THIRTEEN

.

.

Phlox heard the doors to Sickbay opened and looked up to see a rather familiar dark blue uniform coming his way.

"Ah, Commander. I've been expecting you," he said cheerfully, being careful to check the look on the young man's face first.

"Why? Am I late for summin'?" Trip asked, worried.

"No, not at all. It's just that I understand your shift finished a little over ten minutes ago. I thought you'd lost your way to my door," he grinned, walking past him and to the counter.

"Meanin'?" Trip asked, a little sharply.

Phlox turned, surprised. "Only that I expected you to come up and check on T'Pol. It's what you've been doing every time disaster has been averted recently," he replied with graceful ease.

"Actually," Trip said clearly, his face set into a picture of righteous exasperation, "you told me to come back so you could peel this thing off me and check how that burn's doin'."

"Ah yes, so I did," Phlox smiled.

He crossed Sickbay and put his hands out in an invitation. Trip lifted his left arm, turning it wrist-up to him. Phlox unwound the lengths slowly, keeping his eyes on the gauze as it gave way to the rectangular patch of cloth. He lifted it and looked underneath at the maze of tiny wriggling parasites, apparently having a real field day.

Trip peered over the top of Phlox's hands, wrinkling his nose immediately. "They do know they're only supposed to eat the bad stuff, right?" he accused.

"They do, and they are," Phlox nodded. "In fact, quite a few of them are going hungry, by the looks of them. It seems they've already cleared the infected, damaged tissue, Commander."

He pulled Trip by his elbow, leading him to the work area by the side of the curtained-off sleep area. As Phlox pulled his arm out and tipped it down, releasing the tiny voracious worms onto the counter, he realised Trip was actually leaning away from the white surface.

"Not aesthetically pleasing, I'll grant you," Phlox admitted, "but most useful."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," Trip said quickly, pretending he hadn't been trying to look round the curtain at the biobeds beyond.

"Any adverse effects from the noise in Engineering?" the doctor asked cheerfully.

"Not yet. Don't matter where I am, though - I can still hear it, echoing round and round and round ma head," he sighed, watching Phlox knock the last of the maggots from the mess of clean wound underneath. "What happens now?"

"Now I dress this and give you a shot for the pain that will arrive as soon as the numbing effects of the maggots' saliva wear off," Phlox said happily.

"I'm really trying not to think about what you just said," the engineer swallowed.

"Oh come now. The Egregarian worms have done a marvellous job. It'll all heal much more quickly," he beamed. He turned and picked up a fresh packet of gauze, cracking it open and laying it gently on the area now magically free of burned or sizzled skin. Trip hissed slightly but Phlox ignored him, picking up a roll of decidedly old-fashioned surgical tape and securing the four edges. "Don't get it wet," he advised.

"Right."

Phlox laid his hand on his wrist, counting for a moment. He looked up and realised the human's attention was somewhere else. He cleared his throat and Trip looked back at him quickly. Phlox let his eyes flick up to his, then he turned to the counter and picked up a hypospray, adjusting it slowly.

"If you want to ask me something, Commander--" he began quietly.

"What? No, no, this is fine," Trip blurted hastily, looking back at the Denobulan before down at his arm.

Phlox reached out and touched the instrument in his hand to the Commander's neck, sending the requisite analgesic home. He picked up a second hypospray, watching the human pretend that he wasn't avoiding his gaze. Phlox touched the second hypospray to the engineer's neck, nodding as the cocktail of anti-biotics whooshed home. He looked back at the human's face, and at last Trip's eyebrows creaked upwards but only over his nose, the outer edges still enjoying the depths.

"Ah… Ok, you got me," he admitted. "She woken up yet?"

"Oh, several times," Phlox scoffed, walking over to the curtained-off area and disappearing behind it. "But she soon falls asleep again. I presume she is working hard on fixing any damage or healing herself internally - as Vulcans are wont to do," came his happy afterthought.

Trip edged round the curtain and looked down at T'Pol, lying still as she slept. He looked up at the readings above her head, able to make out they were all stable and strong.

"She recognises me and then falls asleep. Perhaps I am not enough to entertain her," Phlox added with a generous smile. "Or maybe I am just not what she hoped to find when she awoke."

"She sleepin' ok? I mean, not tossing and turning?" Trip muttered worriedly, apparently not picking up on the doctor's pointed remark.

"I don't believe Vulcans 'toss and turn', Commander," he smiled. "But even if they do, she has not. She seems quite content. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, ahm, no reason," he said quickly, taking a single step back.

"Do you believe she might be restless?" Phlox asked seriously.

"Why ask me?" he blurted, and the doctor noticed the slight tinge of red to the tips of the Starfleet officer's ears.

"Because you two spend a lot of time working together, Commander, I've seen you eating together in the Mess Hall, and let's not forget three neuropressure sessions a week. As such, you are probably her closest friend on the ship. You would know of any reason for her to be unable to rest properly," he reasoned innocently.

"Oh, yeah, right, of course," he nodded, avoiding the Denobulan's scrutiny. "She'd probably just want to get right back to work," he added confidently.

