Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me

Author chat: Yeah, so uhm…this isn't my normal fandom and I bet some people excitedly clicked the link without realising the fik was for Star Trek: ENT—sorry about that -.-;

Anyway; those of you who are reading this cause you want ENT—ENJOY! This story is my Birthday Present to myself.

Have you ever felt that gut clenching feeling that makes it seem like the frozen hand of God has suddenly grabbed at your stomach and won't let go? Like you're drowning and suffocating, like you want to cry and scream at the same time, like you want to die without dieing?

When you're truly alone it doesn't matter how many people are around you, what you do with your days or how much you smile to hide it; you're still alone.

You can spend your days surrounded by people you call friends, you can spend your nights with people you call lovers, you can even spend important times with those you call family…but you're still alone. Empty inside. Simply going through the motions so that others won't realise how alone you are.

You could tell them of course…but who would care?

'I'm alone.' You'd say. 'I'm alone, I need somebody…anybody…please…'

Who would listen? Your pretend lovers? Maybe your pretend friends? Perhaps even your pretend family?

They wouldn't listen.

That's how you know you're truly alone. No one listens. No one cares. You're alone and the feeling clenches in your gut like a fist. It grips onto your soul and leaves you cold – constantly cold. You touch other people's lives, hoping that they'll reach out and touch yours, but you know it's a futile hope.

Each hand you reach out, each ever-decreasing whisper of need is rejected unnoticed. You're alone.

You go through the motions.

You smile.

You laugh.

But it's all a charade.

You know it's a charade, but you do it anyway. What's the point of letting people know how lonely you are? They don't care. They won't help. They're to busy being together, having friendships, loves, lives that will never touch you.

All you have is the coldness in your belly. The tightness in your chest. The ache in your soul that you wish could be filled.

Alone.

Loneliness.

True loneliness is knowing the void will never be filled.

True loneliness is knowing the ache in your gut is there to stay.

True loneliness is accepting it.

You know you're alone. You know you're alone…and you're probably better off that way.

You're truly alone…

…and no matter what…

…no matter how it hurts…

…it's better that way.

"Damnit! Malcolm, what the hell is the readout on that sensor array?"

Malcolm kept his eyes on the console before him, his hands never leaving the controls as he tried to make the readouts make some kind of sense.

"I'd be more than willing to tell you Commander, but I'm afraid I haven't quite figured out how to read gibberish yet." Malcolm's tone was snappish and he almost wished he hadn't bothered opening his mouth to speak-except, of course, for the fact that Commander Tucker had the reprimand coming. He, of all people, knew damn well that Malcolm didn't have a clue what information the console was sprouting at him.

"Damnit!" Tucker's voice came from the comm. unit sitting next to Malcolm on the bugging console and, judging from the tone of it, the simple word wasn't really enough to express the frustration the man was feeling. A loud explosion and the deck plating suddenly tilting sideways under Malcolm's feet as he clutched desperately at the hand rails on the console cut off whatever else the Engineer might have been about to say and forced Malcolm to engage in a desperate lunge to grab said mentioned comm. unit before it slid off the console and got lost in the chaos that used to be his perfectly ordered armoury.

"What the hell was that?" Tucker demanded in aggravation and Malcolm silently echoed the question; things were supposed to have stopped exploding almost twenty minutes ago.

Malcolm moved quickly over to the wall and hit the comm., "Reed to bridge."

"Bridge here." The voice to answer Malcolm's less than polite words was Captain Archer himself. "Sorry about that. Doesn't look like we're quite clear of the asteroid field yet, make sure everyone takes precautions; we don't know when something is going to hit us again."

"Yes, Captain." Malcolm shut off the com and, with a quick nod towards Lieutenant Heiss who had been running passed helping replace burnt out power relays, moved back to his console, trying to make the thing at least tell him if, and what, new damage there was.

"Another god damned asteroid?" Commander Tucker's voice came crisply through the comm. again, "Does this field never end?"

