Finding Home
by Philippe de la Matraque
Sequel to Alien Us
Chapter Thirteen
Malcolm returned to his room, trying to figure out how to really feel. He'd been taught, even as a young boy, to stifle deep emotions. And later, he wasn't allowed to show any. He wasn't emotionless. He wasn't a Vulcan. He'd loosened up in his years on Enterprise. But still, only with Hoshi had he really let himself go. She had needed him to do so. And as he fell in love with her, he had felt so deeply he'd mistaken a heart attack for love.
Hoshi had made it easy. It wasn't hard to love her. And now that he couldn't reach her, that love was like a hole in his chest that wouldn't be filled until he could be with her again. Maybe his parents shared a part of that hole. Maybe that's what he had to feel.
Malcolm watched the video of the ceremony at the dock again. He zoomed in on himself and his father. And he saw it. His father stopped sharply, which brought Malcolm close to him. He turned, and the contact was made. Young Malcolm flailed as he fell, but Father didn't reach for him. Others around him did, including little Madeline. The music stopped, the crowd gasped, and Father shouted at him to swim. There was another splash but it was out of frame. A few minutes later, a sailor swam, with young Malcolm in his arms, back to the dock and handed him back to other hands. Father grabbed him and wrapped his arms around him, making a show of concern after the fact.
The show of concern had ended when they were out of the public eye. And it never came back. And yes, it angered him.
Anger was easy. What his parents had done was an injustice. It was even more than punishment for something that wasn't his fault, it was the wholesale negation of him for all but the keeping up of appearances. Malcolm, having grown up those first twelve years a ship-shape little sailor, hadn't fought back. He'd let them blame him and just held on for the day he could get out and join Starfleet.
Grief though. That was harder. He was sure it was there. Maybe that was what he felt as that child who needed his parents but lost the privilege of being a son. Maybe now the anger was covering it up. Maybe, if he remembered the good days, he could find that grief for the father he'd lost. He thought of his birthdays and holidays and Father carrying him on his shoulders. He had happily trailed behind Father as he showed him his ship, taking him to see his quarters, the officers mess, the ward room, the bridge. He was proud of his father's station and the family celebrated his promotions.
And Mother, she always carried herself as an officer's wife, proper and restrained. But she had been attentive and affectionate as well. She had fussed over him when he was ill, insisted that the doctors cure her son of his allergies so he could grow up, thrive, and become a fine sailor like his father. She smiled more often than Father did. Malcolm had truly believed he was loved, and he had loved them both in return.
And there it was. It was subtle, but grief was there. That Malcolm had had a bright future with the navy and his parents' affections. He might have married and brought his bride to meet his parents. Perhaps he would have had a son, and Grandfather Stuart would have carried him on his shoulders. His parents, and Aunt Madeline, would have been present and welcome in his life.
But it didn't happen that way. After the drowning, he had felt sick. His chest had hurt and it was hard to breathe. His parents were there with him, holding him, worried and indignant that someone, anyone should have hurt their child in this way.
And slowly, his life changed. Fear and anger from the assault remained. Disappointment dulled his father's affections. Malcolm's failure to overcome the trauma and the aquaphobia it caused, drained more and more of that favored life away. His home life became one of dread. His days at school were fraught with perceived dangers. There was no reprieve, no place of real happiness and freedom. There was no way out before Starfleet. And it had taken six long years to get there. Six years when his parents were supposed to love and support him.
Malcolm tried to let himself dream that other life, though not with the Navy and with Hoshi as his bride. But he just couldn't make it work. Father always said something snide to ruin the occasions.
Because that wasn't the life he had. He had managed, in spite of his parents, and his PTSD, to make a good life for himself. He had a good career as a Starfleet Officer, the respect of his team and superiors, the friendship of Trip, and the love of Hoshi. The last year was hell except for her. And his life going forward looked different. No more would he hope for his father to relent. They wouldn't be there for his wedding. They'd never see his children. He would embrace Hoshi's family, and they would make it work.
Stuart and Mary Reed were dead to him. And that hurt.
