Flicker

**TITLE**: Flicker  
**AUTHOR**: Mnemosyne  


**DISCLAIMER:** They aren't mine!  
**SUMMARY:** Not everyone's holiday is full of Christmas cheer. An odd twist on a Christmas-fic.  
**RATING:**PG-13 (heavy on the 13+)  
**CATEGORY:** Drama, angst, friendship  
**CODES:** R/S, Tu  
**SPOILERS:** This takes place in Season 2, and makes reference to "Vanishing Point," and possibly some other episodes. **NOTES:** I swear, I WILL write a non-angsty piece someday soon. I promise. Honest! LOL! I've read so many wonderful, sweet, slap-your-knee funny Christmas "Enterprise" fics that I'm not quite sure where this one came from. Whoever heard of an angsty Christmas story? LOL! I hope you enjoy nonetheless! 

  


* * *

  
The party was in full-swing, and every crewman who could make the time was finding his or her way to the Mess Hall to join in the festivities. Punch ran like red wine, often with the same intoxicating effects; someone said they saw Commander Tucker tipping capfuls of Kentucky bourbon into the bowl. No one seemed to mind much, not even the Captain, who was beaming like a proud parent as he chatted amiably with members of the crew he rarely got to meet. One timid Engineering technician nearly fainted when Archer shook her hand and asked if she was enjoying the party. 

Christmas had come to _Enterprise_

Hoshi Sato sat quietly in a corner, sipping her punch. It was unspiked; she'd been careful to take her cupful before Trip arrived, and had been nursing it all evening. As a linguist, one of her favorite things to do was people-watch. Spoken language was one thing; body language was a different case entirely. By reading the movements of the men and women around her, she could tell that Crewman Winters was three sheets to the wind and completely oblivious to the fact. Ensign Tracy Johnson was pretending to be enjoying herself, but Hoshi could tell the other woman just wanted to ditch the party and go take a nap. And nesting in the opposite corner, Grigory Andropov and Shannon McCall - both of the Armory - were talking quietly, hands folded loosely together. Hoshi could tell where THAT conversation would lead. 

She frowned suddenly. Speaking of the Armory, where was Malcolm? Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd, but sure enough, he was missing. Strange. Last year he'd quite enjoyed himself, and he and Trip - after imbibing ungodly amounts of some watery Tunorian liquor called Dead Man's Whiskey - had serenaded Porthos with a very off key rendition of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Beagle," which they'd found uproariously funny. Each of them had then stampeded her with their own individual sprigs of mistletoe until she'd given in and pecked them both on the cheek. 

Malcolm claimed to have no memory of either event - the kiss or the song. But for four months after, he'd blushed every time she or Porthos entered the room. 

Trip stumbled past her, jarring her from her reverie. "Hey, Hosh'," he slurred, wobbling a little and grinning even wider than usual. "Whasha doin' hidin' in a corner like thish? Doncha wanna soshi'lize?" His smile widened further. "Hoshi-lize!" 

Hoshi could barely hold in a laugh. "Trip, you're drunk as a skunk." 

The engineer frowned, and raised one arm to sniff himself. "But I don' stink!" 

This time she didn't try to stop herself from laughing. "Never mind, Trip. Have you seen Malcolm?" 

"Tha' ole Brit git didn' show?" Trip flopped into a seat beside her. Contrary to what he thought, the commander DID smell a bit ripe. Rather like a well-aged bottle of scotch. "Now I TOLE him the party shtarted at shix o-_HIC!_-clock. Betcha he forgot. _HIC!_" 

"Yeah," Hoshi murmured, but she wasn't convinced. Malcolm had never been late to a shift in all the time she'd known him, which was more than a year. If anything, he was usually ten minutes early. It didn't seem like him to be over an hour late, even for something as informal as a Christmas party. 

"Why d'ya wanna know?" Trip asked. 

Hoshi smiled at him. "No reason." She stood. "I think I'm going to swing by his quarters, remind him about the party." 

