ENT WIP: Finding Home 11b/? R/S [R]

[Philippe de la Matraque]

Title: Finding Home
Author: Philippe de la Matraque
Part: 11b/?
Series: ENT
Rating: R (for discussion of violence and torture)
Pairing: R/S light
Archive: Yes to Trekiverse.org, otherwise, please ask.
Contact: pdelam...@gmail.com
Web: http://gabrielle.sytes.net/Trek/stories/findinghome1.html
Summary: Sequel to Alien Us. Malcolm Reed barely survived to see to be
reunited with Hoshi Sato. But things have taken a downturn and now he
needs a new heart and a way to heal.
Author's note: I deliberately use italics like this *i


It had been Charles' idea. Trevon thought it a good one. Deaths of
loved ones were always hard, but the hardest ones tended to be the ones
without closure, as the Tuckers had suffered. No body, no belongings,
no ashes. Their daughter, along with seven million others, had ceased
to exist on the day of the Xindi attack. Malcolm hadn't even known his
sister was ill until he'd learned of her death. So they were having a
memorial service for both Madeline Reed and Elizabeth Tucker.

Trevon met Albert and Owen at the occasion. They seemed happy to be
reunited with Miguel, though Albert was also subdued as the occasion
required. Elizabeth was his sister, too. Owen had probably not had a
lot of interaction with his aunt, and he was a child. He tended to just
float in the background.

They convened out in the back yard under a large tree. Charles had had
two stones set with small holes dug in front of each.

Charles began it. He spoke of his daughter, sharing endearing stories
of her youth. Albert shared a couple, and Miguel talked about her at
their wedding, being almost as excited as Albert for him to join the
family. She had encouraged them to adopt.

Elaine sniffed. "I've been dreaming about her," she admitted. "Like
she comes to visit. She'll tell me about her day, an argument she had
with a coworker, or a guy she'd just met. But lately she'd been telling
me about a new friend. One who shares her blonde hair and love of old
buildings. She wore her hair up while Lizzie liked hers down. When she
said she had a British accent, I knew she meant Madeline. And it's
Malcom being here that brought them together. In my dreams, Lizzie's
not sad. She's not crying, or scared, or angry. She's bubbly and happy
and so full of life. It hasn't been easy but it's maybe easier, knowing
that. She's happy, and spending hours and hours talking with her new
friend."

She wiped her tears with a cloth then held out a photograph. Trevon
could see Elizabeth in the center of her family wearing a dark robe and
an odd-shaped hat. Her parents were on either side with Trip and Albert
down on one knee in the front. Elaine kissed the photo and placed it in
the hole in front of her daughter's stone.

Trevon checked with Malcolm, then lifted his PADD. He and Malcolm had
worked on the wording all week. "I shall read for Malcolm," Trevon stated.

"When Madeline was born, I was a bit miffed. I'd been hoping for a
brother. I had no idea what to do with a sister. I was sent to boarding
school, and she went to school locally. She was always excited when I
came home. She wanted to spend every waking hour with me. Which was
often annoying, but there were times we had fun together, playing when
we were younger, swapping stories about our lives apart later. That
excitement at my homecoming never went away, and at times,she even came
to my rescue.

"I didn't even know she was ill. I was in an unpleasant place myself,
cut off from *Enterprise**. Things got very bad and I was sent back to
Earth for a new heart. On the way, Madeline called me. I was in a
coma, so she talked with Trip. He told her, in brief, what had happened
and of my need for a heart. She told Trip she was sick, but not that it
was terminal.

"He told me she came to the hospital to see me the night we arrived.
He had tea with her. But she was there to give her life for mine. She
left a journal. I saw how she suffered, knowing she would die. But in
the end, she was happy."

Trevon then brought up the last journal entry, excerpted to play a
particular part. Madeline spoke. "I'm not going to have died for
nothing. And a part of me can live on in you. I can't imagine this
will be easy for you. But don't be too sad. I want this. My brain is
losing its battle, buy my heart is strong. It can't keep going without
a brain, but it can keep you going. I want to help you live, Malcolm.
Helping you live matters. And if you should feel that heart beating in
your chest, remember that I am there with you.

