Fic: Fall Out - sequel to 'Attention'

You really need to read Attention first - it can be found here:

http://fiction.entstcommunity.org/archive/28/attention.shtml


This little piece is Enterprise Tu/R.


Fall Out - Pt.1



"I am a dreamer but when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be"


~Malcolm~

I hide my feelings behind hundreds of years of protocol. Inside I'm cold, outside I work mechanically, completing the tasks given to Crewman Malcolm Reed.

I've been quartered with another crewman, Tim Crossey. He's from hydroponics and although I've seen him a few times on this mission I can't say I know anything about him.

He's understandably awkward about suddenly getting a roommate who used to be a superior officer, I've tried to put him at ease, but I don't think I'm very good at that kind of thing.

We work different shift patterns, so don't see an awful lot of each other anyway.

Some part of me hates Archer for doing this on purpose. He could have worked it out so I didn't have to share quarters. He knows that I prefer to keep myself to myself. He could have kept me on alpha shift too, instead of putting me on the gamma 'graveyard' shift.

He's doing exactly what I would have done were I in his position. Forcing me to interact with my new peers. Removing me from my old shift so I'm not working so directly with crew who are more used to me giving orders than taking them.

All of my possessions fit in my new quarters easily, only taking up one shelf and one of the small lockers-come-wardrobes that stand side by side at the foot of the bunks


My new role demands that Commander Tucker and I occasionally exchange messages over the computer system regarding work.

I haven't spoken to Trip yet.

I want to find a way of asking him for some of my personal possessions back from his cabin.

I want to find a way of asking him a lot of things.

I'm painfully aware of the non-fraternization rules though, however ridiculous they seem now that they've taken the most important part of my life away.

So I'm trying to be the model crewman. God forbid that they should find reason to remove me from Enterprise. She's the only purpose to my life now, and my only link to Trip. The structure of command may be archaic, but at least it's something. At least I see him everyday, even if it is from afar.

**

~Trip~

He's taken it all without a word. I feel like that moment just over a month ago, when the Admiral passed out his punishment, Malc left me. I don't just mean not seeing each other, I mean it's like Malc stopped existing. Now there's just this body walking around, looks like him, but it isn't, not on the inside.

I know Jon's watching me. He's watching me watching Malc. Making sure that's all I do, I guess. Not that he's got anything to worry about on that score. I thought I knew him - I thought he was a friend, beyond the boundaries of Starfleet, but now I just see him as a spiteful jealous man who's abused his power to take Malc away from me.

I've passed Malc in the corridors, but he doesn't even act like he recognises me. Every message he sends to my engineering station is coldly official. I guess somewhere inside I know that's how it's got to be, but there's a part of me that thinks he's doing it on purpose, because I didn't admit to my part in this whole damn mess. I don't know if he wanted me to. In the armoury, after it happened he seemed pretty insistent, but I don't know if he was testing me, wanting me to argue harder with him. Now I'll never know, because he won't even look at me.

Maybe I should have stood up for him on the bridge, I should have said it was me too. But I didn't think they'd punish him this harshly. And as soon as they did, well, that scared me. It'd scare anyone, wouldn't it? It scared me enough that I saved myself and left him to take the rap.

I've punished myself ever since.

He might be able to forget it all, but I can't. I'm not some damn robot, and even if I don't mean a thing to him anymore he still means everything to me.

**

~Malcolm~

There was a message waiting on my console when I got back to my quarters today.


To: Reed, Crewman M.
From: Tucker, Commander C.

I'd like to meet up and discuss some schematics at the beginning of your shift tonight. I'll be in main engineering.
Tucker.


I can't believe that's all he wants to discuss. There's no need for us to meet that late at night. He could easily ask for me to see him in the daytime.

I don't want to risk him or myself further by ignoring the captain's orders and seeing him outside of duty. And I know how easy it is to keep watch on people on a Starship.

I hope I can keep the discussion work-related. It doesn't seem as if I can escape the meeting, not without disobeying a direct order. Somewhere inside me I hope something extraneous will happen between then and now that will at least postpone the inevitable.

**

~Trip~

I hope he'll come. I wouldn't put it past him to invent some emergency. I'm not sure what I want to say, not sure I'll be able to say it anyway.

But I know for sure I'll never be able to do anything about how I feel if I never get to see him.

As the start of his shift approaches I can feel my guts knotting up. I don't know what I'm doing, but at least I'm doing something. Every time there's a noise in engineering I nearly jump out of my skin.

**

~Malcolm~

Normally I'm early for my shifts. Not today.

I walk into engineering exactly on time. I see Commander Tucker sitting at one of the workbenches. He looks distinctly uneasy. I square my shoulders, grip the padd I hold slightly more tightly and stride in.

"Commander, I believe you wanted to see me."

He jumps, and there's an unreadable expression on his face.
"Malc…Malcolm," he stutters.

"Sir."

"I, um…you can drop the 'sir'," he says.

"With respect, Commander, no, I can't."

I know I'm being a little mean, but I don't want to give him the wrong idea.

He looks crestfallen, as if he's lost any idea he may have had of why he called me here.

"You mentioned schematics?" I prompt.

"You…yeah, sure. It's about the, er…" he trails off, and I don't know if he even has anything to discuss properly.

"If I might take the opportunity then, I have a system plan I've been working on that I believe will help with the number of blown relays we've been suffering lately, sir, if you'd like to look."

I hold out the padd, keeping at least an arms length away from him. Work is my shield now. I know I can't let Trip start to lose it, I know that if we stray away from the strict constraints that duty sets upon us I'll be vulnerable. I won't let it happen. I won't. I can't.

**

~Trip~

For once I'm glad that Malc has an unending ability to talk work.

I take the offered padd and scan through the diagrams and equations, not taking in any of it.

"Looks fine, I'll take a better look later," I say, knowing I'm not up to discussing it now.

"Of course, sir."

There's a long pause. I can feel his eyes on me, gaze steady, expectant. Expecting me to say 'I'm sorry', expecting me to crack up, expecting me to ask him why he sacrificed himself; sacrificed us, and everything we had together.

