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Chapter 6

"Malcolm, listen. I'm not going to beg. I don't wanna put that thing back on you and I won't, if you promise me that you're gonna stay in bed and not get up on your own. Okay?"

Trip's eyes were fixed on him, and Malcolm could see the despair and the plea in them. He knew that Trip was begging, begging him to agree and end this whole wretched affair. And for a moment, Malcolm was tempted to do so, to give in and to hell with it all.

But he couldn't. The anger that was burning inside him kept his lips glued shut, and the moment passed. He saw Trip close his eyes, his jaw working, and then his partner turned away and walked to the foot of the bed. Malcolm laid his head back down on the pillows, pressing his teeth in the soft flesh of his lip and clenching his fists around the sheets as he felt Trip's fingers refitting the cuff.

Then the blanket was spread over his feet, and Malcolm heard Trip walk to the door. There was a soft noise as it clicked shut. He lay very still, listening for disappearing steps. Instead, however, there was a moment of silence, and then there was a soft thump, as if someone had leaned heavily against the wall next to the door, followed by a sound that could not have been anything else but a suppressed sob.

He closed his eyes. When he had woken up this morning with his head pounding, feeling tired and exhausted as he always did these days, and had found himself tied to the bed frame like some convict, he had thought that things could not get any worse. Now, no more than half an hour later, he had already been proven wrong.

He listened to the suppressed sounds of crying that carried in from the hallway, not really wanting to but unable to help himself, and felt a knot build in his chest.

Don't go away, he thought. Please, don't go away, Trip. He wasn't entirely clear on what he would say to his partner if he came back in, but the mental image of Trip sitting on the corridor floor and crying was enough to make the lump in his throat spread and send a burning to his closed eyes. He reached up and covered his face with his hands, his fingers feeling icy on his hot skin.

Trip, I'm sorry, he thought, and opened his mouth to call Trip back in, but the knot and the aching in his throat diminished the sound that came out of his mouth to a small croak. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold back the tears, pressing his fists against his eyelids.

After a while, he heard movement in front of the door, then steps descending the stairs. There was some rustling downstairs, and he heard Johnson's excited barking. The front door was opened and closed shut. Then there was silence.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Malcolm raised his hands off his face and opened his eyes, staring at the somewhat blurry image of the white ceiling. He knew that Trip was taking Johnson for a walk in the woods behind their house. His partner always did that when he was upset and needed to cool down.

Malcolm didn't think that there had been a time in his life when he had felt lower than he did at the moment. He couldn't even say that he had never wanted to hurt Trip like this. Truth was, he simply hadn't cared. He had been so occupied with his self-pity, with wallowing in his frustration that he hadn't bothered to think about what he was doing to Trip. He knew how badly Trip dealt with not being talked to, and in his cold anger Malcolm had instinctively done the one thing that he'd known would hurt Trip the most.

He closed his eyes to quell the tears that were threatening to spill over. Somehow, he felt he had no right to be crying right now. For over three weeks, ever since Phlox had placed him on bed rest, all he had been doing was trying to undermine Trip's efforts to help him. Trip had given up the work on the transporter project, had taken nursing leave and had agreed to stay home and help Malcolm with all the things that the sickness prevented him from doing himself, and all Malcolm had done in return was treat him like dogshit. Trip had never lost his patience, even though Malcolm had strained it again and again by stubbornly ignoring any advice whatsoever. And now, finally, Trip had ended up facing an impossible situation, in which he was forced to hurt Malcolm in order to help him.

It's not fair, Malcolm thought, knowing that it was him who hadn't been fair, not in the way he had treated Trip, nor in the fact that he hadn't even found it in himself to call Trip back and tell him all this. He turned his head and looked out of the window that faced the garden and the small forest that bordered on it. Rain was still pouring down, even more fiercely than before.

What a bloody bastard I am, he thought, trying to ignore the choking feeling in his throat, the way his eyes were watering and the faint feeling in his head. I'm so sorry, Trip.

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Almost three hours after he had left, Trip followed a very exhausted but almost deliriously happy Johnson up the porch steps and unlocked the door to let the two of them in. The dog pushed inside as soon as the door had opened and headed straight for the living room, plopping down on the carpet, soaked and muddy as he was.

"Great, Johnny," Trip said as he shrugged out of his dripping wet jacket. "We just had that carpet dry cleaned."

He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers forming spikes in the wet strands, and thought about the fact that it was more like three months ago that Malcolm had suddenly realized that the previously white carpet was taking on a rather grayish hue, especially Johnson's favorite sleeping spot right in the middle, and had sent Trip to take it to the cleaners.

The thought of his partner sent a twinge through Trip's stomach, but he resolutely pushed the feeling aside. He had thought about this morning's events at some length, and had come to a decision that would hopefully put an end to this unpleasant affair.

As Trip turned around, his eyes fell on the clock, and he started somewhat guiltily. He hadn't realized that he had been gone for such a long time. He knew that he should not have left at all, especially not when Malcolm was tied to the bed and even less able to help himself, but he had needed to get out of the house.

