The BLTS Archive - Better Off First in the Swingin' on a Star series by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com) --- Archive: Yes to EntSTCommunity, Tim Ruben, BLTS. All others, please ask Beta: shaksepearespot Spoilers: Unexpected, Oasis, and Precious Cargo N.B.: Post- "Precious Cargo." For some unknown reason, I'm going to stick to the canon with this one. If you don't like it, blame my muse, but don't pick a fight with her -- she could desert me. ~RB --- "I am not jealous." "Not jealous?" Trip snorted. "Yeah, right. Admit it. You wish it'd been you who got to play knight-errant and rescue the princess, First Monarch, whatever. You're positively green with envy, Malcolm." Malcolm frowned at his friend. He was becoming tired of the direction Trip was taking this conversation and considered leaving, whether he was finished with dinner or not. "If you ain't jealous, then why have you been such a sour- puss ever since I got back? Answer me that one." "That whole incident has put me out of sorts. I don't like having the people whose safety I'm responsible for abducted, however unintentionally." Trip seemed placated by the response, and Malcolm hoped he wouldn't press the issue. "Yeah okay, I c'n see that, but I'm back, safe 'n' sound. Had a little adventure, a little romance... She an' I fought like cats 'n' dogs most of the time ... kinda reminded me of us in the shuttlepod, 'cept you follow orders a little better. Course, she's a hell of a lot prettier 'n you." Malcolm was ready to scream. He was already painfully aware of Trip's preference for females of the exotic alien variety, he didn't need it pounded into him. There had been a time when he thought the beautiful blonde might be considering a relationship with him. Now, he knew better, and it hurt to have his hopes shattered. If only Trip would stop his, unknowing, recitation of why his hope had been futile, Malcolm could start picking up the bits of his heart and reform the wall around it. --- He could hear the sound of Trip and Travis' laughter, and it was drawing closer. For once, he hoped they would find somewhere else to eat their breakfasts, but knew they wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to harass him. "Morning, Lieutenant," Travis' clear, young voice rang out. "Mind if we join you?" Malcolm looked up from the PADD he was studying. "Be my guests." The two men sat opposite him, and he tried not to cringe when he heard Trip speak up. "Where's your breakfast, Mal? Don't tell me you ate already." He looked at his cooling mug of tea and shrugged. "This is my breakfast." "Tea? That's it?" "That's it." He started reading his PADD again. "I thought you usually ate a big breakfast." "Usually. I'm not hungry this morning." He missed the concerned glance that passed between engineer and helmsman. "Still, you oughtta eat somethin'." "I'm fine, Commander." "Yeah right. Mal..." His head snapped up, and he glared at the other man. "Drop it, Trip." His tone brooked no disagreement, and the engineer fell silent. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Malcolm pushed back his chair and stood, still glaring at Trip. A nod to Travis, and he turned smartly on his heel and left. Travis turned to Trip once Malcolm was gone, fixing him with a look that lay somewhere between concern and accusation. "What the hell did you do to him?" "Nothin'!" Trip said, with an affronted expression. "Ain't my fault he's gone and got his knickers in a twist." "To borrow your phrase, Sir, yeah right. He was happily enjoying having something to do, playing up being the big, bad Security Chief with that Plinn guy, and all -- until you got back. You must have done something." "Maybe he's just depressed now that there's nothin' for 'im to do now, ya ever think of that?" Trip jutted his chin out belligerently, determined not to be told how to treat his friends, even by another friend. Travis was not to be deterred. "Come on, Trip. You know Malcolm, he usually basks in the afterglow of a gig like this for days. This isn't like him. Now 'fess up." "I *told* you: I didn't do nothin'. I told him about my little adventure. Told him about Kaitaama... That's it. I think he's j'st jealous. Course, he won't admit it." Trip popped a piece of sausage into his mouth with a smug expression. "You've been wearing that expression since you got back, haven't you?" Travis asked in a lighter