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

---

Archive: Ask first

Date: January 27, 2003

Feedback: Please! The bunnies love it. Although I'm expecting some
threats this time. . .

Author's Notes: Sequel to "Frozen, Baked and Marinated," "Blankets,"
and all other stories in that 'verse of mine. I said there would be
more angst, and boy howdy was I not kidding. "*" indicate thoughts.

---
*"He made me feel stupid, and worthless."*

*. . . sacrifices we have made for you. . . disgrace the entire
family. . . irresponsible and selfish. . . *

*worthless*

"So who's winning?"

Malcolm whirled around, unconsciously preparing for an attack. Trip
was standing behind him, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, obviously off
duty for the night. His arms were folded across his chest and he
looked upset. He had been watching as the armory officer beat the
living hell out of the punching bag in the gym.

Malcolm relaxed slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

Trip nodded towards the bag. "I said who's winning, you or whatever is
bugging you?"

Malcolm glared and grabbed his towel, wiping the sweat out of his
eyes. He did not want to have this conversation, particularly not with
Trip. He took a long drink of water and then turned back to the bag
without answering.

Trip sighed. Part of him wanted to just walk out the door, wondering
why he ever bothered to try and help this man. But he knew patience
wasn't just a virtue where Malcolm was concerned. It was a necessity.
Instead of asking more questions, which would've gotten him nothing
anyway, he walked around and positioned himself behind the bag,
bracing it against his body.

Malcolm looked up, surprised. Trip met the look with a calm gaze.
Malcolm shrugged and went back to hitting the bag with all of his
considerable strength.

Trip held on, watching Malcolm forget everything around him, focused
entirely on his internal rage, expending all his energy and his fury
on a safe, inanimate, object. Something had happened last night that
had upset him, but that was all Trip knew.

Well, upset might be a bit of an understatement. Malcolm had been
short-tempered all day. More so than usual. Several people besides
Trip had noticed it, including the Captain. Jon had been going to
summon Malcolm for questioning, but Trip intervened and said he would
try to get Malcolm to talk. Which seemed about as likely as getting a
Klingon to learn how to crochet.

Trip had guessed that Malcolm would come to the gym and vent his anger
in this way, on something that didn't have feelings to hurt or that
outranked him. Everyone had days like that, but Trip was worried.
Malcolm was attacking the bag with enough force to kill. And despite
the profuse sweat and harsh breathing, he didn't seem to be showing
signs of stopping. Whatever had happened, Trip had rarely seen Malcolm
like this.

*. . . irresponsible and selfish. . . *

*worthless*

Malcolm paused for a moment and Trip let go of the bag. He grabbed
Malcolm's arms and held the shorter man still. "That's enough
Malcolm."

"Trip-" he tried to pull away.

The engineer raised Malcolm's hand up in front of his own eyes. There
was blood on the knuckles.

"It's enough. You're exhausted."

Malcolm became aware of a fierce burning in his arms. He had overdone
it by a lot and he would be sore tomorrow. His anger was still there
but at least now his body was too tired to sustain it.

Trip was still eyeing him. "When was the last time you ate?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Not sure. Breakfast?"

"Alright, you're going to take a shower and then we're going to the
mess. Don't make me make that an order, Lieutenant," he added as
Malcolm began to protest. Trip willed his face to relax. "Please."

The soft word accomplished more than an hour of yelling would have.
Malcolm nodded wearily and the two men left the gym in silence.

---

Malcolm went into his bathroom and started the water running in
the shower. He had already stripped off his sweaty t-shirt when he
realized the clean towels were stacked on his bed with the laundry.

Trip glanced up as Malcolm came back and then his eyes glued
themselves to the padd he was supposed to be reading. Only he didn't
see any of the words. The image of Malcolm's bare upper body covered
in sweat, with his ordinarily neat hair a rumpled mess, seemed to be
burned into his retinas. He refused to look up again, starting to
recite the multiplication tables in order to distract himself from the
sudden and unexpected reaction.

Malcolm grabbed the towel and paused. Trip appeared to be studiously
reading, but creeping up his neck and over his ears was a bright red
stain. Was Trip blushing? And why? It wasn't like they hadn't seen
each other less than fully attired before. On more than one occasion.

