Title: Realizations
By: nancy
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise
Rating: NC17
Summary: Trip has a horrible realization about the future, but he seems to be the only one.***
Trip jolted. Jumped. Slammed. Those were the only words he could think of to describe the very bizarre feeling of shoving into himself for no apparent reason. It was a lot like a dream where you think you're flying and then slam into your own body just before splattering on an imaginary sidewalk.
And for some reason, he was completely and utterly freaked.
He scanned engineering and found nothing out of place. The others were going about their work as though nothing had just happened. A mini-anomaly maybe that had only affected him? Looking over his console, he found the engines working almost normally, considering the beating they'd taken just a short while ago.
The engine...An explosion? Something about...no...the bridge? Definitely the bridge...but...
Trip straightened so hard and fast the his spine protested. Then he was running out of engineering to the bridge as fast as his feet would take him. He waited impatiently at the lift, tempted to run into a tube and climb up, even though he knew it would be slower. Finally it arrived and he waited even more impatiently, fidgeting from foot to foot until the doors opened and he stepped onto the bridge.
He didn't relax until his eyes lighted on Malcolm. His stomach was in knots and his breathing too fast, but just the sight of his best friend was enough to bring him down from the edge of panic that had hit him. He'd been convinced that something horrible had happened to Malcolm.
Malcolm looked over curiously at his entrance, then frowned and got out of the Captain's chair to join Trip. "What's wrong?"
Trip just stared at him, seeing some strange version of Malcolm, an older one, distinguished with a beard and mustache combination. It was so strong that he couldn't figure out which one was real and which one not. He reached out and put his palm flush against Malcolm's face. When he encountered smooth skin instead of scratchy beard, Trip sighed deeply in relief.
"Commander?"
Yanking his hand back, realizing how out of character this would seem to Malcolm, Trip smiled weakly. "Sorry. Just...checking."
Bewildered, Malcolm questioned, "Checking what?"
"Um…never mind."
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. Never better."
"What was…"
"Nothing."
"So you just needed to…"
"Yeah."
Malcolm blinked at him a few times then shrugged and said, "T'Pol just reported in that the Captain is fine, but still unconscious. Dr. Phlox isn't sure how long he'll be out, but there are no apparent injuries."
"Good, good," Trip agreed, taking a step back. He was having a serious problem keeping his hands to himself. The urge to touch Malcolm and make sure that he was real, that he wasn't dead, was almost overpowering.
"Commander…"
"I'm fine, Malcolm. Gotta go. Um…engineering. Repairs. See ya."
Trip turned sharply on his heel and re-entered the lift. He avoided Malcolm's eyes, breathing a deep sigh of relief when the doors closed. Leaning against the wall, Trip hit the emergency stop button, shaking. He was going to need more than a few seconds to recover from that panic. It had been the deepest sort, the kind he hadn't felt in…well…ever, really. The only thing he could compare it to was the grief he'd felt at his sister's death.
And that started a whole different kind of fear running through Trip.
* * * *
Malcolm stared at the closed lift doors, thoroughly bewildered. He could still feel Trip's cold hand on his face, the fingers icy to the touch. Trip wasn't a man who scared easily, Malcolm knew that for a fact. Whatever had happened, was most definitely not 'nothing,' as the other man had insisted.
He shivered lightly as his hand came up to touch the spot where Trip's hand had been. Though they were the best of friends, Trip never touched him unless something was wrong. Usually it had to do with broken bones, near-death experiences or laser wounds. Despite the icy fingers, Malcolm couldn't help but wish the contact had lasted longer.
"Lieutenant?"
Shaking the thoughts from his head, at least temporarily, Malcolm turned to Hoshi. "Yes, Ensign?"
"I've got Admiral Forrest for the Captain."
Malcolm just barely refrained from grimacing at the announcement. With the Captain down, and T'Pol in sickbay with him, Malcolm was the Senior Officer in charge. "Thank you, Ensign. Route it to the Ready Room, if you please."
Hoshi nodded, sympathetic, and Malcolm headed for the office. He took a few breaths before stepping in front of the viewer and turning it on. The Admiral looked less than pleased at finding him instead of Captain Archer, but Malcolm ignored it as best as possible. "Good afternoon, Admiral. How may I help you?"
"I was waiting for Captain Archer."
"Yes, Sir. Unfortunately, we recently ran into an anomaly and the Captain is unconscious right now."
"Where is T'Pol?"
"In sickbay with the Captain. Not hurt, though, she's just, well, there."
