Out of the Blue

Trip trudged along the corridor to his quarters, tired from working non-stop trying to repair the damage the alien and Malcolm had done to their engines. He had been distracted all shift, his mind on T'Pol.

An experiment. A goddamn test subject used to explore human sexuality.

Bitch.

And she even scared Amanda off. Within 24 hours he'd gone from getting a mind blowing (not to mention other parts) lay from their resident Vulcan Tit Goddess, with the prospect of getting even more sweet loving from a very willing Amanda Cole, to being cut off entirely.

The universe wasn't giggling, it was laughing its fucking ass off.

He passed Malcolm's door and stopped abruptly. He hadn't seen the armory officer all day, but at dinner the captain had given him an earful. He thought Jon was going to stroke out, his face red, spitting all over Trip as he ranted about Malcolm and Hayes going at it.

Trip had found it hard to believe. Yeah, Malcolm had been acting a bit squirrelly lately, more wound up and paranoid than usual, but he still couldn't see the man breaking discipline and getting into a schoolyard brawl with the MACO.

Jon had suspended Hayes and Malcolm for three days, confining them to quarters. Considering Jon's anger, he thought the two were lucky that Jon hadn't blown them out an airlock.

What a shitty day, Trip thought. He backpedaled and chimed Malcolm's door. Maybe Malcolm wouldn't mind the company—someone to bitch and moan with, since Malcolm was a world champion at that. And maybe he could snag a couple of beers off him, even if it was that thick, dark, warm crap Malcolm could drink all night long without it seeming to affect him. Just two of them always knocked Trip on his ass.

Maybe he could cage three or four bottles off him.

He noticed he wasn't getting an answer so he leaned on the chime.

Malcolm had to be in there. The captain had restricted him to quarters after all.

"Hey, Malcolm. Open up."

"Piss off."

Oooh. Surly. Considering how snotty Mal had been the other day at lunch, this could be fun.

"Open up or I'll override your code, Lieutenant." He drawled Malcolm's rank, knowing it would annoy him.

"Sod off, Commander." Trip heard the southern accent Malcolm used to emphasize his rank.

The game had begun.

Trip overrode Malcolm's security code and walked into the dimly lit room. His grin faded when Malcolm looked up from his perch on his bunk. Malcolm's face was cut and bruised, his shirt off and bruises visible along his torso.

Malcolm merely looked at him and finished off his drink, pouring himself another. He took a large swallow, then vaguely indicated toward the shelf where a couple clean glasses were stored. He hung his head back down, nursing his blue drink.

"Jesus, Malcolm." Trip took three swift steps over to the bunk and sat down beside him. "You look terrible."

"Thanks ever so much."

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes." He lifted his glass. "Have to resort to this. After Phlox fixed my eye and seen to Hayes' kidney, the captain wouldn't let him give us any pain meds. Said that perhaps we'd think about our actions a bit more if we had a constant reminder." He knocked back the rest of his drink, gingerly wiping his lip as a little dribbled down the corner of his gashed mouth.

He grabbed the bottle and sloshed some more into the glass, then offered the bottle to Trip.

Trip rose and got himself a glass and pour himself a generous helping. "Andorian ale?"

"Yeah. Talas gave me a couple bottles."

"Oh. Talas."

Malcolm didn't say anything; he just swirled his drink around his glass.

Trip gulped his drink and poured another, letting the silence stretch out. He finally broke it.

"You've been pretty bitchy lately, Malcolm. I think you just need to get laid."

"Up yours."

"Well now, if ya think that might help…"

Malcolm looked at him in disbelief. Trip grinned and Malcolm laughed. Trip sat down next to him on the bunk again.

"Ah, so you've been dumped by two ladies and you're here to hit on me then, eh?"

Trip stiffened. "What the hell would you know? You've been stuck in here since last night."

"Oh, please. Half the messhall heard you and T'Pol's 'morning after' conversation, which Foster mentioned when he brought me dinner. And he said he and Amanda were having a 'hot date' later this evening. Really, Trip, if you're going to shag your crewmates, you have to at least learn to have conversations in a less public arena."

Trip finished off his drink and reached for the bottle, topping off Malcolm's glass in passing. "Yeah, well…" He couldn't let Malcolm keep the upper hand. "What about you? What were you thinking, taking Hayes on like that?"

Malcolm snorted and drained half his glass. "He's been spoiling for a fight since he came on board."

"Aw, come on, Malcolm. Don't you think you're overreacting?" Trip took another huge swallow. The ale burned its way down his throat and went straight to his head. "I think you've been acting like an insecure prick, Malcolm."

"Fuck you." Malcolm bolted from the bed, hand tight around his glass, the other in a fist. "Fuck you, Mr. Tucker. Fuck you, fuck Hayes, and fuck Captain Archer." He slammed his fist against the bulkhead and whirled on Trip.

"Easy for you to say. You're his best friend. You're a damn good engineer and you only have to do what you do best. I have to be the armory officer, the tactical officer, and run security for this ship. I'm just a bloody engineer too, you know—ship's weaponry and explosives, offensive and defensive capabilities with a bloody good knowledge of warfare tactics thrown in. That's what I'm good at, what I studied, what my degrees are in—not security. Not the hand-to-hand combat and sharpshooting abilities everyone expects me to have."

He paced furiously in the small space, his rage emanating from him.

"Archer chose me for armory and tactics—then saddled me with security. I got a bloody four-week training course before we shipped out. Then he expected me to supervise a lot of no-neck, small brained security men, bigger, stronger, and better equipped to deal with security issues than I—they had years of experience. I had to win their respect, and most of the time it came by taking my lumps as they pummeled me during sparring practices."

