The BLTS Archive - Worthless
#1: Frozen, Baked, and Marinated
by miera (mierac72@yahoo.com)

---

Archive: Ask first

Date: October 30, 2002

Spoilers: Nothing from Season 2. Set at some indiscriminate point
during Season 1.

Author's Notes: I'm having a crappy week so I decided that this had
been buried on my hard drive long enough. Not beta'd cause I'm lazy.

---

"Well, was I lying?"

Trip Tucker looked up into Jonathan Archer's face. The Captain was
smiling, although the smile was slightly apologetic. He gestured to
the woods surrounding the away team.

"No, you weren't," Trip chuckled. "You're a man of your word, Cap'n."
Archer nodded and resumed walking with T'Pol a few paces ahead.

Trip brushed his wet hair out of his eyes. Archer had appeared in
Engineering that morning, telling Trip about a small moon with a
breathable atmosphere they'd just found. He wanted Trip on the away
team. It was a bad case of deja vu all over again, but before Trip
could point that out, Archer had said seriously, "No deserts, Trip. I
promise."

Tucker had laughed lightly enough, but he knew what his friend was up
to. Jon felt guilty for badgering him into going on that near-fatal
visit to the desert planet. He wanted to make up for that, and he
wanted to give Trip a chance to get back on the horse, as it were.

Not that Trip remembered much of that experience. He did remember the
meal, unfortunately enough. There were some details of ingredients
that were probably best left unsaid. He didn't think he'd be able to
look at a bowl of soup for a while. But most of the ordeal out in the
sand dunes was a total fog. What remained most vivid was the
overpowering thirst. Even more than the heat, the dryness haunted him.
He'd felt like a log in a fire, desiccated, brittle, ready to break or
burst into flames. Vaguely he recalled images of swimming pools,
snowcones, icebergs floating in the Antarctic, all of which had been
highly appealing at the time. He'd had severe heatstroke and was
dangerously dehydrated by the time his crewmates got him back to the
ship.

No danger of either here. It had been coming down for the better part
of half an hour, starting as just a sprinkle and increasing to steady
rain. From the darkness of the clouds, it probably would upgrade to
full-scale downpour any minute. Fortunately the temperatures were cool
but nowhere near dangerously cold. After his *other* brush with
danger, almost freezing to death on a shuttlepod, he'd also had enough
of cold to last him the rest of his life. In any case, they were on
their way back to the shuttle pod to leave, so everything was fine.

Nine of them had come down from Enterprise, a rather tight fit in the
pod. Trip felt slightly foolish. There was no legitimate reason for
him to be on the mission. The Captain, T'Pol, the four other
scientists including Cutler, were all necessary. Malcolm Reed was also
along and he had somehow convinced Archer to bring along Giordano, a
second security officer. Eight of them had headed off to explore the
woods. Giordano had calmly suggested that she stay behind with the
pod, just in case. Trip had caught a slight look between the young
woman and Reed which had him suspicious that they had prearranged her
little idea.

So the others had gone out among the trees. The forest reminded Trip
of the redwoods he'd seen in northern California; massive trunks wide
as a shuttle pod, rising 200 or even 300 meters into the sky, towering
so high that you couldn't see the tops from the ground. There was more
brush here than in the old growth redwoods, however. Cutler and her
pals were having an animated discussion about how the plants could
survive without sunlight under the dense canopy overhead. There were
plenty of small animals and a few larger ones, but no sentient species
they could detect. They'd run into a massive beast that looked like a
bizarre cross between a moose and an elephant, but the animal had
merely stared at them for a moment, then wandered away.

Still, it was refreshing to be out in open air and it seemed quite
home-like. Well, he amended silently, it would have if the tree trunks
weren't purple, the leaves weren't blue and the sky and rain weren't
lime green.

The sun had been out when they arrived but it disappeared rapidly as
the storm came on. They had just decided they'd better turn around
when Cutler spotted something. It turned out to be a gigantic trunk
that had fallen at some point in the not-too-distant past. But instead
of crashing down to the ground, it had caught in between two other
trunks and just hung there, forming what looked to be a nearly perfect
right triangle that was larger than the house Trip had grown up in.
Everyone but T'Pol had gawked at the sight. "Now we know what happens
when a tree falls in the forest," Malcolm had quipped. Trip even
snapped a few pictures with his camera before they turned back.

