#trip hints | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ihatecoconut · 3 months ago

Text

Second - Chapter 7

S02 E12 - The Catwalk

The shift into the catwalk is chaotic in the way only a well-practiced crew can manage. Dozens of people, each carrying gear or guiding others, moving in coordinated bursts of motion. The air is already thick with recycled heat, and the low hum of systems running on emergency power makes conversation strangely muffled.

But, as much of a hassle as it is to get the entire crew into one, confined space, there does actually turn out to be more room than Malcolm was expecting. Not much, it’s certainly “cozy” as Trip remarks when he clambers in, but enough that they aren’t packed in like sardines.

He’s waiting, with the Captain, at the small entrance when Rogers appears again, accompanied by Dunn – normally on night shifts and just irritated enough about having his schedule thrown out – and Wolfe.

“Secured?”

“Yessir. Everything’s in place and locked, shields are up, and autopilot seems to be working fine.”

She glances back at Dunn to confirm her final observation and he gives them a grunt of agreement. Malcolm sees Archer frown out of the corner of his eye; Dunn has never been particularly verbose, but Malcolm does trust that he would say if something were wrong.

“Good. Ready to go in?”

The three of them glance up the small ladder, and he watches Rogers grimace. She’s not meeting his eye. Hasn’t really, since the minefield incident, Certainly, she hasn’t been unprofessional; speaks to him when it’s necessary, quick acknowledgments in briefings, a few sharp nods. But she’s slid away from her normal space at their breakfast table, no longer at his left hand, and he can’t quite work out why.

"What's it like in there?" Wolfe asks, peering up the ladder.

"Cozy." He deadpans, borrowing Trip's phrasing from earlier, and it does get a quick smile out of the two women.

"Ah, great. Bernie's gonna love it then."

He smiles himself at that; Zabel's dislike of small spaces is well-documented among the security team, to the point that she has been asked why she signed up to go to space at all, considering her obvious preference for being outside.

"Alright, after you."

Rogers' head snaps around, her gaze moving from the small entrance to Malcolm's face like a predator spotting movement from their prey.

“Actually, sir,” she says, voice sharp with something he can’t quite name, “I think the senior officers should head in first. We’ll follow behind.”

There’s a beat of silence. Malcolm raises an eyebrow, but before he can ask what she means, Archer shrugs. “Fine by me.”

Wolfe glances at Rogers, a faint crease between her brows. Dunn tilts his head, clearly considering questioning it, but then nods once, slow and firm.

No one pushes back. No one asks why.

Malcolm steps forward, casting a glance over his shoulder. Rogers isn’t looking at him. Neither are Wolfe or Dunn, not directly. Just standing there, quiet and unreadable.

He climbs the ladder, still not sure what game they’re playing—or if it’s even a game at all.

He pauses just before ducking into the crawlspace, something itching at the back of his neck. It’s not mutiny, not exactly. But there’s weight behind their silence. Agreement. A shared message they’ve delivered without ever saying it out loud.

And for the first time in a long while, Malcolm doesn’t know what that message is.

They scramble in behind him, concealing their weapons from the crew — it was agreed that they keep a couple of phasers on them, just in case something goes wrong, but it’s a tightly kept secret. They don’t need anyone reacting badly to that fact if everything goes right.

Wolfe and Dunn both pat him on the shoulder as they pass, gentle gestures that only further his thought that, while they aren't challenging him, not out loud, there's a shift there. A shift in the dynamic he's too tired to unpack, but not blind enough to miss. Trust, maybe. Or doubt. Or something worse: protection.

He doesn't know which unsettles him more.

Rogers is the last one in, her boots thudding on the floor, slightly lighter than the other two.

“Have you done a headcount?” she asks, wringing her hands together as a few of the engineers shut and seal the ‘door’ behind them.

“No, Ensign, I am incapable of doing the basics of my job.”

“Jesus, Mal, don’t get like that, we’re gonna be in here for a while.” Trip throws an arm around his shoulders and he resists the urge to push him off.

