First Awakening
a tag for Shuttlepod 1
by Setcheti
Disclaimer:
Author’s Note: This is the first story in the “Waking Up” series – the beginning of the story arc, pre-slash just oozing out everywhere but none of the boys able or willing to do anything about it. Poor boys.
Something was waking him up.
Movement, that was it. Hurrying feet near him, more than one set, the sound of things being moved around, sharp orders being snapped out in someone’s low voice…Phlox, that voice belonged to Phlox. Malcolm opened his eyes and blinked to clear the fuzziness of sleep out of them, seeing as he did so the Denobulan doctor’s back as he bent over the next bed. Oh, they were doing something with Commander Tucker, that was it.
Malcolm blinked again and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should just go back to sleep while he had the chance, when his attention was caught by a soft ripping sound and then a flutter of dark blue that headed for the floor, closely followed by more of the same. It took a moment, but finally the significance of the sight penetrated his still-sluggish mind and he pushed himself up on one elbow. Dr. Phlox still had his back to Malcolm, intent on cutting off Tucker’s uniform as quickly as possible. When the last scrap – this time electric blue – headed for the ground the Denobulan motioned to his assistant. “Quickly, Crewman!”
Cutler was rolling something up from the end of the biobed while Phlox worked busily over Tucker, and Malcolm almost cringed when he recognized what she had as a gel blanket. The thick bluish-green pad settled itself heavily over the engineer’s body and finally covered him all the way up to his neck, molding itself around the base of his throat and down over his shoulders, the tubes and lines Phlox had been applying trailing out from underneath its edge. The doctor was already adjusting a mask, fitting it over the unconscious man’s nose and now-open mouth and activating it; more tubes, Malcolm knew, one going up Tucker’s nose en route to his stomach and the other down his throat to reach his lungs. “That…that bad, Doctor?” he all but whispered.
Phlox didn’t look up from checking his handiwork. “That bad, Lieutenant,” he said. “The commander’s core temperature refused to stabilize, he had yet to regain consciousness and he was no longer breathing well enough on his own to fully oxygenate his blood. Drastic measures were required.”
Malcolm shuddered, pulling his own normal blanket up higher around himself. A gel blanket certainly was drastic; they’d been developed originally as a means of restraining psychotic or violent psychiatric patients without harming them, but doctors had quickly discovered that the temperature-controlling function built into the gel matrix was ideal for use in cases of heatstroke or hypothermia. Unfortunately, the reaction of most people to waking up pressed flat to a bed like a bug under glass by the heavy, flesh-feeling gel was immediate and violent panic, so even though every clinic and sickbay had at least one gel blanket on hand they were only used in severe cases where more mundane – and less invasive – methods had failed. Malcolm shuddered again. “Is he…”
“Commander Tucker will be fine,” Phlox assured him. He checked the settings of his equipment, making adjustments here and there until he was satisfied. “I doubt he will be very happy when he awakens, but at least he will be alive to be unhappy.”
The armory officer let himself lie back down slowly, his eyes glued to the now-even rise and fall of Tucker’s chest under the semi-translucent blanket as the breathing tube pumped measured amounts of warm air into his chilled lungs. “Why him and not me?”
He hadn’t really been directing the question at Phlox, but the doctor turned to him immediately with a concerned look on his face. He checked the readouts from Malcolm’s biobed, frowned at the rising stress levels, and then shook his head. “I’d been hoping you wouldn’t ask that question, Lieutenant.”
Malcolm was confused. “Why?”
“Because the captain said there was no need to tell you unless you asked.” Phlox sighed. “He is looking into the matter as we speak; he was very…upset when I gave him my findings.” The Denobulan’s pale eyes fixed Malcolm with an assessing look. “As you are no doubt aware, shuttlepods are provided with a standard assortment of basic survival equipment, including several specially made thermal blankets designed with just the sort of situation yourself and the commander faced in mind. However, in your case the pod contained only one proper thermal blanket and one…substandard one that was visually similar. It was adequate enough to keep Commander Tucker alive, but just barely.”
