Disclaimer: These great characters belong to Paramount, and I'm just playing with them.

Sickbay Chronicles

Dr. Phlox had recently added isolationist groups to his list of universal constants. The latest round had resulted in severe musculoskeletal damage to both his patients. He was confident that they would both make a complete recovery, but in the meantime was watching them closely.

Once they made significant strides towards recovery, a week into their stay, Phlox was no longer sure that he would survive their recovery. They were both his most frequent patients and most obstinate patients. Having Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed in Sickbay together was a recipe for frustration.

They were prone to somewhat heated discussions of power consumption. Captain Archer had mentioned that they probably returned to the subject because they had exhausted all others; this was suspicious because Ensign Sato had brought both men copies of a book. Phlox was irritated by the arguing after several consecutive days, but not for personal reasons. He harbored concerns over the effects of the stress on their recovery. When he mentioned this, it stopped the debate for just over an hour. They were soon back at it.

"Only four percent? All that power an' you can only improve the speed by four percent?"

"A four percent increase in the speed of our torpedoes could make the difference between life and death."

"So could maintainin' engines!"

"If we use a Verellian power converter, we could make the four percent with even less power."

"Only twenty percent less, but the converter itself would take five out of that. Besides, Verellians are always needin' realignment."

"We already have three Verellians operating."

"Three too many. Those things are headaches waitin' ta happen!"

Sufficiently concerned, Dr. Phlox decided on a course of action. He took two empty padds off his desk. He'd find others to write his reports on.

"Commander, Lieutenant," he began, "you'll need these."

"What for, Doc?" asked the commander.

"Your autobiographies," he replied, ignoring their incredulous stares. "Neither of you seem willing to refrain from activities that will hinder your recovery, so I'm giving you an assignment."

Commander Tucker seemed not to believe it. "We have to write our life stories?"

"Don't worry," grinned Phlox. "I won't be grading them."

Trip had initially been unimpressed with Phlox's idea, but had quickly warmed to it. As the oldest son, I became the third Charles Tucker. As long as I can remember, though, my family called me 'Trip.' "Hey Malcolm, how's your comin'?"

Malcolm groaned and handed over his padd. Trip looked at the paragraph his friend had written. "Your life didn't start with Starfleet!" he protested.

"Nothing worth mentioning happened before that," replied Malcolm.

"You've never known any historians, have you?"

"I take it you have."

"My sister-in-law. Believe me, there is nothing that she doesn't think is important."

Malcolm took his padd back and tried to shrug. The effort didn't pan out because his shoulder wasn't quite up to the task of reaching towards his ears, and he scowled. "I don't intend to let any historians get their hands on this anyway, and that goes double for journalists."

Trip punched a few characters in. "I'm callin' mine Life (So Far). How 'bout you?"

"I don't have a title."

"You can't write an autobiography without a title!"

"I am writing this purely to make Dr. Phlox happy, because keeping Dr. Phlox happy will keep Captain Archer happy."

"You still need a title."

Several silent minutes later Malcolm announced, "Far and Away."

"What?"

"That's my title. Far and Away."

"Not bad," commented Trip.

"Considering your title," Malcolm retorted, "I'm not sure about your judgment."

"What's wrong with my title?"

"It's not terribly original."

"Gentlemen," reproached Phlox.

"Right. Sorry Doc." Before resuming his work, Trip muttered just so Malcolm could hear, "It's original to put parentheses in a title."

Malcolm rolled his eyes and went back to business.

"Trip?"

"Mmm?"

"We're not going to write about Risa, are we?"

"You're already at Risa? I'm still on summer camp when I was thirteen!"

"No, I'm still on my first year at Starfleet Academy. I just thought I'd check."

"I don't see why we have ta tell the world about that."

"Good."

"Malcolm?"

"Yes?"

"I need another word for 'take apart.' This is gettin' repetitive."

"How about 'disassemble?'"

"Already used that one."

"'Dismantle?'"

"That's a good one. Any more?"

"'Dismember?'"

"I wouldn't've come up with that one. Any that don't start with 'dis?'"

Malcolm thought for a moment. "Sorry, no."