"Obviously not, Commander." Malcolm's nerves were getting more than a little frayed and, given that half the ships sensors were offline, the targeting scanners may as well have not existed and that the Enterprise had somehow stumbled into an Asteroid belt that not only hadn't shown up on the sensors while they had been working, but was also not showing up on visual, he thought he was doing rather well not to scream a rather lengthy and insulting reply down the comm. line. "I don't suppose you're having any luck on your end, sir?"

'On his end' was the primary power conduits for the main sensor array's, of which were currently offline and sending gibberish readings to Malcolm's console while the Enterprise bumbled around attempting to find a safe way out of the invisible asteroid field using only visual.

"What the hell do you think, Lieutenant?" Tucker snapped and Malcolm almost had to physically resist his urge to bash the comm. unit against the side of his console and then throw the pieces out the nearest airlock.

"Didn't think so." Malcolm growled, to low for the other man to hear and then spoke a little louder, "I'm going to reroute the console input through Engineering and try it from there." He said, fingers flying over the buttons they needed too. "There's a slim chance it's the console that's messing these reads up and not the sensors themselves."

"Great. Do it." Tucker said distractedly, "I need those God-damned readings."

"Understood, sir." Malcolm hit the final button to reroute the readouts and then, snatching up the com unit, turned and stalked out of the armoury, only pausing to give a few brief instructions to one of his men before heading straight to Engineering.

Of all the things on the ship that had been hit, Engineering was doing quite well. The warp drive was still online, though they had reduced speed to impulse since their first impact had been at warp three and, frankly, it hadn't been pleasant.

It was a surprise, actually, that most of the damage seemed to be centred near the armoury instead of Engineering. Normally their warp systems were the first to go down when they took any kind of damage. Malcolm might almost have been suspicious of it, if he hadn't been so incredibly irritable over the entire situation.

It didn't take him long to reach engineering and as soon as he arrived he headed straight to the console he'd rerouted the sensor read-outs to and breathed a sigh of relief as, unlike the other console, this one seemed to be making sense.

"Commander Tucker."

"Ow! Fuck! Ow. Damnit, Malcolm, what!"

Malcolm took a deep, steadying breath. "The read-outs in engineering seem to be intelligible, sir."

"Great! What the hell's going on with the fore sensors?" The man demanded and Malcolm settled in to, irritably, start proper repairs on the Enterprise.

"Great work, everyone!" Captain Archer moved around the bridge, congratulating people as he came near them and giving his overall 'glad the Enterprise is still in one piece' speech. Malcolm tuned it out before the man had barely gotten three words passed his lips.

Just over twenty-four hours on his feet, most of that spent in irritated arguments with Commander Tucker over what could and should be repaired first, had left him completely exhausted. Only keeping half an ear on the speech to make sure it didn't deviate to greatly from the norm, Malcolm waited only long enough to make sure it was over, and then, gratefully, he headed to the turbo lift so he could go get some rest before his next shift.

"Malcolm! Hey!"

Malcolm looked up, startled briefly out of his tiredness as Tucker dashed into the lift after him, evidencing more energy than he really had a right to after all the work they'd been doing, and, only barely managing to make it through the doors before they closed on him, turned to Malcolm with a grin.

"Wha' do you think, time for food?"

Food? God, he was so tired the mere thought made him feel ill. "No, thank you, Commander. My next shift is in five hours, I want to get some sleep before it."

Tucker stared at him, his ever-open expression reflecting something akin to deep, slightly offended shock. "After th' day you pulled today, you know you are entitled to sleepin' in, right?"

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably, "I prefer not too."

"But…"

Tucker was cut off as the turbolift finally stopped and Malcolm instantly moved forward, towards the opening doors. "Maybe another time, Commander. Good night."

And, leaving the man to glare at him from behind, he walked quickly down the hallway, heading straight for his room and some much needed sleep.

Black and white.

