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x-x
Trip kept a careful eye on Malcolm for the rest of the morning. That smile from earlier – that alone would have been enough to set him on edge, but it hadn't reappeared since. Malcolm actually seemed to be pretty much settled and, since they didn't have any drops scheduled, they split the day between cleaning the tiny room and washing some of their clothing.
It wasn't until dinner that things went wrong.
"Would you like some lunch?" Malcolm asked, placing his mat back in their sleeping area.
Trip, with the mat he'd just cleaned still in hand, nodded. "Thanks." Malcolm moved to the kitchen area as Trip busied himself with their bedding.
Since their arrival, he'd been happy to leave most of the cooking to Malcolm. The man was no great chef, but at least was more familiar with the local foodstuffs than he was, because if food prep had been left to him, they'd just as likely end up with something both bad tasting AND physically inedible as they were to...
There was a shout and Trip's head went up in time to see Malcolm drop a plate and turn away from the stove. He sank to a seat on the floor, one hand cradled in the other. Breathing heavily, he looked down at his hand, eyes shielded from view by the fall of his hair.
Trip could see a raised red welt on his palm. There was the broken plate and what Trip assumed was their ruined lunch on the floor beside him.
"Malcolm?"
When his friend didn't respond, he stepped to Malcolm's side. Squatting in front of him, Trip tried to at least look calm as he took Malcolm's hand. "What happened?" he asked in a studied tone.
"Sorry," Malcolm said quietly enough that the word was almost lost. "I thought -" He cut himself off, still not looking at Trip.
Unsure of where this was going, Trip held himself still. He could feel the tension creeping up his back.
Malcolm tugged his hand from Trip's grasp. "I burnt my hand."
"Okay," Trip said tentatively.
Malcolm looked up at him, eyes troubled. "In prison. I burnt my hand in prison." He shook his head. "They burnt it. Not me." He made to stand, and Trip helped him up.
"It's all right," Trip said softly. He reached for their water pitcher and a cloth.
"No it's not," Malcolm said sharply, taking the damp cloth and placing it on his palm. Eyes on his work, his hair fell forward to screen his face from view. "I'm not."
"I know," Trip said, keeping his voice calm.
Malcolm turned to him. "They'll send me home."
"They might not," Trip responded, knowing that it was likely a lie. Enterprise had no way to help someone who might need long term counselling. The normal procedure would be to send the person back to San Francisco for treatment, and, if necessary, even to discharge them.
"No, they will." Malcolm's words came fast and furious, mirroring the rising panic in his eyes. "They'll have to. Where will I go? To my paren -" He gasped and took a full step back. "My mum, good Lord, she doesn't..." His eyes went desperate. "Is she all right? My father? Madeline?"
Trip took a slow step toward him. "They're all fine."
Malcolm raked shaking fingers through his hair. "I didn't have a chance to..."
Trip took another step, closing the distance between them. "I know." He put a hand on Malcolm's arm. Malcolm flinched but didn't move away. "I'm sure they've been notified that you're out. You can contact them when we get back."
He guided Malcolm to their mats and, gently but firmly, pushed him down. Squatting directly in front of him, he held Malcolm's gaze: he seemed to be teetering on an edge - one push in either direction would send him falling. Coming to a sudden decision, Trip stood. "I have an idea. Stay here," he said. "I'll be right back." Moving to the door, he looked back over his shoulder to see Malcolm still sitting there, looking bewildered. He held up a warning finger. "Do not move." Exiting, he took off at a run for Trina's house.
If they were on Earth, or on the ship, there was no way that he'd even consider doing what he was about to do. But here, there were no other resources. And so long as they didn't make a habit of it...
He burst through Trina's door and caught her mid-stride as she entered the kitchen. "Malcolm's..." He shook his head, trying to settle his breathing. "I need something that can calm him down." Trina opened her mouth to speak, but Trip held up a hand. "Nothing strong. Nothing serious. Something..." he searched for the perfect word, "...recreational."
Trina nodded and, moving to a shelf on the wall, handed him a small, clear bottle filled with a deep green fluid. "Arozol," she said, brow wrinkled in concern. "It's nothing much. Mildly alcoholic. Calms the nerves, tends to make people a bit giggly."
"Perfect. Thanks," Trip said, already moving. Turning just at the door, he said, "I'll pay you for -"
She cut him off with a wave. "Go."
x-x
"So, Hoshi said, and I quote, 'What are you doing in my underwear, sir?' " Trip smiled and took a sip of his drink, watching Malcolm over the rim of the glass.
Malcolm threw his head back and laughed, nearly causing the drink in his hand to spill.
"Careful," Trip said in alarm. "We only have, like..." He grabbed the bottle with his free hand and held it up off the floor. He peered at it carefully, vision swimming slightly. "Not so much left." With exaggerated caution, he placed the bottle on the mat between them.
Malcolm nodded solemnly, seeming to fully understand the import of the situation. He took a careful sip, then raised the glass as if toasting. Looking at Trip over its edge, he said, "This is all very 'sickrooms and party supplies', isn't it?"
"Excuse me?" Trip replied.
Malcolm waved the question away, almost spilling his drink again as he did so. "That's a sign on a store I used to pass. I just mean that, well, this is all somewhat like laughing in the face of perversity, is it not?"
Trip smiled. He reached out with his glass and, when Malcolm raised his own, clinked them together. "That it is, sir. That. It. Is."
x-x
Later that night, Trip awakened to the sound of their door closing. Malcolm was gone from his mat; probably stepped out for a piss. Understandable, after all they'd drunk. Drunked? Drinken? Hmm... He smiled drowsily and let his eyes close again.
Getting that booze from Trina had been a good idea. Risky, yes, but it had been the only thing he could think of at the time, and its calming effects had been just the thing needed to bring Malcolm down from the heights. And the stuff hadn't been at all bad, if a bit green tasting. The after effects were leaving him a bit dopey. No, maybe dopey wasn't quite the right word. More like soft. Soft and sleezy. Like New Orleans in the heat and humidity of August, or...
In a rush, Trip realised that he'd dropped off, and Malcolm still wasn't back. He pushed himself up with a muttered swear. Heart in his throat, he was still shrugging into his coat as he pushed through the door to the outside. What he saw stopped him cold.
Malcolm was sitting on the stoop and staring off into the darkness.
"Hey, you okay?" Trip asked breathlessly.
Malcolm looked up as Trip sat beside him. "Actually, yes. Surprisingly."
Trip nodded and, tension evaporating as quickly as it had come, turned to face the night. The sky above them was mostly starless, the moon hidden behind a streak of clouds. It lit them from the inside, making their edges glow silver.
Neither one spoke as they sat together on the porch, breath pluming in front of them in the cool air. After a while, Trip rubbed his hands together, then tucked them up under his armpits. Malcolm had to be cold - he wasn't even wearing a jacket. "You really good?"
Malcolm nodded.
Trip took a long look at his friend's profile. After a moment, he reached out and gently tugged at the hair hanging over Malcolm's collar. "You're fine-fine, and not Reed-fine, right?"
The side of Malcolm's mouth twitched in response.
"Too cold. I'm going in." Trip stood and nudged Malcolm with his foot. "Coming?"
"I think I'll stay out here for a bit," Malcolm replied, still looking at the night.
Trip took off his jacket and placed it across Malcolm's shoulders. "Here."
"Thanks," Malcolm replied softly.
Closing the door behind him, Trip leaned back against it with a sigh. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that hadn't been it.
x-x