Hoshi, as usual, stopped in for a few minutes on her lunch break. She couldn't stay long, but it was nice to see her. Trip looked over after she left and saw Malcolm with a smile on his face, working on his padd. That smile caught Trip's attention. It was suspicious, because Malcolm never smiled in Sickbay.

The timing of this dawned on Trip. "Malcolm," he began in his nicest voice, "it sure is nice of Hoshi to stop in, isn't it?"

"Quite nice. I only wish we were better company."

"Oh, I don't think she minds." Trip had to work hard not to laugh. "There's something funny about her visits, though."

Malcolm looked up. "What?"

"Well, Hoshi's great an' all, but it seems like she's not bein' very fair with these visits. See, she's more interested in you than me." He paused for effect. "I was startin' to take it personally, but then I realized you seem awfully happy to see her."

"We're cooped up in Sickbay and can't even walk ten steps. I'm thrilled to see visitors."

"Well, yes, but you don't keep smilin' after anyone else leaves. I think there's more goin' on here than you say."

"I'm afraid I haven't got the foggiest idea what you're referring to, Commander," replied Malcolm.

"'Course not," grinned Trip. "But do tell, Lieutenant. I've lost count. How many of the last movie nights have you two sat together?"

"It's not like you're extraordinarily subtle, you know."

"What?"

"There is obviously something going on with you and T'Pol," grinned Malcolm, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"I'm startin' ta think we should keep this entire conversation to ourselves."

"That suits me just fine. I do have one question, though."

"What's that?"

"When are you going to tell the captain?"

Trip grinned mischievously. "The same time you do."

Malcolm considered that seriously. "Good idea. Strength in numbers."

Rolling his eyes, Trip turned back to his padd. "You can take the man out of the armory, but you can't take the armory out of the man."

Mickey and I worked on that boat for most of the summer, improving it as we went along. Eventually there was nothing else we could do but wait for the day of the race. Trip was about to skip ahead to their homemade-boat race victory when he smelled lunch. He looked up in time to see the door shut and Dr. Phlox wheeling the trays over.

"What've we got today?" He really, really hoped that it was a bit heavier than the meals they'd been served lately. It would be a long time before he felt the same way about soup.

"Chicken salad sandwiches, milk, and grapes," replied Phlox in his ever-cheerful manner.

"Not soup?" asked Malcolm, daring to hope.

"No."

"Excellent!" Malcolm popped a grape into his mouth. "There's even lettuce in the sandwich."

What Trip really wanted was catfish, or a good thick steak, but the chicken salad was an improvement. He struggled to sit up, and reluctantly accepted Phlox's help. "Bon appétit!" he told Malcolm.

"Tu aussi," responded Malcolm. He swallowed and continued, "Le sandwich est tout á fait bon."

"Um, Malcolm?"

"Yes?"

"I don't actually know any French."

After a trying round of physical therapy, Trip settled back on his bed. He concentrated on T'Pol and felt her intense concentration. That wasn't surprising; she'd mentioned a comet-comparison study when she stopped by for her pre-shift visit. Still weak, he couldn't maintain that level of their bond for very long, particularly with Malcolm making a racket as he settled back in.

It was all highly logical but very unfair that T'Pol felt their bond much more strongly than he did. Despite that, however, she was teaching him techniques, and as time passed he was able to sense her better. For the time being, however, he had little extra strength to devote to the endeavor.

Satisfied, Trip relished her gentle presence as the bond returned to its natural level. T'Pol was always with him.

His train of thought was interrupted by Malcolm. "Trip, did you ever meet Lieutenant Commander Haren?"

"Horrible Haren?"

"The one and only."

"I remember that some cadet rigged a balloon with clear glue an' glitter in his office a couple years after I graduated. That made a great story."

A sly grin crept on Malcolm's face. "Didn't it?"

"Hey, you know somethin' about this!" Trip's eyes got big. "Don't tell me you did it!"

"Certainly not. I would never compromise my career with a childish prank."

"Oh."

"I merely suggested the glitter."

"You what?"

"I told him that if he was going to go through all the trouble, he should at least add something impossible to clean, something that Haren would hate, to the glue. Something like glitter."

