Fortunately, at this hour the corridors of Enterprise were practically deserted. It would have attracted extremely unwanted attention for the head of Security to be seen being half-carried by his senior officer, and T'Pol was grateful that they'd encountered no-one by the time they'd reached the turbo-lift.
Still more fortunately, this was unoccupied when it arrived. She helped the lieutenant inside, but although he leaned hard against the wall, his eyes closed, as soon as the doors shut his hand shot out and slapped the control to halt the lift where it was.
"Accident," he said, speaking with difficulty; he appeared to have bitten the side of his lip. "My quarters … I slipped."
She looked at him carefully, with concern. He appeared to be suffering mental confusion, probably as a result of the blow to the head. "Lieutenant. You were attacked. This was not your fault."
His eyes rolled open. They were hollow with bitterness. "I know."
T'Pol contemplated that statement. "You wish the commander to escape the consequences of his actions."
The huff of sour laughter was undoubtedly ill-advised. He pressed a hand gingerly to his hurt side, wincing, and muttered something about 'never live it down'.
The five years she'd lived among Humans had enabled her to recognize irony when she heard it. She also recognized that the tactical officer was trying to deflect her from his real motive.
It had taken time for the seed of friendship to take root in the stony soil of the Englishman's reserved nature. It seemed, however, that once established, its roots went deep. There was more bitterness in the additional irony that a man whose loyalty had been called into such terrible question by the captain was now displaying his loyalty to a friend who had inflicted both physical and emotional harm on him. The latter, perhaps, was probably the more severe of the two, and would take far longer to heal – if it ever did.
"It would be irresponsible of me to conceal the truth of what has happened," she said sternly. "Mister Tucker assaulted a junior officer without provocation. At the very least it should be entered into his record."
He looked at her, at that. The ghost of a smile played painfully across his bloody mouth. "Let's not beat around the bush, Sub-commander. I know exactly what he thought he saw. And if our roles were reversed, I assure you I wouldn't have stopped at putting the boot in. In the circumstances, I thought his behaviour was positively restrained."
His next move surprised her; it was so utterly unlike anything she would have expected from the self-contained man opposite her. With his free hand, he reached out and touched her cheek gently. "He's in love, T'Pol. He did what any man worth his salt would do. And if this went on his record, it would be an injustice. I don't want that."
She swallowed. For the thousandth time since her ill-starred experimentation with trellium-D, the thought went through her mind that her people had been wise to determine that emotions were something that should be kept under the firmest control. "Doctor Phlox may not feel your injuries consistent with the type of 'accident' you describe."
"Probably not. But the good doctor and I have an understanding. I dare say he'll be open to a little bribery." Seeing her incomprehension, he smiled again; this time it was no more than a little wry. "I'll explain what happened and promise to be on my very best behaviour if he'll keep it under his hat. I'll be so good he won't recognize me."
That the officer who regarded the Starfleet regulations as the lodestar of his conduct on board ship should be now proposing that two other officers aid and abet him in concealing a serious incident from the knowledge of the captain was sufficient proof of how far he was in earnest. And more telling proof of the real generosity of his nature, that he was able to see past his own pain and understand the motives of the man who'd inflicted it on him.
"Don't paint me as a saint, Sub-commander," he said drily, doubtless reading her thoughts with little difficulty. "I'm damned if I want to see him kicked out of Starfleet for playing Saint George to my dragon. We need him here. And I suspect I'm not the only one who feels that way. Though maybe not for the same reasons."
"I am sure the captain would also feel the loss," she concurred, pressing the release on the lift mechanism so that they could proceed to Sickbay.
Apparently her reply had been sufficiently dampening, for he made no comment – unless the hint of a grin could be regarded as a comment. At any rate she could safely ignore it, so she did.
The two of them said no more until the double doors of Phlox's domain hissed open to admit them.
The doctor was seated at his work-bench, examining some slides. He looked up at the unexpected entrance, and his expression of inquisitive welcome slid momentarily into one of resignation as he recognized that his most regular patient was once more in need of his expertise. Nevertheless, he pinned on his dauntless, professional smile as he rose and came forward. "My, my, Mister Reed. And you haven't even been on an away mission today!"
"Spare me the jokes, Doctor. My own fault, I assure you. Didn't step high enough when I got out of the shower." The picture of dejection, he hopped unbidden onto a bio-bed and gingerly removed his tank top. It certainly did not require the services of a detective to ascertain the site of his injury: it was already darkening with bruising, and he flinched away, hissing with pain, when the Denobulan applied even the gentlest pressure to it.
Phlox sighed. "I suspect you have at least one fractured rib, Lieutenant. Into the imaging chamber with you, to see what the full extent of the damage is."
Submissively Reed got down off the bio-bed again and extended himself on the padded trolley that the doctor brought out from the chamber.
"It's most unlike you to be so clumsy," Phlox added, noting the damage to his patient's face. His tone was conversational, but the blue eyes were very sharp.
"Can't think what came over me." His face was absolutely guileless. That in itself was enough to make the doctor suspicious.
"Possibly you had overtired yourself in the gymnasium earlier on," said T'Pol a little severely, just in case the Denobulan was more gullible than she suspected.
"Yes, I – I suppose I very well might have done. Sorry, Sub-commander."
Anything more he might have said was cut off by the trolley's sliding into the chamber, and the door of it fell, sealing him in. Phlox immersed himself in setting the controls, humming to himself. Occasionally T'Pol suspected that he rather enjoyed pitting himself against Lieutenant Reed, but this was not the time to speculate on it.
Her business here in Sickbay was over; there was nothing she could do to assist, and to linger would only arouse the doctor's curiosity as to her involvement. Fortunately he had not asked how it had happened that she had come to be escorting the lieutenant here when the injury had supposedly occurred in his quarters – they were hardly on friendly visiting terms, particularly at this hour. It might be rather awkward if he got around to asking why, if the patient had tripped when exiting the shower, his hair was still completely dry and he was fully clothed, but doubtless Mister Reed would be able to come up with some plausible answer to that without her assistance.
"Oh, Sub-commander – I almost forgot!" Phlox's cheery tones halted her just before she touched the door control. "I received a communication from Feezal today. She wished particularly to be remembered to Commander Tucker. If you might happen to see him, I'd be obliged if you could pass on the message."
"My pleasure," she said in her driest voice.
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