The BLTS Archive - Misunderstandings & Mistakes #2: Shattered by Marie Whi Mitshue (DriftingPetal@gundamwing.org) --- Comments: This is the companion piece/continuation to "Broken." This is from Trip's point of view. Angsty. I'm gonna say that this one is just as OUT-OF-CHARACTER as "Broken" was. Probably not the best I've ever written, but when the muse munchkin in the back of my head demanded I write this, how was I to say no? Beta reader(s): C-chan Archived to EntSTSlash on 07/01/2002. Archived at EntSTCommunity with the author's express permission. -- I awoke to find my dearest dream come true: he was pressed up against my chest, as naked as I was, thick, dark hair endearingly ruffled, a slight smile on his kiss-swollen lips. I stared down at him as he slept, revelling in the feel of his chest rising and falling against me, the tickle of his breath against my skin, the warmth of his solid, muscled body against me. I marvel at the sweet peacefulness on his face. When awake he usually has this little frown etching a line just above the bridge of his nose, a product of all his professional paranoia and concern, and of his personal restraint and reserve. In sleep it was smoothed out, and he looked so young, almost vulnerable, his chocolate-brown lashes lying like dark fans against the paleness of his skin. Almost vulnerable?! Since when has Malcolm Reed ever been vulnerable?! Even in the middle of a firefight, or captured by some alien, Malcolm is never vulnerable. Temporarily out of control, maybe, but never for long. I ache to kiss that beautiful mouth again. His quarters smell like sex, and smell like him. Desire burns through my body, fuelled by his warmth, his nearness, his scent, the memory of last night, and I harden swiftly. I want to wake him with kisses, make love to him slowly, and confess my love. He murmurs something in his sleep and rolls away from me, presenting me with the curve of his strong, slim back and the back of his tousled dark head. I feel suddenly bereft without his body and his heat snuggled against me. Suddenly, a thought occurs to me. //Did last night... mean anything to Malcolm?// Last night could've just been need, lust, and not love. It had just sorta...happened. I rose up on one elbow, and stared silently at the nape of his neck, so slender and pale and beautiful. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to reach out and tell him how I feel, but fear has taken a choke hold on me. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if it was just...sex to him? I couldn't bear to say 'I love you' and see nothing but friendship and pity in those storm-and-sea-coloured eyes of his. I slip silently out of his bed, grateful that he moved away in his sleep. I can't be here when he wakes; I can't face him like this. I know! I'll ask Jon what to do! He knows I've been carrying a torch for Malcolm for quite a while. He can give me some advice, and bolster my courage enough so that I can tell Mal how I feel. 'Cause right now, I've suddenly become a gutless coward. Malcolm may be our resident sneaky stealth guy, but I manage to jump into my uniform and sneak out of his quarters without waking him up. I slip into my quarters and slump on the edge of my bunk. I need to shower and shave; my hair is messy and wild, and my chin is scruffy. But Malcolm's scent clings to me, as does the faint scent of our lovemaking, and I am reluctant to shower it away. It is all I have of him right now, and if I don't find the courage to tell him how I feel, that may be all I'll ever have of him. On my way to work, I see him coming up the corridor out of the corner of my eye, neat, clean-shaven... and expressionless. Damn, that bland expression does not bode well for the future of my love. I school my face into a calm, disinterested expression, looking down at the PADD in my hands, thankful I had it. If I had had to keep my attention on him, I would've broke and revealed something of what I was feeling. I managed to ask him if he's having a good morning, in an absent voice, keeping my eyes on the PADD. He blinks, as if he expected something else - like what?! If only I had some clue of what lies beneath that cool, reserved exterior! But the only times I've ever seen glimpses of the passionate person that lays beneath are time when we were about to die, or yelling at each other...or last night. His cool expression doesn't change, and his voice is distant as he tells me his morning's fine. All I want to do is to haul him into my arms and kiss him senseless. Thank God, the 'lift has arrived! I step inside and wave two fingers at him, pretending most of my attention is focussed on the PADD in my hands. As the turbolift doors slide shut, I get a glimpse of him still standing there, blinking, an odd, blank expression on his face. Oh, I gotta talk to Jon! I managed to corner my friend and captain at lunch. He takes one look at me, as I stop him by the door to the Captain's Mess, and blinks. "What's wrong?" Are the first words out of his mouth. I glance quickly around us. There is no one in earshot, and I don't care about the people further off, since they can't hear me. "I slept with Malcolm last night." I tell him bluntly. One eyebrow raises. "And why aren't you jumping for joy?" I sigh. "I...don't know how he feels about it." "Didn't you talk to him when you both woke..." Jon stops speaking as I squirm, cheeks heating slightly. "Please don't tell me you sneaked out before he woke up!" Archer hisses. "Uh..." "Trip! How do you think that's gonna make him feel?!" "I dunno!" I growl, and my accent thickens with emotion. "Ah don't know 'ow he feels! Ah know Ah love him, Jon..." I stare at the captain intently, but it's not him I'm seeing. I'm seeing Malcolm, as he was this morning, so relaxed and beautiful and sweet- looking in his sleep, curled up against me. "I love him so much!" "Whoa, there, Trip! You're looking at me with such a dreamy expression! If