In Love and War

by Sita Z

Malcolm loses his temper.

Title: In Love and War

Disclaimer: This story was written for my personal enjoyment, the characters belong to Paramount... still ;).

Author's Note: Big thanks to my beta readers Gabi and t'eyla for their help! Please note that this is (very mild) Slash, so if you don't like that... you know the deal ;).

Enjoy! Comments and feedback will be hugged and kissed!

-----------------

"I told dyou before, doctor, I- OUCH!"

"Hold still, Lieutenant!" Phlox didn't sound angry; in fact, he seemed far too serene, given the fact that he had his hands full with a blood-stained and peeved Lieutenant, an equally blood-stained and hovering Chief Engineer and a frowning Captain.

Malcolm held his hands cupped over his nose, from which Phlox had removed the icepack, and fidgeted on the edge of the biobed. He knew the look on the Captain's face; any minute now the man would come forward and ask The Question. It was his right, of course; a captain was entitled to getting reports about his crewmembers' activities, even if said activities involved a shore leave visit... a shore leave visit that could not have turned out worse. Malcolm's tactical mind had calculated his chances of wiggling out of the doctor's clutches and escaping to his quarters before the Captain could ask him what had happened, and they were not good, to put it mildly. Especially since Phlox seemed to think that his nose wouldn't grow back into its former shape without a cast. Right now, Malcolm thought that he might have preferred living with a slightly crooked nose rather than answering the Captain's questions. Might even look dangerous, and scaring the enemy in advance was always a tactical advantage-

"Remove your hands, Lieutenant, I can't apply the cast if you keep covering your nose!"

"I'm dnot sure I wand you do," Malcolm muttered, but lowered his hand when Phlox raised his eyebrows at him. The doctor turned away to fill a hypospray with an analgesic, and Trip stepped into Malcolm's field of vision. The engineer looked a little ruffled, and there was a smear of blood (Malcolm's blood) down the front of his civilian shirt, but other than that he was all right. Despite the numb throbbing in his broken nose, the thought filled Malcolm with relief. He may have been forced to resort to somewhat... drastic measures, but he had done his job, both as Trip's partner and security officer. Trip had returned to the ship unharmed.

He did not look happy, however.

"Is he gonna be okay, doc?" Trip asked, his right hand seeking and finding Malcolm's. His eyebrows were drawn together in a worried frown.

"Not to worry," the doctor answered, and held the hypospray against Malcolm's neck. It hissed, and a few seconds later the throbbing began to fade away, leaving only the numbness behind. "Lieutenant Reed will have to wear a cast for a few days, and I recommend at least twenty-four hours of off-duty time-"

"Thad's dnot necessary-"

"Twenty-four hours, during which he should try to rest," the doctor finished, ignoring him. "Raise your head, Lieutenant - there we go."

Phlox had taken a small triangular pad from his equipment table, which he placed on Malcolm's nose and taped into place with a piece of band-aid. Except for a little pressure, Malcolm felt nothing at all, although he had a distinct feeling that the doctor had straightened the nose a little while taping it up. From the pale look on Trip's face, his partner had noticed as well.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

Phlox beamed at him, and Malcolm tried not to glare back. It wasn't the doctor's fault that he had gotten himself into such a fix.

"Thanks, doctor. Sdill, I really don't think I dneed-"

"Twenty-four hours, Lieutenant," the doctor repeated, still smiling. "And I would like you to spend the first two of them here in sickbay, so I can make sure the analgesic doesn't have an adverse effect on you."

Malcolm knew that the doctor could not have worried less about any "adverse effects"; Phlox only wanted to make sure that he spent at least two of the prescribed twenty-four hours resting. He considered protesting, but the grim look on the Captain's face decided him against it. Malcolm resigned to his fate. It seemed that he wouldn't be able to escape the interrogation, after all.

"I'm curious, Lieutenant," the doctor began, and his conversational tone bode no good. "I realize human males can develop pugilistic tendencies when another male approaches their mate, but I was under the impression that these... confrontations were restricted to males defending "their" female. Your case made me wonder..."