Forrest's face expression darkened at the revelation and Malcolm silently cursed himself for sounding both unsure of himself and making it seem so prurient.
"Lieutenant Reed, I want a detailed report. Now."
"Yes, Sir. Of course."
* * * *
"That bad, huh?"
Malcolm looked up at Trip's commiserating statement. He was both relieved and vaguely irritated to find the other man completely back to normal. "What's that bad?"
"Hoshi said the Admiral called after I left."
"Ah yes. The Admiral. Well no, I don't suppose it was that bad if you discount the dressing-down and insults."
Trip's eyebrow arched in an astonishingly accurate imitation of T'Pol as he repeated, "Dressing-down and insults? Doesn't sound like Admiral Forrest."
Sighing deeply, Malcolm motioned for Trip to take the opposite seat and replied, "No, it's not. And there weren't actual verbal insults hurtled at my lineage or parental activities, but they were there if you read between the lines."
Trip grinned as he sat. "Which you're good at doing."
"Very adept," Malcolm agreed, gloomy. "Is it my fault that T'Pol bloody fancies the Captain and won't leave his side? No, I think not. Is it my fault we were hit with the blasted anomalies in the first place? Actually, I suppose that was my fault since I was on the bridge at the time."
"Malcolm, relax. You're not in trouble and the Admiral wasn't cursing you out," Trip assured him.
Malcolm poked at his uneaten plate of food then pushed it away altogether. "Yes, he was."
Shaking his head, Trip pulled the plate across the table and swiped the fork from Malcolm's hand. "You're such a wuss. And you're gonna get an ulcer one of these days, you know."
"No thanks to you."
"Me? What'd I do?"
Malcolm looked at him sharply and demanded, "Earlier? On the bridge? I thought you were going to have a heart attack or something! Would you just bloody well tell me what happened?"
Flushing a little, Trip answered, "I had some kind of…I don't even know what to call it. Maybe I had some mini-anomaly or whatever, but I was positive that you were dead. That the bridge was blasted into nothing and you were, um, dead."
For a few moments, Malcolm didn't say anything, puzzling over Trip's words. He leaned back in his chair and just looked at the other man. The flush wasn't like Trip. Nothing embarrassed him. Nothing. Malcolm knew that for a fact, because he'd tried over the years. On the other hand, he'd never really seen Trip that scared before, either, so there was no reason for him not to take Trip at his word. "And the touching thing?"
The flush darkened and Trip looked firmly at his plate as he mumbled, "Just checking."
"Checking what, damn it!?" Malcolm exclaimed.
"Which you was real, all right!" Trip snapped back.
The silence around them got their attention and both went quiet. Conversation slowly resumed at the other tables and it wasn't until then that Malcolm leaned on the table and demanded softly, "Trip, so help me, if you don't explain what the devil you meant by that, I'm going to throw you in the brig or something!"
Trip grinned unexpectedly and answered, "I'd like to see you try. Lieutenant."
"Trip, please."
"All right already, enough with the eyes," Trip gave in, grimacing. "I saw two of you and didn't know which one was real. One was older by a good ten years, with a beard and moustache. The other was, well, you today. And I just couldn't tell which was which. So I, uh, touched your face to make sure."
Which still didn't explain the fright on Trip's face at the time, but Malcolm decided that it wasn't the right time or place to go into that particular discussion. As obstinate as Trip was, it was more than likely that he would just clam up altogether. God forbid that he show any emotion not relegated by Starfleet.
"What about you?"
Trip's question threw Malcolm for a moment, interrupting his thoughts as it did He frowned and countered, "What about me?"
"You didn't sense anything weird going on?"
Looking into Trip's troubled face, Malcolm almost wished that he had and shook his head, regretful. "No, I'm sorry."
Trip sighed and started eating in earnest.
Smiling fondly, Malcolm observed, "We're the perfect match you know."
When Trip started choking, Malcolm pushed his drink across the table as well, alarmed. "Trip? Are you all right?"
Trip coughed a few more times before gulping down the water, then gasped hoarsely, "What do you mean? The perfect match?"
Malcolm frowned and answered, "You eat when you're troubled and I don't. Between us, we have only one set of dishes."
"Oh. Right."
The frowned deepened as Malcolm questioned, "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Fine, fine," Trip assured him, standing. "Look, I've got some things to check on. See you later?"
But he was gone before Malcolm could reply. Nonplused, Malcolm stared after Trip's retreat until the mess doors closed, then settled back in his seat.
What the hell had just happened?
