Disclaimer: We don't own this, not a sausage
Author's Note: We're back! This was written as a backstory to the label found in our previous story 'Die A Little Harder' however you don't need to have read that one to read and understand this one :) It's done a little differently to our other stories, not pass-the-parcel but more Exploded Pen wrote a giant chunk then badgered The Libran Iniquity to add to, refine and polish it.
Enjoy!
o o o o o
Malcolm Reed was a man working on little sleep. Problems in the armoury the previous day had meant he had only just managed to stagger to bed at 0300 hours. He fell to sleep with relative ease, although when his alarm went off a few hours later it sparked a sudden throbbing in his temples that ran in time with his pulse. Oh, it was going to be one of those days. Marvellous.
Deciding to forgo the shower in favour of some extra strong coffee from the mess, Malcolm debated the various merits of assigning one of his many underlings the job of sitting duty on the bridge in his place. The reality was that while there were some in his department who badly needed the experience if they were to progress any further in their various career paths, or even just within Enterprise's general hierarchy, there was also the chance that Armageddon would strike and whichever underling he'd picked to replace him would make a hash job of it, and cause the ship and its crew to perish tragically in a ball of flames and composite shards.
As a small aside, he thought about banning Travis from picking disaster films from the database for Movie Night.
As Malcolm stepped into the mess hall his headache racked up another notch. Sighing he made straight for the resequencer and ordered his coffee. He could hear Trip and Travis laughing somewhere off to his left and tried to make himself as unnoticeable as it was possible to be in a room full of people. It wasn't that he didn't want to join them for breakfast, but with the way his head was pounding he'd either say something he'd regret, or attempt to kill them with a spoon for being so ungodly cheerful while his brain was trying its own version of The Great Escape out of his skull.
For all concerned it was better if he just did a dash and grab for coffee and then went straight to work.
Malcolm grabbed his coffee and slipped out the mess hall. He headed straight for the armoury, taking steady sips as he went, so by the time he reached his destination the coffee was gone. Tanner looked up at he entered. "Morning, Lieutenant."
"Morning. Were all of last night's problems dealt with?" Malcolm asked.
"Yessir," Tanner leant over the console he was working on and picked up a padd. "Here's the report."
Malcolm took it, at the same time passing a bemused Tanner the empty coffee mug. Malcolm rapidly scanned its contents and nodded. "Good work. I'll be –" He hesitated. Armoury or bridge? Hiding or possible Armageddon? " – On the bridge if I'm needed." Malcolm turned on his heel, leaving Tanner holding his empty mug and looking slightly bewildered.
By the time Malcolm reached the bridge he was in a decidedly unpleasant mood. The caffeine hadn't kicked in and it felt like his brain had now successfully tunnelled out of his skull. In other words, he was tired and his head hurt. But it was almost a relief to lose himself in the familiar tasks of bridge duty and for a little while try to forget about his aching head.
Two hours later, Malcolm knew something was wrong. His headache had reached the point of utter agony and the console in front of him was swirling in pretty patterns that didn't go away even though he was practically cradling his head in his hand and squeezing his eyes tight shut.
"Malcolm, are you alright?"
Malcolm opened his eyes and stared up at Captain Archer, who was giving him a look of deep concern. "I'm fi-" He paused mid word as his headache gave a particularly painful throb that had his vision erupting in little starbursts of colour.
o o o o o
Malcolm sat on the biobed listlessly scratching his arms. He'd been here less than twenty four hours and already he was literally itching to get out.
"Lieutenant, if you scratch it'll only make it worse," Phlox chided him from across the room.
Malcolm sighed and flopped back onto the biobed. If it weren't for the beautiful, beautiful, pain relieving drugs he'd have already escaped the confines of Sickbay, but seeing as how his headache returned to critical doubled-over-in-agony-trying-not-to-vomit-on-people's-shoes levels as the medication wore off, the promise of more was incentive to stay put.
For now.
The doors to Sickbay opened and Trip bounded through looking horribly cheerful. "Hey Doc. The patient up for visitors?"
"Certainly." Phlox did his disarmingly stretched smile.
Malcolm forced himself back upright again, trying not to sway as he regained his equilibrium. Trip stared at him open mouthed.
"That's new," said Trip, staring at the rash.
Malcolm stared back at him. "Thanks. Was there a particular reason you came down, Commander, other than to state the obvious?"
Trip grinned at him. "Came to cheer you up of course! Phlox said you'd not tried to break out once so far so I figured you could do with some company." He pulled a padd out of his pocket. "I have 'The Dam Busters', you missed it at movie night last night." He waved it enticingly. "Now I know your attention span isn't great what with the headache an' all but I figured that's what pause buttons were made for."
Malcolm blinked, his drug filled head taking a while to catch on. "You want to watch it now?" He frowned and viciously scratched the back of his hand. "I wouldn't have thought anyone would've fancied watching 'The Dam Busters'."
"You seemed real cranky a couple of days ago so I thought it'd cheer you up," said Trip, moving to sit on the biobed across from him. "Course, you ended up here instead." He handed over the padd. "You can watch it later."
"Thanks," Malcolm dredged up a smile and set the padd to one side. "Anything interesting happen since I've been incarcerated?" he asked, the last word coming out a little darkly.
"It's for your own good, Lieutenant," Phlox called – he was now trying to feed some of his menagerie.