Malcolm could feel himself blush. He picked up the blood-stained handkerchief that had been wrapped around the icepack and began to dab the drying blood off his upper lip. The doctor watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer, while the Captain's eyebrows had climbed into dangerous heights. Trip - damn the man anyway - seemed to have trouble fighting a grin.

"Well?"

"Wasn't like that," Malcolm mumbled behind the handkerchief. He knew that his cheeks were flaming, and hated it.

"From what the Commander told me earlier, you were defending your mate, weren't you? Most interesting. If you don't mind, Lieutenant, I would like to take a few notes..."

Finally, Archer stepped forward. Malcolm could only barely suppress a sigh of relief when the Captain interrupted the doctor.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but your research will have to wait. I believe the Lieutenant and the Commander have a report to give."

Malcolm noted the deliberate stress the Captain placed on their titles, and understood that Archer was not going to take any nonsense right now. He straightened up a little on his bio bed, trying to look like an officer at his best... or maybe semi-best, taking into account his two black eyes, nose cast and blood-smeared shirt.

"Captain, I take full resbonsibility for the situation. It was dnot in any way Commander Tucker's fault."

"That's not true, Cap'n, he didn't do anythin' wrong!" Trip had stopped grinning and seemed agitated, now that Malcolm was trying to take the full blame. "We just..."

Archer leaned against the adjoining bio bed and sighed. "Gentlemen, it's obvious that Lieutenant Reed participated in a fight, and I have Hoshi talking to the owner of a bar called "The Dungeon", who has filed a complaint to the local authorities. It's for your own good to tell me in detail just what the hell happened to you down there."

Malcolm sighed. It was the details he didn't really want to talk about...

----

"Mura Kai", roughly translated into English, meant "beautiful world", and the planet more than lived up to its name. Strolling through the streets of Vada Li'ir, the largest city on Mura Kai's Eastern Continent, Malcolm decided that he had never been to a place where people had gone to so much trouble to combine noisy street life with beautiful scenery and architecture. On their way through the city, he and Trip had come through small, quiet parks overgrown with alien flowers and trees, bustling market places where farmers sold carefully arranged fruits and vegetables, and large avenues where the wealthier citizens of Vada Li'ir spent their money on clothes and jewelry. For the first half an hour, Malcolm had been too busy enjoying the fresh air and scenery and avoiding Trip's ever-busy camera to notice that anything was out of the ordinary. They had visited one of the museums, spending more than half an hour in the ancient weapons section, and had done a little shopping afterwards, leaving the farmers' market with a large bag full of alien fruits, half of which Malcolm was not even going to touch.

It was when they left the more touristy areas of the city and walked through the less busy backstreets that he first noticed the looks people seemed to give them. Or, on second thought, that they seemed to give Trip. He could not see why; their civvies were discreet enough, compared to what some of the Mura Kairi wore, and as far as he could recall, they had not done anything to offend the locals. Granted, they didn't know much about the planet's customs and culture, but the Vulcan Data Base had described it (in very scientific terms, of course), as a friendly and hospitable place. He had noticed the strange way the farmer who had sold them the fruits had grinned at Trip, but had filed it away as part of the sales pitch, not giving it any further thought. Here in the backstreets, however, he could no longer ignore the looks or whispered comments, or the way an old woman shook her head at him, after giving Trip a look as if he had kicked her little dog. It was unsettling.

In retrospect, Malcolm had no idea why they had decided to walk into the bar. It had been a mistake, and in a way, he had known it from the moment he had followed Trip down the narrow staircase. All he could really say in his defense was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The "Dungeon" was, in accordance with its name, a rather seedy place, with a gruff-looking barmaid behind the counter, and groups of patrons gathered at the large wooden tables, each of them nursing a glass with a dark-looking fluid inside. Most of them were male, and none of them looked as if they would like to have a little friendly chat with two offworld tourists who had happened to stop by their planet. For a moment, Malcolm felt himself reminded of the pub in his hometown, where every stranger was regarded with deep mistrust and never included in what little conversation was going on.

A second later, however, one of the patrons sitting closest to the door raised his head and looked straight at them, and it became very clear that they were not going to be ignored. The man's eyes widened and then a leery grin appeared on his face. He elbowed his neighbor, and suddenly, everybody's attention seemed to be focused solely on them. The chatting faded away, except for the occasional snigger and whispered remark as they stepped inside.