* * * *
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Trip berated silently as he stormed down the corridor. Really smooth, Tucker. Now he's even more suspicious than when you went in there!
He didn't even realize that he was going to the infirmary until he stood outside the door. And then it opened automatically and he had no choice but to go inside. T'Pol was there, sitting by Jon's side, no surprise there, and Phlox was feeding his menagerie, from the looks of it. They both gave him a quick glance, but only Phlox came over to him.
"Are you all right, Commander?"
Trip hesitated, then motioned away from T'Pol and Jon, though it was more than likely that her big ears would pick up the conversation anyhow. "I'm fine, just, did anyone else report having some kind of anomaly experience after the impact?"
"Anyone else? No, Commander, no one at all, matter of fact," Phlox answered, curious.
"That figures," Trip muttered, scrubbing his fingertips over his head. "Look. I had this weird, thing, and now, yeah, okay, but still."
Phlox blinked at him a few times, confusion evident, then stated, "Commander, I have no idea what you just said. Are you experiencing vocal problems?"
"It's Malcolm!" Trip blurted out.
The confusion changed to concern and Phlox asked, "Is Lieutenant Reed all right? Should I send someone?"
"He's fine, it's me," Trip amended. "I keep seeing him as someone else. Himself, but not."
Shaking his head, Phlox admitted, "You've lost me, Commander."
"Is he older, Commander?"
Trip jumped at T'Pol's question, not having heard her come up behind him. Turning to her, he nodded and said, "Lots older, yeah."
"I, too, have experienced this phenomena, but with the Captain as my focal point," T'Pol revealed.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Phlox fussed.
"I did not see any need to do so."
"I'm the doctor, that should be my determination."
She inclined her head in acknowledgment before continuing, "It has faded a good degree, but I occasionally see the Captain as approximately a decade older than he currently is."
"And you get this sick feeling like something horrible happened to him? That he was dead?" Trip exclaimed.
"Indeed. It is my determination that we experienced some kind of time travel, probably induced by the recent anomaly. However, since no one else remembered the event, I did not see the point in bringing it up."
Frowning, Phlox looked at them both and questioned, "What is unique about the two of you that would make you remember things that the rest of us do not?"
"Traumatic event?" Trip suggested before he could censor himself.
T'Pol met his gaze and Trip was astonished at the amount of pain there, even as quickly hidden as it became. He swallowed, remembering the bone-deep panic he'd had upon thinking that Malcolm was dead.
"All right. I want both of you to tell me, here and now, what happened," Phlox snapped. "It was obviously something incredibly important, from the looks on your faces."
But Trip shook his head. There was no way he was going to share this with anyone, except maybe T'Pol later, when they were alone. "Sorry, Doc. Look, it's personal, okay? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't going crazy is all, and I'm not."
Displeased, Phlox snorted and replied, "That's open to dispute, Commander, but I'll accept this answer for now. If you have another…anomaly…it won't be acceptable any longer, is that understood?"
Trip glanced at the Denobulan. "Will do. Thanks. T'Pol, I'll see you later?"
Already on her way back to the Captain, T'Pol nodded without turning around.
Snorting a bit, Trip half-smiled at Phlox before leaving the infirmary. He wasn't really any closer to being back on an even keel, but at least he knew he wasn't going nuts.
* * * *
Malcolm was surprised when he didn't see anything of Trip over the next few days. Surprised and disappointed. He knew they were both busy with repairs and running Enterprise, but the Captain was awake now and would be returning to duty the following day. That took off an amazing amount of pressure all around.
Despite their recent clashes, and the fact that the Captain's spectacular bad mood always seemed to find outlet on him, Malcolm's admiration for the other man continued to grow. He knew that this mission was part and parcel of the other man's new-found drive. Revenge played no small part as well, for those murdered. Malcolm was a bit startled at how deep the Captain's need for vengeance went, but not necessarily disapproving.
What he did disapprove of, were the ways that the Captain sometimes took their new mission. He wasn't in charge and it wasn't his place to question the other man's methods if they gained results. Still, he couldn't help the occasional outburst, which he more than paid for with death-glares, snubbing silences and outright dressing-downs they engendered.
All of which he could take before now, because Trip had solidly been in his back pocket. But now, the engineer seemed to have vanished, leaving him to deal with the Captain's temper on his own and that ulcer that Trip had mentioned was definitely starting to show up.
Sighing, Malcolm roamed the halls, feeling completely at loose ends. He was currently wandering the crews' deck, mildly hoping to run into Trip going back to his quarters, knowing that the engineer had been putting in long hours. He'd just passed T'Pol's door when he heard Trip shout from inside. Malcolm froze to the spot. It had most definitely not been a shout of pain more like…
Heat suffused him all over as he realized that it had been a shout of release.