"You do that. _HIC!_ Take some o' my punsh, too." He smacked his lips. "Damn good shtuff." 

Hoshi grinned. "I think you'd better lay off that punch, Trip, or you'll be judged unfit for duty." 

Trip snorted. "Nope! Doc hooked me up." He held out his arm, to reveal a reddish patch of skin, about the size of an old American quarter. "He gimme a Pri... Pre... a Pr-somethin' or other Purge Worm. Sucks up liquor like a sum-bitch." 

Hoshi chuckled. "Then I think you'd better find Doctor Phlox and tell him you need another one." She winked at him and headed for the door. 

  


* * *

  
The corridors were deserted as Hoshi made her way to Malcolm's cabin. It was strange, hearing the ship so silent. Her sensitive ears could pick up the faint hum of the engine, and the pulse of the EMS systems; sounds she usually only heard while snuggled up in her cabin at night. Despite the festive atmosphere of the party she'd just left, the lonely silence left her with a queasy feeling in her stomach, made all the worse by the fact that she had to ring the tactical officer's door chime three times before she got an answer. 

"Come in." 

The door hissed open, and Hoshi took a tentative step into the darkened cabin, anxiously fingering her punch cup. "Malcolm?" she inquired softly, squinting to see through the darkness. The door whooshed shut behind her, leaving the room an even pitchier shade of black. "It's Hoshi." 

"I know. I see you." 

She found that very hard to believe. "You have a bit of an advantage on me, then. I can't see anything." She knew his general position - his voice directed her to the left. 

A flare of light drew her eye to the side. He had lit a candle - a long Earth taper. "Is that better?" he asked quietly. 

Hoshi nodded, eyes drawn to the flame and the man behind it. "Much," she murmured, and took a step towards him. 

He was shirtless, which shocked her almost more than anything. Except for rare occasions when she'd bumped into him in the gym, the lieutenant was always dressed impeccably. He was sitting cross legged on the floor - another deviation from the norm - staring at the candle flame with a distant gaze. The fire leapt in his dark blue eyes, making the irises seem black as ink. 

"You're missing the party," she told him softly, kneeling on the other side of the candle and setting down her cup. Wax had already bubbled down the side of the candle, leaving the smooth taper bumpy and deformed - it had been lit previously. "I was wondering where you were." 

"Here, obviously." 

"So I see." She paused, then asked, "Why?" 

Malcolm's eyes didn't waver from the candle. "That's the question, don't you think? Why am I here." 

"What do you mean?" She settled carefully onto her hip, watching him. There was something about his stance that made her think of a panther she'd seen in the Brazilian jungle. A deceptive laziness spread over muscles that were coiled and ready to strike. 

Malcolm lounged backward suddenly, leaning against the wall and staring at her. His blue eyes looked even darker now, without the benefit of direct candlelight. "Do you enjoy Christmas?" he asked suddenly. 

Hoshi frowned. "I...um... well, yes. I do. Don't you?" 

Malcolm's eyes drifted down again, but he remained reclined against the wall. "I did," he said softly. "When I was a little boy, mother and father would throw enormous parties at Christmas. Madeleine and I would get into so much trouble." He smiled faintly. "One year we pulled a cracker next to Great Aunt Lucinda's ear while she was napping in father's armchair. Woke her right up." A quiet chuckle bubbled up from his throat. "We got a good thrashing for that. And no dinner for a week. But Maddy and I were on good terms with Cook - she always slipped us a bit of dinner after bedtime." 

"Sounds like you were a little troublemaker." 

A fond smile spread across his handsome face. "I was," he told her. "I think it made father proud. I reminded him of himself." The smile quickly faded, and he closed his eyes. 

Hoshi wanted to lay a hand on his knee, but she was afraid he might snap it off. His languid speech and relaxed posture did nothing to hide his alert muscles. "Did that change?" 