Absently, he checked to be sure the camera was secure inside his suit.
He was started to get soaked, but he wasn't complaining. He turned his
face upwards for a moment, enjoying the feeling of drops hitting his
skin. The dampness was starting to gather in his uniform under his
arms, in his crotch and behind his knees. Little rivulets of water
were pooling in his hair, occasionally trickling down the back of his
neck into his uniform. The experience was unbelievably sensual. He
tried to recall the last time he'd gotten caught in rain or even just
been in water that wasn't a shower. He'd been in space for much of the
last three years, so it probably was before then.

He marveled. Growing up in Florida, working on underwater assemblies
in his early days, he'd been wet almost constantly. And if you didn't
get wet during the workday, you went for a swim when it was over. He'd
been dry for too long. And after his experience in the desert, he
didn't think he'd ever complain about being wet again.

"Frozen, baked, and now marinated. I'm turning into a buffet item," he
joked to himself. Turning, he glanced backwards. Reed was picking up
the rear of their party, his eyes constantly scanning the trees around
them. Trip grinned. The rest of the away team were starting to
resemble drowned rats out here in the pouring rain. Even T'Pol was
looking unkempt. But the ship's armory officer was completely
unruffled, ignoring the rain, still looking sharp and as hard edged as
a razor despite the water soaking into his uniform.

Looking at Reed's face, Trip's mind flashed to a very different-
looking expression. Malcolm had been on that shuttle pod with him. He
would for the rest of his life remember Malcolm's face, pale as a
ghost, scruffy from not shaving, his eyes bloodshot from the rather
large amount of bourbon they had consumed, threatening Trip with a
phase pistol to keep him from killing himself. Even wandering in the
middle of an alien forest, Trip preferred Malcolm as he looked right
now; wet and slightly pissed off, but definitely alive and healthy.

Unsubstantiated rumors had reached Trip that the crew had nicknamed
the two men the Disaster Twins. Every time they left the ship, at
least one of them got into trouble. Sometimes both. Sometimes even
without leaving the ship. Well, their luck had to change soon.

Trip had started to turn forward again when something small, dark and
moving very fast, caught the corner of his eye. . .

---

Malcolm Reed was straining to hear the forest sounds over the 
pattering of the rain. Their little walk in the woods had been 
peaceful enough. The closest they'd come to trouble was that. . .
thing with the sharp antlers and the trunk. It had looked at them with
utter disdain before walking away. He was feeling slightly foolish
about insisting on Giordano's coming along and staying with the
shuttle pod. "Why am I not surprised, the one time I manage to prepare
an away team properly, nothing happens?" he groaned inwardly.

Captain Archer was a stubborn man. Stubborn and reckless, two very bad
qualities in a captain. The man's positive traits outweighed those
problems overall, but for Malcolm those two character tics were a huge
obstacle. Directly confronting the captain with his concerns over the
security of the ship and the crew, particularly the security of the
captain himself, had not worked. No matter how many times Malcolm beat
his head against the wall, the Captain thought nothing of la-de-da-ing
off into the unknown without any kind of protection. It drove Malcolm
crazy.

Deciding the direct approach was failing, he came up with an indirect
one. It wasn't exactly appropriate, plotting an end-run around the
Captain's clear desire to explore the universe with a free reign, but
Malcolm didn't see an alternative. When the team was being put
together, Malcolm calmly pointed out that such a large team was more
than he could handle alone. That got Giordano onto the shuttle pod. As
they had discussed privately on their way to the launch bay, when they
landed the young woman volunteered to stay near the craft and keep
watch. Archer's eyebrows went up but he agreed.

Malcolm had a feeling the Captain knew exactly what was going on, but
he decided it probably was better if he did. Perhaps it would occur to
Archer that he'd driven his chief of security to such measures as
conspiring against him. Maybe then the man would listen for a change.

While the others were examining the planet's flora and fauna, Malcolm
was trying to watch everything at once. Well, almost everything. It
was slightly more difficult to keep himself from glancing over at
Tucker when they were off the ship. After all, out here in such a
vulnerable place, it was necessary to keep an eye on everyone. Not too
long after the shuttle pod incident, he'd caught himself spending a
lot more time contemplating his friend. Far too much time. It was a
worrisome trend and he was determined to put a stop to it. An idle
fantasy was one thing, but recurring dreams involving a superior
officer and a man who Malcolm was rather humbled to have consider him
a friend. . . well, it could be disastrous and his job was preventing
disasters from happening. No matter the cost.

