Fear Not

Author: EntAllat
Author's e-mail: entallat@gmail.com
Archive: FanFiction.net, EntSTFic. Ask for anywhere else please.
Category: General/Freindship/Angst
Pairing: Trip/T'Pol (just briefly mentioned), Trip and Malcolm friendship
Rating: PG
Summary: Ever wonder how Trip got that Frankenstein action figure?
Beta: None

Disclaimer: Star Trek and Enterprise (the universe, the characters, and all related images and logos) are copyrighted by Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended or should be inferred. No money was made from the writing of this fanfiction.

Author’s note:

Written for the EntSTFic holiday ficathon.

So, like most Enterprise fans, I hated the finale and I pretend it never happened. (I mostly like what Mangels and Martin did in "The Good That Men Do" to address it.) Even so, I did watch it, and there was a little tidbit that I thought was wholly appropriate. Apparently Trip had a Frankenstein action figure in his quarters that T’Pol fiddled with for a while. Ever wonder how he got that?

The events of this story are spread out over the fourth season, starting just after "Kir'Shara".

Trivia: Fans of Stargate Atlantis might notice the veiled reference to Michael in here. The song referenced here is "Monster Man" by the Finnish rock band, "Lordi".

NOTE! This is my very first bit of (completed) fanfic. (I started with another story, but ended up finishing this one first.) No beta, so all mistakes are mine. Critiques and comments on pacing, characterization, phrasing, etc. are all VERY welcome since I'd like to keep improving as I write more.

Courage is not the lack of fear but the ability to face it." - Lt. John B. Putnam Jr. (1921-1944)

June 15th, 2154

Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker looked up at the sound of the door chime. "Come on in." He smiled as Malcolm Reed stepped into the room. “Hey, Malcolm,” he said, noting that the Lieutenant came bearing gifts. "Hang on a sec. I'm just finishing up this report." He turned back to the PADD in front of him.

"No rush." Malcolm sought a perch on the edge of the bunk since Trip was occupying the only chair in the room. He set two beer bottles on the floor then dangled two others in one hand, looking past Trip to the window where Vulcan silently rotated. The swirling reds and oranges created a savagely beautiful, yet strangely tranquil vista that belied the current turmoil of the planet's government.

"Done." Trip sounded satisfied as he leaned back and stretched. "What a couple of days this has been!"

Malcolm smirked and nodded in agreement, amused at the way the engineer's accent could make him sound so casual about averting what could have been a disastrous interstellar war. He leaned over and handed the engineer one of the beers.

Trip took the bottle with a smirk of his own, "No Andorian ale this time?" he teased, earning him an unreadable look from his friend. "No, I guess not," he answered his own question. He heaved a deep breath. "I've had enough of all things Andorian and Vulcan for a few days to be honest." He tilted his bottle at his friend before taking a drink. "Here's to boring mapping runs of star systems. Maybe we get to do THAT again someday."

"Hear, hear," was the quiet reply. The two men sat for a minute in silence, Malcolm's gaze fixed on the swirling shades of vibrant color beyond the room's window, while Trip studied the bottle in his hand.

Malcolm was the first to speak. "You were good out there today."

Trip looked up, startled. "Thanks," he said sincerely. He turned the bottle around in his hands, and absent-mindedly started to pick at the label. "You know, I wasn't sure I was making the right decision, choosing to warn the Andorians." He shook his head. "I'm sure glad it turned out okay," he murmured, raising the bottle to his lips, "but I'm not sure that it had anything to do with me or my decision." He took a long drink and fell silent again.

Malcolm looked thoughtful. "I don't believe we can ever be certain whether it is solely our own actions or choices that determine the outcome." Trip looked up at him. "Not that I think events are preordained or fated to happen," Malcolm hastened to add. "Rather, there are simply too many things that can affect what happens in a situation like that. What I meant was that you handled yourself well."

Trip didn't look convinced, so Malcolm leaned back and explained. "You're an engineer, Trip. Facing a tactical situation of that magnitude can be an frightening experience, but you projected calm and confidence." The Englishman paused, searching for words. "You were a leader out there today. A good one. I just thought you should know."

