Archer hissed in pain as Phlox prodded the open wound on his shoulder. During the fire fight in the street of that eerie Old West town light years and centuries from where it belonged, he had taken a bullet in the shoulder and proceeded to get into two separate fist fights following.
Phlox gave him the universal Look of mothers and medics. The one that said, 'Suck it up, it's your own damn fault, now hold still.' "Captain, if you continue with this blatant disregard for your own well-being, we won't have a captain for much longer."
Archer chuckled manfully. "Aw, this is nothing, Doc. I've had had worse." He chuckled again and looked over at Tucker, who was leaning against the bulkhead nearby, watching the proceedings. "Isn't that right, Trip?" he said, jocularly.
Tucker rubbed the back of his neck and looked away uncomfortably. Archer's simian brow furrowed. "Trip?"
"The Doc's right," Tucker said after a pause, his eyes shifting and darting uncomfortably. "Ta be honest, Cap'n, yer a bit of a glory hog."
"A what?!" Archer leaned forward, hissing again as his shoulder was aggravated. "I am not a glory hog! Malcolm, do you think I'm a glory hog?"
The armoury officer shifted uncomfortably on the biobed as every head swung to face him. "Well, sir . . ." he swallowed nervously. "You are a bit . . . you do tend to . . . it could be termed 'glory hogging'."
"What do you mean?" Archer demanded. "I do not hog the glory!"
"Sir," Reed put in. "you do have a tendency to take unnecessary risks. Very rarely do you let anyone else take risks that they are specifically trained for," the last said in a pointed tone.
"I have a duty to keep my crew safe!" Archer looked back and forth between the two men, both looking studiously anywhere but their captain. "That's all!"
There was silence.
"I can't believe you think this about me!" he exclaimed. "I am not a glory hog!"
"Why do you go on every single away mission, then?" Tucker asked after a long pause.
"Because it's my duty!"
Tucker let that one slide. "Why else?"
The captain looked slightly uncomfortable. "Because . . . my skills are needed."
"And?"
"I enjoy them, all right!" Archer snapped. "Sure, I want a piece of the action. But I do not hog the glory!"
"Of course not, sir," Reed replied, famed British poker face firmly in place.
"Absolutely, Cap'n," Tucker chimed in, an almost identical bland expression on his face.
Archer looked at his senior officers suspiciously. They were mocking him, he was sure of it. He narrowed his eyes. "Malcolm, Trip, you two should get back to work. We'll meet in the mission room in an hour. Dismissed."
"Aye, sir," Reed replied, hopping off the biobed and joining Tucker as the engineer nodded, and the pair sauntered out. Phlox called the (futile) 'You've been shot, you need to rest!' warning at the lieutenant's retreating back and resumed patching up the captain.
Archer gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of the biobed. "I am not a glory hog . . ." he said to himself, for what seemed like the thousandth time.
"Of course not, Captain," Phlox said dryly. "You're an injured glory-hog." FIN