Malcolm relaxed the tiniest bit when they turned around and started
back to the shuttle pod. However, with the rain starting to become
significant, he was faced with a new problem. He was walking directly
behind Tucker and both of them were getting soaked. The water dripping
down the blonde man's neck started to make interesting patterns in the
cloth spread across the broad shoulders underneath the uniform. One
more distraction he didn't need.

Putting Trip firmly out of his head, he concentrated on the sounds in
the forest and the rain. It reminded him of his childhood, the long,
rainy winters of sitting in his room, listening like he was now,
straining to hear any warning of how things were going elsewhere.
Listening for a squeaking noise.

About two steps away from the door of his bedroom there had been an
old, loose board in the floor. Malcolm memorized the sound the board
made when someone stepped on it. It was his early warning system, a
way of knowing someone was headed towards his room. He liked knowing
in advance when his privacy was about to be interrupted. Any extra
time was a useful tool with his family.

The rain started pounding down much harder, the dull roaring noise
filling his ears, and a memory surfaced, something he hadn't recalled
in years. *** . . . He was somewhere around 10 years old, and they
were in the middle of a thunderstorm. A great deal of lightning and
loud cracks of thunder was rivaling the sound of the waves tossing the
ship around. He was sitting on his bed, underneath the window,
watching the curtains of rain sweep over the other nearby ships. The
raw power of the storm was mesmerizing. His eyes were dry and bleary,
but he couldn't turn away. And yet, above all that noise, his ears
still picked up the creak in the floorboards. Turning, he saw his door
open and a small, blonde head poked around it. Madeline's pale, scared
face peered into the room.

"Malcolm?" she whispered.

"It's all right," he answered, flipping back the sheet on his bed.
Madeline shut the door and stole quietly across the room. She crawled
into the bed beside him and he felt her jump when another roll of
thunder rattled the floorboards. He put a comforting arm around her
and Maddy whispered unhappily, "Why does it have to be so loud?"

He'd explained what he remembered from school about the mechanics of
storms. They sat there watching as light flashed so brightly the lamps
died and came back. One bolt of lightning had streaked across the sky
so close it appeared to be arching over the pier. The resulting
immediate explosion of thunder made them both jump. After that,
gradually the storm moved off and Maddy began to relax. "Is it over?"

"I think so. Come on." He pulled the extra pillow over for her to use
and tucked her under the sheet. He lay down on his back, still
watching out the window, while she drifted off, curled up beside him.
He stayed awake for a while longer, in case one of their parents
discovered Maddy out of bed and came looking for her. . .

--- A cracking noise in the bushes brought him back to the present
sharply. Cursing his momentary lapse of concentration, Malcolm started
to turn to his right, but it was too late.

---

Trip started to take a step, started to yell a warning. Malcolm turned
just as he did so and the animal was already on him.

The creature was about the size of a dog, slightly larger than Porthos
but nowhere near as cute. Covered in red-brown fur, several large,
sharp teeth protruded from underneath a crumpled snout. It was flying
through the air directly at Reed. Too late to get out of the way, he
tried to fend it off. The animal landed on his shoulder and clamped
its teeth into Reed's flesh. He shouted in pain, lost his balance and
went down to the ground.

Tucker was moving towards Reed. He could hear behind him shouts and
noises indicating the rest of the away team had turned around as well
but they had been a number of steps ahead of the two of them.

Malcolm managed to yank the thing off his shoulder and shove it away.
Looking up past the attacking creature, he saw Tucker coming towards
him and also something that Tucker didn't see. "Watch out!"

The creature started to rush back at the prone Reed, but it got a face
full of Malcolm's boot and dazed, it gave up, scuttling off into the
bushes. Malcolm's hand was already reaching for his phase pistol.

Trip stopped short at Malcolm's yell, looking wildly around. Another
of the brown things had been aiming for him from the bushes where he'd
been unable to see it. Because he was half a step back from where it
expected him to be, it missed him and crashed into the brush on the
other side, but the beast's claws managed to gouge his upper leg in
passing. He doubled over, grabbing the wounded flesh.

Tucker had half a heartbeat to look at Reed when he realized the
fallen man's phase pistol appeared to be aimed right at him. He ducked
instinctively, but the beam went over his head. A squealing noise and
a thud on the ground made him jump. A third animal was lying next to
him in the mud, motionless. Malcolm had dropped it in midair with
deadly accuracy from the ground about five meters away.

