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Little Talks

Summary:

“You were talking in your sleep.”- Trip, Shuttlepod One

What if Malcolm also has nightmares?

Notes:

The Catwalk is one of my favourite episodes - I love the camaraderie and seeing the crew in such close quarters together. I was wondering if Malcolm talked in his sleep during that time, and how awkward that might be in such a crowded space, and that’s where the idea for this fic came from. Thank you to the people over at the Enterprise discord server for being willing to chat about their own experiences with sleep talking and disturbances!

The title comes from the song of the same name by Of Monsters and Men.

Thanks for reading and your thoughts and constructive criticisms are always welcome.

Additional note added May 2025: this fic was created in accordance with my personal AI use disclaimer, in this case used as a therapeutic writing support to help process panic attacks.

Chapter 1: Shuttlepod One

Chapter Text

“Now turn that thing off and get some rest!”

Trip doesn’t mean to shout. Doesn’t mean to put that look of hurt on Malcolm’s face. He’s just so goddamned tired.

So when he wakes hours later to the sound of Malcolm having a nightmare, he can’t help but feel like he’s responsible somehow.

Malcolm is on the other bench, clearly having followed Trip’s order to get some rest, yet he looks anything but restful. He’s lying on his back, clenching his fists, face scrunched as if enduring something, but it’s the sounds that have woken Trip: the strained, desperate gasps for air, and it’s only getting worse.

Trip sits there on the bench, thumbing his brow awkwardly as he wonders what the hell he should do. He’s reluctant to wake him; he doesn’t know Malcolm too well, but he gets the feeling the other man would be painfully embarrassed if he knew Trip had witnessed this.

Just then Malcolm flinches, grunting through his clenched jaw, and then there’s a choked-off sob, and Trip swallows. He has to do something, he can’t just let him suffer.

So he snags up his tools and starts working on the transmitter, clattering about, purposefully making more noise than necessary - not to wake Malcolm but rather to try and shake him out of whatever nightmare he’s experiencing. He keeps glancing over and is gratified when Malcolm appears more relaxed, hands unfurling, his breathing steadying out.

“Atta boy,” Trip murmurs.

He isn’t sure what compels him to take his own blanket and drape it over the sleeping lieutenant. Maybe it’s his apology for yelling at Malcolm earlier, for pushing him bodily out of the way to turn off the recording. And Malcolm had just sat there, frozen, taking it.

He returns to the transmitter, keeping one eye on Malcolm as he works. After a while he gives up on the transmitter and is starting work on the receiver when he hears Malcolm mumbling. He looks up sharply but when he sees a slight smile playing on Malcolm’s lips, he smiles in return - at least it seems like a good dream this time - and goes back to the task at hand.