"Malcolm, I'm not sure..." Trip began quietly, but was interrupted by the barmaid who had abandoned her place behind the counter and came to meet them.

"Can I help you?" she asked, ignoring Trip and looking at Malcolm. For some reason, she seemed torn between amusement and indignation.

Malcolm considered turning around and leaving - he had a strong feeling that they should be doing just that - but somehow, he didn't do it.

"Yes," he said instead. "We were wondering if you're still open for dinner?"

The woman, a stout lady of about fifty, gave him the once-over. "Yes," she said then. "We're open."

With her chin, she pointed at a table next to the door that led to the washrooms. "Over there. I'll bring you the menu in a minute."

They sat down at their assigned table, the eyes of the patrons following their every move. For some reason, their attention seemed to concentrate on Trip, who could barely keep from fidgeting.

"Am I wearin' my shirt the wrong way around or what?" he muttered to Malcolm, who could only shake his head and shrug. He had no idea what was wrong. They weren't the first alien visitors to Mura Kai, and except for a brown pattern on their ears and hands, the locals didn't look very different to humans. And even if the patrons had something against two aliens walking into their local hang-out, it didn't explain why they were only staring at Trip.

After ten minutes, the barmaid walked over to their table and dropped a menu in front of Malcolm. Again, she acted as if Trip didn't exist and left, adding over her shoulder that she would be back shortly to take his order.

Malcolm glanced at Trip and saw that the other man's eyebrows had drawn together.

"Maybe we should leave," Trip said, looking after the barmaid who was now serving one of the patrons a few tables away. "They don't seem to want us in here. Or me," he added, seeming to decide that there was no use in denying the obvious. "I've no idea what's wrong, but-"

"We're staying," Malcolm said, more sharply than he had intended. The way the waitress had treated Trip infuriated him, and for some reason it seemed very important that they did not leave. If they did, there would be a shadow hanging over the entire day, maybe even the entire shore leave. Malcolm decided that he wasn't going to let this happen, not because of a few local boozers and their attitude towards foreigners. "You've done nothing to offend them, and neither have I. There's no reason why we shouldn't have our dinner right here."

Trip stared at him, then a grin began to spread on his face. "Right you are," he said, reached over the table as if following a sudden impulse and took Malcolm's hand. "We're stayin'."

It was this moment the barmaid had chosen to return to their table. Her face grew rigid when she saw their joined hands, and for the first time, she looked at Trip, as if she could not quite believe what she was seeing. Then she turned back to Malcolm, obviously deciding that she was not going to comment on whatever had offended her.

"Your order, sir?"

Malcolm deliberately leaned back and nodded at Trip to place his order first. Trip consulted the menu again, then looked up at the woman.

"I'd like Number 14 and a glass of bhar'in, please," he said, trying to sound neutral. The barmaid turned her head as if she thought she hadn't heard him right.

"What?"

"I believe you heard him," Malcolm said. "The same for me, please."

She stared at Trip for another moment, then slowly turned her head to look at Malcolm. "As you wish, sir," she said, the last word dripping with sarcasm. She snatched the menu Trip was still holding in his hands, threw it down on her tray so that several glasses came close to toppling over and left for the counter.

"... not the sort of place," Malcolm heard her mutter, but her words didn't make any sense to him, and he didn't really care, either.

Trip was frowning. "The Vulcan Data Base didn't mention anythin' about this kind of thing happenin', did it?" he asked quietly.

Malcolm only shook his head. The Vulcans had only stopped briefly by Mura Kai, sending one landing party to visit the city while their captain had negotiated with the local government about some trade agreement. However, the Data Base had not referred to any incidents with the locals... and while the "Vulcans' Guide to the Galaxy", as Trip liked to call it, was seldom of any use when it came to finding out about good bars or restaurants, it was very reliable in its safety reports.

"Maybe it's just this part of the city," he said, but he didn't really believe what he was saying. Shortly before they had entered the "Dungeon", he had seen a Tellarite couple cross the street and disappear into one of the buildings, and no one had even spared them so much as a second glance. No... there was no denying that this was something to do with them in particular, or rather with Trip. And it was even worse since he had no idea what it was.

