A story set in the earlier days of Enterprise's mission; I'd say late Season One.

Grateful thanks to my beta reader RoaringMice.

§ 1 §

"What d'ya miss?"

Trip cast a glance across the decon chamber to the bench on the other side, and the man stretched out on it. His mouth had caught up with his wandering mind and blurted the question out without grounding it into a context. But Malcolm and he had been in silence, each laying flat on a bench, for a long time – too long for this ebullient Southerner. His thoughts had found an outlet in that vague rambling.

"From Earth," Trip now clarified to the owner of the puzzled grey eyes which had turned to him. "Is there anythin' you really miss from Earth?"

"Why?" Malcolm asked quietly, returning his gaze to the ceiling; then – whether aware or not of how telling the gesture was – hiding his face behind a bent arm.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Why what? Why am I askin' ya, or why do I think there might be somethin' you miss?"

The dismissing huff that floated his way was already a partial reply. It was followed by a single word, the punch of which was like the slamming of a door – shutting you out, of course.

"Both."

Trip could not believe Malcolm could be so detached, so unemotional about what he had left behind; that there would be no person, no place which made his heart clench with wistfulness when he thought of them. But of course it was much more likely that the man simply didn't want to share. He shot another glance to his friend, but the arm was still in place, and the glance was lost on him. Well, Trip wasn't going to be discouraged so easily.

"Come on, Malcolm, there's got to be somethin' you miss!"

Disbelief and frustration sent his voice up, along with shooting a wonderful spike of pain through his skull. He hissed and grimaced, which earned him another glance from the aloof man across. It contained a hint of concern – well, they were in the same boat, literally and metaphorically: whatever happened to one would, presumably, also happen to the other.

Damned alien planets with their alien microbes! And things always seemed to happen to them. No wonder the crew called them the Disaster Twins. No one else had picked up anything more than a cold bug in months. Malcolm and he, on the other hand, had spent two hours on a planet and now risked spending God knew how much time in quarantine. Their balance was all but gone and if the shiver that had just travelled down his spine was anything to go by, they were also about to develop a temperature.

"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked, grey eyes now boring into him.

Trip felt an incongruous desire to giggle, but curbed it; it might trigger not only another stab of pain, but also a few suspicions about his sanity. He settled for drawling out sarcastically, "Ya've gotta be kiddin'. I can't keep myself upright; I've got the shivers; and if I speak too loud my head hurts. How's that for bein' alright?"

"Not bad," Malcolm replied in a dark voice.

Gingerly, Trip rolled on his side and studied his friend. It was always difficult to understand what the man felt, what went on in that complicated mind of his. But all the more so when something was troubling him, or when he was not well; that's when Lieutenant Reed would divert all energy to his personal shields, so that his weakened core would be well-hidden and protected. Time to send a photon torpedo to try and pierce them.

"How about you, what are your symptoms?" he asked directly.

"Trip, what's wrong with a bit of silence?" Malcolm immediately non-answered, snappily, eyes back on the ceiling. "A moment ago the thought actually crossed my mind that you had begun to appreciate it. A false hope, it turns out."

"Yeah, absolutely. I don't like silence; never have. We'll have plenty of it in the grave."

Malcolm shot him another, slightly more concerned look. "I trust Phlox will find a way to put us back on our feet."

Trip could hear a hint of doubt lurk behind the dryness of his explosive consonants. "Come on, ya know I didn't mean that," he said deadpan.

Undeterred, Malcolm muttered, "In any case, unlike you, I happen to like silence. So if you don't mind…"

So silence it was, once again. To please Lieutenant Reed.

The boring lack of interaction lasted, in fact, only a few minutes. It was Phlox who came to the rescue; but Trip's budding relief turned sour when he saw the frown on the Doctor's usually jolly face, on the other side of the access hatch's glass.

"Commander, Lieutenant. I'll need another blood sample, if you please." Phlox said in his professional voice. He placed two hypo syringes in the pass-through and slid it closed.

Trip exchanged a glance with Malcolm. This must be – what – the fifth blood sample they had been asked to give. "What's the problem, Doc?" he enquired, failing to produce the light tone he had aimed at. "Any more samples and we won't have to worry about this bug any more, we'll be bled dry."

A pale and mirthless smile appeared on the Denobulan's face. "Commander, kindly get the syringes and do as I ask."

Trip gingerly pushed to a sitting position, knowing the room would start to spin. "Isn't there anythin' you can give us to restore our balance?" he very nearly whined, putting two fingers over his eyes and anchoring himself to the wall with his other hand.

"I'm working on it, Commander," Phlox replied in what sounded like a slightly over-protective tone.

Not good.

With a deep breath, Trip slowly pushed to his feet. Then, holding on to anything that would help him keep upright, he shuffled to retrieve the syringes. He almost startled when Malcolm appeared beside him, staggering too. Damn, the man could be stealthy even when barely able to stand. But he was grateful for his effort. He wasn't sure he wanted to walk the distance between their benches and the access hatch more times than strictly necessary.

When they were done, Phlox gave them both a long, covertly assessing look. "I will get back to you as soon as T'Pol and I manage to make some leeway contrasting this virus," he said rather vaguely. "In the meantime, try to rest."

Trip grimaced. "That all? Arent'ya gonna tell us if we'll live?"

It was some kind of a joke – or so he told himself; in any case, something meant to trigger one of Phlox's obnoxious smiles and an 'Of course you'll live, Commander!' But the Doctor's face, instead, remained straight as he said, "This virus is very aggressive; potentially lethal. We haven't found a way to counter it or slow it down yet." Probably seeing the dismay that Trip knew had appeared on his face, he added, "There are some things we can still try, and we won't give up, rest assured."

With a slight nod, Phlox left, leaving them in a much heavier silence than the one he'd found them in.

TBC

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