ENT FIC: Insomnia (Prt1)

[fathomlessspite]

Title: Insomnia
Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise
Rating: PG
Character: Malcolm Reed, ensemble
Category: General, Humour, Action/Adventure, tiny bit of angst at the end :(
Spoilers: None. Could be set in season one, or after return to earth from xindi mission.
Summary: Malcolm can't sleep. He's tried everything he can think of from warm milk to boring books. Additionally on his midmorning insomnia induced walks he keeps bumping into his least favourite crewman, can she help his insomnia and get him through first contact with new friends the Pentrillans?
A/N: Not a sequel to, but in the same universe as Target Practise and Run of the Ship which introduces the OFC Crewman Angela Robertson, who Malcolm has no particular affinity for :)

Insomnia was becoming a rather regular and unwelcome occurrence for Malcolm. He would go to see Phlox, but, well, that sentence finishes itself. Malcolm growled in frustration and blinked at where he knew the ceiling to be in his pitch black quarters. It was no use trying to sleep, he was wide awake.

This was getting ridiculous. He’d tried everything he could think of. A walk, warm milk, relaxing music, a warm shower, reading something by one of the Bronte sisters . . .

Rolling over, face in his pillow, Malcolm tried to think of something else. He could always forgo sleep every alternate night, surely then he’d be tired enough to be able to get to sleep. But then again falling asleep at his post would most likely be frowned upon by the Captain, and would probably lead to a visit to the doctor. He cringed.

Maybe he was along the right lines though, tiring himself out, it could work. A trip to the gym every evening before he went to sleep, a long one mind you, not leaving before he felt dead on his feet. But that wouldn’t solve the current problem.

Sighing, he heaved himself off his bed.

When Malcolm walked into the gym five minutes later his jaw almost hit the deck. This was getting bloody weird. He was beginning to think she was the cause of his insomnia. Whenever he went on one of his mid morning walks, wherever he ended up, there she was. It didn’t matter where; the mess hall, the armoury, a random corridor, the gym! It was creepy for crying out loud!

"Sir?" Robertson exclaimed in surprise as she ceased beating the crap out of the punch bag.

"Crewman," Malcolm ground out and stalked over to the exercise bikes. She looked at him contemplatively for a minute, which unnerved him greatly so he tried to concentrate on something else, namely his breathing. His concentration was broken however when she spoke.

"Sir? I know it’s none of my business . . . but you don’t suffer from insomnia do you?" she asked and walked closer to him so she was within a metre. He frowned at her.

"You’re right, it’s none of your business," he paused. "But of late, yes, I have been," he added. She walked over and sat on the neighbouring bike but swivelled round so she was facing him and sitting sideways on it.

"Been to see Phlox?" she asked innocently. He gave her a ‘what do you think?’ look and continued peddling. "I thought not," she said. "So . . . what have you tried?" He slowed down to a stop and turned to look at her. "Warm milk? Hot shower? Walk? Music? Boring book?" she asked.

"All of the above."

"Ah. What did you read?"

"Jane Eyre."

"And that didn’t send you to sleep?" she asked incredulously. "But what am I thinking? This is the man who reads Ulysses for entertainment," she quipped.

"Ha ha."

"So you’re going for the ‘all out exhaustion’ remedy are you?" she asked. He nodded. "Well if you were married, or had a significant other, then there’s a solution that never fails . . ."

"How do you know I don’t?" he said indignantly.

"Don’t what?"

"Have a ‘significant other’?"

"Commander Tucker would have spilled by now," she said matter-of-factly.

"True," he agreed.

"Anyway, apart from that, I find sparring tends to be the best way."

"Really?" he asked with interest, suddenly thankful for her presence.

"Yeah, seeing as you use practically all the muscles in your body," she continued. "Shall we?" she said, indicating the mat on the floor in the centre of the room.

"I don’t see why not," he grinned. She rolled her eyes.

"Really Malcolm, you think you can get away with beating me up?" she asked him as they made their way towards the floor.

"No of course not," he said. "Doesn’t stop me from knocking you on your arse a few times though," he smirked as he took his position.

"Likewise," she responded as they began circling each other.

* * *

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him; loudly and persistently. His shoulder was what was causing him the most trouble, any movement he made with his arm caused bolts of pain to shoot up it. It was probably a result of when Robertson had twisted his arm up behind his back.

Not that he hadn’t been able to hold his own, she was probably sporting a few bruises and aches and pains herself today, but she was a lot stronger than she looked.

He interlocked his hands behind him and stretched his arms, ignoring the angry protests his shoulder made and sighing in satisfaction as the tired muscles in his arms stretched and the bones in his back cracked.

"Lieutenant, what are you doing?" Hoshi asked curiously, frowning.

"Stretching," he commented distractedly as he pushed himself over to the console behind him, which turned out not to be the best of ideas. "Shit!" he cursed as he pulled his injured arm towards him. "Fuck," he breathed, gritting his teeth against what felt like jagged knives digging into his shoulder socket.

"Lieutenant?" he heard T’Pol’s voice from the other side of the bridge. He didn’t look at her at that moment because his eyes were clamped closed and he was focusing on keeping his breathing even.

"Sir?" Malcolm looked up sharply to see Travis standing in front of his station and the rest of the bridge crew looking at him in concern.

"Pulled something," he ground out. "In my shoulder. It doesn’t respond well to pressure, or any kind of movement really," he added with a shrug and subsequently a wince.