“So the only reason he’s under that horrid thing and I’m not is just luck of the draw?” But the look on Phlox’ face and his own memory of the engineer trying to climb up into the airlock gave lie to that comfortable theory. “He knew.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, he knew.” Phlox twitched Malcolm’s own blanket higher. “And he saved your life; due to his larger mass, the progression of hypothermia was slower in the commander’s body than it would have been in yours.”
Malcolm thought about that for a minute…and then he exploded. “What was the bloody fool thinking?!”
“He was thinking he was your commanding officer and your well-being was his responsibility.” Captain Archer was standing in the doorway, looking grim. He walked slowly to the foot of the biobed, his hazel eyes catching and holding Malcolm’s. “And before you say that it was your responsibility as a security officer to safeguard him, Lieutenant…”
“It was!”
“...let me remind you that rank supercedes that,” Archer continued as though Malcolm hadn’t interrupted him. “Trip did his duty, and if he hadn’t you’d be dead right now – you would have frozen to death. He’ll be getting a commendation for it, too.”
“Best put him in for two, then,” Malcolm said, scowling at him. “He did his duty twice, apparently. And you’d best set me up for court martial because I stopped him the second time – at gunpoint.”
“We know.” Malcolm gaped at him, and a small smile quirked up the corner of the captain’s mouth. “Forgot about the camera in the pod, did you? I already viewed the record; you’ll be getting a commendation too, Lieutenant.”
At Malcolm’s shocked look Phlox smiled. “By that point the commander was not thinking clearly, Lieutenant Reed. You took control of the situation utilizing the means at your disposal and saved his life.”
“So you’re not in trouble,” Archer reassured him, his own smile growing and warming. “I don’t know what you said to him because the sound was off, but whatever it was I have to thank you for it because it kept him from trying again – and I know Trip, he would have tried again.”
Malcolm remembered exactly what it was he’d said…and felt a rush of shame for having said it to a man who’d been freezing for hours on his behalf without a word of complaint. Again, the captain apparently read his mind. “Malcolm,” the older man said gently. “He’s alive, that’s what matters. He’s not going to hold anything that happened against you.”
I’ll hold it against myself, Malcolm thought glumly. He looked over at the neighboring biobed again and fought down another shudder. “Any idea why someone would switch the blankets in the shuttlepod like that? Sabotage?”
“I don’t think so, probably more like thoughtlessness.” It was Phlox who answered this time, before Archer could. “We have many crewmembers on board who have had a difficult time adjusting to the temperature maintained on the ship. It is likely that one of them took the blanket for their own personal use, not considering the possible outcome.”
“But we haven’t ruled out malicious mischief or sabotage,” Archer assured his suspicious armory officer quickly. “T’Pol has your people checking the ship for the missing blanket, once we find it we’ll have a better idea what was going on.”
“But right now, Lieutenant, that is not your concern,” Phlox told him. “You may not be as bad off as the commander, but you have still been through a significant physical and emotional hardship and until I have deemed you completely recovered you will not be returning to full duty.” He raised a hand to stop whatever protest Reed was about to make. “You may keep your complaints to yourself, I do not wish to hear them – and before you attempt to appeal to the captain, do remember that his authority over me does not extend to medical matters. Now, since your temperature has mostly stabilized I believe you would be more comfortable if you were cleaned up a bit; do you feel up to undertaking that task by yourself or will you require assistance?”
“I can do it myself, thanks,” Malcolm answered quickly, pushing himself upright again. He was shaking and the room was spinning around him, but there was no way he was going to let Phlox change his clothes – or god forbid, bathe him – if he were at all capable of doing it himself. “Can I go back to my…”
“No. Tomorrow, perhaps.” The doctor shook his head. “I said you were mostly stabilized, Mr. Reed. I realize you want to be feeling better, but you still require observation to make sure your condition does not reverse itself unexpectedly – and it can, the commander’s certainly did.”