"Yes," Phlox observed slowly.

Trip took one more look at the readouts, and then nodded. He took a step back, about to turn away.

"Ah - Commander," Phlox called quickly. He turned back to him. "Are you sleeping alright these days?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Why?"

"With T'Pol injured, there is no way for you to receive any neuropressure. Depending on her recuperation time after she leaves Sickbay, it may be some time before she deems it safe to continue."

"I'm fine without it, Doc."

"Are you sure?"

"Have been for a while," he nodded cheerfully.

"Then why do you still continue the practice?" he asked, interested.

Trip's face clouded slightly. "Sometimes… I don't know, it's like… Like you can talk about your problems without feeling you're being watched. Like getting neuropressure done kinda… kinda makes you feel like you've told someone your worries." He looked up at the doctor. "Doesn't make sense, huh?"

"I have never experienced it, Commander. I cannot judge either way," he shrugged. "Although I would be surprised if the accompanying conversation was not in some way also helpful." Trip nodded, but the Denobulan noticed he lingered still. "T'Pol be up and around tomorrow. And if she did need any emotional support or a lend of strength, I'm sure you'd be the first person she'd call on. Of course, being asleep, she couldn't do that right now, could she?" he shrugged.

Trip stared at him, his eyes widening until Phlox was sure he had left something very important running without his supervision in Engineering. That white space dream thing was real! I was really there! She actually needed my help! "N-no. No. No. No. No - not at all."

"Something the matter?"

"Oh, no, nothing," Trip stammered. "Well, she's ok, you're ok, I'm ok, we're all ok, so I'll just be going--"

"Commander?"

"'Night, Doc," he called over his shoulder, already at the doors and pressing the button to leave.

Phlox watched him go, puzzled over his behaviour for a moment, then shook it free of his head.

"Humans," he shrugged cheerfully.

.

.

Travis was just ticking off the third hour of a rather dull watch at the helm, wishing that something would happen. It had been silent on the Bridge for at least thirty minutes, even Archer sinking into his chair with some preoccupation that either made him smile or frown at ten second intervals.

The lift to the Bridge opened suddenly and Archer swung his chair round to watch Trip march out. He cast his eyes up and down his chief engineer, noting his sleeves still rolled up, and the apparently fresh dressing on his left arm. He puzzled over the harried look on his face.

"Something wrong, Commander?" he asked lightly.

Trip stopped by the nearest railing, putting his left hand out and leaning on it. His other went to his hip and Archer steeled himself for a dash of the younger man's temper.

"We still runnin' from them Cardassians, sir?" he asked bluntly, his voice a touch belligerent.

"My Tactical Officer has advised me on how much longer we need to race along like Klingons," he responded evenly.

Trip's hardened gaze went from Archer to Malcolm, sat patiently behind his post. "Well?" he demanded.

"I believe it would be prudent to wait another day before shucking the subterfuge," Malcolm allowed carefully.

"Really?" Trip drawled sarcastically. "Then you go down and wait that day out in Engineerin'. I've got ma crew on rotation cos if you spend longer than ten minutes in there, listening to them pulse generators screamin' like banshees, you start to go nuts. You even have these daydreams about brainin' a fellow officer cos he won't let you shut the damn things off," he continued, a harsh, malevolent purr to his voice.

Archer hid a smile behind a strategic wipe of his chin. He turned his chair to look at Malcolm. "How soon can we drop out of warp and put the engines back as they were?" he asked with a sigh.

"Another day, sir. We can't risk anything less than that. The warp pattern dispersal we have running right now is helping to break down the Klingon signature, which they shouldn't be tracking anyway, but these are experienced bounty hunters and I wouldn't want them sniffing a fresh Enterprise trail when we're so far ahead of them."

"You gotta be kiddin' me!" Trip exploded. "We've been zig-zagging and haring all over the place - there's no way they could still be tailing us!"

"When I want expertise from Engineering, I'll ask you, Commander," Malcolm said firmly. "When it comes to keeping the ship from being ambushed by Cardassians, I'll advise the Captain as I see fit. He is free to ignore my suggestions, of course," he added primly.

"Cap'n?" Trip tutted, pinning him with a look that could have scrubbed several plasma conduits clean on its own.

"A clean getaway is a clean getaway, Commander," he allowed. "One more day, on the advice of my Tactical Officer."

Trip fumed but his mouth sealed closed. He turned toward the lift again and the door shot open. He paused on the threshold, turning back to point at Malcolm.

"Fine! But when you need your precious expertise from Engineerin' and you call down and find us all bleeding out of our ears, don't blame me, Lieutenant," he snapped.

He swept into the lift and disappeared.

Archer just blinked, surprised. "What's eating him? All he has to do is not stand in Engineering," he observed. "As if he has any worries right now," he scoffed.

Malcolm's eyes clouded with thought as he mused over the Captain's words. Unbidden, they caught those of Hoshi, whose cogs also seemed to be turning with a need to find a reason for Trip's temper this time.

