as before...fic!

Fall Out - Pt. 2



~Malcolm~

I walk toward the sweet-spot, silently fuming.

As I climb up the ladder I know Trip's already waiting for me, the hatch slightly ajar.

I push it open with more force than is necessary, making it clatter on the deck plating.

Trip frowns from where he's sprawled against the wall, immediately putting his padd down and looking at me.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Have you…" I stop, knowing that the anger and venom in my voice isn't for him. "Have you seen the shore-leave rota?" I continue, sounding calmer, even if I don't feel it.

"No. Is there something the matter with it?"

Trip reaches for my hand and pulls me to sit next to him. Then he lays my hand on his thigh, the soft material of his tracksuit bottoms warm to the touch.

"He's put me down on the security list," I say, not needing to identify 'him'. There's only one person who makes me this angry and Trip knows it.

"I thought you wanted to be more involved with the security? He told Jon you'd asked to be." Trip sounds confused.

I wave a hand, not wanting to explain the full story.

"He just wants to rub my nose in the fact he's here doing my job. Anyway, that's not the point, he's put me down on the night shift, guarding the bloody shuttlepods and on-call for any night-time emergencies. Alone."

Trip puts his arm around my shoulders and holds me tightly.

"Do you want me to have a word?" he offers.

"No!" I pull away from him and stand up so hard the momentum launches me from the deck plating. For some reason this makes me even angrier, but there's little you can do to express your anger when you're in zero gravity. Every gesture just sends me spinning out of control.

Trip stands up and gently pushes off from the floor, catching me on his way past and wrapping his arms and legs around me from behind, his momentum continuing to carry us upwards, his body immobilizing mine.

I can't stay angry as he whispers endearments to me, holding me so gently. He moves one hand to stop us hitting the ceiling, allowing us just to float together.

He slowly releases his grip on me and spins me into his arms for a kiss.

"I didn't mean to insult you, saying I'd speak to him. I know you can defend yourself, I was just trying to help. You understand that, don't you?"

I nod. "And you know I will go and do my duty, as I've been asked to, because even if I'm only there at night, at least I'm doing something. At least I'm helping more than if I were up here cleaning out the organic waste recyclers." I wave my hand hard enough to send us spinning again and Trip reaches out to halt our progress, his fingertips trailing along the wall.

He obviously decides it'll be safer if we're not floating, so he flips us around until we're 'lying' on the ceiling, our bodies at right angles, my head resting on his stomach.

He strokes a hand through my hair, and we're content to stay in silence.

"Y'know at least if you're on night shift down on the planet I can come and see you. We can spend a bit of time together that way." Trip says, moving his hand to my shoulder and stopping where my rank pips used to be.

"I will be on duty," I remind him, but even to my ears it sounds half-hearted.

"So will I, I'm sure," he answers, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

We lie in silence again, just enjoying the closeness that is so often denied us now.

**

~Trip~

I thread my fingers through Malc's dark hair, gently messing it up, but he doesn't seem to mind.

He sighs audibly and I wish once more there was something I could do to help him. Malc doesn't accept help readily, preferring to rely on himself, not other people. And that isn't likely to change anytime soon, not when other people seem so adept at proving themselves stupid over and over again.

I know he's due on shift soon, so I start to say something about him changing out the entire power supply to one of the goods lifts. Then the entire ship rocks. We both fall from where we're 'lying' and crash to the ground. I can't stop myself falling on Mal, my hip hitting the back of his head hard. I sprawl half-into the access hatch - almost tumbling through before I feel Malc's steely grip around my wrist.

He pulls me back just as the ship-wide announcement goes out for all senior officers to report to their posts.

Malc jumps into the hatch and slides down the ladder, hitting the ground running. I follow him, assuming he's going to engineering until he heads for the turbo lift.

"Malc, where are you going?" I call.

"To the bridge of cou…" he stops and hangs his head for a moment. I feel for him, because in the heat of the moment it must be so easy for him to react on instinct, and so crushing to be reminded that he's no longer the one Jon will look to in times of peril.

"Where do you want me?" he asks.

"Main engineering," I answer without hesitation. I don't care what Jon says, I need the best team at my disposal and Malc is the best.

We run together, me shouting for status reports as soon as I'm inside the door, him heading for the consoles to bring up the reports.

"Impact to the hull," he calls out. "Energy signatures are nothing I've ever seen before. At a guess I'd say it wasn't enemy fire, more likely to be a natural phenomena."

He turns to look across to me and for the first time I see a trickle of blood running down his forehead. I open my mouth to say something, but he continues to speak.

"The readings show no definite modular wave patterns and as we've only been hit once I would think it unlikely we're under attack."

I hit the comm, "Tucker to bridge, are we under attack?"

There's a pause before I'm answered.

"There's no sign of another vessel, Trip, but stay alert," Jon says.

"There are readings showing some kind of…organic matter…at the impact point on the hull, sir," Malc shakes his head. "If it was organic it must be remarkably resilient to survive in a low pressure environment. I'd imagine the faint energy readings are from some sort of field surrounding it." There's a short pause as he works. "I've remodulated the scanners to pick up the energy readings and I'm not…hang on."

I've left the comm channel open, so everything Malc says is being relayed to the bridge.

"We are now reading a small vessel off our starboard side," T'Pol's voice states evenly.

I walk over to Malc, looking over his shoulder.

"I don't think it's a vessel, Sub-Commander," Malc replies. "Although it is showing an energy reading I don't believe it has a propulsion unit. I think it must be some type of automated defence drone."

I wait to hear Anderson's voice, not believing the man will stay silent through all this - he shouldn't, anyway. He should be the one supplying the captain with all the information Malc's calling up.

The ship gives a very slight movement under my feet and Malc's head whips up.

"We've just fired a torpedo," he says very quietly, for only me to hear.

Then the familiar over-loud, voice comes over the comm.

"It's been destroyed, no further damage to the ship."

Mal'c shakes his head. "I don't believe it posed a further threat to the ship, actually, Commander," he states very evenly.

"Better safe 'n sorry I always say, Crewman," Anderson answers jovially.