Malcolm did feel marginally better after taking a hot shower and replacing his filthy uniform with clean pajamas, but in spite of his earlier protests he really didn’t want to go back to his quarters. Phlox had given him something to help him rest – quite against his wishes, at that – but even with the sedative flowing through his veins he’d only slept lightly, waking up periodically to check on his companion…no, on his friend. Trip was his friend.
The breathing tube had retracted two hours ago and now the highly oxygenated and humidified air was just hissing through the mask for the engineer to breathe in on his own. The other tube still remained in place, but Malcolm knew that one wouldn’t be coming out until the gel blanket was removed; aspiration was always a danger with a restrained patient, and the controlling tube would keep panicky hyperventilation from triggering a bout of uncontrollable and potentially deadly vomiting.
Captain Archer had shown back up a little while ago, ostensibly to talk with Phlox, but Malcolm was certain his real reason had everything to do with Tucker still being unconscious. He’d overheard the doctor reassuring the worried man that his engineer would be waking up any time, but he hadn’t paid that much attention to their conversation otherwise – perhaps it was an effect of the sedative, but he found himself mesmerized by the sight of Trip’s slow but steady breathing. He would fall asleep watching, and then awaken again to watch some more.
Malcolm made a mental note to himself to fight harder next time to avoid the sedative.
Unusual movement distracted him from his thoughts and his drug-induced preoccupation, and he saw that Tucker’s eyelashes were fluttering. Malcolm carefully slid off his biobed, wincing when his bare feet touched the cold floor. “Captain, Doctor, I believe he’s waking up.”
Both men hurried over. The engineer was starting to twitch now, obviously trying to move. His breathing under the mask started to pick up pace as panic set in, and when his eyelids finally managed to pry themselves partway up the blue eyes underneath were wild with terror. Malcolm hesitated only a second before jamming his hand under the gel blanket and lacing his fingers over Tucker’s, feeling the tremor running through them as he did. He leaned down close to the other man’s ear. “Trip, listen to me, it’s all right. You’re under a gel blanket, that’s why you can’t move. As soon as you’ve warmed up again Dr. Phlox will take it off, it’s all right.”
“It’s all right, Trip.” Archer had moved in on the engineer’s other side and was copying Malcolm’s actions. His free hand carded through Tucker’s hair soothingly. “Just relax, it’s okay.”
One of the lines snaking under the blanket had changed color, Malcolm noticed; probably another, stronger sedative of some sort, triggered by the readings of the engineer’s biosigns. “You should be feeling calmer in a moment, Commander,” Phlox said from behind Archer, confirming Malcolm’s suspicion. “Just try to breathe normally.”
“You hear him, Trip? Try to breathe normally,” Archer murmured in a low voice, never breaking contact with his friend’s frightened blue eyes. “Come on, just try. I promise, you’re going to be feeling much better in a minute.”
Tucker sucked in a ragged breath…and held it for a long moment before releasing it. His next gulp of the warm air appeared to go down a bit more smoothly, but Malcolm could still feel the hand under his twitching in agitation. He flexed his own fingers as best he could under the pressing weight of the blanket and this time felt an answering movement that made him smile. “That’s right. It’s not so bad now, is it?” Blue eyes flicked to meet his, some of the fear replaced with patent disbelief, and Malcolm chuckled. “All right, I withdraw that comment – these things are bloody well horrible. Just keep breathing, we’ll help you ride out the worst of it.”
A nod, and Tucker’s lips moved under the mask. “You’re welcome,” Malcolm told him. “But I’m only returning the favor.”
Tucker’s eyes closed and he shook his head weakly, his mouth forming the word ‘no’. “Yes, Trip,” Archer corrected gently, his fingers continuing to stroke through the engineer’s hair. “You did good, buddy, really good. You not only saved the lieutenant’s life, you figured out how to keep both of you alive until we could get back to rescue you.”