"May we?"

Malcolm's attention was diverted by two men who had sauntered up to their table. One of them was the patron who had first noticed them when they had come in; a stocky man with a ruddy face and a bald pate. The other one was younger, and looked as if he had had a little too much of the dark concoction the Mura Kairi seemed to prefer. He was wearing a pointy sort of hat, which, in Malcolm's humble opinion, made him look like Papa Smurf.

Both of them grinned in a way obviously meant to insult, and sat down on the chairs between him and Trip without waiting for an invitation.

Trip's frown intensified. "Can we help you?" he asked, in a tone that would have made any junior crewman jump to attention. The men, however, only exchanged a glance, then burst into laughter.

They didn't even bother to answer the question, and turned to Malcolm instead, still sniggering.

"Are you new here?" Baldhead wanted to know, leaning forward a little. Malcolm could smell alcohol and something foul on the man's breath, and had to pull himself together not to turn his head away.

"I'm not really sure what you want," he answered, careful to look the man in the eyes. "To be honest, I'd rather you leave us alone. We're not looking for trouble."

The man's grin wavered a little, but didn't disappear altogether. He turned his head a little to look at the man with the Papa Smurf hat. "They're not looking for trouble," he repeated, as if Malcolm had just made the most ridiculous of remarks. The other man chuckled.

"Right," he said, glancing at Trip. So far, neither man had really looked at the engineer, except for the occasional amused side-glance, but Malcolm was only too aware of the fact that Trip was the reason why these two men had come over to "talk". Trip knew it, too, and Malcolm could see that his partner was coming dangerously close to losing his temper. And to be honest, he was, too.

"You'd better go now," he said, hearing the snarl in his voice. It was not a line they taught you in the Interspecies Diplomacy courses, but he couldn't stop himself. Something about the way these two were grinning at each other really got him going.

"Well, maybe we don't want to go," Papa Smurf stated smugly, as if it were the most wittiest of replies. "Maybe we want to stay right here and... get to know your friend."

He said the last word as if it were an insult, and the look that accompanied it was anything but neutral. There was no denying it; the man was leering at Trip.

Malcolm could see that the engineer had just about had enough. "Listen," Trip began, raising his voice a little, "I've no idea what you want, and I don't care either. Why don't you-"

"Ooohh," Baldhead said, his grin broader than ever. "You've got quite a big mouth, haven't you? I wonder if there's other things you can do with your big mouth 'cept talking."

Before either of them could react, the man had reached across the table and ruffled Trip's hair. "Why don't we take you home and find out?"

Trip jumped up, but Malcolm was quicker.

"Leave him alone!" he snarled. He was so angry he was shaking, and wanted nothing more than to flatten the man's nose, knock those yellow teeth down his ugly throat and further. "Don't you touch him!"

"What?" Baldhead was no longer grinning, and got up as well. "You're gonna fight us for him, little guy? You walk in here with a n'ari and think you can tell us what to do?"

The UT hadn't caught the word, but Malcolm couldn't have cared less. He couldn't remember when he had last been so angry, but was sure that it hadn't been a pretty sight. There were few things that made him lose his temper, but when he did lose it, then there was no stopping him. He could not even have stopped himself - and right now, he didn't want to, either.

"Fuck off! Now!"

Baldhead looked as if he might consider leaving it at that, but Papa Smurf didn't seem very impressed. Now that Trip was no longer sitting, he gave the engineer's body an appreciative look and reached out, obviously intending to cop a feel. Trip batted his hand away, blood rushing into his cheeks.

"Who do you think you are?" he yelled at the man.

The moment Trip had lashed out at the other man, the room went silent. The other patrons, who had watched the little drama grinning and offering the occasional snide remark, suddenly seemed anything but amused. Some of them looked shocked, while others seemed outright infuriated.

Baldhead and Papa Smurf had frozen in place, the younger man's hand still hovering halfway in the air.

Then Baldhead opened his mouth. His grin was gone. "That," he said in a very quiet tone, "was a mistake, boy."

