Reed's Perspective:
Commander Tucker lay silent, his head propped slightly against the chamber wall.
Blue light emanated from the ceiling, casting a sickly pallor throughout the room. It seemed to meld skin and metal, its color dominating the pigments, grey into blue, pink into blue, until all seemed to flow in an unending river.
"Well if it isn't the cavalry."
Better make that a pissed off river.
"Commander, your final neuro scans are almost complete."
It was eerie, the stark change in his manner seemed almost-, well, Malcom honestly didn't know what it meant. But their southern commander was not a calm man, and they had two hours worth of video to prove it.
Now he just sat there, body completely still except-,
Ah, yes that comment probably wasn't too intelligent.
His head had turned, shifted slightly towards the Lieutenant as fire seemed to burn in his eyes.
"Final, scans?" The words came out growled, the engineer's lips twitched and his face reddened, an ugly visage replacing the highest portion of his body.
I really shouldn't have said that.
The thin glass separating them, a material likely to withstand multiple phaser rounds, was nowhere near enough protection for the British officer. Try as he might to appear unfazed, the Lieutenant's body fell upon a most irritating habit, he fidgeted.
Malcom praised the force, be it god or galaxy, that looked over him, because whomever or whatever they were, not many would dare to get in the way of an angry Tucker.
"Just how many scans did you take?"
At least he wasn't looking at him now, the Commander's eyes had been averted along with the rest of his head, tilted at the floor as large hands kneaded the sleep deprived face.
"Ensign-"
"I said, how many scans did you take, Lieutenant?"
Ah bloody hell.
He was of half a mind to just ignore the question, maybe make a run for it. But-
Oh god, there was that face again, unveiled from its calm countenance the explicit rage had returned.
"Four, Sir." Strength was present, not in him, but at least his voice could maintain its dignity.
Technically, their chief engineer had been relieved of duty on a medical basis, however he doubted that would stop such an impending torture, as was most likely forefront in Trip's mind.
Malcom's face contorted, frowning at that particular image.
What on earth is wrong with me?
A quick shake of his head, surprisingly enough, cleared fractionally the distorted clutter of thoughts whirling about in his brain.
Why was he so, jumpy? Ever since this damn "thing" had started, since this "alternate timeline", since the extermination of humanity-
Jesus Christ!
He couldn't help it, it was just so-, so-,
Unfair!
A faint smile worked its way onto his face, a moment of pure, unadulterated, perverse, and most assuredly crazy, euphoria.
With the mirth of a dying man he chuckled, simply chuckled, at the absurdity of chance.
"Something funny?" the coldness in Tucker's tone did nothing to sway his sudden bout of madness. In fact, the volume of his laughs rose, forcing his head against the glass while his hands, bunched into fists, repeatedly smacked the barrier, completely lost in the hilarity bombarding him.
It continued, vibrations coursed through the body with increasing intensity, until he was left clutching at his chest, heaving with the exertion.
A final gasp of laughter escaped his mouth, stumbling back to the wall opposite he slumped into a sitting position, hands grasping his face in an attempt to stifle the giggles that threatened his rapidly calming mind.
And as Lieutenant Reed sat there, a clock, while not in this room, kept on ticking…