Chapter Text
To say Trip was exhausted was an understatement. He was practically dead on his feet, falling into microsleeps in the seconds where there was nothing to do. He was only thankful everything was finally over.
Well, almost.
Trip had been filled in on the basics. And while he loved Archer, they were long-time friends, the captain had a tendency to be biased. As he explained to Trip what had transpired over on Enterprise while Trip had been on Columbia, his voice was cold and detached. He explained that Malcolm had gone behind their backs and damn near betrayed them. That was why he’d been in the brig.
“I didn’t know at the time,” the captain had said, “that he was being manipulated.”
“You didn’t know?” Trip had replied. “You know how loyal Malcolm is! And you’re saying you didn’t know?”
Archer had sighed. “With everything going on, I didn’t have time to read between the lines. We wouldn’t have even caught him had he not been sloppy.”
“And that don’t say anythin’ to you? That an, apparently, ex-covert agent, was sloppy? That don’t tell you anythin’?”
Archer had gone silent, considering, but Trip was already out the door.
Unfortunately, he’d been caught up in some engineering duties before heading to Malcolm’s, but he was on his way there now. Striding through the corridors like a man on a mission—and maybe he was. A mission to get the truth from the man he never imagined he’d call his best friend when this journey began.
And yet, he did.
Malcolm had been released from the brig by now, and was set to return to his regular duties once things calmed down.
Whatever that meant.
Trip turned the corner and strode right into the alcove that held Malcolm’s door. He pressed the chime.
A beat passed; no response.
Trip pressed it again, then banged his fist lightly against the door. “Malcolm? It’s Trip.”
Still nothing.
Trip sighed. Maybe Malcolm wasn’t in his quarters. He almost turned to leave, but thought at the last minute, maybe I should double check.
So he opened Malcolm’s door and stepped inside. “Malcolm?” he started to call, but the name died on his lips, and he stopped in shock.
The light was on. Malcolm was curled up in his bunk, knees almost to his chest, the blankets puddled around his waist. One arm was curled around a stuffed animal Trip had never seen before in his life. It looked like a ratty old turtle. Trip’s immediate question of: “You have stuffies?!” was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down.
“Malcolm?” he asked tentatively, approaching the bed.
Malcolm immediately shot up. His hair stuck out every which way, giving him a youthful look which was only amplified by the slack-jawed expression on his face. “You’re not supposed to be here,” were the first words out of his mouth.
Trip drew back. “What? Look, I’m sorry I barged into your quarters, but you weren’t answerin’-”
“No, I’m-!” Malcolm shook his head, and his arm tightened around the stuffed turtle. “I’m supposed to be alone.”
Trip licked his lips. “You wanna be left alone?”
“Yes. No!” Malcolm sighed, clearly frustrated. “I don’t wanna be…” He trailed off, and hugged the stuffie to his chest.
“O… kay.” This was weird. Very weird. “Malcolm, are you feeling okay?”
Malcolm sniffled and shook his head.
“Okay,” Trip whispered again. “Maybe you should come to sickbay, then, if you’re not feelin’ a hundred percent.”
“But I’m not sick,” Malcolm protested.
Trip blinked. “You just said…”
Malcolm looked away and slouched. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” said Trip.
Malcolm didn’t respond.
Trip sighed and approached the bed. “Malcolm,” he began, “we’re friends, ain’t we?”
“I think we are,” Malcolm replied in a murmur.
“We are.” Trip sat on the bunk, mindful of Malcolm’s legs. “So you can tell me. Anythin’. I promise, I won’t be mad or weirded out.” He smiled, hopefully in a reassuring way.
Malcolm looked at him out of the corner of his eye. That youthful look, Trip noticed, wasn’t just surface-level—even his gaze was eerily young. It was as if Malcolm was an entirely different person right now.
“The captain’s mad at me,” Malcolm whispered then.
Trip nodded encouragingly.
Malcolm’s shoulders hunched forward, as if trying to make himself appear smaller than he was. “He’s angry because I… because I did something bad.” Malcolm trailed off.
“He told me a little,” Trip admitted when the silence stretched on too long.
Malcolm’s head shot up and his eyes widened even further. Trip couldn’t help but notice they were shiny with unshed tears, and his heart skipped a beat. “You know…?”