anyone sees, they're bound to think it's me you got the hots for!" Jon jokes. I ignore my friend attempt at humour. "What am I gonna do, Jon?!" I sigh desperately. "C'mon, let's talk in here." The captain presses the keypad that opens the door to his own mess and we hurry inside. We aren't in the captain's mess for more than ten minutes when the intercom beeps. Archer reaches over his dinner and hits the switch. "Archer here." "Captain, you need to come to Reed's quarters right away." Phlox's worried, but calm voice says. "I've called for a medical team, but -" "A medical team!" Archer yelps, as dread curls in the pit of my belly. "What for?" "Mister Reed seems to have tried to kill himself." Archer looks at me, a look dark with blame and horror, but also full of compassion and sorrow. "On my way." I rise unsteadily and we pelt out of the captain's private mess. As I run after Jon down corridors, I can feel my heart breaking. What the fuck has Malcolm done?! WHY would he try to kill himself?! That act of self-destruction is so...so un-Malcolm- like!! Perhaps Phlox is wrong; it was an accident, or an attack, not attempted suicide. But my belly churns with fear, guilt and horror, and I fear that it's true...and that it's my fault. We run into Malcolm's quarters, and I skid to a stop, the blood draining from my face as I take in the scene before me. Malcolm Reed is sprawled on the deck, an antique pistol a few feet from him. Dr. Phlox is kneeling beside him, broad, capable hands clamped around Malcolm's head. Blood was oozing from between the Denublian's fingers, was all over Malcolm's face, soaking his dark hair, trickling onto the deck beneath his head. His eyes are open, but hazy, unfocussed, disoriented. I find myself on my knees beside him. "Malcolm! God, why the hell would you do this?" My voice is rough and anguished, all the effort I put into hiding my feelings now irrelevant. I'm not even sure he can hear me, but his eyes move slightly in my direction and his lower lip trembles. His gasped answer is not quite what I expected. "Rather be dead...than watch you... love Archer and not me..." "WHAT!!" I roar, shock, guilt, and confusion exploding in the pit of my stomach. What could make him think I was in love with Jon?! And his shaking words are so full of emotion...he cared for me all along?! Like I do for him?! And I never saw it?!?! The medteam arrives and slings out a stretcher. I refuse to leave my spot beside him, so under Phlox's direction, I help lift Malcolm onto the stretcher and we start for Sickbay. "God, Malcolm, why...oh, GOD, you think 'cause I left this mornin' before you woke that I...Malcolm -" I say, voice shaking, full of pain and worry, not caring that Phlox, Archer and the nurses can hear every word. Self-hate joins the emotions stabbing through me. This is all my fault! If I hadn't been such a fucking coward this morning, and stayed...this wouldn't have happened! The only reason that Malcolm would do something so irrational and unlike himself was if he was driven to it by immeasurable, unendurable hurt - hurt I must've caused when I so callously walked out this morning. Pain, deep and sorrowful, flits across Malcolm's groggy, blood-smeared face. Suddenly, he twists away from Phlox and rolls right off the edge of the stretcher. There is a collective gasp, but I'm already moving. I slid in beneath his fall and just manage to catch him before he impacts with the deck. I cradle him to me as if he were a child, his blood soaking into my clothes. "Damn it, Malcolm, stop it! You're gonna die if we don't get ya to Sickbay!" I growled in Malcolm's ear, voice shaking with terror, love, guilt, fear, anger... "I... gave you... my body..." Malcolm sobs raggedly, twisting weakly and ineffectually against my embrace. "...Gave you my heart...but all...you wanted was...a willing body...you...used me!" He gasps out. My heart shatters beneath that broken, despairing accusation and I feel tears spring to my eyes. He's too weak to twist out of my grasp, and blood is still slipping down his face from the self-inflicted wound. Malcolm is an expert marksman, and the only thing that made him miss his target was Phlox's interruption. That was the only reason he wasn't dead already. But the bullet had still entered his head, was doing damage inside... was killing him. Malcolm shivered violently, and his eyes became more distant, starting to glazing over. He was dying in my arms... "Malcolm, I ...Oh, sweet Jesus, this is all my fault!" I said brokenly. "Commander, we have to get him to Sickbay NOW!" Phlox orders and I glance up, through my tears, and nod. I lift the man I love and lay him back on the stretcher, and we start to run for Sickbay. Malcolm's fading before my eyes. He's dying, and it's my fault. I have to tell him, have to give him something to fight for, to hang on to life for. It's my selfish fault that this happened, because I was afraid to tell him how I feel. Fucking coward... "Malcolm, I love you. Do ya hear me, Mal, I FUCKING LOVE YOU! I was scared when I woke up, terrified you'd tell me our lovemakin' meant nothing to you! So I left. It took everythin' in me to be so distant this mornin' by the 'lift when all I wanted to do was pull you into my arms." I yell at him frantically, hoping he can still hear me, hoping that knowing I love him will make him fight to stay alive. "Saw...you...looking at...the captain...you love...him..." Malcolm gasps out in a barely there whisper, trembling and fraught with agony. "Christ, Malcolm, I was talkin' about YOU! Asking Jon what I should do! I swear, the truth is that I. LOVE. YOU!" I sob, desperate for him to understand, to LIVE! Dread, realisation, horror, shock, and disbelief flicker faintly over his pale, bloodied face. "Oh..." He breathes...and then his eyes flutter closed, head slipping sideways against the material of the stretcher. "MALCOLM!" And all the light goes out of my world. --- The End