When the door to the bathroom was securely closed, Trip let out a deep
sigh, running his hand over his face. Then he gave himself a stern
lecture about improper behavior, conduct unbecoming an officer and
plain old rudeness. He was here to keep an eye on Malcolm, but not in
the literal sense. To try and get him to talk about whatever was
bothering him. Not to leer at the man, who happened to be his friend,
his subordinate, and straight. Just like he was.

No matter how good he looked.

"Shit," Trip whispered to himself.

---

Malcolm stood under the hot water for a few minutes. The blood had
been drying on his knuckles and was now washing away. He winced at the
sting from the cut flesh.

*worthless*

He pushed the thought away firmly. He wasn't going to dwell on this
any more tonight. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had a
date to keep.

No, not a date, he corrected himself. Not like that, anyway. Tucker
was simply being a good friend. It had been a long time since Malcolm
had had any close friends and he was determined not to screw this up.

He found himself thinking about Trip blushing. That was something he
would not have expected. Lord knew, the engineer spent enough time in
his underwear, running around on Enterprise and other places without
his uniform. Malcolm wouldn't have thought much was left that would
embarrass the Southerner. He wondered what else could cause the man to
blush.

He bandaged up his bruised knuckles and smiled to himself as he
reached into the wardrobe.

Trip had succeeded in getting his unruly emotions under control by the
time Malcolm emerged from the shower. Trip got up, his normal cheerful
demeanor firmly in place. He turned around and froze.

Even when he was off duty, Malcolm usually was in uniform aboard the
ship. Tonight, though, he was wearing a pair of dangerously tight
black jeans and a dark blue shirt that complemented his eyes
perfectly.

*When the hell did I start noticing Malcolm's eyes?* Trip asked
himself silently.

They looked at each other for a moment. Trip's gaze flickered down and
back up the younger man's body of their own accord. He was ashamed of
it instantly, but he couldn't seem to help it.

Malcolm watched as the red flush began to make it's way up Trip's
neck, again. Well, well, that was interesting. Perhaps he'd been
mistaken about Trip. Either that or the Commander just had a thing for
black jeans, regardless of who was wearing them. Part of him was
ashamed of himself. This was dangerous behavior. But he was feeling a
little reckless tonight. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush.

Malcolm waited until Trip finally looked him in the eyes. "You said
something about food?" he asked innocently.

Trip managed to swallow and gain control of his voice. "Sorry, I just
didn't think you even owned a pair of jeans."

Malcolm looked down casually and then back up. A dozen possible
responses flew through his head, all of them edging close to a line
that he wasn't sure he wanted to cross. Instead he grinned. "I have a
few surprises left, Trip."

Before either of them could think too much about what that might
imply, Malcolm led the way to the Mess hall.

---

"Dammit!"

Trip and Malcolm were carrying trays of food across the mess hall when
the fervent sound of cursing reached their ears. They turned to see
Jessy Giordano and Dan Kowalski sitting across from each other at a
table nearby. Some kind of board game was in between them and
evidently, victory was not on Jessy's side.

Giordano looked up in disgust and realized that her supervisor and the
Chief Engineer had just heard her swearing, rather loudly, over a
game. She blushed a rather bright shade of red. "Lieutenant,
Commander."

Kowalski looked up as well, saw his own boss, and couldn't restrain a
big grin. "Evening, sirs."

Trip glanced at Malcolm, who was studying Jessy with a wry smile. "Do
we want to know what's going on here?"

"Just a friendly game of Chinese checkers, Commander." Dan shot a
gloating look at Jessy, daring her to contradict him in front of
senior staff.

"Friendly games don't usually involve quite so much profanity, do
they?" Malcolm asked pointedly. He sat down at the table with the two
junior crew members, Trip following behind him.

"Well, sir," Dan began, seeing that Jessy was refusing to speak, "I
imagine being beaten seventeen times in a row would make a person a
little less amiable."

"Fifteen," Jessy corrected. "I won two."