Malcolm knew that he should not have done what he did next, and he also knew that there was no other way, if they wanted to come out of this more or less in one piece.

Not bothering to reply, he grabbed the front of Papa Smurf's gaudy shirt and punched him in the face, hearing and feeling bones crack under his knuckles. The man staggered backwards, howling with pain and holding his hands in front of his face. His hat had slipped down his forehead and over his eyes, blocking his vision, and he stumbled into a table. Dark purple blood dripped onto the dusty floor.

Baldhead gave a cry of rage and charged Malcolm like an angry bull, but was stopped by Trip, who pushed him against a chair. Still in mid-run, the man lost his balance and fell, slammed into the chair and broke one of its legs in the process.

"Stop it!"

The barmaid had appeared seemingly from nowhere, a man in tow who looked as if he might be the proprietor. They grabbed Trip's arms from behind and pulled him away from Malcolm and the two men.

"Are you crazy?" the barmaid yelled when Trip struggled to get away. "We're not going to have anyone killed in here!"

"Let me go, goddammit!"

Malcolm wanted to tell them to release Trip right now, but was distracted by Papa Smurf, who had managed to free himself of the impeding hat and was now coming at Malcolm with his arms flailing. Malcolm didn't bother to use his fist this time, delivering a kick into his attacker's shoulder instead that sent the man crashing into a nearby table. For a moment, it looked as if he would stay down, but then he tottered back to his feet, bruised, bloodied, and ready to kill. He grabbed a glass - it had toppled over when he had impacted with the table - and threw it at Malcolm, who dodged it just in time. The glass sailed past him, sprinkled him with a few dark drops and shattered on the wall.

The proprietor, still struggling to hold on to Trip, began swearing in a language that was definitely not Mura Kai's main dialect - the UT only caught a few words here and there, none of which sounded as if they should have been used in polite company.

"Stop it, you idiots!" The barmaid had buried one hand in Trip's hair and was trying to drag him towards the exit. "Take your damn n'ari and get out of here!"

Trip seemed torn between his Southern upbringing (Hoshi had floored him more than once during training before he had stopped trying to "be a gentleman"), and the urge to land a good punch in the woman's face.

"Let me go!" he yelled, and then: "Careful, Malcolm!"

Malcolm whirled around and saw himself confronted with Baldhead, who seemed to have recovered from his encounter with the chair. Cheered on by the patrons, he came towards Malcolm with one of the broken legs of the chair raised high in the air, obviously intending to bury the splintered end in Malcolm's brain. If Trip hadn't cried out in warning, he might have achieved his goal; like this, however, Malcolm managed to duck past the blow just in time, and bring his fist down hard on the man's temple. Baldhead's eyes widened almost comically, then they rolled back in his head and he keeled over as if struck by lightning. His improvised club dropped from his hand and clattered onto the floor boards.

Malcolm allowed himself a moment of relief, but regretted it only a split second later. Something moved on the periphery of his vision, and then a large red thing came flying out of nowhere, connecting with the middle of his face. For a second, Malcolm couldn't see anything at all, then the darkness exploded in a chaos of colors. Somewhere beneath the pain, he realized that the large red thing must have been Papa Smurf's fist, and that the loud grunting he was hearing wasn't the screws in his brain rattling, but Papa Smurf celebrating his hit. Malcolm staggered, his hand finding the table and clutching its edge. Blood was dripping from his lips and chin, and he dimly saw the drops turning into star-shaped spots as they hit the floor. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the room returned to its former shape and colors, and Malcolm raised his head to see Papa Smurf's grinning face.

"Showed you, huh?" The man chortled, which made him look like a fat mastiff chewing on a bone. "That'll teach you to-"

He never finished the sentence. Malcolm pounced so fast that the man didn't even have a chance to raise his hands in defense, and punched into the leering face, feeling the blow reverberate in his broken nose. Papa Smurf's mouth dropped open - from surprise or pain, Malcolm couldn't tell - and then he staggered backwards, sitting down hard on a chair which happened to stand right behind him. He hadn't quite lost consciousness but seemed unable to get up anymore, swaying back and forth as if he couldn't decide whether to pass out or not.