"Sir? Is there anything you wanted to discuss about tonight's work schedule?"

Expecting me to pull myself together and act like someone capable of giving my staff orders.

He can do it. He can still carry on with his fucking job, so why can't I?

"Er…no…yeah, there are some fluctuating readings in some of the power regulators to the water systems. Could you have a look if you get a chance? Details are in the engineering log."

"Of course, sir."

I just nod.

Then I realise I'm doing it again, standing here, lost in my thoughts.

I look into his eyes and smile. There's not even a flicker of a response so I walk away, his padd in my hand. I head for my quarters and a large drink.

**

~Malcolm~

That was nearly my undoing. His smile. It touched his eyes, until they met mine, and then it looked as if he was about to lose what little control he had.

I quickly check the log and grab a toolkit, then head for the bowels of the ship, before anyone else can offer to help me. The last thing I want now is to see anyone.

Once I'm safely hidden in a Jeffries tube I sit, my knees pulled up to my chest, face hidden in my folded arms. I try desperately to keep myself together. I take deep breaths, squeezing my hands into fists, but I feel my eyes filling and when the first tear leaves a trail of moisture down my cheek, finally coming to rest between my lips I know I can't anymore.

I cry.

I hate myself. I hate myself for being so weak, letting one person affect me this badly. I harshly wipe away the evidence of my emotions with my sleeve, sniffing.

I begin working, taking out my anger on the ship. Every now and again my thoughts inevitably go back to Trip, and another tear escapes.

**

~Trip~

After knocking back the first glass of whisky I feel a little better, a little warmer inside.

I have a shower and change into some more comfortable clothes. Debate going to the mess, but I really don't want to see anyone.

My gaze rests on the padd Malc gave me. Well, I'm thinking about him anyway, so I may as well torture myself a bit more.

I pour another generous measure of whisky and sit on my bunk.

His ideas make sense, of course. I swear that if you'd given Malc the time he could've built Enterprise a hundred times better on his own.

I finish reading the last paragraph and almost turn the padd off, but then I notice that the scroll bar isn't all the way to the bottom. I wonder what can be on the last four pages and scroll down. They seem to be empty, and I wonder if he just forgot to delete them. Then I reach the fourth page. There's one line of text.

'I'm sorry, Trip.'

I stare at it, then reach out and run a finger over the screen.

Maybe my Malc hasn't gone completely.

**

~Malcolm~

Even all the way down here you can still tell it's night time on the ship. Well, night time as we have it, anyway. It's artificially signified by a slight dimming of some lights onboard, and it's set to PST - just so that the Star Fleet bigwigs don't have to get out of bed to talk to us during the normal running of the ship.

Doesn't make much difference out here. It's always the vista of night time outside our windows.

The ship seems to sleep, there's an atmosphere I can't put my finger on. The witching hour, it used to be called. I wouldn't be surprised if there are a few lost souls wandering this ship.

Sometimes I feel like one myself, trapped in some ethereal realm. I'm here, but I'm not.

Mother used to call it daydreaming, or being 'away with the fairies'.

Trip called it woolgathering.

Trip. He'll be asleep now. Or he should be. In our - his - bed.

When I try to sleep I find myself reaching for him, trying to find his warmth.

There's just a cold emptiness now.

I need to pull myself together. I've been here faffing about for hours when Trip only asked me to do this job if I had time. I need to pull my finger out if I'm to complete all the tasks set for this shift.

I scramble back through the Jeffries tubes, pushing the toolbox in front of me. I gather myself; fit on my mask of indifference as I step into the corridor. I know Trip thinks I'm being a cold-hearted bastard, but it's how I have to be. I can't let myself be weakened by emotions, not now. I can't even bear to think about the message I left for him. A part of me hopes that he doesn't find it, because he'll try to talk to me about it now, and that's something I know I won't be able to handle.

Maybe the Vulcans have some things right.

**

~Trip~

I stare at the words for a long time. They are the catalyst for my brain to start working again. He's still there. I need to find a way to talk to him, properly, not as his commanding officer - as his lover. I refuse to believe Starfleet can come between us. I can't believe I allowed this to happen. It's so far beyond my control now that I don't even know where to start. I'm lost, and although Malc's words are a start to getting us on the right path I'm not sure what to do now. But I'm determined to do something.

I can feel something inside me that's been absent since Malc's demotion.

Hope.

I know I have to send a message back. But I've never been good with words, not like Malc. He tries not to let people know, but there's a lot more to him than he lets on. He read me poetry once. I didn't exactly understand it all, but the way he read it to me made it come alive. There are a lot of things about Malc that made me feel more alive.

I sit and stare at the padd for a long time, occasionally glancing at my chronometer until it shows the evening has long gone, and morning is fast approaching. In the end I finally tap out the lines of text on the small screen.

'You have nothing to be sorry about. We need to talk.'

I also add a note to the bottom of his work, agreeing to his plans and authorising the work to go ahead.

Then I throw myself down on my bunk, still in uniform, and try to sleep.

**

~Malcolm~

I've completed most of the tasks I was set for my shift. I know Trip will forgive me for not completing the original list, yet still managing to fix the water systems. I hate that I know he'll forgive me. I wouldn't have let myself fall behind on my duties if it were another officer. I wouldn't have indulged myself, let my emotions go during a shift. It's not what I wanted. I wanted to stay strong, and now I know I'm not.

Once I've packed away my tools in engineering I'm a few minutes late coming off shift. I wait for the turbolift, glad to be off-duty, yet also knowing that when I am I have to control myself even more strictly, avoiding questions from well-meaning friends, ignoring the glances I get from the crew.

I am afraid that in allowing myself to become emotional earlier I may have pulled loose the yarn that will begin the entire garment unravelling.

The lift doors open and I don't look up, instead standing back for the person waiting on the other side of the doors to exit before I step inside. I don't want to interact with anyone.

**

~Trip~

When I get up for my shift I look awful and feel worse. I wash and shave, then head straight for engineering, late.

