§ Epilogue §

"There don't seem to be many reasons for a toast," Malcolm commented grimly, turning the bottle of beer listlessly in his hands. "Can't find any, at least." His mouth curved slightly downward as he leaned back in Trip's chair. "The Ferendellians got away with stolen information, Starfleet can't find the mole…"

Malcolm cut himself off and smirked. He was being his usual pessimistic self and was setting a heavy mood, and it probably wasn't what Trip needed right now. It was the first time in weeks that they had got together for a chat and a drink, and he was spoiling it… He raised wary eyes and was relieved to find only an enigmatic smile on Trip's face. Perhaps something of the old Trip really was back.

"I can," Trip said quietly. "Find a reason for a toast, that is." His eyes flickered with that glint that Malcolm had missed so much, and which he had always thought was the visible sign of the man's brilliant mind, as much as of his outgoing nature.

Trip raised his bottle. "To knowing that no matter how hard I tried to act like a jerk, in the end what happened to me down there wasn't really my doing." He shook his head lightly. "God, was I glad to know that guy screwed my mind up..."

"Right. I'll toast to that," Malcolm agreed with a soft huff of a laugh, raising his own beer and drinking.

It was the evening after Trip had finally been released from sickbay, and it felt good to be here, in Trip's quarters, the two of them; like slipping into old comfortable clothes. Malcolm felt his mouth pulling into a slight upward curve. "Actually I do have something to toast to," he said, raising his eyebrows and his bottle. "To restoring good old habits such as quiet evenings with a friend."

"Yeah."

The word had been little more than a sigh. They both took another swig and fell into silence.

Malcolm let his eyes wander over his friend. Trip was beginning to look a little better, at least on the outside. But wounds of the body were often easier to heal than wounds of the heart.

"How are you doing, Trip?" he asked gently. And then, remembering his friend's reaction the last time he had enquired, down on the planet, he added cautiously, "If you don't mind my asking."

Trip shot him a contrite look; then passed a hand through his hair, creasing his brow. "I am… better," he said, unknowingly echoing T'Pol's words. He heaved a thoughtful breath. "I guess seeing death in the face makes you realise that, no matter what, life is still beautiful," he murmured, eyes on his hands nursing the bottle.

Malcolm narrowed his gaze, knowing exactly how that felt. "That it does," he said in a husky voice.

"Losing a child must be just about the most painful thing a parent can go through," Trip choked out. He heaved a steadying breath. "But time heals all wounds, they say."

"Yes, that's what they say," Malcolm agreed quietly.

Passing a hand over his face, Trip added, "I don't know if I ever really expected this thing between me and T'Pol to work. It went through so many ups and downs and… we are so different…"

Malcolm saw him pick at the label on the beer bottle. Suddenly Trip's eyes came up to him, intense.

"It's that… when I learned we had a daughter, after the initial shock … I guess I had hoped the child would bring us together for good. It didn't," Trip concluded with a grimace.

"Do you love T'Pol?" Malcolm asked bluntly.

It was a difficult, possibly painful question; but he felt Trip finally needed to open up with someone. It had been obvious to the whole crew that something had been going on between him and T'Pol; but except for a few teasing remarks Malcolm had respected his friend's privacy and not pressed him about it. For Trip's own sake, perhaps that moment had come.

Trip looked at him blankly for a moment. "It's so damn difficult to know," he breathed out. "I have… feelings for her. But when she acts the Vulcan… she can be so irritatin'." He swallowed. "I probably wouldn't be able to live a lifetime with someone like her beside me."

Malcolm found nothing to reply. He had only really wanted Trip to say things out loud in the hope it would help him find some peace of mind – besides, he certainly wasn't the best person to give advice on matters of the heart. Yet, as silence stretched, he found himself blurting out, "Perhaps you and T'Pol ought to give yourselves time. Or give time a chance to heal your hearts before you let a new feeling in. You have shared so much." Seeking Trip's gaze, he added, "Start with friendship. You never know where that might lead."

"Maybe," Trip mumbled, sounding doubtful.

"Friendship, in philosophy and in literature, is often considered a nobler sentiment than love," Malcolm said, tilting his head. "A bond that ought to prevail over any other." He saw the words sink in and make an impact.

Trip looked up and pinned him with his gaze. "I wouldn't want to do without either; but certainly a lover cannot replace a true friend," he said meaningfully.

Acknowledging the hidden message with a quick smile, Malcolm watched Trip's feature marginally relax. Malcolm took another swig of beer; then, elbows on his knees, leaned forward and got lost in his own thoughts.

Actually, he should learn to look at the cup half full, he supposed. The Captain had finally seen his point and recognised that no one could be held responsible for what had happened to Trip during their mission; the W6 blueprint had been retrieved; and Trip was recovering. Well, at least physically; although his pain seemed… less raw. Perhaps his heart was beginning to mend as well.

They had both fallen into such a comfortable silence that the chime almost startled them.

"Sorry, the bar's closed," Trip drawled, drawing out of his abstraction and pushing slowly to his feet.

"And whatever beer is left is not for sale," Malcolm added with a wicked grin.

"What if it's the Capt'n?" Trip wondered aloud, shooting him a challenging glace.

"Ah, no." Malcolm let his eyes go steely. "The man can't order you to give him your beer, you're still off duty."

Trip's soft chuckle died in his throat when the door opened, revealing a thin figure clad in a red catsuit.

"T'Pol," Trip said in hesitant surprise.

Malcolm saw the Vulcan latch her hands behind her back. "Am I… disturbing you?" she asked quietly.

It took Trip a moment to reply. "No… Come in." He moved aside.

"Lieutenant." T'Pol's eyes lingered one brief moment on Malcolm as she came in.

"Commander."

So T'Pol had followed his advice and come to talk to Trip after all. Malcolm got up, nodded, and holding the neck of his beer bottle in between second and middle finger went to the door, where Trip was still standing. "Thanks for the company," he told him in too low a voice for, hopefully, even a Vulcan to hear. "I had missed this."

Trip's eyes warmed and he squeezed his arm in what Malcolm thought was a silent promise that things would slowly be returning to normal.

Malcolm strolled along the corridor, back to his quarters. Yes, wounded hearts would heal. Even broken ones, like Trip's. Even allegedly unfeeling ones, like T'Pol's. With the help of friends. Despite wise men flatt'ring and magic charms.

"Malcolm," a voice called from behind him. He turned, putting a smile on his face for this particular crewmember. He owed her one from before, after all. He saw Hoshi's eyes track to his beer bottle.

"I see you and Trip are back on speaking terms…" she teased as she approached.

Malcolm straightened his shoulders, ignoring her gibe. "Most definitely."

"So, are you going to tell me why I am such a bloody genius?" Hoshi, asked, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Malcolm allowed himself to stare into them for a moment.

"Malcolm? Have you lost your tongue?"

Blinking out of his daydreaming, Malcolm gave her a courteous bow. "Your beauty, my lady, leaves me speechless." He suddenly felt in a lighter mood than he had in weeks. He watched Hoshi look at him with a frown and an intrigued smile on her lips and he let his own smile go warmer. "Let me offer you a cup of tea, Hoshi, shall we? It's a... long story."

THE END