Another miniscule shake of the blond head, ‘Mal saved us’.
“I know exactly what Malcolm did, we have the tape from the shuttle,” Archer answered. No visible response this time, and the captain turned a disturbed look to Phlox. “He stiffened up and then went limp.”
Malcolm had felt it too. “I think the sedatives just pulled him back under,” he said, sliding his hand out from under the blanket and rubbing it against his pants. The feel of the blanket lingered on his skin anyway. “How much longer does he have to be under this horrid thing, Doctor?”
“The commander’s core temperature is nearly normal,” Phlox replied quietly. “I will release him from the blanket as soon as I can be sure he will remain stable, but I will be keeping him in bed and quiet for at least a day for observation before I allow him to go back to his quarters.”
“Good luck,” Archer snorted. He was still wiping his hand against his pants but having no more success than his armory officer had. “The minute he wakes up free he’s going to make a beeline for his quarters – and as far away from that blanket as he can get.”
“I believe I can keep Mr. Tucker where I need him to be,” the doctor chuckled. “And as for you, Mr. Reed,” he addressed the armory officer, “I believe you might sleep better in your own quarters as you are too preoccupied with watching the commander in here to get any real rest. Consider yourself off duty for the next twenty-four hours, though.”
Still swimming in the half-haze of the sedative Phlox had given him, Malcolm pouted obviously all the way back to his quarters. Archer went with him, presumably to make sure he actually went to his quarters, but even drugged as he was Malcolm couldn’t help but notice that the captain looked a little dazed himself. The man was very solicitous, though, helping to keep him upright when the floor rippled unexpectedly under his feet and even when it didn’t. The strong, warm hand wrapped round his upper arm felt good, and by the time they reached his door Malcolm realized he’d been leaning into Archer’s support more than he thought he had and not entirely because he needed to. He knew there was some reason why he shouldn’t be doing that, but since he couldn’t remember what it was he dismissed it as unimportant.
He managed to key in his code, and the captain released him although rather hesitantly. “Are you going to be all right on your own, Malcolm?” Archer wanted to know.
“Fine, Captain,” Malcolm yawned back. Some small part of his upbringing was jumping up and down in the back of his mind screaming about the inexcusable rudeness of that, but the armory officer was too tired to really pay attention to it. He leaned against the door jamb and ran his hand through his hair, yawning again. “Am I on duty in the morning, then?”
Silence. Malcolm forced himself to focus and saw Archer staring at him with a very unusual expression on his face. The look was gone again very quickly, though, and a concerned frown took its place. Malcolm found himself disappointed by that; he’d liked the other look better, even if he hadn’t been able to interpret it. He was immeasurably cheered when the look returned briefly as if in answer to his desire. “You’re…not on duty, Mr. Reed,” Archer told him, a little stiffly. He took a step back. “Go to bed now, okay? You’ve had a long few days, you need to rest.”
“All right, sir.” Malcolm yawned again and pried himself off the door, then turned and walked straight to his bed and fell face down on it. He was asleep almost before he realized he was lying down.
Framed in the doorway, his hand on the door to keep it from closing, Jonathan Archer stood looking at his armory officer for a long moment before allowing the door to close and shut him out.
Malcolm slept through until the next morning and woke with the dry mouth and fuzzy headache that sedatives always left him with. A hot shower and a cup of his private stash of tea cleared most of the fuzz away, and after reading his mail he reluctantly made his way down to the mess for breakfast. It was rather late in the morning, and he hoped that being between shifts he might be spared a long inquest by curious crewmates as to what happened on the shuttlepod. He was still trying to work it all out for himself, he didn’t really feel up to defending himself from the gossip mill.