tone. "What expression?" "That one. That ... that sorta sleazy look of smug satisfaction." "Sleazy?! I'm a Chief Engineer, not a used car salesman. I do not look sleazy." Travis smirked. "Suit yourself, *Commander*, but I still say it's sleazy. I think it's making Malcolm ill to look at it. Can't blame him; I think I'm starting to loose my appetite, too." "Oh, har de har har. Shut up and finish your eggs, Ensign. You're due on the bridge soon." --- Jonathan Archer was worried. The last time he'd seen his Armoury Officer this pale, the man had just had an anchor spike from a mine shoved through his thigh. At the moment, Malcolm was sitting quietly at his station, looking much the same as always, except that his face was several shades paler than usual. Finally, Archer couldn't take it any longer. "Mister Reed, could I have a word with you in my ready room? Assuming you're not in the middle of anything..?" "No, Sir. Now would be fine, Sir." "After you, Lieutenant." "Have a seat, Malcolm." Archer gestured at the chair opposite his desk, which he perched on top of to signal the informal nature of this chat. "You okay?" he asked, once Malcolm was settled. "Sir?" "You seem a little pale. Are you feeling alright?" "I'm fine, Sir." Fine. Archer had a feeling that the younger man would say that. "You sure? If you're sick you should go see Phlox. If you need to talk to someone ..." he tried to smile reassuringly, "I'm always here for you." Malcolm shook his head with a tight motion. "I assure you, Sir, I *am* fine." "Alright, then. I suppose we should get back to work." He gestured to the door. "Wouldn't want to miss any of the excitement." Malcolm didn't smile at the joke. He just nodded and marched out onto the bridge. Archer sighed. It was going to be a long shift. --- "Tucker to Bridge." "Go ahead, Trip." Archer opened the comm line with relief. The day had been deathly dull so far, except for watching Malcolm out of the corner of his eye for any sign that the man might actually be ill, and any distraction was welcome. "I gotta problem with the EPS relays runnin' to the phase cannons. C'n I borrow Malcolm to help me take a look at 'em?" "Sure, Trip, not a problem." He closed the line, swivelling his chair around to Tactical. "Malcolm, why don't you go give Trip a hand? Keep him from messing up the cannons." Malcolm stood -- was the motion slower, more careful than usual? Archer wasn't sure. "Yes, Sir," he said, then, he was gone, turbolift doors closing behind him. --- It wasn't until dinner that night, that Archer would discover that his instincts concerning Reed's health were sound. "Say, Cap'n," said Trip around a mouthful of chicken marsala, "you hear 'bout Malcolm almost faintin' on me today?" He exchanged a startled glance with T'Pol before responding. "No, I hadn't. Is he alright?" "Oh yeah. Drug 'im down to see the doc. Low blood sugar is all. Doc had me take 'im to the mess hall and force 'im to eat. Could barely hold a fork, his hand was shakin' so hard. Think Travis is watchin' t' see he eats dinner." "Why has Lieutenant Reed not been eating?" asked T'Pol, as close to concerned as she ever got. "Dunno. He's been pissy lately and wouldn't ... won't talk about it. Claims j'st not to have any appetite. Saw him with his 'breakfast' this mornin'. Nothin' mor'n a cup of tea. Told me off when I tried to press the issue. Stubborn sonovabitch." Trip applied himself to the rest of his dinner, then, shaking his head absently at the memory. "Travis thinks it's my fault," Trip added after a few moments of silence. "Your fault?" Archer furrowed his brow. "Why's that?" "Aaah... He doesn't have a real reason. I'm just the scapegoat 'cause Mal's weird behaviour started after I got back from the swamp with Kaitaama. I don't think there's anything to it, other than jealousy." "Jealous? Over what, Kaitaama? Trip, he barely even met her, how could he be *that* jealous?" Trip shrugged. Obviously, the engineer was both unable to defend his pet theory and unable to let it go. Archer resolved to talk to Phlox about his Armoury Officer's problem. Perhaps the Denobulan would be able to give him a more plausible explanation. --- The nightmares were getting worse. He had them every night now, waking each morning sick to his stomach. Was it any wonder he didn't want to eat? Trip was always in them. Always with some woman or other. The first night it had been