The BLTS Archive - I Begin to Sing by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com) --- Date: Posted on 7/24/03 Archive: Permission to archive granted to EntSTCommunity, Reed's Armory, BLTS, WWOMB, Tim Ruben, Trekiverse, my own site, and whoever else wants it - just tell me where you've put it. Beta: Reedfem Spoilers: Shockwave, pt II, Minefield N.B.: Linguistics Database Challenge in a Can: Demeter, Exhilarated, Class. Set just following "Minefield" and prior to "Dead Stop." ~RB --- I begin to sing of rich-haired Demeter, awful goddess, of her and of her daughter lovely Persephone. Hail, goddess! Keep this city safe, and govern my song. ~ Homer --- Sometimes, in his darker moments, Malcolm felt like a thief. He was Hades, who had snatched away the golden Persephone from her mother and the world to keep him company among the shades. That Trip had hardly protested his 'abduction,' or that Mrs. Tucker was no Demeter, bewailing the so-called loss of her precious child was irrelevant. Nebulous guilt followed him. He had done something wrong, and it was only a matter of time before Zeus called him on it. Perhaps he had already been called on it. He had already accepted his beating at the hands of Silik and his henchmen as a form of punishment. The latest injury to his leg while trying to disarm the Romulan mine on *Enterprise's* hull could be construed in that manner as well. He certainly hadn't been up to making love to Trip after either experience, not that it stopped the blonde from cuddling and petting him. The affection had only made him feel worse, and worse yet when Mrs. Tucker had sent him a letter wishing him a speedy recovery and cautioning him to stay out of trouble for a while. He didn't deserve this. He'd never done anything to deserve such love, such acceptance. It frightened him. It made him jumpy, waiting for it all to end, to come crashing down around him. So, he held Trip close at night, memorising the feel of his body pressed up against him. A little something to stave off the cold loneliness he was certain was waiting for him just around the next corner. --- "Jon, I'm tellin' ya, there's somethin' wrong with Malcolm. He ain't acting himself." "Since when?" Trip scrubbed a hand over his face, puffing out an exasperated breath. "I dunno. He was a little off right after the whole Suliban-taking-over-the-ship fiasco. Got worse after that damn mine..." "You think he's suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome?" "Maybe. What's weird is he started actin' really off after my mama sent him a letter. But it was j'st a little note tellin' him t' git better an' t' be careful 'cause she didn't want to read any news reports 'bout him gettin' himself killed." Jon held back any comments, eyeing his friend as he collapsed backward on the sofa. Trip was genuinely worried, and it was obviously taking energy from him. Dark rings shadowed his eyes, and his hair was spiking every which way from the innumerable times he'd run his hand through it in his frustration. "I don't know what to do, Jon." Anguished blue eyes looked up at him, begging for help. "It's tearin' me up seeing him hurtin', but I can't get him to talk about it." "I don't know what *I* can do, Trip. I'll keep an eye on him while he's on duty, but it's not as if I can order him to talk to me. At least, not unless it affects his work. Anyway, I think he's probably had enough of talking to me for a while." "I know. Thanks anyway, Jon, for listenin' ... and everythin'." --- He was running, exhilarated by the end of class and the beginning of winter break. His parents and little sister would be coming up to fetch him in a few days. The next two weeks would be spent with his grandparents in London, as much of the family gathering together as was possible to celebrate the holidays. It would be grand fun, playing with the cousins, listening to Granddad's stories, sneaking sugar cookies from Grandmama's kitchen. With no class work to do, able to avoid his father in the name of being a loving grandson, and best of all, no bullying sixth-formers, it would be wonderful. "Hey, Reed, you runt! Where are you going so fast?" Malcolm stopped dead as one Jocelyn Fitch stepped into his path. The biggest and oldest of the sixth-form boys, he had become the natural leader of those inclined toward bullying the boys in the lower forms. Not for the first time, Malcolm wondered what he'd ever done to deserve Joss' special enmity. "Answer the question, runt." He turned, preparing to bolt back the way he'd come, but another two boys blocked the path behind him. More came out of the woods to either side, and he knew there would be no escape. "No answer? I guess we'll just have to beat it out of you, then." --- Trip awoke, confused. A glance at the clock told him it was only three in the morning; there was no reason for him to be awake. A whimper snapped his head around, and his eyes lit on his lover, curled in a tight ball on the other side of the bed. Malcolm whimpered again, flinching in his sleep. Trip was just about to reach out and wake him from whatever nightmare he was experiencing, when the man started to mutter. "No, no... I swear, Daddy, I didn't provoke them. They're just bullies. I didn't do anything." Trip had heard Malcolm talk in his sleep before, usually when he was under a great deal of stress, but even then only a word or small phrase was intelligible. He'd never heard him carry on a full- fledged conversation until now. "Mum, tell him it's not my fault. It can't be my fault. ... No, I told you... Mum? *Please.