He breathes out through his nose. “Yes. I did a headcount. With the three of you, everyone is now accounted for.”

“There we go, isn’t that nicer?” Trip leans around him to grin at Rogers. “We’ll have to train him or something. Pineapple for saying nice things.”

Rogers side-eyes him. “Yes, Commander.”

Malcolm doesn't miss the slight change in her expression that makes him think she's re-evaluating the decision to live in the confined space for the next week. Or maybe the benefits of letting Trip live in it with them.

"I think it's a good idea."

"Yes, Commander." She repeats. Her voice is dry and clipped, as if she's shelving a retort And she walks off without another word.

The two of them watch her go.

“Y’know. Sometimes I feel like she’s not that fond of me.”

Malcolm looks at him. “Really?”

He hears Trip spluttering indignantly as he slips out of the other man’s hold and follows his SIC to the small area the security team have claimed.

The space is already heating up, muggy with recycled breath and too many bodies. The walls radiate a low, constant heat from the engines below, and the smell of metal and sweat is setting in fast.

A few groups of people have already given up on any air of professionalism and stripped down as far as they each think is reasonable.

“So,” Gaeta is saying, as she approaches, “how long until Commander Tucker strips down?”

“Five minutes.” Mack offers.

“Two.” Whitaker counters.

There’s a pause, and Gaeta raises her hands. “C’mon. No other bets?”

“Well, he’s already taken off his top half, so if we’re counting that then… thirty seconds?”

They all follow the direction Vassilis is gesturing in, and find that, yes, he has already started stripping down.

“Well, there goes all my ideas for entertainment.”

She gets a couple pairs of socks thrown at her and laughs, chucking them back to their owners. One goes rogue and hits an engineer on the head. It does not get returned.

There is no privacy. Absolutely none. People are already staking out what corners they can, laying out sleeping bags or curling up with blankets. Engineers and command crew alike, crammed into shared confinement.

Even in this chaos, the security team falls into formation automatically. They’ve claimed a small area near one end of the catwalk, and even sat cross-legged or half-reclining on the floor, there’s a clear pattern. A defensive shape.

Malcolm ends up front and center without even meaning to, Rogers directly at his side. She doesn’t say anything, just drops into position and starts checking the supplies stashed nearby.

He’s still standing up, almost towering over his sitting team, and, without any other direction, picks his way around people’s arms and legs, careful not to step on anyone, checking on each group as he passes.

Hoshi had started up a small poker ring, although it seems to have fallen apart slightly as she kept winning, and only Travis and one of the cockier engineers are still playing, the others relegated to spectators as they gave up. She shoots him a grin as he walks past and he catches a glimpse of her perfect hand.

Archer, T’Pol, and Trip are sitting together, talking about whatever it is the three of them talk about, and they wave as well as he passes.

It’s not a big space, and it doesn’t take him long to traverse the entire length, finding himself standing back at the ‘door.’ He checks the seal one more time, just to be sure. When he glances back, Rogers is standing behind him, arms crossed.

The steady way she meets his eyes has him wanting to back up, but he’s already against the door and there’s nowhere further to go.

“Ensign.”

“You’re not thinking about crawling outside the hull again, are you?” The expression on her face is unreadable.

“That was a unique situation.”

She doesn’t smile. “Right. And if another one of those comes up?”

He looks away.

“Lieutenant,” she says, and her voice is lower now, just between them. “I need to know you’re not going to pull that again.”

He wants to lie. He wants to say what will make her leave. But the truth hovers there.

“I thought it was the best option,” he says. Quietly. “At the time.”

“You thought dying was the best option.”

“It was calculated—”

“Bullshit,” she snaps, then exhales. “You don’t get to decide that you’re expendable.”

The tension buzzes between them. No one’s paying attention, still too focused on getting comfortable, but it still feels too loud.

“I’m your second,” she says. “You die, I have to pick up the pieces. And if you think for one second that doesn’t matter, you’re wrong.”

