"Man is one: greatness and animal fused together. None of his acts is pure charity. None is pure bestiality."
Mariama Bâ (1929–1981), Senegalese novelist

My latest addition to the "Friend In Need" series. RoaringMice beta read this for me. Thank you!

"Lovely bruises, Commander."

Trip slowly raised his head from the dish of hardly touched 'chicken Marsala' that stood in front of him. He had expected to find a teasing grin on Malcolm's face, and was surprised to see, instead, something like empathy in the blue-grey eyes.

"If you say so… you're the expert," he replied with a tired sigh.

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up imperceptibly. "They go well with your sunburn," he added, in a grave voice that was at odds with the light words.

Trip smiled at the Lieutenant standing straight with both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of – he supposed – black tea. Malcolm looked less pristine than usual with his uniform slightly open at the neck and a few unruly strands of hair down on his forehead. But it was nearly 11 pm; and at this hour, a ragged look only made him more human.

"Seat won't bite your butt, Malcolm," Trip drawled out, not minding a bit of company; in fact, happy about it.

With a twitch of his mouth, Malcolm flowingly slipped into a chair across from him.

"Tryin' to put somethin' in my stomach," Trip added, shifting the food around in his plate. "Doctor's orders."

"No good restaurants on that moon?"

Malcolm's tone, once again, hadn't matched his words. It sounded as if the man was more ready for a solid night's sleep than for a good banter.

"Didn't see any."

Propping his elbows on the table, Malcolm looked over the rim of his cup and narrowed his eyes. "I take it you didn't immediately get along with… what was his name, by the way: did you find out?"

"Zho'Kaan," Trip supplied.

Malcolm jerked his chin slightly up. "Zho'Kaan. At least I hope you put some of my combat training lessons to good use, and returned a few of those blows."

"That all you military guys can think of?" Trip bit back, feeling a surge of irritation. "How better to whack people?"

He watched Malcolm's eyes grow confused and definitely hurt. The man turned his head a little and shifted his gaze to the floor.

Dammit. Malcolm didn't deserve that lecture. He certainly wasn't the type of military man who enjoyed the use of brute force.

Taking a deep breath, Trip blew it slowly out of his mouth. "Look, I'm sorry… That was a stupid thing to say." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I know you're not that kinda guy. It's that… I'm beat – no pun intended – and also a bit scrambled."

Malcolm darted him a look, unobtrusively assessing. "It's all right. That's understandable," he said quietly.

"It's not all right," Trip countered in frustration. "Nothin' is all right."

The grey eyes returned on him and this time lingered.

"I think I know what you mean," Malcolm said. "One is gliding peacefully in a shuttlepod, testing upgrades, doing no harm, and…" He trailed, twisting his mouth in a lopsided smirk and making a clicking sound.

Trip shook his head. "Took us centuries but we finally learned to respect each other on Earth. And now that we're out here, all we seem to do is bump into hostile aliens…" He threw a hand up in the air. "Why should people be so bent on shootin' others out of the sky?"

It was a perfunctory question, but Malcolm put down his cup and got lost in the dark liquid inside it. "I suppose there is some kind of… inborn aggressiveness. A desire to dominate, to be more powerful than the next person." He looked up. "And even on Earth, we might not engage in war anymore but we certainly haven't wiped out things like violence and antagonism."

Trip studied his friend. This friend. He had never had a friend like Malcolm. His buddies had mostly been the exact opposite of this man: loud and rambunctious. He'd had a great time with them, but with Malcolm… it was different. He could have never had a conversation like this one with any of his buddies back at home. Malcolm seemed to bring out his more poised self; just as he seemed to bring out Malcolm's mischievous one. Yes, their friendship seemed to work in such a way that it made each of them a more balanced individual.

"But why are people like that?" Trip insisted, thinking aloud. He watched as a pale smile tugged at Malcolm's lips.

"You're touching on some rather weighty questions, Commander. The mystery of evil."

Trip speared a morsel of meat and lifted the fork, letting it hover in front of his mouth. "It sure is a mystery where evil comes from," he said, intrigued.

Leaning back in his chair, Malcolm stretched his arms so as not to lose hold of his cup, and Trip watched his focus turn inward. Malcolm always liked a deep subject of conversation.

"No one will ever know, I suppose," the Lieutenant eventually said, in that deep voice of his. "But I believe that we are all born with both good and evil in us." He heaved an introspective breath. "Two sides warring. The important thing is not to let evil win."

