Trigger warning: mentions suicide

Angst heavy chapter

Help

With?

Can you just come to my quarters please?

Hayes sat on his bed, his chin resting on his tightly clasped hands. He kept glancing down to his PADD on the bed beside him, wondering when Malcolm was going to reply. He was starting to fidget and he was about to message him again when to door to his quarters just opened, Malcolm not having bothered to knock. Well, he was the security officer, there wasn't a door on the ship he couldn't unlock. Hell, Hayes doubted the brig could hold him. He immediately caught sight of what was sitting on the desk, and what Hayes couldn't take his eyes off of.

He paused for less than a fraction of a second, before he rounded the edge of the bed, sitting down beside Hayes. "Are you alright?"

Meaning: did you drink that bottle of wine?

"I didn't open it," Hayes said quickly. "I did not open it. Not a drop." He started wringing his hands, tapping his feet on the floor. "Phlox can check my blood if he wants."

"I believe you," Malcolm said, taking Hayes's hands with his own. Neither of them said anything for second. "So… you called me here to save you from the evil bottle of wine?"

"Is this a fucking joke to you?"

Hayes jumped up, startling Malcolm. He started to pace, avoiding looking at his desk.

"Of course not, but I don't really know what you want me to do here."

"Don't you want to know why I have a fucking bottle of wine?"

"I presume you got it from the pantry." There was a slight edge to Malcolm's voice. They had plenty of alcohol onboard, mainly wine and beer, and the Captain had a few personal bottles of hard liquor both terrestrial and extraterrestrial, but consumption was strictly controlled. They might have a drink with dinner every couple of months, or a special occasion, but that was it for the crew. Hell, with a few exceptions, they didn't even really go wild on shore leave. "If we don't go crazy every once in a while, we'll go crazy," was the Captain's motto; it was the main reason that the crew got away with their bullshit shenanigans. Hayes was convinced that Captain Archer thought that if he let the crew blow off a little bit of steam fairly regularly, then he could avoid massive blowouts that resulted when over a hundred people with cabin fever tasted fresh air for the first time in months. So far, no one had ended up in hospital; though five crew members had been arrested for accidentally trespassing once, but Hoshi had cleared that up pretty easily.

"Of course I got it from the fucking pantry!" Hayes started pacing.

Malcolm got quickly to his feet and folded his arms across his chest. "What exactly did you want help with?"

That drew Hayes up short. The honest answer was he wanted him to keep him from drinking that entire bottle of wine, because today of all days Hayes just did not want to have to think. About anything. Today, he really needed to just switch off and enter oblivion. But how did he verbalise that to Malcolm?

"I don't know!" he threw up his hands, turning away from Malcolm. He ran both of his hands through his hair and knew that it must be completely standing on end now, but he didn't care that he looked a mess. "I don't know."

"Why did you want me here?"

"I don't fucking know!" He wanted him to make sure that he didn't drink that entire bottle in one go; he wanted him to distract him from that misery and anger that was swirling around in his chest; he wanted to hold him or be held, he didn't care which he just wanted to lie in bed and not move for a couple of hours because he felt like he was completely coming apart, like he was going to explode. But how did he say that?

Hayes turned around to see a very unimpressed Malcolm coolly staring back at him. "Very well, here's what going to happen: I'm going to get rid of the wine and in the meantime, you're going to get rid of the attitude."

He snatched the bottle off of the desk and stormed out. Hayes stood there, staring after him for a moment, before dejectedly flopping onto his bed, lying there with his knees bent and pressing his palms into his eyes. He groaned. God, what must Malcolm be thinking of him right now? Flying into a rage like that? All Malcolm had been trying to do was help, and he'd just flown off the handle; nice job, Hayes, real nice. But he needed to stop thinking about that, and start trying to compose what he was going to say to Malcolm when he came back.

Sorry should probably be the first thing he should say; sorry for acting like a crazy person and yelling after you came to help me as soon as I asked. Sorry for being a mess of a human. Sorry for somehow trapping you in this relationship when you probably should head for the hills.

At least he' followed rule number three: when someone is getting snappy, leave until they calm down. He needed to be careful with Malcolm; they'd only been dating for a couple of weeks, and he'd already confessed that once the social worker had signed off on them, when he was fourteen, his uncle had gradually shortened his fuse until that house felt like a prison. The slightest thing could set him off, and Malcolm and his cousins had spent their teenage years walking on eggshells and coming up with strategies to spend as little time in the house as possible. Apparently getting yelled at by someone he was close to was a trigger; it was why he could never manage to get close to anyone he'd ever dated – aside from being gay. It was also one of the reasons why he hadn't wanted to get close to the Captain or Trip – he'd felt that wouldn't be able to stand his ground if there was an emotional connection; he'd felt that he wouldn't be able to do his job. It was only how safe Captain Archer actually made him feel that had let him take a reprimand without crumbling once they did become close. That, and therapy; he'd spoken to Phlox quite a bit about it.