"How dare you!" One of the other patrons had gotten up, a large man who looked as if he had had to duck in order to walk through the door. His face was scarlet, and he was sweating. "How dare you even bring him here!" He jerked his chin at Trip, who was still trying to wriggle out of the proprietor's and barmaid's grip. "You'll go to prison for this, and we'll see to it that they send your n'ari to the work camps!"

Only now did Malcolm notice that he was still shaking. "I don't know what the hell's going on here, but one thing I do know, and that is that you" - he glared at the large man, then at the other patrons - "will keep the fuck away from him! You hear me? Keep away, or else!"

Malcolm was not quite sure where the words had come from - he wouldn't have believed he would ever say such a thing until he heard it out of his own mouth - but he had no time to worry about it. The large man came a step closer, and Malcolm noticed that his muscles were tensing, as if he were preparing to attack.

"Or else what, p'kah?"

"You keep away from him," Malcolm repeated, and the red-faced man charged.

Use their weight against them, Malcolm heard himself tell his self-defense classes who were gathered around the training mat.

Use his weight against him, he thought as he grabbed the large man's arm, one foot firmly on the floor to gain momentum, jerked him upwards and sent him flying into the wall behind him. The man crashed to the floor together with chunks of plaster from the wall, raising a large cloud of dust.

Use his big fat arse against him and make him pop like a tomato, he thought, and could barely suppress a wild laugh. He was angry, he was shocked, he was scared - and this was fun.

Malcolm looked around the room, seeing shocked faces, angry faces - but no one seemed inclined to follow the large man's example and get up to confront him. The proprietor had finally let go of Trip, staring at his wrecked tables and chairs as if he were going to start crying any minute. Trip shook off the barmaid's hands, pushed her aside, and came over to Malcolm. He looked pale.

"You okay, Mal?" he asked.

Malcolm reached up to touch his upper lip, and brought his fingers away covered in bright red blood.

"I believe it's broken," he said, knowing that he was stating the obvious. Now that the adrenaline rush was subsiding, he was beginning to feel the pain - in his nose, his hands, his whole body. If the throbbing in his fingers was any indication, he had cracked at least one knuckle.

Somehow, however, he still felt good. He knew he shouldn't; he should be feeling anything ranging from guilt to shame for participating in a barroom brawl, wrecking half the furniture and leaving three of the locals licking their wounds. But he didn't. Hell, he hadn't felt so good in a long time.

While Trip was still watching him, Malcolm drew himself up to his full height and turned to the patrons who were still regarding him with a mixture of anger and anxiety.

Despite the blood clogging his nose, he spoke his next words very clearly. "Does anyone here have anything else to say?"

Apparently, no one did. Most of the men avoided his eyes, and for a moment, Malcolm thought he had seen a flicker of a smile cross the barmaid's face.

"I think we've outstayed our welcome, Mal," Trip said quietly with a side-glance at the proprietor, who was still mourning his broken chairs and tables. "Let's get out of here."

Malcolm nodded, but he refused to quicken his pace on the way to the door, and held his head very high. Once they stepped outside into the bright afternoon sun, however, his legs suddenly and unexpectedly refused cooperation, and he sagged against Trip, who caught him only a moment before he lost his balance. The world disappeared behind a blur, and when Malcolm's vision returned, he found himself leaning against Trip's chest, his bleeding nose having left a long red smear on the fabric.

Trip's arms tightened around him.

"Malcolm," he said softly, and Malcolm could feel him shake his head. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're absolutely and completely crazy?"

Malcolm could only nod. It was a statement he tended to agree with.

-----

After Malcolm had ended his story, Archer looked as if he couldn't quite decide which question to ask first. Finally, he settled for the one that had occupied Malcolm ever since they had returned from the planet.

"Why would they only go for Trip?" The Captain frowned. "You're both obviously not from Mura Kai, so if that was the problem, why didn't they attack both of you?"

Trip shook his head. "It wasn't like that. It was as if... as if I were some sorta pariah, someone who had no right to be among decent people."