It was something Trip had never thought about too much, to be honest. This dichotomy in every person… Sure, people were all capable of acting well or foully, but as far as he was concerned people were, in general terms, either good or bad. Might be a simplistic view of the world, but he had never really considered the fact that a calloused criminal, for example, might also have some good in him… Or that there might be a real evil side to himself, for that matter.

He lifted his eyes and found Malcolm watching him closely. "Ya don't believe in the 'noble savage'? You know – Rousseau," he threw him, secretly delighted at the look of disbelief that briefly appeared on his friend's face. After the way the man had teased him, that time in the shuttlepod, about the American and British educational systems, Trip thoroughly enjoyed it when he got a chance to drop a nonchalant hint that comic books weren't the only type of books he'd spent time on, in his formative years.

"Ah, well, that's an interesting theory," Malcolm replied, quickly hiding his surprise. "Good by nature when in the state of nature and corrupted by society…" His grey eyes narrowed again. "Can't say I agree with it, though. Evil is just too…" He trailed and pulled a face, adding, "I don't know. I just can't see it as being a product of society. It feels bigger that that."

Trip put down his fork, giving up for good on the rest of his meal. He wasn't hungry. "You believe in the devil?" he asked directly. An image of his small sister whining 'the devil made me do it' had flashed through his mind.

Malcolm jerked his head sideways. "Not as the deformed figure of many an old painting," he said with a soft snort. "If anything, I think he would be just the opposite, very attractive."

He sounded as if he had given the matter quite a bit of thought before today.

"Evil is a definite force, and a very powerful one," he added pensively. "One that can have a lot of allure: whatever it is, I believe it hides behind beautiful appearances, the better to trick us."

Silence fell, as Trip pondered the words. Evil as something treacherously attractive was an interesting concept.

He was glad Malcolm had come to seek him out - for he had no doubt the man wasn't here by chance. Malcolm had a quiet way of being his friend, of knowing when to be there for him. Like tonight, for example. The tension of that fateful mission and the sweltering heat on that moon had left him drained, but not quite in the mood for sleep. A chat with a friend was just what Trip had needed. Well, in reality, a philosophical discussion of this type would probably knock him unconscious in no time.

"So… good and evil in each of us, huh?" Trip wondered, leaning back and rubbing his neck. "Now that ya mention it, Lieutenant," he quipped, "I've noticed the evil glint in your eye when you fire those phase cannons."

"You have no idea how wicked I can get," Malcolm replied deadpan, and because of the man's rather sober mood tonight, for a moment Trip took him seriously. But then the Lieutenant shot him a look and added, "Can't let you off the hook, after what you said before, about us military men." Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped on his tea.

Trip bit his lip. If he was honest with himself, he knew where his angry remark had come from, before: guilt.

"Actually," he admitted a little self-consciously, "When I said that, I think deep down I was mad at myself."

There was a puzzled pause.

"How is that?"

Malcolm was studying him with eyes that were cautiously curious and Trip winced. He wasn't too proud of what he was about to say. "I guess it's because I did just what I was accusin' you military men of: applied myself real passionately in givin' Zho'Kaan a good whackin'."

Maybe there was an evil side to everybody, himself included… There had been a moment when Trip had really hated the alien. In the heat of their fight, he had taken a… well yes, a wicked pleasure in landing him a few hard punches. It had felt positively good. And that, later, had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had never thought of himself as a brutal man.

Malcolm's eyes bore into him. "You are not feeling guilty about that, are you?" he asked. "I don't endorse violence for its own sake, but that Arkonian had shot you down, Trip. Without provocation and without warning."

"I know." Trip winced again. "But in the end we came to an understanding. Why did it take beatin' the hell out of each other? Couldn't there have been a less... crude, more intelligent way?"

Malcolm paused, averting his eyes in thought.

"Sometimes things work out in a strange way," he said eventually. He licked his lips, hesitating, before adding, "Sometimes it takes a good quarrel to form a friendship."

Trip knew immediately what Malcolm was referring to, but the words, rather than making him feel better, gave him another stab of guilt.

"That time, in the shuttlepod, I badly misjudged you, Malcolm," he said, pushing his plate away in frustration. .

Emotion flew across Malcolm's face "They were special circumstances," he murmured. "We both made mistakes. Adversity brings out the best and the worst in people."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Trip squeezed his eyes shut. "I hate it when I'm a poor judge of character," he breathed out darkly. "It shouldn't happen. But it's happened again today. That Arkonian wasn't really bad, just… misled." He heard Malcolm shift on his seat.