* ...didn't do anything ... I swear..." The muttering degenerated into broken sobs, and Trip unfroze at the sight of tears rolling down Malcolm's face. He'd never seen his lover cry. Shifting over in the bed, Trip gathered the shaking man into his arms. He tucked the dark head under his chin and ran his hands in soothing strokes up and down Malcolm's bare back. After a bit, Malcolm settled, breathing deep and even once more, never waking. Trip had a bad feeling about what this portended. He knew that he needed to get Malcolm talking, about his nightmare, about what caused it, about all of his odd behaviour in the past weeks, but he didn't know how to do it. Not without alienating the skittish man. --- "I've told you a hundred times: I don't remember any nightmare." "Malcolm, you were talking in your sleep and crying because of it, and you expect me to believe that you don't remember it? At all?" "If you're so bloody interested in it, why didn't you wake me up last night when it happened and ask then, hmm?" "'Cause I thought it was more important that y' sleep, an' I di'n't fig'r on ya not r'memb'rin' it come mornin'." Trip was getting irritated. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't do this, that he'd remain tactful and understanding of his partner no matter what he said to avoid the subject. But, here he was, getting irritated and shooting his mouth off, as usual. He bent his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. "Mal honey, I'm sorry. I'm j'st worried about you. You know how I get when I worry." Much to Trip's surprise, Malcolm paused in his dressing long enough to plant a kiss on his un-shaven cheek and whisper, "I know." "Will you talk to me about it if you remember?" Malcolm seemed to debate it a moment and then said, "Yes. If it makes you happy, yes." "Promise?" "Promise." --- It wasn't a good day, although, it wasn't a bad day either. Not really. Just depressingly mediocre. Malcolm limped through it, smiling when he was expected to smile and generally not letting on how badly he wanted to simply return to his quarters and hide. Malcolm was perversely grateful for the extreme amount of damage the mine had caused *Enterprise.* It kept Trip busy and out of his hair. The engineer was also too tired at night to do more than crawl into bed and fall into a deep sleep. All Malcolm had to do was make it past the morning interrogation on his mental well- being and he was home free. He felt guilty, of course, for not wanting to deal with his lover, with anybody really. It was too much work. Not trying now would make it easier later, anyway. Later, they would all come to their senses. They would realise that he wasn't worth it, that he didn't deserve what they were trying to give him. They would leave him. Trip would leave him. It was only a matter of time. --- "Pass me the salt, will ya?" Trip was enjoying a quiet lunch with his friend and captain. He was fairly certain Jon had suggested it order to make certain that he actually ate the midday meal. Massive repairs had a way of distracting Trip from little things like food. Jon knew this and, while he didn't baby-sit his friend, he would make a point of forcing Trip to take a break now and then. Jon was lifting the salt from its spot on the table when Phlox's concerned voice interrupted them from the intercom. "Phlox to Archer." Trip watched him reach out to open the comm link. "Archer here. What's up, Doc?" "Could you come down to Sickbay, Captain? Bring Mister Tucker if you can. It's about Mister Reed." "We're on our way. Archer out." Trip was already at the door of the captain's mess by the time Jon got to his feet, and the captain trailed his engineer through the corridors to Sickbay. On arriving at their destination, Trip made a beeline to the ICU, where Malcolm was lying on a bio bed, sound asleep. "What the hell is goin' on? What happened? Why's Mal in here?" Trip shot the questions at the doctor in rapid succession, clutching at his lover's limp hand. He brushed his fingers across a red patch of skin marring the Brit's cheek and looked back up at Phlox with worry in his eyes. "I'm sorry to report that the lieutenant seems to have had some sort of breakdown." "What kind of breakdown are we talking about here, Doctor?" Archer asked before Trip could start another round of questions. "I think I will let Ensign Maguire answer that. He was there, as I was not." Phlox motioned forwardthe