As the doors open I almost stride straight past the person waiting to use the lift.

Except I recognise the chocolate-brown hair, the stance, I recognise everything about the man I'm in love with.

"Malc!" I almost forget everything I've promised myself. Fresh in my mind is his message, the words that gave me so much hope.

He jumps as if he's been shot.

"Sir."

His tone is flat and lifeless - and he looks appalling.

"Ma…Crewman, I…" I fumble in my pockets, so eager to give him his padd back I can't remember which pocket I've put it in. "I…er…read your…proposal," I almost kick myself at the use of that word, "I mean, your ideas, for the relays. They're good, real good. I…um…here's your padd back, I'll happily authorise them. I mean I have, authorised them. I…we should talk about it. A meeting, then you can get on with them."

I know I've made no sense, my words falling over one another as I try to keep my mind on my work.

"Sir, I can't possibly be the one to implement the changes. It would require supervision and other crewmembers. It's a job for you and alpha shift. One crewman would never be able to do it. Keep the padd, you'll need it."

"No."

It's the first thing to come into my head. He can't do this. He can't shut me out again. I have to let him know we're not doing this anymore.

"I read the padd, Malc, all of it," I say, knowing he'll understand.

"Good, sir, then you'll need no further input from me. I believe I was quite clear. Now if you'll excuse me, sir, I need to sleep."

**

~Malcolm~

As soon as the doors shut and hide his shocked expression from me, I want to kick myself. I end up punching the wall, hard, then smacking my forehead against it and standing there, head leaning on the cool metal.

I can't play with him like this. I know that. He can't possibly understand what I'm trying to do when I don't really understand myself. The message on the padd was meant to be the first step to us returning to being at least distant friends, to let him know I don't blame him, I don't blame anyone. Except I do. I blame me, I blame him, I blame Archer. I don't want to be bitter, but sometimes I am.

I return to my cabin, Tim's there, sitting at the small desk, working, so I acknowledge him before grabbing my towel and wash kit and heading to the communal showers.

Once I'm clean and dry I go back and sit on the edge of my bunk. I get one of my padds out of my locker and start to work. I know Tim keeps on glancing at me, so in the end I look back at him.

"Are you okay?" I ask, hoping it doesn't sound too confrontational.

"Sir…er…yes, Malcolm," he looks deeply embarrassed.

"What are you working on?" I ask, trying to act normally, trying to get him to relax.

"Oh, just…just an idea for a new species of potato. We have a problem growing some varieties in hydroponics."

He smiles as he talks, and although I can't get that excited about potatoes, I suppose he wouldn't find a phase pistol trigger control any more fascinating.

We talk for a short while--the first time we have, really. I learn a little about his family and where he's from, and I feel more comfortable around him. It's a bit like when I first joined Starfleet, getting to know my fellow crew when we were in training.

In the end, after a pause in the conversation he speaks again, sounding hesitant, as he did when we first met.

"Malcolm, you know, we all think Starfleet were wrong, to do this to you. I mean…I just thought you should know. Just because of one mistake, now they're treating you like you're not the best person to protect this ship anymore, and…well…we think you are. Some of us wanted you to know that."

I sit in silence after his little speech. Half of me wants to snap, to tell him I bloody well know it isn't right. The other half feels like I'm not quite alone anymore.

"Thank you," I finally say. "It…I didn't know anyone felt that way."

"Well we do, and not just in hydroponics either, lots of people do," he says earnestly.

I nod, trying to look as grateful as I feel.


Once Tim leaves the room I lie on my bed, thinking. I'm tired, but I'm not ready to sleep. I think for once I feel quite normal. Only I haven't been 'normal' for such a long time now, I'm not quite sure what it's like anymore. I suppose I feel at peace, to some extent.

So I lie on my front, pull out a padd, and begin writing to Trip.

**

~Trip~

I don't understand why he wouldn't take the padd back. It was clear what I meant. I thought…I thought he wanted me to reply, I thought he was ready to talk, or at least communicate. God knows if he's finding our separation as hard as I am then he must be pretty damn miserable.

I'm not going to let it go easily though, not this time. I need to show him I care, need to show him that I don't give up, not anymore.

I work my shift like a zombie, my staff constantly having to ask me questions to clarify my orders. I know I can't carry on like this.

I don't stay in engineering after my shift - and I think my staff are grateful for that. Instead I head to the gym. Malc used to say he could think when he was working out, so maybe I'll be able to do the same.

As I walk down the corridor from my quarters to the gym I hear footsteps behind me. I take no notice, not wanting to have to be polite to someone, until a distinctive voice calls out to me.

"Commander Tucker?"

"Ma…Crewman?" I have no idea what to say. Malc is still in uniform, and I don't think he's slept yet. I so desperately want to grab him, drag him back to my cabin and…

"Sir, I believe you dropped this," he says, holding out a datachip from a padd.

I know I didn't. But I take it from him.

"Thank you. I thought something was missing," I say, trying to make my words have a double meaning he'll understand.

As I look into his eyes there's something there that I haven't seen for a long time, there's a spark, just a little one, just enough of the old Malc to make my heart soar.

"Yes sir, I…wouldn't want you to lose anything important, sir," he says, looking deep into my eyes.

And for once I know exactly what he means.

He turns about and heads away from me, so I stand and watch him go, then I retrace my own steps.

As soon as I'm in my quarters I sit at my desk, jamming the datachip into a nearby padd, and I begin to read.

'Trip,

I can't begin to guess what you're thinking right now. At the moment I have a hard enough time trying to understand my own thoughts.

I know that a lot of my actions won't seem to have made any sense recently, but believe me when I say I didn't mean to hurt you.

I thought, in some twisted way, that what I was doing would protect you. I don't mean the video, and telling everyone you weren't in the armoury. I still think I was right to do that. I'm referring to my actions since then. I pushed you away because I wanted to hide from myself, I wanted to pretend that nothing of my previous life existed.