He finished off his drink and poured another one, then topped off Trip's glass. "But at least they've accepted me now and we get on well enough. And they've taught me a lot; they're a good bunch of lads, although a bit dim at times. But then Hayes comes in and every suggestion I've made in the past gets taken seriously by Archer when Hayes brings it up. Half the time the captain looks at me as if I can't organize a piss up at a brewery.

"Never a 'good job, Malcolm' when I disable a ship without hurting anyone, or blow the shit out of an enemy if forced to—he looks at me cockeyed every time I miss a target. On the bridge yesterday, trying to retrieve that lifepod, which he of course wants now, regardless of the consequences, I had to reckon the trajectory in my head without the advantage of a detailed sensor reading of the composition of the anomaly…it's like trying to shoot a target through jelly—the impact angles are all off…"

Trip watched him as he continued to pace, his words slurring slightly, his voice emotional.

"And when we were down on the planet with that kemosite factory—they sent some sort of flying detection devices after us—I barely got two shots off when Archer runs right in front of me, going for the kill—I had to pull up and it got away. Then he gives me the eye, as if he's never seen anyone so lacking…so disappointing. And it just keeps getting worse the longer we're out here.

"When Hayes and his lot came aboard, I tried to work things out—the safety of this crew and the success of this mission are my priorities, regardless of what people think of me. I went to him, suggesting my men spar with the MACOs—we could teach each other different techniques." Malcolm smiled bitterly. "He said that his people were too highly trained and that they'd be too busy running their own drills—which weren't for 'outsiders'."

Trip finished off his drink and poured another for himself, listening, fascinated, as Malcolm continued.

"I swallowed my pride and let him get away with it. Later a couple of the MACOs were complaining they were bored." Malcolm laughed. "Not much to do, sitting around on your arse after a couple hours of workouts and a staff meeting a day. I asked Hayes if he'd be willing to let his people help out—I've been short handed in the armory since Fuller was killed—Archer hasn't gotten around to giving me a replacement yet—I've been pulling extra shifts ever since, rotating with my other men and we could use the break. MacKenzie was interested in that. Hell, Chang wanted to help out in Engineering, he'd thought about going into warp engineering before becoming a MACO; Hawkins wanted to help out with Chef…he fancies himself a bit of a gourmet cook. Kemper is a damn fine field medic and was eager to lend a hand to Phlox."

Malcolm stopped pacing and looked at Trip. "Hayes nixed it. Said he wanted to keep his people focused on the mission, not doing extra grunt work for us—as if his people were too good to get their hands dirty with us Starfleet rubbish."

He sank down on the bunk next to Trip again and took a long drink. "I brought each and every suggestion to Hayes—I didn't go over his head to the captain—that's not the proper protocol. And ultimately, it's his team, not mine—I may be allowed to order them about during a mission, but I'm not in charge of their day-to-day activities. And then Hayes goes to the Captain, over my head, suddenly suggesting the senior staff spar with his people, train on weapons. I wanted to get practice in on those rifles with my men the moment Hayes stepped foot on board—but he wasn't keen on it…said it was pointless, that we had our phase pistols, they had their rifles, and in a fire fight each team would be using their own weaponry."

Malcolm leaned against the wall, wincing as he pressed against a nasty bruise on his back. "And it all came to a head this week—he wanted to spar in the morning—on the days he knew were my turn to do gamma shift in the armory, on top of alpha shift on the bridge. I'm knackered after that and he expects me to get off shift and try to learn something? You bet I was a prick and forced it to the evening."

Trip noticed his glass was empty and reached across Malcolm and poured himself another glass. He needed it. He had no idea what had been going on. He and Malcolm really hadn't been talking much lately though, and he was just beginning to realize the stress his friend had been under recently.

Malcolm shifted and took another swallow of his drink. His one good eye was bloodshot, the other still partially closed. Trip settled next to him against the wall and Malcolm relaxed, slipping down a bit and coming to rest again him.

"And that sparring? Hayes refused to use safety equipment—no headgear, no mouth protectors—what the fuck is that? When my team first starting teaching me, we suited up—the point is to learn, not to draw blood—and I still say that was a dirty move they pulled on Travis. Getting beaten to a pulp doesn't teach you anything…"

"He wasn't beaten to a pulp, Malcolm. And Travis seemed to be okay with it —"

"You don't hurt my friends, Trip." It was a low growl and Malcolm looked at him, frowning.

And it hit Trip, out of the blue. Damn, he's attractive. The voluble outpouring of passion, the dedication and neurotic attempt at perfection in everything he did. Even with his whining and paranoia…Malcolm Reed was one attractive man. Regardless of the cuts and lumps and bruises.

Trip leaned in, his face inches from Malcolm's. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I thought you were just being a dick. Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

Malcolm just looked at him.

So Trip brushed his lips gently against Malcolm's.

He felt Malcolm's move against his, and heard a muffled comment. He pulled back.

"Did you say somethin'?"

"My face is numb, Trip." He held his glass aloft. "Makeshift pain killer, remember?" Malcolm closed in and planted his mouth on Trip, tongue trying to part his lips. Trip let him in.

Eventually they broke apart, both panting.

Malcolm grinned the best he could. "I felt that."

Trip grinned back. "I'm glad ya did." He finished off his drink, took Malcolm's and knocked that one back too.

"I still think you need get laid, Malcolm."

"You do, do you?" Malcolm leaned forward and kissed him again, his fingers roving over Trip's body. Trip poured everything he could into that kiss, his hands busy.

When they parted Malcolm was smirking and despite the state of his face, it was a world-class smirk.

"Room's spinning, Trip. Don't know if it's from the ale or that kiss."

Trip squinted at him, shutting one eye and looked around. "Think it's a combination of both."

"Right. Let's try that again then, shall we? Just to make sure."

Who needs women? Trip thought as he leaned over once more.