"Crewman Reed, that will be all," Archer's voice cuts across any comeback Malc might have.

I could punch Jon. Malc's just done all the hard work and still gets no thanks whatsoever for it. I vow to have a word with Jon, whatever Malc might have to say about it.


I hear some chatter from the bridge but ignore it, instead turning to Malc.

"You should get Phlox to take a look at your head."

He reaches up and runs his fingertips over the now-visible bump, smearing blood as he goes.

"It's nothing, sir. I'll wait until I know Enterprise is okay first."

For once I allow him to stay, because I can see myself that his injury isn't too bad. A simple cut, probably from me falling on him and him catching his forehead on the raised edge of the hatch.

"Okay, but as soon as we're done, straight to sickbay," I wait until he nods before turning away and checking on the warp drive.


As it turns out we manage to avoid a diplomatic incident with some quick talking by Jon and T'Pol.

The drone was part of the planet's defence system, and although whatever it shot at us gave us a nasty thump, it didn't do any real damage to Enterprise. Anderson was forced to apologise for destroying the mechanism, but the Wandeena were quite understanding. They explained that the 'ammunition' was somehow grown, hence Malc finding traces of organic matter on the hull. It was used because its energy field held certain properties that disrupted the defence shielding of many of the Wandeena's enemies. It was also a completely clean device, not making any waste in its production and not dangerous to any life forms the Wandeena had ever met. They apologised for it firing on Enterprise, explaining something about our warp signature being very similar to another species who had attacked them before, and were quite understanding about us returning fire - although a few of their government shown on the viewscreen didn't look quite as happy as the diplomat spokesman - but they just glowered from the back rows, staying out of the discussion between Archer and the spokesman.


The ruling body of the third continent on the main planet readily agreed for us all to have shore leave, indicating a few areas where we could spend time relaxing and giving us permission to enter two of the main cities that were equipped for trade and tourism from off-worlders.


For once we also escaped any sort of welcome banquet. One of the ambassadors assistants came aboard Enterprise and briefed the crew on certain customs that must not be flouted.

Apparently the Wandeena never ate in front of anyone outside their closest family and there were also strict rules on when during the day food could be consumed.

Jon and T'Pol were, however, asked to join in a ritual which sounded like it involved mainly sitting very still and staying very quiet. Luckily I was left out of that one, cos I'm no good at either of those things, especially not both at once.

It seemed most of the Wandeena's plans only involved Jon and T'Pol in fact, and when I asked T'Pol explained that, given the circumstances, they were to play the roles of heads of the family - the Wandeena happy to consider the crew as one big sort of family or clan. Of course, they understood we don't really work like that, but it was the scenario their traditions demanded, and they didn't mind that some races needed a little leeway to fit in.

It suited me fine anyway, as I intended to spend as much time as possible with or near Malc. Hopefully Jon would be busy with T'Pol doing all the first contact diplomacy stuff, and we could slip away when Malc wasn't working.

**

~Malcolm~

I'm in the small-arms room, off the armoury, checking the phase pistols for the away mission. Anderson hasn't exactly given me permission to be in here, but he did tell me to prepare for my security detail. This being the fifth phase pistol I've stripped down and worked on only means my preparation is more thorough than some people's.

A noise behind me makes me turn and I see Anderson approaching. I move so my back is to the weapon's cabinets and stand to attention.

"Sir," I greet him.

"Well, Crewman, how did I guess you'd be somewhere in my armoury?" he asks, with a forced cheer.

I stiffen slightly. "I'm preparing for my detail, as ordered, sir."

Anderson shakes his head, then picks up the phase pistol, sighting down it as if he's trying to act out a part in some gangster movie. "I don't remember ever tellin' anyone to come into my armoury," he says, his voice still light and cheery, but with a definite dark undercurrent.

I don't say anything, assuming he'll fill the silence. He does.

"The captain and I discussed it, and we've decided there's no need for phase pistols on the planet," he smiles. "So I suggest you get out, now. And don't let me find you in here again."

"But Sir, if we're having a security detail surely…"

Anderson cuts me off, and somehow the phase pistol in his hand is now aimed at my stomach. And I know it works. "There isn't a discussion here, Crewman. I've told you to leave my armoury. I've told you that you're going down to the planet without side arms. I told you that my crews will do all the work in the armoury. And, Crewman," he leans closer to me so I can smell coffee on his breath. "I know that you've been telling tales to Tucker. And I don't like that."

The silence that follows is palpable. Neither of us breaks eye contact.

"So, Crewman, you better leave, and if I find you in here again I'll have you shot as an intruder. If you start messing around when I'm trying to do my job on the bridge, butting in and telling Archer what you think is going on I'll tell him that you're not settling, working with your old crew, and I'll get you removed from Enterprise. And if anyone, especially Tucker, comes to me and tells me you've been sniffin' around and pickin' faults in here then you'd better hope you and I never meet in a lonely corridor or down in one of those cargo bays…you catch my drift?"

There's nothing I can do. He's never going to listen to me anyway, so I abruptly turn to leave. I get a small glimmer of satisfaction when he jumps as I start to move. He's nervous, scared of me, even when he's the one holding the phase pistol.

When I'm almost at the door he calls out.

"Crewman."

I take a deep breath and turn.

"I didn't want you down on the planet - but I think the captain's worried if I leave you up here without a responsible officer in charge you might start using the shuttlepods for target practise again."

And all I can think of is putting my fist so far down his throat that his smug smile will come out of his arsehole.

I walk out, not even allowing myself to slam the door.

**
~Trip~

We all line up for the shuttle journey down to the planet. Jon and T'Pol give out last minute advice on local laws and customs, although they seem pretty relaxed. I stand with them at the front of the room, the sea of eager faces all smiling at us. R and R is always an exciting time - whether you just want to spend time with your friends or the chance to mix with other species, there's something for everyone.

As I look around one person is separate from the crowd - both with his miserable expression and his uniform where everyone else is in civvies. Malc stands by the doorway, looking at his feet but otherwise in a perfect 'at ease' stance. I know he'll be listening to every word that Jon and T'Pol are saying. I know that when Malc is on duty every part of him is dedicated to the job.