He swallows hard. Doesn’t speak.

“I’m not mad you tried to do your job,” she continues. “I’m mad you didn’t think we’d fight to save you.”

For a moment, the catwalk tilts slightly with the inertial shift. Malcolm steadies himself on the wall.

“…I didn’t think anyone would have time.”

Rogers stares at him. She doesn’t answer. She just walks away.

He finds his way back to them eventually, her words rattling around his mind in a way that makes it difficult to focus on anything else, and sits down in the space left for him. Next to Rogers.

"Well," Zhao says, in response to something Malcolm doesn't catch, "it can't be worse than the first year at the academy when they just stuck you in a room with someone random."

There are mumbles of agreement.

"My roommate dropped out after the first exam." Moreno offers -- she's sat back to back with Yılmaz, the two of them propping each other up -- "I think she said it was stupid and she could be doing better things with her time." There's a pause. "Can't say I was sorry to see her go. She was a pretentious little shit."

Malcolm remembers that exam. Remembers staring down at the padd and wondering why they were asking such pointless questions. Pointless questions with multiple option answers. He’d passed with full marks, of course, but only because he’d memorized the answers, not because the questions had any substance.

"Oh, I failed that."

Everyone's heads snap round at that.

"No you didn't." O’Malley says, disbelieving. "The first exam?"

Timmons raises a hand in mock defeat. “I did. Bombed it so bad they made me retake it solo. Apparently, no one had failed that one in years.”

“That’s the easiest test in the entire academy!” Gaeta says, incredulous. “It’s multiple choice!”

“Exactly,” Timmons sighs. “Too many options.”

Laughter bubbles up.

"OK," Nguyen interjects, "you can call me out for stating the obvious all you like, but at least I can see the obvious."

Timmons shoves at him. "Shuddup."

"You must be something of a legend among the teaching staff then, failing an exam that literally no one has ever failed."

Gaeta gasps, excited. "Legend!"

"Oh, you are not gonna call me that."

They keep the cheering quiet, respectful of everyone else trapped in there with them, and Malcolm finds himself smiling faintly as the teasing continues. Another day, another callsign.

He glances at Rogers, smiling as well, her eyes alight with amusement as Timmons appeals to her sense of reason and is summarily rejected. The smile dims when she meets his eyes, the amusement fading into something like pain. He turns away again, lets her have the moment with the team and wonders when he started feeling like an outsider again.

Things settle down after a while. It's still too hot for anyone to be doing much of anything, and most of the crew have dozed off, lulled into sleep by the heat and their boredom. His security team have joined the rest in stripping down to undershirts, their currently unneeded weapons hidden neatly beneath piles of jackets and folded uniform. Even off-duty, or in this strange in-between, their habits remain orderly.

Rogers stirs first, although Malcolm didn't think she had actually been sleeping, clambering to her feet with a stretch before she begins a slow circuit of the catwalk. He can't tell if it's intentional, but as he tracks her movements, he realises she's following the same path he had walked earlier. She’s shed her boots and jacket, picking her way barefoot and steady around the tangle of sleeping bodies.

Beside him, Cho stirs with a faint groan, face scrunching before she rolls over, planting her cheek directly onto the warm metal floor, somehow remaining asleep even as the grating bites into her skin. He suppresses a laugh, gently pushes her t-shirt under her skin, mumbling reassurance when she blinks up at him, and glances away before she catches him smiling.

His gaze finds Rogers again. She’s paused beside Hoshi’s game of cards, although it seems to have devolved from poker into something looser and less structured; only Travis is still actively playing. Rogers crouches, resting a hand on Hoshi’s shoulder as she leans in, the other two Ensigns turning their attention away from their cards for a moment. There’s laughter, low and easy, the sound only just carrying across to him.

Malcolm doesn't hear whatever it is Rogers says next, but whatever it is draws three glances in his direction.

He looks down immediately, fixing his eyes on his lap like there’s something urgent to study there.