Kaitaama, kissing the engineer and moving about him seductively. One night the female figure had changed into Ah'len, the Xyrillian who'd impregnated Trip almost a year ago. Another nightmare featured the insipid, bug-eyed blonde, Lianna. They all took Trip away from him. Malcolm would have termed the nightmares erotic, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't find them at all arousing. The sight of Trip, naked and aroused, couldn't even make up for the nausea he felt at seeing someone else doing the arousing. Last night's nightmare had him watching as Trip made love to the beautiful Kaitaama. Malcolm watched as the alien monarch did things he'd always longed to do to the blonde man. She kissed him senseless and then suckled at his nipples while playing with the golden hair coating his chest. Her hands had explored every inch of his glorious form, fingers tickling at his balls and slipping inside him to stimulate his prostate. Trip screamed her name, and when he took control, trapping her beneath him and sheathing himself in her warm wetness, she screamed his. Each thrust Trip made into Kaitaama's willing body was registered on Malcolm's own as a blow to the stomach. But that wasn't the worst. The worst came when the pair lay together afterwards. Trip reached out to touch Kaitaama's face and whispered, "The only thang I don't like about you, darlin', is these cheekbones. They remind me too much of that pathetic little man, Malcolm Reed. Do you know, I think he's in love with me? I'd feel sorry for the poor loser if it weren't so disgusting." Then they laughed, and laughed, until it was the only sound Malcolm could hear. He awoke then, rushing into his tiny bathing room to be violently ill. --- "What on Earth are you eatin'?" Trip's voice was loud, jarring. Malcolm flinched away before he could stop himself. He didn't look up to reply. "It's plomeek broth." "Fer breakfast?" "It's what T'Pol eats for breakfast." "T'Pol is Vulcan." "I am aware of that, Commander." Malcolm would have rather not eaten anything, but knew he must if he didn't want a repeat performance of the previous day. The Vulcan food was the only thing bland enough for him to keep down at the moment, everything else made him feel ill simply smelling it. Uninvited, Trip plopped down in the chair opposite him. A frown marred the engineer's features. "You still not feelin' too good?" "I'm fine." "Malcolm." The tone was warning, and Malcolm looked up to glare at Trip. "For once, Doctor Phlox would even agree with my assertion of health. There's nothing wrong with me." Nothing that ripping his heart out, once and for all, wouldn't fix, anyway. "Then why ain't ya hungry? Why're ya starvin' y'rself, eatin' nothin' but some ... Vulcan veggie water!" Trip's accent had thickened with concern, though it only served to irritate Malcolm more. "What is it that you want to hear me say, Commander? That I have a deep-seated psychological problem, and 'oh do please let me tell you all about it and all about the warped, stunted childhood I had which caused it?!' Do you want to rescue me from myself now? As if you cared beyond what good it will do for you and for your image." "Malcolm, I'm only tryin' t' help..." The Englishman shoved back his chair and stood, speaking with a close, clipped voice. "There's an old saying, Commander, that you would do well to remember, I think: The road to hell is paved with good intentions. I suggest you take your good intentions to the nearest airlock, if you'd like to avoid making that particular trip. Good day, Sir." --- Malcolm secured the phase pistol holster to his uniform. For once, Captain Archer had accepted his recommendation of taking a security detail with for a First Contact mission. He could have wished that the captain had allowed him to make said detail bigger than just himself, but he supposed that it was a step in the right direction. The planet they were visiting was populated by a humanoid race, familiar to the Vulcans, known as the Nakrali. They seemed friendly enough, inviting the captain and his key officers down for a visit, and assuring *Enterprise* that there was not so much as civil unease too worry about. So here he was, getting ready to protect Archer, T'Pol, Trip, and Hoshi all on his own, leaving Travis happily in charge of the ship until they returned. He sighed heavily, hoping that everything would go smoothly for a