I feel so sorry for him, although I know he wouldn't want me to. This was going to be a chance for us to spend a bit of time together, away from everyone else, but now Marty and Jon have conspired to have him on duty whilst I'm planetside. I know that Malc asked to have a chance to work in security again - he'd never give up a chance to protect Enterprise - but they could have worked this out differently.

Jon calls out the order to board the shuttles and as I make my way to shuttlepod one I pass close to Malc. I try to make eye contact, but he doesn't meet my gaze. His expression is dead, lifeless, as if every bit of him has given up. Except for the part driven by duty.

~Malcolm~

I'm the only one still in uniform as we head for the shuttlepod. Despite being the only security on duty the captain refusing permission for side arms means I'm not exactly capable of much.

Everyone else seems to be planning evenings out or excursions. I plan to secure the area and wait. At least I'm going to be doing something though - even if all I'm doing is waiting. I'm there for the crew, should anyone need me.

I watch as Trip joins the main group as they all walk toward the city centre. He didn't have time to tell me his exact plan, but I know he'll find a way to return to me sooner or later.

I quickly tidy the shuttles and make sure everything is prepared for a fast take-off. I also take a moment to check that the shuttle's phase pistol is in its locker. I'm sure Archer has forgotten about it, or there would have been no reason for him to be so strict about me not carrying personal weapons.

Then I walk around the shuttles, watching the perimeter as best I can in the gloom. I wish I knew what animal life might live in the trees surrounding me, but that's not something the captain ever thinks to ask about. I hope the crew are all safe. I don't like it when the captain just lets them roam around like this, with no set check-in times until an hour before the shuttle is due to return to Enterprise for the next groups to come down. If something does happen it could be over twenty-four hours before we know about it. It makes me feel uncomfortable, it gnaws away at the respect I have left for Archer and the hope I have for the rest of our mission.

A noise makes me turn sharply, although I know it's only Trip from the even tread and the quality of the footsteps. Starfleet issue boots somehow sound different to anything else in the galaxy.

"Commander," I murmur.

"How'd you know it was me?" Trip sounds slightly affronted.

"I can't give away all my secrets," I say quietly back, holding my arms out to him.

**

~Trip~

I stand in the secure circle of Malc's arms for a few moments before he pulls away, looking around again, always alert. I jump up and sit on the wing of the shuttle, hoping Malc will sit with me for a while. He doesn't, instead he's constantly moving, surveying the area. Once in a while he comes and leans against my legs, allowing me to rest my hands on his shoulders. I gently knead the muscles, feeling the tension in him.

There are voices suddenly from nearby. Malc jumps, but then relaxes again, and I wonder what he's heard that I haven't.

Then I see Travis and Hoshi walking toward us, and I understand he had identified them as friends long before seeing them.

They look a little…nervous, unsure of themselves. That would never have happened before. I begin to get an inkling of what Malc must have gone through recently. Even if everyone's being nice, if everyone's showing support, it's still changed for him. No one is treating him the same anymore. Including me.

After glancing at Hoshi, Travis is the one who speaks first.

"Malcolm," he starts, then looks at me. "Um, Commander, we didn't expect to find you here."

Hoshi looks nervous.

"If you want Malcolm all to yourself I'm afraid you'll have to join the queue," I joke.

"Did you need something?" Malcolm cuts in.

"No, no," Hoshi answer quickly. "We just…never get a chance to see you any more. We thought…"

Travis takes over, "We respect the captain, but this is stupid. And Commander Anderson is…he's no good, sir, he's…Enterprise needs you back, Malcolm, back where you belong. And we'll do anything we can to help you."

I smile, but then I see Malc shaking his head.

"Thank you, but Commander Anderson has been appointed by Starfleet. He is considered the best man for the position. Just…as long as everyone else keeps doing their job as best they can, working to protocol, nothing will go wrong."

Despite wanting to argue with Malc, I know he's right - we'll all only be putting ourselves in the firing line if we go about this the wrong way.

"We need T'Pol on our side," I murmur. "She's the only one left who can talk sense into Jon."

They look surprised, but I just shrug. "He won't listen to me any more."

Hoshi takes Travis' arm and starts to pull him away. "We'll leave you two alone," she says, smiling. "And we'll keep our eyes open for Commander Anderson - for the benefit of the whole crew."

As they leave I turn Malc to face me, then bend down and kiss him gently.

"Everyone's on your side," I say, my lips almost resting on his.

"Yes, everyone." He moves away, beginning another patrol of the area. But when he's moved a few steps away from me, he turns. "Everyone except anyone who matters."

I jump down and go after him, grabbing his arm. "You're saying we don't matter? You're telling me the whole crew of the Enterprise doesn't matter?" I'm incredulous.

"I don't mean it like that - you matter to me, of course you do. But you don't matter to command, you don't have influence over the people who can change this. You said it yourself, even the captain doesn't listen to you anymore, because he thinks you're biased. He knows you're too close to me."

Malc turns away, looking as if he's disgusted with himself. Then he spins back to me just as quickly.

"And the only way we can stop anything horrible from happening is by making sure every member of the crew does their job above and beyond. The other day Anderson gave me a dressing down for changing out blown relays in the armoury. They'd been ignored. Had we been attacked before I noticed them we wouldn't have had a chance. He ordered me to stay out of the armoury. That's when he put me on this bloody guard duty. Trip, you're the only one who can check on things like this now, and you have to."

I nod dumbly. "Sure, I can try to…I mean, but we're the same rank, it might be hard to explain why I'm in his department."

Malc hisses with exasperation. "Find an excuse! You were always in the armoury when I was in charge."

"Well things have changed now," I feel my voice rising.

Of course they've changed, he knows that better than I do.

"I'll try," I say more quietly, "I'll do anything I can."

Malc nods, a sharp little movement, betraying just how wound up he is. "I'm just going to check around." And he walks away. I don't follow.

**
~Malcolm~

I take far longer than I normally would walking the perimeter that I'd defined for myself earlier.

Two sides of the landing area are dense woodland, the local wildlife audible but not visible in its depths. I stand for a while, just listening. I can hear the city, a deep rumble in the background. It's close by, easy walking distance, yet sounds almost ethereal, as if the sound surrounds me, but the source is invisible.

