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Trip
I mean, I was the senior officer. I should have known better. Should have recognised the signs.
“This is your fifth or sixth identical letter.”
Apparently that’s a sign. The thinking gets… stuck, you know? Like it’s on a loop.
Overly emotional’s another one. He was upset, really upset. His voice was shaking, his eyes bright. I’d never seen him like that.
“With the crew of the Enterprise, it was different. I was really starting to feel comfortable with them.”
It was minus five at that point. Survival training says you get a warm meal inside you, share body heat.
Instead, I got him drunk. Goaded him and then ordered him to take that first drink.
“Live a little. That’s an order.”
Turns out alcohol’s just about the worst thing you can do. Makes you feel warm while it’s killing you.
So. Another spectacularly bad command choice by me.
He was just making me so damn mad, and I was tired, and I’d just found out I’d lost my friends, my entire crew. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
But here’s the kicker… I was thinking clearer than him.
That’s the part that sticks in the craw.
Because some of it looked like Malcolm. The pessimism, the constant talk about death, I swear…
Him needling me. Me needling him right back.
I thought that was just him. Malcolm being Malcolm.
And some of it probably was.
But some of it wasn’t.
So I got him drunk and then after our little shouting match we were sat side by side again and I saw how pale he was, and he was slurring, his plummy accent slipping, and I thought it was the alcohol, but in hindsight…
In hindsight I think he was in real trouble and I didn’t see it.
You get that cold, eventually your heart gives out. At that point - well, I should’ve heated up a meal, the power was still working. Hell, we could’ve heated up a ton of ‘em, used them as a heat source.
But I didn’t do any of that.
And he was shivering. We both were, shivering like crazy, whole body shaking, teeth chattering.
Then somewhere in there, he stopped. I didn’t even notice cause I was still shaking.
And then his head started to droop.
“Hey,” I said, elbowing him. “Don’t go to sleep.”
Then the next thing I know, he’s taking off his cap, his movements clumsy and disjointed, then he goes for his jacket next, manages to pull it over his head, and the only reason he wasn’t undoing his jumpsuit was cause he couldn’t seem to catch hold of the zipper.
And I’m ashamed I didn’t stop him, not at first, I was too busy gawking. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I tried to say through chattering teeth.
“Too hot,” he mumbled, his face wax-white against his dark hair, eyes glittering. He still had the phase pistol in his hand, which I did not enjoy, let me tell you.
I should’ve reasoned with him, made him put his jacket back on, said something calm and sensible and Starfleet.
But I was so damn tired.
So instead I just -
Well, I grabbed him. Yanked him off balance before he could get away, pulled him in, hooked my leg round his. He struggled for a moment.
“Knock it off,” I yelled in his ear.
Then I dragged the blanket over both of us, got him against me, his head against my chest.
And he was freezing, not just cold, but like a block of ice, all stiff, like I was holding a stone, and he was still struggling weakly and so I just held him and shushed him and curled my legs round him and told him to quit moving, “That’s an order, Lieutenant!” and wrapped the blanket even tighter around us,
and somewhere in that I realised he’d stopped fighting, which was either a very good sign or a very bad one.
Captain said afterwards we were damn lucky. Only then did I realise how close we were. How close he was. Like I said, I was the senior officer, and I’d done everything wrong, far as I could see.
I’m not proud of it.
And yet I must have done something right, cause last thing I remember was Malcolm hugging me, and I guess sharing body heat worked cause we both survived, we’re still here.
He trusted me enough to do that.
Not real sure what that means in the long run.