Malcolm looked at his partner, who was studiously avoiding his eyes. Trip was trying not to let it show, but the way the Mura Kairi had treated him had left its marks. The realization hurt Malcolm, and remembering Baldhead and Papa Smurf out cold on the floor was only a small consolation.

"I believe I can help you there." Hoshi spoke up for the first time. She had arrived when Malcolm had been halfway into his story, listening in silence as he finished his description of their little run-in with the locals. Now, everybody turned around to look at her.

"Hoshi?" Archer prompted.

"Something the owner of that bar said made me wonder, and I asked the local authorities if I could do a little research in their planetary database." She looked at Malcolm and Trip. "The UT didn't translate the term "n'ari", did it?"

They shook their heads. The word had cropped up time and again, but the translator had never rendered it into English.

"I suppose it's some sorta insult," Trip said.

Hoshi nodded. "That's partly right," she confirmed. "The word is used as an insult, which is why the UT didn't get it right. Its meaning is too subtly varied to find a proper English translation. However, the original meaning of n'ari is "fair-haired person". It means "blond"."

Trip frowned, then began to shake his head as the full implication of what Hoshi was saying hit him. "You mean... all of this was about me bein' blond?"

"Essentially, yes," Hoshi said. "There is a legend in one of Mura Kai's religions about the Blessed One being betrayed by one of her followers. The follower abandons the Sacred Way and prefers to live in sin. The Blessed One tries to appeal to him several times, but the lapsed follower doesn't listen to her. Finally, the Blessed One curses him and his descendants, telling them that they shall live in shame for thousands of years to come, and that they shall serve the Blessed Sons and Daughters until they have atoned for their ancestor's sin."

"Let me guess," Trip said. "The lapsed follower was blond?"

"He was fair of countenance, like the murderous sun and the poisonous beetle," Hoshi replied, obviously quoting from an ancient text.

"Charmin'," Trip muttered. Archer ignored him and looked at Hoshi instead.

"So blond people are ostracized on Mura Kai?" he asked.

Hoshi grew serious again. "Yes," she said. "It's not so bad in the touristy places; they're used to off-worlders there and don't care much about the way anyone looks. It's still a big problem in the more backward parts of the cities and the rural areas, though. They even had a law stating that n'arii have to live in ghettos and can only go out at night. The Planetary Government repealed it fifteen years ago, but it looks like a lot of people haven't got the message yet. And..." She seemed a little embarrassed as she continued. "It seems that blond hair is seen as a sign of, well, sinful living. If n'arii go out into public, they have to keep their head, arms and legs covered at all times, so the Blessed Sons and Daughters won't be offended by the sight. If they don't..." Hoshi sighed. "If they don't, they're considered fair game by the rest of the population."

"So that's why those guys were comin' on to me," Trip said and chuckled mirthlessly. "They thought I was some sorta..."

He didn't finish the sentence. Malcolm, sensing that a change of subject would not be amiss, quickly jumped into the conversation.

"Is there going to be a problem with the authorities?" he asked, half-dreading the answer. He didn't even want to think about the prison and work camps the angry patron had mentioned.

Hoshi shook her head. "I explained to them that you didn't know Commander Tucker's appearance could cause a problem. They don't want any trouble with potential new trade partners and decided to forget about the incident. After all, no one was seriously hurt."

At her last words, she sounded almost amused, and Malcolm ducked his head. This "incident" could have well developed into an interplanetary conflict, and there would have been no one to blame but one Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. The idea of explaining to an assembly of Starfleet brass why he had wrecked the local pub made him cringe.

Suddenly he remembered something, and raised his head. "Captain, I believe Ensign Summers went down with the second landing party. Maybe we should-"

Archer nodded, already on his way to the door. "Let's just hope she managed to stay out of trouble," he said. With a glance over his shoulder, he added, "Try to get some rest, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded and watched him leave, inwardly crossing his fingers that the other landing party had not encountered any problems. Ensign Summers, with her bush of blond curls, definitely was what the Mura Kairi would call a n'ari.

"What I don't understand is why the Vulcans didn't mention this in their reports," Trip said.

Hoshi shrugged. "Well, maybe they didn't run into any trouble. There aren't that many blond Vulcans to begin with."