It continues to surprise me when people are vocal in their support of me. I don't know if I'm surprised I've come to mean so much to them, or if I'm surprised that they'd come out and say it. I wonder what I'd do, if the situation were different. Would I approach a disgraced officer? Something inside me makes me doubt it, and I feel a little ashamed.

Eventually I turn away from the gloom of the undergrowth and complete my circuit, ending by walking up behind the shuttlepod. Trip is still there, a shadow against the white hull. I make my approach noisy, so I don't startle him.

"You should get back to your hotel," I say to him quietly. "People will wonder where you are."

He gives a little huff of laughter and shakes his head. "When I left Marty was telling stories to a bar-full of crew."

The use of Anderson's first name sends a little stab of pain through me. I know Trip doesn't realise he's done it, and I know it shouldn't matter to me. But it's just one more step on the way to him being accepted by the crew - by Trip.

For a split second I have the irrational thought that Anderson could take my place in Trip's bed too. I know I'm being completely stupid though, and almost laugh out loud at myself.

"Won't you get lonely?" Trip asks, reaching out and pulling me close with an arm around my waist.

"I brought a good book with me," I answer. Although I have no intention of reading it on-duty.

Trip nods and jumps down off the shuttle wing. He glances around, then leans close to me, inviting a kiss. I can feel his hot breath on my skin. I close my eyes and concentrate on the feel of his lips on mine. His touch is light, gentle, soft. And not nearly long enough.

He leaves, looking back every so often. I wait until he's out of sight before deciding to do another perimeter check. Totally unnecessary, but it's something to do.


~Trip~

I'm almost back to the hotel, head down, hands in my pockets, watching my boots scuff through the dirt, when I sense someone close by. I look up to see Marty walking towards me.

"Charlie! Where've you been? We've just been having a few laughs in the bar."

His voice is overly loud in the quiet street, and I flinch a little.

"I felt like taking a walk - seeing some of this place," I answer quietly.

"Well I can tell you their beer's good," he slaps me on the arm, laughing. His breath smells of the local brew.

I smile politely, and remind myself of Malcolm when he first met me. My smile becomes a little more genuine at the memory.

"Where are you going?" I ask, seeing that he has a bag in one hand.

"Oh, same as you, taking a walk, seeing the place." His tone has changed, become more abrupt. I get the impression he doesn't want me to ask anything further, and I'm happy not to. I'm just glad I'll be able to get a drink in the bar without him in there.

"I'll probably see you in the morning then," I answer, already moving off down the street. He nods and waves and continues on his way. I breathe a sigh of relief, standing and taking in the stillness and near silence for a moment.

I find the bar of the hotel still reasonably busy, a lot of our crew, but there are also a wide variety of other traders, from on and off-world. Some species I can identify, most I can't.

I speak to a few of my engineering guys and take recommendations on what to drink, then settle down for a quiet night, chatting with people as they come and go.


~Malcolm~

Someone is making a noisy approach, scuffing along the dusty road toward the landing site. I stand half-facing that direction, but aware that the noise could be masking other sounds - designed to distract me.

Then I see the figure and recognise it immediately. I was taught never to underestimate an enemy, but I can't imagine that Anderson has the brains or the wish to dupe me into some form of surprise attack. Still looking around I approach the commander. He smiles at me and stumbles slightly.

"Sir?" I say, wondering why he's here.

"Mal - how're you doin'?" he slurs slightly, or maybe he's just putting his accent on more than usual.

"Sir?" I question again.

"Jus' thought I'd come see how you were getting' along out here," he makes a wild gesture that takes in our surroundings.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, sir," I answer, wondering whether he's drunk.

"Good, good."

There's such a change between how he is now and how he was acting when he found me in the armoury that I can't help but be suspicious.

"Is there something I could help you with, sir?" I ask once the silence has stretched for an uncomfortable length of time.

"Oh, ah, I…I jus' thought I'd come and sit here a while. Maybe we could talk, y'know, off duty." He hitches himself onto the stubby wing of the shuttlepod and slumps against the pod itself - a shabby parody of Trip's visit not long ago.

"I'm not off duty," I point out, dropping the 'sir', because I'm sure he won't notice, and I don't think he deserves that level of deference.

"I was in the bar," he says, ploughing on and ignoring my comment. "An' I overheard a few of the crew, y'know, they were talking, idle gossip, about the ship." He looks at me pointedly, so I nod, not sure what else to do.

"Well," he reaches into the bag and pulls out a bottle of drink, offering it to me. I presume it's the local form of alcohol, so shake my head. He shrugs and opens it, before continuing with his story. "I heard your name, y'know, so I thought…" He stops for a swig of the drink. I'm hardly surprised that I'm the focus of some of the scuttlebutt, so I don't quite know where this is going.

"Well, I thought I should listen in, y'know, see what they were sayin', put them right if there were rumours or whatever."

I nod, knowing that he would never have had any intention of doing such a thing - he just wanted some gossip.

"Well lucky for you I did," he nods and grins. "Cos they…well, I know you pro'ly don't want to hear this, but you should know, they were sayin' that you…you and Charlie were…" he looks pointed, as if it's obvious.

I look blankly at him, trying to work out if he's saying what I think he's saying.

He looks a little frustrated at my lack of response. "Y'know, that you two are…they're sayin' you're a coupla fairies - queer. I just thought you should know. That's the sorta shit Charlie don't need, cos he's an officer, y'know, if they start thinking he's one of them gay boys." He makes a limp wristed gesture, just in case I missed the point, but leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid. "You should speak to the other crew - you're on a level with 'em, it'll be easier for you. Tell 'em they could be fuckin' up a good career if they say them things."

I only wish he were wrong, but I know that in some places homosexuality still isn't easily accepted. Yes, the regulations state that there should be no discrimination, not for race, species, sexuality, religion - nothing. But you tell that to people who are passed over for promotion time and again - people who are good at their jobs. I heard the sort of institutionalized prejudice that still exists in some places from my father when I was too young to know what a queer was, or have any idea why they shouldn't serve on a naval ship. Now I'm hearing it from one of my own superior officers, albeit an inebriated one.