Anger followed fast on the heels of embarrassment and hurt and Malcolm hurried as fast from there as he possibly could. He walked blindly, not responding to any of the people who queried or greeted him. It was only minutes later that he found himself at the gym and knew that he wasn't going to be getting to bed that night.
He had far too much aggression to work out.
* * * *
Trip lay panting, groaning, and boneless, on the narrow bed. The severe backache he'd had for the last four days was definitely gone and sleep drifted so close that he doubted he'd be able to make it off the bed, let alone back to his own quarters. Good thing T'Pol didn't care about what other people thought.
"Commander?"
"Uh huh?"
"Are you well?"
"Uh huh."
"Do you require assistance to return to your own quarters?"
Damn. She was going to make him get up anyhow. Groaning again, Trip buried his face in the pillow and mumbled, knowing that she'd understand, "Just give me ten minutes."
"Very well."
He still wasn't sure exactly what she'd done this time that was different than all the other times, but there had been some kind of snap in his spine that had gone right through his entire body. And now Trip felt more relaxed than he had since before the entire mess with the last anomaly. He sighed, some of the tension returning as he thought about it, then rolled onto his side to look up at her. "T'Pol?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Do you think we remember because we're…ah…because we feel things for the Captain and Malcolm?"
Both eyebrows lowered in apparent disapproval as she replied, "Anything is possible, Commander."
Meaning, mind your own damn business, Trip thought ruefully. Sighing again, he pushed up into a sitting position and said, "Thanks for this, T'Pol. I appreciate it. Thought I was an old man before I came in here tonight, I was so stiff."
T'Pol nodded easily and said, "You are welcome, Commander. I suggest that you not let things get so bad before coming to see me next time."
"Yeah, well, didn't want you to think I was using you as a personal masseuse or something," Trip answered.
"You are, but I do not mind."
Half-grinning, Trip stood, testing out his shaky legs for a moment before grabbing his shirt and putting it on. "Well, thanks."
She nodded again and he left the room. The corridor was empty, thankfully, and he was alone with his thoughts as he headed for the lift and his own quarters. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that the chemistry between them had never developed, despite all the naked skin and touching. He was definitely irritated that his hands kept reaching for Malcolm, when the other man would never be more than his best friend.
Even if, for some reason, Malcolm returned his feelings there were ranks to be considered, careers to be lost, and missions that were far more important than Trip's love-life. But he remembered that conversation he had with Jon, not too long about, how the crew needed to get back to normal. Or, as close to normal as could happen right then. How things couldn't be all about revenge all the time.
As much as he wanted to make the Xindi pay, as badly as he wanted to wipe them all out, Malcolm was right. Not all of them were responsible for what had happened to earth…what had happened to his sister.
And getting back to normal meant finding and feeling love, right?
He groaned and thumped his head back a few times on the lift wall. Love with someone who was a lower rank and couldn't possibly return his feelings. His best friend. His partner in crime, as Jon had dubbed Malcolm more than once.
Trip knew that avoiding Malcolm wasn't the answer, but it was the only real solution he could think of. Until he got himself under control, until he could look at Malcolm and not see an older face etched with pained lines and an unfamiliar hardness, Trip couldn't bring himself to be anywhere near Malcolm. Which sucked on far too many levels to count. Trip wasn't even sure that he would have a best friend by the time he was able to act normally around Malcolm again.
The walk back to his quarters was way too long.
* * * *
Malcolm couldn't remember how he got there, but when his eyes opened, he was definitely in sickbay. His body felt very sluggish and unresponsive for some reason. Frowning, he looked around and spotted Phlox at a microscope. "Doctor?"
Turning from the device, Phlox walked over to him and greeted, "Good afternoon, Lieutenant!"
"What happened?" Malcolm questioned.
Stern now, Phlox replied, "The next time you decide to go on a hunger strike, Lieutenant, I suggest you not workout quite so drastically. You're lucky Ensign Mayweather discovered you and brought you here."
"Hunger strike? No, no I haven't been doing anything of the sort," Malcolm exclaimed.
"Your body says otherwise. Your electrolyte levels are astoundingly low, you are severely dehydrated and your blood sugar is negative."
Shocked, Malcolm didn't answer at first, finally stammering, "But I, I just missed a few meals here and there. I wasn't hungry. Nothing serious."
