The BLTS Archive - Worthless
#2: Blankets
by miera (mierac72@yahoo.com)

---

Archive: Ask first

Date: November 22, 2002

Author's Notes: It snowed here last night. My feet have been cold for
a month. And I'm considering hiring a personal masseuse. You'll
understand the relevance of these facts after you read.

---

"Goddamnit," Trip Tucker muttered under his breath, as he dropped the
delicate screwdriver for the second time. He left it lying in the
blanket stretched across his lap, trying to breathe warmth back into
his numbed fingers. He was dimly aware that his neck and back were
aching and he'd lost feeling in his feet, which had been folded under
him for. . . hours? He wasn't sure. Possibly days at this point.

He leaned back, resting against the shuttle pod which was directly
behind him. Before him was the small fire which was providing their
only source of heat. Beyond that was the gray cloud of the cave's
entrance. The blizzard was still going strong, apparently. The one
constant of the past several hours had been the keening howl of the
wind outside.

Somewhere above the raging storm, Enterprise was orbiting the planet.
Trip could almost envision Jonathan Archer pacing around the Bridge,
or possibly in his cabin with Porthos watching attentively and wagging
an encouraging tail every so often, waiting for the storm to clear and
the rescue mission to head off to find them and bring them back to the
safety of the ship, where there were showers with very, very hot
water. . .

His head jerked back up. He was dangerously close to falling asleep,
and he still had to finish one more circuit on the makeshift beacon he
had cobbled together out of the damaged shuttle pod. Gripping the
screwdriver tightly, he went back to work.

He felt movement next to him. The figure lying underneath the blankets
stirred. Jessy Giordano stared around her for a moment, confused. Trip
offered a somewhat strained grin. "Sorry, Toto. We're still not back
in Kansas."

Jessy grinned back, stretching her cold muscles and checking her
chronometer. "How's the beacon?"

"Almost done." "With all due respect, sir, you are too."

Trip chuckled. "I'm alright. I'll get some rest as soon as I finish
this."

She climbed out from under the blankets and pulled her jacket on.
"It's about time for my shift."

He repressed a sigh. Jessy was only a few years younger than he was,
with a breezy sense of humor he appreciated. Especially when his only
other companion on this frozen rock was a certain uptight Brit who
tended to take everything much too seriously. "You really think it's
necessary to stand guard out there? I don't think there's another life
form moving anywhere within a hundred kilometer radius in a storm like
this."

"Standard procedure," she said in a neutral voice. "Besides, better
safe than sorry, right?"

"Watch out," he teased. "You're gonna start to sound like your boss."

"Well he's been highly influential in these, my formative years." Trip
laughed out loud at that, which helped wake him up again. Jessy
grabbed a ration bar and some water and headed for the cave's
entrance. "Sleep well, sir."

A couple minutes later a large, whitish blob moved across the cave
towards the fire. Trip watched as the blob shook off a great deal of
snow and water. Two gloved hands appeared and opened the front of a
coat, from which emerged the more familiar form of Malcolm Reed. He
began to shake the coat out, nodding once at Trip, "Commander."

"Frosty," Trip replied, not bothering to hide his grin.

Malcolm scowled, but instead of fighting back he spread his coat out
to dry. With only a brief hesitation, he climbed under the blankets
Jessy had recently vacated, sighing as the warmth left over from the
other body sank into his cold joints.

Hearing Malcolm groan, Trip, despite his knowing it would probably be
futile, attempted to hold a conversation. You never knew if Malcolm
was going to give you the stiff upper lip silent treatment or be
pleasant. Trip hunted for something to say. "Too cold out there for
ya?"

"Not so much the cold as the standing," Malcolm replied, digging into
the rations. "I'm out of practice standing to post for hours."

Trip nodded, not looking up from his work. Memories of his cadet days,
long hours standing around doing nothing, made his feet ache in
sympathy.

Evidently Malcolm was tired enough to chat. "Plus there's only so much
pacing you can do in a space that small. I believe I have cramps in
places I didn't know could cramp. Did Giordano sleep?"