The phase pistol fire seemed to scare off any of the of the creatures
who might still be lurking. The rest of the away team spilled into the
tiny clearing as Trip helped Malcolm back on his feet. "Thanks," Trip
said, looking at Malcolm's shoulder. They were both bleeding heavily.
"You alright?"

"Think I'll live," Malcolm muttered through clenched teeth. "Burning
like hell though." The initial pain was subsiding into a vicious
throbbing that was radiating everywhere like it was inside his bones.

T'Pol ran her tricorder over the wound. "It is possible there is a
toxin present that has entered his bloodstream. We should get them
back to Enterprise."

---

"Christ, here we are again," Trip thought, looking at Malcolm's
flushed, contorted face. They were sitting in the back of the shuttle
pod, on their way back to Enterprise. Both of them were shaking
visibly. Trip was doing his best to ignore the aching in his leg,
which was still bleeding quite a bit. Malcolm was obviously in a lot
more pain, although he was starting to lose consciousness. "I've seen
him like this too many times," Trip added to himself sadly, his mind
flashing through many memories of Malcolm injured.

Archer dug around the medical kit and pulled out some bandages. He
handed one to Trip, and the other to Giordano, who was kneeling next
to Reed. The young woman reached up and, with as much gentleness as
possible, tore Malcolm's uniform open around the shoulder. There was
an audible gasp from behind her. Tucker leaned forward and swore
softly, his heart clenching like a vise was clamped around it. The
flesh around the bite marks was lined with a spider web of red.

Blood poisoning.

Archer's lips compressed into a thin line. "His temperature is up, his
heart rate is over 120, he's sweating a lot," Giordano consulted her
tricorder. "He's having a massive allergic reaction to whatever was in
that thing's saliva." She gestured for the medkit and pulled out a
small capsule and inserted it into the hypospray.

"We should warn Phlox," Archer observed in a tight voice, and turned
to the comm to contact the ship.

Malcolm's breathing evened out. Giordano moved over and peeked at the
blood still seeping onto Trip's uniform. "How are you doing?"

"M'fine," Trip mumbled. The blood loss was making him light headed,
and he had his hands arms folded over his chest to try and still the
shaking. He had a horrible moment of fear, doubled over in the back of
a shuttlepod, shaking uncontrollably. Was he back on Shuttlepod 1, out
of air and freezing to death?

"You're in shock." Giordano's voice penetrated his mental haze and
brought him back to the present. She reached out and pulled the
blanket tighter around his shoulders. Then she stopped. "Um,
Commander?" Trip opened his eyes, not without an effort. She pointed
at the bandage he was lazily holding over the wound. "May I?"

For a minute he was confused. Why should he mind? She was the trained
medic on the team. Belatedly, he realized that the damage was close to
his groin. Even as he nodded, he heard the sound of fabric tearing and
realized that he was once again about to be paraded around in his
skivvies. Why did this keep happening to him? Trip's thigh was covered
in three angry welts and a lot of blood, but the dangerous lines of
red weren't present. Archer looked a question at Giordano, who
shrugged. "He's not having as significant a reaction, but he still
needs more than patching up." She placed her hand over the bandage and
pressed down, trying to stem the flow of blood. The pain from the
pressure jolted him uncomfortably awake.

Trip stared ahead, aware of the bizarre picture the three of them
painted. The two men, bleeding, one half-conscious, while the woman
kneeled on the floor in front of them. Even so, the blatant stares
from the rest of the crew were bothering him.

Trip tried to scowl. This wasn't a peep show. It wasn't even like
their injuries were all that serious. OK, Malcolm was in some danger
but still. He was too damn tired to feel like a Thanksgiving turkey
splayed out for their entertainment.

Giordano caught him staring and looked over her shoulder. She fixed
the rest of the crew with a serious glare, and they all immediately
turned their eyes away. Trip lacked the energy to laugh or he would
have. Giordano had been a champion kick boxer before joining
Starfleet. It didn't surprise him that even when his anger couldn't
rein in their curiosity, one look from Giordano could hustle them back
in line. He let his eyes drift closed again.

"We're docking," TPol's voice told him.

---

The door closed behind them. "I suggest you get comfortable,
gentlemen. You have at least an hour in here to be sure the parasite
is gone." With that cheery news, Dr. Phlox closed the window and
started the machinery of the decontamination chamber.

