Author: Sita Z

Title: Shockwaves

Rating: R for violence (not graphic)

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to Paramount. No profit is being made from this story and no infringement is intended.

Author's notes: Big thanks to Gabi and Romanse for a great beta job! Yes, the Angst!Bunny bit me again, and it wouldn't let go...

Please note that this story deals with violence and adult themes. If that offends you, please be warned that you might not like parts of the story.

As to whether this is Slash or not, I'm not sure myself; I guess it can be interpreted as Slash, but it doesn't have to be. I'll leave that to you to decide :).

Since the chapters are quite short, they'll be posted daily.

Sorry for the long Author's Note! Enjoy!

Malcolm I

He couldn't tell anyone.

He knew that when he got to his feet, when he stood for a moment, swaying, when he fell to his knees and vomited onto the deck in front of his bed.

He couldn't tell. That was what would make this bearable. It was how he got by in life; making things bearable for himself - finding routines to establish, schedules to keep, rules to follow.

This was his new rule: He could never tell anyone about this. And it was one rule he couldn't break, because if he did, it would be over. There would be nothing left, no safety in his daily routines, no secret pleasure when he accomplished something well enough to meet even his own high standards. No familiar conversational patterns to fall into, no sense of companionship when someone sat down at his table in the messhall.

No one would sit down at his table in the messhall. And that was why he couldn't afford to break the new rule. He wouldn't. He was good at following rules.

He scrubbed for over an hour, first himself, then the floor, then the shower. He threw away the towel he had used, stuffing it down the waste recycler instead of the laundry chute. His uniform and underwear followed soon after. He sprayed cleaning agent on the deck until he almost gagged from the stink, then took the spray into the bathroom and scoured and polished until every surface gleamed almost painfully. After that, he threw the cleaning utensils away. Everything needed to go, if the new rule was to work. This had never happened.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His right eye was one giant bruise with a small crack in the middle. They'd loosened a tooth, and it had sliced his lip when they had punched down on it again. Carefully, he pulled down the swollen, bloated flesh of his lip, took the tooth with two fingers and pushed it back into its socket. Maybe it would grow on again. There was more pain, but it was best not to try and find out exactly where it was coming from. He'd made sure that there would be no outer evidence, and that had to be enough. Things would take care of themselves. They usually did if he followed the rules, self-made or otherwise.

He smoothed down a crinkle in the new uniform he'd put on. Was it obvious that he had changed? He didn't think so. No one would notice, even if – as he hoped with all his heart – things had turned out all right down in Engineering, turned out as planned.

There was nothing left to do, and so he remained where he was, standing in the middle of his clean, smooth, sterile-smelling bathroom. He listened to himself breathe, his chest rising and falling. He was still functioning. Functioning enough to keep it together, keep going. Yes. Keep it together until things took care of themselves.

When Trip unlocked his door an hour later, Malcolm was surprised how well the new rule was working out. He even smiled when he heard that everyone was okay.

Sickbay was a problem.

Of course he had to go, or someone would put their foot down and escort him there. Trip ordered him to go the moment he had seen Malcolm's face, and although it would have been easy enough to disobey, Malcolm decided not to. He would have to make an appearance there sooner or later, and it was better to go now when the place was swamped.

Trip offered to accompany him, obviously concerned, but Malcolm declined. There was pain when he moved, more than he'd expected, and it would show at some point. Trip, unsuspecting as he was in some areas, would notice that something was amiss. It was better if he went alone.

He was lucky. Sickbay was crowded with crewmembers who'd acquired the odd bump and bruise, and he managed to stay in the background until one of Phlox' techs, a young woman who looked no older than twenty-five, was free.

She cleaned him up, treated his lip with the derm restorer, and of course wanted him to go into the imaging chamber to make sure that nothing was broken. He didn't argue with her; he knew better than that. Instead, he suggested she use a handscanner.

"It looks worse than it is, Crewman." So what if she thought he was acting macho. He even managed a crooked smile for her sake. "Really, I'll be all right."

There was a tense moment when she studied the handscanner a little too long – the device couldn't have picked up anything, could it, he would have to go into the imaging chamber, and even then only Phlox would be able to draw the right conclusions. There was no way-

"You seem to be all right, Lieutenant."

Carefully, very carefully, he loosened his fingers which had gripped the examination bed hard enough to hurt. It was okay. She hadn't noticed his sudden panic, or anything else for that matter.

"Thank you, Crewman."

She injected him with a painkiller, gave him a sleeping pill and told him to come back in the morning so Phlox could check him up. He nodded, careful to avoid the doctor on his way out. She would make an entry in his patient file, he supposed, noting down his injuries and the treatment. So that was taken care of. Written proof that he had been in sickbay. Phlox would review the updated file, of course, and maybe he would want Malcolm to come back for a more thorough examination, but he would find a way to deal with that when it happened.

The painkiller helped a little, and he made it to his quarters without an incident. Once inside, he locked the door, went into the head, and stripped down, afraid that he would find traces on his uniform. If anyone had seen...

He closed his eyes, exhaling. Nothing on the outside, only his boxers that were soiled. They went into the waste recycler, and he was about to let the uniform follow when he remembered that he only had four more left, two of which were in the laundry. He might be able to cover up the loss of one uniform – stealing one from Crew Supplies came to mind – but not two.

He filled his sink with water so hot that it was scalding, added some of the cleaning detergent and left the uniform to soak. It would have to do. He couldn't wear anything that might have traces of blood on it. The thought made him want to vomit.

As he went back into the main room, there was a movement in the corner behind him, quick, snake-like. He spun around, it couldn't be, they couldn't be here, not again, not-

The sudden pain made his knees buckle. He sank down to the deck, biting his tongue hard to keep any sound inside. The deck plating felt cool and clean under his knees. There was no one there. A mistake.

Slowly, he got up again, forcing himself to ignore the stabs of pain that went through him as he walked over to the sofa. He couldn't afford to give himself away when he was outside his quarters, so he'd better get used to ignoring the pain and discomfort. He could do that. He'd ignored pain before, and it had taken care of itself.

Eventually, everything did.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think of this so far!