§ 7 §
Trip paced his quarters like a caged animal, unable to find peace. Like mist in the rising sun, his anger had thinned just enough to make him see what lay beyond it – utter confusion. His behaviour in Engineering had been appalling. First he had provoked Malcolm, then accused him of something he knew the Lieutenant would never do, and finally he'd very nearly hit the man – a fellow officer, not to mention his friend. But was Malcolm still his friend? Or rather: was he still a friend to Malcolm? He didn't know any more. Every time he thought of him he felt a surge of irritation, anger actually, which he couldn't quite explain – he couldn't really believe one act of insubordination could cause this rift between them. A growl of frustration rumbled from his throat. Well, this was all Reed's fault, anyway. Damn his stubbornness! If he hadn't been so pigheaded…
Trip pursed his lips – there was the anger again. But he had every reason to be pissed off, hadn't he? The man always thought he knew better, and this time that had gone too far.
Stopping abruptly in the middle of the small room, Trip turned to his desk and looked at the time: he'd been in his quarters for less than twenty minutes and it already felt like hours. If only he could... A sudden thought struck him. After all, I only agreed to keep out of Engineering, he reasoned. Clenching his jaw, he strode to the door and punched the command to open it; then he stepped out and walked briskly to the turbo lift.
It wasn't as if he didn't understand the Captain's concern for his well-being, Reed thought as he made his way to sickbay. If he looked half as bad as he felt, it was a wonder Archer hadn't ordered him off duty altogether. His injuries weren't really bothering him much; just a dull pain, nothing to worry about. But the tension of the last day and a half had built up to the point that he was physically and emotionally drained. Perhaps a good meal and four hours of sleep weren't such a bad idea after all. As for the visit to sickbay, though…
Malcolm unconsciously slowed down as the infirmary doors appeared at the end of the corridor, hating having to go through the well-know routine. He knew it by heart. 'How are you feeling, Lieutenant? Any pain, dizziness, headaches? Let's have a look at those injuries, shall we? When was the last time you had a proper meal, slept… failed your duties, disappointed a person dear to you? I recommend you rest, not use your arm, keep off your leg… learn to obey a direct order, avoid getting people mad enough that they want to trash you and accuse you of being deceitful…'
Malcolm stopped a few steps from the doors and brought his fists to his temples. Don't do this to yourself, he reproached. Bloody hell, he was reverting to the sorry state he had been in before leaving home. Yes, four hours of sleep will do him a world of good. He clenched his jaw. Sooner in, sooner out, he reminded himself; pushing forward, he raised a hand and triggered the doors open.
Trip walked the corridor on F deck with self-assurance. Piece of cake. He had paged Kelby and the engineer was going to meet him in the transporter room. 'The Captain wants me to transport down and retrieve the shuttlepod', he had told him. Kelby had no reason to doubt his words.
The corners of Trip's mouth curved upwards as he turned the final corner. He was going to learn everything there was to learn about that ship's engine, and this time there would be no Mr. Stubborn to get in the way. The Capt'n might be a little mad, but Jon would forgive him, once he showed him the detailed specs of an alien warp drive. He might even get Enterprise to warp 6, or more, for all they knew. And he'd be back before anyone could notice, anyway: thanks to a little twiddling here and there, the bridge instruments would not pick up his transport – there were few things the Chief Engineer could not do, even when booted out of Engineering.
"Sir," a voice greeted him. Its owner and unaware accomplice was already standing behind the transporter's console.
"Hey, there, Kelby," Trip replied in his friendliest voice. "Got the coordinates right? I wouldn't want to end up re-materialisin' inside a rock or somethin'," he joked.
"Don't worry, Sir," Kelby said with a smile that held nonetheless a small measure of concern. "I know how to work this machine." He smirked. "At least in theory," he added softly. "I never actually did this before."
"Relax," Trip reassured him. "There is nothin' to it. You'll do just fine." He climbed on the transporter pad and nodded his confident 'go ahead' to the man.
"Shouldn't we follow standard procedure and inform the bridge that you are ready for transport?" Kelby asked with a small frown.
Trip raised his eyebrows. "What – did you take lessons from Lieutenant Reed?" he said in a playful tone. "No need," he added. "The Capt'n knows, and that's all that matters."
Kelby seemed appeased. "If you say so, Commander." Lowering his gaze, he concentrated on the levers before him, and a moment later Trip felt the tingling sensation that signified his molecules were being turned into a data stream.
"Excellent," Phlox exclaimed, examining the healing burn mark on Malcolm's arm. "No ointment can beat my osmotic eels for the treatment of light phase beam injuries," he added gleefully.