"Perhaps, Commander. In any case, no need to feel guilty. Today, like then, the good in you has won."

"And how do you know that?" Trip said in a tight voice, reopening his eyes. "You weren't down there; you didn't see what happened."

"Because I was on the bridge when you refused to be pulled out with the transporter and leave your… old buddy behind," Malcolm replied, repeating the words Trip had used with Archer over the comm.

Trip frowned at the odd stress he thought he had heard Malcolm put on them. "I'm not sure how much of a friend Zho'Kaan's become to me, but I suppose he's no longer my enemy," he commented.

The doors opened to admit a couple of crewmen who walked to the drink dispenser, too deep in cheerful conversation to be aware of their presence. They watched the pair silently for a moment, Trip wishing he could steal a bit of their light-heartedness. As the crewmen were leaving again with their drinks, Trip turned and saw that Malcolm's head had fallen forward, chin propped on one hand, and his eyes were closed. He didn't look asleep, just damn worn out. For the first time he realised how tired the man really was. He had been so concentrated on his own feelings that everything else had faded into the background.

"Long day, huh?" he said softly.

Malcolm slowly lifted his head, blinking his eyes open, and heaved a deep breath. "You put my discipline to the test today, Commander," he murmured, passing a hand over his eyes. "We were bloody worried about you, and when we finally made contact, and you said you wouldn't leave that alien behind, I was tempted to transport you out regardless of orders."

The corners of Trip's mouth curved up of their own accord. "I would've liked to see the face of the Capt'n if you had," he said with a soft chuckle.

Malcolm's eyes grew steely. Then he picked up his cup and buried his nose in it, taking a slow sip. He looked positively pissed-off.

"Malcolm?" Trip ventured after a moment of surprise. "What have I said? What's the problem?"

"Nothing," the Lieutenant predictably bit back, his voice revealingly tense. "You're right; it's been a long day. Perhaps it's time we got some rest." He pushed his chair back and stood.

Trip sat up, ready to stop him. "What happened wasn't your fault," he said firmly, searching the grey eyes. They flickered; then looked away.

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't see that vessel coming," he said, his hands tightening their grip. "When sensors picked it up, it was already closing on you."

"That's exactly what I'm sayin': you're not responsible."

"Perhaps not. But it doesn't matter." Malcolm's facial muscles clenched. "The safety of this crew is my responsibility." His arms suddenly came undone, hanging limply at his sides as he added, in a defeated tone, "No matter how many moons I scanned…" He didn't finish the thought.

"You and the others did all you could to find me," Trip said gently. "I know that."

"If you hadn't rigged up that transceiver, you'd be dead by now."

The words rang with restrained emotion. Malcolm held Trip's gaze for a moment; then let himself drop tiredly on the chair again. "I really feared we had lost you for good," he breathed out.

Trip knew Malcolm's concern had been professional but also personal. A friend worried about another friend. "It wouldn't have been your fault," he insisted, even though he knew the words were wasted.

There was no mistaking how tense a day this had been for the ship's Armoury Officer. Trip watched his friend try and drown his troubles in his tea; but the drink had obviously grown cold, for he grimaced and put the cup down.

"Well, I honestly thought that my time had come," Trip murmured. He waited until Malcolm had met his eyes again and let his gaze go softer. "You mad at me, for staying on that moon with Zho'Kaan?"

"The man had almost killed you," Malcolm blurted out in the high pitch of dismay.

Trip bit his lip, mulling the words. "Somehow, in the end, after he and I had stopped fighting'… I couldn't leave him behind." He swallowed. "After all, he risked dying too."

"I was bloody well going to make sure he did," Malcolm muttered dangerously.

A bittersweet grin tugged at Trip's mouth. "Ya were gonna let your evil side win?" He watched Malcolm flounder and this only made his mouth shape into a more distinct upward curve.

"Definitely," Malcolm finally replied, and a small smile appeared on his own lips. "I wouldn't have been so generous, in your place."

Trip suddenly felt his chest constrict. "I came close to shooting him," he admitted hoarsely, all lightness gone.

Malcolm silently leaned back in his seat, too respectful to enquire openly, but Trip could see clearly that he was wondering what had happened; well, he wondered himself what had stopped him. Eyes on the table, he replayed the scene in his mind.