Trip swallowed, his throat suddenly tight at the unexpected praise. "Thanks," was all he could mange to say, hiding behind another sip from bottle.

"Ever thought of having your own command?"

Trip considered the question for a moment. "A long time ago, yeah." He shrugged. "It was back when I first met Jon, during the NX warp trials. I think I wanted to be like him." He gave Malcolm a sheepish smile, "There was probably a little hero worship going on there.” He shook his head. “Now though?" He shook his head again and fell silent.

Malcolm frowned. Did Trip mean he didn't want a command of his own any longer, or that he didn't look up to Archer in the same way?

Trip must have seen the confusion on his face because he promptly clarified, "I mean, I saw what having a command really meant during our mission into the Expanse. The responsibility for so many lives. The difficult moral decisions. Decisions I'm not sure I would have made. It changed him, Malcolm. We're not even as close friends as we used to be."

Ah. "We've all changed, Trip.” Malcolm looked at the floor. “But that's not a bad thing. Hoshi's more confident. Travis is less naive. Captain Archer is more ... seasoned," he decided the word fit. Malcolm looked up and caught his friend's eyes. "Sometimes I think you and Captain Archer were like an older and younger brother.” He smirked. “Problem is, the older brother went off to college and had some life changing experiences, while his younger brother grew up and became his own man."

Trip gave Malcolm a half-amused, half-annoyed look. "Are you saying I was immature before?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "No," he answered, "But I'm sure you'll do something to change my mind." Trip just grinned at him. "Just as I'm sure the two of you will be close friends again,” he continued smoothly. “It'll just take some time.” Tripped shrugged and nodded, clearly not convinced.

You have your own command style," Malcolm said, abruptly turning the subject back to the original question. "Captain Archer has his. You won't be just like him, but that's not a bad thing. In fact, you're a pretty good, if somewhat unconventional, diplomat.” He leaned over and tapped Trip's leg with his empty bottle. "Don't let fear hold you back."

Trip considered Malcolm's words. "I don't know, Malcolm. Maybe. But I think I'd be just as happy leading development teams on a warp seven project." He straightened up and tilted his bottle at the Armory officer once more. "Still. There is one thing I am sure of," he said, smiling.

"What's that?"

"If I ever do have a command of my own, I know who I'd want for my first officer."

They'd finished with the first round of beer and opened the second set of bottles, talking about the potential changes for Vulcan following the discovery of the Kir'Shara and the growing political clout of Syrannites like T'Pau. As Malcolm leaned forward, absently shaking a finger at the window to make a point, his heel made contact with something that sounded like a box. Trip was still looking out the window, considering the point that had just been made.

Malcolm leaned over to find something poking out from under the bed, and pulled out a dusty wooden box. "What's this?"

"What?" Trip looked over at the box on Malcolm's lap. "Oh. That." He leaned over, undid the catch and opened the lid. Inside were a wooden board with a grid, two wooden cups and a velvet bag containing what looked like black and white pebbles.

Malcolm looked surprised. "Go!" He inspected the board. This was a find. He'd always loved the strategic game but knew few people who could play. Here was something he would have loved to have spent an evening with, and Trip had never mentioned it. "I didn't know you played," he said, not quite hiding his annoyance.

"I used to."

Something in Trip's voice made Malcolm look up and study his friend. The expression he encountered made him examine the box once more. The box lid had a light coating of dust, which on a climate controlled and hermetically sealed starship was quite a feat. "I gather you haven't played this in some time," he said quietly, regretting his selfish thoughts.

There was a moment of silence in the room as Trip first fiddled with his beer bottle, then slid a PADD under his terminal, not meeting Malcolm's eyes. Finally he spoke. "The last time I played it was back before the Xindi attack," Malcolm nodded, thinking that was sufficient explanation, but Trip went on, "With Charles. The cogenitor."

"Oh," was all Malcolm could bring himself to say. He’d heard about what happened after the fact. Trip had taken it upon himself to teach the cogenitor to read and realize its full potential, contrary to Vissian culture. It chose the name Charles for itself and eventually asked for asylum, causing a diplomatic incident. Archer had to make the difficult decision to deny the request and then later inform Trip of the consequences. Charles had committed suicide.