Malcolm and Trip shared a surprised look. Jessy caught them at it and
rolled her eyes. "Yes, it's stunning, I know. The great world-
champion Jessy Giordano is not a super woman at *every* game *ever*
invented. Dan's still not quite over the shock."

"That's glee, actually, not shock," Dan interjected. He began to put
the board back to its original state.

"I've never played Chinese checkers before. It's taking me a while to
figure it out," Jessy finished, glaring at Dan.

"Don't feel bad. I've never played m'self," Trip commented, studying
the board.

It was Malcolm's turn to look at Trip in shock. "You've never played
Chinese checkers?"

Trip shook his head. "No, see, I grew up in a place that had actual
fields to go play in. You're the one who's never played SPUD."

"Which has obviously stunted my growth and the development of my
reasoning skills," Malcolm observed sarcastically.

Jessy's eyes went from Malcolm's bruised knuckles quickly up to his
face. She looked away, but not before Trip noticed. However, she said
nothing.

Malcolm turned back to Jessy as he began to eat his dinner. "Why on
earth are you still playing if one of you is, er, less than adept?"

"It's the rules," they said together. Seeing Malcolm's confusion, Dan
added, "We play until someone wins three in a row. Then they get to
pick the next game."

"We started out playing chess, what was it?" Jessy turned to Dan. "Two
months after we left Jupiter station?" He nodded, and Trip noticed his
exultation was noticeably dimmed. "We switched about six weeks ago."

Trip did some quick mental calculations and he could tell Malcolm was
doing the same. "That means you were playing chess for-"

"A long time," Dan cut in. He was glowering at Jessy now, who in turn
was looking much more smug.

Malcolm shot an amused look at Jessy. "Not a super woman at every
game?"

"Not every one, no." Jessy grinned at her boss.

"So what happens if-" he stopped short as she glared at him, "excuse
me, when Jessy finally wins three rounds of Chinese checkers?" Trip
queried.

"Tetris!" they said in unison.

"We already decided it will be much more sporting since we both are
good at that one."

"Or so we say," Jessy chimed in. "Would you like to play a round?"

"Don't you two have to go on duty soon?" Malcolm asked.

"We're both off tonight." Jessy looked at Trip "Come on, sir, if
you've never played either maybe I won't finish last!"

Trip couldn't help laughing despite the implicit insult. He looked at
Malcolm, who was eyeing Dan's challenging stare with an obvious desire
to answer it. Trip looked back at Jessy, "OK, but you've got to drop
the 'sir' stuff. Unless I start losing really badly."

---

Trip smiled at Malcolm's relaxed face. "Nothing like beating
the pants off a cocky lieutenant to brighten your evening, huh?" *OK
that would sound really bad out of context.*

Malcolm grinned back, making himself comfortable on his bed. "It's
nice to get the departmental pride restored a bit. Giordano wasn't
joking. She's horrible at that game. Almost as bad as you."

"Hey, I said I never played before."

"Trip, you're an engineer. Your spatial reasoning skills should be
much better than that."

"Fine. Give me a few days to study the rules and I want a rematch."

"You're on."

Malcolm stretched out, arms behind his head, legs crossed at the
ankles. Trip sat in the desk chair, trying to find something to look
at other than the figure on the bed. Another thought struck him.

"D'you think Dan and Jessy are. . . ?" He left the rest unspoken.

Malcolm didn't open his eyes. "Shagging like rabbits?" Trip snorted.
"No."

"You sound awful sure. . . " An unpleasant idea hit Trip. "Malcolm,
you didn't ask her did you?"

Malcolm sat up on his elbows. "Of course not! I would never pry into
someone else's personal life. Not unless there was a reason."

Trip sighed in relief. "A reason?"

"Problems on duty, something obviously wrong. Jessy is, as always, an
exemplary officer," he added with more than a touch of pride.

"So that's how you know she's not getting it on with Dan?"

"I didn't say that."

He waited. "Well?"

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "It's their night off. If they were
involved, why would they spend it in a public room playing board
games?"

Trip was silent a moment. "Very good point."

"The advantage of having a strategically aware mind, Commander."

"What if they're just trying to allay suspicions by being seen in
public?" Trip pointed out.

