A/N: This is the first of my Enterprise stories which I'm posting here. I hope you enjoy it!

Desert Crossing is one of my favourite episodes - not just for the wonderful amount of whumpage, but the depth of friendship shown between Jon and Trip as they struggle for survival.

I just wish they'd shown at least part of its conclusion, but I suppose that's the drawback of limited screentime to tell your story. So here's my idea on how Trip's recovery might have gone, and how Jon resolves his guilt for putting his life at such risk.

Trippin' Out

Jonathan Archer had always been led to believe that doctors made the world's worst patients. Well, not any more. Right now, he'd say they had nothing, nothing, on heat struck engineers.

A handful at the best of times, a delirious Trip Tucker was more than a dozen doctors could handle. No wonder Phlox's ever present cheer had faded when his most regular patient arrived in sickbay. As brilliant a CMO as he was, not even he had the cure for 'herds of giant, rampaging wallabies.'

"I'm tellin' ya, doc, they're – they're real! See, tha' - that one even looks like the Cap'n!"

The Cap'n in question faced three battles now, as the Denobulan swung an amused glance towards him. To keep his face straight too, keep Trip on his bunk, and explain the origins of those mutant marsupials.

"Our survival training for Starfleet was in the Australian Outback. It was hot as hell there too."

More concerned now with the needs of his patient, Phlox just nodded while he studied his scanner. Any comments he may have had on his Captain's actions were kept under a tactfully considerate silence. Then again, he had no need to remind him of how stupid he'd been, to put Trip's life at such risk. No, he could manage that just fine on his own, the guilt he felt for it now removing all trace of amusement as Jon hovered anxiously at Trip's side.

"He's never been good in that kind of heat. He really didn't want to go, but I still talked him into it."

'…and damn near got him killed…'

And there it was. The unthinkable truth, that an overwhelmed conscience now forced him to admit.

"He knew how it would affect him, and… damn it. I should never have taken him down there."

He didn't want sympathy. He didn't deserve it. But, of course, Phlox still tried to offer it anyway.

"Well, you know the Commander, Captain. Wherever you lead, he'll always follow."

Met with unswayed silence, Phlox then found a more practical means to try and ease his conscience. Staring at the ice packs that had been pressed into his hands, Jon soon realized why they were needed. From delirious ramblings, to the verge of unconsciousness, Trip was now starting to convulse against him. As his already rapid heart rate shot upwards, Jon knew he had to use whatever means necessary to calm him down.

"Trip! No, Trip, no, you've got to keep still. Just take it easy, you're… damn it, Trip, lie still!"

Intentionally or otherwise, the effect on Trip was both instant and, for Jon, silently heartbreaking. Slumping back against him, the pain and hurt in Trip's eyes was almost too much for him to take.

"Wh-Why 're you s'mad a' me?"

Any absolvement of his conscience that Jon had managed to find vanished now, into a wince of dismay. It was the fever talking, he knew that. But it didn't make seeing Trip like this any easier. When he was able to understand it, he'd get a proper apology. For now, this one would have to do.

"I'm not mad at you, Trip. And I'm sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean to," he said at last, keeping his voice as calm as it had to be, and hoping Trip still trusted him enough to understand him. "But you're sick, you're real sick. I need you to stay nice and still for me, and drink this, okay?"

For a few hopeful moments, Trip's eyes cleared, just enough for both memory and lucidity to return. To Jon's frustration, though, that memory took them both back to an abandoned alien settlement, and a life or death battle of wills.

"But – But I don' like it, Cap'n… 't – 't tastes f'nny."

Forcing himself not to over react as he'd done before, Jon took a deep breath, then gently tried again.

"That was the old water, Trip, that I had to make you drink 'til we got home. This is much nicer. Come on now, just try it."

Met with a pouting defiance that could put a sulking toddler to shame, Jon had to smile. Okay, time for Plan B. And if Trip had reverted back to his childhood - well, two could play at that game.

"Tell you what, you drink the rest of this for me, and I'll go get you a biiig bowl of Rocky Road."