No, not black and white. Grey. Dark grey, pale grey, deep grey; everything was grey.

Blotted out; leeched of colour.

Had there ever really been colour?

Wait…yes, of course there had been colour. Intermittent colour; but colour it still was. Red. Fiery, burning red. The colour of anger. The colour of fury.

Grey, grey, grey and then a burst of red. Yes, that was it. The colours of life.

"Mister Tucker," Malcolm put as much emphasis on the words as he could, trying with his voice to get through to the man in an attempt to not resort to his fists. "We need those targeting scanners repaired now! We're floating around out here like sitting ducks, if a hostile force were to find us…"

Tucker cut him off, "Look, the weapons are online so we can defend ourselves jus' fine, Lieutenant. We'll get to the scanners jus' as soon as we can; right now it's not a priority. Now if you don't mind…"

Malcolm forced himself to stay calm, only allowing himself a tightly worded, "Very well, Commander. However if we're attacked I'm sure that you won't mind explaining to the Captain why we accidentally blew up our own nacelle's in an attempt to defend ourselves; hopefully before the entire shipexplodes." And then, clutching his hands tightly on the Data PADD he'd brought with him, he stalked from the room.

It would serve the man right if it did happen, he thought angrily. He, personally, didn't particularly relish the idea but somehow the Commander, and the Captain too, had to learn that just because they were on a mission of peaceful exploration didn't necessarily mean that everyone else in space was as well.

Obviously he wasn't going to be getting any help from Engineering but he could probably do it with his own department.

Loosening his grip on the Data PADD finally, he began to focus on what needed to be done, rearranging his work detail's to encompass getting the targeting scanners back online. Tucker would probably be furious but he'd only said that he, himself, wouldn't work on them, not that Malcolm couldn't.

"Yes, Captain."

"Aye, Cap'n."

The words were spoken simultaneously to a supremely pissed off looking Captain Archer and the man lifted his eyebrow slightly, staring at first his Chief Engineer, and then his Armoury Officer; then he finally looked towards the door.

"Dismissed." He said, curtly; his voice still containing traces of the tone he'd used while giving the two men a severe dressing down.

Malcolm broke from his stance at attention, and, waiting a moment for the Commander to exit first, marched stiffly from the Captain's Ready Room.

The argument over the Targeting Scanners had turned into a fistfight, or, truth be told, into a catfight. Years of ingrained training and natural ability had flown out the airlock as, responding to Tuckers sloppily thrown punch, Malcolm had reduced himself to the other mans level and slapped, clawed and sissy-kicked for all he was worth as they tumbled around the armoury floor. It had taken just about all of Malcolm's Armoury staff to pull them off of one another and, by the time that had been accomplished, the Captain had arrived, perfectly on time to order his officers first to the Infirmary, and then to his Ready Room.

Surprisingly, Malcolm hadn't minded much – even the lecture hadn't been able to dampen his suddenly buoyant mood. If it weren't for the fact that the man was, more than likely, still furious beyond measure, Malcolm might even have thanked Tucker for drawing him into that fight earlier. The fight had given him a way to release a bit of tension, he felt more refreshed than he had in weeks.

As they left the room, Tucker headed straight to his bridge console, probably checking over the work that was currently being done without him; Malcolm headed for the turbolift, his shift was over and he felt like enjoying his new-found relaxed feeling.

Before the lift doors could shut however, Malcolm was joined by Commander Tucker; the man arriving in a rush.

"Damn, you certainly can move can't you?" He said and pinned Malcolm with a slightly annoyed gaze.

Malcolm returned the man's look with what he hoped was a blank expression; he should have guessed it was to much to hope for that the fight was over.

"You goin' to lunch?" Tucker said unexpectedly and Malcolm knew that, whatever his expression was now, it certainly wasn't blank. "Neve' mind; you are going to lunch, you still owe me."

Malcolm managed to find his voice, "Excuse me, Commander?"