tall black man who was Reed's second, startling Trip. He had been so intent on his lover that he hadn't noticed the other man in the room, despite his size and incongruent dress of martial arts dogi. "Well, Sir, Lieutenant Reed was holding a training session in the gym for some of the security staff. I was there along with Zabel, McIntyre, and a couple of the others. We were working on defensive techniques against a group of attackers. He had me showing Zabel a few moves, one on one, while he went up against the others to demonstrate defence with the disadvantage of an injury. Everything seemed fine, but then I saw McIntyre land a backhanded blow to the lieutenant's face... "He just froze, Sir. The others landed a couple blows too before they figured out something was wrong. By then, he was on the mat. He curled up, arms around his head, and started shaking, wouldn't respond to anyone. That's when I called the doc. Nothing like this has ever happened before." "I had to sedate Mister Reed," said Phlox, picking up the thread of the narrative. "Mister Maguire was kind enough to carry him back here for me and wait for your arrival." "I really ought to be getting back to work now, Sir," the big man said apologetically to Archer. "Go ahead, Ensign. Thank you," replied the captain. Once Maguire was gone, Phlox turned to Tucker and asked, "Commander, you know Mister Reed as well as anyone; can you think of anything that might have caused him to react this way?" "No, not really. He's been acting weird for a bit now... had a nightmare of some kind last night." "Do you know what it was about?" Trip shook his head. "Sorry. He said somethin' in his sleep about bullies and not provokin' somethin' or somebody, but that's all I know. He claimed not to remember it this mornin' when I asked about it. Wish I could be more help." "Hm, well, thank you, Commander. That gives me a few clues at least. I may do a bit of delving into his medical records. Something may turn up." --- "Malcolm?" Thick eyelashes fluttered. "Malcolm, you wakin' up?" "Trip?" "Hey, darlin'." Trip reached out to smooth back the hair that had fallen onto Malcolm's forehead. "How you feelin'?" "Groggy." Malcolm squinted up at his lover. "What happened?" "You don't remember anythin'?" "I remember being in the gym, running a training session. That's all. What happened?" "You..." Trip let his words trail off, unsure of how to tell Malcolm of what had occurred. "I what, Trip? I'm in Sickbay. How did I get here?" "You kinda lost it." Trip winced at the utter tactlessness of his words. "Lost it?" "Yeah, one of your boys hit you while you were sparrin' an' you j'st froze, then went non-responsive." He reached out to take Malcolm's hand in his. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on?" Malcolm turned his head away. "Nothing is going on." "Don't you give me that, Malcolm. Now, I want you to talk to me. We're partners, here. Partners trust each other; partners tell each other what's going on in their thick skulls." "Partners... I don't deserve you," Malcolm whispered. "What? Malcolm, don't be silly." "It's true." "No, it ain't. You deserve plenty. Everythin' I c'n give you. All the love in the galaxy. Now, quit changin' the subject." "I'm not. I don't deserve you, or the support your family gives me... Everything is falling apart now because of it. It's all my fault. You'll see that soon. Then you'll leave me." Trip was stunned. He didn't know where this all was coming from, but he knew he had to stop it at once. "Bad things don't happen j'st because somethin' good happens to you, Mal. And I ain't gonna leave you because of them! I ain't in the habit of kickin' a man when he's down, 'specially when I love him." He reached out to grasp Malcolm's chin, turning his face to him. "I do, you know, love you." "Why?" "I dunno," Trip replied with a lopsided grin. "Guess you j'st suit me." "Suit you?" "To a tee." He leaned down and placed a kiss on Malcolm's forehead. "I still don't understand why." "You don't have to understand, darlin', you j'st have to believe me when I say I love you." "I want to, but it's hard, Trip." "Well, I don't understand that. Have I ever done anythin' to indicate that I'd actually leave you? And while we're at it, has my family ever even looked like they might disaprove of our relationship?" "No, and no, but..." "But nothin', Mal! My mama loves you!" "Your mother doesn't even know me! She's operating under a misapprehension." "She's talked to you over subspace. I've told her all about you. You even wrote a letter to her once! Ain't that enough? She thinks so." Malcolm turned his head away again. "How can she feel that way when my own parents don't?" "What? Malcolm, what in blazes are you talkin' about?" "They don't, you know." Malcolm's voice was so quiet, Trip had to lean in to hear him. "They never have. I think I must have been a disappointment from the day I was born." "That ain't true. Mal, your mama loves you and she's real proud of you, too. Your daddy might be a sight harder to read, but I'm sure he feels the same, even if he does sniff at Starfleet sometimes." Trip tried to back his words with a steely conviction, even though he wanted nothing more than to throttle Stuart and Mary Reed for letting their sweet son grow up thinking himself un-loved. He closed his eyes to collect himself and opened them to find Malcolm staring at him intently. "How do you know how my mother feels about me?" Trip ducked his head a little sheepishly. "Um ... well, my mama's been talkin' to your mama. Gettin' to know her an' all. She was talkin' about invitin' your folks and your sister to the next Tucker reunion." "She's been doing *what?