The deep hurt he had felt this morning was still there, but during his stroll through the woods, it had lost some of its intensity. From the moment when he had decided what he had to do, most of his torn feelings had dissipated, leaving a dull throb right below his chest that intensified when he thought of the cold, dismissive expression Malcolm had worn this morning. Now that he knew he would have to face Malcolm in less than a few minutes, a feeling of dread rose as well.

Maybe he's not that mad anymore, Trip thought, but knew that this was probably wishful thinking. He had left Malcolm all alone, tied to the bed and unable even to go to the bathroom if he needed to, for three hours. It was more likely that by now, Malcolm's anger had even intensified.

Sighing, Trip climbed the stairs and stood in front of the bedroom door, listening intently for any sound of Malcolm's light snoring that would indicate that his partner was asleep. If Malcolm was sleeping, it would probably be better if he didn't wake him, but came back later on.

There was no sound from inside the room, though, and Trip briefly closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself for yet another assault of silent accusation, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Malcolm, who had obviously heard him, was facing towards the door. His expression was not the cold one from this morning, but it wasn't exactly an inviting one, either. Most of all, Malcolm looked sick, with feverish patches high on his cheekbones and red-rimmed, watery eyes. As Trip entered, their eyes met briefly, but Trip quickly looked away and took a few steps to the foot of the bed, kneeling down to unlock the restraint. He knew that if he didn't do this quickly, he'd lose his determination.

"I've been thinkin', Mal," he said while he opened first the lock on the cuff, then the one on the strap. "I don't think that I can do this. I can't keep you tied to the bed." He removed the cuff from Malcolm's ankle. For a moment, he sat there on his heels and held the restraint in one hand, thinking once more how damn ugly it looked. "I know that you probably won't listen to me and stay in bed now, either, but I guess we'll manage somehow. I..."

He trailed off. During his last words, Trip had raised his head to look at Malcolm, to find that his partner had lain back down on the pillows. What had made him fall silent, though, was the small, almost inaudible sob that his ears had picked up. Now that he wasn't talking anymore, he heard another one. He got to his feet. "Mal?"

Malcolm turned his head, and Trip realized that what he had thought to be moisture from watery eyes had been real tears. Malcolm was crying, biting his lip to keep the sobs inside.

"I'm sorry, Trip," he said in a low, tear-choked voice. "I'm so sorry for the way I treated you, I..."

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment, and as Trip got over his initial surprise, he quickly moved to the side of the bed and sat down next to Malcolm, putting a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Hey," he said, and Malcolm looked at him, his eyes holding apprehension and a plea for forgiveness. All of a sudden, Trip felt like crying himself, and bit his lip. "Hey," he said again, trying to give his voice a calming tone. Malcolm turned his gaze away and raised a hand to wipe his eyes. Trip could see his body trembling as he tried to hold back the tears.

At the sight, all the anger Trip had felt at Malcolm disappeared. A part of him protested that he shouldn't let himself be manipulated like this, but he knew that Malcolm wasn't doing it to get back into his good graces. Malcolm was sick, tired and exhausted and simply unable to endure any battles of will right now.

Sliding closer to his partner, Trip gathered Malcolm into his arms. Malcolm let himself be pulled into a close embrace, and despite his efforts to hold them back, the tears spilled over. He shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, Trip," he whispered, and Trip tightened his arms around Malcolm's thin frame, feeling the unhealthy heat that was coming off his partner's body and trying to fight the lump that was building in his own throat.

"Shh," he said as he ran a hand through Malcolm's damp hair. "It's okay, Mal. Never mind what happened. It's okay now."

Malcolm curled up against him, burying his face in Trip's chest, and Trip simply held him, trying to offer as much comfort as possible. He suspected that this had not been brought on only by today's events, but had developed out of the anger and the frustration that had been building up in Malcolm ever since he had fallen ill.

He rubbed a hand gently up and down Malcolm's back, trying to soothe the other man, and pretty soon, Malcolm's sobs subsided, giving way to even, regular breathing. He had slid down a little, his head now resting in Trip's lap while he was lying curled up on the bed. Careful not to jostle Malcolm, Trip reached out and spread the blanket over his sleeping partner. Then he resumed stroking the dark hair and caressing the soft skin in the nape of Malcolm's neck.

"I'm sorry I left," he said in a low voice. He knew now that it had been a misconception to think that this morning's events had affected Malcolm less than they had affected him. Malcolm, however, hadn't had the possibility of distracting himself, and had probably been lying here and exhausting himself in self-incrimination all the time while Trip had been gone.

He stayed as he was for some time, until a tingling in his legs indicated that they had fallen asleep. Carefully, Trip lifted Malcolm off his lap and pushed a pillow underneath his partner's head. Malcolm didn't wake up, and Trip slowly got to his feet, swaying a little as the blood circulation returned to his lower legs.

Quietly, he made his way to the door, and, his hand resting on the handle, turned back once more to look at Malcolm. His partner had begun snoring lightly as he always did - it was less actual snoring and more a loud breathing - and Trip hoped that maybe, the events of yesterday night and this morning would have a positive outcome in so far that they would be able to deal with their current situation more easily, more aware of the other one's feelings.

The thought had a cheering effect on Trip, and when he went downstairs to fix Malcolm and himself some lunch, there was a smile playing about his lips.


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