A/N: ...slides in here 6 years later... . . Okay, y'all. Way back in 2016, I forgot where I was going with this and didn't realise until last night that I had, in fact, written notes on that. So, unlike my very optimistic 2016 self, I can't promise when I'll finish writing up and posting this, especially since I'll be very busy in July/August with Witcher writing challenges and a new job, but I can promise that I will complete it. I may eventually re-write the first 3 chapters, but I don't know. In the meantime, I've lightly edited them.
Trip exited the shop and pushed his cart over to the side, out of the way. He briefly skimmed through the receipt to check he'd been rung up correctly, and then he stuffed the slip into his pocket and turned his cart towards the parking lot.
He'd just moved into this neighbourhood - new to him despite all of his years in San Francisco - and had an empty fridge to fill for the week. As he pushed his cart down the lot towards his cycle, he flicked his sunglasses down from where they rested atop his head and onto his face.
It was warm out, and Trip was glad the cycle racks were under shade. He quickly filled the panniers and returned the cart before heading back to his bike to unlock it. Just as he was dumping the locks into the basket at the front, someone in Starfleet dress uniform caught his eye, and he turned slightly to look.
His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as the man opened the door of a silver vintage bubble car. "Malcolm!" He dropped the locks and raised his hand as he shot to his feet and surged in his direction, almost forgetting in his single-minded haste to check for traffic before moving across the road.
He saw the oncoming car and stopped just as it honked a warning at him, and he impatiently waited for it to pass. Malcolm had slipped inside the car, shut the door, and started the engine by the time it was clear.
Trip ran, shouting Malcolm's name and waving, but the man was focussed on driving off in the opposite direction, and he was gone by the time Trip reached the now empty space. He stood in the middle, arms falling uselessly by his side as he watched the micro car grow even smaller in the distance, turning out of the lot and onto the main road, joining the traffic and speeding away from him.
A cry of sorrow and frustration bubbled up within him.
He'd moved to get away, to have a fresh start. Somewhere leafy and residential, someplace that held no memories. If he couldn't atone for his mistakes, then he needed to run from them. But here Malcolm was, the centre of the aching grief he'd brought upon himself.
His knees felt weak, and he felt himself sinking to the ground until a cycle pulling a baby bike trailer whizzed by. He stumbled a step or two as he came back to himself with a shuddering breath. The hand that automatically went to card through his hair, a nervous habit, caught on the temple of his sunglasses and knocked them off.
He cursed as he stooped down to pick them up, and, not wanting to linger in an empty parking space, he stalked back to his bike and started his short journey back to his new home, his head full of thoughts of the past and what he should have done differently all those years ago.