Wagging a finger at him, Phlox stated, "You were very ill, Lieutenant from neglecting yourself in a very disturbing fashion. I have drawn up a strict regimen for your meals over the next couple of weeks and you will adhere to it strictly, am I understood?"
Malcolm nodded, still unable to comprehend what had happened. "Doctor, how long was I out?"
"This is day three, Lieutenant."
Day three? Disappointment ran through him that no one was there as T'Pol had been for the Captain, but he shoved it down. Idiotic thought, anyhow. "I'm sorry to have been such a bother, doctor, I honestly didn't realize that I was running so close to the edge. It was not deliberate."
"Mmm. Not consciously so, perhaps," Phlox countered. "When was the last time that you had leave, Lieutenant?"
"Leave?" Malcolm repeated in surprise.
"Yes. Leave. Fun. Other things to do."
"Well…"
"That's what I thought."
Scowling, Malcolm pointed out, "None of us have had any leave since this mission began, Doctor. I'm hardly going to not eat out of protest for a day off. Consciously or otherwise."
"Agreed. There was definitely something deeper at work here."
Oh God. Psycho analyzation by a Denobulan. Very bad, very bad indeed. Hastily, Malcolm questioned, "How soon before I can get back to work, Doctor?"
"You're off duty for a week, Lieutenant."
Malcolm's head jerked to the side at Jonathan's statement. The other man looked very serious, even more than his customary bad mood would account for. "Captain, I, well, I don't know what to say."
Jonathan reached the bedside and looked at Phlox. "Would you excuse us, Doctor?"
"Of course."
Waiting until the other man was gone, Jonathan continued, "I'm sorry, Malcolm."
A different sort of shock ran through him at those three, simple words. "I, I beg your pardon, Sir?"
A wry smile twisted Jonathan's face as he replied, "You've done that a lot lately."
Thoroughly confused, Malcolm questioned, "Sir?"
"I've been…I haven't…I didn't mean to be so hard on you, Malcolm," Jonathan said finally. "When Phlox told me that you'd collapsed and been brought to sickbay, all I could think about was that I'd driven you to it."
"No, Captain, you haven't…"
Jonathan overrode him with, "And I was right. I've yelled at you, I've reprimanded you, I've driven you harder even than I drive myself, and I've been more unforgiving of your mistakes than I have of anyone else since we started this mission. Honest mistakes that are few and far between, I might add. You always give two hundred percent, but I've never once said thank you. I did this, Malcolm. I brought you to this. And I'm sorry."
Uncomfortable with the words, despite the accurate assessment, Malcolm shifted on the bed and pushed into a sitting position. Jonathan reached out to steady him when his body had an embarrassingly uncooperative moment. They stared at each other a moment, then Malcolm nodded reluctantly and admitted, "You might have been a little…difficult at times, Sir. But honestly, you haven't driven me any harder than I do myself."
"That's kind, Malcolm," Jonathan observed.
Half-smiling, Malcolm replied, "It's also the truth. Thank you for the apology, but really, it's not necessary."
Strong fingers gripped his shoulder as Jonathan said, "It was necessary, at least for me. I had to tell you how I felt. I just couldn't let any more time pass without letting you know."
Malcolm's hand covered Jonathan's and he smiled up at the other man, more relieved than he had been in a very long time. Before he could say anything, though, a choked noise got his attention and he looked over at the door to find Trip standing there, shocked and motionless. Suddenly realizing exactly what he and the Captain looked like from an outside point of view, he exclaimed, "Trip! No, you don't understand!"
But Trip was gone before he could even finish the sentence.
Groaning, Malcolm shifted to get out of bed, but found himself held in place. "Captain, I have to go after him!"
"No, you don't," Jonathan replied. "Doctor!"
Phlox hurried back and said, "You aren't strong enough to make it out of sickbay, Lieutenant, never mind to chase after Commander Tucker."
"But, but he thinks that we, ah…"
"I'll set him straight, Malcolm, don't worry," Jonathan assured him.
Already feeling winded and weak, just from the brief tussle with the Captain, Malcolm had no choice but to lie back on the bed.
* * * *
No, no, no, no, no!
The word just kept running through Trip's mind as he ran down the corridor. It seemed like his life just wouldn't stop taking wild 180 degree turns and he was damn sure getting motion-sick from it. Bad enough that he was still pretty much freaking out over the realization that he was in love with Malcolm, now he finds out that Jon feels the same way?
Well why wouldn't he? Trip thought derisively. Only difference being that he's not a coward about it.
