This was my first attempt at writing anything and I am very grateful to my friend Cheryl, who had the patience to read it and offer her valuable advice. Without you, I would have never had the courage to post!

For those who read this story for the first time:

English is not my mother language, so excuse any mistakes! I'll be glad to know about them, though, so that I can learn from them. I use British spelling – when I get it right and the computer doesn't change it without me noticing...

Thoughts and stressed words are in italics.

Like a lamb to the sacrifice

Trip raised his hand to trigger the sickbay doors open and winced. I suppose havin' a hole in my hand still beats missin' it altogether he mused; yet the idea of looking straight through his "appendage" – as the doctor had called it – gave him the creeps and as soon as he was sure of being out of Phlox's sight he slipped the glove on again.

Right now, for some reason, he felt inclined to agree with Malcolm, who notoriously found the good doctor's unfailing cheerfulness 'bloody annoying'.

Malcolm…

Trip trudged along the corridor still feeling every bit of the tension of that long day, plus a good dose of unease, which he knew was not a good concoction if one was hoping to get a night of peaceful slumber. Wouldn't it be nice to give in to his weariness, take the longest shower and collapse into bed… but he just couldn't think of going to his quarters without checking on Malcolm first. He was certain the obstinate man was blaming himself for the day's events and that he would find him struggling, stuck in the quagmire of his inflexible conscience.

After the funny incident when Mal had found Archer's own communicator on the floor of the cell ship, the ride from the planet had been done in almost total silence; but Trip had sensed that the smirk the Lieutenant had given his Captain upon returning the misplaced device had had a certain quality to it that . . . Trip just couldn't put his finger on it, but one thing was sure, it hadn't been a smile of happiness, or even relief.

We came so close to losin' them…

He shuddered at the memory of his two best friends with a noose around their necks and forced his reluctant legs to quicken their pace.

The Captainwas going to be ok, probably he was already talking with T'Pol.

Ha! In fact he's most likely gettin' the umpteenth lecture on the dangers of cultural contamination! Trip chuckled aloud at the mental image; then cursed under his breath: Rostov was coming along the corridor and at the sound had cast him a puzzled glance. His 'lost' hand already attracted enough attention as it was, he'd better not make a total fool of himself by giggling all alone leading people to think that he was also losing his marbles.

So he schooled his features to 'Commander', nodding to Rostov as they passed each other, and Michael nodded back, both of them the picture of professionalism.

Yes, the Captain would be alright, he would put the incident behind him soon enough, but Malcolm… that problematic Brit was another story. Well, here he was. The sooner he did this, the sooner he'd be in his own quarters, to try and get some shuteye.

Trip gave a resigned sigh and rang the bell.

Time to indulge in your favourite pastime, Loo-tenant, the Barin' of the Soul.

In the dimmed light of his quarters, Malcolm had been stretched out on his bunk for the past half hour, with one arm under his head and his eyes closed. After they had docked, he had quickly made his way to his room. He knew he should probably visit Sickbay, let Phlox 'have fun' with his bruises, but he had told himself that he just couldn't stomach facing the obnoxious ear-to-ear grin the doctor would undoubtedly give him. Damn, who am I trying to fool here! I came straight to my quarters not because I wanted to avoid Phlox, but because I needed to be alone with my thoughts – he reflected bitterly.

He also knew that a shower would be a good idea, but the moment he had set foot in his room he had dropped onto the bed like a rag doll, all energy suddenly gone. He was still wearing the clothes he had on the planet.

The bell rang and he was startled out of his meditations.

What now! Unless there is a Klingon bird-of-prey threatening to blow up the sodding ship, bugger off, whoever you are!

But instead he croaked out "Come!"

Pathetic! I sound as hoarse as the old man that time he fell overboard and caught pneumonia.

The door opened and a dark figure was silhouetted against the light of the corridor. He immediately recognized Trip's unmistakable shape. The man was unique, only he would come to pester him at 11 pm after a day like they'd had.

Malcolm pushed himself to a sitting position, turning his head slightly to the side to hide a grimace of pain. When had his body begun to ache like that? He hadn't received more than a few blows… of course it might help if he remembered to relax his muscles a little.

Trip was quick to catch the move, however, and wondered, not for the first time, what had really happened on that blasted planet before the rescue. Both men had seemed pretty battered. Suddenly he felt remorse for barging in on his injured friend uninvited.

"Sorry Mal. I… didn't think you'd be asleep already."

"It's alright. I wasn't really. Just relaxing" was the soft reply.

"Mind if I come in?"