"So don't grieve so hard you break our heart. You'll need it. I love
you, Malcolm Reed."

Malcolm had been sitting in his wheelchair as standing for this long
would have been too taxing. But now he stood and Miguel helped him bend
and set the container of ashes in the hole in front of Madeline's stone.

"Now they can be together, both our girls," Charles said. "We lost
them too soon. But we gained a new son, and helping him heal may help
us, too."

Trevon then knelt to cover Madeline's ashes while Albert did the same
with Elizabeth's photo. Then they all returned to the house, where the
kitchen held an extra chair and plethora of dishes from the neighbors.
They hadn't attended the service but had come together to support the
family for it.

And today, he and Malcolm were joining the table.


Malcolm had progressed a lot in the last week. While he hadn't spoken
at the service or really at dinner, he had begun speaking more in their
daily talks. Long sentences and memorial speeches were beyond him at
this stage. But he'd spoken with Elaine and was opting to do so more
often with Trevon. Still, at dinner, he'd seemed focused, following the
conversation. He even passed on some foods when they came his way,
expressing his dislikes.

Relieving the trauma guilt associated with his sister's death had done
wonders. It seemed to stop or at least slow the endless cycle of
traumas from one to the next and the next. Malcolm even admitted that
Stuart came around less often. Madeline's love for him seemed to give
him courage to tune out most of the rantings his mind's version of
Stuart was spouting.

Malcom was still sharing memories often with Trevon, but with more
intent. And Trevon often interjected, asking questions that Malcolm
answered. It was time, he felt, to return to Stuart Reed. "Malcolm,
your father tried to help you get over your aquaphobia by reminding you
that you can swim. He took you wading in the lake, but your trauma
response took over and you ran from him. Did you trust him then?"

Malcolm was sitting on the bed, back against the wall. His eyes did
occasionally glance to the corner or the door, but mostly, he focused on
Trevon. He nodded. "Yes and no," he said.

Trevon appreciated the audible response. "Let's take that apart. Why
yes?"

"He was my father. He'd never hurt me before. He would have protected
me, kept me from drowning." The longer response came telepathically, as
expected.

"And why no?"

"He pushed too hard," he responded. Audible, good.

"And yet, when he was taking you home after term, you were very
uncomfortable with him. Why was that?"

"He seemed angry. He used to ask me about school. We'd talk about his
tour. But he was silent most of the way. He did talk about his tour.
But I wasn't part of the conversation."

"Did you feel he was talking at you instead of with you?"

Malcolm nodded. "He was angry."

"You knew that from the silence, the talking at?"

"I thought it was because I quit the swim team."

Trevon weighed that. It was likely. He was only twelve, after all.
"Possibly. But since that fact would affirm the aquaphobia remained,
could it be that he was angry at you in general?"

Malcolm sighed. "Then, maybe," he said. "Later, definitely."


"So you come home for the summer. What did he try next to *help** you
over your trauma?"

"He didn't," Malcolm told him. "Not that year."

Trevon seemed surprised. "Really? A whole summer?"

*Mother's idea, probably.

"We're having a picnic for lunch," Mother said. "Help me carry things."

He trusted her, so he took the basket of dishes while Madeline grabbed
the table cloth and napkins. Mother took the food and they all went out
the door. It wasn't five minutes before Malcolm picked up on the
destination. The lake. He was hungry. He kept walking. But slower
and slower until he just couldn't take another step.

It took the others a moment to notice. Father said nothing, but he
watched with a I-told-you-so look on his face.**

"Why did you stop?" Trevon asked.

*I could see the lake. I was quite hungry, but I couldn't move. And
they tricked me.**

Trevon nodded, so Malcolm continued the memory.

*"Malcolm, dear," Mother had said, "it's not much farther."

"I can carry the basket," Madeline offered.

"We won't be in the water," Mother went on. "We'll be on shore, in the
grass. It's perfectly safe."

But he couldn't think anymore. He could just hear that voice on the
wind, calling him back to the water.

