"I am haunted by waters."
― Norman Maclean

"Have you ever?" Malcolm asked, lifting the oxygen mask from his face so he could speak, then putting it back. Someone – Trip – had given him the mask. He looked to where Trip was sitting up front, piloting the shuttle. Beyond him, darkness. Beyond that, Enterprise, or he hoped Enterprise was there. Enterprise should be there. Better to be back on Enterprise than sitting on the deck of this bloody shuttle, trying his best to breathe despite the pressure and burning in his chest.

"Have I what?" Trip shot back over his shoulder, eyes on the controls in front of him.

"What?" Malcolm said in surprise. Had he…? He lifted a hand to rub his forehead, then pulled it away, staring at the dirt coating his skin. No, Trip wasn't asking him a question; he'd asked that of Trip. Wait – actually, that question was from a conversation they'd been having earlier, when they'd first arrived on the planet. He was losing track. He was haunted, haunted by waters, and he was losing track.

They'd been there to take samples of – something – he couldn't remember.

He'd drowned; he remembered that much. Everything after that, everything before that, he was less sure. He remembered falling, the water closing over him. Darkness. He rubbed a hand across his face. There was a mask over his nose and mouth, and, surprised to find it there, he pushed it aside. He tried to pull the blanket closer, but it slipped off his shoulder. He was cold. And wet. He was soaked. His uniform –

"Malcolm?" Trip said, interrupting his thoughts. "Have I ever what?"

Right, right. He was talking to Trip. He'd asked Trip a question, then, now. "I'm not sure," he said with a cough. He'd lost track of what was going on, then, now. He tried rubbing some of the dirt on the skin of his legs away with a hand, but gave it up as a loss. He was filthy, and wet, and cold, his chest was burning, and his uniform was somewhere back on that planet where he'd drowned, or in the shuttle somewhere, but he thought he remembered Trip (or someone… but it had to be Trip, Trip had been the only one there) removing it at some point, likely to help get him more quickly dry. And here he was, sitting on the deck of the shuttle, back against a wall, the cold of the surface seeping into his bones, in his skivvies, in his bare feet, God, his feet were freezing, and "I'm really not, I haven't, I'm..." He sighed, then coughed again. He shifted so that he was sitting cross legged in an attempt to tuck his feet up under himself, losing the blanket entirely in the process. "I don't think I'm making sense, am I?" he murmured.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and someone put the mask back over his mouth. Trip. It was Trip. "Nah, you are. Sort of," Trip said, slumping to a seat on the deck beside him. "Phlox said the meds he had me give you might make you feel woozy, and between that and the oxygen deprivation, plus the knock you took on your way down…" Trip shrugged and waved a hand.

"Is Phlox here?" Malcolm asked.

Trip shook his head. "I was able to reach him via the comm." He pulled the blanket back up over Malcolm's shoulders, then draped a second blanket across Malcolm's lap, tucking it under his feet. Trip let his head fall back gently against the bulkhead behind them. "I've set the autopilot. We should meet up with Enterprise in about an hour."

Malcolm nodded, eyes falling shut. Trip looked nearly as exhausted as he himself felt. He heard Trip saying something, it may have been about sickbay, but he wasn't sure. Made sense, though. Even he'd admit that sickbay was likely a good idea. His head hurt. His chest burned. He felt like complete and utter pants.

Why wasn't Enterprise here? He and Trip had been… there had been some sort of a meeting that Enterprise needed to attend, somewhere. Trip and T'Pol had been interested in this planet – he couldn't remember why – and he'd volunteered to accompany Trip, as T'Pol needed to attend the meeting with… with Archer, and… None of it was clear.

He remembered falling. The water closing over him. Darkness. It had been night. The water was so unbelievably dark. He'd hit something on the way down, his head, and that's all he knew until he was on his back on some rocks, Trip looming over him, the planet's small moon casting the man into shadow. Trip had obviously dived in and rescued him, but he didn't remember. If Trip had rescued him, he owed the man, as Trip himself would say, "Big Time." And Big Time meant –

He startled, eyes flashing open when Trip said, "Did you say something about pie?"

Malcolm shrugged. He hadn't realized he'd said that aloud. He turned his head to face Trip and said, "You rescued me." He yawned, then coughed. He reached for the mask covering his mouth, only to have Trip stop him with a hand to his arm.

"I did," Trip said.

"I owe you pecan pie," Malcolm repeated, trying to speak clearly through the mask.

"Oooo-kay," Trip replied, drawing out the word.