change. --- The First Minister of Nakral was a pleasant, greying woman in what Malcolm would guess to be her sixties, assuming that her species aged at all like Humans. She had invited them all for dinner with her counsellors and had mentioned that they might like to go for a walk to some wooded cliff overlooking the capital city afterwards. Apparently, the view of the lit city was spectacular at night, and was a prime tourist destination. Malcolm wondered if it looked like Paris at night. The young diplomatic attaché who had been assigned to show them around had offered to walk them to the cliff herself. Malcolm rather wished she hadn't. After watching Trip flirt ceaselessly with her all afternoon, he had no desire to watch them do it at a romantic outlook. Still, that was an issue for later. First, he had to make it through dinner. The food their Nakrali hosts served reminded Malcolm of Indian cuisine. Extraordinarily spicy Indian cuisine. T'Pol was given separate dishes, as the Nakrali knew that Vulcans were accustomed to much blander food, and Malcolm found himself wishing that he could have eaten the toned down food as well. He had been subsisting on plomeek broth and other Vulcan, or otherwise bland, foods for the past week and more, and the intense spices were proving hard on his stomach. Malcolm had always been taught to eat what he was given, however, and he didn't complain. By the time their attaché lead them out for the walk to the cliff, Malcolm was feeling quite nauseated. The young woman said that the leisurely walk through the woods to the scenic overlook would take about thirty minutes. He had hoped that the light exercise would help him feel better. He was wrong. They'd been out for ten minutes, and Malcolm was getting sicker with every step. Now, he was not simply nauseated, but feeling overheated and a bit light-headed as well. He had started out the trip bringing up the rear of the group and was now trailing a considerable distance behind. None of his crewmates seemed to notice. The were all listening intently to the story Trip's new girlfriend was telling them. They probably thought that he was hanging back on purpose, guarding against an ambush, or something. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he quickly ducked off the trail to empty his stomach. He kept retching long after there was nothing left in him but bile, and the exertion made him dizzy. There was nothing more he wanted to do when it was finally over, than to curl up into a ball right there and wait out his misery. The stench from the vomit was unbearable, however, and he staggered to his feet. He found a game trail and followed it, hoping to find someplace more comfortable to collapse. --- The view of the city was spectacular and well worth the half an hour walk to the top of the cliff. Archer and Hoshi stared at it, enraptured. Trip looked awed and used it to continue flirting with Marrla, drawing her slightly away from the rest. T'Pol took in the view, then turned back to her companions ... and blinked. "Where is Lieutenant Reed?" Archer whirled around. "What?" "Lieutenant Reed appears to be missing." "*What?* When was the last time anybody saw him?" "He was trailing behind us last time I looked," offered Hoshi. "Maybe twenty-five minutes ago. I just thought he was being suspicious and overly cautious..." "Yeah, me too," admitted Archer. "Trip? Trip!" Trip looked up from his contemplation of Marrla's eyes. "Yo, Cap'n?" "Trip, get over here. Malcolm's missing." That got his attention. "What? When?" Archer wasn't listening to him, though. the man had his communicator out, trying to contact his wayward officer. It was to no avail. "Damn, I wish we'd brought scanners with. Okay people, let's head back down the trail. I know it's dark, but try to keep you eyes peeled for anything that might tell us where Malcolm got off to. I don't like this. It's not like him." --- Nothing. They made it all the way back to the Minister's Residence without finding so much as a trace of Malcolm Reed. The First Minister shared Archer's concern, and provided the *Enterprise* officers with scanners, electric torches, and some of her own people to aid in the search. They divided the woods along the trail into quarters, each team taking one. Archer and Hoshi took one Nakrali guard with them and split the remaining six into two groups of three. Trip paired off with