"I'm not even sick!" Malcolm shot back. Well, aside from the crippling headaches – but that's what pain killers were for.
Trip gave him an incredulous look. "You have a fever."
"Barely!"
"Mal, you look like a goddamned dot-to-dot!"
Malcolm stared at his hands and deflated. "Maybe I am a little off-colour..." He sighed heavily. "Just tell me the armoury is doing fine; the Doctor won't let any of my men give me a report."
"Work is not conducive to a speedy recovery," Phlox wandered over and stared at him. "The Armoury will do just fine without you for a few days."
Malcolm could feel the drugs begin to wear off as his head gently started to ache. "I'd rest a lot better knowing everything was doing alright!"
"Relax, Mal," Trip soothed. "Everything's fine. You've a good team, they'll manage."
o o o o o
Phlox was struck with a sudden feeling of deep unease as he entered sickbay. Ever since Lieutenant Reed had been deposited in sickbay by Ensign Mayweather two days ago Phlox had been waiting for something like this. He resisted the urge to sigh as he took in the empty biobed that not half an hour ago had held the sick, feverish armoury officer. Restraints, next time he was called away to treat someone he was restraining the Lieutenant to the biobed.
A rustling noise caused him to turn. Relief flooded through him as he spied the top of Reed's head behind the menagerie. "Lieutenant," he said moving quickly over to him, "I believe I told you to stay in bed. The more you persist in trying to stay out of bed, the longer your recovery will take." He came to a sudden standstill as Reed shot upright. "Lieutenant?"
Lieutenant Reed smiled at him, his eyes seemed more than a little unfocused, the rash was still an angry red against his pale complexion, and he was sweating.
"Lets get you back into bed," said Phlox gently. "What were you doing up anyway? Hmm?"
"Preparing another marker," Reed whispered conspiratorially.
Marker? Phlox peered over at the counter and blinked. Then blinked again. The innocuous little white square was still there. Reed tapped it proudly, ink stains on his hand and a couple of tiny paper cuts on his fingers. "Mr Reed," Phlox wasn't entirely sure how to begin. "Where did you get the pen and paper from?" He tried to pick up the little label but it remained stuck to the desk. "What did you use to stick it down, hmm?"
Reed swayed on the spot and smiled proudly. "Dung."
Ah. "Come with me, Lieutenant, we need to clean you up." Phlox took Reed by the arm and led the sick man to the sink. "Wash your hands please."
"You're a good man, Doctor," Reed announced clapping a hand on Phlox's shoulder. "An honourable man." He blinked slowly. "If a little unorthodox." He moved his hand and mechanically washed it, and then the other, clean. "You're worthy of being an honorary Englishman!"
"That's very good of you, Lieutenant," said Phlox directing the feverish man back to the biobed. "May I ask why you were making your, ahem, marker in the first place?"
Reed ground to a halt and checked for others, Phlox couldn't help but look from side to side with him before leaning in. "I'm claiming Sickbay in the name of England." Reed thumped his right hand to his chest. "For England! Truth! Honour! And a damn fine cup of tea!"
If it's for England why did he write his own name on the label? Phlox wondered. He suddenly caught sight of another label strategically placed near the imaging chamber. "Lieutenant, how many of your markers did you make?"
"Enough," was the unexpectedly curt reply.
Phlox helped the sick armoury officer back onto his usual biobed, tutting as he did so. "Please stay in bed this time, Mr Reed, regardless of how many places need to be claimed in the name of England, hmm?"
"But – " Reed began paling further.
"I don't care if the Armoury needs to be claimed," said Phlox trying to get him to lie down. "I am certain no one will try and take it from you."
"Doctor – " Reed tried again.
"No, Lieutenant," Phlox cut in again. "Your fever clearly hasn't gone down yet and you're in no state to be stood up yet alone running round the ship trying to claim it for England!"
Reed stared at him mutely for about three seconds before throwing up on him. "I tried to warn you," Reed gasped visibly flagging. He flopped down onto the biobed. "Don't let them take Sickbay, Doctor, this is the first corner of the ship to be forever England."
"Okay Lieutenant," Phlox soothed. "Rest now."
The feverish man's eyes finally closed as the doors to sickbay opened to reveal Captain Archer cradling his hand. "Doctor, you got a minute?"
Phlox made a shushing motion and nodded. The Captain stared at Phlox's front and blinked slowly.
"I take it Malcolm's not feeling any better?" he asked quietly.
"Once the fever comes down he'll be feeling much better," said Phlox purposely keeping his voice low. "If you'll excuse for just a moment while I change I'll be back to help you in a moment." He grabbed a clean shirt from one of the cupboards. He paused. "If he wakes, don't let him near paper, pens, the animals or out of Sickbay." Phlox retreated into the small bathroom to change, leaving Archer looking bewildered. But it was only when Phlox removed the vomit stained shirt he realised there was a small label attached to it. "Honorary Englishman," he read chuckling. "It's amazing how he managed to find the necessary materials to do this in his condition." He redressed in the clean shirt quickly and hurried back into the main sickbay where Archer was waiting for him.
"Doctor, is there any reason why there are several things in here labelled 'Malcolm Reed'?"
Phlox smiled. "Probably. Now Captain, what can I do for you?"
000 And lo, the fic finisheth! Let us know what you think :) 000