Pendulum, Part 1

[Charlotte Matsumura 0]

Pendulum, Part 1

CDR Malcolm Alexander (NPC)

Virginia ("Ginny") Lewis (NPC)

***

 

Lieutenant Malcolm Alexander sat forward, elbows propped on knees, his hands splayed out before him. He flexed the long fingers, eyes tracing the faint, blue veins that snaked along the back of his hand. They stood out in sharp relief against the smooth, tanned skin stretched over swollen knuckles. They were achy today, already enlarged from years of martial arts training, and abused further on this latest mission. Absently, he smoothed his left hand over his right knuckles. Who knew Romulans had such a hard jaw, anyway?

 

He sighed. As a boy, he could remember sitting at the piano, watching as his father's hands danced across antique ivory keys. His fingers, too, were long and thin – perfect for a pianist, even one who played only as a hobby. But even after years at the piano, Benjamin Alexander's hands showed little sign of wear. They were -- and would always be -- the soft, well-manicured hands of a Member of Parliament.

 

Turning his hands palm up, Mal traced along the lifeline of his left hand with his right thumb. His hands would never be that kempt. They were not the hands of an administrator, and would always have more in common with the hands of a farmer or a laborer, the kind accustomed to physical work and activity. And today, though they were impeccably clean, he could still feel faint traces of his best friend's blood.

 

The operation, he thought, was supposed to have been an easy one: A willing defector in a soft target, with an easy escape route. But that all fell apart the moment they had been discovered by the Tal Shiar bodyguard their defector was supposed to have sent packing for the evening.

 

His partner, Ronin Matsumura, was the first to react. The wiry martial artist launched himself at the Romulan, both falling to the floor – hard. The momentary stun allowed Matsumura to gain a brief advantage which he exploited. He pinned the guard and applied pressure to the neck, attempting what might be called a modified sleeper hold. It hadn't been enough. Mal could remember vividly how his fingers flexed around the grip of his disrupter, brow furrowed as he waited for a clear shot.

 

By the time the right moment arrived, it was nearly too late for Ronin. At best, he had suffered broken ribs, head trauma, and possibly a broken jaw; at worst, there was internal bleeding and a collapsed lung. Mal and their target, a highly-placed Romulan official, made it back to the operations ship with little time to spare. Ronin had immediately been admitted to Starfleet Medical upon their arrival back at Headquarters.

 

That had been almost two days prior. As the doctors worked their magic and Ronin struggled to survive, Mal had been reverted back to Terran form, debriefed, and reassigned to headquarters for "an undetermined amount of time." Which means, he thought, they couldn't decide if I've been stupid enough to warrant losing my job. It was a good thing they hadn't asked him. He really didn't want to hear his father say, "I told you so."

 

"Malcolm?"

 

A soft voice dragged him from his reverie. Blinking, he looked up and found his fiancée, Virginia Lewis – Ginny to her friends – hovering just over his right shoulder. A taut smile flickered across wide lips as she knelt beside the chair, taking his hand in hers. "I'm sorry it took so long to get here. I had to hear from a friend of a friend..."

 

Mal covered her hand with his. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way. The debrief was brutal. And then the docs wanted to check me out after seeing the shape Ronin was in."

 

Concern mingled with fear in green eyes as she looked up at him. "Have they said anything?"

 

"Nothing yet," he answered. "Liz was dropping Charlotte off with the in-laws, and then coming down. I imagine they'll give her more information than they will me."

 

"And you – you're okay?"

 

At this, Mal snorted. "Nothing a few rounds of therapy won't cure."

 

"Mal," Ginny charged, "that's not funny."

 

"You're right, it isn't. But if I don't laugh, I...don't know what I'll do." Breaking free from her comforting touch, he pushed himself to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, my best friend lay in there, probably dying, and I don't have the first damned clue what's going on. And that's only *after* the worst op of my thus far very short career."

 

Ginny remained where she was, kneeling, and looking up at him. "What happened?"

 

"I...I can't talk about it. It's not that I don't want to – my God, I'd love for you to understand – but I can't. Let's just say that we ran into a very determined opposition player when we were least expecting it and everything went to Hell from there." Mal shook his head. "If Ronin hadn't...done what he did... we both would have died. For now, it might just be him, and that's not fair. Not to him, not to Liz, and definitely not to their little girl."

 

"And your dying would be so fair?" The brunette stood, eyes registering her shock. "Mal, our wedding date is two months away. And I know your parents care, regardless of what's happened. It's not as though you're without your own family!"

 

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. She was right, of course. He still had a mother and a father, and would soon have a wife of his own. If things continued along this course, he might well have a child in some near future. His death in the place of Ronin, then, wouldn't be any more "fair" in the grand scheme. He knew this. But it didn't make the endless waiting any easier.

 

With a sigh, he crossed and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're right, Gin. It wouldn't be any more fair." He gave a reconciliatory smile and drew her slowly into an embrace. "It's just – we've gotten bumps and bruises before. It's never been this serious."

 

Ginny buried her face closer to his shoulder. "When Clay called and said there'd been a problem, I didn't know what to think," she said. "I was so afraid it was going to be you, that maybe you weren't going to make it back. I...it's selfish now, especially knowing Liz and Charlotte, but I..." She allowed her sentence to hang.

 

"Shhh..." Mal smoothed his hand over her hair, hugging her closer. "It's all right, Gin. I know what you mean. But I'm here."

 

They stood there, embraced, silently drawing on one another's strength for a long while. It was Ginny who slowly drew back. Reaching up, she smoothed the hair over his ears, where strands of silver were beginning their assault. She then drew her gaze to meet his. His heart clenched at the fear and worry there, knowing he was likely the source. His suspicions were confirmed when she finally spoke.

 

"I'm not sure I can live like this, Mal."

 

"Like...this?" he echoed, furrowing his brows.

 

"Sitting. Waiting. Never knowing." Ginny shook her head. "I kept dreaming...Well, some pretty bad dreams."

 

He stroked his thumb gently across her cheek. "I'm sorry, Gin. Maybe...maybe I should just transfer – get reassigned to headquarters permanently, or maybe work with the desk jockeys in Intel."

 

Blinking, Ginny looked up at him, eyes wide. "You can't do that because of me."

 

"It's not just because of you," he answered, "though I'll admit you're definitely a motivating factor." She gave him a wary smile that warmed his heart, gave strength to his thought process. "I was just sitting here thinking that my hands" – he paused, holding up his hands – "these hands are getting old before their time; I'm getting old before my time. And it's this job, the constant training, the uppercuts – I don't have to do this to serve. I don't have to die to do my duty."

 

"Mal, I can't ask you to leave Operations."

 

Mal's lips thinned. "You're not, Ginny. I'm volunteering to."

 

***

Edited April 9, 2009 by Charlotte Matsumura