He realised he was looking directly at her and smiled slightly. She blinked, smiled back a little hesitantly, and turned herself back to her console quickly. Travis slid his eyes over, gauged her mood, and then returned his attention to the helm.

Well that will give us something to go on in the Mess Hall, he judged.

.

.

Archer rounded the bend in the corridor, unzipping his uniform slightly and wrenching the top two buttons open on the black cotton undershirt. He looked up, hoping to see his door and longing only for his own bed and his dog.

What he saw was a woman leaning on the door, her arms folded, as she studied the ceiling.

He slowed as he neared her, taking in her fair hair that bounced and begged his attention as she turned her head.

"Evening. I had heard you got off at twenty-one hundred hours, and here you are," she smiled.

"Nevro. How did you find--"

"Your quarters? There's a map if you bother to look for it."

"Right," he nodded, still a little surprised.

"So."

"So," he allowed, nerves slowly starting to creep up his spine in an attempt to take his tongue hostage.

"Are you going to invite me inside? I still haven't met your palukoo substitute," she winked.

"How rude of me," he managed. He leaned his arm past her and pressed his thumb to the button, opening the lock. "Please."

She pushed herself off the door and turned as it opened. She looked in and spotted the beagle quite comfortable on top of the bed.

"Oh hi," she said with a suave amusement. "You must be Porthos."

.

.

"You'll get breakfast when we're back, and not a moment before," Archer chided the dog, ignoring the way his head tilted in a begging stance he was all too familiar with.

"Does he talk back?" Nevro asked with a bemused smile.

Archer looked at her, walking by his side, and felt himself flush. "No. It's just… it's just habit," he allowed.

"He's a lovely thing," she chuckled. "What is he again?"

"A beagle," Archer supplied. His hand brushed hers as they walked, but she made no comment. He made sure he kept a discreet distance as they rounded the corner. "And here we are. You sure no-one's going to be mad at you?"

"Mad at me? Why?" she asked, confused.

"For… well, for not coming back here last night. To be with your family."

She blinked, surprised. "Jonathan, I am in charge here. If I decide to stay out all night on a huge starship, it's up to me. Gree and especially the children have no place to question me," she stated, still watching him with surprise.

"Oh. Well… then, that's ok," he nodded.

She smiled. "Good morning, Captain," she said loudly, and he sensed the noise of crewmembers behind him in the corridor.

"Good morning, Miss Bahla," he agreed, tilting his head slightly and turning away. He caught sight of, and nodded to, the two engineers now right in front of him. They straightened and nodded back, and he swept around them.

He looked down to see Porthos trotting along beside him and sighed cheerfully.

"Oh, hey, Cap'n," he heard. He stopped abruptly and looked up, spotting his chief engineer in a favourite old grey t-shirt and sweats.

"Trip," he allowed, startled. He swallowed the illogical reaction to look behind him at Bahla's door.

"You look tuckered out," Trip observed, apparently none too impressed. "You been workin' all night on summin'?"

"Yes," Archer lied shortly. He noticed his engineer's own face none too awake either, his hair rumpled. "You've actually been sleeping?"

"Yep," he lied with haste.

A few terribly uncomfortable seconds passed.

"So, ah…" Trip began awkwardly.

"Yeah," Archer nodded. They stepped round each other to carry on walking. Archer gestured to a faithfully watching Porthos to walk on, but then he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Trip, wait," he called, turning.

"What can I do for you?" he asked rather weakly.

Archer's eyes narrowed. "What is it? You're just annoyed with the noise in Engineering?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, confused. "What else?"

"Not… Not the Cardassians?"

Trip looked at his feet. "Alright, a little," he admitted quietly. "But… I'm kinda pole-axed here, aren't I?" he realised. "I don't want those people to end up with the Cardassians again, but I don't think just setting 'em free and hoping some gods are gonna take 'em to task is enough."

Archer kept his mouth judiciously shut, deciding to wait him out.

Trip looked up at him again. "So maybe it's lucky it's not down to me. That's why you get the big chair," he shrugged.

"Not as comfortable as it looks," Archer nodded. Trip opened his mouth but Archer waved him off. "Really, I wasn't looking for another furniture make-over," he insisted.

Trip let himself relax at last, nodding.

Archer looked around the corridor. "I think we were on our way somewhere, weren't we?"

"Yeah, think we were," Trip nodded.

"Well I've got Porthos to feed."

"Yep. See y'on the Bridge then," Trip shrugged, turning away. Archer nodded and turned too, heading in the opposite direction. "Jon?" Trip called suddenly.

"Yes, Charles?" he teased, swinging back to look at him.

"Were you really workin' all night?"

"No."

"Oh." Trip started to walk away.

"Trip," he called curiously.

"Yep?"

"Were you really sleeping all night?"

"No."

"Oh."

They shared an awkward look that spoke volumes, but to which book of life they belonged, they had no idea.

"Right then. See ya," Trip said quickly.

"Yes," Archer hastily agreed.

They turned and disappeared as fast as politely possible, Archer slapping at a leg to draw Porthos' attention from the guest quarters behind them.

.

.