Thank you so much for your comments and reviews. I'm glad that last section struck such a chord.
x-x
Trip leaned back against the wall with his eyes shut, trying to get his shit together before he left sickbay and had to face the world. It was upsetting to see Malcolm like that. More than upsetting. When he'd arrived, the man had been rocking on the bed, eyes red rimmed and wild. During their conversation, it was like he'd be talking normal one second, then be completely off the next. And the crying was completely unlike him. Trip knew it was related to the illness, but still, it was not good to see it.
And yet it was a significant improvement over the last several days. Phlox hadn't even allowed visitors at first, not until he'd gotten Malcolm somewhat stabilized. Then it had been a day-to-day, almost hour-to-hour thing. Today was really the first day that Malcolm had seemed - well, not normal, but at least lucid.
Phlox had Malcolm on a series of medications, but Trip suspected that the drugs weren't making Malcolm better, not really, because he was obviously far from better. Still, there was a chance for real treatment soon. Enterprise was leaving this system tonight. They were due on Vulcan in a few weeks and they'd be passing Earth on the way.
It was hard to believe. Less than thirty days, and Malcolm would be gone. Likely, he'd never return to active service, never mind to Enterprise. They'd drop him off and that'd be that. "Shit," Trip whispered, pounding his fist into the bulkhead behind him. He didn't want to think about it.
He left sickbay without a backward glance.
x-x
Trip threw his covers aside in frustration, sitting up in bed and slamming his hand against the light controls, giving up on sleep just like he'd given up on -
"No," he said aloud, voice ringing out in the dark room. "No," he said again, softer this time. He wouldn't give up. He couldn't. He'd been trying not to think about it, knowing that he was just wasting his time. He wasn't a doctor, he was an engineer, and he was spinning his wheels on this one, and he knew it. But he couldn't help but think about it, and if he didn't find some outlet for all that... that THINKING, he'd be the one who ended up in the loony bin, not Malcolm.
"Ouch," he said, wincing. That hadn't been a nice thought. Then he huffed a soft laugh, because sure, it wasn't nice, but it also wasn't all that far from the truth.
He gave in and ran through the whole situation one more time, falling back on his pillow as he did so. He'd been through it already with Phlox, with Jon, hell, he'd been over it so often it was part of his dreams, and in the end, he was no closer to an answer than he was when he'd begun. He couldn't solve this one, he could barely even get his arms around what had happened. The whole thing still made no sense. Freekin' medical mumbo-jumbo. He laughed aloud. Too bad Malcolm wasn't a warp engine; he'd have the man fixed, lickedy split.
Maybe he wasn't a doctor, but he was enough of a scientist to know that this whole thing stank. Something wasn't right. He knew mental illness could seem to come out of nowhere, but honestly, this really had come from nowhere, hadn't it? He'd spent all that time with Malcolm on Shuttlepod One not that long ago. Wouldn't he have noticed something? Even if he hadn't, surely he'd gotten to know Malcolm enough during their long hours trapped together on that tiny ship that he would have noticed if Malcolm had developed any quirks after, wouldn't he? And it had been just more than a year, year-and-a-half ago that they'd all gone through the normal mental health screening that Starfleet required before any long-term mission. Wouldn't that, at least, have picked something up?
Trip tucked his hands under his head, staring up at the ceiling, unseeing. It didn't seem right, but what in the world could he do, realistically? Nothing. All the years he'd spent in engineering, and he was supposed to be so damn smart, but here he was, less than useless.
Or was he? No, he was not a doctor, but he was a damn good engineer. Why not go with his strengths? A big part of engineering was the analysis, maybe he should just forget all the medical shit and take it as an engineering problem. Flowchart out the problem or something, see what came out of that. Why the hell not?
Why not? Because Malcolm was a person, not a machine, or a process, or a computer program.
Trip flipped over onto his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow. Maybe he should try it anyway. After all, he had a few weeks before they'd be at Vulcan, and in reality, there'd be no loss if nothing came of it.
No loss except Malcolm.
Trip grimaced in disgust and flicked off the light.
x-x
Trip stood back and took in the scope of the thing before him. His wall was plastered, floor to ceiling, in a flurry of bright yellow paper squares, each of them covered in a scrawl of dark writing. He'd spent all of yesterday's off-duty time on this, skipping meals and eating in his quarters as he worked. Today was supposed to be his day off, and he'd promised Travis they'd play some b-ball, but he'd cancelled his plans and spent the day in here instead.
Stepping forward, he added several sticky notes to the mass, jotting quick annotations on each before taking others away - those he crumpled and tossed, barely noticed, on the floor at his feet, his trash bin having overflowed long before.