"By all means, Commander, provided you don't insist in calling me Mal."

Trip smiled and took a couple of steps to allow the door to swish closed. Malcolm's attempt to make light had been spoilt by the sheer exhaustion in his voice, and Trip felt even less confident that he had a right to be here. I should've really let the man rest, this could've waited 'til tomorrow…

"Right, then, let's hear it. What is it that you want, at twenty-three-hundred, Mr. Tucker?" Reed's brusque change of tone took Trip by surprise.

Uh, oh, Armoury Officer in combat mood, I suggest a quick retreat – a little voice in Trip's brain whispered. But he resolutely pushed it back. He was here now, no point in leaving without at least testing the subject a little.

"Well I thought I'd come'n give you the good night kiss and tuck you in, Mr Reed."

Malcolm hadn't meant to sound rude, and he immediately regretted it. After all Trip was here because he cared about him, and he couldn't say that of many people he knew. He studied his friend's face for any sign of resentment and when he found none he heaved a deep sigh and proceeded to apologize.

"Trip, look: I'm sorry. Truth is I've had a rough day and… I'm still, sort of, on edge."

"Yeah, well, it's understandable. I only wanted to make sure you're ok. After we docked you were gone in a flash. I thought I'd meet you in sickbay… but I should've known that was the last place you'd visit."

"Sickbay, right… how is your hand? Why don't you sit down."

Reed, still seated on his bed, rubbed his tired eyes and gestured to the chair near his desk. Trip virtually collapsed onto it. You're not the only one who's darn tired here.

"My hand? Finally decided to come back from its leave of absence, bless her, but with a cute, round hole in the middle of it. Gives me the creeps. Looks like somethin' you used for target practice. But Phlox says it'll be ok, eventually."

Malcolm gave a weak chuckle at Trip's mocking tone and they fell into a companionable silence. Reed had lain down on his back again and was staring at the ceiling, absorbed in thought, and Trip took the opportunity to examine his friend closely for the first time. A few ugly bruises, but he had seen worse on the Lieutenant; there was something in those gray eyes though… something unsettling.

"You want to tell me what's botherin' you?" Trip questioned gently, leaning forward on his knees.

"You know damn well I don't! I'll be fine," Reed snapped. There was a short pause and then he added, with a voice so deep and low that Trip almost did not recognize it "Good heavens! How can you ask that? You saw what happened! We came this close to being hanged!" Malcolm's voice cracked on the last word.

Trip hadn't come here to aggravate his friend, he didn't want a confrontation, and since his own exhaustion left him easily excitable he held Malcolm's angry glare only for a moment, before averting his eyes. He wondered if getting Malcolm furious would actually help the Lieutenant, perhaps any feeling Reed was going to vent on him was better than nothing.

Still… somethin' isn't right here. Trip made an effort to try and focus his befuddled mind. Malcolm had had so many brushes with death - hell, the man seemed to attract danger! He had seen him countless times face it fearlessly without a thought for his life, why should this particular close call leave him so… anguished?

For lack of anything better, Trip mumbled, "I'm sorry…" Yeah, congratulations, that will really make the man feel fine again, he silently reproached himself.

Said man had now taken to pacing his room, nervously.

Trip felt helpless and unequal to the task. At the moment his mind was just too mushy, totally incapable of finding a way around his friend's defences. He had come here to help, but was failing miserably.

"Listen Malcolm… if you don't want to talk, it's ok. I understand. I'll let'ya get some rest. God knows it's deserved. Look, just thought I'd mention… if you need anything, you know where to find me," Trip offered. He rose and made as if to walk to the door.

"Do you believe it would have been right for us to sacrifice our lives to avoid cultural contamination?"

The question had come out of the blue and Trip almost stumbled over his own feet, which had actually started to move. Malcolm, on the other hand, had stopped pacing and was looking at him with narrowed eyes, as if daring him to leave now. Don't you let me down now, Commander. You want to talk? Then answer that if you can – he seemed to silently challenge.

Trip slowly sat down again. Can't both think and stand at the same time, way too strenuous at the moment. He took a deep breath. "That's a helluva loaded question. I'm not sure I know the right answer," he answered sincerely.

Malcolm had taken a couple of steps away and was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed on his chest. He was in relative darkness, so Trip could not make out his expression, but the pain in his voice, when he next spoke, was quite plain.

