Malcolm shook the water from his hair, using a hand to brush it away from his eyes. The sand beneath his bare feet was noticeably cooler then when he'd last been here, the sun no where near as warm, so rather than sit on the sand, he propped himself on his surfboard, legs crossed under him. If anything, the waves at this time of year were better than in the summer, and he'd found he really didn't mind the chill, although admittedly, it was pretty cold for the locals. Still, he was out here. One, because he was from England, and compared to beaches there, this weather was positively delightful. And two, the surfing helped him focus, feel more himself with all the changes he'd been going through.

It had taken some time, he thought, watching the waves curl toward the shore. Months, before Phlox's treatment had really begun to work, before he'd felt things come clearer. He still didn't know what had caused his illness: if he'd been deliberately targeted, if he was the only one affected. Obviously, he'd been the only one from Enterprise. Phlox's research and testing had shown that. Was it that there was also a genetic component, or environmental, that made it so this virus had hit him specifically, and so hard at that? Its onset had taken him off of the path he'd planned for his life. Its retreat freed him, again, to consider his path. If he was lucky and this change stuck, he was, in effect, cured; more or less; sort of. Mostly. And the treatment would perhaps be able to help others with his same illness, if there were others. Made sense that there might be; he knew Phlox was helping the investigation, but as Trip had said, it would likely take some time.

When Trip had last visited, he'd noted that Malcolm had seemed better. But Malcolm knew the truth of that type of statement. He was feeling... He thought a moment. 'Better' was the truth, but was he well? Whole? Himself? On this, he was unsure.

When Trip had visited, he'd asked if Malcolm had thought about coming back to Starfleet. If the treatment continued to work, of course - that was a key factor. And he had. Of course he had. He'd given it serious thought. But despite his being 'better', he knew he wasn't yet ready to make such a decision. Any decisions he'd make in his near-future should, he felt, only be those that were somewhat less momentous than throwing up his entire life and taking off for the stars. So rather than reply directly to Trip's question, he'd instead said, "I was thinking I might get a cat." He'd looked around his balcony where it perched above the sand, the ocean there just beyond the dunes in front of the houses. A cat would probably like this type of outdoor space, and he might be able to do something to screen it in, prevent the cat from getting out.

"That doesn't seem like you," Trip replied, lifting the beer bottle to his mouth.

"What?" Malcolm asked, his eyes focusing on Trip. He said, confused, "The cat?"

"No!" Trip said, laughing as he lowered the bottle onto the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "Well, yes, the cat, but more the whole Starfleet thing. I thought you'd jump at the chance. You used to be all 'Yes, Sir; No; Sir; Right away, Sir'," he teased. He tipped the bottle in Malcolm's direction. "I'd thought Starfleet was your life."

Malcolm sipped from his own drink. He thought a moment. "It was." But so much had changed. "I was thinking of staying here." And as the words left his mouth, he realized they were true.

Trip looked a bit surprised, although he was trying to hide it.

Malcolm could guess what Trip was thinking. That he should, or could, be up there on a starship, or out in San Francisco at Starfleet, or designing weapons for a contractor, or, or, or... But that instead here he was, working in a surf shop, hanging out on the beach, his aspirations only going so far as adopting a cat. Malcolm shrugged. He knew that Trip thought he could be doing more. Thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted to do more; or at least, not the type of "more" that he might have done before he'd got ill - not right now. He wasn't the same man he'd been before, and he needed time to figure out who this new man was. And yes, he'd freely admit that he liked the work he was doing now, he liked this life; and that more importantly, he needed more time to feel all... this... out. He liked the flexibility and freedom he had now. And by working at the shop, he got a discount. He huffed a small laugh. That had to count for something. And he realized, suddenly, that although there were a lot of things he wasn't sure of, one thing he was certain of was that he didn't want to trade this freedom for the regimentation of Starfleet or anything else.

"You sure?" Trip asked, looking at him closely, as if he was trying to read him. Which, Malcolm supposed, he was.

"For now, anyway," Malcolm replied. He propped his feet up on the balcony rail, crossing one ankle over the other as he leaned back in his chair. "I guess, as part of all this, I've learned to be more chill."

"Chill?" Trip said, eyebrows nearly at his hairline. He leaned toward Malcolm, motioning in the direction of the beach below them. "You've been spending waaaay too much time down there with the surfers, dude."

"I reckon so." Malcolm cast a glance to Trip. "What are your plans?"

"Not sure," Trip said. At Malcolm's obvious surprise, he continued. "My mom could sure use me. She wants to move back here, to Florida, rebuild her life."

"What about Enterprise?"

"I loved being on Enterprise, but with all that's happened, I'm thinking, it might be time to move on." Trip stared off at the ocean as it lapped high tide across the beach. "Settle down somewhere. Meet someone, if I can." He laughed, moving his eyes back to Malcolm. "My mom keeps asking me about grandkids, has fixed me up with three women since I've been on Earth." He shrugged. "Had an offer of a job back in San Fran, but I'm thinking I might look for something over here."

Malcolm nodded. It would be good, having Trip someplace nearby, even if it wasn't in the same part of Florida. And no doubt, Trip wouldn't have a problem finding a job – he could take his pick. As for meeting women - it had been a while since Trip dated. To his knowledge, Trip's last relationship had been with T'Pol, and that was some time ago, now. He thought a moment, considering Trip's history with women. Maybe Trip's mother was right. The man could use some help. Not that he himself was any expert on such things, but he'd met several nice women who surfed... so maybe... "If you do move back here, I'll teach you how to surf," Malcolm said, by way of a bribe.

"I might actually take you up on that." Trip smiled and added, "You know I'm going to suck, don't you?"

"Didn't you grow up in Florida?" Malcolm asked, already knowing that of course Trip had.

"Yes, but surfing wasn't a thing. I grew up on the Gulf side." Trip drew a straight line with his beer bottle, vertical across the air in front of him. "Water's flat like a pancake and, like, one meter deep." After a moment, he said, seeming to consider something, "I'd pay you for the lessons."

Malcolm waved that away.

"I'd pay you in beer, then."

Malcolm looked at Trip. "I don't drink, but thank you." At Trip's questioning look, he raised his glass. "This is iced tea."

"You used to…" Trip said carefully.

"I did," Malcolm said. He'd given up the booze, having used it to 'self medicate' in the past; and he wasn't willing to risk drinking again. He had enough to deal with. He twirled his glass across the table at his side, watching the rings of condensation form on the surface, making patterns. "I wanted to thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?" Trip said, his voice soft.

"For all this," Malcolm said, raising his glass to take in the world around him. For making him see Phlox, helping him recover. For more than that. For sticking by him when he was ill; when it would have been far easier to do otherwise.

Trip reached across the table and tapped Malcolm's glass lightly with his bottle, making both chime quietly. When Malcolm looked up, Trip nodded. "Good to have you back, Malcolm."

"It's good to be back," Malcolm said, meaning it. His life was before him - in a way, a blank slate. So much had happened over the past few years; he found that he was quite looking forward to what might happen next.

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End

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Huge thanks to everyone who read this, my first story in years. Special thank you for all of you who have or will review this. Please do let me know what you thought!