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Malcolm sat on the bed in sickbay, legs dangling off its edge. He clasped a blanket tight around him as he sat, unable to ward off the chill that had overcome him on the bridge. He pulled it in tighter as he waited for the results of whatever tests Phlox had conducted. Questions asked, he'd half-answered. Blood and other fluids taken. Electronic readings. He knew what the doctor would find - nothing. He was tired, and no more.
He looked up at the shuffling of feet to find Tucker standing there expectantly, arms tucked behind his back. The man was clearly uncomfortable - he was nearly standing at attention, and it took quite a bit to get Tucker to do that.
"You okay?" Tucker asked.
Malcolm shrugged. "Phlox is still checking results." He leaned forward, dropping the blanket behind him and exposing the scrubs into which Phlox had had him change. He wanted to appear together, and sitting huddled in a blanket was not quite the image he wanted to impart to his superior officers. "Honestly, Commander, I'm just tired. I overslept, and -"
Tucker cut across him. "Please. You look like crap. Phlox tells me you've lost weight, and I don't even know what that was up on the bridge."
"Sorry."
At that response, Tucker groaned a long-suffering, "Right," and sank into the chair beside the bed. He peered up at Malcolm with a frank gaze. "You've got me worried."
Malcolm looked away. "Nothing to worry about."
"Have you been sleeping?"
"It's not that," Malcolm said softly, knowing that he was lying.
"Something's obviously bugging you," Tucker said, keeping his voice soft.
"Really, I'm fine," Malcolm said with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug.
"Listen, if you need to talk about -"
"It's not that!" Malcolm snapped out. At Tucker's look of surprise, he apologised. "Sorry, Sir," he said quickly. Then, softer, "Sorry. I'm just tired." Tucker's expression told him that the man thought he was, as Tucker would put it, full of shit, so Malcolm added, "I'm fine. I've been working out, probably not eating enough to compensate."
Tucker leaned forward a bit, his gaze piercing. "Malcolm, do you even remember what you did up on the bridge?"
Malcolm tensed, fingers wrapping around the edge of the bed, because no, he did not. There was a blank there, between sitting at his station and finding himself standing across the room and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened in between.
Tucker went on. "You started shouting, then took off like a bat out of hell. You were completely out of your head. Are you honestly going to try to tell me all that happened because you missed a meal or two?"
Malcolm noticed Phlox approaching from his office.
Tucker had obviously seen the doctor, too, because he stood and, in a voice so low as to not be overheard, said, "You know, if you'd just -" Cutting himself off, he gave Malcolm a resigned look and said, "You don't have to trust me with it, but at least tell Phlox." He hesitated, and as Phlox reached his side, finished with, "No way you're going back on duty until this is resolved."
A not-so-veiled threat, then. Malcolm watched Tucker and Phlox exchange looks as Tucker left the room, and Malcolm knew then that he was sunk. And more then that, the commander was likely right. He had been losing weight. Skipping meals to sleep, to make up for lack thereof at night. Extra exercise, less meals, not a good formula. All because of these bloody nightmares.
"So, Lieutenant" the doctor began. Customary smile missing, he cast a glance around the room as if to be sure that they were unobserved. "I know the medics asked you questions when you first came in."
"As did you," Malcolm said, not sure where this was leading.
"We'll put that aside for now." Phlox tilted his head to the side, giving Malcolm a look that was frankly evaluating. "Care to start again?"
Malcolm hesitated. He had wanted to be able to deal with this on his own, but obviously, he could not. He sighed, then started. "I've been having nightmares."
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