Malcolm grimaced and started to replace the lid, but Trip reached out and stopped him. "No, don't put it away," he said. "It's about time it came out again," he continued, almost under his breath. He took a deep breath. "You know how to play?" he asked, smiling again. Malcolm smirked and nodded.

"They're classics."

"They're over two hundred years old!"

Trip fixed his friend with a bemused look. "Malcolm, we're playing a game that's nearly 3,000 years old," he waved a hand over the board where they'd been playing for the last hour.

It was beginning to feel like it had been 3,000 years since the last move. Trip kicked Malcolm lightly on the leg. "Hey, it's your turn, remember?"

"I know." Malcolm leaned back and studied his friend. Trip had a keen mind that was hard to beat in games like this, but impatience was his weakness. Malcolm suppressed a smile. All he had to do was drag out his turns a bit and Trip would get restless. And careless.

"I just don't understand the appeal. Now, a good action film? That I can understand."

"They're feel-good ..."

"Feel-good!" Malcolm looked incredulous. "Frankenstein? Dracula? Nightmare on Elm Street?"

"Well, okay, those are more like ... feel-your-movie-date-up-because-she's-clinging-to-you-good."

"Trip!" Malcolm looked scandalized. The engineer laughed. "Oh relax. I never did that." He shrugged. "And I wouldn't." He grinned. "Still, the fright factor can be conducive to romance."

Malcolm shook his head in disbelief. "What can possibly be so entertaining about being frightened? Not that those vintage films are in any way frightening. Funny is more like it. The production values...."

"Are old, yeah." Trip frowned, looking at the board in front of them. Why wouldn't the man move already? He bit down his irritation. "But they were ground breaking for their time. I remember my great-grandmother telling me that *her* great grandmother saw the original Frankenstein in the theatre. Said it scared the hell and half of Texas out of her."

Malcolm barked a short laugh at the southerner's turn of phrase. "But why would you like to put yourself through that? How can you enjoy something that makes you tense, scared and that is so blatantly unrealistic?"

"Well, that's part of what makes them work, Malcolm. They aren't real." Trip looked up at the ceiling and shook his head from side to side, trying to find a way to explain something he just knew. "It's not at all like the reality of ... of ... well, what we went through today. You can experience the rush of adrenaline, think about what you would do in the same situation, cheer for the good guys and condemn the bad guys. And it all works out in the end. "

Trip leaned back, on a roll. "When it comes right down to it, horror movies are myths and legends that have been told and retold for countless centuries, just packaged up differently. They're about universal fears of death and the unknown and our attempts to overcome those fears. They're about the classic struggle of good against evil. They're social commentary about fairness. The bad guys get punished, the really annoying get what's coming to them and the hero finds love. What's not to like?"

Malcolm looked at his friend in surprise, one hand holding a game piece paused over the board. He hadn't expected such a response. He struggled to think of what to say, but was saved by the fact that Trip apparently wasn't finished.

"They make you feel, or make they you think. Or both. And it’s then that you can deal with what you felt or thought. It's not necessarily the production quality that makes you feel scared or think about the message."

The game lay all but abandoned in front of them. "Frankenstein is a good example. There's some universal messages being explored there, like science run amok and the relationship between creator and creation, and the universal need for love and acceptance from one’s parents and society." Malcolm started a bit at that. Trip continued, oblivious. "And no matter how cheesy the film looks now, if you understand what the message is, you can't help but feel a little scared, or a little sympathetic, or maybe a little angry at the injustice."

"But the movie ... It's not really anything like the book. Few of the films are anything like their original literary origins."

Trip made a face. "You sound like T'pol." He shook his head, clearly enjoying this. "Yeah, some of them are very different, I'll give ya that. But it's difficult to bring a lot of that onto the screen. Still, speaking of Frankenstein, the overall message she had with the novel is there." He looked thoughtful again, "You know, horror and science fiction actually share quite a bit in common. Maybe that's why I like both."