I try to keep hold of my rising anger. I count to ten, I take a deep breath, and still I know if I open my mouth it won't be pleasant. And inside me a small voice is saying that outwardly Trip and I aren't even in a relationship anymore. As far as the rest of the universe is concerned, that stopped the moment the pips left my shoulder.

"I very much doubt it would bother either Captain Archer or anyone else, were either Trip or I homosexual," I answer coldly.

"It's easy for you to say," he nods. "But other folk don't think the same way. If Charlie wanted his own command…who's gonna want to serve on a ship with a queer cap'n? A crew like to know they can sleep safe in their beds, crewman, they don't want to have no girlyboy in charge of their ship - Christ, next you know it'll be all about what colour the curtains are in the ready room, instead of the important stuff people like you an' me care about - the fighting an all."

I'm lost for words. It obviously hasn't crossed his mind for one moment that the 'rumour' could be true. I guess the beer is making him more loose-lipped than normal, and certainly a little friendlier toward me, but every word that drops from his lips hits my estimation of him like a lead ball, dragging it further down than I ever thought possible.

He jumps off the wing and hits me on the arm. "Anyway, I'll leave it to you, now you know."

I nod dumbly, words escaping me.

Anderson salutes me with the bottle and walks away, weaving as he scuffs through the dirt.


The night drags on, and I can't stop thinking about Anderson's visit.

Despite the man being a total cretin and an embarrassment to the fleet, one thing he said stays in my head.

'…other folk don't think that way. If Charlie wanted his own command…'

And as much as I hate to admit it, he might just be right. What if Trip does want his own command? He can't exactly put a rider on his promotion that he wants me to serve with him. And maybe Anderson's right, maybe the average crewmember won't feel comfortable with a homosexual commander.

I try to imagine what it would be like if Archer were gay. Hell, maybe he is, and we just don't know about it. I suppose the real question is how everyone would feel if Archer was seeing a junior crewmember. I know I wouldn't approve, whatever the sex of the crewmember involved.


~Trip~

I wake early the next morning, my head a little fuzzy from the drink I consumed last night. I get up and wash, then head for the breakfast room I'm there early enough for their eating period to still be on. I pick up some food - there are some strange pastry-bread things that smell nice - and put them in one of the small bags provided. Of course there are no tables or anywhere to sit, because of the Wandeena's customs, so I head off toward the shuttlepods. I figure the least I can do for Malc is take him some decent food.

As I approach the 'pods there doesn't seem to be any movement, but before I can get close Malc appears. I still don't know what sixth sense makes him more alert to danger than anyone else, but I've been grateful for it on many occasions when he's saved our skins.

"Bought you breakfast," I call out as I approach, and I see him smile.

We sit in a companionable silence in the shuttlepod whilst we eat, although Malc keeps looking around and out of the hatch, as if he expects something to happen. After we've finished he stands up and reaches out his hand to me.

"Walk?" he asks. I know he means 'perimeter check' really, but I'm still touched that he wants me to go with him.

"Sure." I fall into step with him, and when he releases his hold on my hand I refuse to do the same.

"I…was thinking," he starts.

And something in his tone tells me this isn't going to be a fun conversation.

~Malcolm~


There's never going to be a good time to ask questions like these, but I'm no coward.

"I…was thinking," I pause. "One day, would you want to captain your own ship?"

Trip doesn't answer for a moment, but I can feel his gaze upon me. I find something to study in the trees, not wanting to make eye contact in case he reads something into the emotion I know is showing in my eyes.

"I guess, one day maybe. But not now. I like my job, I can't imagine…how would I command a ship, knowing someone else was in charge of her engine? It'd be like…like you, putting your faith in someone else running your securi…" and he stops talking, realising what he's said. Then he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I…sometimes it's easy to forget."

"Well it's true," I say. "I don't feel comfortable with him in charge - no one does. Well, no one except Captain Archer. Anderson's allowing standards to slip and endangering Enterprise and her crew."

"Well exactly - I mean, so…one day, maybe I'd consider it - having my own ship, I mean, but for now, I'm happy where I am. With you by my side," he smiles.

Even though it's the answer I wanted I can't help but wonder if he's just saying it to make me feel better.


~Trip~

Once we're safely back on Enterprise and every crew rotation has been down for shoreleave we leave the system. Jon is still full of enthusiasm for the Wandeena, and I'm forced to stay after dinner to listen to him telling me all about their customs and religion.

It is fascinating, but my attention wanders. I've noticed since we've been back on board Malc seems to have changed - I mean, I know he has to try and make the situation as bearable as possible, but now he's coming across as almost…subservient. It's obvious he's deeply worried about the security situation on the ship, and I am trying to drop into the armoury as often as possible, but I've got my own things to do.


I debate going and speaking with T'Pol. I know she'll take the situation seriously, and even if it means Jon gets mad at me, at least I'll be secure in the knowledge I've done all I can to help Enterprise.

The next duty I'm on the bridge for once, and I decide that after the shift is over I'll catch T'Pol and discuss the situation with her. I sit at the engineering station and try to plan out what I'll say, the only sound the hum of the engines and the occasional beep from someone's console.

Without warning the entire ship shudders, almost throwing me from my seat. At first I think the cause must be on Enterprise - sensors should have alerted us to any other dangers.

"Report," Jon shouts as he runs in from his ready room.

"We have been hit by an unidentified object," T'Pol states calmly.

I start, then quickly pull up the data on my console and see she's right - it wasn't internal at all. Something must have managed to get within firing range.

"Tactical," Jon says, as he goes to stand over Travis, seeing what effect the impact has had on our helm for himself.

There's no answer, and I turn to see Marty staring at the screen, his hands not even moving over his console.

"Tactical!" Jon's almost shouting, waiting to hear the report that the weapons are online, shielding is up and what damage has been done.

"For God's sake, Malcolm, report!" Jon looks up.

And for a millisecond, everyone freezes - but we can't afford to lose any time, so Jon's faux pas is disregarded for the moment. Except I can see Marty's turning white. I wonder if it's from fear or rage, but have no time to worry about him.