A good breakfast and only three inquiries as to his personal well-being later, Malcolm was feeling much better. The mess had been mostly empty, and one of the inquiries had been from Chef and had been accompanied by a plate of crumpets and a pot of marmalade which had brightened Malcolm’s mood considerably.
Sickbay was quiet when he made his way in, and in the entrance to the patient area Malcolm stopped and just looked, drinking in the sight that greeted him. Phlox or his assistant had apparently taken the time to clean Tucker up after freeing him from the gel blanket; the engineer’s blond hair was still showing damp dark streaks where it had been combed back from his forehead and the scent of the soap Phlox used in Sickbay hung in the air. He’d also been given a comfortably fluffed pillow as well, and a soft, warm blanket had been pulled up to the mid-level of his ribcage.
They hadn’t shaved him, though; some men looked rakish with a five o’clock shadow, but Tucker just looked scruffy and odd and Malcolm shook his head over it. He hurried back to his quarters and returned with his own kit, and the engineer stirred into semi-wakefulness while he was adjusting the settings on the small shaver. “Mal?”
“Well good morning, Commander,” Malcolm told him cheerfully, happy to see those blue eyes open and filled only with sleepy confusion instead of fear. “I just thought I’d finish the job the good doctor started – that sad excuse for a beard doesn’t suit you at all, you know.”
Tucker blinked at him, and raised one slightly shaking hand to run it over his face. He grimaced when he felt the bristles. “Never could grow one that looked like anything.”
“To tell you the truth, me either,” the armory officer confided. “That’s why I’m so insistent on remaining clean-shaven at all times, you know – because I look so bloody strange when I’m not. Now you just relax and let me take care of this for you.”
The engineer blinked at him again but didn’t protest, although his eyes widened when Malcolm took hold of his chin with a firm but gentle grip and turned his head to the side. The first touch of the shaver made him jump slightly, but it didn’t take him long to relax into the other man’s hold and all too soon his eyelids had drifted to half-mast. Even when Malcolm hit a ticklish spot under his jaw they didn’t open back up, although a giggle did escape his lips.
Malcolm almost dropped the shaver when that happened. Experimentally he ran a light finger over the spot and elicited the giggle again, the engineer’s dimples appearing as well. He hadn’t noticed that Trip had dimples before…Malcolm very quickly went back to what he’d been doing when the warm feeling in his stomach threatened to spread out to other areas. Superior officer, he scolded himself, wishing he wasn’t now uncomfortably aware of the texture of Trip’s skin under his fingers. Superior officer and straight as all bloody hell, superior officer who was now his friend…superior officer who was also the captain’s best friend. Superior officer whom he had recently accused of being a coward. That did it. The warmth dissipated – most of it anyway, enough that he wasn’t worried about his equanimity if those blue eyes should open and really see him.
Straight as all bloody hell…and lying here practically purring while Malcolm shaved him. Emitting little murmurs of appreciation. Giggling. Whatever drug Phlox had Tucker on, the armory officer swore he’d never let the doctor give it to him. Never. Never ever.
Captain Archer came in just as Malcolm was packing up his kit again, raising a questioning eyebrow. Malcolm shrugged in response to the unspoken question; he wasn’t going to give it any more answer than that, because he didn’t actually have an answer to give. Well, not one he was willing to give, anyway. “Captain.”
Trip’s eyelids fluttered and came halfway open again. “Cap’n?”
“Good morning, Trip,” Archer said with a smile. “You’re looking a lot better.”
The engineer smiled sleepily. “Thanks ta Malcolm. Don’t look scruffy no more.”
Archer nodded. “Well, if you two are done for now, I need to talk to Lieutenant Reed.”
“Certainly, sir.” Reed stood up at once, but Tucker’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Commander?”
“N-no.” Tucker was struggling to sit upright but only managed to push himself up on one elbow. “The tape… Wasn’t his fault, Cap’n, shouldn’t be punished…my doin’…”
“Oh was it?” Archer gently forced him back into his pillow. “Trip, Malcolm isn’t in trouble.”