The next day, Malcolm went to the tool shed with Charles. The mother cat was away hunting, so they picked up the babies—two in each of Malcolm's hands and one in Charles's. Charles used his other hand to remove some of the sharper and harder scraps before tucking a soft blanket in. Then they replaced the kittens.
Charles found an old camera in the shed, plugged it in, and pointed it toward the little crate with five squirming kittens. Then they left so the mama cat could return and take care of them. They used a PADD to pull up the feed from the shed. The mother cat returned after half an hour, and the babies mewed for her. She sniffed each one diligently until she was satisfied they were safe. She crawled in and laid down so the babies could feed.
"They get another week or two older and we'll have to start handling them," Charles said. "Else they'll grow up feral like their mom."
Malcolm looked forward to that. Charles let him keep the PADD in his room so he could watch the cats any time. But he often brought it out to the living room or the kitchen table for others to watch, too.
He had the PADD with him when Trevon came for their next session. They went to the back garden again, and Malcolm pointed out the mama cat as she left to hunt.
"Is everyone here enamored of small predators?" Trevon asked as he looked over the sleeping kittens.
Malcolm chuckled. "Depends on the predator, but cats and dogs have been the most popular pets on Earth for centuries. Dogs were bred for various attributes and tasks. They're very different from their wild cousins, the wolves or foxes. But these little cats? That mother is wild. She's out hunting for food. She's not very different from her ancient wild roots. She's smaller, perhaps, cuter, but she has the same weaponry, skills, and instincts. The babies, if we handle and play with them, will be socialized and make great pets."
"Do they lose the skill and instinct to hunt?"
Malcolm shook his head. "Not a bit. They just like our attention and affection. They'll still hunt, whether it's bugs or rodents or just toys."
Trevon smiled then. "In truth, we have a somewhat similar pet on Betazed, though perhaps not as popular, and definitely not as cute." He handed the PADD back. "It's good to see you smile, Malcolm, and if tiny carnivores can induce it, I'm for it. Will you make a pet of one?"
Malcolm wanted to say yes, but he wanted to get back to Hoshi. "I doubt I could have one on the ship."
"I believe I've seen photos of your captain with a canine," Trevon replied.
"He's the captain," Malcolm held. "I'm not."
"Well, at least you can enjoy the socializing. And I do believe I'm curious to see them as they grow. Perhaps I can even keep one."
"No reason you can't," Malcolm told him. He liked the idea. "It might even be good in your practice. Petting animals can help calm people."
"Hmm, then I shall," Trevon decided. "How long until they are ready?"
"A couple months," Malcolm explained. "Gives you time to research cat ownership."
"Good advice. Shall I give you some well? Have you sufficiently finished wallowing?"
Malcolm nodded. "I've accepted that I don't have parents anymore. I still have a life and a future with Hoshi."
Trevon nodded. They were moving into a new phase. And it was interesting that, with his acceptance, he was more present, more verbal than he had been since the hospital before his father's outburst. Of course, Malcolm was still traumatized by his time in Zheiren, but the childhood hurt had been the deeper pain. It was time it learned to heal.
"I'm sorry it came to that, but sometimes we must remove toxic people from our lives. Any feelings you may have on the matter are valid: remorse, grief, relief, anger. You were supposed to have parents to support you through adolescence and on into adulthood. Their toxicity means you lost out. So what do we do about it?"
"I'm an adult," Malcolm responded. "I go on without them."
"That is an option," Trevon agreed. "You've been doing that since at least fourteen. How has it served you?
Malcolm sighed uncomfortably. "Mixed bag."
Trevon chuckled. "An honest assessment. In some aspects, you've done quite well, though the path may have been bumpy. Would you agree it has cost you relationships?"
Another sigh. "I struggled to get close to people, though it's been getting better on Enterprise."
