Phobos

Trip woke from his unnatural slumber, the motion of his legs stopped by his boots hitting an unexpected barrier. He opened his eyes, the lighting so dim that it was difficult to see the outline of his own hand resting next to his face.

He sat up, slow and careful, not knowing where he was and trying to remember what had happened. He reached out with both hands, their momentum stopped, just as his feet had been halted, by a wall. Smooth. Cold to the touch. No flaws perceptible to his sensitive fingertips.

He pulled himself upright, and hit his head. He stood there, hunched over and cramped, arms barely spread, fingers sliding up the wall and above him, measuring the confined space. The panel above him was made of the same flat material as the walls, cold but with the exception of thin even openings. He stuck a flattened palm as far as it could go, up to his knuckles, into one of the opening and felt a breeze. Air.

He felt along the rest of the slotted openings that ran the length of the ceiling of his small prison, testing their strength with his fingertips. No give to them.

He let his hands walk down the sides of the four walls, then crouched down to the floor. More slots, just as the ceiling had, the same proportional openings running the length of the floor.

He sat down, his back uncomfortable from being unable to stand fully upright. There was barely enough room for him to sit cross legged, his knees touching each side of this limited space.

He remembered what had happened.

***

They were on the bridge, a new planet below them. T'Pol was performing scans and Trip was at his station.

Jon was waiting patiently for Hoshi to report if their hails were being acknowledged.

Trip looked over at Malcolm, and smiled slightly.

He had a look of intense concentration on his face, interpreting the readings coming in. He cocked his head to one side, a frown developing.

"Sir, I'm reading an unidentified power source," Malcolm reported. He keyed in the location, pinpointing it. "It's getting stronger. I suggest we polarize the hull plating."

Trip grinned at that. It was always Malcolm's first reaction.

Malcolm looked up at the Captain, waiting for a reply and darted a look at Trip.

Trip smiled at him, and Malcolm's expression softened, then his professional appearance returned.

Jon opened his mouth to tell Malcolm to go ahead, when a yellow beam of light passed through the ship.

Trip couldn't move. He was frozen in place, eyes open, looking at Jon.

Jon was immobilized as well.

They were suddenly released and they all clutched at their stations, steadying themselves. Malcolm ignored protocol and started to polarize the hull plating. The light returned.

And Trip woke up here.

***

Trip pressed his face to the wall, trying to see out. Nothing but a murky greyness. He heard a soft sound above him and looked up.

A shadow passed overhead and then he heard a soft rustling sound. A bit more light.

The ceiling began to move.

***

Malcolm woke with a start. Someone was screaming hoarsely. He rose swiftly and rammed his head into the ceiling above him. He cursed and heard the scrabbling of feet directly above him, the screaming continuing.

Oh God, it was Trip.

"Trip! What's wrong?"

Trip heard Malcolm's frantic cry and he tried to pull himself together.

"Jesus Christ, Malcolm! Help me! There's a ton of bugs in here!"

More creatures were squeezing through the grating above Trip, flattening their large bodies to push through the grating, their twelve bristly legs moving, fast and fluid.

They continued to drop silently down upon him.

He could feel them crawling on him. His head, his neck, his arms. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them. Trying to insinuate themselves under his clothing.

His worst nightmare.

Entomophobia.

Fear of insects.

He felt multiple legs, big, hairy and swift. They were crawling rapidly on his bared skin. Trying to get to his face. Trying to crawl into his mouth. Reaching for his eyes. Probing his ears and nose.

He bucked and rocked against the walls, a frenzied St. Vitus dance, jerking and twitching, breathing rapidly through his nose, slapping at them. Fighting against the instinct to scream again. Eyes squeezed shut.

Something bit him. Hard.

It stung. He swatted the thing hanging on the back of his hand, crushing it.

A hot fluid, sticky and thick, spilled over his hand. The furry legs kept moving, trying to cling to him.

The legs were longer and thicker than his fingers.

"Are they above you?" Malcolm called up to him, trying to stay calm. Trip needed to hear someone calm right now. Malcolm knew his lover's fear.

He knew how terrifying it was to face a fear.

Trip brushed at himself, swatting at his body, trembling and horrified. He forced himself to look up through slitted eyes. The ceiling was motionless. He could no long feel the alien insects on him, only the phantom touch of their limbs. The floor was moving now, covered, a writhing mass.