"It's your favorite," Malcolm said, nudging Trip with his knee.

"It's my favorite dessert, yeah."

Malcolm pointed a finger towards Trip, shaking it slightly in emphasis. "Pecan pie for saving my life."

Trip nodded as if he understood. And perhaps he did. After serving a year together, Trip had become a friend. Of anyone, he might understand, even when Malcolm wasn't being especially clear. Especially after their incident on Shuttlepod One. Which shuttle were they on now? He couldn't recall. But it was probably Shuttlepod One. That thing was cursed.

"We should rename it," Malcolm said.

"What?" Trip asked.

Malcolm turned to fully face Trip, the blankets falling around him in a puddle. He pushed his mask away impatiently. He inhaled raggedly. "We should rename it," he said, trying to enunciate clearly. This was important.

"You," Trip said with emphasis, "need to keep this on," he added as he reached for the mask.

Malcolm waved Trip's hand away. "I will," he said, "but we need to rename it."

"The mask?"

"The bloody shuttle," Malcolm said, biting at the last word. He inhaled with a wheeze, then coughed, then repeated that process again as Trip slid the mask back over his face. "Shuttlepod One," he said, his voice again muffled by the mask.

"Please stop talking," Trip said, eyes showing his worry. "You're not helping yourself, here."

"It's obviously cursed." Malcolm broke off with an inhale. Fuck, that hurt. Breathing shouldn't hurt. And yet it did.

"Okay, we'll rename it," Trip said hastily, pulling the blankets in around Malcolm again. "If you calm down and keep that mask on, we can name it anything you'd like."

That was it. They'd rename the damn thing, perhaps something innocuous like "Fluffy" or "Olivia", and that'd take care of that. Although maybe Olivia wasn't such a good idea. He'd dated someone with a similar name. Hadn't ended well. Then he noticed something. "Aren't you cold?" he said, noting suddenly that Trip was also in his skivvies, his hair standing straight on end. "Where's your uniform?"

"It's soaked," Trip said. "I took it off to get dry."

Malcolm reached a hand out from under his blankets and tugged at the hem of Trip's vest. It was as wet as his own. "That doesn't seem to be working," he said. He then noticed the dark circles under Trip's eyes, a bruise on his leg, scratches on his knuckles, streaks of mud on his skin. "You look like shit," Malcolm said, eyes sliding shut. His hand fell into his lap.

"Erm… right back atcha?" Trip answered with a soft laugh.

"Are you all right?" Malcolm said around a yawn.

"I'm fine," Trip said.

Not even bothering to open his eyes, Malcolm said, "That's my line."

Trip didn't say anything for a moment. "I admit," Trip finally said, "that planet is not ranking up there with my favorites."

"Nor is it amongst mine," Malcolm answered. He couldn't even recall the name of the planet. He and Trip had… they'd gone down in the shuttle. There was vegetation; plants, dark, there was… he was on point, and… They'd been walking the edge of, of a lake, T'Pol had told them it had likely been formed by a sinkhole from years ago, since filled with water, but what they needed was in a cavern just beyond it. It had recently rained – the vegetation was shining with the evidence of that, the ground underneath his feet muddy, the air smelling of damp and wet. He could recall all this. The rest was – it was like it was just there, just beyond his reach. He remembered bits and pieces, dribs and drabs, this and that… Trip had to have jumped in and rescued him. Carried him back to the shuttle. No wonder the man was so wet. Probably as tired as he himself was. Maybe if he sat here, still, Trip would fall asleep, get some rest.

After a while – he wasn't sure how long – he felt Trip shift, and slide away. "Wait!" Malcolm said, eyes flashing open and hand tugging the mask aside. "Take one of these…" He pushed one of the blankets toward Trip.

"Malcolm," Trip said warningly, one hand reaching for Malcolm's mask, the other trying to shove the blanket back at him.

"Trip," Malcolm said right back, pushing the blanket away and toward Trip. "Listen, I'll – " he inhaled, then coughed. "Fuck me, ouch," he muttered. "I'll put the damn mask," he wheezed, "back on if you'll," he tried to inhale, and choked out in a rush, "take one of these blankets for yourself."

"Sure, all right," Trip said, eyes wide with alarm. "Just stop talking, please, and let the oxygen do its thing."

Malcolm let Trip slide the mask back into place, and he nodded, letting his eyes close again. Ah, God, that hurt. He inhaled carefully, feeling it burn and rattle in his chest. He could hear himself breathing – wheezing – and that was just odd.