So, yeah, Hayes knew full well that he couldn't yell at his boyfriend, and had thought he was getting pretty good at counting to ten when something set him off – he'd realised that had a pretty short fuse himself lately. But he'd be damned if he was going to give Malcolm another panic attack by yelling at him, or getting annoyed at something else and forgetting to tell him it wasn't him. Malcolm getting shot at by hostiles? No problem. Foothold situation on the ship? Sounds fun, let's annoy them into leaving. Hayes huffing and puffing under his breath because he was having a disagreement with Ed over the training schedule? Deer in the headlights.

They were a work in progress.

Hayes started trying to force as much air into his lungs as possible. When Malcolm came back, he was going to want some kind of an explanation, and Hayes did not know what to tell him. The truth was an option, yes, but Hayes didn't think he could get through it without crying, or throwing something. Or throwing up. They were all options, to be honest.

God, he was pathetic. He needed his boyfriend to save him from himself, and make sure he didn't give himself alcohol poisoning; he shouldn't have taken that fucking bottle from the pantry in the first place, but when he went in to grab some energy bars it had just been there, in the wine rack and he couldn't help himself. He was still on the meds for the cravings, but Phlox had put him on the lowest does now. So it wasn't that; no, he was just a loser who couldn't cope with it being August thirteenth. Last year had been rough too, them being in the Expanse at the time, but he'd held it together. But now he wanted a drink, he needed it – he didn't want to have to think anymore. And he certainly didn't want to have to talk about it, but he doubted that Malcolm was going to let him get away with not giving him something.

He heard his door open about ten minutes later, but didn't take his hands down from his eyes. Malcolm didn't say anything, but Hayes could hear him shuffling around and then two soft thumps on the ground. He felt him lie next to him, and realised that he must have taken off his shoes. Malcolm grabbed his wrist – kind of roughly – and pulled his hand away from his eyes, putting his other hand in Hayes and intertwining their fingers. They just lay like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped between them.

"Could you scoot over, I'm hanging half off of the bed here."

Hayes did so, not letting go of Malcolm's hand; he was taking comfort from his warmth of where their shoulders and arms were touching. After he realised that Malcolm wasn't going to say anything he mumbled "Sorry I flew into a rage."

Malcolm turned his head to look at him, eyebrows raised. "You were a mite touchy, but I wouldn't exactly call that a rage. What happened?"

Hayes was silent for so long it seemed as if he wasn't going to reply. "It's Sadie's birthday."

"Who's Sadie?"

"My younger sister. She died in thirty-nine. She was only twenty."

"I'm so sorry."

"She'd be thirty five today."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Malcolm asked hesitantly. "Come here," he said after a moment, putting arm under Hayes's shoulders and pulling him towards him. Hayes settled his head on Malcolm's chest and threw an arm across his stomach as Malcolm started to rub his back.

"She'd come to live with me the year before," Hayes said, screwing up his eyes in an effort to fight back tears. He did not want to talk about this, he wanted the exact opposite, but he found that he couldn't stop himself from speaking. He pressed himself closer to Malcolm and felt his arms tighten around him in return. It gave him some courage. He sniffed, before continuing. "She had a lot of the same problems as me, you know. She drank too much, and she did other shit too. She was my dad and step-mom's second youngest, and they'd just sent her to live with our grandparents permanently."

"They did that a lot," Malcolm commented dryly.

"Because my dad's an idiot," Hayes said bluntly. "I'm closer to him than I am to my mom, but he's the last person I would go to if I needed anything. I'd go to Michaela before I went to him. It's not because he doesn't care," he continued quickly. "He just has no idea what he's doing; about anything. And Sadie…" he shrugged. "She was a lot; I was a lot too."

"Alright, back to Sadie," Malcolm prompted gently, running a hand over his hair.

"She overdosed on something," Hayes admitted, his voice thick. "About a week after she moved into our grandparents; wound up in hospital. We thought it might have been on purpose, but she wasn't saying for sure. And I had been sober for three years at that point, so I thought that I was the perfect person to help her." He cut himself off, burying his face in Malcolm's chest, trying to stop the pressure form building behind his eyes. He exhaled forcefully, rolling away from Malcolm and onto his back. He pressed his palms into his eyes, and took a shuddering breath.

"She came to live with me in Atlanta," he said finally, a few tears escaping from his eyes as he brought his hands down. "It was so stupid, I didn't have any support down there, I was working so much, it was a new city to her." He let out a sob. "She didn't really make friends at first; I was so busy, you know. I felt I had to make up for four years of being a drunken mess and finally get promoted to captain, and I thought I could give her the attention she needed." He sobbed again.