Malcolm turned back to the board. "You do seem to have a fondness for horror, sci-fi and superheroes,” he said, bemusedly. “Comic books and horror film villains..." he trailed off. Damnit, Trip had completely distracted him, and now he'd lost his strategic train of thought. He smirked. Apparently it worked both ways.

"And they're not all scary either. Ever seen 'Army of Darkness’?'"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, "Of course not."

Trip just grinned. "It's full of priceless lines. Clatto! Verata! Nn(uhugh)” Trip loudly coughed and cleared his throat. Malcolm stared at Trip, who just chuckled. "Ah, I guess ya have to see it to get it. There's some good social commentary there too, hidden in the humor." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "But you really need to see Evil Dead first."

Malcolm laughed and shook his head. “No I don’t.”

It was getting late, the game long since over (Malcolm had won, but just barely), but neither man seemed inclined to call it a night.

"It's not exactly the kind of music I'd have pictured you listening to," Malcolm said, his face registering surprise and perhaps a little horror as he removed the tiny player's headphones from his head, the discordant beat still ringing in his ears. ==Would you love a monsterman/ Could you understand beauty of the beast/ I would do it all for you, would you do it all/ Do it all for me==

"You have to see the video for it. It's not just the music but the whole theatrics of it. They sang in full monster makeup and costume. The videos were like mini horror movies."

"I'll take your word for it.” He handed the player back to the engineer. “Again, it’s so … old.” He looked at the other man curiously. “I've never really understood your fascination with such old forms of entertainment, Trip. Songs, movies - all of them hundreds of years old. It seems a little odd for someone who works with such advanced technology all day. I dare say there's a few others who share my perspective."

"I know. Hoshi ribs me about it all the time."

"And this music," Malcolm indicated the player, "It doesn't seem to fit your rather warm personality."

Trip grinned. "Well maybe in an some alternate universe I'm not a nice guy. Maybe I'm a life-sucking alien vampire bent on ruling the galaxy assisted by his own army of minions."

Malcolm stared at Trip.

"Yeah," the engineer continued, oblivious to Malcolm's shocked expression. "You know, a sort of space-age Frankenstein." He cocked his head to one side. "The creation, not the creator, " he amended. "An experiment gone wrong and misunderstood by his ethically challenged creators."

There was a long pause before Malcolm responded. "You have a very ..." Trip turned to look at him as Malcolm searched for the right word, "... active, imagination. That, or something was in the beer."

Trip laughed. "That's part of what makes me a decent engineer." He smirked. “An active imagination, not the beer I mean. It’s also part of the appeal of being an engineer. I have to think creatively."

November 11th, 2154

The grimy little shop at the trading station near Rigel Nine hadn't looked very promising, but since it was the only little shop at the trading station it was filled with all sorts of alien visitors, all quite possibly just wanting to briefly be someplace other than the confines of their respective ships. Wandering amongst the shelves and bins were Andorians, Orions, Tellarites, and species of every size and shape, including one Englishman from Earth and several of his crewmates.

Grey eyes followed those crewmates around the store, unable to relax, mindful that this part of space was still a somewhat dangerous place to be, and not an ideal place for shore leave. Still, they had to take what they could get. Malcolm turned his thoughts to the upcoming peace conference. Enterprise would be transporting the Tellarites tomorrow. Of course he couldn't relax. There were too many contingencies he had to plan for.

Malcolm let his fingers sift through a bin, then looked down at what he was stirring. Rubber dinosaurs? Really? Why was it that every place that humans wanted to visit again and again, they had to commemorate with cheesy replicas of long-dead reptiles? And insects. He pulled out a wobbly rubber thing that vaguely resembled a scorpion and smirked, contemplating for a moment. Christmas was little over a month and a half away. He considered the rubber bug for a moment, then tossed it back into the bin. No, he thought, Trip would kill him if he opened up a present to find that. He paused. Or maybe… He picked it up again. He could leave it in Trip's shower...

No, no, no, no. Malcolm huffed a laugh and dropped the souvenir again. Trip really would kill him for that one. As funny as the thought was, he couldn't bring himself to do that to his friend. He dug through the bin again, absent mindedly, shaking his head. Trip had once said that part of the appeal of horror movies was the fright factor. But the chief engineer hated bugs and somehow Malcolm couldn't see him actually enjoying the fright of encountering a large alien bug in his quarters. Malcolm cast a bemused look at the garish thing in the bin. Maybe there was something to what Trip had said about unrealism.