But this morning someone made me realise something. I can't give you up anymore than I can give up all the things that made me an armoury officer. Just because my rank has changed doesn't make me a different person, but I have new rules to live by. I know we can't be together as we were, in the same way I can't work on Enterprise as I did. But I'm still on Enterprise, still working, still striving for the same things, still as dedicated to her as I ever was. And I've come to realise I should be doing the same for you. For us.

I am still dedicated to you, Trip.

Yours
M'

I sit and look at his words for a long time. I have no idea who he spoke to to make him realise these things, I'm just glad he did.

Now I lose my control. Every other time I've wanted to go to him I've stopped myself, knowing he wouldn't want it. This time I can't help but head for the crew quarters.

I ring the chime on his door and wait. There's a pause before it slides open to reveal a dishevelled Malc. He's dressed in his blues and was obviously asleep.

I can't do anything but smile at him.

He looks up and down the corridor nervously.

"You shouldn't be here, sir," he says quietly. "Someone could see you."

"You'd better let me in then," I whisper back.

He pauses for a fraction of a second before stepping back and allowing me to enter. Then he closes the door and puts a 'do not disturb' command on it.

I glance around, seeing his new quarters for the first time. I immediately curse myself as I notice the second bunk. I should have realised he would be sharing. I could have ruined all this very quickly had his roommate been in.

"Who are you sharing with?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Tim Crossey," Malc answers. "Works in hydroponics."

He sounds so low, so sad. And I give up all the self control I've been trying to hold onto. I step forward and gather Malc into my arms, holding him tightly.

Slowly he puts his arms around me too, his fingers digging into my back as he grips the fabric of my workout top.

We stay like that, the silence enveloping us. A few times I try to think of anything to say, but somehow I know my words won't be enough. I realise a comfortable silence can be so much more valuable than awkward words, so I squeeze Malc a little more tightly and allow my actions to express my emotions.

Eventually a noise breaks the silence. I don't react, but suddenly Malc is pushing me away. As I turn I realise the sound was the door opening. Of course, 'do not disturb' notices can't work against someone who lives in the room.

Tim Crossey stands staring at us, and my gaze is drawn from his shocked expression to the potato plant that's growing in a bag full of see-through goo he has in his hand.

Malc pushes between Tim and me.

"Tim, I can explain," he starts.

But the other man shakes his head. "You've got nothing to explain. I'll go somewhere else. Just…comm me, take as long as you want, I don't mind." He quickly steps forward and puts the bag down on the desk, the plant lists dangerously as it teeters on top of the pile of padds.

Malc nods, "Thank you."

Once Tim has gone Malc saves the plant by placing it carefully on top of one of the lockers. Then I look at Malc, seeing the tired lines on his face.

"You should be asleep anyway," I say gently.

"We can do this, can't we?" he asks, not taking his eyes off me.

I nod. "We can. We will."

He hugs me once more. There have been times when I thought I'd never get to hold him again.

"You should go, love," he finally says, pushing his palms against my chest.

"I don't want to," I admit.

"You have to. If you're caught here the captain won't react well. I don't want to give him any excuse to throw me off Enterprise on top of everything else."

I nod, I know he's right. I desperately want to stay, but I know it's not the right thing to do.

I take his hand and squeeze it. "We have to do this again. I don't know how, but I can't live like we were."

"Leave me a message on a padd. Don't let anything get onto the main computer," he says, always the security officer.

"I know, I won't," I assure him.

"I'll try and see you. God knows how," he says. "We shouldn't do this again. Tim's okay, but I don't want to throw him out of here. It's not fair on him, and people will start to ask questions. He feels awkward enough about sharing with me anyway."

I nod in agreement. I bet this is why Jon put Malc in shared quarters. No privacy, no space, nothing.

We part with a kiss, one full of promise for the future and sadness for the present.

Once I'm back in my quarters they feel huge. So different from the cramped crew rooms. I sit back at my desk, feet resting on it. I stare at the stars, remembering how many nights I've lain in bed watching Malc watching those stars.

His quarters don't have a window. Hell, they barely have a desk. Malc must be feeling so claustrophobic. He needs space, space to think, away from other people. I know he finds people difficult sometimes. Almost as often as people find him difficult.

**

~Malcolm~

I see him again before my shift starts. He's having a snack in the mess whilst I fetch my breakfast. Although I still can't get used to having breakfast at dinnertime.

I eat toast, not really feeling hungry, but knowing I won't get the chance to just grab something later like I used to when I was in the armoury. Now I can end up far into the workings of the ship for hours on end, and in my opinion any journey back to the inhabited parts of the ship are just a waste of time. Even though it's repair work it's still more efficiently done if it's planned. Take what you need the first time, then it's in and out, job done. Years of studying tactics have shown me that wars can be lost by wasting time. Disorganisation is the enemy. I hold that believe strongly in every aspect of my life.

So what am I doing, wasting time that could be spent with Trip?

We exchange glances, trying not to be obvious about it, but it's hard. I feel as if people are still watching me, the disgraced officer, so I can't do anything to communicate with Trip.

I don't know how we can work this out.

As much as I don't agree with what the captain did, I don't want to disobey his orders. Because I do respect him.


When I reach engineering for my shift I find a message waiting for me on a padd. A first I think it's from Trip, but as soon as I open it I see the captain's name at the top.

It's a short message, to the point.

'Crewman Reed,

Commander Martin Anderson will be coming aboard in two days time. He will immediately assume command of armoury, tactical and security from the current personnel acting up as chiefs of these departments.

Captain J Archer'

I read and re-read it, then sink down into the office chair. Trip's chair.

Just when I'm building myself up again he does this. I mean, obviously I needed to know about…my replacement. But not now. And not like this. He could have asked Trip to tell me. Except he wouldn't even give us that excuse to see each other.

I work my shift mechanically, purely going through the motions. I just can't bring myself to care about the work tonight.

Very early in the morning, whilst I'm cleaning out one of the waste recycling units there's a noise behind me. I turn to see Trip standing there, a vision in his sweats and a tight t-shirt. He looks incredibly awkward and it's obvious he's just got out of bed.