"Not a chance." Tucker said airily, deliberately misunderstanding Malcolm's words, "You're not getting' out of it this time, Lieutenant."

Malcolm frowned, "Commander…"

"Look, sorry I jumped you in the Armoury; the Cap'n was right about that, never should'a been fighting where the crew could see us." Tucker said and crossed his arms, leaning against the side of the lift.

"Implying, Commander, that it was the location that was wrong, and not the fight?" Malcolm's tone was now amused and his lips had curled up into a slight smirk.

"Damn straight!" Tucker replied promptly, "You've had it coming fer days."

"I've had it coming? I think you're forgetting, Commander, which one of us is the irritating, loudmouth." Malcolm kept his gaze forward, but instinctively knew that Tucker was grinning fit to break his face.

"I'll take that as a compliment, lieutenant," Tucker drawled the words, "because ah know you wouldn't insult a superior officer."

"Of course not, sir." As Malcolm spoke the turbolift doors finally opened and Tucker forcibly pushed him out them, pointing him in the direction of the mess hall.

"Time for lunch, Lieutenant."

The smirk didn't leave Malcolm's face; instead it stretched wider, becoming a small but genuine smile. Obviously he wasn't the only one the fight had helped to relax.

Loud, even when silent. He painted everything in colour.

Everything he touched gained vivid, dizzying shades. Everything he approached burst into life. Anything and everything around him seemed to animate to the energy he exuded as easily as breathing.

It touched everyone; no one was safe from it. He wiped away the grey. He even…

He even made the cold seem warm.

Fake warmth.

The cold could never fully thaw.

The fake warmth, the fake colour; it disappeared when he did. Then the grey returned, the cold refroze. It was fake.

Fake, fake, fake.

It felt good though—until it was gone… Then, somehow, the cold was colder; the grey was duller.

Fake colour, fake warmth; dizzying and wonderful.

There was no room in acceptance for hope.

Fake colour, fake warmth, fake hope.

They were terrifying words, 'Take my hand.'

"Breathe it in, Malcolm!" Tucker was standing a few feet from the other man, his arms outstretched and his head thrown back as he followed his own instructions and breathed deeply, "This is what real air tastes like."

"You breathe air; you don't taste it." Malcolm said, mainly more for the reaction he knew it would get than anything else.

True to form, Tucker dropped his arms and glared at Malcolm, "If you'd try breathin' properly you'd be able to taste it jus' fine!"

"Whatever you say, Commander." The words were ruined by the amusement that laced his tone. "Perhaps, if you're finished eating the intangible, you could help me with these sample cases?" He finished, crouching down by one of the three silver cases and wrestling it into opening.

"I don' even know why the Cap'n let you come down here." Tucker said reproachfully and pointedly didn't help with the sample cases.

"If I recall correctly, Commander, you said to the Captain," Malcolm's voice thickened slightly as he imitated Tuckers accent, " 'he's been getting' his panty's all up in a bunch since we said we were goin' down, Cap'n-may as well let him come and see if some fresh air'll put him in a better mood' and then," he continued, his voice taking on a tone of slightly annoyed reproach, "the Captain told you to make sure I didn't get into any trouble."

"Well, you do tend to get inta trouble a lot, Mister Reed." Tucker said, finger waving in mock admonition.

Finishing opening the sample cases and retrieving what they would need, Malcolm finally stood and cast a glare at Tucker before turning to the low-lying, mountainous shrubs that surrounded them, "I believe, Mister Tucker, that I only seem to really get into trouble when you're involved."

"C'mon, Malcolm, stay awake!" Tucker followed the words with a stinging slap that made Malcolm's head snap sluggishly to the side before he looked up and forced his eyes to focus on the other man.

"That, Mister Tucker," he said with difficulty, his words slurring slightly, "was not necessary."

"I think it was." The expression that slowly slid into focus under Malcolm's fuzzy gaze was pinched and worried, "You nearly passed out on me."