The engineer shook his head. “Said yesterday you had the tape…you saw…”
“I saw, and Malcolm’s still not in trouble,” Archer soothed the agitated man, understanding now. “Especially not for what was on that tape; I put him in for a commendation for saving your life, as a matter of fact. But he and I need to go over the weekly report and I’d rather not do that in Sickbay, all right?”
Tucker blinked, looking confused. “You ain’t mad at him?”
“No, far from it,” the captain replied. “Now why don’t you go back to sleep and we’ll come visit you again later, all right? Maybe I can even find some pecan pie for you in the meantime.”
“Pecan pie?” The engineer blinked again. “Chef made some?”
“He will if I ask him to – I’m the captain, he can’t tell me no.” Archer stroked Tucker’s hair back from his forehead. “You go to sleep and I’ll go throw my weight around down in the mess, deal?”
Tucker beamed, and his eyes slid shut. “Deal, Cap’n. Make sure Mal gets some too? He’s been real nice to me.”
“No problem.” Archer stayed where he was until the engineer’s breathing evened out, then he gestured for his staring armory officer to follow him out of Sickbay. Once in the corridor he chuckled. “Phlox must be serious about keeping Trip in bed and quiet – I hope he never tries to use that stuff on me.”
“I believe I share that sentiment,” Reed agreed. He cocked an eyebrow up at his captain. “Can’t tell you ‘no’, sir?”
Archer grinned. “Well, not if I ask him really, really nicely – if I actually marched down there and tried to throw my weight around with Chef he’d probably cut me off at the knees.”
“Not to mention having you eating resequenced meatloaf and mashed potatoes for the rest of the mission, I’d wager,” the armory officer said, smiling slightly when Archer laughed. “And going over the weekly report?”
The captain’s laughter disappeared. “We won’t discuss it in the corridors either,” he informed Reed gravely. “The…things we have to go over had best stay in my ready room for the time being.”
Reed nodded. “Understood, sir.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, and once the ready room door was sealed behind them Archer paced over to the window, hands clasped behind him, then turned back around to face Malcolm across the room. “There were DNA traces on the fake blanket. It was Suliban.”
The words hung heavily in the air between them, and Malcolm’s mouth opened and closed several times before he got any words to come out. “Sabotage?”
“You were right and Phlox and T’Pol were wrong,” the captain confirmed, nodding. “T’Pol swore your security personnel to secrecy and we’re going to have to design new security protocols…that don’t look like security protocols. I don’t think I have to tell you what effect this knowledge would have on morale if it got out.”
“No, you don’t.” Malcolm’s gray eyes darkened. “I have some ideas, Captain. If you like, I can have them ready for review by this afternoon.” Archer raised an eyebrow, and the armory officer shrugged. “I make a habit of jotting down whatever ideas I come up with regarding ship’s security, just in case a situation occurs that requires a new approach.”
“Good habit to have,” Archer approved. “All right, meet me in here right after breakfast tomorrow and we’ll go over what you’ve got. You’re not on duty today and we don’t want this to look suspicious to anyone, so tomorrow will be soon enough,” he overrode the armory officer’s protest. “We don’t know how they’re getting their information, so for the time being I want to assume that no one except the command staff and Phlox are safe.”
Malcolm just nodded; he wouldn’t be considering anyone except himself, Tucker and the captain above suspicion until he’d done a little investigating of his own, but he wasn’t going to tell Archer that. “I’ll go get started, then – perhaps I can come up with more ways to implement the necessary protocols given the extra time.” He frowned. “With your permission, Captain, I need to brief my armory staff and set some of them to checking other key areas of the ship for Suliban sabotage. Discretely, of course.”
