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Epilogue
"Johnny, come back right now!"
Johnson obediently turned around and trotted back to where Trip was unloading a picnic basket and blanket, his surf board and the bag with their towels and sunscreen. The dog's sleepy eyes travelled over the things as if to say "What on Earth do you need all the stuff for?", then turned to Malcolm, who was climbing out of the flitter.
Trip followed Johnson's eyes, and resisted the urge to ask his partner if he needed any help. During the last four months, hovering had become an automatic response in him, and he had to remind himself every day not to treat Malcolm like an invalid. Technically, Malcolm was still an invalid; pale and thin, his body weakened by months of lying in bed and struggling with the illness. But it was the end of April now, summer was just around the corner, and as the days got warmer, Malcolm was visibly starting to feel better. Jon's presence and his captainly authority had helped to keep him in bed, and when Archer had left after two weeks, Malcolm's temperature had almost returned to normal. In retrospect, Trip was more than relieved that he had accepted Jon's offer, and had already made plans to book a weekend for his friend and Captain Hernandez in their favorite hotel in the Rocky Mountains. Jon definitely deserved some time off.
When Phlox had first given him green light to get out of bed, Malcolm had grabbed a blanket and a book and made himself comfortable on the porch swing, where he had been spending most of his days ever since. Being Malcolm, he had of course returned to working on his projects as soon as he could, and more often than not Trip would find him on the couch or in an armchair, quietly snoring with his beloved EM field blueprints resting on his chest. Being Malcolm, he also worried about leaving the housework to Trip, and insisted on doing at least part of his regular chores. Trip knew better than to argue, and from time to time allowed Malcolm to clear the table, or left toothpaste on the edge of the sink so Malcolm could fuss, scold and get a cloth to wipe it clean. They had drawn the line at cooking and shopping, but if he left a few little things for Malcolm to do the other man wouldn't feel as if he were burdening Trip. Trip for his part didn't mind being burdened a little, if it helped Malcolm recover sooner, but had learned soon enough that the Reed mind didn't work that way.
Phlox still came by every other week, but those visits had taken on the air of social calls rather than medical appointments. Malcolm, of course, would always pester the doctor as to when he could go back to R&D, looking crestfallen every time the doctor told him that he would have to stay home for at least another four weeks. Trip had returned to part-time work after Malcolm had been allowed out of bed, and Malcolm didn't seem to understand why he couldn't go as well, now that he was able to walk more than a dozen meters without passing out from exhaustion.
To take Malcolm's mind off things, Trip had decided to take him and Johnson to the beach, now that the weather was finally getting warm enough. Malcolm liked the seashore, as long as he didn't have to swim; sometimes, he would even wade around a little in the shallows before returning to his book and towel.
Today, of course, even wading was out of the question; Trip could see from the slow way Malcolm was moving that the drive here had exhausted him more than he was ready to admit. He was smiling, however, and Trip was glad to see it. Malcolm's days of gloom and depression seemed to have vanished along with the worst of the virus, and no one was missing them, least of all the Englishman himself.
"Ready to go, darlin'?" Trip asked, picking up the picnic basket.
Malcolm nodded, and Johnson, who seemed to feel addressed as well, barked loudly. Malcolm reached for the bag with the towels, and Trip bit down on his lip to stop himself from saying anything. The towel bag wasn't heavy, and if Malcolm carried it, things would feel more back to normal. Which was exactly why they had come here; to do something normal on a nice, normal, sunny Saturday afternoon. Trip had no intention of spoiling their day by being the world's biggest fusspot, as his mom would have said.
They made their way down to the beach, a deserted stretch of shore Trip had discovered the year before. He loved to come here instead of going to the overcrowded beaches close to the coastal cities, mostly because Malcolm was more relaxed when they were on their own. As soon as he caught sight of the sea, Johnson sped off like a photon torpedo and splashed into the water. As always, he raced out immediately to shake himself dry, then jumped back in, only to repeat the same maneuver a moment later.
"He's a strange dog," Malcolm said, watching Johnson as if he couldn't quite believe that someone would actually get enjoyment out of doing such a thing.
Trip laughed. "It's like he can't decide whether he likes the water or not," he said, and smiled as he added, "Reminds me of someone else I know."
Malcolm smirked. "Believe me, you won't ever see me rolling around in the seaweed."
Trip followed Malcolm's eyes and saw Johnson on his back with all fours in the air. For a moment, his mental eye replaced the dog with Malcolm, and Trip burst out laughing. He was still chuckling as he spread their towels on the sand.
Now that would be a sight screaming for a camera.