Malcolm, rather woozy from blood loss and the drugs Phlox had pumped
into him, looked at the bench for a moment. Deciding it wasn't worth
the effort to walk that far, he simply slid down the wall onto the
floor. The gel Phlox had spread over his body squeaked against the
metal. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back into the hard surface
behind him. He looked absolutely exhausted.

Trip followed suit a couple meters away and stretched his stiff leg
out in front of him gingerly. He felt like a greased pig. He looked at
the red welts which would probably leave him a scar. "The Disaster
Twins strike again," Trip muttered to himself.

Malcolm's eyes snapped open. "Oh no, you've heard that to? I was
hoping Giordano was just having me on."

"Apparently not. To be fair, we do tend to get into. . . " he searched
for a word.

"Scrapes?" Malcolm supplied.

"Among other things."

"We're not *that* bad," Malcolm protested.

Trip looked at him quizzically. "Oh really? Besides the shuttle pod,
I've been shot once, you twice. We've both been knocked out a few
times by various aliens."

"Yes, but you're the one who nearly died in the desert. Not to mention
your unfortunate reaction to the alien pollen." The rare instance when
Malcolm was glad he hadn't been present. His instinctive reaction to
attack before being attacked would have been much harder to control in
a paranoid-delusional state. T'Pol would probably be dead now if he'd
been there, a thought that gave Malcolm's stomach quite a turn from
time to time.

Trip countered, "Well what about you, T'Pol and Hoshi nearly getting
squashed into pancakes on the Klingon ship? And you and Travis on the
comet." He shuddered at the memory of watching two comrades—two
friends—nearly slip through his own incompetent fingers.

"Well, at least. . . " Malcolm began, then stopped, embarrassed. Trip
guessed what he had been about to say, though and finished for him.

"At least you didn't get knocked up by some alien?" he said drily.
"I'm never going to live that down. I just wish people believed that I
didn't know what had happened."

Malcolm sat up quickly. "Of course you didn't know. Look, Trip, you
and I may be wildly different personality-wise, but you're a Starfleet
officer. You would never behave in such an indiscreet fashion during a
mission."

Trip looked at Malcolm's face gratefully. The pregnancy was a sore
point for him, and he was vastly comforted by the support, especially
coming from Malcolm, who was almost as devoted to rules and
regulations as he was to his weapons. It meant a lot. Malcolm resumed
his position against the wall and the tally. "I think we're about even
on being taken prisoner by aliens, although that entity in the cargo
bay was far more invasive than anything that's happened to me. Really,
I do believe you have the lead."

"Well, our mutual stupidity on shore leave doesn't help you," Trip
pointed out, smiling and grimacing simultaneously.

Reed grinned ruefully. "And now today, being attacked by. . . rodents
of unusual size. . . " Trip snickered. "No, sorry, I still think
you've got the edge. Few of my injuries have ever been
life-threatening. Perhaps I should assign a security officer to see to
your personal safety until we get back home." Malcolm quickly looked
away from the engineer.

"Just convince the Cap'n to keep me on the ship and I should survive,"
Trip said. They were both silent for a minute and a new thought struck
Tucker. "What made you decide to become a security officer anyway?"

Malcolm looked over at him sharply. For a minute Trip thought he was
going to get offended. Then he sighed. "My grandfather was an
ordinance officer in the Royal Navy. I was supposed to follow in his
footsteps. But the Royal Navy wasn't quite enough for me. I wanted to
be dealing with new things."

"New weapons, you mean," Trip commented with a smile.

But Malcolm shook his head. "Not just the weapons. New situations. I
saw the unpredictability of this mission as a great challenge. It's
our worst security nightmare, not the situations we prepare for but
the wholly unexpected. How do you keep people safe when you don't know
what's coming?"

He'd gotten lost in his thoughts, staring up at the ceiling. Trip's
voice pulled him back. "And what made you decide you wanted to keep
people safe?"

The protective shell started to go up, Trip could see it in Malcolm's
eyes. "What is this, Twenty Questions about Malcolm Reed?" he asked,
just a hint of defensiveness edging into his voice.

Trip repressed a sigh. Getting Malcolm to open up was on par with
getting T'Pol to loosen up. Something that you accomplished only very
gradually over much time. *If* you knew how to handle the person in
question. Although alcohol had been known to help with Malcolm. "By my
math, we've got at least another 45 minutes in here. I don't want to
have to carry the entire burden of conversation alone. Contrary to
popular opinion, I am not *that* enamored of the sound of my own
voice," he said with mock anger.