"You're overthinking. They have no reason to hide. They're equal in
rank, on paper at least, which means it wouldn't violate the Starfleet
fraternization rules."

"Maybe they just don't want people knowing."

"Why do you care?" Malcolm cracked open an eye and looked at Trip.
"Jealous?"

Trip chuckled and shrugged simultaneously. "Specifically? No.
Generally? Maybe."

Malcolm had both eyes open now, waiting for Trip to explain.

Trip realized that perhaps his love life wasn't the most ideal topic
to bring up right now. Plus he wasn't here to talk about himself.
"What about you?" he asked, thinking of Jessy's silent inspection of
Malcolm's hands.

Malcolm considered a moment. "Would I be jealous? No." *Don't need to
be* he added silently, then chastised himself for the thought. "I'm
perhaps a bit protective of her, though. What did you mean, not
specifically but generally?"

Trip sighed. "I didn't want you to think I was harboring impure
thoughts about your second in command or something." Malcolm's
eyebrows went up, as if to say "You aren't?" Trip smirked. "I just
meant, it gets lonely for everyone, you know? We're a long way from
home, and everybody needs someone to talk to when they have a bad
day."

Malcolm Reed was probably the only person Trip had ever met who could
come to attention even while he was lying down.

"For example," Trip went on, determined to keep going now that he had
started. "When a friend of yours beats an innocent punching bag to
death and nearly breaks his hands doing it, you might start to think
something's wrong. That maybe he needs to talk."

Defensiveness was coming off his body in waves. The mask of Lieutenant
Reed was falling over his face. "I'm sorry, sir, if I gave you the
impression that I was giving out some cry for help, but I believe what
I do on my own time is my own bloody business."

For a moment, Trip wasn't sure if Malcolm was talking about the gym or
something else. His own temper was rising up mutinously, as it so
often did when Malcolm was concerned. "Dammit, Malcolm, drop the 'sir'
crap. You know I'm not here for any official reason. I was worried
about you." He turned away, slightly embarrassed by the force of his
admission.

Malcolm looked down at his hands, at the bandages around his swollen
knuckles. He was acting on impulses that had become second nature to
him years ago. Leave me alone, I'll deal with it myself, stay out of
my business, I'm fine. Anything to avoid betraying any weakness. Keep
everyone distant. Usually it worked.

Trip merely sat, frowning at the stars passing outside the window for
a long minute, struggling for control of his temper. Instead of
getting up and walking out, he turned back. "Come on, Malcolm. Talk to
me." His voice was calmer, a hint of pleading in it.

Malcolm leaned his head on his hands, his eyes closed. How many times
had he heard people say those words? A hundred? A thousand? Suddenly
he felt a bone-deep tiredness, not physical, but an emotional drain he
was sick of. What was he fighting so hard to keep Trip out? What was
he afraid of? Losing the man's good opinion? That would've happened
long ago if it was going to happen at all.

Well, if Trip wanted so badly into the life of Malcolm Reed, he could
bloody well take his chances on what he would find.

"My father and my sister had a fight." Trip let out a breath he hadn't
been aware of holding. Malcolm avoided looking directly at the other
man. He paused, considering how much Trip already knew and what needed
to be explained. "My parents expected me to join the Royal Navy when I
was old enough. It's a family tradition that goes back generations."
He glanced over and Trip nodded once. Evidently he'd heard all that
already. "After I joined Starfleet, Madeline was in a. . . difficult.
. . position."

"Stuck in the middle," Trip supplied.

"Essentially. While I was still on Earth, my father could still expend
his disappointment with me by needling my sister about how much of a
disgrace," he sneered slightly over the word, "I was to the entire
family. But now that I'm light years away, all his need to control
someone is being vented on Maddy, and she's all alone." He looked down
at the floor. "I left her there alone, with this."

"Malcolm, you can't blame yourself for living your own life," Trip
began to protest.

"You don't know my father," Malcolm stated flatly. "He has a
remarkable gift for using the minimum number of words needed to make
you feel as though you have never had one sensible or rational thought
in your life. That you aren't worthy of the space you take up."