Malcolm snorted. "I don't think father recognizes me at all anymore," he said, eyes opening again and staring at her with staggering intensity. "I think he believes I betrayed him, his blood, when I joined Starfleet. Earlier, even. When I wouldn't paddle his bloody rowboat when we went on holiday." He shook his head. "I could understand him, but mother too..." 

This time, Hoshi did touch his knee. His eyes - and only his eyes - flicked away to rest on the sight of her pale fingers, glowing gold in the candlelight against his dark pant leg. "They'll come around, Malcolm," she said softly, as though soothing a fitful tiger. "They just don't understand right now." 

"Do you know what my parents sent me last Christmas?" he asked. 

"A fruitcake?" she responded, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

It didn't work. "Nothing," he murmured, moving his eyes away and staring at the candle again. Only he wasn't looking at the flame, but to the side of it, where the flickering light was swallowed by the darkness. 

Hoshi couldn't resist a wince. "I'm so sorry, Malcolm." She didn't understand any of this. Her own family was extremely close; loving to the point of smothering. 

"They've always managed to be civil in the past, if nothing else," he went on, talking as though she weren't there at all. "A card at Christmas. A short note on my birthday. Tokens, really - nothing with any deep familial meaning. Madeleine's lovely, of course. She writes when she thinks of it. I suppose that's more my fault than hers - half the time, I'm sure she doesn't know if I'm alive or dead." He sighed. "But nothing... They've never been quite that brash before. Frankly, I'm surprised. They've become quite skilled at duplicity in their elder years. It seems out of character for them to express their disapproval in such a... forthright fashion." 

Hoshi had never met Mr. and Mrs. Reed in person, but she was beginning to hate them passionately. Seeing Malcolm so obviously disturbed was not only unsettling, but frightening. Whether she would admit it or not, he had been her keystone during this voyage; the one immovable piece of her life that she could latch onto and trust to remain standing, even when everything around her was shaking apart. During her ordeal in the transporter buffer, his voice had been the one piece of reality that had filtered through to her. _It's as easy as one, two, three._ It had been a comfort to her, when everything else seemed alien and she had felt so completely alone. 

"I'm not going to apologize for them, Malcolm," she told him, squeezing his knee. "They'll have to do that for themselves someday. But you shouldn't live your life waiting for that apology to come, and you shouldn't blame yourself if it doesn't." She moved her hand up to touch his chin, guiding his eyes to meet her gaze. "THIS family - the one on _Enterprise_ - wouldn't be the same without you. " 

For a moment, he just stared into her eyes. Hoshi didn't look away, though she desperately wanted to. His eyes were piercing; they gave new meaning to the term _steely gaze_. She wondered if Malcolm had endured such searching stares from his father when he was a child. 

"Isn't it funny," he whispered. 

"What?" She was surprised to discover she was whispering back. 

"Life," he continued, just as softly. "Life is like a holiday, don't you think? You spend ages and ages waiting for one to arrive. You prepare; you decorate. You gather the family and you celebrate. You wish, when it arrives, that it would never leave. But then, with one tick of the second hand, it ends." He snapped his fingers, making her jump a little. "And suddenly the decorations all seem gaudy, and the family feel like intruders, stomping all over your things and mussing your linens. Don't you think life is like that?" 

"Perhaps. But I think you have to look at life as a series of holidays, not just one." 

"That's just it, isn't it? Each life has its own holidays. For some people, it starts the day they're born, and goes right on till the day they die. But for others..." He shook his head minutely, not breaking their eye contact. "For others, the bloom is off the rose before they even know it was spring. They live their entire life in a post-holiday haze, unwelcome and unwanted, waiting for the next celebration that will never come. And then, POOF! The second hand ticks, and one moment they're alive, and the next they aren't. They go out. Just like a candle." 

With a quick pursing of his lips, he blew out the candle flame, and the room was plunged once more into darkness. 

Hoshi felt her pulse speed up as the darkness closed in around her. She found his knee again, reassuring herself she was not alone. What must it have been like, when he was sitting here in the dark before she came? Had he felt as alone as she did even now, with his warmth beneath her palm? Had he felt worse? 