My hands fly over my own console, trying to call up the information Jon needs, but then, over the comm, comes a familiar voice.

"Aft hull plating polarised at 87 per cent, weapons online, sir."

The calm English voice galvanises people into action, and I look down to see what information I can supply.

"There's nothing on sensors, cap'n. Whatever hit us, I can't see what it was or where it came from."

"We have a sensor anomaly astern, port side," T'Pol says. "I'm re-running scans."

"No hails are being answered," Hoshi supplies.

"Find out what's going on," Jon says. "And Commander, either do your job or get off the bridge and send me some competent staff to replace you."

Marty stares at Jon, then stutters a little and stares down at his console.

"There's nothing to get a weapon's lock on, Captain ," Malcolm continues over the comm. I presume he's in the armoury. "We were hit by a round loaded with solid fuel though - the hull wasn't breached, but there is extensive scorching from the explosives used."

T'Pol begins to call something out when we're hit again, and I presume she was trying to give us warning.

"I've locked on to the source of the last launch," Malcolm calls.

"Hoshi?" Jon calls, but Hoshi shakes her head to show that no one has answered any hails.

"Fire torpedoes, Malcolm," Jon commands.

There's a very slight tremor and I watch my sensor readings carefully. On the view screen we see a definite impact.

"Fire at will," Jon calls. "Hoshi, keep listening for a surrender."

"Captain, the torpedoes are damaging whatever shielding is cloaking our attacker," T'Pol reports. "Sensors are now beginning to pick up readings.

"Biosigns?"

"None so far," T'Pol answers.

We have to unleash at least another four torpedoes before Marty finally says, "I think…their weapon system has been damaged. It's not powered up anymore."

Correspondingly we stop firing. Whatever the thing out there is, it's now visible. It doesn't look like a ship, but I could be wrong.

We establish it's lost all power and is seriously damaged. Jon turns to Marty and gives him a hard stare.

"Commander Anderson, my ready room, now." Then he turns to the rest of us. "T'Pol, complete your scans and prepare a full report. Trip, go and check engineering and the armoury."

I nod and stand up, hoping that I am reading between the lines there correctly and he's really asking me to check on Malcolm.


I do drop in on engineering first, and check everyone's okay. As we've taken no serious damage there are mainly people working on cleaning up after the impact damage.

Then I head for the armoury and open the doors to see Malc running the clean up. Whenever we're forced into taking offensive action the armoury always falls into a different mode - although everything still has its place. I look around and notice the safety casings and racking tethers from the torpedoes we have fired thrown into the corner as usual - and obviously the racking needs refilling from the cargo bays. At the moment there's also a torpedo lying on the floor between the two launch tubes - that's not normal. Torpedoes should either be in the launchers or on the racking. Malc looks like he's just preparing to hoist that one with the ceiling mounted grappler.

"You did a good job," I call, addressing everyone. "The Cap'n was impressed."

I know Jon didn't exactly say that, but I feel like the armoury crew deserve a bit of buoying up, especially as they probably had to work around Anderson's chaotic planning of the place. A few of them smile back at me, relief clear on their faces. Then Ensign Garaghon steps up. "Sir, with respect, we couldn't have done it without Lieu…Crewman Reed. We…we haven't done any attack scenarios for ages - and things have changed," he glances down at the torpedo on the floor, and I wonder what was wrong with it.

Malc finally stands up and looks across at me. He looks almost embarrassed at having been caught back on his own territory. For the first time I notice that he's not in his uniform, instead wearing jeans and his blue undershirt. He also has bare feet. I guess he was probably in bed, or at least in his quarters off duty when the first impact came.

"Malcolm," I gesture to the armoury office, indicating I want to speak to him in private.

"Garaghon, Dennis, get that torpedo onto a workbench or something. Then re-stock the racking."

Once his orders have been given and answered by a chorus of 'aye, Sirs' he follows me. I notice that no one even thinks to question their being ordered around by a Crewman. Malc still commands their respect, if not their department.

When we're in the office I look out over the room. Malc stands at ease, watching me.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Sir?" he asks, and I can tell he thinks he's in trouble.

"Trip, not 'sir'," I correct. "Were you off duty?" I ask, gesturing at his attire.

He nods. "I didn't have time to get into my uniform."

"Did you hear what was going on on the bridge, before you started reporting in?" I ask.

Malc shakes his head. "I just knew there had been no information given regarding the tactical situation. I hope the captain didn't mind…I didn't know what else to do. Do you think he'll discipline me?"

I smile and shake my head. "We needed that information, it didn't matter who it came from."

"So he's not angry?" Malc looks genuinely worried.

"No." I look Malc up and down, seeing that his hands are greasy and his t-shirt and jeans are also stained from loading the torpedoes. "Go and get changed. I'll come and find you once I've checked everyone else is okay."

Malc looks down at himself, then nods gratefully.

"And put some boots on, huh?" I grin.

He smiles back and walks away, so I step back out into the armoury to find out what else the crew have to say about the department's readiness for action. Or lack thereof.


~Malcolm~

I walk away from Trip, relieved Archer isn't annoyed by my actions. The deck plating is cold on my feet as I walk toward my quarters, and I re-run my actions in the armoury through my mind, as I always do, mentally checking that I did everything I should have done. I was impressed by the crew and the way they reacted, and in small way I feel proud that they haven't forgotten me, despite Anderson's bad examples and poor discipline. They still know how I like things done, and they worked without complaint or question.

Someone is walking quickly down the corridor toward me, so I move aside slightly without looking up, assuming they're probably dealing with part of the aftermath of the attack.

The fist that hits me in the face knocks me from my feet, and I hit the wall as I go down heavily. I grunt in pain as I land on the floor, then a boot kicks me hard in the stomach. I curl up, protecting my head as a reflex, and look up to see Anderson.

"You fucking queer," he hisses at me, spittle flying from his lips. "Mother-fucking arse-licker."