It worked like a charm. Even in the grip of this brutal fever, Trip Tucker still loved his ice cream. With some gentle help, he managed to finish the whole glass, savouring every precious mouthful. Then his eyes changed once more, growing as wide as saucers as he tugged urgently on Jon's arm.

"B-Bobby? Doc T'ylor looks reeeeal weird."

When this was all over, Jon promised himself, they'd both enjoy this memory. But not now. Not yet. Instead, quietly sympathising with the real big brother Tucker, he slipped naturally easily into his place.

"Well, he's… uh, he's come a long way, Trip. Made quite the house call to come look after you. So be good for him, okay?"

For what he'd had to face, the real Doc Taylor had his sympathy too. But, again, Jon couldn't enjoy it. In the time it had taken for him to nod towards Phlox and look back again, Trip's eyes had closed, exhaustion pulling him down into the depthless unconsciousness that he'd fought so hard to prevent.

Nothing was going to rouse him now. And for Jon, it was brought as much fresh worry as it did relief. He and Phlox had done all they could to save his life. Now all they could do was watch, and hope.

The turning point came four hours later. After peaking at 108.2, Trip's fever finally started to break.

He wasn't out of the woods yet, though. Despite this crucial breakthrough, he was still dangerously ill. And since its cause lay squarely with him, Jon still felt duty bound to stay with him until he recovered. Ignoring his own exhaustion, he'd helped Phlox to remove Trip's clothes, and bathe down his body, until the dishevelled figure in front of them started to look human again. But even that had been painfully hard for him, the bruises that mottled its left side rekindling a guilt that, this time, Phlox couldn't soothe away.

To play such a strenuous game, in such stifling heat - God, what the hell had he been thinking?

Four hours on, the answer to that question was still as far away from him as ever. So, too, was Trip, now held under a gentle mantle of healing medications. The fact that he was safe, alive, and starting to recover, was a source of comfort that Jon gladly held onto.

Now, though, he glanced down at his uniform, and winced at the stench that rose from the state of it. Damn, he smelled like a stable. No wonder Phlox had taken his research to the other side of the room. So when the doctor re-joined him a few minutes later, Jon knew what was coming. And knew what this answer would be.

"He's out of immediate danger, Captain. And it will be some time yet before he wakes up."

Whether in English, Denobulan, or any of the countless languages that Hoshi could translate for him – yes, from his own senses, and the silent plea on Phlox's face, he'd gotten this message loud and clear.

'You're my Captain, and also my friend… and as only a best friend would tell you…'

Jon had to smile as he nodded and rose to his feet. He didn't need any of Hoshi's help to translate that. Yeah, a hot shower, and a change into clean, fresh clothes sounded good right now. Damn good. And if he could match the record he'd set back at the Academy, to make that lecture on time, he'd be back within twenty minutes.

Even when it took him thirty, Jon didn't mind. Not when its cause spoke so much for Trip's popularity. A senior officer to his teams in engineering, he was also a friend to them, and everyone else on board. For every crewman he met en route to his quarters, and back to sickbay, they all asked the same thing.

"How's Commander Tucker, sir? If he's awake yet, tell him we're rooting for him."

Answering them with proudly hopeful optimism, Jon was still smiling as he returned to Trip's bedside. Greeting him there, Phlox was happier too, and not just from the relief for that freshly clean uniform. Studying the monitors that were measuring every change in Trip's condition, Jon gratefully shared it.

His temperature was down to 104.3. His breathing, too, was easier. Steadier. Not quite so laboured. And while his face had been so unnervingly still before, now it showed the first signs of awareness, his eyelids flickering as Jon rested his hand on his forehead, and let it run back to straighten his hair.

He knew it was too soon, for him to wake fully, but… no, these signs were still all he'd hoped for. After everything they'd just been through, he'd take this moment, and gladly wait for the others.

Tiredness from its ordeal still pulled at him, calling him back to his quarters for some much needed rest, but… no, his place was here. Trip had to come first.

Settling into his chair, Jon then opened the book he'd brought from his quarters, and started to read, needing just one hand to turn its pages, while the other kept its gentle contact against Trip's arm.

It was an absorbing read, too. The history of flight, dating right back to the days of the Wright brothers And this part of it was so intriguing that the next sign of Trip's recovery passed him by, unnoticed.