Sitting in his skivvies on a biobed, Malcolm tore his eyes away from the ugly bruise-like spot that reminded him of his vulnerability, and shifted them to the Denobulan doctor. Sometimes he wished he could borrow a little of the man's optimism and – yes – perhaps give him in return a bit of his own pessimism. He really thought both their personalities could benefit from such an exchange.
While Phlox went about dressing his leg wound, he debated whether he should approach him with his doubts or not. He had forcefully tried to push them away, wanting so much to shut everything and everyone out, but without much success. His old armour didn't seem to fit him any more, he reflected, and to his surprise the idea almost made him smile – whether because of the picture it conjured up or in relief, he couldn't tell.
"Doctor," he blurted out, wondering how he should go about it. "There is something I need to ask you."
Reed heard the gravity in his own voice and Phlox must have too, for the doctor suddenly stopped and straightened up to look at him. "Yes?" he prompted when it sounded like the pause was going to stretch indefinitely.
"It's… about Commander Tucker," Malcolm finally said.
"Hmm?" Phlox acknowledged, shaping the sound like a question. He looked interested.
"He's been… acting strangely," Reed went on, searching for the right words.
"How so?"
Malcolm knew there were no two ways about it, so he spit it out. "He's been bitter, resentful, hostile and aggressive," he said with a grimace.
There was a small pause during which Reed realised he was holding his breath.
"Without reason?" Phlox asked quietly, looking him straight in the eye. When Malcolm didn't answer, he went on, "I seem to remember the Commander complaining about a certain Lieutenant disregarding direct orders."
Reed set his jaw in a determined expression. "Without reason," he said firmly. "The Trip I know wouldn't hold a grudge, let alone for this long, wouldn't be so determined to punish a friend." He was on a roll now. "Bloody hell, he almost…"
Damn!
"Almost what, Mr. Reed?" Phlox prompted again, gently.
Malcolm sighed. "He accused me of lying and came close to hitting me," he admitted in a hollow voice.
"Uhm, I must agree with you," Phlox said after a moment, raising his eyebrows and sounding uncharacteristically concerned. "Our Commander Tucker would not normally do that." He started dressing Malcolm's arm, but his attention seemed no longer solely on his job.
Reed watched him work for a few moments, feeling relief washing over him now that he had unburdened his conscience – and to think that it was Trip who was always bugging him not to keep everything inside.
But there was still a doubt he needed to voice. "Doctor," he said. "As you know the Commander was unconscious on that ship… isn't it possible that something happened then, which triggered this reaction in him?"
Phlox finished what he was doing in silence. Then he looked up and met Malcolm's eyes. "When the two of you re-materialised, Lieutenant, one of you was wounded and unconscious, the other was awake and in one piece, only a little confused," he eventually said. "Obviously you were my first priority. Of course I did check the Commander too, but…" He brought a hand to his chin. "Perhaps I shall do so again," he added gravely.
He studied his patient. "Mr. Reed," he said in his "let's-get-down-to-business" tone. "I know I agreed with the Captain that you could go back on duty. But I specified light duty. Your wounds are healing nicely and we don't want to spoil my osmotic eels' job, so…"
"You are perfectly right, Doctor," Malcolm interrupted him, thoroughly enjoying the stunned look that painted itself on the Denobulan's face. "I am going to get something inside my stomach and then some sleep."
Phlox almost looked ready to order him inside the imaging chamber, to see what was wrong with him. But instead he grinned his Cheshire cat grin and said, "Excellent, Mr. Reed. I'm glad you are beginning to learn."
Malcolm slid off the biobed, looking forward to witnessing the effect of his next words - well, he had a reputation to defend.
"Actually, I'm just following the Captain's orders," he said, shamelessly pleased to see the Doc's satisfied expression change abruptly. He began to pull on his uniform.
"Then I'm glad you're obeying them," Phlox replied meaningfully.
Reed froze, his playful mode instantly gone. Touché.
"Right," he said deadpan; then got into the sleeves and pulled up the front zipper. "Doctor…" He hesitated. He knew Phlox was a stickler for doctor-patient confidentiality, and he couldn't in all honesty blame him. "Would you… let me know if you find anything wrong, after you examine the Commander?" he asked.
"Depending on what I find," Phlox replied. "I can't promise you."
"Fair enough."
Reed paused again. "How is Rostov?" he asked, glancing towards the privacy curtain hiding a biobed a few metres away.
"It could have been worse. Still, burns are painful and need careful treatment." A frown creased Phlox's brow. "Now that I think of it, Mr. Tucker hasn't come to visit, nor commed to enquire after him… it's not like the Commander at all," he murmured.
"You'll find Trip in his quarters." With a last worried glance at the Doctor, Malcolm finally left.
TBC