"I don't know what the hell I was thinking. But I got her into therapy," he continued, tearfully. "I brought to all of my AA meetings, made sure she had what she needed – I thought it was going to be enough; I thought I was enough."

He shrugged, wiping his eyes, before he suddenly covered his eyes and started to cry in earnest. He forced himself under control a minute later, sniffling loudly. "Over a year later, she calls me at work, tells me she's made up her mind and that she can't do it anymore. She thanked me for everything and then just hung up. She hung up. I ran out of there." He turned his head to look at Malcolm. He'd turned onto his side and had been looking at him the entire time, one hand on Hayes's shoulder. "I got back to our apartment on base, and there were paramedics and MPs everywhere. She'd, she'd j-jumped off the roof. My little sister –"

He covered his face again, and didn't resist when Malcolm pulled him back towards him. He sobbed onto his shoulder as Malcolm just rubbed his back and let him cry. It took him a while to get himself under control.

"I took her out of San Diego," Hayes said, almost frantically, his voice slightly muffled by Malcolm's shoulder. "We had our grandparents there, Quinn, Elliot and Miles all still live there, my mom's parents are there, my dad, my step-mom, she had so much support and I took her away from that because I thought I knew better."

"She made the decision to go with you," Malcolm said soothingly. "And she called you just before she… yours was the last voice she wanted to hear; that's not nothing."

"I got my ass sober, so I thought I knew what the fuck I was doing," Hayes ignored him. "I thought that I was the perfect person to look after her." Just like he thought he could look after Malcolm. "I can't even look after myself."

He ended up telling Malcolm everything: how he'd stopped drinking in his final year at The Point, and had lasted another year before going out with friends and deciding that maybe he could have just one – which turned into a trip to the ER due to alcohol poisoning. He couldn't remember how he'd broken his arm. He'd kept drinking for another few years, managing to stay sober for a couple of months at a time, but he hadn't managed to finally quit until he was twenty-seven. After seeming like he had a bright career ahead of him when he first graduated, he was still a first lieutenant and had four years of being a mess of an officer to make up for.

"I don't even know how I got promoted to first lieutenant," Hayes said, shrugging. Though, to be honest, not getting the promotion to first lieutenant and then captain is actually pretty hard. As Hayes's grandparents often pointed out. Repeatedly. "I guess I must have turned up when it mattered at some point, but I mean, I used to have a beer with breakfast. I wasn't showing up drunk," he continued quickly, afraid Malcolm was going to judge him. "I had too high of a tolerance for that. But still…"

"How long were you sober for that time?" Malcolm asked quietly. They were still lying down together, Hayes with his head on Malcolm's chest, and Malcolm with his arms securely around him.

"Four years. I got a compassionate transfer back to San Diego and about a week after the funeral, I had lunch with Parker – he asked, I don't remember what, but our grandparents had told him that I was busy the previous day and that's why I couldn't make family dinner. He wanted to know how whatever it was went, but the truth was they didn't even invite me; they barely spoke to me for three months after she died. Went to a bar once I left Parker and drank myself into oblivion. Had no reason to stay sober at that point. I just didn't care anymore."

Malcolm made no reply, just started rubbing his back again. Hayes had ruined it. There was no way that Malcolm was going to want to stay with him now that he'd seen him like this – he knew how much fucking work he was, and here he was, dumping all of this on Malcolm. It wasn't fair; he can't do this to him; he can't go running to him whenever he needs to.

"Is her birthday normally hard?" Malcolm asked softly.

Hayes nodded. "This year… I just can't cope with anything lately; I'm sorry to do this to you."

"Do what?" Malcolm asked confused.

"I'm sure you didn't want to spend your evening with me crying on your shoulder."

"It's not ideal, but I'm more concerned with you being upset. Oi, look at me. Matthew." They both lay on their sides, facing each other, arms bent under their heads. Malcolm reached out to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb. "If you need me, I am here for you; I promise you that."

"I'm a mess."

"Nothing a tissue can't fix."

"That's not what I mean." Hayes sighed, burying his face in the pillow, before looking back at Malcolm. "I told you, I'm a lot."

"You also put up with my bad jokes," Malcolm said, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're also brave; you're kind; you go out of your way for the people around you; I was really envious of how well you got on with your team, and how much they looked up to you, you know." He smiled kindly. "They know they can rely on you, you'd do anything for them. You'd do anything for anyone on this ship, it's why you earned everyone's respect so quickly."

"Including yours?" Hayes asked dryly.

"Hard to respect someone when you're too busy being jealous of them like a childish prick," Malcolm replied, shrugging. "I told you this already. But I always felt safe with you; even when I was pretending I didn't like you, I trusted you."