He tells himself it’s just curiosity: they’re wondering if he’s asleep. Or maybe planning a prank. But the flicker of something heavier settles in his chest before he can dismiss it. An old instinct bristles: not at the attention, but at how far removed he still feels. Like he's a child again; a guest in his own house.

He breathes in slowly, and lets it pass. Or tries to.

She comes back eventually, settles down next to him again, frowning faintly at the uncomfortable position Cho is still lying in.

"Everything OK?"

His voice sounds hoarse, even to his own ears, and she frowns again, pushing one of the canteens of water in his direction pointedly. He takes a sip as she nods.

"Most people asleep, but you can see that from here. I think we're going to need to remind people to drink water, but it's only been a few hours, so we'll see how it goes."

"I'll mention it to the Captain."

They both glance across the room at where Archer sits, asleep against the wall with Porthos in his lap.

"When he wakes up."

A dull clang echoes somewhere beneath them before Rogers can say anything in response, startling most of the security team out of their dozes. He holds his hand up, gestures gently for them to keep calm, not react.

"Just the hull adjusting." Rogers says, voice firm and calm.

But there's an uneasy shift from the gentle calm, and while they all lie back down, no one goes back to sleep.

That’s day one.

Day two begins in the same, slow way. Despite his paranoia, Malcolm had fallen asleep at some point; he doesn't quite remember when, but he knows when he's jolted back to awareness. His shoulders and neck ache from several hours of sleeping up against the wall; his mouth is dry, and O'Malley is crouched beside him, a hand warm on his arm.

"Sir," the other man murmurs, "shift switch."

Through squinted eyes, Malcolm almost mistakes him for Di Dio.

He nods in response, slowly pushing himself upright. His back joins in the protests, stiff from the odd position, and he's acutely aware of a layer of sweat that has settled in a fine sheen over his body. The air is no better, still thick, stale, and now slightly damp, but the atmosphere seems lighter. Less chaotic. More settled.

Security's day shift is being slowly shaken awake by nights, moving through quiet routines with the same wordless coordination they always fall back on. He watches them switch places; days up, nights down, exchange quick briefings, and lets his gaze drift across the space.

Their layout has become less structured, the departments having begun to intermingle: Zhao is laying with her head in one of the engineer's laps — her boyfriend, Malcolm assumes, although he's a little ashamed to realise he can't remember the man's name. A few of the others, those with engineering qualifications mostly, have drifted over with her, naturally clustering.

Hoshi and Travis have moved as well, joining Rogers against one of the ventilation panels. They're all looking up at O'Malley as he gives her a rundown of the night's events, and yet still look half-asleep, younger, legs stretched out and tangled slightly, their voices low. Hoshi glances over and offers a tired smile.

Opposite them, Trip is still dead asleep, sprawled across a set of blankets with an arm slung over his eyes. T’Pol, eyes open, watches him from where she sits, unmoving, like she hasn’t slept at all, only pausing her watch to look up when Archer passes, moving slowly through the space with an almost paternal air.

He stops beside one of the science team, crouches low, and begins murmuring something Malcolm can’t hear. From the way the crewman turns a data padd toward him, he thinks it’s a crossword puzzle. Or maybe something less frivolous and more distracting. Malcolm can’t quite tell.

Off to one side, Moreno has created a sort of pocket of peace. She’s propped against a rucksack with a book in hand, Castillo’s head resting in her lap, eyes closed. A few others have gathered around them, content to listen as she reads aloud in a careful, even cadence. He watches Moreno, steady and unhurried, her voice soft enough that he can’t catch the words, only the rhythm. It’s domestic, oddly like something he’s stumbled across, not something he belongs to.

Rogers nods at him from her space with the other ensigns, and he nods back. There's nothing requiring their immediate attention, and he almost feels as though he could fall back asleep.

There’s a crackle from the comm system. A sharp burst of static, then silence.