Malcolm got up and walked past Trip, to the window, the pain he
usually suppressed so deeply making his voice shake. "For most of my
life I did everything I could to make him proud of me, until I finally
realized that I could never do it. Unless I lived the exact life he
planned, the life he didn't manage to have for himself, I would always
be a failure to him."

The hurt in Malcolm's voice was palpable. The misery of it was
compounded by the unusualness of the display. Malcolm had not spoken
so openly to Trip since they had come close to dying together. Of
course, then they were both drunk off their asses. He was afraid now
to say anything that would break the spell, that would cause Malcolm
to stop and shut him out again.

"Maddy hasn't quite accepted that yet, " Malcolm went on. "She doesn't
understand fully that being a woman means she'll always be second rate
to our father. He wanted sons, and he got me." A bitter laugh
punctuated the statement.

Malcolm turned back and looked at Trip, who was silent and watching
him intently. "So, Maddy went home to see them, my father said his
usual minimalist cruelties that made her feel 'stupid and worthless'
and she left, and called me in the middle of the night, crying. I've
been wanting to strangle him all day."

"You're not the only one," Trip muttered, thinking of just what he'd
like to say to any man who could be so cold and cruel to his own
children.

Unexpectedly, Malcolm smiled. It was probably wrong, but it comforted
him that anyone would take his side with such blind faith. He was used
to being on the defensive on the subject. Even Madeline, when she was
less upset, often counseled Malcolm that he had no perspective on this
situation, which always felt to him like a cop- out. Like no one could
just take his side of the fight, because he wasn't totally in the
right.

On some level, he knew, his father's voice would always be with him.
Nagging. Second-guessing.

And Malcolm knew that on some level, he would always be afraid his
father had been right all along.

Trip looked up, noticed the change in Malcolm's face. It had gotten
much darker, the man lost in his own thoughts. "Mal?" he queried
softly.

Malcolm didn't look up, despite the nickname which he detested. When
he spoke, his voice was so low Trip had to strain to hear it. "I'm
beginning to realize that the universe isn't big enough for me to get
far enough away."

Trip flinched. It shook him to see Malcolm like this. He'd seen the
lieutenant physically hurt, far too often, seen him in fury and even
despair. He'd seen Malcolm look death in the face and be calm about
it. This was different.

Malcolm looked weak. Beaten. It felt unnatural, like something in the
fundamental order of Trip's universe was out of whack.

Not thinking what he was doing, Trip crossed the room and stood next
to Malcolm. He wanted to put his arms around the younger man, hold him
up, but he was afraid to for a multitude of reasons. Instead he placed
a comforting hand on Malcolm's shoulder.

Malcolm felt a slight trembling in his stomach as he spoke. He was
unused to talking about this with anyone, even Maddy. He felt scared
and relieved at the same time. He shut his eyes, trying to get control
of the shaking, and felt a warm hand rest on high his shoulder, just
below the collarbone.

It wasn't much, but the simple reassurance of that touch calmed him
down. He opened his eyes and looked into Trip's face, gratitude
showing on his own. Trip squeezed his shoulder gently in response.

Trip wanted to lighten the mood a little. "Well, you certainly picked
the best method of putting distance between the two of you," he joked.
"Is that why you were so eager for the posting on Enterprise?"

Malcolm smiled weakly. "Something like that."

"At least out here he can't order you around," Trip pointed out, and
then laughed. "Here's it's only the Captain and all of Starfleet
Command, and T'Pol. And me."

Malcolm's lips quirked into his usual half-smile. "It's ironic isn't
it? I wanted to escape having my father dictate my entire life and in
doing so, I voluntarily submitted myself to a life where there will
always be someone telling me what to do." He shook his head. "You
would think that to rebel against that kind of control would mean
getting as far away from orders and rules as possible."

"Can I say something? And you promise you won't take my head off?"

Malcolm narrowed his eyes but he nodded.

Trip took a deep breath. "I think you might be more like your father
than you want to admit. Now hear me out," he raised his hand as
Malcolm pulled away, furious. "I don't mean that you're a vicious,
controlling son of a bitch. I mean that you like rules and
regulations. Come on, Malcolm, you love being in Starfleet. Most of us
are here as explorers and we take the military part as a necessary
chore. You love all that stuff."