"No." The lone word was all his dry, shaky voice could manage. He continued his agitated movements, sweaty and lightheaded, incapable of rational thought, putting all his resources into not screaming.

"Hang onto it. Pull your feet up. Hang there. The walls are too slick for them to climb. Just hang there and I'll try to pull them out, all right?"

Malcolm's soothing and commanding tones cut through Trip's fear and Trip grabbed at the slots above him. He pulled his legs up, shaking his feet hard, kicking off an extremely large creature. He whimpered, and a stab of self-loathing went through him.

"Now prop your feet against one wall and lean your back against the opposite wall. They can't get you then. Try to breathe regularly, Trip. You're beginning to hyperventilate. They can't reach you. They can't get you. I've got them."

Malcolm's voice was warm, reassuring. Trip did as he said. Malcolm continued to speak to him in low comforting tones, his accent caressing Trip, calming him.

Malcolm reached his fingers up and pulled at the creatures, forcing them through the grated ceiling above him, the action tearing them apart, his anger focused on them.

He didn't let his anger reach his voice though. He continued to talk to Trip, listening to his lover's harsh breathing, waiting for it to slow.

Malcolm told Trip he loved him. He was proud of him. Admired his courage.

Trip listened, replying he was a wimp. A cry baby. A coward. Scared by a bunch of bugs.

Malcolm yelled at him. Told him to stop.

"Don't make me come up there and fuck you senseless…"

Trip laughed, feeling slightly ill, but less tense. He chanced a look at the floor.

It was no longer moving.

Trip stayed there, wedged against the walls, reluctant to leave his safe perch. He felt worse, hot and sick to his stomach.

Malcolm continued to talk to him, sweet nothings, endearments. Trip felt himself relax.

"Come on down, love. They're gone. We got them all."

Trip lowered himself to the floor, grateful that Malcolm's slender fingers had removed all portions of the creatures. He sat on the floor, sweating and panting.

Malcolm reached through a slot, his fingers jammed as far as they could go. Trip clutched them and squeezed.

"You okay?"

Trip heard the concern in Malcolm's voice. He bent and kissed his fingers.

"Think so, darlin'. Thanks. I'm sorry…" Trip stopped and swallowed. He felt queasy.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Malcolm said brusquely. "It was terrible, but it's over now." His tone softened. "You handled yourself well, love. I'm sorry that you had to go through that…"

"I think I'm gonna be sick…"

"Trip…"

Malcolm heard him retch and he quickly backed away. But there was nowhere to go.

"Shit!"

"I'm sorry."

"This is disgusting."

"Sorry."

"I haven't been vomited on since I was in school."

"I said I was…" Trip retched again.

"Fuck!"

Trip chuckled. He couldn't help it. He felt odd, and scratched absently at the bite mark on his hand.

"Right. Very funny, Trip."

"I feel weird, Malcolm."

"I feel sodding drenched, thank you."

"No, I mean, I feel…I think one of those things bit me…"

Malcolm quickly pulled himself up and pressed his face against the grate, peering up to look at Trip.

"Let me look at you."

Trip leaned his face down against the floor. He could see Malcolm's worried eyes and Trip smile wanly at him.

"You don't look well."

"I don't feel good."

Malcolm extended his fingers, brushing the tips against Trip's forehead.

"You feel warm, but I can't really tell…"

"You don't smell very good, Mal." Trip giggled.

"I'm covered in your puke, Trip. Makes one rather odoriferous." Malcolm sounded miffed.

"Wish I could wash you off."

"My luck you'll piss on me next…"

"Didn't know you were into golden showers…"

"Oh, lord, Trip, I swear to—"

Malcolm was cut off by a cascade of icy cold water flooding down from the slots above Trip's head.

***

The shock of the frigid water made Trip jump up, backing into the wall, trying to get away from the steady stream overhead. His head swam and he nearly passed out. He leaned against the wall, shaking.

The water flowed down to his feet. And through the slots in the floor. Into Malcolm's enclosure.

"Trip!"

Trip heard the hint of panic in Malcolm's voice.

Aquaphobia.

Fear of Drowning.

"Mal!" Trip forced himself to move, diving back under that freezing downpour, pressing himself against the floor.

"Malcolm! Move to a corner and let it drain out!"

"The floor's solid—" Malcolm climbed back up, lifting his feet out of the rapidly pooling water, pressing his face against the grate, looking up at Trip.