"I…couldn't sleep," he says quietly, as if he needs to apologise for being here. "I…uh, know what was in the message Jon left you."

"Oh."

I drop my arms down to my sides and the scraper I've been using to clean the walls hits the floor with a metallic thump.

And half a second later Trip is there, arms around me, holding me tightly. I don't move, don't try to return the embrace. I just stand there, taking strength from his actions.

"What are you thinking?" he finally asks me.

I shake my head. Jon's his friend and my commanding officer. The sort of unprofessional thoughts I'm having don't need to be shared. Besides, I don't think I really mean them.

"Why did you change the video?" Trip asks, pushing me away so he can look into my eyes, but still not letting me go.

"There was no need for you to be involved in this," I answer.

"And you don't think I'm still involved? You don't think this is affecting me?" he sounds incredulous.

"I don't mean…I know you're hurting, but…what would you prefer? That we'd both been demoted to crewman? That we'd both lost our careers? You could be a Captain when we get back from this mission, you could have your own command," I try to stop myself gripping his t-shirt and shaking sense into him.

"I'd rather have you," he says simply.

And there's nothing I can say to argue.

**

~Trip~

I can see he can't answer me. It's only the truth though. I'd give up anything to still be with Malc. That's why I need to know why he did what he did. I need to understand him. He gave up everything for me. He even gave up me, although I don't for a moment suppose he ever thought that we'd be in this situation. He put his career on the line for me and now I have to find the courage inside myself to do something to remedy our miserable situation. I don't just need to learn about Malc, I need to learn from him.

"We have to find a better way of doing this," I say, looking around at our surroundings. "I have to see you, Malc."

"I don't…I don't know what to do," Malc answers, his voice soft, because that way when it cracks it's not so noticeable. "If the captain ever found out he'd probably have me thrown off the ship."

"He wouldn't…not Jon." Or would he? I'm not sure I know anymore. "Couldn't you…doctor the video again? Do something that means we can see each other and no one can find out?"

Malc stops and thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "Not with this new security officer coming onboard. He'd notice."

"You managed to fool the whole of Starfleet command. What makes you think one man will notice?" I ask.

"Because I would," he answers.

"But…" What can I say? He isn't your average officer, Malc's the best, because he cares - cares almost too much sometimes. He wouldn't allow himself to be anything but the best.

"Do you know anything about the new officer?" he asks me, not meeting my gaze.

"Not much. American, so Jon says. I've never heard of him before."

He nods. "I've never heard of him either. I don't like the idea of anyone else working on some of the weapons development. Will you keep an eye on him for me?"

"Of course." It's been a worry for me too. I honestly don't believe anyone will ever be as good as Malc at keeping the armoury running way above spec. I just pray we don't run into anything nasty before the new guy settles in and learns what a deep space mission is all about. I'm also not overjoyed that he's a commander, but that's just a personal issue. I would have preferred knowing a little more about him though. I assumed Malc would have heard of him, coming from the same departments and all. Malc knows of all the best people - which suggests to me that Commander Anderson isn't one of them.

Although I can't believe command would send us anyone but the best, they know how often we run in to some sort of trouble out here. Or at least, how often trouble comes looking for us. I just wonder sometimes if politics on Earth matter more to them than the safety of this ship.

"You should go," Malc says suddenly, breaking the silence. "I need to get on."

I want to protest, but I know I'm not being fair on him. He has a job to do too. So I just nod.

"We will do this, Trip," he says, seriously. "They can't stand in our way - I won't let them."

I smile, wanting to believe him, despite not having a clue how we're going to work this.


**
~Malcolm~

He leaves, and I bend down and pick up my scraper once again, then carry on with my job.

I smile to myself as I realise it's not such a different job to my old role. I'm still trying to clear up the mess everyone else makes.

The two days pass slowly, and although I know there's the usual buzz of gossip running around the ship about Commander Anderson, whenever I enter a room there is a painful lack of chatter.

In the end, and feeling slightly as if I'm picking on him as an easy target, I ask Tim.

"I take it you've heard about Commander Anderson?" I start, not pulling any punches.

He looks totally at a loss for words for a moment, then nods. "Yes, sir."

"So what are people saying?" I ask bluntly, ignoring his slip.

"Saying? Um…what sort of thing do you mean?" he stutters.

"I mean that whenever I go somewhere there's a serious lack of any gossip. I know this ship, I know it can't run without a healthy grapevine. I want to know what people are saying. I've never heard of him, other members of this crew may have served with him. I just want some basics."

"Oh. Um, well, he's American, southerner, apparently. He's meant to be very…friendly. I mean, a very nice commanding officer. The armoury staff are -" he stops himself.

"Are what? Looking forward to the change?" I give him a small smile, trying to show that I'm not bitter.

Tim smiles hesitantly back. "They do say a change is as good as a rest, sir. But no-one could do as good a job as you do…did."


Later on I think about what he's said. I think I'm glad no-one ever thought I was 'nice'. I don't see there being much room in command, especially in tactical and security, for 'niceness'. You need to be fair, balanced. And occasionally, where the safety of the ship is concerned, you need to be ruthless.


I'm on my way to my shift when he arrives onboard. Trip's there, welcoming him onto the ship, along with the captain and T'Pol.

Ordinarily I would have been there too. Standing at the back, out of sight, out of mind, but there nonetheless, watching and waiting for the time they'd need me. My childhood taught me to be seen and not heard. Captain Archer taught me that where the ship's security was involved, he'd really rather I wasn't seen either.

Of course, now I'm going to have to wait until I catch a glimpse of the man in the mess or something. Just like the rest of the crew.


I finish my shift without incident, then make my way back to engineering, packing away my toolkit. I notice someone has left the place in a mess and decide I should tidy it. Alpha shift don't need to spend their time searching for misplaced tools or equipment.

As I finish my self-appointed task I hear a loud voice and laughter from near the warp drive. I stand up and straighten my uniform, although with the assortment of oil and grease stains it's gathered recently I'm never going to look perfect.

Trip walks around the corner with another man. I immediately notice the three pips above his red piping and snap into the sharpest of salutes, standing to attention.