“Of course.” Archer sighed and waved his hand toward the door. “You’re still officially off-duty until tomorrow morning, so do what you have to do behind closed doors in the armory and then I want you out of there until you report for your next shift. I don’t expect your staff meeting to take more than an hour, understand?” Malcolm nodded. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
The meeting ended up taking closer to two hours, but Malcolm had felt the extra time was necessary. He’d taken a nap – which he wouldn’t be telling anyone he’d needed – afterwards, and then had worked over his presentation for the captain for the remainder of the afternoon. And self-satisfaction over his day’s achievements got him through dinner and the no-longer-avoidable grilling from Hoshi with at least a modicum of grace, although he didn’t enjoy it. But he’d also managed to head off the ship’s rabid gossip mill, which was another merit to add to his day’s list.
He was still pleased with himself when he stopped by Sickbay again after dinner to check on Trip. Archer was already there, perched on the side of Trip’s biobed, and the armory officer was going to slip out again but the captain spotted him and called out cheerfully, “We were wondering if you’d be stopping by. Come on over here where Trip can see you.”
Malcolm came. To his surprise, Archer was feeding the engineer pie – the promised pecan pie, as a matter of fact. Tucker blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. “Hi Mal.”
“Hi yourself.” Malcolm couldn’t help but chuckle; it looked like Phlox still had Trip medicated into happy tractability. “Having a bit of difficulty, were we?”
Tucker nodded gravely and held up one shaking hand for the other man’s inspection. “Can’t make it hold still for eatin’ pie.”
“Phlox said it has something to do with increasing nerve conduction as his body recovers from the hypothermia, it should be cleared up by tomorrow,” Archer added reassuringly. “Ready for another bite, Trip?” In answer the engineer opened his mouth, looking for all the world like a baby bird waiting to be fed, and the captain slipped a generous mouthful of pie inside. “Chew,” he ordered. Tucker did and made an appreciative noise, his eyes closing in pleasure. Archer glanced back up at Reed with a grin and a wink. “I think he likes it.”
Malcolm thought he noticed something other than amusement lurking in his captain’s hazel green eyes and had to wonder if it wasn’t only Trip who was enjoying himself. He pushed the thought aside, though, along with the nagging memory of his own reaction to the engineer that morning; best friends and straight as all bloody hell, he reminded himself, a losing situation all the way around. To distract himself, he gently grasped Trip’s still-raised hand and returned it to its original resting place on top of the blanket.
But then he couldn’t let go. Or rather, Trip wouldn’t allow him to let go; the engineer’s trembling fingers had curled around his and showed no signs of wanting to be dislodged. And attempting to do so only resulted in a happy little squeeze that raised Malcolm’s eyebrows. Trip obviously wanted him to stay.
Malcolm wasn’t sure that was a good idea. He moved the hand up to rest on Tucker’s chest and made a slightly more determined attempt to free himself, which only resulted in the engineer’s attention turning from his pie to his hand. Tucker tightened his grip and pouted up at Malcolm. “Don’t leave. I’ll share my pie, I said I would.” Blue eyes flicked from the armory officer back to his captain. “Right, Cap’n? I c’n share with Mal, right? So he won’t feel all left out?”
“I think Malcolm may have just come from eating his dinner,” Archer told him, obviously amused. “He might be too full for pie.”
“Oooh.” Trip’s guileless blue gaze returned to Malcolm. “I’m havin’ pie for my supper, Chef made it special.”
Malcolm was fighting laughter now too. Giving in, he perched himself on the side of the bed beside Trip, mirroring Archer’s position, and gave the hand still holding his a gentle squeeze. “How very nice of him,” he responded. “And thank you for offering to share with me; perhaps another time.”
Trip cocked one eyebrow and tugged questioningly at his hand. “Gonna stay for a while?”
“I suppose I can stay a few minutes longer,” Malcolm told him, and was rewarded with a breathtakingly happy smile that warmed him all the way down to the tips of his boots. Oh yes, this was such a bad idea…but he wasn’t about to leave.