Just then Malcolm saw it. His absent-minded sifting had brought it to the surface, and it lay there, staring back at him. He picked it up. It was the perfect gift. Malcolm smiled and headed off to find the merchant.

Half a second later he was back at the bin, grabbing the rubber scorpion with a wicked grin. Maybe later. When it wasn't Christmas. And he could bribe himself back into Trip's good graces with a bottle of scotch...

November 23, 2154

"Don't you think you're," Malcolm searched for words less blunt than he was thinking, then gave up, "overreacting?" He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the frame of Trip's bunk, regarding his friend where he stood across the room, his expression dark.

Trip blew out a frustrated breath. "I know what I'm doing Malcolm," he ground out. "I can't stay here." He set the PADD he was holding down on his desk, a little more forcefully than necessary. He was feeling bad enough about asking the Captain for a transfer to Columbia. He didn't need this.

"Running away isn't going to help," Malcolm continued regardless, earning a furious glare from his friend. He repressed a sigh and steeled himself. He wasn't about to let Trip go through with this without at least attempting to change his mind, no matter how angry Trip became.

"It isn't going to help," Malcolm continued firmly, "because you can't run away from yourself or how you feel. It's better to confront it, Trip." He straightened up and pushed away from the bunk. "Fear, Trip. When it comes right down to it, that’s what this is. It’s just fear. You're afraid that you won't be able to face what you're feeling about T’Pol. You opened yourself up and got burned," he winced a little at the way Trip's shoulders slumped a little at those words, but charged ahead. "Believe me, I know how that feels. But you were the one who taught me to deal with that kind of fear and open up to the possibility of close friends and relationships again. Even with my own family." He took a step closer. "Trip." The engineer didn't look up. Malcolm tried once more, “A transfer is not the answer.” He was met with silence.

Malcolm did let a sigh escape then. It was obvious that this was one battle he wasn't going to win, and suddenly he felt an ache in the middle of his chest. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and looked at the floor, both hands griping the mattress on either side. "You have friends here, Trip. People who will miss you, regardless." He looked up. "At least promise me you'll keep in touch."

Trip did look up at that, and his expression softened. "I promise," was all he said.

December 2nd, 2154

Trip held tightly onto the cable and looked around in awe, "Never thought I'd see the stars like this."

A female voice broke his moment of reverie. "Eyes on the cable, Commander. I need you back here in one piece." He resumed his forward motion along the cable. Then another voice, male, accented and familiar, "You're doing fine, Trip."

Suddenly the cable started to shake. "Don't mean to be a pest, but could someone tell me what's going on?" That accented voice again, reassuring. "You're almost here, Trip. Keep going."

Oddly, he didn’t feel afraid at all. Maybe it was the fact that he was moving along the tether towards Enterprise, rather than away from it.

The climb seemed to take forever, but finally he found himself inside the bay doors. He looked up at the last few meters. Malcolm's voice filled his helmet again, tense and urgent. "The tether's at its limit! Hurry up!"

A few more meters. The voice broke in again, "Almost there!" urging him on.

A moment later he stepped up onto the platform and Malcolm was frantically unhooking the cable from Trip’s EV suit. He managed to get it off just before the entire unit holding the line was pulled off the ceiling and whipped out into space. "Trip!"

Trip looked at his friend. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Bridge, I have him." was all that Malcolm said.

December 30th, 2154

Trip grinned, "Frankenstein! Where did you manage to get a Frankenstein action figure, way the hell out here?" He turned the figure around, his delight obvious.

Malcolm smiled and shrugged. He watched Trip fiddle with the posable figure for a moment, then cleared away the bits of parchment paper (from Chef's supply) that had served as wrapping for the gift. He sat down on the couch next to his friend. "It's amazing what you can find in the odd little shops around the outposts and colonies," he replied, pleased with himself. "Sorry it's a little late for Christmas."