"I'm rather tired of watching the bloody candle," he murmured through the darkness, making her jump slightly. 

Hoshi swallowed. "Which one?" she asked. 

"Which what." 

"Which candle." 

There was a slight pause. Then... 

"I haven't decided." 

Hoshi shivered. She shouldn't be here, talking to him like this. She wasn't a psychiatrist or a counselor. She didn't know what he needed to hear. Her expertise was words - she could string together the most heartwarming soliloquies, or charm him with ballads sung in breathy alien tongues. But she couldn't conjure a candle flame worth watching. She was not God, and her voice was not the Word. 

Crawling forward - careful to avoid the hot wax of the candle - she slid her hands over his legs, guiding them up his body, afraid to lose him in the dark. He didn't move as she drew closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. He didn't move as she rested herself carefully in his lap and pressed their cheeks together. In the dialect of body language, he was screaming apathy. 

"Life is all about moments, Malcolm," she whispered near his ear. "That last second is only one of them. It's what we do with all the moments beforehand that are important. Every candle burns out. What really matters is, do we miss them when they're gone?" She tightened her hold on him. "Speaking only for myself, Malcolm, I can tell you, I'd miss your candle if it went out. I'd miss your moody blue light. I'd even miss your shadows." 

Words failing her - a rarity - she hugged him. His skin was remarkably hot through the fabric of her uniform, and she pressed closer, kneading his shoulder and the back of his neck. 

It took a moment before he hugged her in return, but when he did, his arms twined like steel cables around her midsection. A steady, natural rhythm took them over, and they rocked childlike against the wall. He pressed his face into her shoulder and she laced her fingers through his hair, holding him there, as her other hand rubbed his back. 

Hoshi got the feeling he hadn't hugged much in his life. It struck her as immensely sad. He was a very good hugger. He hugged like he meant it - as though he was trying to convince her of his presence. There were no tears, but she felt his heart surging in his chest like a herd of stallions, pawing to get loose. 

"Thank you," he murmured. 

"You're welcome." She stroked his hair. 

He was quiet for a moment. Then she felt him smile a little against her shoulder. "Is Trip drunk again?" he asked quietly. 

Hoshi managed her own smile and nodded. "Off his rocker." 

"I'd rather like to see that this year, seeing as I'm in a position to enjoy it." 

"It is awfully enjoyable." 

"Did he tell you about the Precalian Purge Worms?" 

"He mentioned them, yes. They don't seem to be working." 

"That's because they aren't real." He chuckled. "Dr. Phlox invented them because he was fascinated by human inebriation. All he did was inject Trip with a little bit of harmless saline. He asked if I thought the good commander would mind. I said no." 

Hoshi grinned wider. "Sneaky." 

"It was the least I could do. He made me serenade a dog last year, for pity's sake." 

"Hah!" Hoshi punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You DO remember!" 

"Yes I bloody well do. I've not been that embarrassed since grade school, when the boys in my house swapped all my trousers for skirts." He gathered her closer, his hand massaging the base of her spine. She almost purred, it felt so good. 

"Does that mean you remember everything about last year's party?" she murmured, her hand making languid circles on his back. 

"Yes," he said softly. His free hand slid up her back and buried itself in her hair. 

Tenderly, Hoshi kissed his cheek. "Do you remember that?" she whispered. 

"Yes," he whispered back. "That was a beautiful moment." 

"I'll give you some more." Nudging her nose across his face, she pressed a kiss to his other cheek, then placed one on his forehead. Her breath caught as his lips grazed her throat. 

"Trip's probably doing handstands in the punchbowl by now," she murmured shakily as his dexterous fingers combed through her hair. "We should go or we'll miss it...." 

"I think it can wait," he murmured against her collarbone. He felt hotter now - or perhaps that was just her own heat adding to the mix. "I'd rather share some more moments with you." 

"Hallelujah," she breathed, before he smothered her mouth with his own. 

  
  
THE END 


End file.