"We were waiting for them to come and get us… for the execution; I couldn't stay still in one spot, I kept pacing like a caged animal. If truth be told… I was afraid. I'd told the Captain that I wasn't, but I was. And I was angry. Bloody furious! Nothing to do but wait to be slaughtered… That's not in my job description. I am a trained tactician, for heaven's sake! I'm supposed to analyze a situation and react to it… not walk like a bloody lamb to the sacrifice! I just couldn't stand waiting idly to walk with my Captain to our death, and for what? Sodding cultural contamination! What a joke! Surely people's lives are more valuable?"

"Yeah, especially when it's the lives of friends," Trip murmured, almost to himself.

Malcolm had grown agitated and Trip could hear his ragged breathing. Suddenly he felt a lump in his throat and the urge to go up to his friend and touch him, show him some comfort, or even grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake, and shout to him you are alive, dammit! You are both alive and well, let's get over it and move on! But something told him Mal wasn't in the right mood to appreciate either gesture.

After a moment Reed resumed.

"The Captain, though, was convinced that saving our lives was less important than avoiding contaminating the very people who were about to kill us! And you know what the funny thing is? Mad and scared as I was, I couldn't help admiring him, for he was so in control. In command. He gave me strength. Without him, I don't know if my legs would have supported me, when they finally did come to get us."

Malcolm had spoken the last words so softly that Trip had almost missed them. He knew how difficult it had been for Reed to admit to his weakness. And he was surprised at the confession; the Armoury Officer, after all, had always been the strong one, the one ready to jump into fire without as much as a thought for his own life to save a crewman. Even that time in the Shuttlepod he'd managed to find strength in the end, where Trip had failed.

Now we're talkin'… so that's what's eatin' you, the fact that you feel you were weak, you almost lost it and had to rely on someone, someone who was stronger than you…

"Look Malcolm, you, I… we're only human. And the Capt'n too. I'm pretty sure he was just as scared as you down there."

Malcolm made no sign that he had heard. "Before we walked up the stairs that led to the gallows, I was numb with fear but the Captain was actually thinking of how he could save my life," Malcolm snorted. "He told them I was the tactical officer, that I could give them information…"

"Well, if anyone on this ship can appreciate that gesture that's you, Loo-tenant. Aren't you the one who's always thinkin' of how better to save his fellow shipmates?"

Trip saw a shiver run through Malcolm's body and this time he did not hesitate: In a couple of strides he was in front of his friend and had his shoulders firmly in his grasp. They looked at each other silently -- there really was no need to say anything -- and he searched Malcolm's eyes. There was still regret and a lot of tiredness in them, but the anguish seemed gone.

"Great security Officer!" Malcolm grunted. "My stupid carelessness almost cost the Captain's life…"

"Ah, hell, Malcolm! Stop that. We all make mistakes. Sooner or later you'll have to start acceptin' that you're no different, you know?"

Reed had lowered his eyes again, but now looked back up into his friend's gaze and found that it was full of understanding. This talking business does have some redeeming qualities he realized. He was feeling better. He was grateful to his friend for his support and it was time to express it.

"Thank you for passing by, Trip. Really. I…" Before he could add anything else, the doorbell rang again.

Apparently I was wrong, Trip is not the only one who would come and bug me this late on such a night… Malcolm contemplated. He sighed and pushed away from the wall to go and answer the call.

"Captain…"

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Malcolm. Just wanted to drop by before I finally get some sleep."

"Not at all, sir. Please come in. Commander Tucker is here too." The Lieutenant stepped aside to let Archer enter.

"Evenin' Capt'n, ah… I was just about to leave. Dang tired. See you in the morning, Mal!" Trip winked at Reed, who was scowling at the use of his nickname, and quickly left, before the Captain could even greet him.

Malcolm stood stiffly, hands behind his back. "Would you like to have a seat, sir?" he asked politely.

"No, thank you, I won't stay long. As I said, I just came by to see how you were doing. And don't stand so stiffly Malcolm, for goodness sake, if your muscles feel half as sore as mine do, you risk pulling a couple of them! I don't think you'd want to spend extra time in Phlox's company, would you?"

At the mention of the doctor's name Reed immediately allowed his posture to relax a little and gave Archer a faint smile. But a moment later it was gone, replaced by a frown, and before he could even think, the next words were out of his mouth, "Captain, I feel the need to apologize…"

Archer let out a half-amused, half-annoyed chuckle. "Haven't we discussed this already? I seem to remember that I gave you the choice between time in the brig or a good flogging, Lieutenant."