When Travis had let him know about finding Malcolm unconscious in the weight-room, Trip had actually felt faint and unable to breathe. Rostov had grabbed for him, but Trip had run out of engineering willy-nilly to get to the infirmary. Only thing was, when he got there, Jon had been right at Malcolm's side with Phlox. He'd looked as stricken as Trip had felt. He'd joined the others there and watched as Phlox did his doctoring for Malcolm, unable not to be there.
Trip reached his quarters, but once there had no idea what he was going to do. All he could see in his head was Malcolm smiling up at Jon and how good they looked together. The way that Malcolm's hand covered Jon's, and how he was practically held up by Jon.
Without thinking, he grabbed the nearest thing on his desk and threw it across the room. He noted distantly that it was the glass container he'd used to give T'Pol the peaches when it shattered into too many pieces on the floor.
* * * *
Jonathan hesitated outside of Trip's door. It wasn't his policy as Captain to interfere in the love lives of his crew, and still less so as a friend, but part of this was his fault so he had to at least try and fix it. Especially since Malcolm was stuck in sickbay with no chance of early parole from Phlox.
Taking a breath, he hit the chime. He waited a couple of minutes before doing so again and calling out, "Trip! Come on, Trip, open up! It's me!"
There were a few more minutes of silence before the door slid open on a very disheveled and unsteady Trip.
Jonathan groaned as he realized that Trip was drunk and sighed, "Damn it, Trip."
"C'mon in, Cap'n. Whaz mine, iz yours."
Eyes rolling as Trip stumbled back into his quarters, Jonathan followed him inside, grimacing at the reek of serious alcohol. "Do I need to detox you?"
"Nope."
"Are you okay?"
"Nope."
"Are you going to throw up?"
Trip paused a second, thinking about it, then repeated, "Nope. Not yet."
"Good. Because you're an idiot, but you're also my friend," Jonathan commented. He noticed the broken glass and the pile of texts and hand-helds on the floor. Shaking his head, he continued, "If you'd bothered to stick around, you would have found out that there's nothing going on between me and Malcolm."
Peering at him suspiciously, Trip accused, "I saw you! An' before, an' yer allays 'round him!"
"He's my damn tactical officer, Trip, of course I'm always around him!" Jonathan snapped.
Trip thought about that a second, then shook his head with a stubborn set. "I saw you! You were all over him juz now. Ain't no tatic, ticta, officer-captain thing. You were hugging Malcm."
"Trip. God. Look, I was apologizing, okay? I've been an ass the last few months and pushed Malcolm much harder than I should have," Jonathan gritted out.
Blinking at him owlishly, Trip echoed, "Apologizedin?'"
"Yes."
"So you're not…"
"No."
"An' Malcm doezn'…"
"No!"
Trip took the news better than Jonathan expected. He threw up away from Jonathan, instead of on him.
* * * *
Even though Jonathan insisted that Trip not only knew the truth and was far more relieved than a 'friend' should be, Malcolm couldn't help but think that if that were true, Trip would have come found him. He didn't see the engineer the two days he remained in the infirmary, nor in the subsequent two days he spent holed up in his cabin. Nor even when he finally made the rounds of Enterprise and started talking to people.
From the that not-very-subtle looks that Rostov kept shooting at an unused section of Engineering, Malcolm could only assume that Trip was embarrassed both by his reaction and by having guessed Malcolm's real, if subconscious, reason for his self-neglect. Hiding out was particularly dignified, but he did suppose that it was better than the stiff, awkwardness that would surely result in the two of them being face-to-face the first time in two weeks.
Sighing, Malcolm pushed a chess piece across the board, knowing it was a dumb move to make, but not really caring since there was no one that he was playing against. Although, there wasn't much to be said for his competitive edge of late anyhow.
"May I join you?"
Malcolm looked up at T'Pol's question, feeling a flush of anger run through him before he could stop it. Forcing a smile, he gestured towards the unused seat and agreed, "Of course."
"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
"Well, thank you."
"You are fully recovered?"
"For the most part, yes."
"I understand that you will be returning to duty in a few days."
"That's correct. Was there something you needed before then?"
"No, thank you. Major Hayes is adequately filling in for you while you are on leave."
Of course he is, Malcolm thought darkly, shifting his eyes back to the chessboard. "You don't usually go in for chit-chat, T'Pol. How may I help you?"
At that, T'Pol hesitated. It was long enough to catch Malcolm's curiosity. He looked up to find the Vulcan staring at him intently. "What is it?"
"I think, perhaps, that you are under a mistaken impression regarding the nature of Commander Tucker's nightly visits to my quarters," she replied at last.