T'Pol, relying on her superior Vulcan senses to make up for the lack of a third person. --- "Over here, I think I'm pickin' up somethin'." Trip motioned to T'Pol as he stepped off the trail, and she followed in his wake. "I'm reading something as well. One lifesign, approximately forty metres from our position. It could be Human, but if it is, it is dangerously weak." "C'mon, then, let's see if it's our boy." Trip let her take the lead, sticking close as she unerringly followed the reading to its source. After a while, they stepped into a small clearing created by a fallen tree. They searched the area with their torches, T'Pol's scanner wailing out the nearness of the lifesign it had detected. Trip was the one who found him, curled up in the shelter of the downed tree. He was shivering, and sweat slicked his pale brow. "T'Pol!" She appeared at his side as he knelt down to check on Malcolm, wrinkling her nose at the stench of sick Human. Malcolm looked up at them both with glassy eyes, flinching away, deeper into his hiding place when Trip tried to touch him. "D' I have t' watch you with her, too, now?" His voice was slurred, and he seemed to be having a hard time breathing. "Go 'way. Leave me 'lone." "Malcolm, don't be stupid. We're tryin' t' help you. Now git outta there!" "No! Hurts. Don' wan' t' hurt anymore." The man was obviously delirious, and Trip looked imploringly to T'Pol for help. "Where does it hurt, Lieutenant?" she asked, scanning him. "What is hurting you?" "Hurts here," he thumped his chest. "He hurts me." Malcolm jabbed a finger at Trip, then closed his eyes. Trip's eyes were wide with shock. "What're you talkin' about, Mal? I've never hurt you." He reached out for the smaller man, trying to get a grip on him to pull him out. Malcolm reacted instantly, lashing out at him, forcing him to pull back. "Yes, you have. You always do. You made me think..." Malcolm choked on whatever he'd intended to say, sobbing and then desperately pulling in a few wheezing breaths. "But you keep leaving me for *them*. If you hate me, just say so. Stop tormenting me." The last was nearly a wail and it launched Malcolm into a bout of harsh coughing. The coughs got worse, and he began to retch, convulsing with the muscle spasms, bringing up nothing but bile. Trip watched it all in horror. As soon as Malcolm stilled, eyes sliding shut again, he reached into the hollow and pulled the Englishman out. The contact roused him a bit, and Malcolm struggled weakly against Trip. The sick man couldn't break free, but his struggles kept Trip from being able to do more than drag him along the ground. T'Pol solved that problem by reaching out and using her nerve pinch to subdue him. Malcolm collapsed into Trip's arms, and the engineer hugged his friend close for a moment. He looked over at the Vulcan woman, who was continuing to take scans of the unconscious man. "Do you know what's wrong with him?" "I believe he may be suffering an allergic reaction. To what I do not know, but he has developed a high fever and there appears to be some swelling. Look at his hands." She reached out to touch the lieutenant's throat. "Feel his throat, as well." Trip did as he was told, grimacing at the painful swelling of Malcolm's hands and throat. He was about to ask T'Pol what she thought they should do next, when she pulled out her communicator, flipping it open. "Sub-Commander T'Pol to Captain Archer." "Archer here, go ahead." "Captain, Commander Tucker and I have located Lieutenant Reed..." there was an explosive sigh of relief from the other end of the comm line, "but he is in need of immediate medical attention. Can you meet us back at the shuttlepod and have Doctor Phlox ready with his medical team when we return to *Enterprise*?" "Sure thing. Will you and Trip be able to carry Malcolm back on your own?" "Yes, Captain." "Okay, good. See you in a few minutes. I'll tell Travis to have Phlox standing by. Archer out." Trip wasn't so certain that he could carry Malcolm back to the pod, but he gamely hauled himself to his feet, bringing Malcolm up with him. Surprise didn't cover his emotions when T'Pol turned to him and demanded that he let her take the Armoury Officer. "Commander, Vulcans have both greater strength and stamina than do humans. It is logical for me to carry Lieutenant Reed. Please do not force me to make it an order." "Fine." He passed the unconscious man to her and