AN: I'm all jazzed about the new Star Trek movie, but I enjoyed Enterprise and its characters as well. This is one story I wrote over a month, but I'm posting it all at once in three chapters. Let me know if you like it. If you're confused about the characters, but want to read my stuff, visit and look up the TV show for a quick recap.

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"That's an order."

Trip scowled as he leaned back on his bed, hating the sound of the words in his own head. Captain Archer, eternally cheerful and optimistic, seemed to get a real kick out of saying those frequently, especially to Trip.

"That's an order."

Adjusting to space life had been hard enough – the gravity always felt slightly off. Trip would reach for a heavy, iron tool, and sometimes he had to lug it off the ground and other times it seems to weigh nothing at all. One time, he had yanked too hard and hit himself in face with a foot-long wrench.

Then he had gone to dinner that night with a red bruise on his cheek, and Archer had demanded to know how he got it. When Trip explained, Archer had ordered him to sickbay to let the doctor examine it. When Trip protested it was nothing, Archer had replied, "Go on to the doctor. That's an order, Commander."

Those three words could drive Trip absolutely crazy. Because after they were said, there was nothing else Trip could do except follow his captain's orders.

Like that time Trip had gone on another ship and the air had burnt his lungs. He had wanted to come back to the Enterprise, only Archer insisted that he stay on the other ship and rest, like the alien crewmen told him to. When Trip protested that he couldn't take it, Archer had replied cheerfully, "Take a nap, that's an order."

Trip had reluctantly done so and he did feel better, practically healed after sleeping, but then he had played that mind-reading game with the bewitching female alien and somehow managed to get himself pregnant. He only carried the alien babies a few weeks, but Archer had been the worst – always covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile and going around with his eyes laughing at everything while Trip had been in the agony of hormones and shame.

So annoying – Archer, who always thought he knew best about everything, who gave the orders for everyone to follow, who would rather have T'Pol be second in command than Trip who had every right to be second in command over that blank-faced Vulcan.

A light tap sounded on the door, and Trip scowled even harder. "What?" he called out shortly.

The door slid open and Archer stepped in, his forehead creased in concern. "Kind of late for you to be up, isn't it?"

Trip bit his tongue to keep from yelling back something mean.

"By earth hours, it's three in the morning," Archer noted. "You worked on the lower engines all day. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Not tired," Trip muttered.

Archer considered for a second and then nodded along. "Sure, but don't you think you should try? We keep the hours so we all can have regular hours of eating and sleeping. Keeps everyone from over-working or getting too stressed."

"Who cares?" Trip shrugged. "Look outside. It's dark all the time except when we get near stars or other suns."

"Something bothering you?" Archer raised an eyebrow. "You've been kind of short all day."

"Just tired," Trip looked away.

"That's why you should sleep."

"Just leave me alone," Trip snarled. "I'm fine, I'm good, and I'm so freakin' dandy that I can barely stand myself."

"Keep this up and you'll spend the night in sickbay," Archer warned, his good-natured tone deepening into a warning.

"Why? I'm not sick!"

"Sound like you've got a case of the space blues that's turning into grouch-itis."

Another time Trip might have smiled at Archer's joke, even chuckled. But in his present mood, he just glared at the older man and glanced away.

"Fine, stay up," Archer held up his hands, backing towards the door. "But this better not affect your work performance tomorrow."

Trip thought about retorting that it was already tomorrow or that nothing could affect his job performance, but he settled for a disgruntled huff.

Archer left the room, and Trip fell back into his brooding silence again. Perfect Archer and his great moods, always wanting everyone well-rested and well-fed and in good spirits and everything else stupid and lame. As a general rule, Trip agreed with his captain that a successful crew needed those things, but right then Trip wished everyone on the ship was as miserable as he was.

How nice it would be if Archer were a tyrant of a captain who kept them up to all hours of the night, fed them only once a day, and did all he could to crush their spirits. Then Trip would have every right to hate him. Instead, he had to admire and respect the man who did his best to make sure everyone got along and had a peaceful time up in space.

Furious, Trip stormed out of his room and headed for the exercise rooms. Most of the hallways were dim, an effort to conserve energy during sleeping hours. Of course, a handful of people were on watch should anything go wrong, but they were placed at strategic spots along the Enterprise so the rest of the ship could be lit only by small blue lights. The gravity was turned lower as well, and Trip felt lighter as he walked down the hall.

"Dang gravity," he sneered as he entered the exercise rooms. Flipping on the overhead light, Trip went for a stationary bike. He began pedaling on a low level, going for endurance rather than speed.

He had loved riding a bike as a kid, over the flat road of Florida, and he wondered what would happen if he got a real bike and rode it on the corridors of the Enterprise. A childish thing to do, but Trip often wondered if it would be easier to pedal in lower gravity.

He worked himself for several hours, pushing himself harder and harder until he could barely keep his eyes open. After the incident with Reed on the pod in which they were both certain they would freeze to death in space, Trip found himself having trouble breathing hard, his lungs feeling a bit shallow.

Trip shakily went to his bed, his legs weak from exercising so hard.

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And of course the next day, Archer came to him and requested that they go to a desert-like planet to visit a captain named Zobral. Despite his reluctance, Trip finally agreed, only because Archer pushed so hard. That was the thing about Archer – when he wasn't giving you orders, he managed to manipulate your feelings and thoughts so you felt bad if you didn't go along with him. When Archer said he really wanted Trip to go along, Trip just laid his head on the nearest shelf and gave in.