"Pretending?"

"Um…" Malcolm turned shy. "So, part of the reason that I was so opposed to you being here at first… was partly to do with how much I did actually like you; I was attracted to you right from the start, to be honest."

Hayes was shocked. "Really?"

Malcolm shrugged, leaning a little closer to Hayes. Their foreheads were almost touching. "Courageous, self-assured, loves guns." He grinned at that last one. "I could tell that you were honest – what you see is what you get; and I know you were a lot more patient with me than I probably deserved at the time. What's not to like?"

Hayes didn't know what to say. Malcolm really thought that about him? Him? Well, if there's one thing he isn't lately, its reliable.

"Nonsense," Malcolm said, when he told him that. "You're not having an easy time of it right now, but it will get better. It will. When I started uni I started having these awful panic attacks, and flashbacks. I used to dissociate all the time when I became stressed – I actually had blackouts, it was horrible." Malcolm had an upset look on his face, like he was stuck in his bad memories right then and there. "It's the scariest sensation; sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. It got so bad that I couldn't leave my flat."

He gave himself a little shake. "The point is, it got better; to the point where I was accepted into Starfleet. It will get better. I'm so sorry about Sadie – I can't even imagine how much that hurt."

"I should have left her with my grandparents," Hayes muttered. "They could have taken care of her."

"You don't know that. No, you don't," he added forcefully, when it looked like Hayes was going to protest. "You have absolutely no idea how she would have gotten on."

"Better than with me."

"You have no evidence of that."

"She's dead, I think that's all the evidence I need."

"I disagree. Come here." He reached out and pulled Hayes towards him again. Hayes settled his head on his chest again, enjoying the sensation of Malcolm running his fingers through his hair.

"I drank for another four years," Hayes murmured. "Before I got sober in forty three. Had a wake-up call."

"What was it?" Hayes could hear the curiosity in his voice.

"You're going to hate me."

"If you're only going to tell me to prove how terrible you are, I don't want to hear about it," Malcolm retorted.

"It's not something I can hide," Hayes responded. He pushed himself up, sitting with his back against the wall and sat cross legged. "If you meet my family, it'll come up."

Malcolm sat up as well, leaning against the metal headboard. Hayes thought that can't be comfortable; it was three horizontal bars, and they had to be digging into his back, but Malcolm didn't complain, or move the pillow to make himself more comfortable.

"Alright, then," Malcolm said, hesitantly. "What did you do?" he asked slowly, eyeing him up and down.

Hayes hated that he was looking at him like that, be he was about to look at him a lot worse. "I was looking after my niece, Valerie – she was two at the time. Her dad – my brother, Parker – had to take his wife Beth to a neonatal appointment; she was pregnant with their second. I got drunk and…" he looked down, and scrunched up his eyes. Malcolm was about to hate him. "I don't know what I was thinking…"

"What did you do?" Malcolm repeated.

"I think I must have been trying to take her to the park," Hayes whispered. He was too afraid to make eye contact with Malcolm. "I put her in the back of the car, and wrapped it around a tree at the end of the street. We both walked away without a scratch, but still." He looked up at Malcolm, fresh tears in his eyes. "She was two years old and it could have been so much worse. I wouldn't have blamed Parker if he'd actually killed me, and believe me, he wanted to."

Hayes closed his eyes tightly again, trying to stem the flood, his voice breaking. "Sadie, Valerie, I don't even know why my family still puts up with me. I know my grandmother had it covered up – it happened on base."

"You drove while drunk?" Malcolm said finally. Hayes hung his head, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. "It was eleven years ago," he said, as though he was trying to convince himself. "Matthew. Matthew." Hayes looked up, and Malcolm reached out to wipe his tears with the back his hand. "It was eleven years ago, and if I know you, and I think I do at this point, you've been punishing yourself ever since. You deserve to forgive yourself; you do."

Hayes shook his head. "I don't think so."

"You're not the Anti-Christ," Malcolm insisted.

"You sure?" Hayes asked flippantly. "Because God only knows what else I've done during blackouts over the years."

Malcolm was at a loss for words. Hayes watched him struggle for a moment, before bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He buried his face in his knees. He'd just screwed it up; he'd just royally fucked it all up, there was no way that Malcolm would want to be with him now – not after this, not after finding he'd done the unforgiveable –

"I don't care."

Hayes looked up sharply.

"I don't care," Malcolm repeated. "You're not scaring me off, and it's clearly not for lack of trying. You're a good man, your past actions not withstanding and I want to be with you. That means the bleak parts as well. I've known you for over a year, I've had my life in your hands, I know the kind of man you are and I'm not going anywhere."

He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Hayes asked in disbelief.

"I getting you a tissue – you look a proper mess."