Malcolm leaned back against his desk, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I
couldn't entirely escape my blood. I opted for a life as close to that
of my grandfather's as I could manage, without involving water."

Trip chuckled, leaning against the wall opposite him. "Plus our guns
are bigger out here."

"That too."

"Look, Malcolm, getting this position on this ship wasn't easy. Your
family has every reason to be proud of you. You have every reason to
be proud of yourself. If they can't see that, well, their loss. But if
you can't see it. . . " He shook his head. Part of him wanted to smack
Malcolm upside the head for being so doubtful of his own worth.

Malcolm smiled slightly. "If I can't, then what?"

There was an insolence in his voice that made Trip's heart start to
beat a bit faster. "You're an even bigger damn fool than I thought you
were."

Malcolm glared. "This is your version of helping? Calling me a fool?"

Trip started to apologize and then caught the glint of a smile lurking
in Malcolm's eyes. Trip rolled his eyes and Malcolm couldn't help but
chuckle himself. "See?" Trip said. "You're feeling better and you
didn't have to bleed to do it."

Malcolm sighed. "No, I just had to have an overly-inquisitive
Southerner poking his nose into my business and insulting me."

"Hey, keep in mind that overly-inquisitive Southerner still outranks
you," Trip said with mock-anger.

Malcolm saluted him. "Overly-inquisitive Southerner, sir."

"That's better." There was a pause and Trip tried to figure out how
best to say what he wanted to say. "Look, Malcolm, I can't really give
you any advice on this. I don't know why some. . . " he floundered.
Glancing up at Malcolm's expectant face, he swallowed hard and
continued. "You belong here, alright? Just try and remember that."

Malcolm blushed this time, all the way up to the roots of his hair.
"I'll try."

Trip took hold of one of Malcolm's wrists, shaking it for emphasis.
"And next time, you might maybe try talking to someone before you
damage yourself. I mean, what if the Suliban attack us in the middle
of the night and you can't throw a punch?"

Malcolm's index finger squeezed, hard. "That's all I need to fire a
phase pistol."

Trip rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "You've got such a one track
mind." He started to let go when Malcolm's fingers took hold of his.
Reflexively, his hand closed around the other.

"Trip-" Malcolm began, and then stopped.

They stood still for a moment. Memory flashed through Trip's mind like
a bolt of lightning. The impression of the warm, slightly rough skin
closed around his own had been imprinted on his senses months earlier,
in a brief, utterly unremarkable moment during an away mission.
Malcolm's hand felt exactly the same now as it had then. Heat seemed
to radiate into his skin, sinking down into the bone.

Staring at their entwined hands, Malcolm swallowed hard against his
internal reaction. "Thank you," he managed, forcing himself to look
up.

Trip couldn't meet Malcolm's eyes. The comfortable, friendly
atmosphere in the room had fled as soon as their skin made contact,
and he found he was afraid to look up, because of what could be
showing on his face. He didn't even consider what might be apparent on
Malcolm's face.

Because he knew what was supposed to happen next, and the idea
terrified him.

Instead he nodded and very deliberately let go of Malcolm's hand,
almost shaking it off. He stepped away and made a show of looking at
the time.

"It's getting late, and I guess I've interrogated you enough for one
night." He gulped. *Get a grip, Tucker.*

Malcolm had some difficultly controlling his voice. "You certainly
have."

Trip flinched. Had he been looking, he would've seen the flash of hurt
that had gone across Malcolm's face when he pulled away. As it was,
something lurked in his friend's voice that cut into him. A line from
a song popped into his head, "If ever words could make me bleed. . . "
He turned, looking at Malcolm but avoiding the other man's eyes.
"Remember what I said." *And not what I just did.*

Malcolm stood upright, unconsciously putting his hand behind his back,
as if to hide it. "I will. Good night."

Trip used all his restraint not to run out the door, his panic
threatening to swallow him whole.

Malcolm went to bed, but as he had anticipated all day, he didn't
sleep. However, the reason was not what he had expected it to be.

Had he known it, Malcolm might have taken some small comfort in the
fact that he was not the only person on the ship who got no sleep that
night.

---

The End