He swings another kick at me, this time hitting my arms as he aims for my head. I grab for his foot, trying to bring him down, but all I do is leave myself open for a further attack as he tries to stamp on my face. Sheer desperation gives me the strength to swing my legs around and entangle them in his, throwing him off balance. But as he staggers backwards he lands his heel on the side of my foot. I shout out in pain as I feel his full weight crushing it, twisting my ankle over. Then there are loud footsteps by my head and I curl up in defence.

But no more blows come - instead Archer lands heavily on Anderson beside me on the deck in some form of rough tackle.

I start to drag myself toward the nearest comm point when security come running around the corner, and I realise Archer must have called them. I lean against the wall out of the way and try to catch my breath.

"Take him to the brig," I hear Archer order, and he sounds angrier than I've ever heard him before.

Another voice makes me look up.

"Cap'n?" Trip asks, emerging from the nearby turbolift.

I watch him as he takes in the scene, and as his gaze rests on me he starts. "Jesus, Malc? What happened?"

"I just saw Commander Anderson," Archer answers, pushing himself to his feet. "He was…attacking Malcolm."

Trip drops to his knees beside me and reaches out to touch my face.

"I heard you call for security and Phlox - I…" he shakes his head and turns back to me. "Are you all right?"

I nod groggily.

"Think you can walk with me to sickbay?"

I nod again and watch with a certain detachment as Trip wipes his bloodied fingers on his uniform before reaching out to help me up. And everything's fine until I try to put some weight on my injured foot, at which point I almost collapse again, wrenching my abused stomach muscles in the process. I decide I'd really rather not move.

"Come on, Malc, it's not far," Trip coaxes. I just shake my head. Then I'm saved by Phlox's arrival.

"Captain?" he questions, then notices me propped up between Trip and the wall. "Ah, Mr Reed, let's have a look at you then."

I stay as still as I can whilst he runs his little medi-scanner over my obvious injuries.

"Ah yes, no serious damage, although I fear you may suffer some rather spectacular bruising. Are you injured elsewhere?"

I point downwards. "My foot, Anderson landed on it."

Phlox kneels down, and Trip gives me a reassuring squeeze.

As Phlox carefully goes about his work I find myself wondering about Anderson. I saw security taking him away, and I wonder what Archer will do to him.

"Yes, you seem to have two broken bones in your foot. I suggest we get you to sickbay."

Knowing Phlox doesn't enjoy close physical contact I look to Archer. "Captain?" I ask hesitantly, not sure of his reactions to me anymore.

He looks across to me, and I hold my arm out, hoping he'll come and support me with Trip.

He realises what's required and moves to my side. The look he gives me is wry and full of apology. "Malcolm, I -"

I cut him off, "Thank you for stopping him, captain," I say. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't…"

Archer shakes his head, but I think he's as lost for words as I am.

We reach sickbay and I sit on a bed, my feet dangling over the side. Trip and the captain both fuss and ask if they can get me anything or do anything to help. Trip I can understand - the captain…his change of attitude bemuses me, but right now I'm more focussed on the spreading pain from my foot than on his sudden change of attitude.

I can't help but compare them - the left is normal, the right already swollen and showing signs of darkening bruises. It looks a little misshapen, but I don't know if that's because the bones are displaced or is just the result of the soft tissues swelling.

Trip stands by me, his hand on my back, ignoring Archer, or maybe daring him to say something. I really don't care anymore.

Phlox is gathering things from around sickbay, so for a moment the three of us are on our own.

"What are you going to do with him?" Trip asks.

"With who?" Jon asks.

~Trip~


I don't know if Jon's being deliberately being obstructive or just plain dense.

"With Marty…Anderson. What are you going to do about him?"

"I…he'll be disciplined."

I rub my hand gently over Malc's back, noticing that blood has started to drip off his chin.

"I don't see how you can want that man on this ship," I continue. "Ever since he's been here he's done nothing but harm. He's a danger to the ship and the crew. I've been workin' harder, the crew have been doing their jobs twice over and Malc's spent more time trying to put right all the things that incompetent ass has done than doing his scheduled tasks. Can't you see you made a mistake and now you're so damn stubborn that soon someone's gonna pay for it with their life?"

Archer stares back at me, not saying a word. I expect him to be angry. I'm ready for a fight, I'm finally ready to break my silence.

"I…I'll have to speak to command," he finally says, then turns and strides out of sickbay. I guess the battle of wills has been won. Or maybe he's finally realised that his loyalties should lie with me - with this ship and her crew, not just with Starfleet command.

I smile at Malc, trying to buoy his spirits. In truth, I don't know what Jon's going to say to the admirals, but I hope he's seen sense.


~Malcolm~

Phlox approaches me, pushing one of his trolleys filled with equipment.

"If you could turn around and rest your foot on this," he brandishes a small surgical cloth. "I'll shortly begin the bone regeneration treatment, once I've set them back in the correct positions. But first we'll just check your facial injuries though, hmm?"

I carefully put my foot up on the bed, but even my gentle movements sending sickening waves of pain through my foot and leg. Trip moves closer and rubs up and down my arm gently. I welcome his support, focussing on his touch rather than Phlox's. Then Phlox tips my head back and looks into my eyes.

He asks me all the usual questions regarding my vision and how I'm feeling, then scans my face with his little machine.

Most of the bleeding has stopped anyway, so he hands me a cool-pak, then presses a hypo against my leg. Almost immediately the pain disappears, quickly followed by all feeling in my leg.

It's a relief, but the drugs slowly begin to affect the rest of my body and I sink backwards, Trip's hands support me on the way down but I feel too woozy to thank him. Once I'm resting back on the bed Trip gently holds the cool-pak to my face. I try to smile, but I don't know if I manage it.

When I open my eyes again Trip's still standing over me, but Phlox has gone.

"Hey," Trip smiles down at me. "How do you feel now?"

I make a quick mental check. "Numb. Okay. What…did Phlox do?"

"He just gave you the first go over with the bone-thingy. You know the drill," Trip's grinning, so I know I must be all right.

"And…the captain?" I ask.

Trip shrugs. "He hasn't been back down."

I nod slowly.

"It'll be all right, Malc. It'll be all right."

I nod again, and I believe him.