He felt someone – Trip – take the blanket that was half off his lap, and replace it fully across his legs. Damn it, he'd told Trip to take one of the bloody blankets… Then he felt Trip slide closer to him, and the tug of the blanket and warmth at his side told him that Trip had joined him under it, and that was all right. He let himself drift.

The water closing over him. It had been night. The water was so unbelievably dark.

A whispered voice from beside him, "You okay?"

Thank God Trip had been there. Otherwise, he'd have entered Starfleet and avoided the Royal Navy, only to drown on some alien planet. And Shuttlepod One would have remained forever cursed, no one realizing that a simple change of name might free them all from its tyranny. And he'd be dead, which would be unfortunate.

Drowning, as Travis would say, "sucked". He dreaded the bloody water enough in the first place; he'd told Archer of his aquaphobia, although he hated to admit it to anyone; he didn't think that Trip knew. He'd rather Trip not know. Trip probably knew. God, he was so cold, and he hurt, it hurt to breathe, why did it hurt so bloody much? He gasped, unable to catch his breath. He tried to open his eyes, but it was useless.

"Malcolm?"

He wanted to answer, but he was just… so… bloody… tired. He felt movement beside him, the blankets tugged off, hands on his shoulders, lowering him to the deck. Pressure against his neck, then away. Someone called his name. He wanted to answer, but the water was pressing him down, he could feel himself floating away even as there were voices, and he felt himself pulled and tugged and moved, but he found himself too tired to care.

x-x

Noises, pulling him back. The rustling of animals. Voices nearby. Smells of antiseptic. He knew exactly where he was. Damn it. Or good, depending on how one approached the matter.

"Mister Reed." A firm voice from quite close. "Open your eyes, please."

Phlox was hovering, head haloed in the light above. Saint Phlox, Patron Saint of Sickbay, revealed in all his glory.

Malcolm squinted against the brightness. Obviously they'd reached Enterprise. He'd missed that, or he'd forgotten.

"Good to have you back, Lieutenant," Phlox said brightly. He turned to fuss with some clear tubing and the halo effect stopped, revealing Phlox the doctor. Not a saint at all. Although basically a good man. If one forgave the odd creatures used as cures.

"Your breathing may be a bit difficult for now, but the medications and supplemental oxygen will help with that," Phlox said, indicating the tubing with a nod.

"I drowned," Malcolm said, his voice raspy.

Phlox flashed a light into his eyes, then away. "You will feel sore, and you may notice altered mental status, confusion," Phlox continued, peering from Malcolm to a nearby monitor. "A temporary condition, which soon will pass."

Something heavy and cold lay below his nose, and Malcolm reached an unsteady hand to try to push it away, only for something to stop him. Squinting, he turned to that side and saw Trip standing there, a small smile lighting his face, one hand on Malcolm's arm. The man still looked rough, although he was wearing scrubs and his hair was now dry; so time had passed, but not much.

"How long…?" Malcolm asked, his eyes sliding shut again.

"Couple hours," Trip answered, voice low. Malcolm felt a pat to his arm, then Trip's hand was gone.

"You okay?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm fine," Trip answered.

"S'my line," Malcolm said, voice slurring his tiredness. Or maybe it was the drugs Phlox had mentioned. Regardless, opening his eyes seemed beyond his abilities, so he let them stay shut, trusting that Trip would understand.

Malcolm felt the bustling near him stop, then heard Phlox's voice, "One more minute, Commander." He heard the doctor move off.

They'd taken the accursed Shuttlepod One down to some planet he could barely remember, only to nearly drown there. Only to be saved there. Only to drown again on the shuttle. Only to be saved again. Too much drowning and saving for one day. Malcolm inhaled, then coughed. They'd rename the thing Fluffy or something, and…

He heard a soft voice from beside him. "Who's Fluffy?" it asked. Trip.

"That's the shuttle's new name," he answered, feeling the tug of the nasal cannula as he turned onto his side. Someone – maybe Trip – put it straight, then laid a blanket over him.

"Anything you want, Malcolm," Trip replied, echoing what he'd said back on the shuttle.

Malcolm laughed, only to cough again. He inhaled carefully. "Thanks," he said.

"For what?"

Malcolm waved a hand vaguely, and was grateful when Trip squeezed his arm, seeming to know what he meant.

Malcolm was thankful for everything. That Trip understood his ramblings, no matter how fevered. For being his friend. For saving him from the water. For… For everything, Malcolm thought, knowing the truth of that.

For everything, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

x-x

End

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