Trip looks totally taken aback. I don't suppose he was expecting to see me, my shift having ended half an hour ago.

"Err…I…Crewman, this is Commander Anderson. Commander, this is L…Crewman Reed," he manages to get through the introductions without stumbling over my rank too much.

"I told you, Charlie, call me Marty," Anderson says to Trip. Then turns to me. "Martin - call me Marty - Anderson," he beams and offers me a hand. Then freezes. "Reed? Oh, hey, are you…" he looks to Trip for help.

"Yes, it's Malcolm's post you're taking over," Trip answers the unasked question.

"Oh, hey, Mal - do you mind if I call you Mal? Hey, no hard feelings, huh? You an me'll have to get together an' share a few beers one night, huh?"

I stare back at the man. "That would be…slightly inappropriate, given our ranks, sir," I say as politely as I can manage. 'And yes I do bloody mind you calling me Mal' I add silently.

He looks a little confused, but nods anyway, the smile he seems to permanently wear creeps back onto his face even after I'd so effectively chased it away. "Maybe when we get to know each other a lil' better then, huh?"

I just smile an insincere smile.

"Anyway, we should carry on your tour, er..Marty," Trip breaks in. "Then we can get you…I can show you your office and leave you to get to know your crew." He almost grimaces as he says it.

"Sure thing, whatever you say, Charlie, Just you lead the way." Then he turns back to me. "I'm sure we'll see a lot more of each other, huh?"

I snap another salute in answer. If Trip makes it around the ship without shoving 'call me Marty' out of an airlock it will be an opportunity lost.


As they head toward the door Trip turns once to look at me. He rolls his eyes dramatically and I can't help but smile back at him.

**

~Trip~

I swear, I'm gonna kill him. The next time he says 'Charlie'…the next time he says anything.

"So Charlie, what does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?"

Well okay, killing him would probably land me in even hotter water than Malc, but damn, I've never met anyone more irritating in my entire life.

I gesture down the corridor. "Right this way…Marty. The mess is just down here."

I pray I can palm him off on someone else. Phlox maybe, or T'Pol.

We get a coffee each and sit down. Then my prayers are answered.

"Engineering to Commander Tucker."

I smile apologetically to Marty and make my way to the comm unit.

"Tucker here."

"Sir, could you come to engineering? We have a power control anomaly we need you to take a look at."

I frown, but I'm not about to argue with a reason to get away from Marty. I turn to him, "Sorry commander, I've got to go and check on that." I try to sound apologetic. I think I fail.

He just smiles. "Sure thing, Charlie, I'll find my own way back t' the armoury, don't you worry."

I give him a weak grin and flee.

When I reach engineering there's nothing spectacular going on, so I walk over to Crewman Davino, the one who commed me.

"Crewman?"

"Ah, yes, sir. I can explain." He turns and smartly walks over to the main bench, then hands me a padd.

I frown, then turn it on as he walks away.

The screen comes up blank, but I notice that once more the scroll bar is at the top. I move it down until I find a single line of text.

'I didn't know how long you had the power to control yourself.'

I almost burst out laughing, but bite my lip instead. Trust Malc to be the one coming to my rescue. He seems to be making a habit of saving my skin.

I wonder what he said to get Davino in on the joke. Then I realise it wouldn't take much. Malc made himself well known in here, and I know my crew would do anything for him when he was a lieutenant. It makes me proud to know they haven't changed their attitude toward him now.


I continue my shift with a more optimistic outlook on life. There's the odd irritation via the comm from the armoury, but otherwise I could almost believe things were getting back to normal around here. Except for one glaring absence.


**
~Malcolm~

At first things seem to be going quite well under Commander Anderson. I even find myself getting a little…jealous. They all look so happy - my…his…crew. I mean, I see them, walking the corridors, chatting together, smiling. I see them in the mess hall. I don't begrudge them some fun, but I don't like the way Anderson's obviously changed the shift schedules and rotas. I had my crews running at optimum; armoury and security. I sometimes wonder if he ever has a full crew in the armoury these days.

My worries begin when I'm approached by Crewman Winston. He stops me in a corridor and has a nervous look around us before beginning to speak.

"Sir…I mean…Mr Reed. I was wondering if you had a moment."

I nod, wondering what he could need me for.

"I was wondering, sir, the schedule for running the torpedo targeting calibrations…" he pauses, and I guess it's because he doesn't feel comfortable speaking to me about the piece of equipment that brought about my downfall.

"Go on," I urge.

"Sir, we should run those regularly, shouldn't we?" he finally spits out.

I nod. "At least every other day, more often if we encounter anything that could knock the arrays out."

He knows the schedule as well as I do. I don't understand why he needs to ask.

"They haven't been run since Commander Anderson came aboard, sir." His tone is urgent, almost pleading. "What should I do? I've mentioned it numerous times, but he just knocks me back. I don't want to go behind his back, but…I don't know what else to do."

I'm shocked by what he's telling me, but I don't know what to do. I'm as powerless as he is.

"You can't run them during gamma shift?" I ask, grabbing wildly at straws.

"No sir, well, there are no crew in the armoury during gamma shift, not anymore. And he's had me polishing the floor plating for the last two shifts, when there's plenty of serious work to be done."

I chew my lip, not knowing what to do. It's no longer my place to make decisions about running the armoury, but neither can I ignore something which may affect the safety of the ship.

"Tell Commander Tucker when he comes on duty. Alert him to your concerns. You can tell him you've spoken to me, if you need to. Explain to him what a danger this could pose."

"Yes, sir, I will," he nods. He looks grateful, and I assume it's because he now knows he's doing the right thing.

"And Winston, we're the same rank now. Drop the sir. And you can speak to me anytime you need to, as can any of the crew."

"Yes, s…thank you." He turns and walks briskly away.

I vow to speak to Trip as soon as I can. There's little he can do at the outset, but he might be able to drop in and check on the running of the place, under the guise of being friendly. If he finds anything more serious wrong then he'll have to bring it to the attention of Captain Archer.