He thought he had a handle on it now. The solution was nowhere to be seen, but the core of the problem was there. He hoped. At least with all the particulars up there, he wouldn't have them floating around in his head, and he might be able to see his way past them to a solution.
He reached up and, with a black permanent marker, drew a timeline along the top of the wall, over the papers. Jon would kill him if he knew how he was defacing his quarters, but he figured he could remove the ink with solvent later on, maybe, and yeah, he could have done this on his computer, but he'd always found this sort of work easier to do hardcopy. The large size of the wall helped, as did the ability to see the physical objects and shift them around. And, perhaps most importantly, keeping it up there on his wall let him live with it. It was literally in his face at every free moment. He could be doing something completely unrelated - like earlier, he'd been brushing his teeth, gotten an idea, and, toothbrush in mouth, stuck another note up before the idea had even gone stale. It was hard to describe, but something about the physicality of working in this way helped. And anything that helped, that had to be good, right? Because the past week or so, Malcolm hadn't been so good, and they were running out of time.
He'd paid several visits to Malcolm since he'd started on this project, each time hoping that he'd be able to ask his friend some questions, maybe clarify some point, try to find details to support his work. And yeah, sometimes Malcolm had been lucid, but sometimes... sometimes, not so much. It was like the drugs worked at certain times, but not others. Or, hell, maybe that was just how Malcolm's illness worked. Anyway, Phlox kept trying to switch it up, but it seemed like every time he did, the results, if any, would be temporary, and Malcolm would crash again. Sure, Phlox wasn't human, and he wasn't exactly a specialist in mental health issues, but he knew humans well, and he was a great doctor. If he wasn't able to help, not even kind of, what could Starfleet Medical do that would end up any different?
Trip took a few steps backward and sat, hard, on his unmade bed. He let the marker and papers fall onto the bed beside him, and flexed his fingers, trying to work the stiffness out. He'd been at it a while. He stretched his neck and shoulders, and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. God, he only had three hours before he was supposed to go on shift again. Sleep now would be pointless. He might as well stay up and work on this. Yawning, he fell back onto his pillow, letting his mind run through the problem.
As best he could tell, there were only two salient questions: why Malcolm, and why now? So far, he had answers to neither. So, he'd tried to break it down, start at the beginning. He'd made a diagram of the problem, flowcharted the damn thing, placing every single detail up on his wall. Now he needed to think on it.
Far as he knew, there was nothing in what little Reed family history he was privy to that indicated that anyone in Malcolm's family had schizophrenia or a related disease, although the Reeds, if they were anything like Malcolm, were probably so close-lipped there could be all sorts of skeletons and he'd never know it. Likely Malcolm himself wouldn't know.
So, he'd have to assume the cause wasn't genetic. Environment, then? It couldn't have been something that Malcolm had encountered long-ago, because unless the man was masterful at the whole cover-up thing, his symptoms had come on fairly recently. Hadn't they? Admittedly, Malcolm was pretty good at keeping things to himself. Maybe he had been experiencing symptoms for some time. But somehow, Trip doubted it. Malcolm might be good at hiding things, but not this - this was not a disease you could really control. And who knows, maybe you could be exposed to something forever ago, and not get sick until years later - not until something else happened to trigger it. Assuming that was true, that trigger must have been something he'd been exposed to recently. But pretty much everywhere Malcolm had been in the past year, he'd been there too. Even down on the planet, just before all this started...
Trip's alarm went off, startling him. He frowned at his chronometer, irritated that he'd forgotten to shut off his automated alarm until he actually saw the time. His eyes widened and he sat up quickly, shoving his feet into his boots while he raked a quick hand through his hair. He must have fallen asleep. The stupid alarm must have been ringing for a while, because he had maybe five minutes to get to the bridge for the morning briefing. Worse, the captain had wanted him on hand early, because Jon would be occupied with his official goodbyes with... Trip sighed loudly, running both hands across his face... Too late to shave... and of all the damn mornings... Muttering a harsh curse, he stood quickly, heart racing. Thank God he'd fallen asleep in his uniform. Although T'Pol, with her sensitive nose, might not be so thrilled - he'd probably been wearing the thing for a good thirty-six hours. And Jon, who knew him well, would likely know the instant he stepped on the bridge. Fabulous.
Trip dashed out of his room, nearly running in his haste to get to the bridge. Damn it, he thought as he moved. Not now! This day just kept getting better and better, and he was all of four minutes into it. He should have stopped and used the bathroom first. Now he'd be stuck in an hour-long meeting, probably thinking of nothing but the fact that he had to pee.
Trip stopped in his tracks, almost causing someone to crash into him from behind.