~Trip~

Malc falls asleep again. Phlox said he'd be tired after the treatment, so I figure I'll take the opportunity to go try and sort things out with Jon. I tell Phlox where I am and assure him I'll be back, then I head for the bridge.

When the turbolift opens I stand for a second, looking at Jon. I wonder what he's been through in the past few months. We haven't exactly spoken much recently. I wonder how long ago he realised he'd made a mistake. How long ago he realised he couldn't undo what he'd done.

"Cap'n?" I say quietly.

"Trip. My readyroom?"

And I realise he's asking, not ordering.

"Sure."


Once we're inside Jon stands looking out of the window, his arms crossed. After a long pause he begins to speak.

"I…you were right. I was angry and I took it out on Malcolm. It doesn't mean he didn't make a mistake, because he did - a serious mistake, one which cannot go unpunished…but…I overreacted. I know I did."

I nod, waiting for him to go on.

"But what's been done is…it's beyond my control now. It was Admiral Weil who passed down the order, and if Malcolm wanted to appeal…well, you know the process."

I take a deep breath, knowing what I'm about to say could change our relationship forever.

"Cap'n? I mean…Jon…" I hold my hands behind my back, a pose I see Malc adopt almost everyday when he's talking to people. "I…there's…"

"Spit it out, Trip," Jon smiles.

"The security cameras - Malc changed them. I mean, what you saw, what everyone saw, I don't know how, but he changed it. It wasn't Malc's fault that the torpedoes were switched to live firing, it was mine." The silence stretches, so I continue. "I went into the armoury, I hugged him, but…sort of…on the console, we hit the button, or something, I don't even know. I just know Malc changed the film to protect me, and now…this is all my fault. And I'm sorry, but I can't change what happened."

Jon just stares at me and I stumble on.

"I wanted to tell you before - but…I couldn't find the right time, the right words. Then Malc told me not to. He knew there was no point in either of us suffering any more. Don't…punish Malc for this. I knew what he did - or, I realised, anyway. He changed the tape to stop me being punished, he blames himself for what happened. He decided to take the fall because he felt guilty for not noticing. Really though, that torpedo - it would have hit the 'pod if he hadn't reacted so quickly."

Jon stays perfectly still, looking at me, his expression giving nothing away.

"I think this is a conversation we should be having with Malcolm," he says bluntly and walks passed me, through the door. I turn quickly and follow at his heel.


As we make our way through the ship I haven't got a clue what Jon's feeling. He gives nothing away, although he's walking briskly and not looking at me - not usually a good sign.

We finally reach sickbay and Jon strides towards Malc's bed.

Malc's sitting up, and has obviously talked Phlox into letting him have a padd. He glances over and notices Jon, immediately trying to sit a little straighter. "Captain?" he glances quickly at me, then looks back at Jon.

"Malcolm. Trip has just told me what really happened - how that torpedo was fired," Jon says, looking at Malc hard.

"Uh…Sir?" Malc shoots me a desperate glance.

"Don't play dumb with me, crewman," Archer snaps. "Is it true? Did you really change the security vids to protect Trip?"

Malc looks hunted, trapped. He carefully puts down his padd and folds his hands in his lap.

"I did what I believed to be the best thing for Enterprise, sir," he answers carefully.

"And you still think that? You still think that by taking the blame for this Enterprise is better off?"

Malc looks down at his hands, then back to Jon.

"No, sir. Not anymore."

Jon looks at me, then back at Malc. "Gentlemen, we need to come to some agreement here. When I spoke to command and explained what happened today regarding Commander Anderson's performance and his subsequent assault on Crewman Reed some things were decided - for the good of the ship. Malcolm…you've been re-promoted, but…only to Ensign," he turns to me. "In light of what I've heard today…I'm not sure what the two of you want to do. If you want, I can call headquarters back and we can ask if there can be some sort of…retrial, I don't know…"

Malc looks at me, then back to Jon. "Captain? Couldn't we just…let it stand, as it is?"

"You'd be happy with that, Ensign Reed?" he asks.

"Sir…I'd be happy if, if…would you consider taking me back as your chief armoury officer?" Malc asks.

Jon smiles widely, glancing across at me. "There's no one I'd rather have. Security, armoury, tactical - it's all yours, if you want it. It would make you the most junior rank ever to hold any of the positions, and if you don't want that responsibility without the rank to go with it…well, I would understand."

Malc gives me a look, obviously waiting for my reaction.

I shrug. "It's up to you, Malc. If you want the truth to come out, I don't mind. Whatever would make you happy."

"Then…sir, I'd be happy to take the position of ensign. But…with one more condition," he looks up at Jon, his expression determined.

"Go on."

"That you allow Trip and I to…I mean…the fraternization rules, sir, could they be…relaxed?"

The smile that plays on Jon's lips tells us the answer and I can't help but grin.

"As soon as you're back on your feet, Ensign, get Trip to bring you up to speed on the briefings for senior officers. As for Commander Anderson…"

"I don't think it would be appropriate for me to deal with his case," Malc answers. "I'm sure one of the other security staff will take care of it."

Jon nods. "Perhaps you're right."


~Malcolm~


I feel a little sad, moving my few belongings out of Tim's cabin, although I can't imagine he's going to be sorry to get his room back to himself.

Suddenly my old quarters seem a little lonely, a little large. My possessions don't fill half the space, and as I look around the place I don't feel at home. On my desk, next to a pile of padds, lie the rank pips I've been issued, yet to be attached to my uniform. The chime goes for the first time since I've been back and I limp toward the door, opening it to reveal Trip. As if it would be anyone else.

"Ready to come home?" he smiles.

I turn to look at the small grey room. "It doesn't feel like…home," I say quietly.

Trip takes my arm and steers me out of the door. "I mean our home," he says gently.

We walk down the corridor arm in arm, toward his cabin - one I'm much more familiar with. And I realise it's never been the ship that's 'home', it's always been her crew.

Trip opens his door and moves aside, gesturing me in. I move to the window and look out at the stars. The view, though ever-changing, is always familiar. Trip stands behind me and wraps his arms around me.

"All right now?" he says softly, his breath whispering over my skin.

I nod, turning my head to rest my cheek against him.

We stand in silence.



~Fin?