The joking worked. Malcolm backed down, literally, against the wall
again. He thought about Trip's question for a moment. Whether it was
the earlier memory of the thunderstorm, or the intimacy of the
decontamination chamber, the drugs Phlox had given him or the fact
that it was Trip asking, he didn't know. But he started to talk.

"We went to a playground one afternoon, my sister and I. I was perhaps
8 or 9 years old. It was summer and we were living on land for once.
The playground was full of other kids. We hadn't lived in the
neighborhood all that long.

"Maddy went to play on the see-saw. . . " Malcolm was staring off into
his own memories and didn't see Trip's head snap towards him. It had
taken a near-death experience for Reed to relax his formality around
Tucker as a regular thing. Trip couldn't remember hearing Malcolm
refer to anyone else by a nickname ever. He stored this tiny nugget of
insight away as Malcolm went on.

"I was climbing one of the jungle gyms. I didn't understand when it
got quiet. Two boys had appeared and climbed off their bicycles. They
weren't from our neighborhood, and they were at least a few years
older than I was. I got a very definite sense from the others that
these two weren't supposed to be there.

"They walked across the playground and stopped at the see-saw. The
other girl my sister had been playing with ran away. Maddy was trapped
and they started to pick on her, bouncing the beam around, scaring her
half to death."

"How old was she?" Trip asked.

Malcolm considered. "She couldn't have been more than 6 at the time. I
didn't even stop to think about what I was doing. I jumped down and
walked over and told them to leave her alone. The boy who had been
teasing Maddy dropped her onto the ground and took a swing at me. I
ducked and I hit him as hard as I could, the way my grandfather had
taught me to."

"Did you knock him out?" Trip was grinning. He could just picture
Malcolm, deadly serious and proper even at 9, taking out a
neighborhood bully with a surprisingly hard punch.

Malcolm laughed at bit himself. "He went down. However, his friend hit
me in the face with his elbow and so did I. Fortunately for me, some
of the other boys who were about the same age as the interlopers got
involved at that point."

"I never pictured you as Spartacus," Trip teased. "Did you ever see
them again? What happened after that?"

"Not that I know of. Maddy and I went home. My mother scolded me for
fighting but I suspect my father let me off after he discovered why. I
had a terrible pair of black eyes for about a week and ruined my shirt
with the blood. But no one bothered us again while we were there."

Trip mused over this unexpected tale. He had never thought much about
Malcolm's family, except that the man seemed to have a less-than-warm
relationship with his parents. He hadn't considered Madeline's
influence on her big brother. Trip's own family was vast and very
close-knit. Suddenly he was filled with a fierce longing for home that
surprised him. "Damn," he muttered.

Looking up, he realized that Malcolm had heard him and was staring at
him curiously. Trip sighed. "You got me thinking about my brother, and
my family. About how much I would give to be sitting down at the
dinner table with them right now."

It was Malcolm's turn to ask questions. "How did you end up so far
away from your family then? I've often wondered. . . " his voice died
mid-sentence, afraid of giving the wrong—well, actually the correct
impression but not one he wanted known.

"Well, the problem with top-of-the-line warp reactor technology is
that it's not much use in cruising around our solar system, you know?"
Trip sighed. "I've been fascinated with machinery since I was a kid.
Something about the warp engine, the capabilities of it, just took
hold of me and wouldn't let go. The things we could see and do, the
possibilities, because of it, I couldn't pass that up. Being separated
from my family. . . was the price."

Trip now stared at his feet, not wanting to embarrass himself with his
sentimentality any more. To Malcolm, the desire to remain so close to
home was almost alien, but it comforted him somehow to know that it
could be that way, for others.

"Distance was one of the rewards in my book," Malcolm muttered, half-
seriously. Trip began to laugh and Malcolm followed suit. He couldn't
help it. The man really did have an infectious giggle.

Trip leaned against the wall, grinning at Malcolm's smiling face.
"It's good to see you laughing for a change," he said, without
thinking. Malcolm's eyes caught his and they held the gaze for just a
tiny beat too long. Trip's heart began to speed up as he felt a
completely unexpected surge of. . . something. . . deep in his belly.
Later he dismissed it as nothing more than the combination of the
attack, the water, and the lack of food.

---

The End