Thanks for your kind comments about Chapter 6! We've still got some of that pineapple upside-down cake left, so... leave a review ;)?
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Chapter 7
For a week, Malcolm was a model patient. He allowed Trip to help him to the bathroom, he hardly complained when he had to be hooked up to the IV (Malcolm still suffered frequent periods of nausea), he slept long enough for him to be well-rested, and, most importantly, he took no more unscheduled strolls around the house. True to what Phlox had said, the virus seemed to be fighting a losing battle now that Malcolm was no longer feeding it by putting constant strain on his body. Malcolm's fever had balanced out to a steady 38 degrees during daytime, and in between his bouts of sickness, his appetite had returned enough for him to eat one or even two meals a day. Every time Trip entered the bedroom to find Malcolm sitting up and reading instead of buried under a heap of blankets, he couldn't help but smile. His partner's slow but continuous recovery took a heavy load off his mind.
Ever since Malcolm had started to feel better, however, his mood was on a downhill roll. Granted, he was trying not to let it show, but Trip noticed the way he would longingly gaze at the padds on his desk, or his growing impatience with his own immobility. Trip had consulted Phlox, who had suggested that Malcolm be allowed to spent one hour a day working, to "keep his mind off things". Malcolm, of course, was all for the idea, but in the meantime, Trip was beginning to think that Phlox' plan had backfired. Malcolm's idea of "one hour" didn't have much to do with the actual time span; in his eyes, "one hour" seemed to equal "as long as I need to finish this". And getting him to give up his padds was like trying to remove a cat from its favorite armchair; Malcolm would grouse and grumble and finally retreat to a sulky silence when Trip insisted on separating him from his EM field calculations. It was turning out to be a daily issue, and Trip was starting to wish that he hadn't listened to Phlox' advice. Malcolm could be very convincing when it came to extending his allotted working period, and Trip found it harder every time to coax him into leaving it at that for today.
One evening, after Malcolm had pored over his padds for more than one and a half hours, Trip decided to put his foot down. He set the dinner tray with the soup down and walked over to the bed, crossing his arms in front of his chest in an as he hoped no-nonsense gesture.
"Malcolm."
Malcolm didn't even raise his eyes and continued to frown down at his calculations. "Just a moment, love."
"You've had a moment," Trip said, pronouncing the words very precisely. "In fact, you've had quite a few moments. Now put the padds aside."
This time, Malcolm did look up, but only briefly. "I just need a few more minutes to finish this."
Trip sighed. "C'mon, Mal. You know that you're not gonna be done in a few minutes and anyway, it's been too many minutes already. Thirty-seven minutes, in fact."
Malcolm frowned at him. "Aren't you the one always telling me not to be so, and I quote, "anal-retentive"?"
"I'm not bein' anal-retentive, Malcolm, and you know it. Phlox said an hour, and you've been workin' for more than half an hour longer than that. Now put those padds aside."
"I will, when I have finished this." Malcolm bent back down over his calculations.
Trip slowly counted to ten, and added another ten before he was sure he could speak in a calm tone. "Malcolm, put them aside. Right now."
Malcolm didn't even raise his head and only waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. It was the last straw dropping into place, and Trip stepped forward and snatched the padds away before Malcolm knew what was happening.
"Sorry, Malcolm, but time's over."
"Trip!" Malcolm's pale cheeks reddened with anger. "I told you, I only needed a few more minutes!"
Trip saved Malcolm's data and switched the padds off, then placed them in the desk drawer. "The EM field's still gonna be there in the mornin', Mal. Right now, you need to eat and then go to sleep. You know you're not supposed to be workin' so hard."
Malcolm's eyes flickered back and forth between Trip and the desk. Trip, who recognized the look on his partner's face only too well, shook his head in warning.
"Don't even try to get them back, Malcolm, or they'll be gone for good. We agreed on one hour, and one hour it's gonna be."
Malcolm's lips formed a thin line. "I'm not a child, Trip. I can take care of myself."
Trip sighed. "I know you can, Malcolm, but if you don't listen to me and Dr. Phlox, then there's not a lot we can do but take your stuff away or..."
Tie you down, he had been about to say, but stopped himself a second before the words had left his mouth. It wouldn't be fair to bring it up now, after they had both apologized and agreed to forget about the incident.
"Anyway, you can't spend all night broodin' over your calculations. There'll be time enough tomorrow to finish them."
It was obvious that Malcolm disagreed, but he said nothing more and quietly accepted the tray Trip set down in front of him. He picked up the spoon and began to eat, slowly, silently. Trip struggled with himself not to let Malcolm's sulking get the better of him; he had done the right thing, and didn't need to apologize for anything. Suddenly, as he watched the spoon travel up to Malcolm's mouth and back down again, he had to suppress the urge to laugh.