Trip laughed so hard that his battered body protested, but he couldn't stop. "Ow! Ohhhh, you're killin' me!"

"It was a pity nobody got pictures," mused Malcolm.

"Oh, my ribs!" His whole body shook with laughter.

Dr. Phlox came out of his office. "I'm glad that you two are enjoying yourselves, but it would be a good idea to do it in a way that doesn't cause so much pain."

"Doc," said Trip as his laughter slowed, "you never met this guy. He thought he was the best thing to happen to Earth since sliced bread, an' he treated everyone else like a servant. Even his superiors, half the time!"

Malcolm did a decent impression of the infamous man. "'Cadet, if you wanted to fool around, you should have joined the circus.' That was his famous line."

"You know what he told me once? 'If it were up to the likes of you, Tucker, we'd have ships all right, but no administration to control them. Do you think I'm harsh because it's all fun and games? Someone has to give you kids a reality check. We can't let Starfleet turn into a space circus.' But right over his head someone had written a sign that said Join the Circus."

Malcolm almost choked on his laughter.

Captain Archer stepped into Sickbay and was struck by an unusual lack of sounds. Oh, there were the soft rattling noises from Phlox's menagerie, but no conversation. Since Trip and Malcolm had been in Sickbay, this kind of silence only happened when they were asleep. He'd checked to make sure his visit didn't coincide with their mandated afternoon nap, a daily cause for complaint from both of them.

He looked around. Dr. Phlox was analyzing his medical screens, and both his patients were intently engaged in something on their padds.

"Hi," he began.

"Cap'n! I hope you've come with news of life outside Sickbay." Yes, Trip was definitely awake.

"Good afternoon," greeted Malcolm, who also seemed to be quite awake.

Phlox turned around to give his own welcome. "Hello, Captain. I trust you're not here to incite my patients."

Archer had learned that such remarks were supposed to be jokes. "Not at all, Doctor." He turned his attention back to his recovering officers. "What are you doing?"

"Writin' our autobiographies," replied Trip without hesitation.

That didn't seem like an activity either Trip or Malcolm would come up with. "I take it this is Phlox's idea."

"Yes," sighed Malcolm, "although I don't see why I can do this but I can't even go over reports."

Phlox piped in, "Captain, since I gave this assignment to Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, the level of stress they've been experiencing has dropped significantly."

"We've been forbidden to talk about modifications to ship's systems," explained Malcolm with a scowl.

Trip tapped his padd. "This isn't so bad. It sure beats sittin' here without a thing ta do."

"Except allow your bodies to heal, of course," added Phlox, who was developing a habit of interjecting himself into conversations.

It occurred to Archer that he really would have to behave himself next time he landed in Sickbay. "You're not missing much. We've entered a nebula today, so we're slowing down in order to take better scans."

"How's Porthos?"

"He had an adventure during our morning walk."

Trip looked at him expectantly. "What kind of adventure are we talkin' about?"

"Apparently T'Pol had stepped on a piece of cheese in the mess hall. He ran over to her when we met in the hall, and I spent five minutes trying to coax him away." He sighed. "All that trouble over the smallest piece of cheese he's ever eaten!"

"Good thing he's grown on her," replied Trip.

"At first I thought that she was just hiding her dislike better, but she really doesn't seem to mind him."

"Yep," continued Trip, "those eyes are impossible to ignore."

Malcolm, who had initially been skeptical of Porthos joining the crew on principle, nodded. "He's really quite well behaved. That helps."

"See? Even Malcolm's got a soft spot for him. Impossible to ignore."

"I do wonder," pondered Malcolm, thinking aloud, "if we could train him. He could be your personal guard dog."

Trip laughed, and Archer looked like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing as well. "I don't think that will be necessary," he said. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a report I need to finish."

When he left, Malcolm heard what could only be Archer laughing just outside the doors. He looked over at Trip, who was staring at him with a silly grin. "I wasn't kidding, you know," he huffed.

"Of course not, Malcolm. Of course not."

To be continued…

A/N: For anyone curious, Malcolm's French line translates: You too. The sandwich is quite good.