Immediately before this started, they'd been in that bathroom building together. Then Malcolm had followed the captain to another building. Maybe...
No, if it had been something from that building, wouldn't it have affected Jon, too? Trip's breath caught. They'd both been in the same building, but maybe they'd been in different rooms, or different sections of the same room? Maybe Malcolm had touched something that none of the rest of them had touched?
He was probably clutching at straws, but what if? Trip wracked his brain, trying to remember everything, anything that Malcolm may have mentioned about his experience on that planet.
He shook his head and started walking again. It probably meant nothing, but he was at such a loss that what the hell, at least he could ask about it. It might come to nothing, but god, what were his choices here?
Glancing at his chronometer, he picked up his pace. He might not be too late. For what he was about to do, Jon would probably figure he was the one who was nuts. And maybe he was.
He rushed onto the bridge just as Jon was saying his last, formal goodbyes to the locals. He could tell that he captain was just about to sign off, so he ignored the others on the bridge and stepped forward with an apologetic glance. "Hold on, captain. Sorry." He turned to the woman on the screen, nodded, then addressed the captain, who stood in the center of the bridge, seeming more than a bit surprised. "Can I speak with you for a minute?"
Jon raised both brows. "Can't it wait?" he asked, seeming incredulous.
Trip winced. "Sorry, sir. No."
Jon turned to the screen, obviously ready to end their conversation. Trip touched him on the shoulder. In a low voice, which he was sure their "guests" could hear anyway, if they wanted to, he said, "Actually, we may need them. Could you put them on hold?"
Jon pursed his lips. "This had better be good," he murmured before he turned back to the screen with a smile. "I'm sorry," he said in is best diplomatic voice. "Could you hold on one moment?"
The person on the screen nodded, and, at Jon's signal, the screen went blank.
Trip didn't waste any time. "That dig we were at; you and Malcolm went off while Hoshi, Travis and I stayed with the guide. Were you together the whole time?"
"Pretty much, yes."
Trip pressed the point. "Literally, side to side, the entire time?"
"No," Jon replied, brow wrinkling in annoyance. "Of course not."
"I need to find out more about that building. Could we ask them?" Trip asked, nodding toward the now-blank screen.
"Can I ask why?" Jon countered, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Can you hold off on that?" Trip asked with a frown. "It may be nothing, but..." He grimaced. "It could be nothing, but it's for Malcolm, and I..." He lowered his voice. "I don't know, but I figured it's worth a shot." If there was any connection at all to their visit to this planet, this was their last chance to discover it.
Jon looked at him carefully, and Trip realised that he was probably seeing more than Trip wanted him to see: the worry, the sleepless nights, the feelings of helplessness, of desperation. After a moment, Jon nodded crisply, and signalled for Hoshi to resume the transmission. When it did, he waved Trip forward.
Trip stood before the screen, feeling more than a bit awkward. "Ma'am, I'm Commander Tucker. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to know more about..." He turned to Jon. "Sorry, Captain. Which building was it?"
"Building four."
Trip nodded and returned his eyes to the viewscreen. "From the site we visited."
The official looked unsure, her long, tapered ears dipping down as she thought. "I've never been there myself. I could ask the person who'd led your party."
"And if you could, ask what its purpose was. Actually, send us up any information you have on it. Please," he added belatedly, wincing inwardly at his lack of diplomacy.
"Certainly," the official replied. Her eyes glinted, and Trip suddenly realised that she was purposefully ignoring his lack of decorum. "May I ask why?"
At this, Jon stepped forward and spoke. "One of our crew has become ill. There may be a connection."
"Yes?" the official said, cocking her head. "How so?"
"We're not sure yet."
The official frowned, seeming to think this over. Then she nodded. "I'll send you any and all information we have on it." She waved off-camera, and the screen went blank.
Jon turned to Trip with a puzzled expression.
"Just a shot in the dark, Captain."
At that, Hoshi spoke up from her bridge station. "We'll only be in contact for another day or so."
Jon put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "Hopefully, we'll have your answer before we're out of range."
x-x
Trip was in his quarters two days later when the data burst came through from the planet. There was information about each of the buildings they'd visited. With it was a note from their guide, linked to one specific document:
"When I was told of your request," Nar had written, "And your crewmate's illness, I felt you should see the attached materials. I've only recently begun translating them, and when I heard about the illness, I wondered if there might not be a connection."
Trip's heart skipped a beat, and he poured through the rest, amazed. No way. Excitement mounting, he repeated the thought aloud, "No way!" Head thrown back, he let out a whoop of joy.
x-x
Thanks for reading so far. Please let me know what you think.