I have, in the past, been accused of being something of a control freak. At this moment I feel as if I couldn't do a thing to help Enterprise or her crew in an emergency. Even if I could get to the armoury or bridge, I still couldn't guarantee that the systems would be in working order. I've never felt so out of control in my life.

**

~Trip~

When the first query comes to me from a member of Malcolm's old crew I tell him I know it'll take a little while for them all to get used to the new routines Anderson's put in place.

When the second crewman comes to see me I say I'll look into it.

By the end of the week I have to admit there's a problem. I've spoken to Malc and he's beside himself with worry. I've even sent him into the armoury a couple of times during Gamma shift, under the guise of routine maintenance. Just to report back on the place. I mean, no one knows it like Malc does. It didn't do anything to calm him down, seeing how the place has been changed, but he could give me an accurate view on what he thinks has been neglected.

Then I take the plunge and go to see Jon.

Since what happened with Malcolm we've not exactly spent much time together. I think both of us feel a little awkward at the situation, but I don't want to throw away our friendship. I still think he was wrong to try and split Malc and I up. That was uncalled for, in my opinion. It was vindictive, and I hope that now time has passed, Jon can see how wrong he was to demand we split up. But since Malc and I have found ways to still see each other I'm feeling a little more forgiving. And maybe, if I talk to him, he'll see that Malc and I continuing our relationship has no effect on the rest of the crew or the running of the ship, and maybe he'll relax the stupid regulations.

I ask Jon if I can join him for breakfast. He looks surprised by the request, but agrees. Maybe he's ready to see what a screwed up situation this is too.

When I arrive in his mess there's an awkward silence before he gives a small smile and gestures to my usual seat.

I sit down and he pours me some orange juice. Then I shake my head.

"What's going on, Cap'n?" I ask, not able to hold it in any longer. "What happened to us?"

He looks shocked. "Trip, you…you know I had to do what I did. You know I couldn't just brush the incident under the carpet."

"And no-one expected you to! But…" And I just stop short of telling him just what I think of his blatantly unfair and heavy-handed way of dealing with the situation. I take a deep breath and start again. "Look, there are some problems I think you should know about. Anderson…he's not running the armoury like he should be." I hold up a hand to forestall Jon's reply. "I'm not saying that because of Malc, I'm telling you because every member of the armoury crew has approached me with concerns over the day-to-day running of the department."

Jon smiles his 'I understand what you're saying but remember - I know best' smile.

"Trip, I know it'll take a while to get used to Marty's command style. He's certainly a little…different to Malcolm. But you'll get used to it. He's well qualified and he came highly recommended."

"With respect, I don't care what his recommendations say. He isn't doing the job. There are crew coming to me who've done their jobs for years and telling me something isn't right." I can't help but let the irritation creep into my voice.

"Trip, you know as well as I do that Malcolm ran a tight ship. He was…overly cautious. I'm sure Marty is still working within Starfleet parameters - the crew just feel like they're doing less work because Malcolm's standards were so exacting. Believe me, if I thought there was a problem, I'd be the first to investigate. Have you been down there recently? It's spotless - in peak condition."


And I know I've lost him. Before it would only have taken a word from Malc or I to have him checking out any aspect of this ship or her crew. Now, when we both have valid concerns they're being ignored.

Maybe I should be glad Jon doesn't expect us to spend any buddy-time together anymore. It gives me more scope to sneak around behind his back and see Malc. It's a situation so far from ideal it makes me want to scream.


I suddenly realise I should have gone to T'Pol first. She would have listened to me, investigated, and then she could have been the one to speak with Jon. He would have listened to her, I'm sure.

But now if she mentions it he'll just think I've put her up to it.


That evening I wait in engineering for Malc to come on shift.

"Malc, I spoke to Jon," I begin, and I know he can read me well enough to realise I don't have good news. "He wouldn't listen to me. He told me the armoury's in peak condition and I would just have to get used to Marty's command style."

"On the surface, maybe, but that's because he's had my…the crew polishing the place up rather than doing the real work. Tell me, since he's been onboard have we run a single tactical alert? Do the crew know how their new commander would react? Do they know what he expects of them? Does he even know what to do?"

Malc can barely control his anger. I know he feels frustrated - powerless to do anything to help.

"I'll…I'll keep trying, I'm sure we can do something about this." I assure him, reaching out and gripping his arm.

He looks around quickly, presumably checking for other crew.

"There's no one else here, Malc," I say quietly.

He visibly relaxes, then looks up into my eyes.

"I'm not saying these things because I'm…jealous, or out of spite, you know that. I am truly worried that something will happen to Enterprise. I don't know what Starfleet were playing at, sending him here, but I will not let him put this ship or her crew in danger." Malc's eyes blaze as he speaks. I've rarely seen him so passionate about anything.

I pull him close into a quick, fierce, hug. "We won't let anything happen to Enterprise. I promise you."

He nods, then breaks away. "I must get on. I…I know you'll do everything in your power…sir." He looks suddenly flustered and moves to the duty screen, calling up the tasks scheduled for his shift.

I want to ask what's wrong, but I can't bring myself to. I'm getting used to his sudden mood swings, and I think a lot of it has to do with his position at the moment.

**
~Malcolm~

I can’t believe the captain doesn't take the concerns of his crew seriously. The man is going further down in my estimations with every passing day.

All I want to do is crawl into Trip's arms and block out the world.

I know he notices when I awkwardly try to remove myself, using the excuse of work. I need him so much sometimes, and I find the only way I can deal with what's happening is to cut myself off.

Trip leaves engineering and I try to immerse myself in my work. But I can't stop thinking about the armoury.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning I can't hold myself back any longer. I head for the armoury, finding it empty and in darkness. I turn on the overhead lights and walk to the main console. My hands fly over the terminal with an ease of familiarity.

I'm appalled by what I see. Basic routine is being ignored, the simplest tasks put off. The logs show a complete lapse in crew training and maintenance.

