chapter 4
The afternoon and evening had passed without incident, and Trip was beginning to hope that they had reached an agreement when he helped Malcolm get ready for bed. His partner wasn't exactly in a talkative mood, but he allowed Trip to help him to the bathroom and onto the chair in front of the sink, and, when he was done, even called for him instead of trying to get up on his own.
After helping Malcolm back into bed, Trip took his temperature and noted down the result as Phlox had asked him to do. Malcolm let it happen even though he usually hated this part of their evening routine, and even smiled a little when Trip made sure he was comfortably covered for the night.
"Thanks, Trip."
Trip nodded and reached out to stroke Malcolm's hot forehead. "Sleep well, Mal. Call me if you need anythin', okay?"
He hadn't meant his statement as a reminder of their earlier argument, but Malcolm apparently took it as one. His smile faded, but he said nothing, and only nodded once.
Trip sighed inwardly. He knew Malcolm wasn't being like that on purpose; the sickness was rubbing his nerves raw and bringing out his irritable side. It was trying, however, having to weigh every word so Malcolm wouldn't take it as another reason to clam up and sulk.
"Okay then," Trip said. He would have liked to exchange a goodnight kiss as usual, but the mood seemed to have taken a downturn, Malcolm's cool demeanor rejecting any friendly approach. Letting out a small sigh, he got up. "Sleep well, Mal."
"Night."
Malcolm had rolled over so that his back was turned to the door, his mumbled reply barely intelligible. Trip regarded him for another moment, wondering if he should try and say something. Then he decided against it. Malcolm's fever had gone up, and he was probably acting out of sheer exhaustion. If this continued in the morning, there would be enough time to talk about it; now, letting Malcolm sleep was probably the best thing he could do.
Quietly, Trip left the room and closed the door. Johnson, who had been sprawling on the carpet in the hallway, jumped up and wagged his tail.
Trip smiled. "Hey boy, wanna go for a walk?"
"Walk" came right after "food" in Johnson's vocabulary, and he barked excitedly.
"Shhh." Trip began to walk down the stairs, the dog following on his heels. "Malcolm's sleepin'."
Johnson bounded down the staircase and was impatiently waiting at the door while Trip went to get his jacket.
"Okay, okay, I'm comin'."
Johnson barked again, and Trip quickly opened the door to let him out.
"Let's go, boy. Time you got some fresh air."
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By the time they came back, Trip had completely forgiven Malcolm for his irritability, thinking that must have been his quickly rising temperature taking its toll. The fever drained Malcolm of all his energy, and it was only natural that he would be a little out of sorts.
Johnson flopped down on the carpet in the living room, his tongue lolling out and his eyes following Trip around the room, as if he knew exactly what his human companion was thinking.
"Think Malcolm's asleep by now?" Trip asked the dog, who flicked his ears in return. "Probably, huh? Well, I guess I'd better check on him."
Johnson closed his eyes as if to indicate his agreement, and Trip began to climb the stairs. He'd make sure that Malcolm was okay, then go to his study to squeeze in an hour or two of work before he went back to the bedroom to turn in himself.
Careful not to make any noise, Trip opened the door to the bedroom and slipped inside. The lights were off, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Then he saw that the covers were half in, half out of the bed, the extra blanket lying on the floor... and there was no Malcolm.
Trip felt his anger of before return, all his forgiving feelings towards Malcolm disappearing down the drain. So the little sonofabitch had sneaked out again, regardless of the consequences for his health, as if their argument of earlier had never happened at all.
Lips pressed together, Trip walked towards the bathroom door that stood slightly ajar. There was a small streak of light shining through the crack, and Trip was quite certain of what he would find inside.
Sure enough, as he opened the door, there was Malcolm sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. He was shivering, and had his arms wrapped around himself as if to protect himself from the cold. When Trip came closer, he raised his head, looking at Trip out of bleary eyes.
"Trip, I..."
Trip shook his head and reached out to help Malcolm to his feet, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist and pulling Malcolm's arm over his shoulders. As they slowly made their way towards the bed, Malcolm tried again.
"Trip, I didn't-"
Trip cut him off. "I don't wanna hear it, Malcolm. We talked about this and I told you what'll happen if you keep pushin' it. You decided not to listen. What else is there?"
Malcolm closed his mouth with an audible snap, and Trip got a little bit of satisfaction from the guilt now clouding the other man's features. They reached the bed, and Malcolm wordlessly allowed himself to be helped inside, saying nothing as Trip drew up the covers. Trip noted with concern how cold Malcolm's hands were, but he didn't say anything about it and turned away without another word. He knew that there was really only one thing left for him to do, and despised the fact that he would even have to think about it. But there was no other way. Malcolm would kill himself if he continued pushing.
He left the room without looking at Malcolm and closed the door. For a moment, he leaned against the wall next to the door, closing his eyes. Malcolm would never forgive him, and Trip wasn't sure if he would be able to forgive himself for what he was about to do. But if it was the only way to ensure Malcolm's recovery, then he would do it, and he would have to do it now. No sense in postponing the inevitable.
Slowly, Trip walked down the stairs. Johnson, who had retired to his doggy bed next to the couch, raised his head, but didn't jump up as he usually did. Not paying the dog any attention, Trip walked over to the cupboard next to the door and took out the bag Phlox had given him on one of his first housecalls. Inside there were boxes with pain medication, several hyposprays, and, on the bottom of the bag, the thing which Trip had never intended to use.
When he had first seen it, he had even been a little angry, telling Phlox that there was no need for him to keep this. Phlox had merely taken it from his hand and put it back into the bag.