You got me wrapped around your little finger, you know that? he thought, shaking his head at himself. There was no one who could turn him into a big pile of mush like his partner could, and it hardly took more than a soft look from those gray eyes to get Malcolm what he wanted. It was what was making this whole nursing business so damn trying. Trip wasn't used to denying Malcolm anything; maybe because under normal circumstances, Malcolm asked for so little. Now, however, Malcolm wanted - demanded - his independence back, and Trip, of all people, was the one stuck with reminding the Englishman of the limitations of his illness.
He watched Malcolm finish his soup, releasing a sigh of relief when the tray was handed back to him with a quiet "thank you". Obviously, Malcolm had decided not to resort to the silent treatment again.
Trip set the tray down on the desk and returned to the edge of the bed. Malcolm had lain back on his pillow, his eyes tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling and then coming to rest on Trip. And then he smiled; his trademark "reconciliation smile" that was only a small, almost shy twitch of the lips. At the sight, Trip could feel his insides rapidly transforming into the aforementioned pile of mush.
He leaned down for a kiss and was met by dry, soft lips. "I'm sorry I'm such a pain in the arse," Malcolm whispered. "I don't know how you put up with me."
Trip ran his fingers over the hot forehead, then began to explore the dark brown hair. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he said, and it was true.
He continued to stroke Malcolm's hair, feeling a twinge of worry at the heat that was emanating from the other man's skin. Malcolm's eyes had closed, and when his breathing began to even out, Trip didn't have the heart to wake him up again. Malcolm didn't like going to sleep without brushing his teeth, but once supposedly wouldn't hurt. And at least Malcolm wouldn't be awake when he took his temperature, a procedure the Englishman felt was "undignified". Trip took care of the offending business as carefully as he could, frowning when he saw the digits on the display. 39.5 °C. He sighed. Extending his working time, as much as it might have helped Malcolm's morale, had done little good for his physical condition; his temperature hadn't been that high in five days. Trip considered giving Malcolm one of Phlox' fever reducers, but dismissed the idea when he remembered that the medication would frequently give Malcolm a headache the next day.
Maybe it's best if he sweats it out, he thought as he tucked Malcolm in and made sure that he was resting comfortably. And as to finishing the calculations tomorrow... maybe I can get Johnson to eat the padds.
Chuckling at the idea, Trip left the room and quietly closed the door behind himself.
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When Malcolm woke up, he lay still for a few moments, trying to penetrate the hazy layer of sleepiness that was still surrounding him. Something was different than usual. Something about the light.
Slowly, he turned onto his side, and faced the interior of his quarters. He frowned. There was something wrong about the room, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The slight blur that seemed to be lying over his senses somehow hindered his perception.
I have to get going, he thought, and as soon as the thought had formulated in his head, he knew that it was the truth; he had to get going, he needed to get out of his quarters right now.
He sat up, and paused for a moment as a dizzy spell made his head spin. Then he pushed his feet over the side of the bed and stood, swaying slightly. The floor underneath his bare feet felt wrong, too soft, too warm, not at all like the cool metal panels of the floor in his quarters on Enterprise.
Slowly and unsteadily, he began to make his way towards the dark outline of the door. His eyes fell on Trip, who was sleeping, lying on his stomach with his arms sprawled across the bed and the blanket pulled up to his waist. It was how Trip always looked in his sleep. Something seemed off, though.
What is he doing over here? Malcolm thought. The bed's back there.
He realized that Trip was sleeping on an extra cot, and wondered why that would be. Had they had a fight? Malcolm couldn't remember an argument with his partner, but come to think of it, he couldn't remember much aside from hazy images that slid away as soon as he tried to focus on them. Maybe something else had happened. In any case, he needed to leave now. He had places to go and things to do.
Silently, so as not to wake Trip, he continued towards the door. He pushed down the handle - the movement seemed wrong, too, but everything seemed wrong, so Malcolm didn't pay the feeling a lot of attention - and stepped into the corridor.
The lights were turned off. That was weird. Usually, there were at least dimmed lights in the corridor, even during night time. Right now, however, the corridor was illuminated only by some dim, far-away source of light that dyed everything grey and still.
Maybe the power is down, Malcolm thought, but then realized that if that were the case, Trip would be in Engineering, trying to find the problem, not sound asleep in Malcolm's quarters.
Before he could follow this train of thought any further, though, he started as he noticed a movement in the corridor. A huge and pitch-black something had stepped out of the shadows and was now moving towards him. Malcolm felt a rush of adrenaline run through him, and his muscles tensed in case the stranger would attack. After a moment, though, he relaxed as he realized that he was looking at a rather huge, but probably harmless dog.
Since when are there dogs on Enterprise? he wondered. Aside from Porthos, that is.
He got the feeling that there was something very strange going on, and his urge to go and find out what it was intensified. Malcolm passed the dog that looked at him with wide, pale eyes that shone in the darkness. He heard it give a small whine, and made a low shushing sound, not wanting the dog to wake Trip. Then he slowly began to descend the stairs, hearing his own heartbeat loud and fast in his ears.