Trip grinned at his friend, but just as suddenly his smile faded and he fidgeted. "Mal … Malcolm." He bit his lip. "I didn't think to ..." The engineer shifted uncomfortably and started again, "With everything that's happened in the last several weeks,” he shook his head and took a deep breath, "prepping Columbia, and then getting everything back to normal here on Enterprise after that Klingon sabotage attempt. And then those Orion women ..." he trailed off and shook his head again, "I guess I just had my mind on getting a transfer back to Enterprise the last couple of days. I didn't even think about…" He paused, then continued after a moment, "I didn't think to get you anything." Blue eyes telegraphed regret.

Malcolm just shook his head and smiled, his expression kind. "My best friend is back on Enterprise where he belongs," he said, his voice deepening as he turned his gaze towards the floor. "That's the best present I could possibly receive."

Trip couldn't think of anything to respond to that, so instead he fiddled a bit with Frankenstein's bendable arms. The silence that stretched for several minutes was companionable, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Finally Trip cleared his throat. "You were right you know." Malcolm looked up at him curiously. Trip tossed his head to the side and back, the gesture conciliatory. He fixed his gaze at a spot near the ceiling. "I did overreact. It was … impulsive,” he looked a bit sheepish, “But then, what else is new. Still, I never should have left," he said firmly. He turned looked down again at the figure in his hands. "I just hope I didn't screw things up too badly," he murmured so quietly that Malcolm almost didn't hear it.

Trip felt a hand quickly squeeze his shoulder, releasing him only when the American looked up and smiled again. Malcolm paused a moment, then smirked. "At least you didn't end up in the brig," he said darkly. Trip's expression was sympathetic, and the engineer opened his mouth to speak. "Thanks for not doubting me," Malcolm added quickly before Trip could reply. "It meant a lot to me, considering everyone else's reaction."

Trip shrugged and nodded. "You gonna give me all the details about that sometime?" he prompted hopefully. His friend had been strangely reticent about explaining how he’d ended up in the brig while Enterprise went in search of a kidnapped Doctor Phlox, despite the fact that Malcolm had promised to tell him all about it, “when we’re not so busy” as he put it while being marched away by the MACOs upon Trip’s return to Enterprise.

Malcolm sighed. "Someday perhaps, but not now." He rose from the couch and crossed the room to the desk. He turned the monitor to face into the room, then dug into a locker for a bag and a bowl. He proceeded to empty the contents of the bag into the bowl. "It's a Tuesday night." He looked at Trip and jerked his head towards the monitor. "How about a movie?" Trip recognized the abrupt change of subject as meaning that the matter was closed for now. Clinking sounds followed as Malcolm pulled out two beers.

Trip's grin returned. "Sure. That'd be great. You know I'm always up for a movie." He abandoned any notion of learning more about what landed his friend in the brig and took the bottle Malcolm handed to him. He looked what Malcolm set on the small table between the couch and the bed. "Pretzels!" He gave the bowl's contents an appreciative look. He set Frankenstein down on the table before grabbing a handful of pretzels. The action figure stood poised with arms outstretched over the bowl, its grimacing expression warning off would-be snack thieves.

Malcolm clicked a button on the side of the monitor, then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Remember our conversation, oh so many months ago, about horror movies?"

Trip looked up from the bowl, surprised. "Yeah, I remember." He studied his friend. "You up for a horror movie?" He asked, bemused. Malcolm just smirked. "It's seems appropriate, given our little friend there," Malcolm said, waving a hand towards the monster action figure.

Trip nodded in agreement. He turned and leaned back on the couch, slouching against the arm and crossing one ankle over the other as he stretched his long legs out in front of him, beer bottle dangling in one hand. Damn, but it was good to be back. "So what're we gonna watch?" he said amiably. He took a drink and looked over at Malcolm, then swallowed hard when he caught his friend's expression, narrowing avoiding choking on the beer.

Wearing a look and a smile that could only be described as wicked, Malcolm leaned back against his bunk's frame and stretched out comfortably. Folding his right arm behind his head, he clicked the small remote in his left hand before finally answering Trip's question.

"Arachnophobia."