Awake for just a few moments, Trip glanced around him, until he saw Jon sitting beside his bed. Too weak to say or do anything to get his attention, he fell instantly back into a deep, healing sleep – leaving Jon to wonder, just seconds later, why he hadn't noticed the smile that had stayed on his face.

He hadn't been smiling before, so that meant he was either dreaming now, or he'd just… oh, hell. After all these hours of waiting, for the first moment that Trip woke up… and he'd missed it!

All interest in Amelia Earhart was forgotten now, as Jon leaned forward, and softly called his name

"Trip? Trip, can you hear me?"

Just a few seconds earlier… maybe. He may even have been lucid enough to recognize where he was. But no. As Jon realized himself now, the chance was gone. Another call of his name went unanswered.

Keeping a hopeful watch for a few more moments, Jon finally sighed and settled back into his chair – leaving the mystery of chapter ten for another time, so he could watch Trip sleep, and hear him dream.

Drifting between their depths and the first return of lucidity, it was… well, entertaining, to say the least. Not even his closest friend would have ever suspected that Commander Trip Tucker talked in his sleep. And sixteen hours after he'd asked it, he received a slightly more coherent answer to his question.

Every part of a warp reactor, and every one right. And, to his further delight, a peach of a follow up.

"An' – An' one o' th'se days, 'm gonna tell 'im… you – you c'nnot ch'nge the laws o' ph'sics."

Ah yes. Another of their favourite 'dinner debates.' Now, as always, it made Jonathan Archer smile.

"Well, thank you, Commander, I'll try to remember that," he grinned through softly quiet laughter, leaning forward once more, so he could make his chief engineer a mischievously whispered promise. "And when you're back in the land of the lucid, you and I are gonna have a really long chat."

07.10. And for Jonathan Archer, it had been a long, anxious, but ultimately rewarding night. As Phlox had proudly told him, all that effort of sponging Trip's face to cool him down had paid off. From Starfleet Captain to unlikeliest nursemaid? Yeah, he'd dryly told himself, he could live with that.

Quite how Trip would react to that revelation, though… well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. There'd be more serious ones to cross, too. Apologies to make and, he hoped, still the trust to accept them.

But, for now, Jon just let himself enjoy this moment. Trip was alive. He was going to be alright. All his vital signs were stable, and holding. And, best of all, Jon was sure he was starting to wake up.

He'd missed it the first time round, and had spent the next six hours waiting for it to happen again - hence the delight he felt when, if painfully slowly, Trip's eyelids started to flutter, and finally opened.

Still not sure how lucid he'd be, Jon leaned forward and smiled, as relief silently overwhelmed him. Yes, they were still clouded by pain and exhaustion. But there was also a spark of recognition. And in all the years they'd known each other, that unmistakeable drawl had never sounded so good.

"C-Cap'n?"

Feeling the weight of his conscience lift from his shoulders, Jon grinned back at him, and nodded, reaching for the cup of chipped ice that Phlox, with typical forethought, had already left for him.

"Yes, Trip, it's me. And I know you're feeling real lousy right now, but try to drink some of this."

From the way Trip stared up at him, Jon felt an unwanted, and unsettling, sense of déjà vu. It was the same, stubborn defiance he'd seen back in that desert, and its abandoned settlement.

He'd been delirious then, too sick to realize how desperately Jon was trying to keep him alive. He was slightly more lucid now. And, to Jon's amusement, less than impressed with 'chipped ice.'

"I – I thought you were bringin' me ice cream! A - A big bowl o' Rocky Road, you – you pr'mised."

Well, at least he hadn't sat up and demanded the prime rib and pie that he'd also been promised. Knowing him so well, Jon wouldn't have put it past him, and a further thought amused him even more. If this was what Trip had been like as a toddler… well, Mr and Mrs Tucker had his eternal sympathy.

Still laughing, Jon finally nodded while throwing a silent, 'help me out here' glance towards Phlox. As he'd hoped, the equally amused Denobulan was more than happy to fulfil this very special order – waving a hand to acknowledge a helpful reminder that it 'had to be Rocky Road, in a reeeeal big bowl.'