“Only a little,” Trip repeated quickly. “I wanted you to tell me the whole story.”
“I don’t know…” Malcolm chewed on his lower lip.
“C’mon, Mal.”
Something about the nickname made Malcolm react. He twitched, and hugged his stuffed turtle closer.
“Malcolm?” Trip questioned.
“Please don’t…” Malcolm screwed his eyes shut.
Not knowing what else to do, Trip laid a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Ma-”
And Malcolm promptly turned and buried himself in Trip’s chest. Trip soon felt warm, wet tears against the front of his uniform, though Malcolm cried silently, without so much of a shudder to his frame.
Alarmed, Trip wrapped one arm around him and reached for the comm. with the other hand. “Tucker to Phlox,” he said. “Medical emergency in Malcolm’s quarters.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Phlox proudly announced.
Trip blinked up at the doctor, still holding an armful of armoury officer. “What? But-!”
“Aside from being a touch malnourished and dehydrated, and slightly exhausted, there is nothing physically wrong,” Phlox said again, removing his scanner. He frowned. “Though, ah, I will say…”
“Yeah,” Trip murmured.
Malcolm had ceased crying now, but hadn’t unburied himself from Trip, and his breathing was hitching and unsteady. He clung to the front of Trip’s uniform like a child clinging to his mother, and hadn’t looked up, even when Phlox had come in; even as Trip had tried to coax Malcolm out of whatever state he was currently in.
“What happened prior to my arrival, commander?” Phlox asked.
Trip pursed his lips. “He was curled up on his bunk,” he relayed. “Holding that stuffie there. He said I wasn’t supposed to be here, that he was supposed to be alone. He seemed… scared. Said something about not feelin’ well, but not sick. And then he told me the captain was mad at him, and then…” He gestured slightly with his hand. When no response came, Trip raised his head to find Phlox gazing thoughtfully at the armoury officer. “What is it, doc?” Trip asked.
“Well, commander,” Phlox said, “have you ever heard of the term ‘age regression’?”
Trip froze. He’d heard about that in passing once, but never in-depth. But he was aware of the broad strokes. “Ya mean…”
“One of my friend’s daughters,” the doctor went on, “had a rather… traumatic childhood. She was adopted by my friend and his family while she was still young, but the damage had been done. She’s an adult now, but has a tendency to… mentally revert to an earlier age when triggered.”
“Triggered,” Trip mumbled.
“I am not saying this is what’s happening to Lieutenant Reed,” Phlox tacked on. “But…” He regarded Malcolm again.
“You think he’s…”
“It’s a possibility. But without Mr Reed’s explicit explanation, I can only hypothesize at this point. And he may not even be aware of it, depending on the severity.”
Trip recalled Malcolm’s expressions and attitudes, his quiet, child-like voice. He nodded to himself. Age regression. And if Phlox was right, it meant something had triggered it.
“The captain’s mad at me.”
Suddenly, Trip had no doubt as to exactly what had triggered Malcolm to possibly regress.
Trip began to rock back and forth, recalling something his mother did to him as a child whenever he was upset and in need of comfort. Gradually, Malcolm’s shuddering breaths returned to being deep and even.
“You okay now, Malcolm?” Trip asked.
Malcolm didn’t respond.
Frowning, Trip leaned back.
Malcolm’s eyes were closed. He’d fallen asleep.
Trip looked up at Phlox. “What do I do now?” he whispered.
Phlox hummed thoughtfully.
“Doc?”
“I will return,” Phlox said, making his way to the door. “Ah, let me know as soon as he wakes. I’d like to have a discussion with our lieutenant.” And then he was gone.
Trip huffed and looked down at Malcolm. He adjusted the lieutenant’s stuffed turtle, then leaned back slightly. His legs were already starting to go numb.
Great.
But he resolved to maintain his position, at least until Malcolm woke.
As he held Malcolm, he thought back. There’d been no indication, at least that he’d seen, that Malcolm regressed. But maybe Trip just hadn’t been looking hard enough. Or maybe Malcolm was just an expert at hiding it, like he was with virtually everything else about himself.
Trip rested his chin atop Malcolm’s head of brown hair. “What else don’t I know about ya, Malcolm?” he whispered.
Malcolm only breathed softly in response.