Malcolm shook off his shoes, then pulled off his pants and t-shirt to reveal black swimming trunks underneath. Trip began undressing himself and tried not to look at Malcolm's ribs that were still painfully visible under the pale skin. Malcolm was only slowly regaining the weight he had lost; too slowly in Trip's opinion, who tried everything he could to coax Malcolm into eating.
Stop it, he told himself as he sat down on his towel. He's gonna notice if you keep this up. And today's about having fun, not playing nurse.
Malcolm had stretched out next to him on his stomach, his head resting on his arms. Trip quickly rummaged through their bag, then turned back to his partner, sunscreen in hand.
"Watch out, darlin', this is gonna feel a little cold."
He squirted a generous amount of sunscreen onto the pale back, then began to rub it in with slow, stroking movements. Malcolm sighed happily, and Trip smiled, moving on to the neck and ears. Malcolm burned easily, and needed sun protection on every uncovered part of his body so he wouldn't look like a boiled lobster tonight.
After he had taken care of Malcolm, Trip shook some more suncream into his palm and began to rub it into his skin. He was about to do his shoulders when the bottle was taken from his hands.
"Here, let me."
Trip didn't protest and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Malcolm's fingers massaging his back. Malcolm took his time, and continued to stroke down Trip's back and shoulders even as the last trace of sunscreen had long been rubbed into the skin. Trip hadn't felt so good in a long time, the sun and Malcolm's touch warming him inside and outside. He leaned back a little and Malcolm slipped his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Trip's shoulder.
"Nice," he said softly, a smile in his voice.
Trip nodded, eyes still closed. "Yeah, it is."
After a while of sitting there and enjoying the closeness of the contact, Malcolm nudged Trip's ear with his nose.
"Love?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Trip was silent for a moment. He knew that Malcolm wasn't talking about the sunscreen, or even the beach. Malcolm was trying to tell him something Trip had seen in his eyes for a while, and even though it touched him, he wasn't sure if he liked the trace of guilt in Malcolm's voice.
"I love you, darlin'," he said. "And I'm glad you're better. I can't tell you how glad I am."
Malcolm's arms tightened around him. "It's thanks to you that I am better. Trip, I don't know how I can ever-"
"Shh." Trip turned around so that he was facing Malcolm, wanting to look him in the eyes. "Don't even say it, Mal. You would've done the same thing for me."
He leaned forward and they kissed, softly, staying that way for a long time. When Malcolm finally leaned back to look at Trip, there was a slight smile playing about his lips.
"Yes, I would have done the same thing for you. Only that you wouldn't have been such a bloody pain in the arse."
Inspite of himself, Trip chuckled. "I don't know, darlin'. Ask my family, I can be a terror when I'm sick."
"Well, I'm sure no one had to tie you down yet," Malcolm said and grinned. Briefly, Trip's own smile wavered. Then he saw the impish glint in Malcolm's eyes, and understood that the remark had not been intended as an accusation. Malcolm was obviously trying to tell him that the incident was not only forgiven on both sides, but that it was something they could both laugh about, and Trip was only too happy to join in. Laughing helped to take at least part of the sting out of the memories.
Still smiling, he moved so his head came to lay on Malcolm's thigh.
"You know, my sister had this cat as a kid. Matthew. He was never sick in his entire life, and then a dog got him, mauled his leg. The vet said he had to lie still until the injury had healed, and my sister made him a bed out of an old box, with blankets and everythin' that she put under the kitchen table. Matthew wouldn't stay in there, though. He couldn't even walk, but somehow he managed to climb outta the box every night and crawl away from it. We'd find him at the kitchen door in the mornin', starin' up at us out of his green eyes as if he was tellin' us to go to hell. You kinda reminded me of Matthew back then."
Malcolm smiled ruefully. "Well, I did from time to time feel like telling the whole world to go to hell. I wouldn't have put up with myself, if I'd been you. Wouldn't blame you if you had sent me to the hospital at some point."
Trip vehemently shook his head. "Never. I would've never sent you away, Mal."
Malcolm said nothing and smiled, beginning to comb Trip's hair with his fingers so that it stuck up in all directions. Trip closed his eyes and didn't even open them when a spray of droplets showered him, announcing Johnson's return. He heard the dog settling onto the sand next to him, the unique smell of wet canine wafting through the air. Trip found that he didn't mind at all.
This was turning out to be the best day in a long time.
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The End
One last time… please let us know what you think!
AN 10/24/06: There's a prequel to this fic, called "Seven Days". It was written by T'eyla and can be found on her profile page: www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net(slash)(wave-thingie)teyla