Jaw tightening, Malcolm kept his voice light as he said, "I hadn't realized they were nightly."
Lips quirking, T'Pol observed, "You would make an excellent Vulcan, Lieutenant."
Malcolm snorted and forced himself to relax. "Point taken. And, I'm listening."
"Commander Tucker has had trouble sleeping since his sister's…death in the Xindi attack."
"I know that."
"He has recurring nightmares."
"I know that, too."
"He can not sleep unaided, either by drugs or by the Vulcan neuro-pressure that we now go through when there is no emergency."
That, Malcolm hadn't known. Frowning, he questioned, "Can't at all? As in, it's an impossibility?"
"During the neuro-pressure, many things come out that not even the Commander realizes. I will only say that Commander Tucker is having difficulty believing himself to be safe. And ultimately, if one does not feel safe, one can not relax enough to sleep. It is an impossibility, unless physical exhaustion, or drugs, intervene. I do believe, however, that he would…feel safe…with you."
Malcolm's eyebrows rose in surprise. That was as close to an endorsement to an emotional relationship that T'Pol was ever likely to get. Morose, Malcolm glanced back at the chessboard and observed, "That would be difficult to accomplish, as Commander Tucker is staying as far from me as possible, right now."
"I do not believe that to be a valid excuse, Lieutenant. If you wish to explore a relationship with Commander Tucker, you need to be more assertive in your...desires."
"And you?"
T'Pol's eyebrow went up again. "I beg your pardon?"
"You and the Captain. Are you going to be more assertive in your desires?"
"That is not your concern, Lieutenant. I suggest that you...clean up your own back yard before worrying about mine."
Well and truly put in your place, Malcolm thought wryly. "Of course."
She rose and said, "Good luck, Lieutenant. And I believe that the Commander went off shift approximately fifteen minutes ago."
Thoughtful, Malcolm watched her leave.
* * * *
Trip yawned, exhausted and irritated that T'Pol was unavailable. It was sure to be a sleepless night, especially with the day he'd had. Bad enough hiding out from Malcolm when he'd come into Engineering the day before, but now Jon was dogging his steps and practically ordering him to talk to Malcolm.
There was nothing worse than an interfering captain.
He groaned when the door chimed and pushed himself to his feet before stomping over to the door. As the door slid open, he exclaimed, "Look, Jon, I appreciate everything..."
Trip's voice trailed off on seeing Malcolm standing there, an expectant look on his face.
"You were saying?"
"Uh...nothin' Malcolm. What can I do for you?" Trip asked.
"Invite me in, for one."
"Uh..."
Malcolm brushed past him, instead of waiting, and left Trip standing at the door. Bemused, Trip muttered, "Come on in, Malcolm," and followed the other man further into the room. Malcolm seemed to take up a lot more room than anyone else Trip knew, except maybe for Jon. He had the odd trick of being able to make himself more or less than he really was and sometimes it drove Trip nuts.
Like now.
"How have you been sleeping?"
Not expecting that, Trip took a second to answer, "Badly. You?"
"Like a baby. Are you still having nightmares about your sister?"
Trip paused again, not knowing how to answer. "Sometimes, yeah."
"And the other times?"
"Malcolm, can we do this another time? I'm beat," Trip protested.
Shaking his head, Malcolm strode forward and gripped Trip's shoulder. "No, I don't think we can, Trip."
Trip pulled his arm free and backed up a few steps, saying, "Malcolm, please, just leave it."
Instead of leaving, Malcolm kept moving forward until Trip was literally against the wall. Once there, with nowhere else to go, he found that he couldn't do anything but just stand there. Malcolm's eyes were pained but somehow determined, too. "We've left it too long, Charles, far too long already."
There was just enough time for Trip to take a breath before Malcolm pressed their lips together. He stayed stiff for a few seconds, then groaned and opened his mouth to the gentle kiss. His hands settled on Malcolm's hips, drawing the other man in closer before sliding around to rest on Malcolm's ass.
Malcolm smiled into the kiss, ending it to murmur, "That was a fast turn-around."
Trip rolled his eyes a little before answering, "I'm not convinced. And don't ever call me Charles again."
"Just trying to impart the importance of the situation," Malcolm replied, eyes sparkling with humor.
"Yeah well, don't," Trip countered, leaning in for another kiss. It was too easy, things in life never went this smooth. Pulling back, he asked, "Jon and you...?"
"Nothing there, Trip. Ever."
"And you what...like me a lot?"