Suddenly, Mother was taking the basket from his hands. "Lunch will be
on shore by the lake. You are free to join us." Then she turned and
walked on. Madeline didn't. She still looked at Malcolm with a sad
expression, but Father took her hand and led her away.**

"A kinder approach," Trevon commented as the memory faded. "Perhaps,
but you still went hungry."

"I did."

"More of that the whole summer?" Trevon asked.

Malcolm nodded. *But Father never spoke to me. Not since the ride home.**

"You said, 'not that year'. What happened the next summer?"

That would be harder. *He was on a boat, looking across at Father as
he rowed them away from the pier. He was wearing a shirt and swim
trunks, with a life vest. But he didn't feel safe. He shivered in the
heat. The boat rocked with every pull of the oars.

"Malcolm, come join me. No fear here, no pain."

Father didn't seem to hear it. That made him feel worse. He felt like
he was losing his mind. Maybe Father brought him out here to throw him
over the side. They were at least twenty meters from shore and just as
far from the pier behind them. Malcolm tried to take deep breaths, to
slow his racing pulse. It felt like his heart was trying to get out
past his ribs.**

"Where are we, Malcolm?"

"Lake. Boat." He tried it again, the deep breaths. He could feel his
pulse increasing.

"How did he get you on a boat?"

*Part force, part coercion. Said he wouldn't try again that summer.**

"Just that once. And you have a life jacket."

*Part of the coercion.**

"It didn't help you feel any safer."

"Hoped it would."

*Father stopped rowing. He reached behind him and lifted something
heavy attached to a chain. An anchor. Malcolm didn't remember the boat
having an anchor. Father dropped it over the side.

Malcolm tried to keep his voice from shaking like the rest of him.
"Please, can we go back now?"

"Reed men do not beg," Father said. "It's beneath you." Then he took
the oars, one at a time, and launched them toward show, as an ancient
Greek might have thrown a javelin. They didn't quite make it but bobbed
on the surface in the shallow water there. "There's only one way off
this boat. Dinner will be served in one hour. I'll expect you at the
table."

The boat titled sharply when he dove overboard and starting swimming
for shore. Malcolm's knuckles had locked his fingers on the sides of
the boat as she rocked. Even after she'd settled, he couldn't let go.**

"You felt conflicted."

*I wanted to do as he said. To show him I could. To make him proud.
I wanted him to see me as he used to. But I couldn't move.

The sultry voice was telling him he'd be fine, that he would swim
better if he left that cumbersome life vest behind.**

"When you didn't appear for dinner, did he relent? Did he come back
for you?"

"No."

*It was dark now. Though the evening had been cloudy, the moon had
managed to find a clear spot. It shone on the lake and the shore. He
could still see the oars. There was also a bundle of sorts near some
taller plants there. A towel, perhaps.**

"It's quite late now. Did you have any plan?"

*No. I thought about pulling up the anchor, but then the boat would
only drift. No telling which way it would go.**

"Then how did you get back?"

*The boat tilted toward shore as a hand dropped a dripping oar over the
side. It tilted deeper as a small, wet person pulled herself up and
over into the boat. "You missed dinner," she said, as she sat dripping
in the seat Father had left hours before. "I saved you some rolls."
She pointed toward shore and he could now see a backpack waiting by the
other bundle. "Can't you swim?"

Malcolm felt ashamed but shook his head. "Not anymore."

Madeline didn't laugh or make fun of him. Instead she looked around.
She found the anchor chain on her right and lifted it until it stopped.
Then she tried pulling it up, but it slipped back again, nearly taking
her fingers with it. She sighed. "If I bring the other oar, can you
hoist the anchor?"

Malcolm didn't want to disappoint his one way out. He nodded. He
waited for her to dive back in, and for the boat to settle, before he
carefully made his way, staying low, to the now wet seat by the anchor
chain. The weight of the anchor coming up caused the boat to list.
Malcolm focused on just moving one hand in front of the other as he
pulled and tried not to panic. Finally, the anchor was at the side of
the boat.