Trip saw that Malcolm's eyes were wild. Scared. He'd never seen Malcolm scared like this before.

"Trip…"

Trip shivered, the freezing water pounding down on his back.

"Malcolm…it'll be okay. Stay calm."

Trip unknowingly parroted back the words Malcolm had spoken to him minutes before.

Malcolm began swinging, kicking his feet against the side of the wall, trying to break the clear surface. His boots beat a futile tattoo against the barrier, and he began to swear in earnest.

Trip could hear the rising desperation in his voice.

Trip shook his head, trying to clear it, and moved against the side of the wall, out of the chilling stream. He was shivering uncontrollably now, teeth chattering, yet he felt so hot. He sank to his knees and put his deadened fingers over Malcolm's.

"Malcolm…"

"Jesus, Trip…"

Trip could see that the water was rapidly climbing, filling the small cubicle in which his lover was trapped. He heard the bright panic in Malcolm's voice, could see the fear in every powerful kick.

Trip tried to stand, to reach up to do the same, to try to kick through the walls of their imprisonment.

He couldn't rise, his legs were numb and as hard as he concentrated, they would not respond.

He tried to push himself up and slipped, landing with a wet thump on the floor of his cage, cheek against the grating, his eyes on Malcolm's face.

"Trip! Jesus Christ, Trip…" Malcolm's voice rose in pitch as he continued his hysterical kicking, the wall not giving, his attempts useless. The water filled half the cubicle now, and was rising. Trip could see the body parts of the insects that had attacked him floating and churning in the eddies of the water and his stomach seized again.

Trip harnessed his waning energy and tugged at the grating of his floor, pulling on it, endeavoring to rip it up and away, or at least break enough of the solid portions to make a hole large enough for Malcolm's body to get through.

Trip couldn't feel his hands. His fingers clawed at the floor, ineffectual and impotent.

"Aw God, Malcolm, I'm sorry. I…I can't get a hold of it…"

Malcolm merely continued his mad kicking, his jaw clenched, a keening sound coming from low in his throat. It sounded like Porthos to Trip, that anxious whine a dog makes when in distress. It cut through him and he made a double handed fist and tried to beat through the grating, looking for the weakest spots.

Malcolm inhaled sharply as the flood hit his legs. He levered himself up, compressing himself as flat as possible against his ceiling. His boots, now slick with moisture, slipped against the smooth wall and his legs fell back into the water.

Trip heard that low whine get louder.

Malcolm scrabbled up the side again, and pressed himself flat against the grate. The icy water fell down onto his torso and he tried to keep his face clear from it.

Trip could no longer beat against the floor, his arms unable to respond to the commands he sent them. He could only lie there, watching his lover become more frantic, his eyes huge and dilated, searing into his own.

Malcolm shivered violently as the water reached his back. He jammed his face into the grating and Trip saw the fear and silent pleading in his lover's eyes.

"I love you."

Malcolm's words were low, his voice trembling as intensely as his arms and body.

"You're not gonna die, Mal!" Trip spat out, unable to move now, his body paralyzed.

"I'm going to drown like a rat." Trip heard the strain and emotion in Malcolm's voice. Trip made a supreme effort and brought his face to Malcolm's.

"Malcolm."

"I'm scared, Trip."

Trip watched the water rise.

Helpless.

Trip stared into his lover's eyes.

"I love you Malcolm. I'm so sorry."

"I love you, Trip. Thank you, for loving me." Malcolm tried to kiss him, but couldn't reach through the slots.

The water rose, swamping the floor and Trip was barely able to raise his head and prop it onto his deaden arms.

The water stopped pouring into his cell.

He watched Malcolm holding his breath and struggling to cram his face through the grating. The slots were too narrow, the freezing water just deep enough to pool, air centimeters out of Malcolm's reach.

Trip could only watch, those interminable minutes ticking by, his eyes blurry with silent tears, as his lover's struggles slowed then ceased.

Trip watched the water's motion become gentle and then stop.

He saw his lover's body hanging, suspended in the water, his hair freed and flowing, eyes finally closed, face finally at peace.

Trip watched, waiting. Waiting for death to take him as well as his body slowly shut down.

He waited for a good twenty minutes before he felt his tomb shake, before he saw that brilliant white light, before he sighed and gave himself up to the light.

***

"Trip."