Yes, even on his sickbed, Trip Tucker could drive quite the bargain. So, too, could Jonathan Archer. Kinda like Porthos, if Trip wanted his treat so badly… well, he'd have to earn it, and finish this ice.

"Come on, Trip, you'll still have room for your ice cream. Just a little more, that's it… attaboy."

When a feeble push on his arm told him he'd had enough, Jon nodded, and took the cup away – not at all surprised that, by the time he turned back again, Trip had already drifted back to sleep. The quiet voice behind him, though? That was enough of a surprise to make him jump off his seat.

"Commander Tucker is hardly a… boy."

So glad that Trip hadn't been awake to hear that little gem, Jon couldn't resist reacting to it himself. Well, once he'd stopped laughing.

"It's a human term, T'Pol. A term of affection towards a youngest son, or a younger brother."

Even if she couldn't understand the humanity beyond it, a silent nod told him she'd taken his point. After studying Trip for several moments, her reply paid him, and Jon, a curiously human tribute.

"In terms of his age, and the relationship between you, he certainly meets its criteria."

Coming from her, it was one hell of a compliment. Jon returned it, too, with a proudly warm smile.

"Yes, he does. Trip was just born to be someone's kid brother."

'And he'll always be mine.'

Glancing at Trip, seeing again how much their ordeal had taken out of him, his smile then faded. It had been close. Too damn close. And, inevitably, his next words reflected its unthinkable alternative.

"And thanks again for getting us out of there. Your timing was perfect. We were under heavy fire, and… well, I doubt either of us would have lasted much longer."

If she'd caught the guilt in his voice, she wasn't showing it. Instead, she kept to straight, simple logic.

"I am sure the Commander will make a complete recovery. You, too, should get some rest."

When Jon just smiled and nodded, T'Pol knew her advice had been appreciated, but wouldn't be taken. As she realized herself as she glanced back from the doorway, his place still had to be at Trip's side.

And when Phlox returned with a laden bowl of ice cream, he found an even greater reason to stay – though even he had to admit that his motive for doing so wasn't so selfless as he tried to make out.

"Hey, it's melting, Doc! And by the time he wakes up… well, it'll be more like Rocky Road goo."

As excuses went, it ranked right up there with 'the dog ate my homework.' Luckily, Phlox still let it go.

Just to preserve the constantly threatened life of his Captain, though, he left him with a gentle advice. The kind that, perversely, almost caused Jonathan Archer to choke on a chunk of gooey marshmallow.

"As you wish, Captain. Just make sure you remember to hide the bowl."

Ice cream for breakfast. In hindsight, not the first meal of the day that Jonathan Archer would try again. From now on, he promised his still gently rebelling stomach, it'll be plain eggs and toast, every time.

It was his own fault, he supposed. Such a cold shock to his empty system would never be good for it. Or maybe it was some of Trip's distant ancestors, paying him back for stealing their boy's ice cream.

After a long and often fraught night for them both, that boy was still asleep, happily lost to the world. Yet the peaceful contentment on his face was still giving his Captain a serious case of the jeebies.

'I bet that's why he's smiling… he saw me, eating his ice cream, and… oh, God, he knows!'

If that was the case, Jon knew he was in serious trouble. When it came to payback, Trip Tucker had a very creative imagination. The last time he'd incurred its wrath, he'd paid for it, big time, the next time he'd turned on his shower.

For a start, the water had been freezing. Enough to make him yelp, and leap out of the cubicle. And, more to the point, he'd floated up to the ceiling, and stayed there, for a good twenty minutes.

The last time it had happened, of course, it had been a genuine malfunction with the gravity plating. But the second time around, when he'd seen the butter-wouldn't-melt innocence on Trip's face – well, just like his shower water defying the laws of gravity, that thought had gone straight out the nearest airvent.

So yes, whenever he saw that smile, Jon really started to worry. Seeing it when Trip was asleep worried him even more.

Speaking of which, as his runaway imagination was telling him, he was badly in need of that himself. Part of him wondered, now, if he should have taken up T'Pol's advice, and returned to his quarters. Yet the greater part of him, the part governed by duty and conscience, had kept him at Trip's side. As he smothered another lingering yawn, Jon just hoped that his friend appreciated the gesture.