This time, Malcolm grinned outright, despite Trip's serious tone. He cupped Trip's face and answered, "A really lot, Trip. As in, I love you."
Trip looked away, still serious as he said, "I just about had a heart attack when Phlox told me you were in sickbay, Malcolm. And when I thought you were dead...it about killed me."
Blinking in surprise, Malcolm exclaimed, "When did you think that? It was serious, but not that serious, according to Phlox."
"No, from before. The, the damned visions I keep having of you. You're about ten years older than me and you keep dying! And there's nothing I can do to stop it," Trip admitted finally, thumping his head against the wall.
Astonished, Malcolm just stared at him for a few seconds. Then he frowned and demanded, "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"
Trip nodded. "That and the fact that it took me years to figure out that I was in love with you. I thought, well you know, that you would never want me like this and was trying to get myself under control."
Shaking his head, Malcolm observed, "You're an idiot, you do know this?"
"Hey! I'm being serious here!"
"I know, so am I. Why didn't you just ask me? At the least, I'm your friend, Trip."
With a sigh, Trip looked back at Malcolm and replied, "I don't know. I just...I couldn't control my reaction to you and I didn't want you to think that our friendship would be done if we didn't get together."
Malcolm kissed him again and whispered into his ear, "Even if I die, Trip, if the years spent between are with you, it won't matter to me. I'll have had all I wanted."
Shivering at the hot breath, Trip whispered back, "It matters to me."
"Later, Trip," Malcolm promised, licking slowly down Trip's throat. "You are going to tell me everything, but we've got other matters to attend, first."
Trip could only agree, gasping as Malcolm sucked hard on his throat and squirming as a strong hand gripped his hardening cock through his pants. Thank God he'd changed as soon as he'd gotten to his quarters. "Malcolm, c'mon, bed."
Chuckling against his throat, Malcolm sucked again, then nodded and pulled away.
Trip watched him walk to the bed then shook the fog off and yanked his shirt off before following. As he arrived, Malcolm started stripping, making short, efficient work of his uniform. Watching, Trip's mouth dried as bare skin was revealed, the muscles all over Malcolm's body making him want to touch and squeeze to a degree that he'd never felt before. He'd never been possessive of his previous lovers, male or female. Not this time, though. Trip was pretty sure he'd jump anyone who tried to touch Malcolm.
Something about the way Malcolm stood, unabashed and easy in his own skin, took Trip's breath away. He was moving before he realized it, grabbing Malcolm and hauling him in for a hard, lust-filled kiss. He devoured the ready, open mouth for an eternity before pushing Malcolm onto the bed. Malcolm smirked up at him and Trip snorted, pushing his pants down and climbing onto the bed.
Leaning over Malcolm, Trip kissed and licked his way across the broad chest. His hands massaged and squeezed to his heart's content, but that only fueled the fire inside. Shifting so that his hands were to either side of Malcolm's head, he stared into the wide, trusting eyes as he pressed his hard cock to Malcolm's.
Malcolm groaned, his eyes closing and his hips arching up, rubbing their cocks together. Trip took the other's mouth in his again, slowly fucking Malcolm's mouth with his tongue while their bodies moved in concert. He knew that he wasn't going to last, he was too wrung out and exhausted. But from the ragged quality to Malcolm's movements, Trip was pretty sure the other man wasn't going to last, either.
Trip inhaled sharply when Malcolm bit his lower lip and moaned into his mouth, feeling the wet heat spatter his lower body. It pushed him over into orgasm and he jerked against the willing flesh beneath him, spilling his seed on them both. Panting, Trip slowly lowered himself beside Malcolm, turned towards him with a leg hooked possessively over Malcolm's body.
A breathless chuckle filled the air as Malcolm's arms wound around him, pulling Trip close. Trip sleepily nuzzled Malcolm's throat and demanded without rancor, "What's that for?"
"We're going to have to do something about your possessive streak," Malcolm answered, kissing the top of his head. "Think you can sleep now?"
Trip yawned and curled tighter against Malcolm, as close as he could get. "I'm sure going to try."
"Good night, Trip."
"Night, Malcolm. Love you."
Trip didn't miss the faint hitch of Malcolm's breath at his casual reply, but didn't comment on it, either, not wanting to make his new lover uncomfortable. Instead, he just yawned again and got comfortable. Maybe he really would be able to sleep and have good dreams instead of those awful visions of losing Malcolm.
When darkness closed in, the barely heard, "You're safe, Trip, sleep well my love," ushered him the rest of the way to the first real sleep he'd had since losing his sister.
***