He opened his eyes. Beautiful concerned green eyes stared into his.

Jon.

"Cap'n?"

He was wrapped in a blanket, Phlox hovering over him. Trip heard the hiss of a hypospray. He felt a tingling in his desensitized fingers and it slowly spread through his limbs.

"Where's Malcolm, Trip?"

"Dead."

Jon and Phlox both looked at him in disbelief.

"He was right below me. They drowned him." Trip couldn't believe he was so calm. Probably in shock, he thought in resignation. He didn't care. He looked around. He was in the transporter room.

"Was he in the same water you were?" Phlox asked him. Trip had never heard Phlox use such an urgent tone before.

"What?"

"The water! Was it as frigid as the water you were in?"

"Yeah…" He was tired. He tried to keep his eyes open.

"Captain, have the transporter lock onto everything within a three meter radius from where Commander Tucker was found."

Archer gave the order.

"What's the point? He's dead. I watched him die," Trip said quietly.

His lover was dead.

"The chances of reviving a cold water drowning victim are good. But we mustn't wait too long."

"It's been at least 30 minutes," Trip protested. He couldn't stand the thought of false hope.

"Victims have been known to recover after being submerged for over an hour. The record is 88 minutes—"

Their conversation was cut off as the transporter came to life.

Ice cold water flooded down the floor toward them, and a body appeared on the platform. Malcolm.

Trip thought he looked like a statue, carved of the purest marble. White. Gleaming wetly. His dark hair and lashes stood out in startling contrast to that pale flesh.

Trip looked away and closed his eyes. He let the shadows that had been threatening to claim him swoop in.

***

"Trip."

"Uhhnn."

"Trip."

Trip pried his eyes open. He was lying down. Sickbay.

"Trip."

Jon was talking to him.

"Jon."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been kicked by a mule and then tossed on a manure pile."

Jon chuckled.

Trip turned his head and looked at the biobed to his left.

Empty.

Trip closed his eyes. He felt tears pricking at them.

"Other side, Trip," Jon's gentle voice broke in.

Trip's eyes flew open and he whipped his head to the right.

Malcolm was on the biobed.

Sleeping. Monitors confirming that he was breathing, his heart beating.

Trip inhaled raggedly, his control slipping. Jon clutched his hand.

"He's okay. Phlox managed to revive him. The freezing water kept him from having brain damage. Phlox thinks he was dead for about 40 minutes…" Jon trailed off as Trip closed his eyes and squeezed his hand hard.

"Oh God, Jon…"

"It's okay, Trip." Jon stroked Trip's head, trying to soothe his friend. He spoke to him in a low voice.

"We managed to find your biosign on the planet. Blasted a few torpedoes down their throats and beamed you up."

Jon's voice took on a tone of disgust. "Hoshi managed to translate their communication after we got you two and warped out of there. They said that they hadn't encountered our species before. They were curious about us. Fear in particular. Apparently they don't feel fear and wanted to study it. They probed the bridge and beamed you two away."

"Why didn't they take Hoshi?" Everyone knew she was claustrophobic.

"Their probe apparently didn't recognize women as part of our species…"

"What?"

"Only the men on the bridge were probed. I don't know why…"

Malcolm stirred and one bare arm slipped off the bio bed and hung over it limply.

He was alive. Trip finally believed it. He tried to sit up and Jon helped him.

"Whatever that toxin was, it was pretty bad," Jon said as he supported his friend. "We nearly lost you…"

"Bugs. Big ass hairy bugs. They had us in little…cells…and shoved those ugly mothers down on top of me."

"Oh my God, Trip…that must have been terrifying for you…"

"That wasn't bad compared to what happened later…"

Jon nodded and helped Trip to his feet and over to Malcolm's bedside.

Trip touched his lover's face. With hands that could feel again.

He touched his lover's warm, living face.

Trip bent down and kissed Malcolm. His lips were warm. Alive.

Trip leaned heavily against Jon and Jon helped him back to his bed. Trip lay back, tired but happy. Jon held his hand, lending him silent support. Trip let himself drift, unable to believe his luck. He almost fell asleep, but suddenly remembered something and started chuckling.

"What?" Jon asked, puzzled and a bit alarmed.

"Oh man. He's gonna be so pissed when he wakes up."

"Why?"

"You know how fastidious he is." Trip laughed harder. "I puked all over him."

Jon started laughing.