"Yeah, she just woke up," Trip answered, wondering to himself if it
would kill Malcolm to refer to his subordinates by first name once in
a while. He couldn't imagine being directly supervised by Malcolm on a
constant basis. The formality would drive him nuts. Trip wasn't much
interested in his rank except as it affected his engineering
reputation, but on certain occasions he liked having a little more
weight to throw around.

While Trip was musing, Malcolm had been watching carefully. "You look
like you need some rest yourself."

"Ah'm fine," Trip snapped without meaning to. At that propitious
moment, he dropped the screwdriver for the third time. "Shit."

Trip reached for the fallen instrument but Malcolm got there first. As
he handed it back to the engineer their fingers brushed and Malcolm
flinched. "My God, Trip, your hands are ice cold."

"I'm almost done," Trip protested. He stopped short when Malcolm
reached up and took his numbed right hand into both of his own.
Malcolm's hands felt like they were made of lava. Smooth, dry, hot
skin surrounded his hand, the warmth flowing gently into his fingers,
soaking down to the bone. "Jesus, Malcolm. . . "

"Pockets," Malcolm replied laconically. He gently began to massage
Trip's frozen fingers, trying to restore circulation.

Trip felt his eyes rolling back into his head. He was so exhausted, he
could feel sleep beginning to fold around him. He tried to fight it
off but it was no use. "You're gonna put me right to sleep, you keep
that up," he murmured. A low chuckle and a sharp pinch to the skin
between his thumb and forefinger was the response. "Ouch."

Malcolm looked at him questioningly and Trip realized he could feel
the pain in his hand, which meant he could feel again. Malcolm let go
and Trip felt a momentary sadness. He missed having the comforting
touch of another human being's warmth. He flexed his hand
experimentally. "I think I'm gonna live, doc."

"Just get finished with the beacon, and get some sleep."

"Giving me orders now, Lootenant?" He drawled the word out, knowing it
annoyed the hell out of the other man.

Reflexively, Malcolm muttered, "Your safety and well-being are my
responsibility, Mister Tucker. If that means forcing you to rest, then
yes."

Trip shook his head. Malcolm drove him crazy much of the time, but at
least the man was consistent. "You really think you could force me to
do anything?" he asked.

"That's what Giordano is for," Malcolm observed drily.

Trip smiled. "It's kinda hard to believe sometimes. I mean, Jessy's so
short."

Malcolm's eyebrows went up. "Don't let size fool you. She could kill
you six ways from Sunday with one hand tied behind her back."

Trip glanced over at Malcolm and noted the gleam in his eye. "You just
love that idea, don't you."

The security officer chuckled. "Let me put it this way: I'm glad she's
on our side."

Trip sealed one last circuit and the beacon lit up. "Done," Trip
sighed. He picked up his tricorder and checked; everything was in
working order. "Now, before anyone else decides to give me a
scolding," he glared at Malcolm, "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when
it's my turn to stand watch."

"Trip-"

"Don't argue with me, Malcolm."

"We agreed this afternoon that your work on the emergency beacon was
too important-"

"And I'm done now, so I can pull my weight same as the rest of you.
You'll wake me up when it's time, understood?" He stared at Reed's
face, a "don't push me right now" look on his own. The command was
implicit but definite.

Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again and forced
himself to take a deep breath. "Very well, sir."

Trip lay down, his back to Malcolm, his blood boiling. The man could
be so damned stubborn! He lay still, knowing that his reaction was
partly due to tiredness and stress. He heard Malcolm finish eating and
lie down next to him under the blankets, careful not to make any
contact with the other body.

Trip rolled his eyes beneath his closed eyelids. There were plenty of
people on Enterprise who could annoy him. Their resident Vulcan
killjoy sprang to his mind. But no one, not even T'Pol, could get him
mad as fast as Malcolm did. He had no idea what exactly it was about
their personalities that constantly threatened open warfare, and
before he had time think much more about it, Trip fell asleep.

---
He was having a wonderful dream about the Gulf of Mexico. The water
was blue and warm, like a hot bath. He was floating happily in the
waves, a warm sunny sky over his head.