Malcolm straightens automatically, scanning the room. Most people glance toward the overhead panel with mild concern. There's nothing quite frantic yet, no reason that his heart should have started beating double-time, just an air of bemusement.

Trip, woken with a pointed poke from the subcommander, is on his feet in an instant, fingers tapping the side panel near one of the vents. “Probably just the pressure equalizer kicking in. System’s been weird since the backup reroute.”

“Could also be someone leaning on a panel,” Di Dio offers, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Half these kids treat exposed wiring like it’s a handrail.”

A couple of engineers mutter apologies from their corner, and there’s a round of quiet chuckles.

Malcolm doesn’t laugh. Neither does Rogers.

She's gone still, he can see that even with the distance between them, alert in a way that makes his spine twitch in response. He wants to ask what she's thinking, but he can't verbalise that concern to the whole crew; can't risk starting a panic.

Carefully, a few of them pull themselves into a smaller cluster. Malcolm gestures at Zhao and Moreno to stay where they are, to keep the calm atmosphere intact.

“We should rotate watches.” Dunn says, just loud enough for their small circle to hear.

The rest of the bridge staff have moved in with them, although they make an amusing-looking group with Trip and Travis both stripped down to their underwear and everyone except the subcommander in various states of undress. Or maybe it would be amusing if Malcolm wasn't so on edge.

“Standard two-hour shifts?” Rogers asks, already reaching for the notepad they'd used earlier for inventory.

Archer nods before Malcolm can respond. "I think that's a good idea. Mal?"

He agrees, glances over Rogers' shoulder to where she's scribbling names and times.

She turns to look up at him. “Start with us?”

He nods, taking the pad when it’s offered. “Us, then Wolfe and Di Dio. Leave Moreno and Zhao at the moment, but keep it to security for the first few rounds, then we’ll loop in engineering.”

Trip raises an eyebrow. “Not trusting us to keep watch?”

“Trusting you to sleep so you don’t collapse when something does go wrong.”

Trip considers that, then shrugs. “Fair.”

Malcolm leans back against the wall, nudging Rogers gently with his shoulder as she stands to take first walk. “Give me ten, then I’ll switch in.”

She pauses, looking down at him. “You sure?”

“I need the time. Think.”

“Dangerous hobby,” she says, faint smile flickering across her face before she turns to pace the perimeter again.

This time, Malcolm watches her go without letting himself retreat.

There’s nothing much they can do from within, but there’s a certain level of comfort that he can see relaxing the crew as Rogers starts her slow rotation. A level of trust in them that Malcolm can’t help but think might be unfounded.

Day three is the point at which everything starts to go wrong.

“Bad things come in threes.” Hoshi mumbles as Trip sharply gestures the four of them over.

Archer and T’Pol are already beside him, frowning over the readings, even as they try to keep up a calm front for the rest of the crew.

The injectors, Trip explains, have started to come online. They’ll raise the temperatures in their temporary sanctuary to deadly levels, and the only real solution is that someone goes out and shuts them down.

There’s a pause as they all take in the information.

“Who?” Travis asks into the silence.

"I'll go," Malcolm says, unhesitating. "I'm trained for EVA and—"

He stops when Rogers clamps a hand down on his arm, fingernails digging into his skin painfully. The look in her eyes is sharp enough to cut steel.

“I’ll go,” Trip disagrees, “if something goes wrong, I don’t want to be talkin’ you through it blind.”

He goes to object, but Archer holds up a hand. “Trip’s right,” he says, regret heavy in his tone, “He’ll go."

“We can’t afford to lose our chief engineer if something happens out there.”

Rogers exhales, an almost disbelieving laugh through her nose, shakes her head when they all turn to look at her. “I agree with the Captain.” She says, voice taut.

“Thank you, Ensign.”

“No worries.” She turns sharply and walks off, back to where the rest of the security team are watching their small group, anxious expressions concealed behind practiced masks.

No one else watches her go, Archer, Trip and T’Pol already bending back over the padd, making a plan, and Malcolm suddenly feels incredibly unnecessary.