"We fought like madmen," he croaked out, getting lost in his memory, "Till we had no breath left in our lungs. No one was gettin' the better hand, and in the end we collapsed to the ground, too spent to go on. Then I dragged myself up to my feet, picked up the phase pistol and..."

Trip saw himself in slow motion, casting the weapon as far away as his over-exerted muscles had allowed him. What had gone through his mind? Why had he not used it against the Arkonian? He had been so damn furious… Suddenly he knew.

"…I saw the fear and despair in his eyes," he said, refocusing on Malcolm. "It was the same fear and despair that I was feelin'." Trip shrugged. "I realised we were just two fellas stranded on a moon. He might come from another world, but we weren't all that different and, especially, we were in the same hell. If the guy couldn't see that we needed to work together to get out of it, then I was gonna find a way to make him understand. So, instead of pointing the gun at him, I threw it away, far enough that neither of us could reach it."

Lowering his eyes, Malcolm slowly swirled the liquid in the cup he was holding. He could be cool and impenetrable, but right now Trip felt sure he knew what the man was thinking.

"There isn't much to be proud of, actually," Trip drawled out. "Part of it was that I really wanted to get out of there, and needed his help."

"You didn't leave him behind," Malcolm repeated, pinning him with an intense gaze. "It made me curse a blue streak, but it is something to be proud of, Trip." He pursed his lips. "You let good win."

They held each other's eyes for a long moment, and Trip's heart felt lighter.

"If you say so, Lieutenant," he replied with a big grin. "You seem to be the expert on more than bruises and weapons…"

Malcolm pressed two fingers on his eyes; then pushed tiredly to his feet. "Right now," he said, "I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a phase pistol and a hairdryer." He hid a yawn behind a hand.

Trip's chuckle turned into a groan as his battered body protested his attempt to rise from the chair. He groped for Malcolm's shoulder, his other hand on his own back while he slowly straightened to a standing position.

"Bloody hell, Trip," Malcolm commented. "As soon as you are better I've got to teach you a few effective self-defence moves."

They were trudging towards their quarters, with Trip making a show of leaning on Malcolm more heavily than he really needed, when at the end of the corridor the turbo lift doors opened and T'Pol appeared. Trip immediately dropped his act and straightened, which earned him an amused look from his friend.

"Evening, Subcommander," he greeted warmly, moving aside to let the Vulcan Officer get by. Malcolm nodded.

"Commander, Lieutenant," T'Pol gracefully acknowledged, barely sparing them a glance before continuing on her way.

Trip turned all the way to enjoy the rear view.

"Trip, you're staring," Malcolm admonished, keeping his voice low.

"You're the one who asked me if I'd ever noticed T'Pol's bum, Lieutenant," Trip murmured back, his eyes still on the retreating form.

"Uhm, right," Malcolm stuttered. He cast a glance in T'Pol's direction.

Trip snorted softly. "Right," he echoed.

"Ya don't suppose T'Pol is the devil in disguise?" he wondered after the lady in question had disappeared, a silly grin plastered on his face. "She sure is attractive, and those ears are… a bit devilish, come to think of it."

Malcolm just shot him a meaningful look, not deigning giving him an answer, and they continued on their way, walking in silence till they were in front of Malcolm's quarters.

"Well, this is my stop." Malcolm raised a hand to trigger the door open. Before entering he hesitated a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow, Commander."

The words were not as insignificant as they might have sounded: Trip heard it in the low octave and read it in the unexpected depth of Malcolm's eyes. Something along the lines of 'it was a close shave but you're still here, thank God' was hidden in between them.

He felt like he had to say something, but Malcolm's restraint, when it came to openly showing emotions, made him falter.

"I'm glad you felt in the mood for a late cup of tea," he ended up blurting out. "A bit of company is just what I needed tonight." He knew, of course, that the reticent Lieutenant would never admit to having come to the mess hall on purpose.

Malcolm cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I do enjoy a good conversation," he said, eyes darting away. A note of mischief entering his voice, he added, "Although I wasn't expecting to discuss Rousseau."

"Ah, maybe you'd have preferred Superman," Trip commented innocently. "I'll save that for the next time."

Malcolm shot him a narrowed-eye look. "I'm hoping there won't be a next time, Commander. A next time of this time," he specified.

Trip started moving away, taking a few backwards steps along the corridor in the direction of his quarters. "Well, up to you, Lieutenant. It's your job to keep an eye on me." He flashed Malcolm a wicked smile.

"Now that's evil," Malcolm grunted after him.

THE END

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