Phlox had kept him supplied with food, and the strongest coffee Chef could make. But it wasn't quite strong enough. Somewhere in the massive face-bender that followed, he must have closed his eyes, maybe drifted off for a moment – because when he managed to force them back into focus, the first thing he saw was a priceless smile.

And beyond their concerned amusement, Trip's eyes were a clear, and blessedly coherent blue – although the 'Trip-Quip' that followed still held just a touch of post-delirium exaggeration.

"Damn, Cap'n! For a second there, I thought you were gonna eat me!"

Not daring to imagine how his suffering stomach would cope with that, Jon grinned back at him. It was a real smile too, borne from genuine relief that Trip had recovered so quickly from his ordeal. Its preceding worry must have still showed, though, since it triggered an equally familiar response - the kind his chief engineer trotted out every time he ended up in sickbay. This one, though, came with an intriguing twist.

"I'm fine, Cap'n. Just a bit sore, with sand in places not even my momma got to see."

A pause then, as he glanced around the surroundings that he tended to wake up in just all too often.

"Oh, and my usual bed, with the all round view, an' meals through an IV tube. Yippee."

Still intrigued by where that sand had gone, Jon felt his smile widen to an even broader grin. Even if it meant a week of cold showers, this chance to tease his friend was just too tempting to miss.

"Well, since you're in here so often, I think Phlox has pegged it as your favourite. One of these days, he'll even put up its own sign. Trip's Bunk."

"Oh, hardy har har."

As ever, that glare was priceless. If he'd had the strength, Jon had no doubt he'd have stuck his tongue out too, just for good measure. Instead, his eyes narrowed into an appraising frown. And when he spoke again, he was totally serious.

"Like I say, Cap'n, I'm fine. You, on the other hand, look like hell. So, what's goin' on?"

Still not sure how much of their ordeal he'd actually remembered, Jon wasn't sure how to reply either. With so much to apologise for, should he start now, or wait until both of them felt more up to it, or –

"Aw, don't tell me you're off on one of your guilt trips… 'cos if you are, you can stop it, right now."

– or should he remember that the best friend he'd ever had was also something of a mind reader?

A scary thought sometimes. But, at this moment, it was a trait that his conscience silently welcomed. Even so, Jon couldn't hold back the confessing apology which he'd waited so painfully long to say.

"I'm sorry, Trip, but no… not this time. Everything you went through down there was my fault."

After this outflow of words, came the other extreme. Just two, softly delivered, but emphatically meant.

"Horse hooey."

As Jon's eyes widened, so Trip's narrowed again, into what Jon fondly called the 'Tucker Ten Yarder'. Forget the measly, thousand yard version. This baby did the job, with nine hundred and ninety to spare. A blast of the equally feared temper usually followed. This time, though, came calm and quiet reason.

"If Zobral had let us leave when you got that call from T'Pol, none of it would have happened."

A typically pragmatic point, and T'Pol herself would have been impressed by such flawless logic. Despite his pride and relief at Trip's loyalty, though, Jon's conscience wasn't quite so forgiving – especially when he could see through it, to the pain and exhaustion he knew Trip would never admit to.

He was already succumbing to it again, and the wince he'd just seen only served to re-set Jon's resolve. When he'd regained enough strength to hear it all, he would get that apology. And he would accept it.

As he came to Trip's quarters, Jon felt the thought of what he'd face inside give way to a happier grin. The strains of a perfectly pitched harmonica boded well for the other music that he was about to face. So did the yell that answered his hail with, to Jon's ears at least, an undertone of hopeful gratitude.

"Come on in, I'm not contagious."

Stepping through the door, Jon took in the scene before him with even greater relief, and amusement. Stretched out on his bed, Trip was, for once, following his long suffering doctor's latest orders – the piles of books around him confirming Jon's suspicions that he was also chronically bored.

No wonder he greeted his Captain with such delight that the reasons for his visit became irrelevant. Jon just hoped it continued as he gave his friend a subtle once over, before he sat down beside him.

He still looked tired, his face still tinged with lingering sunburn. But the blue eyes were bright, clear. And something in Jon's must have betrayed him now, since Trip's then rolled in exasperation.