The dizziness had not relented, and when he was halfway down the stairs, he had to pause for a moment, holding on to the banister and taking deep, slow breaths. He swallowed hard as a surge of nausea made his stomach clench, then continued his descent, trying to ignore the trembling of his legs.
As he reached the foot of the stairs, he looked around, trying to determine which way he had to go. He did not seem to be familiar with this junction, which was very odd, since he knew all of Enterprise's corridors. He could have found his way around blind if he'd had to.
At the moment, however, he had no idea where the doors to his right and his left led. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to try the one to his right, feeling a hunch that told him that it would bring him closer to his destination.
When he opened the door - again, the idea of a handle and a door that swung on two hinges seemed off to him - he knew that he had chosen the right way. The room itself was uninteresting, there was a table and a counter, and something that looked like a stove, of all things. Across the room, however, Malcolm could make out the outline of another door. The image was a little fuzzy around the edges, but all of a sudden, he knew that this door was what he had been looking for.
He quickly crossed the room, trying to ignore the way his legs were trembling, not entirely convinced whether they actually wanted to carry his weight any longer, and turned the door knob. A sudden panic flared up in him when it wouldn't move, and he began to rattle at the knob, his breathing quickening, until he remembered that the door was locked. Of course it was, he had locked it himself. Or had he?
Dismissing the question as irrelevant, he felt for the small button that would unlock the door. Then he tried the knob again, and a rush of relief ran through him as it turned easily under his fingers. He pulled the door open and winced at the onslaught of cold that hit him as he did.
For a moment, he stood there in the doorway, the wind that was blowing in from outside making him tremble, and momentarily didn't know what he was doing here, at night, outside in the cold. Suddenly, he felt a little scared, and his thoughts returned to the image of Trip sleeping back in his quarters.
Had that been just a moment ago? Somehow he couldn't remember whether the image was a memory of tonight or longer ago. However, a feeling of dread was creeping up on him, a feeling that Trip was not sleeping in bed, safe and secure, but that his partner was out there somewhere, in the dark and the cold. At the thought, Malcolm felt his stomach clench again, and he ventured a step outside onto the porch, then another.
Trip, he thought, the dread evolving into a nagging worry. Trip, where are you?
As he crossed the moist grass, Malcolm tried to ignore the way the wind was pulling on his clothes that were too thin to keep away any of the biting coldness. By now, he was already shaking with it, and his knees felt like pudding. But he needed to keep going. Trip was somewhere out there.
Malcolm raised his eyes to the dark sky and saw that this planet obviously had only one satellite, like Earth. He could only see one, anyway, a thin white crescent that provided close to no light at all. There were countless stars, however, small dots in the otherwise dark sky. It does look a lot like Earth, he thought.
As he set his left foot down, suddenly his knee gave way, and he stumbled and almost fell. He quickly returned his attention to where he was going, concentrating on keeping his balance, confused and annoyed by the way his head was beginning to spin. There was definitely something wrong with him, but he didn't know, or didn't remember, what had happened. It didn't matter, anyway. He needed to keep moving.
Laboriously, he continued on his unsteady way. After a while, the quality of the ground under his feet changed. Instead of soft and grassy, it felt earthy, and from time to time Malcolm stepped on a rock or a stick. Each time when he felt the small prick and instinctively pulled his foot back, he had to fight for his balance. His surroundings were darker now, too, and all around him there were dark shapes and moving shadows, nothing clear enough to determine what he was looking at. The dizziness was making his vision blur and grey out from time to time, and the nausea had returned as well, making his stomach clench and turn almost rhythmically. The slight uneasiness he had felt before had grown into actual fear that was intensifying the shaking of his body. He was confused, and all of a sudden realized that he had no idea what he was doing, where he was or how he had come to be here. The only thing he was aware of was the cold that was piercing enough to hurt, the weakness in his legs and the nausea that was beginning to choke him.
There was a jolt, and suddenly he felt the moist ground under his fingers, distantly realizing that he had fallen to his knees. He heard a roaring deep inside his ears, and his fear turned into cold panic as he realized that it sounded like a waterfall, a huge one that would relentlessly pull you under if you got caught in it. Malcolm froze, not daring to move an inch. He couldn't see anything in the darkness, he didn't know whether he was maybe kneeling no more than a foot from the dropoff that descended to the wild, angry water.
Malcolm buried his fingers into the muddy ground, feeling the moisture, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stay upright despite the way the ground had begun seesawing underneath him. The spinning in his head quickened, and suddenly Malcolm didn't know anymore whether the water was before or behind him, and the next second he was falling, losing his grip on the world as he was swirled away into darkness.
TBC...
More chocolate, please... please let us know what you think!