I can't stop myself now I've started uncovering the true scale of neglect. I head for the torpedo launch systems and pull open the housing. At first I don't notice anything wrong and I begin to hope everything will be all right - my fears unfounded. Then I pull off the next housing. And I see it immediately. A chain of burnt out relays, the scorch marks obvious. This is gross neglect.

I immediately set about changing them out.

The noise of the door clanging shut makes me jump out of my skin. Standing, leaning back against the heavy metal door, is Anderson.

He shakes his head. "Crewman. This isn't your department." He says it in his ridiculously cheerful voice, and I can't tell if he's trying to be threatening or not.

I try to bank down my anger at seeing the man who's putting the entire ship in danger.

"I noticed you had some relays that need changing…sir." I try to sound civil, but know that on some levels I fail.

"Well y'know, we can do all that just fine without your help. In fact, I was going t' get someone right on it in the morning."

It takes every fibre of my being to keep from asking what he had intended to do if we were attacked during the night.

"Yes, sir," I answer, not stopping my work, because frankly, I don't believe him.

"So don't let me keep you, Crewman Reed," he smiles at me, and I can almost hear his teeth grinding together.

"I just thought…as I was here, sir, I may as well finish the job…" And I already know there's no chance he's going to let me stay.

"Tell you what, Crewman, if you want, I'll try and integrate you into the security rota. How would you like to come down planetside next time? I'm sure I can put you on an escort duty. You'd like that, huh?"

I've never felt more belittled in my life. It sounds like he's offering me a trip to the playground. Yet at the same time I can't - won't - allow myself to give up an opportunity that means I can ensure the security of my captain.

So I nod. "Yes, I'd like that, sir." I feel crushed.

"See, we can come to an arrangement, huh? I mean, I know you still probably think I've taken over here and I'm doing your job. But we both know Starfleet picked me as the best man for the position. You know there were a lotta people didn't think a lieutenant should be in charge of important departments - let alone head of three departments at the same time. And now maybe we've all learnt a lesson." He pauses, then grins. "That's probably why they picked a higher rank to try and sort out the mess here, huh?"

I'm totally gobsmacked by the man's pure arrogance. I'm so shocked that I don't even respond. Can't think of a way to respond to the pure shite he's spouting.

He leans closer to me and tries to look slightly conspiratorial. "And by the time you're a lieutenant again, well maybe then I can find you a more important role, head of my beta shift, huh, huh?"

I almost choke, thinking of a hundred ways I could do some lasting damage to 'call me Marty'. But instead throw my tools into the box as quickly as possible and leave, throwing the sloppiest of half-salutes in Anderson's direction as I'm on my way out of the door.

Usually I would extend the same level of professional courtesy to every senior officer and never dream of allowing myself to be so lax, but I just can't make myself respect this man, I hate him in so many ways.


**
~Trip~

I make my way to the senior officer's meeting with slight trepidation. I've got a number of things running around my head I want to bring up, all trying to show Archer they have made a huge mistake in allowing Anderson be in charge of the security of this ship. I don't want Jon to think I'm just going on about it because I'm fighting Malc's corner though.

When I arrive everyone else is already there. Anderson is lounging against the console in the centre of the situation room, the polar opposite of Malc's old stance.

"Ah, Trip, we were just waiting for you," Jon smiles.

"Sorry, Cap'n," I answer on reflex.

"Right then, we'll get down to business."

We cover all the usual stuff, then Anderson speaks up. I know I'm not good at hiding my feelings, so I focus down on the console, not making eye contact with anyone, trying to word what I want to say to Jon.

"Cap'n Archer, I was wondering, this Minshara class planet we're approaching, will you be wantin' to go down t' the surface?"

His accent and mine might be similar sounding to some people, but I hope to God I never sound that dumb. And I know he's putting half of it on anyway, trying to get some of that 'good ol' boy' feeling going with Jon.

"Yes, Commander, it's probable we'll be going planetside. The crew could do with some R and R, and the Wandeena - the indigenous species - welcome visitors and traders. So if they can suggest a suitable area I'll draw up a rota for personnel to transfer to the surface. T'Pol and Hoshi have been finding out about their culture and customs, and they seem very open to meeting new species, so hopefully this will be one first contact that will go smoothly."

"Well, sir, if I could I'd like to ask you a favour," Anderson smiles.

"Er…of course, yes," Archer stumbles over his words, obviously not used to his security officer asking for 'favours'.

"Well see, I've been speaking to Crewman Reed. Mal would like to take a slightly greater role in the security of this ship, it seems. He's expressed an interest in being part of the team that goes planetside, so I wondered if I could put him on my roster."

Jon looks taken aback. He glances around the group nervously, his gaze finally resting on me.

"Um, stay behind afterward, Marty, we'll discuss it then," he finally says.

I swallow, then speak up, afraid of the reaction I might get.

"I was wondering, Cap'n, if we could discuss having some of the engineering crew work in the armoury for gamma shift?" There's a tiny pause as everyone looks at me, so I plough on, before I lose the courage. "It's just that - well, a few problems have come up - just little things, and I was wondering…if…maybe some of my crew could…help," I finish lamely. Somehow it sounded better in my head.

Anderson laughs loudly, breaking the somewhat awkward silence that's fallen. "Well hey, it's a kind offer, and I like that - you tryin' to look after me, 'cause I'm the new boy?" He laughs again. It seems like an act to me, but everyone else is smiling.

"No…I…"

"Don't you worry, Trip. As soon as I teach the crew that they're all responsible for this ship - that safety is everyone's business - we'll be right as rain. It always takes a while to get 'em onboard, get 'em used to thinking for themselves. We'll all be getting on with one another in no time though, then thing's'll run even smoother than ever."

Archer smiles, looking a little unsure of himself. "I'm sure Commander Anderson will ask for any help he needs - won't you Marty?"

Anderson nods, grinning at me.

"And Trip, that's a kind offer, so I assume you two can liaise over staffing as and when it's needed."

This isn't what I wanted, but if I push it then I look like I'm being unreasonable, especially now Anderson's said about having Malc working back in security and everything.

TBC...