Madeline righted the boat as she pulled herself in again, and Malcolm
used the momentum to get the anchor on board. Madeline reached over the
side to pull the second oar in. "Can you row?" she asked. "I'm knackered."

Malcolm nodded and they each fit an oar into an oarlock. Malcolm was
still scared, but he felt a little better with Madeline there and the
boat under his control. He used one oar to turn it towards the pier,
thankful for the bright moon. "How did you get out here?" he asked as
he rowed.

"Out my window," she answered with a grin. She was hugging her knees
against the chill. "It was fun. I know where the supports are, where
the house is strong. I checked your window first thing. I didn't see
you in there, so I figured you were still here."

"How'd you learn that?" He was impressed and talking about it kept his
mind off the other voice he could still hear.

"Girl Guides. My architecture badge. We had to study plans and
blueprints of a building. I chose home. It's quite old, but Father knew
where the papers were. It was quite fun . . . and dusty. I was hoping
for a secret room or tunnel but I didn't find any."

Malcolm turned the boat again as he approached the pier so he could
back the boat down the side. He pulled the oar on that side as Madeline
jumped out to tie it off. But she suddenly stood and looked pensive.
"We need to put the oars back."

Malcolm realized what she was thinking. "He'll still know if the boat
is here at the pier."

"We can push it back out," she suggested.

He reminded her of the anchor. She pursed her lips in thought. Then
her eyes went wide. "Bolt cutters. You get them; I'll find a weak link."

Malcolm scrambled up onto the pier and gladly ran away from the lake to
the boathouse. It was dark inside since but he knew where everything
was by memory. He grabbed the bolt cutters and reluctantly ran back
toward the pier.

Madeline was holding up a bit of chain. "This one has a gap!" she
exclaimed. Malcolm knelt on the pier and helped her lift the anchor out
of the boat. She kept hold of the link and stretched out the chain
around it on the surface of the pier.

Malcolm could barely see a gap. "We can't cut it," he realized. It was
too thick. "Maybe we can force it open." He put the cutters down on
their side, then he put the link over the blades. Madeline held it taut
on the bottom and he did on the top. Then he put his foot on one handle
and tried to lift the other. He could feel the tightness as the handles
resisted. He put his other foot on the bottom handle and pulled with
both hands. The link stayed on the blades but didn't budge. Madeline
came and joined him.

"Lift with your legs," she said, squatting down to get her elbows
closer to the ground. Malcolm squatted but kept his arms straighter.
"On three. One, two, three!"

She tried to straighten her legs and he tried to lift with both his
arms and legs, and the handle moved, just a smidge. "On three again,"
he said. "One, two, three!"

The handles came apart a bit more. Madeline held it as Malcolm checked
the link. It looked like the gap might be big enough. He waved her to
close the cutters. He removed the link and tried to work the next link
out through the gap. It scraped but slipped clear with effort. The
anchor was free. They both carried it to the end of the pier and
dropped it over with a kerplunk as it hit the water. The chain noisily
followed until it disappeared.

They got the oars loose and on the pier. Madeline untied the boat and
Malcolm pushed it along the pier then gave it a shove. Momentum kept it
going a short distance. It didn't get as far as where Father had
anchored it, but without that weight to stop it, it would drift anyway.

"It's cold," Madeline complained. "Let's get back."

She grabbed an oar and ran off the pier and around the banks toward her
backpack. Malcolm lifted the oar in one hand and the cutters in the
other. Couldn't leave evidence on the pier. He left the pier for good
and ran to the boathouse. He dropped the oar outside, put the cutters
back, then retrieved the oar and met her on the shore.

"Your clothes should be wet," she told him. "Can you just sit in the
shallows and manage it? I can help."

Malcolm told himself he could. He held his breath and took one step
into the water. He closed his eyes and took one more. The water was
above his ankles. It was quite cold. He couldn't take another step, so
he sat down, letting his trunks soak up the water. He splashed it up
over the waistband. He worked quickly, wanting to get back to dry
ground. He took off the vest to dunk it and Madeline offered to dunk
his shirt. He took it off and handed it to her and pushed the vest down
into the water.