Hoshi slides her hand into his elbow, tugs him back over to where they were sitting. To where Rogers has returned to, knees up to her chest and one hand fisted in her hair as she explains the situation to the others.

“Keep everyone calm.” She orders them. “You’ve already formed little groups, just… keep them calm.”

The team disperse, Moreno grabs another book from the pile she’d managed to sneak in, and Di Dio takes Hoshi’s pack of cards over to the science team.

"You don’t get to decide that you’re expendable," Rogers repeats, once they’ve gone. It’s not the first time she’s said it; this time the anger in her tone is something new, something that cracks beneath the surface.

Malcolm looks at her, caught off guard. The protest in his throat dies as he processes the expression on her face, equal parts furious and afraid.

“I know.” It’s not quite an apology.

She gives him a tight smile and follows Zhao over to some of the engineers.

It’s strange, he thinks, watching her walk away yet again, to be surrounded by people who care whether he lives or dies. He’s not used to that.

Later, as things settle into uneasy waiting, Hoshi comes to sit beside him. Malcolm notices the way she keeps her body turned slightly toward him, the casual alertness in her eyes. Rogers probably asked her to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't do anything reckless. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Hoshi speaks.

"Why do you think your death is a solution to anything?"

He exhales slowly. "I don’t think that. Not exactly. It just seems like… sometimes, it would be the best option. The cleanest."

"That’s not the same as a solution," she says. "And it’s not true."

Malcolm can’t quite come up with a response to that.

“Pineapple.” She says, unexpectedly.

“What?”

She’s still watching him. “When I was trying to work out your favourite food, I spoke to your family. Your parents, your sister, and they didn’t know.”

“What’s your point?”

Her words send something like pain through him. A pain he thought had stopped hurting a long time ago, and he can’t quite meet her eyes.

“I guess I don’t have one. Just that… we know. We know what your favourite food is.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “You’re not the only one who came out here trying to outrun a home that didn’t fit.”

He blinks, surprised by the way her words settle in his chest, heavier than he expects. He follows her gaze as she gestures subtly toward the security team—Rogers, emancipated from her family; Zhao, the only survivor of an unexploded bomb found in the worst way possible; Di Dio, kicked out of the airforce. And the others, whose stories he hasn’t had the time or space to dig into yet.

“Yeah,” he replies, feeling an unnamed emotion rise up and choke his words, “yeah, you do know.”

She rests her head on his shoulder. “You still owe Emma an apology.”

Across the room, Gaeta leans over and puts Rogers in a headlock, both of them rolling on the ground as they laugh, the engineers cheering them on.

“I know. I will.”

Later still, Archer forms a plan to communicate with the hostile ship. He sends Malcolm out with T’Pol to shut down the warp reactor.

As T’Pol moves to the front of the group, prepping the equipment they’ll need, Malcolm rises to his feet. The motion draws the attention of his team who instinctively gather around him, a silent formation without command.

He pauses by the door and takes a moment to just look at them: Rogers, Pops, Dunn, Patel, O'Malley, Bookie, Wolfe, Hunter, Nguyen, Zabel, Sparky, Foster, Castillo, Romeo, Bear, Mack, Legend, Vassilis, and Giallorenzo. His team.

They’re watching him like they expect him to come back.

His voice is quiet, almost swallowed by the hum of the ship. “I’ll see you all in twenty-two minutes.”

There’s no chorus of agreement. Just a small group of nods, and a quiet smile from Rogers, Hoshi and Travis both offering him quick thumbs-up from the rear.

He turns away, follows T'Pol out, and only glances back to catch a final glimpse of them as the hatch seals behind him.

#writing #star trek enterprise #malcolm reed #star trek #fanfiction #lt reed #enterprise #st: ent #security team #fanfic #trip tucker #hoshi sato #jon archer #captain archer #travis mayweather #t'pol #is that hints of future tripol i see?

7 notes · View notes