"I thought I'd gotten you off that guilt thing, Cap'n, but… damn, I must be losin' my touch."

Pulling a face too, that he'd again been read so easily, Jon then offered him a conciliatory smile.

"No, you're not, Trip, it's just that… we went through hell down there, Trip. And I need to talk it out."

He'd only placed the slightest stress on that single word, but Trip had still picked up on its meaning. His eyes reflected the concern beyond it too, as he finally nodded, and waited for Jon to continue.

"Yes, you're right. If Zobral had let us leave, none of it would have happened, but… Trip, it did. It did happen. You almost died down there, and putting your life at such unnecessary risk was my responsibility."

Realizing this was an argument he could never win, Trip sighed and, if still reluctantly, nodded again. He had to admit it, Jon was right. They had been through hell, and neither of them could deny it. As Jon now quietly reminded him, the responsibility for their ordeal rested solely on his shoulders.

"And at risk of repeating myself, everything that happened to us, to you, came from my actions."

Another irrefutable point, but one that now gave Trip an idea to try and ease his friend's conscience. Yes, he understood why Jon would regret his actions so bitterly, and beat himself up over them, but – well, those weren't the actions, and subsequent reactions, that Trip was remembering and reliving now. And if Jonathan Archer couldn't recognize them himself… well, he'd just need to accept a little help.

"I know I was pretty out of it then, Jon, but you know the actions I remember now?" he said at last, everything he said next followed by a pause, or a smile, or a change in his eyes, that silently said everything else.

"I remember you buryin' me in that sand, so that Torothan scouting ship didn't spot us."

'And keeping your arm around mine, so I didn't start to panic.'

"I remember you holdin' me up when I collapsed… givin' me your water."

'And saying you'd knock me on my ass if I didn't take it… oh, and yeah… good luck with that.'

"I remember you carryin' me into that settlement… everythin' you did to keep me alive."

'Though I still say you were tryin' to cheat… Draylax is a real place, Xanadu isn't.'

"I remember you throwin' yourself on top of me to protect me from that missile strike."

'Though you might wanna ease up on the pancakes… damn, you nearly flattened me!'

"I remember you crouchin' over me, ready to fight any Torothan who tried to threaten us."

'And where you were in the shuttle, all through the time that Malcolm was flying us home.'

"And most of all, above everything else, I remember the first face I saw when I woke up."

The pause afterwards was longer this time, creating a moment of silent understanding between them. Then, very gently, Trip made the point that brought duty, conscience, and loyalty back into perspective.

"You were where you've always been, Jon, every time I've needed you. Right there, beside me. And you saved my life."

Damn. If Jon hadn't had something in his eye before… well, he sure as hell had something in it now. His arm had already slipped itself around Trip's shoulders, and it now pulled him into a grateful hug, that lasted until Trip spoke again.

"It's over, Jon. We both came through it, and we're gonna be okay. So, just let it go."

A warm smile had taken any hint of the Tucker Ten Yarder out of his eyes. And just in case Jon still wasn't convinced, a priceless insult left them both helpless with laughter, while still speaking volumes for the closeness between them.

"But you're still an idiot. Bobby was an idiot, too. All big brothers are idiots."

"Yeah, after growing up with two of them, I'm sure Lizzie would agree with that," Jon shot back, making the most of this brotherly moment, and giving Trip's hair a playful ruffle as he rose to his feet. "And from that same prerogative, I'm telling you to get some rest. I'll see you at dinner."

As Trip grinned and nodded, Jon smiled too, through the invitation he'd thought they'd never live to see.

"Oh, and I don't need to remind you that today's Wednesday, so bring that famous appetite."

"Yeah, I can almost taste that prime rib an' pie already," Trip agreed through an equally broad smile, his parting grin filling his friend with equal parts of delight and 'how-the-hell-does-he-do-that?' dread.

"Oh, in case you've forgot, you also owe me that ice cream. Two bowls, at least, that I never got to see. And yeah, I am gonna get you back."

Yeah, he knew alright. And as that grin evilly widened, Jonathan Archer whispered the only thing he could think of.

"Oh, boy."