"I think the reaction was justified, Mister Tucker," Malcolm frowned, "anything to get away from that God-awful noise you were making."

"Hey! I happen ta think I'm pretty good at singin', thank you very much." His tone was indignant, but the pinched expression didn't leave his face and he tightened the grip he had around Malcolm's shoulders.

"Oh." Malcolm replied vaguely, his attention being drawn to the warm feeling the hold seemed to be giving him, "Is that what that was?"

Tucker laughed, the tone only sounding slightly strained with worry and pain. "Yah know, you don't have much call ta be complainin' about mah sinin'—I wouldn't have ta do it if you'd just stay awake like I asked."

Tucker's accent was thickening, Malcolm noticed vaguely as he tried to make sense of the words the accent had held, "I am awake."

"Not for long if you keep doin' that." The man said, "C'mon, head back up, eyes open." He commanded and nudged Malcolm's head from where it had somehow come to rest on Tucker's shoulder.

Malcolm frowned and followed the instructions, trying to figure out when he'd slumped sideways like that anyway.

"Doc should be here soon." Tucker said into the silence, "I'll be glad to see 'im, mah leg's killing me."

Malcolm let out a short bark of laughter, shaking his head carefully when Tucker turned to look at him curiously. He'd had a sudden image of said mentioned leg chasing Tucker down with a bloody dagger, intent on murder. It took a moment to get the image to leave him alone and he did it by reminding himself, no, no. The leg is broken; he hurt it in the fall.

The Captain wouldn't let either of them off the ship again, after this, he reflected. They were on flat ground; hills, fields, and the occasional rock…trust them to walk straight over a patch of ground that covered a crumbling cave network. And trust them, even more, to have chosen to stop walking for a moment and have the entire area they were on tumble straight downwards, taking them both with it.

None of the other's had had this kind of trouble—just Malcolm and Tucker.

"Hey!"

Stinging pain forced Malcolm to drag his head back up again and glare at the man leaning against the dirt wall so close beside him.

"I said no sleeping; who'm I gonna talk to if you start sleepin', huh?"

"I'm sure, Mister Tucker, you'll be able to give yourself an ample audience."

Tucker's lips twitched upwards slightly, "Only you could be so smart mouthed with a concussion, Mal."

"I take exception to that." Malcolm said, a slight movement under his cheek making him notice that his head had once again fallen onto the other man's shoulder. This time, though, he couldn't seem to find the energy to lift it back up again. A moment later he noticed something else. "And my name is Malcolm, not 'Mal'."

"Sure Mal, whatever you say." Was the reply he got as Tucker craned his neck back a bit, staring upwards at the taunting blue sky above them. "I think the cavalry's arrived." He added shrugging his shoulder a bit to try and make Malcolm lift his head.

"Hmm." Was all Malcolm managed to get the energy to reply with and Tucker snapped his gaze back to him.

"Hey, don't go ta sleep on me now! You've stayed awake this long, you can go longer!"

Of course he could, he was just feeling kind of tired; he really wouldn't have minded getting a little rest though…if only Tucker would stop jiggling his shoulder.

"Malcolm…" Tucker shook him slightly harder, "Mal!"

"Name'snot…Mal…" He finally managed.

"Trip!"

As Malcolm's focus finally gave out on him, he was aware of the third voice suddenly engaging Tucker in a hurried conversation and then, everything went dark.

Sometimes you can't remember what grey feels like. Sometimes you drown in colour.

The colour isn't your own, you're only borrowing it, pretending that it belongs to you; but it drowns you all the same.

Grey…grey… What does it look like again? You remember it wasn't pleasant…you remember it was like being stuck…like you were trapped in a dark, dark place. Colour makes you forget.

But the cold is still there.

Freezing you inside.

Reminding you when you stop for a moment.

When you let the borrowed colours fade slightly.

It's there, waiting for you.

Then you remember what grey looks like.

Dull.

Grey.

Cold.

I'm here for you.

Colour.