He got a shock when cold water cascaded over his head and down his back
and chest. Madeline had wrung his shirt out over his head. He gasped
as she giggled. "If you'd swum," she said, "your hair would be wet,
too." She offered him a hand and helped him up. He went to the bundle,
confirmed it was a towel, and tried to dry off as best he could. He got
a little warmer as he dried his skin. Madeline pulled a towel from her
backpack and did the same.

They sat back down in the grass, wrapped up in their towels, and
Madeline handed him a napkin with two buttered rolls tucked inside. He
ate them hungrily.**

Trevon chuckled. "Well, you both staged a broken anchor chain and a
late night swim. Bravo! But how did you get back into the house?"

*Fire safety. She'd let out her rope ladder before she got down. We
climbed up and she showed me the safe way to get my window.** Malcolm
let the memory fade.

"That devious side must be in your DNA as she had it, too," Trevon
commented. "Did your father believe the ruse?"

*I think he suspected, though he couldn't prove it. His demeanor
didn't change."**

"You corrupted your sister with your dishonesty!"


Malcolm looked to the corner and glared.

"Your father?" Trevon asked, pointing his thumb to the corner.

Malcolm nodded. "Said I corrupted her."

"She seemed to do the corrupting in that story," Trevon argued. "You
seem angry with him. That's a good start. He's not really here, after
all. He's a representation of the sense of worthlessness your real
father left you. Do you want him to go away?"

"Yes," Malcolm said.

"It's within your control. When he belittles you, blames you, that's
your mind doing his work for him. The rejection from your real father
created him, in a sense. But you know that you aren't worthless,
correct? Your sister believed you were quite worthy of everything she
could give you. Your friend, Trip, thought you were worthy to join his
family. His family has agreed. You are a good man, a good officer.
You're not weak, even now. You're getting stronger every day. Argue
with him if you have to, silently. Tell him how he let you down as a
father. Try it now."

Malcolm must have let him in because Trevon could now see Stuart
sitting sourly in the corner.

"Let you down?" he questioned. "You let generations down. Your great
uncle had your aquaphobia, but he didn't disgrace our legacy."

"So you've told me. Many times," Malcolm argued back.

"Watch your tone!"

"No. She gave me permission. It's her house. So bugger off!"

"Who? " Stuart chided, "Your new mother?"

"You don't want me. She does."

Trevon was proud of him for that one. Not only talking back to his
father but accepting the Tuckers offer of family. "He rejected you," he
added, "because of your post-traumatic stress. Instead of helping
through it, he withdrew his love and affection."

"I was child," Malcolm told his father. "I should have had therapy."

"Reed men--"

"I wasn't a man. I was twelve!"

"I raised you--"

"No, you didn't. Not after that. You stopped raising me and only put
me down. I had to raise myself. Only Madeline and my teachers
supported me."

Stuart turned red in the face and then simply winked out of existence.

Trevon turned back to Malcolm. "He may come back," he warned. "He
uses gaslighting, lies and intimidation. Fight him with truth." He
stood and gathered his things. "I know what you did at fourteen, with
that bully. What did your father do that summer before he spirited his
family to Malaysia? We'll talk about that next time. But I want you to
try and tell me. Try to be verbal, even when it's hard. It gets
easier. Just like talking back to your father. Have a good evening,
Malcolm. Dr. Perez will be by again tomorrow morning to check your
progress. Would you like me here for that?"

"Please."

"Of course," he turned at the door. "Tomorrow then."

[Alan Heah]

(Repeat write, since I backed up without allowing my response to post through.)

I find a bit too ostensive and overt for my own ghosts, Reed's talk-back and dismissal of his father memories.

I'm still frequented by our late mother's scolding hauntings, but more wispy and ignorable now.

Still, definitely the way to get back to our wonderful natural, original child.

Thank you again, Philippe.

[Philippe de la Matraque]

Yeah, in this instance, his mind's creation of his father is way more
blatant than his actual father. It was kind of Malcolm punishing himself.

Philippe aka Gabrielle