"Please, sir…" Reed cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "Losing my communicator is not the only thing I need to apologise for. I… my behaviour on the planet… I feel I let you down, sir. I doubted your decision and… if truth be told I still wonder if cultural contamination is more important than life… but more importantly I… was not strong enough. I was afraid, I never imagined I would have to face death passively. I am ready and prepared to die in battle… in hand to hand combat; but an execution… without having committed any crime… I suddenly found I could not face it, Captain."

Reed was looking at his feet, amazed at his own confession. Trip had definitely begun to change him. Just a few months ago he would have never been able to tell this to anyone, let alone his CO!

Archer tone was firm and gentle at the same time as he countered, "Malcolm, I don't seem to remember you fainting, or throwing up, or throwing a fit. Of course you were afraid, you were going to die! I was terrified, but I didn't dare show it. It's one of the burdens of command. As for the question of cultural contamination, it's not an easy one to answer. You are entitled to your own ideas, but down there I felt I was doing the right thing. I was only sorry it meant ordering you to what I then thought would be your death."

Well, here it was, the last hurdle, thought Reed. Come on Lieutenant, you've gone this far, might as well make the last leg. "Speaking of which, sir, I haven't thanked you yet for trying to save my life. It was a… generous gesture." Not that I feel I deserved it…

"Saving lives is usually your department, Lieutenant. Sorry I tried to steal your job," Archer noted with a grin.

There was one very last thing Reed needed to say to his Captain. It was there, sitting on his tongue, and yet it would be so easy to keep it inside. Perhaps he could save it for another time. Hadn't he already opened up enough for one night? But he had to make a clean breast of things, or he knew he would regret it.

Unconsciously standing once again at attention, he forced his eyes to meet Archer's. "Captain, I know I made it quite clear in the past that I found your style of command… questionable. We are different and often disagree on things; but I want you to know that I am… quite honoured to serve under you, sir. You are a fine Commanding Officer, if I may say so." Surprisingly, it hadn't been all that difficult to confess.

Archer tilted his head on one side, a puzzled smile playing on his lips. All this was rather unexpected coming from the usually reserved Armoury Officer. When he had gone to Reed's quarters he didn't know exactly what he had expected, but he would have never imagined finding Malcolmin the mood for confidences. Not that he had anything to object.

"Are we? So different, I mean. We are both fiercely loyal, after all. Think about it, Malcolm. My loyalty to you may have made me want to find a way to save your life, but your loyalty to me made you follow me to our supposed death. I'd say you don't have much to feel ashamed of, Lieutenant."

Malcolm found the notion that he might actually have something in common with Captain Archer quite funny and almost shook his head to clear it. Absurd. I'll have to ponder this when my brain can function properly again.

But the words had lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders. Maybe the Captain was right. Maybe his behaviour on the planet could be classified as acceptable, under the stressful circumstances.

"Alright, Lieutenant, let's get some rest. I believe we are both in dire need of it."

Slapping Reed's shoulder gently, Archer opened the door as he prepared to leave.

"Night, Malcolm."

"Good night, sir."

Just before the door swished closed, though, Archer poked his head inside again "Ah, I don't want to see you around before o-nine-hundred tomorrow."

"Thank you, Captain."

The door was closing again…

"… and don't forget to pass by Sickbay, before coming to the bridge. Phlox was pretty peeved you haven't let him treat your bruises yet, so I suggest you don't keep him waiting any longer than necessary."

"Aye, Sir."

Swi…

"One last thing, Lieutenant: that report to Starfleet you asked to write… try to have it ready for tomorrow night."

"Will do, Captain."

This time the door did close and Reed quickly went to lock it.

Ah! Silence… privacy… relief…!

Malcolm wondered briefly if he should take that shower, then dismissed the thought. He was so bloody exhausted he was not sure he'd make it to the bathroom. He didn't even undress, just kicked his shoes off and slipped under the covers. That's not me – he thought – in fact, that was not me the whole bloody evening. It must be Trip's bad influence. But he couldn't find it in himself to be mad at the Commander. The man could be stubbornly annoying in wanting to change his reserved character, but if he was honest with himself perhaps he had a good point. And it couldn't be argued that his friendship was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

He heaved his first peaceful sigh of that long day and was nearly in the arms of Morpheus when all of a sudden an image flashed before his mind's eye: why on earth had Archer sported a malicious grin when he had reminded him of the report to Starfleet?...

Bloody hell! I asked to write it before I realised I had lost the communicator… now I'll have to give a detailed account of my own foolishness and of…

Reed muttered a colorful string of obscenities -- who said he wouldn't make a good sailor -- then turned on his side and decided give his worries a rest.

THE END