When Malcolm opened his eyes again, it was to the half-light of Sick Bay and a pain behind his eyes that made him wonder briefly if he'd been drinking the night before. He waited for a moment, his body entirely still, letting his memories come back to him; and then he finally moved, groaning slightly as he remembered the fall.

"Finally awake, huh?"

Malcolm turned his head and glared fuzzily to the side, eyeing Tucker on the bio-bed alongside his own. "Under protest." He mumbled the reply and began, painstakingly, to drag himself into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

"Jus' after 0200." Tucker said and eyed him intently for a long moment before turning back to the data PADD in his hand. "Phlox said you'd wake with one hell'o a headache so there's a hypo-spray beside yah."

Malcolm eyed the tray sitting innocently beside his bed for a moment and then looked back at Tucker. He'd probably want the hypo-spray later, but right then he wanted to stay coherent.

"Why are you here?" The question came out more sharply than he intended, but Tucker simply looked up at him and smiled lopsidedly.

"Broke th' leg in three places. Phlox threatened all sorts of strange alien bugs and things on me if ah so much as twitched it in th' direction of movin'."

"Then why are you awake?"

Tucker's smile faded slightly and the gaze he had directed at Malcolm became slightly sharper. "Just…awake." He said finally and looked away, freeing Malcolm from a gaze he hadn't realised he'd been caught in. "Work t' do." He added, flicking the Data PADD he still held.

"You should rest." Malcolm focused his eyes on the dull grey blanket that covered him, unconsciously running his hands over it to smooth out the wrinkles.

"So should you." Tucker rejoined.

"I've rested enough." Malcolm looked over at Tucker again, "You, however, don't look like you have."

Tucker sighed and flicked the button in his PADD to switch it off. "Guess I'll try an' get some then. Wake me if anythin' excitin' happens." He added as he set the PADD down on the small table beside his biobed and began to carefully lie down.

"Of course." Malcolm watched as Tucker managed to get himself relatively comfortable, laying on his back with his arm tossed over his eyes. "Commander..." The word came out of his mouth before he'd even realised he was going to say it. "Trip."

The other man shifted slightly, moving his arm from across his eyes and looking at Malcolm curiously.

Malcolm hadn't been sure exactly what he was planning on saying when he'd called the man, but looking at him now, getting lost in a pair of eyes that always seemed to capture him any time they turned his way, he found the words coming easily.

"Thank you, for…keeping me awake down there. You certainly had enough to worry about yourself, without having me to exasperate the situation."

Tucker smiled, the expression soft but genuine. "Don't worry about it, Mal; you woulda done th' same for me."

"I would have." Malcolm agreed, "But I'm still saying thank you."

"Yeah, well…" Tucker's gaze on Malcolm became intent again and there was something behind his eyes, something that looked out through the intent expression and belayed the soft tone the man was using. "What else was I gonna do? Th' bang to your head was bad, I couldn't let you gota sleep; would have lost you fer sure. Couldn't let that happen, Mal. Wasn't gonna let you go."

"Oh." The word was a soft sound; the only thing Malcolm could say past the suddenly tight feeling in his chest.

Tucker suddenly moved, propping himself up on his arm, "You scared me, Mal. You really scared me. You kept fadin' out on me and I couldn't think of anythin' to make it stop; there was nothin' I could do—I really thought I was goin' to lose you and I don't wanna do that. I really don't wanna lose you, Mal. So…so don't go sayin' 'thank you'. I…" He paused. "I jus' needed to keep you with me."

He couldn't think of anything to say. His chest was still tight and he couldn't seem to look away from the other man's eyes.

"Just couldn't let you go. Is…is that okay?"

Malcolm nodded, suddenly finding his voice, "Yes, Trip. That's…that's just fine." He said. "It's more than fine."

And suddenly he realised something. It wasn't borrowed anymore; it wasn't something he was pretending was his. It was something freely given, it was something that really was his.

Colour.