Malcolm let out an inaudible sigh. It was all beginning to make sense - the stares, the comments, the way the people in the bar had treated them - but that didn't change the fact that a chain of unfortunate circumstances had ruined their first shore leave in over four months. There was no way Trip could go back down to the surface, and Malcolm had no intention of going without him; not that it would be much fun, anyway, with a broken nose and a considerable collection of bruises to call his own.

Even worse, however, he had lost his temper in a way he would have never expected, coming that close to creating an interstellar incident. If he had shown only the slightest presence of mind, he and Trip would have never walked into that bar, and would have left at the first sign of trouble.

Prevent confrontations, Malcolm remembered the often repeated mantra from his security classes. A Security Officer's first and foremost job is not to handle but to prevent confrontations.

, Malcolm remembered the often repeated mantra from his security classes. .

He sighed. He had really buggered up this time. And his only excuse was that the Mura Kairi had touched upon his weak spot, one of the few things that made it impossible for him to stay calm. He could never stand by and watch when someone tried to hurt Trip.

"Thinkin' big thoughts?"

Malcolm looked up and saw that Hoshi and Phlox had left. Only Trip was still standing next to his biobed, watching him with a smile.

Malcolm sighed. "No, not really. Just telling myself what an idiot I am."

"Hey." Trip reached out and laid a finger on Malcolm's lips. Under different circumstances, the gesture would have been playful, but combined with the look on Trip's face, there was a tenderness behind that touched Malcolm.

"You're not an idiot. You're maybe a little..."

"Reckless?" Malcolm supplied. "Stupid?"

"I was gonna say explosive." Trip grinned. "You used some dirty moves down there. Bet they didn't teach you those back at the Academy."

Despite himself, Malcolm felt an answering grin tug at the corners of his mouth. Trip's tone was gently teasing, but there was something else in his eyes, something that came close to admiration. When Malcolm recognized it for what it was, he felt both embarrassed and proud at the same time.

"I might have picked up a few less... sportsmanlike moves on occasion." He hesitated, then said: "Listen, Trip, I know you can take care of yourself. I wasn't trying to be overprotective."

"I know you weren't," Trip said, and took Malcolm's hand. "I admit it may have bruised my ego a little to watch you take on the bad guys all by yourself, but I'm gonna get over it." A mischievous grin stole over his face. "And that fight was poetry in motion, darlin'. Wouldn't have wanted to miss a single second."

Malcolm couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing. A second later he winced and raised a hand to his nose.

"Ow."

"Come on." Gently, Trip pushed Malcolm back so he came to lean against the raised end of the biobed. "Let me tend to my wounded hero a little."

Trip was teasing again, and Malcolm allowed himself to relax and enjoy the pampering. Trip noticed and began to exaggerate on purpose, clucking and fussing as he spread a blanket over Malcolm and tucked him in.

"You okay?" he asked when he was done, sitting down on the edge of the bed and abandoning his impression of a mother hen worrying over its chicks. "D'you want me to ask Phlox to give you another shot for the pain?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No, that's fine. Just..."

He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by the intensity of his feelings. They'd been through much worse together; compared to some of their adventures - or rather misadventures - today had been little more than a small skirmish. Still... somehow, Malcolm really didn't want to be alone right now.

Trip smiled. "You want me to stay for a while?"

Not for the first time, Malcolm wondered if besides being outgoing, friendly, a brilliant engineer and occasionally the most annoying man in the universe, Trip Tucker also had a talent for mind-reading.

He nodded, glad that he didn't have to explain. Trip reached for his hand and they sat in silence for a while. Malcolm's eyelids were beginning to droop and he had almost drifted off when Trip laughed softly.

"What?"

Trip smiled. "You know, you didn't turn green, but for a moment or two you sure reminded me of Hulk down there."

"Who?" Malcolm asked. He could never quite keep up with Trip's innumerable acquaintances.

Trip shook his head, still smiling. "Doesn't matter. We can watch it some time or other, if you like."

"Sure," Malcolm replied sleepily. He had no idea what Trip was talking about, but that was all right. The important thing was that Trip was here, and that he was going to stay until Malcolm fell asleep.

Everything else could wait until later.

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