Except it seemed to be raining. Water, water, everywhere. . . but
something was wrong.

Trip groaned aloud. He wanted to go back to sleep, back to that lovely
warm dream. He tried to ignore the warning messages from his bladder,
to burrow deeper into the blankets and the softness of his bed-

No, not his bed.

He came fully awake. He was on an icy planet, stranded by a shuttlepod
accident. They were in a cave, waiting the storm out until help could
arrive. He was lying on a rock floor that was definitely not soft.

Cautiously he opened his eyes. Yes, he saw the brown walls of the
cave, the dull gray metal of the shuttlepod just behind him. Very dim
firelight flickered over everything. Something was pillowed against
his body, a soft cushion holding on to him.

The urgent message from his bladder was totally forgotten. There was
an arm wrapped around his waist, and a warm body spooned against his
back. He recalled Jessy leaving to go stand guard, which meant. . .

Malcolm.

As gently as possible, Trip turned onto his back, and looked over.
Malcolm was asleep beside him, one arm thrown carelessly over Trip's
middle. His face, normally as tightly wound as the rest of him, was
relaxed, making him look younger despite the beard growth. His hair,
instead of the usual regulation order, was messy, and his uniform
looked rumpled.

Trip felt a tingling in his groin that had nothing to do with his
bladder. His heart began to pound as the thought flashed through his
mind, "So this is what Malcolm looks like in the morning." So relaxed,
defenses all down; it was indescribably sexy.

Trip's fingers twitched with a desire to touch Malcolm's scruffy
jawline, but his bladder regained his attention at that moment. He
started, recalling where they were, and then froze as his reaction
made Malcolm twitch. What would he say, if he woke up and found his
body entwined with the engineer's, cuddled up like. . . ? Trip
couldn't bring himself to even think the end of the sentence. Would he
be angry? Ashamed? Or, dear Lord, not?

Trip held his breath. Malcolm sighed in his sleep, and rolled over on
his other side, his back now facing the other man. With a brief prayer
of relief, Trip climbed out of the blankets and headed for the far end
of the cave to answer the call of nature.

When he was finally done, he began to go back towards the fire. He
paused, unsure what to do. He was afraid of what he might do if he
climbed back under the blankets. As he stood there, he heard a noise.
It was Jessy, coming from the entrance to the cave, trying to brush
some of the snow off her..

"The storm appears to be breaking, sir."

"Good. Is it time to switch shifts?"

"Yes. I'll wake Lieutenant Reed."

"No!" he said, too quickly. "Let him sleep. I'll take over. The beacon
is running, so it shouldn't be too long now." He grabbed the coat
Malcolm had been wearing earlier and headed for the cave's entrance,
putting as much distance as possible between him and the sleeping
figure by the fire.

---

After a brief trip to Sickbay, a huge bowl of chicken soup and the
longest, hottest shower of his life, Trip finally crawled into his own
bed. He had jokingly asked if he could borrow Porthos to serve as a
bedwarmer. Now he sank under the covers. Starfleet's standard issue
mattresses had never felt so soft before.

He turned out the light and settled in. He felt tired, but not drowsy.
He was tempted to roll over, but he stayed still, reminding himself it
could take anywhere from seven to ten minutes for an adult to fall
asleep.

Twenty minutes later he was finally beginning to get sleepy. But he
still felt uneasy, lying there in the dark. Like there was something
he had forgotten to do. He ran over the ongoing list of things he kept
track of in his head, all of Captain Archer's orders, and came up with
nothing. Mentally he shrugged.

Then a little voice in his head suggested it wasn't something undone.
Something was missing.

Such as what? He had his blankets, his pillow, he was warm and safe on
board the ship.

He realized it wasn't a thing that was missing. It was a feeling. The
feeling of being held by another body, warm and hard against his,
clinging to him even in sleep. The feeling of someone else's breathing
against his skin. Of a strong arm cradled around his stomach as if to
keep hold of him during the night.

The bed suddenly seemed very empty. Trip flopped on his back and
stared up into the dark. It was quite awhile before he finally nodded
off that night.

---

The End