"Maybe you should go and see the doctor," Hoshi suggested. Malcolm cringed.

"It’s not that bad," he protested.

"From your colourful use of language just now it would seem that it is," T’Pol said with a raised eyebrow.

"Fine," he capitulated. "Now?" he asked when they all looked at him expectantly. "Fine," he said with a sigh.

* * *

Malcolm dug through his mashed potatoes, fork in his good hand, his left currently strapped to his chest to prevent him from moving it too much. Phlox had given him some rather nice pain med.’s though, so he hadn’t complained about it; yet.

He looked up as someone sat down at his table with a groan and scowled.

"Soo . . ." Robertson said as her eyes travelled over his arm, "Told anyone how it happened yet?" she asked. He rolled his eyes and ate another mouthful of mashed potato. "I don’t blame you, if I were you I wouldn’t want anyone to know I got my arse kicked by a girl."

"I did not get my arse kicked," he snapped. "I got my shoulder twisted. And I did some damage to you too," he defended.

"Damn straight you did. I could barely move when I got up. What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath," she sighed wistfully.

"I’m with you there," he muttered.

"I’m sorry about your shoulder though," she said sincerely. "I think I might have got a little carried away."

"A little?" he grinned.

"Okay, maybe a lot," she admitted. "But it’s not every day you get the opportunity to kick the crap out of your boss with no consequences."

"That’s very true," he said, she smiled.

"Good, so no hard feelings then?"

"I didn’t say that . . ."

"Yeah but it was implied."

"Implied how? When? I think I’d know if I’d implied anything of the sort," he argued.

"Children," a voice warned. They both looked at Trip as he sat down. "And there I was thinking I saw smiles over here a minute ago, I did think it was odd at tha’ time."

"We were just discussing how Malcolm hurt his shoulder," Robertson said conversationally. Trip shot a curious glance at Malcolm.

"Oh really?"

"Mmmhmm," she nodded and took a sip of her drink. "Has he told you yet?" she asked.

"No, no I don’t think he has," he said with an expectant smile, Malcolm groaned.

* * *

It was physically impossible for him to go to the gym that evening, or so the doctor had told him. Malcolm thought he was quite capable of sparring one handed, but for some reason the doctor had seemed horrified by the suggestion. Consequently, he was walking the corridors of the ships at 0300; exhausted but unable to sleep.

Just before he turned down the corridor that led to the turbolift on his deck, he heard voices from round the corner, he peered round to see the captain and Trip standing by the lift and talking.

"So you didn’t find out?" Archer asked Trip, who shook his head with a smile.

"Nope, he evaded the issue spectacularly."

"It just seems a little odd," Archer shrugged. "I wasn’t particularly worried until Phlox came to me saying that the injuries were consistent with someone who’d been in a barroom brawl." Malcolm narrowed his eyes, Phlox was in for some harsh field training.

"Malcolm fighting with someone?" Trip asked incredulously.

"It’s happened before," Archer pointed out.

"Yeah but Malcolm gets on well with all his staff and the rest of the crew."

"I can think of one or two exceptions," Archer said wryly.

"If you’re talking about Angela Robertson . . ." Trip trailed off.

"They certainly have their differences."

"They’re not that bad that it’d descend into physical violence. And they’ve been getting much better recently," Trip pointed out.

"Maybe this is why," Archer shrugged.

"You think they’ve been settling their differences by beating the crap out of each other in their off hours?" Trip asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

"It’s possibl-"

"Malcolm!" a voice said from behind him and he span round.

"Ssshh!" he hissed at her.

"What?" Robertson asked just before he put a hand over her mouth to shut her up.

"Malcolm?" Too late.

"Captain. Commander," he acknowledged with a nod, releasing Robertson from his good arm.

"What are you doing?" Archer asked, glancing between them.

"I was on my way to the mess hall sir," Robertson smiled. "And you? Burning the midnight oil?"

"Something like that," he said glancing between Malcolm and her again. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Malcolm.

"Just out for a stroll," he responded, stuffing his hand into his pocket.

"At three in the morning?" Trip asked.

"Couldn’t sleep," Malcolm shrugged.

"Still?" Robertson enquired, he glared at her. "Sorry," she muttered before taking a step towards the turbo lift. "Night sirs," she smiled as she entered and the door closed behind her.

"Still?" Archer enquired. "You’ve been having trouble sleeping?"

"A little," he shrugged. "But I keep bumping into Robertson, I don’t think she’s human sir, she doesn’t seem to sleep at all." Archer and Trip laughed.

"Well I’m gonna’ hit the hay," Archer said, opening the lift door. "Get some sleep Malcolm," he said before the doors closed on him.

"So how bad is it really?" Trip asked as he they walked towards his quarters. "And don’t even try it because I can tell when you’re lying," he warned. Malcolm sighed.

"It’s not good. The only time I seem to be able to get any sleep is if I’m dead on my feet and can’t physically stay awake any longer, even though that’s how I’m feeling most of the time anyway," he said running a hand through his hair.

"You should go and talk to Phlox," Trip suggested.

"I suppose," Malcolm capitulated grudgingly. "I’ll give it another week, if it doesn’t get any better . . ." he shrugged.

"I’ll hold you to that," Trip said as he opened the door to his quarters.

"Yes sir," Malcolm replied sourly, Trip laughed.

"Night Malcolm."

"Goodnight."

* * *


 

Read on with Part Two