* Has she told my mother about us ... about our relationship?" Trip was confused and he did his best to look it, scrunching up his face and drawing his eyebrows together. "Well, yeah. Was that not okay? Mama told me your mama seemed real pleased to hear you'd found somebody." "My mother," Malcolm enunciated clearly, "is not the issue. The problem is that she will, no doubt, let it slip to my father at some point, if she hasn't already, and then my father will disown me." "What? Why?" "Trip, the Reeds are a military family, have been for eons. We are born and bred with the notion that one *does not* fraternise with one's superior officers." "Yeah, Jon said somethin' 'bout that." "Yes, well, *you* are also my superior officer. My father..." Malcolm paused, swallowing, "my father will be livid." He stopped again, breathing deeply, twisting his hands in the top of his blanket to keep them from shaking. "I heard him talking about a man he worked with in the navy once, back when he was a lieutenant commander. This man was apparently dating his commanding officer. My father said, in the most derisive tone imaginable, that the man was an 'unscrupulous rank-climber' who was out to sleep his way to a captaincy, and then added that no Reed would ever be caught dead doing such a thing. "Now, look at what I've done. I'm a lowly lieutenant sleeping with a commander." Malcolm looked at Trip, wide blue eyes framed by pale face. "He'll never forgive me." "Malcolm, stop that! It ain't the same at all, an' we both know it." Trip smoothed back Malcolm's dark hair with one hand, seeking out contact with his lover's hands with the other. "I *love* you. You love me. We're both heads of *separate* departments; I'm not your direct superior. Hell, it was even Travis an' Hoshi who first set us up. No one is taking advantage of anybody in this relationship." "He won't know that," said Malcolm, moving a hand to grasp Trip's fingers rather than the blanket. "All he'll hear is the difference between our ranks and will make assumptions based on that. Father lives in a very cut and dry world. Reeds are Royal Navy men. Reeds don't sleep around to gain favours. I've already disappointed him on one score; it won't take much for him to believe I've disappointed him on the other." "What does it matter, Mal? You haven't talked to each other in years. Why should you care what he thinks? We know the truth." "He's my father," Malcolm whispered. "It matters. All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me. Even just a little." "Mal, I'm sure if he knew all you've done for this ship, he'd be more'n a little proud of you." "Not my father." "Mal..." "No, Trip, *listen.* Once, when I was small, a group of older, bigger boys cornered me in a patch of woods near my boarding school. Bullies that they were, they proceeded to beat the stuffing out of me for no apparent reason other than that they enjoyed it. I ended up in the school's infirmary for a bit, and when my parents arrived to take me away for the holiday, they were informed of the incident." Malcolm paused, staring intently at his lover. "Do you know what my father did, Trip?" Recalling what Malcolm had muttered during his nightmare, Trip had his suspicions, but he kept his mouth shut and shook his head. "He punished me. *Me,* Trip, the injured party. He couldn't believe that I hadn't done something to provoke those boys into beating me to a jelly, so he punished me. "If you told him about what you consider my bravery in allowing the Suliban to beat false information out of me, he'd tell you that bravery had very little to do with it. Mentioning the recent fiasco with the Romulan mine would only provoke similar comments on my carelessness. He's never thought well of me, Trip. He doesn't want to think well of me, so just leave it be." Trip didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He simply leaned over and placed first one gentle kiss on Malcolm's forehead and then another on the smaller man's lips. The outburst seemed to have quite thoroughly drained Malcolm, and Trip sat, holding his hand, until he was asleep once again. It was only then that he left, burdened with worry for his lover, but slowly forming a plan to help him. --- "I did what you asked, baby," Trip listened to his mama's voice as he played back her letter. Malcolm