was shocked to see her hoist him over her shoulder and walk back the way they'd come, carrying Malcolm like a sack of potatoes. She was nearly hidden by his greater bulk, but appeared to have no large problem managing it. Trip shook his head in dumbfoundment, trotting along after her. --- Back on *Enterprise*, Phlox had confirmed T'Pol's guess that Malcolm was suffering an allergy attack and injected the lieutenant with drugs to bring down his fever and the swelling. The final verdict was that one of the spices in the dinner they had been served at the Minister's Residence was probably at fault, though Phlox couldn't be certain without samples of all the dishes. Trip had hovered on the edges of the activity around Malcolm, until Phlox had decreed the man's condition to be stable and moved him to a biobed off to the side. At that point, he had sunk into a chair next to Malcolm's bed, refusing to leave. He wanted to be around when his friend awoke, to ask him about what he'd meant when he'd said that he hurt him. Phlox had suggested that Malcolm might benefit from having someone gently rub his hands and feet to aid his circulation, so that was what Trip was doing now. The contact felt good, and as he set Malcolm's hand down to work on his feet, he was reminded of the way his brother had rubbed his wife's feet when she was pregnant with their son. It was an intimate, caring act, and Trip hoped that the smaller man could sense his affection for him along with the touch. Malcolm didn't wake that night. Trip finally had to give in to his own exhaustion and climbed up into a neighbouring biobed to sleep. --- Malcolm didn't want to wake up. He'd been having a lovely dream about Trip giving him a foot massage. Unfortunately, consciousness pressed itself upon him, and he finally had to open his eyes. But the dream didn't go away. At least, not entirely. He wasn't in his quarters, he was in Sickbay, but Trip was rubbing his feet. He blinked a few times to make certain he wasn't hallucinating. When Trip didn't disappear, he decided to speak. "Trip?" Blue eyes came up, looking into his own, smiling at him. "Mornin', Mal." "Is it really morning?" "Sure is." "What happened? I remember feeling ill, but... How did I get back here?" "T'Pol carried you." "She *carried* me?" Trip grinned. "Yup. Woulda been funny, too, if I hadn't been so worried 'bout you." He gave the foot he was rubbing a gentle squeeze before releasing it and flipping the blankets down to cover them both. Malcolm looked away, disappointed at the loss of contact. "I suppose I ruined your evening. I'm sorry." "Hey." Trip patted Malcolm's leg under the blankets. "Not your fault. You had an allergic reaction. I'm j'st glad T'Pol and I found you when we did." "Oh?" "Yeah, you weren't doin' so good. Delirious." "I hope I didn't... I mean, I would be upset if I had .. offended you by anything I might have said in such a state." "Naw, we're good." Trip paused, considering. "You did say somethin', though, that I was kinda wonderin' about. You said that I hurt you." Malcolm was quiet for several moments before replying, "I don't remember saying that." "No, I suppose not, but I thought that you might have an idea why you would have said it." Trip kept his voice gentle, trying not to push his friend too hard. "You also said somethin' about me makin' you think ... somethin' and then leavin' you for an unspecified 'them.' Please, Malcolm, if I'm hurtin' you I need to know how, so I can change it." "You can't change it. It's just how you are." "J'st how I am?" Trip moved to the head of the bed. "D' you want to stop bein' my friend?" "No!" Malcolm's eyes were wide, and he reached out to grasp Trip's near hand. "You're the best friend I've ever had. I can't lose that." "But, Mal, if I hurt you..." "I can deal with that. Trip, please ... *don't leave me*." "Hey, shush now, I ain't goin' anywhere. I'll always be here for you. Always." Relaxing back into the bed, Malcolm let his eyes slide shut. Trip was telling the truth. No matter how many strange women the engineer flirted with, or occasionally made love to, he always came back to Malcolm. The women could only keep Trip for a short time. Malcolm would keep him for a lifetime. It wasn't entirely what he'd wished for his relationship with the beautiful blonde, but it was what Trip was capable of giving him, the love of a friend, and it would do. --- The End