"I want to suggest another option." Trevon settled back in his chair. This was going to be delicate. "You missed out on some critical years of parenting. And even as adults, we need parents. They still support us, though at more of a distance. They are the people we return to. The people we can count on. They are the grandparents who spoil our children. We can turn to them for love and acceptance no matter what. If yours no longer qualify, perhaps you can find replacements. You instinctually did this with Major Harris, no? What if you were intentional about it? Who do you know who might stand in and offer support, love, and acceptance as a parent would?"
Malcolm dipped his eyebrows in confusion, but he did look back at the house. "I couldn't impose."
Trevon shrugged. "You already have. You are living in their house, which they have modified significantly for you. You've sat up nights with Elaine, and Charles has accompanied you to physical therapy and those little cats. Don't worry, they don't feel it an imposition. They chose it. When Trip asked it of them, they wholeheartedly accepted."
Malcolm fidgeted, rubbing his hands on his thighs. Malcolm thought of her gentle touch, that first time they met, her assurances even as he feared for his sanity. Her embrace as they watched Madeline's journals together. Still, he argued. "Trip is their son."
Trevon countered. "He called you a brother."
Malcolm shook his head. "It's not the same. They love him. They barely know me."
"And yet," Trevon concluded and let that stand. "Love, Malcolm, is a verb, an action. It's a noun, a thing, and an emotion, a feeling. It's something you can do, something you can give and accept, and something you can feel in your chest and your heart. The first two require a choice. The latter is often a consequence of that choice.
"Consider Owen."
"Albert and Miguel's son?" Malcolm wasn't following the turn in conversation.
"Yes, though he wasn't always their son. Do you think perhaps they made a choice to love that child before they brought him into their family and got to know him? That they did love as an action before they felt it as an emotion?"
That made sense in their case. "I can see that. It's just not the same."
"Why? Because they can't legally adopt you?" Trevon challenged. "Regardless of the legality, they decided it the day your father stormed into the hospital and drove his final stake into your heart. They chose it. They've shown it. You need only to accept it."
And Charles, standing with him at PT when he didn't have to, helping him avoid the exam table, telling him about the kittens to distract him from his fears. "How?"
Trevon smiled. "Much the same way you have been doing it. One good thing your recent psychological status allowed was a loosening of your barriers, your inhibitions to hide your inner self from everyone around you. That first night when you made your way into the kitchen, she offered you love in the form of some scrambled eggs, gentle words, and soft touches. You fell asleep on her shoulder."
Malcolm looked back to the house again. Trip had said it before he left. That his parents had made the decision to love him and nothing he could do would make them stop.
"You only have to do more of that," Trevon assured him. "Some boundaries are healthy, but they should have a gate. We open the gate to allow love in. You lowered your boundaries with Hoshi, and to some extent with Trip. Do more of that. Allow your gate to open, for the right people, people you can trust, people who reciprocate. Trip opened his gate and became your friend. You and Hoshi opened to each other and found love."
Malcolm realized he had. He had been fearful at first, but she had needed him, and he had only found acceptance when he told her about the drowning and even the revenge. He had let the captain know of his aquaphobia and the breaking of Reed tradition, and it hadn't become the subject of scuttlebutt on the ship. He kept his barriers so high, he'd left Madeline outside of them and hadn't realized until too late.
His doubts about his sanity were a huge opening of his barriers, and Elaine wasn't fearful of him. Charles, in his quiet way, was showing him that he would stand up for him. Hoshi had told him to talk to a therapist, and he'd trusted her, so he did. He opened his barrier wide for Trevon and found he could trust the man in return. Trevon had laid bare his childhood hurts, his father's duplicity, and yet, Malcolm felt better at this moment than he had for quite some time.
He was still confused, but maybe it was worth it. Open his gate, to the right people. Not his parents. But Trip's parents. Trip had shared them with him, and they had accepted the arrangement. And they'd done it when he had the least control of himself. They had proven trustworthy as well. He looked back to the house. Elaine was in the kitchen. He couldn't call her Mother. That word had a bitter taste in his mouth. Elaine then, and maybe when he felt it, she'd be Mom and Charles, Dad. It was wild to think it. But he liked the idea of having a mom and dad, and a brother or two.
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