Thirty hours of heat, sand, dehydration, and several bruised ribs from a brutal game with Zobral's men, Trip found himself in an abandoned shelter with Archer, unable to stay awake. Trip could not stop shivering and he wanted to sleep, but once again Archer would not leave him in peace.

"Come on, Trip, you have to stay awake," the captain argued. "If you sleep you'll fall into a coma. Keep talking to me."

If he could have managed, Trip would have sworn at his captain, damning him for bringing them out to the desert, making them walk so far in the blistering heat, and then forcing Trip to drink from Archer's water though Trip had protested he was fine. That was another about Archer – he would not give up. So if he said they were going to talk and not sleep, then they were talking. Trip knew enough about the stubbornness of his captain to recognize defeat, and he kept himself away enough to answer Archer's insistent questions.

By the time they were actually rescued, Trip was numb and delirious. He lay in the tiny cabin of the flight pod and stared blankly at the opposite wall. Archer sat beside him, trying to rally his spirits by patting Trip's shoulder and promising everything would be all right.

"We'll get you to the doctor," Archer assured him. "Some water, a few nights sleep, and some food, and you'll be ready to work two days from now. The doctor will heal you up fine, so you just rest and we'll take care of you."

Trip could not concentrate on Archer's cheerful words. In the tiny cabin, Trip could see his parents sitting on the other side. They kept blurring in and out of vision, but Trip could see his mother's patient smile and his father's proud look. Trip blinked and they disappeared, and he started seeing friends that he had left back on earth. He tried to talk to them, but they kept vanishing before he could tell them anything important.

"Can this thing go any faster?" Archer's voice had a desperate edge to it as he watched Trip's eyes glaze over.

"We're going as fast as we can, sir," Reed replied. "Just a few more minutes."

Archer glanced at Trip and reached a hand up to palm the younger man's forehead. "He's still burning up. And his heart won't stop racing. Trip, stay with us. Just hold on a little longer."

Trip could not hear him. He kept trying to wave to his friend, only his arms wouldn't work. He kept edging closer and closer to the soft darkness that began to fill the pod, easing around him like welcoming fingers of black fog.

Then the whole world jerked, and Trip felt himself being pulled up off the ground by demanding hands. He tried to bat them off – why wouldn't they leave him in peace? But he had no strength and they pulled him where they wanted. Suddenly, he lay flat on his back, but he was still moving, the world around him had turned into a myriad of colors and light.

"Hurry, hurry," Archer ordered as he, T'Pol, and Reed carried the stretcher bearing Trip towards sickbay. "He's not responding."

"We are almost there, Captain," T'Pol said evenly. "I contacted the doctor so he will be prepared to help the moment we arrive. Just one more corridor."

Archer looked down at Trip, watching the younger man rolling his eyes up at the ceiling, not seeing anything. "Keep breathing, Trip. Deep breaths. That's an order."

The familiar words broke through Trip's delirium, and he tried to scowl and tell the captain he wasn't taking his orders anymore. But Trip couldn't remember how to speak, and he let himself fall back into the dizzy colors.

Dr. Phlox was waiting in sickbay, a narrow cot all set up and several hanging bags of fluids. "Yes, yes, put him up on the bed. Easy now, don't jar him. Ah, he's terribly warm and on the brink of full-blown delirium."

"But he's going to be all right?" Archer asked, watching the alien doctor anxiously.

"Just a case of heatstroke, very easy to treat. Of course, the healing process depends mainly on the patient. Let's hope our Commander will allow himself time to heal properly."

"He had better," Archer said, a definite sharpness in his voice as he watched Phlox cut Trip's torso out of his uniform, swab his left hand clean, and inject a needle into the vein on top of Trip's hand. Trip groaned but made no further protest to stop the doctor.

Phlox hook up an IV to the needle, letting the liquid seep slowly into the dehydrated man. "The most important thing about heatstroke is keeping the patient warm and not trying to cool them too quickly. Before doctors used to dump fever-ridden patients into ice baths, hoping to cool them, but it only speed up the rate of their heart even worse. A sponge bath to clean him, and then more liquid and lots of sleep under a thin, damp blanket should right his health, but we must proceed slowly. T'Pol, please undress him."

"Excuse me?" T'Pol lifted her eyebrows.

"A victim of heatstroke must be completely undressed to facilitate cooling," Phlox noted as he began collecting various instruments and blankets.

T'Pol frowned the slightest bit but reached forward to unbutton Trip's trousers.

"That's all right," Archer stopped her. "I'll help the doctor with the commander. Why don't you and Reed make contact with Zobral and communicate our recent adventures?"

"Sir," T'Pol nodded as she and Reed left.

With Phlox's help, Archer stripped Trip down to his bright blue undershorts and stood by anxiously as Phlox covered him up the younger man with a damp blanket. Trip had not moved, and Archer bit his bottom lip, afraid Trip had lapsed into a coma.

"He's just numb," Phlox assured him, scanning Trip and frowning at the screen of the scanner. "He's awake, but I doubt he can hear us. I see that he has several bruised ribs which lead to breathing troubles, I imagine. That's why he succumbed so easily to heatstroke. Also, he suffered near hypothermia aboard Shuttlepod One – his body was subjected to extreme cold. Now he has been subjected to extreme heat. Hard for the human body to endure. Leave him to me, Captain. I will assure that he has the proper medical treatment."

Archer hesitated, clearly wanting to stay and do more for the young man, but the doctor looked very capable as he took out bottles and squares cuts of cloth, obviously about to clean the young man up. With one last look at his quiet commander, Archer left sickbay.