would be meeting him for dinner in a half an hour, and he wanted to make sure that he'd gone through the whole letter by that time. "Mary's got your message. It's up to her now to get her husband to listen to it and respond as you hope. She seems fairly confident that he'll cooperate; guess he's been feelin' kinda bad about the distance between him an' Malcolm. Some combination of hearin' from Jon Archer a year ago an' only gettin' updates on his boy through the news service, from what Mary says. "Anyhow, hope it works out the way you want. Love you, baby. Tell that walkin' disaster area you call your lover that I love him too. Bye, now." Trip breathed a sigh of relief. That part of his plan had worked, and he now had Malcolm's mother on his side. He just hoped that, now that the ball was in his court, Stuart Reed would come through for him. For Malcolm. --- Malcolm was feeling tetchy. After his little break-down, Phlox had pulled him off of duty, and the only time he left his quarters now was for his physical, and now mental, therapy and his meals. Though he was doing better emotionally since his outpouring to Trip, the lack of activity left him bored and irritable, which he supposed was better than being bored, irritable, and depressed, if only marginally. The door chimed, and Malcolm called for his visitor to enter, anxious for a distraction. Hoshi popped in, brandishing a data chip. "Mail call. I was getting tired of sitting on the bridge, and I figured you could use the distraction, so I thought I'd deliver this personally." She smiled brightly at him, waving him back into his seat on the bed when he would have stood to take the chip from her. Malcolm accepted it from her with a grateful smile and said, "Hoshi, you are a goddess. I'm practically itching with boredom. Thank you." She shrugged but couldn't quite hide how much his words pleased her. "No problem. Just call me Hermes." Malcolm opened his mouth to respond that Hermes was a male deity, but stopped when he saw Hoshi's mischievous grin. She knew that as well as he and also that, despite the difference in sex, Hermes, Messenger of the Gods, was a rather appropriate ancient Greek alter-ego for her at the moment. He simply shooed her out the door, still smiling. "Off with you, now. Let me open my mail in peace." The linguist safely on her way back to her post, Malcolm hobbled over to his desk and, carefully lowering himself into the chair, he inserted the chip into the reader. There were only two messages on the chip. One was a technical journal he subscribed to, the other was from his father. He suddenly wished to have his boring afternoon back. After several minutes of simply staring at the file containing the letter, he opened it, automatically stiffening as his father's voice played back into the tiny room. "Son ... Malcolm, I decided to send you this message, after swallowing a great deal of pride and after much persuasion from your mother, because I wanted to tell you that I'm proud of you..." --- Trip very nearly swung into full emergency mode when he walked into Malcolm's quarters after he got off shift and found his lover staring blankly into space, unmoving. Then, Malcolm blinked slowly and swivelled his chair to face Trip, a tremulous smile spreading across his face. "He said he's proud of me." "What? Who..?" "My father, Trip. He'd found out about everything that's happened, and Mother made him send me a letter. He said that he's glad I found someone who loves me, that he and Mother are going to meet your family, and that he looks forward to meeting you someday." Malcolm's eyes were wide with shock, but this skin covering his high cheekbones had a rosy tone to it, showing his pleasure. Trip smiled at the brunette and kneeled in front of him, taking the man's face in his hands and kissing him soundly. "I'm real glad to hear that, darlin'. I'd like to meet your daddy, too." Malcolm wrapped his arms around Trip's shoulders and hugged the blonde, hard. "He's proud of me, Trip, really proud." "How could he be anythin' else, Mal? You've done good, real good. We're all proud of ya." Malcolm pulled back, then, and Trip about thought he'd died and gone to heaven, because the Englishman was gazing at him with sparkling blue eyes and a broad smile that he hadn't seen in much too long. "I love you, Trip Tucker, even if you are an interfering busy- body." Trip's eyes widened in an almost innocent 'who, me?' expression. "I know you had to have had a hand in this somehow. I think I ought to thank you." He leaned forward again, catching Trip's lips in an intense kiss that left no doubt in Tucker's mind just what this 'thank you' would entail. "Mmm... Mal, what about your leg?" "What I have in mind won't bother it in the slightest," he purred into Trip's ear. Slightly unsteady, Malcolm rose from the chair and tugged his golden lover toward the bed. Demeter had called on Zeus, and Zeus had given him his blessing. Malcolm had every intention of enjoying it. --- The End