"There might come a time when there is no other way," he had said simply.
It turned out that he had been right. Trip took the object in question out of the bag and regarded it for a moment. It was a padded cuff intended to be fastened around a patient's ankle, with a plastic strap to attach it to the bed. The whole ugly thing came with a small electronic key, so that neither the cuff nor the strap could be removed when locked. Trip resisted the urge to drop it back into the bag and never look at it again. Instead he placed the bag back in the cupboard and turned around, the strap of the cuff clenched firmly in his hand. He hated doing this, hated it like he had hated few things before, and if he was being completely honest with himself, there was also the fear that he was about to make a huge mistake. But it was as Phlox had said; right now, he saw no other way.
Holding on to that thought, he walked up the stairs. In the corridor in front of the bedroom, he paused briefly, then opened the door and went inside. As he switched on the lights, Malcolm turned around to face him. His expression was one of confusion, with a touch of guilt.
"Trip?"
Trip bit down hard on his lip. He could still change his mind, could still hide the cuff and take it back downstairs when Malcolm was sleeping.
Instead he approached the bed. "Malcolm, I don't know what to do anymore," he said, knowing that he shouldn't be justifying what he was about to do, but unable to help himself. "I'm sorry that it has come to this, but I don't see another way."
Malcolm frowned and for the first time, seemed to notice the cuff in Trip's hand. Under different circumstances, the dawning realization and shock on his face might have been funny, but as it was, Trip couldn't see anything amusing about the situation.
"This is ridiculous!" Malcolm said, his voice thick with outrage. "You can't do that, Trip!"
Suddenly, Trip was angry; at himself, at Phlox, at the goddamn virus and at Malcolm who was forcing him to do this.
"Watch me!"
He stepped to the foot of the bed and flung the covers aside with one hand, grabbing Malcolm's left foot with the other. Malcolm gasped and for a moment Trip believed he would start to kick and struggle. He didn't, however, and only lay there, his breath trembling with anger as Trip fitted the padded cuff around his ankle. Trip avoided Malcolm's eyes as he tightened the restraint so that Malcolm would not be able to slip it off, then attached the plastic strap to the metal bed frame. He locked both cuff and strap, then tugged the blanket back over Malcolm's feet. He couldn't remember ever feeling so miserable in his life.
Malcolm lay there and stared at him with murder in his eyes. Trip clenched his fingers on the electronic key, his determination wavering when he realized that it wasn't only fury in Malcolm's expression; there was also a hurt and helplessness that was almost too much for Trip.
"Why couldn't you listen to me?" he asked, clearing his throat when his voice threatened to fail. "You were killin' yourself, don't you understand that? Do you think I want to do this?"
Malcolm said nothing in reply. He stared at Trip for another moment, then abruptly turned over on his side. His shoulders were hunched and tense, but he gave no sound or other indication that he was still aware of Trip's presence in the room.
For a few seconds, Trip regarded the motionless form on the bed. He could have cried, but bit down hard on his lip before any sound could come out. Then, his fingers still clenched tightly around the key, he turned, not looking back as he left the room.
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It was more than two hours later when Trip finally turned in himself. He lay back on the pillows, staring into the darkness of the bedroom. Usually, he valued this moment of the day as an opportunity to let the day's events settle while he was listening to the soft sounds of Malcolm breathing and the not-so-soft grunts that Johnson produced in his sleep.
Today, however, he couldn't settle. It felt to Trip as though his partner was glaring at him, sending cold waves of accusation and fury through the room. Every time he tried to calm himself enough to go to sleep, the feeling intensified, and he shivered despite the warm blankets spread over him.
Today had not been the first argument he had ever had with Malcolm, and neither had it been their first discussion about something more important than their different points of view on how many times per month the living room carpet needed vacuuming. Usually they could settle their disagreements by talking rationally and finding a compromise both of them were more or less satisfied with. There were a few matters, though, about which there was no talking to Malcolm. His working hours, for example, or his constant worrying about Trip that from time to time almost bordered on ridiculousness. When it came to these issues, Trip had quickly learned that it was no use arguing. He simply didn't have the tenacity to endure Malcolm's endless periods of silent sulking that followed any protests on Trip's part and that would end in a loud argument in which Trip would eventually have to admit to his sins and vow repentance. Most of the times, the matters that Trip would have liked to complain about seemed too unimportant for Trip to go through all of this.
This time, however, he couldn't just save himself the trouble and give in for the sake of peace and quiet. This was Malcolm's health at stake, and Trip knew that he had to convince Malcolm to see reason this time. If he didn't, he would be as guilty of the consequences as Malcolm himself.
He sighed and rolled onto his side, turning his back to the room and towards the icy onslaught from the other bed. He was tired, too tired to dwell on these unpleasant matters any further, but at the same time the thoughts wouldn't go away and kept chasing their tails in his mind.
Trip closed his eyes, and tried to focus on something more pleasant that would help him fall asleep. After a while, the image of a memory formed in his mind; him and Malcolm sitting on the couch in the Christmassy decorated living room of the Tucker residence in Florida. In the end of last year, Trip had finally followed through on his threat and had taken Malcolm to experience a true Tucker Christmas. At first, Malcolm had been somewhat intimidated - "There's just so many of you," he had said on the first evening of their stay when Trip had asked him if he was having a good time - but after a short settling-in period, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. As had Trip.
The memory finally brought the calm Trip had been waiting for, and slowly, he drifted off to sleep, his face buried in the pillows and the covers pulled up all the way to his ears to protect him from the cold.
TBC...
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