The weeks passed painfully for Malcolm Reed; at first he spent most of the time flitting between waking in pain, coughing and feverish, to restless unconsciousness. As the pain and other symptoms began to subside, he was plagued by persistent fatigue, weakness and sickness. Gradually, even these symptoms receded, and Phlox reluctantly allowed Reed to return to his quarters to rest there in peace, recuperating slowly, with twice daily visits to sickbay to monitor his progress. Eventually, these visits reduced to one per day, and then one every other day, as he gradually regained his strength, stability and stamina. Late one night, by ship's time, he found himself sitting alone in the mess hall, gazing out at the stars drifting by at low warp, contemplating whether or not the doctor and the captain might finally allow him to return to some light duties.
A mug of tea sat slowly cooling by his left hand, which rested casually on the table. His right arm still ached dully, as the nerves, muscles and skin gradually healed over the ugly wound. He still felt weak and washed out, despite the prolonged enforced period of rest, and with a mild flash of irritation he wondered if he would ever feel healthy again.
"You're still too skinny, you know."
Startled, he jumped slightly, almost knocking the tea to the floor. The newcomer laughed, sitting down beside him, companionably.
"Sorry – you were a million miles away. Didn't mean to make you jump."
"Yes you did," Reed grumbled, but managed a smile; "how are you settling in? I've heard things have been a bit... err... shaky."
"You can say that again," Brogan snorted, waving her own mug of tea dismissively, "It's okay really, everyone needs a bit of adjustment time, I guess. They don't know who the hell I am and it's not like I can tell 'em... D'Arcy's settled in really well though, he's been training with one of the security contingents, he's in his element and they all love him, except for during hand to hand training – he still kicks arse, bless him."
"What about you?"
"I've always been an undercover agent," Brogan shrugged, "it's... hard, you know? To adjust back to being around, well... civilised people."
"I heard what happened to crewman Novokovich," Reed suppressed a smile, as Brogan groaned.
"Oh, hell," she said, "I've apologised twenty times for that – he made me jump, that was all. I didn't think I'd hit him that hard... and then there was Ensign Singh, she actually blushed when I cussed a blue streak after burning my hand on a polarised relay circuit, and of all things reported me to the captain for conduct unbecoming! When I told him what I'd said I think he saw the funny side, though I don't think sub-commander T'Pol knew what half of the words meant... I think they're also both a bit surprised that I didn't want my tattoos removed. I guess I'm just too used to them..."
She trailed off, taking a mouthful of tea, and giving him a sideways glance; "I wasn't kidding, you know. You need to eat something – I've seen more meat on a butcher's apron."
He smiled and shook his head; "My appetite is lousy at the moment... I'll be okay though. I understand I've got you to thank for that, by the way – getting me back here, I mean."
"No more so than the captain, Trip or Julian," Brogan shrugged, noncommittally, leaning back in her chair, "how do you do it, Malcolm? How do you live in this sanitised floating tin can? I still have to sleep aboard Coinin with a gun under my pillow to feel safe..."
"I spent six months doing the same in Chanteloup back on Starbase One when I was first pulled out of deep cover to work on the ordinance schemes for the Warp Five project," Reed told her, quietly, "you'll adjust. Just give yourself some time. You were living in '66 for a bloody long time. D'Arcy was only there four months. It's bound to take you a while to readjust."
He took a sip of tea and then mischievously added; "Though I'd be grateful if you'd avoid concussing any other members of the crew in the process, it's not good for morale or productivity."
Brogan opened her mouth to protest, caught his expression, and then grinned, slumping back in her seat.
"Bastard," she muttered, affectionately, "I've gotta say, Mal – it's good to see you up and about. For a while there, I wasn't sure... didn't think you'd... you know..."
She let the sentiment hang unspoken as Reed rubbed his arm unconsciously, feeling the familiar ache from the damaged muscles. Phlox had been genuinely appalled by the nature of the weapon that had caused it, and Reed did not have the heart to tell him just how many people still died every year in and around Outpost 66 as a result of the horrific, archaic weapons.
"Captain Archer tells me there's going to be a special performance instead of a Movie Night this week," Reed said, conversationally, changing the subject quickly, "got anything interesting planned?"
"I swear, Malcolm, if you even mention that bloody feather fan dance...!"
Reed held his hands up in mock surrender, chuckling as Brogan shook her head, grinning.
"It was Trip's idea," she said, a slight flush creeping into her face, "he asked if we'd team up with a few musicians on board and do a live set instead of watching a film... we've had to scrounge around for instrumentalists, but we've found a few, and some other singers, a couple of performers – it's going to be an interesting talent night, I've heard some of the rehearsals. I've even managed to secure a few harder to find props and things, it'll be just like old times..."
There was a suggestive edge to her tone and Reed felt the blood drain from his face as she smiled mischievously.
"Oh, no – you didn't... you didn't tell anyone... especially not Trip..."
"I've said nothing, honest to God," she replied, smirking, "but I may have made a few requisition requests – honestly, it's amazing what this crew can put together when they put their minds to it, they're a talented, creative bunch, I'll give them that..."
"I haven't told anybody – not a soul – you know I hated it, my parents forced me... besides; I haven't, not for years..."
"I know, I know," it was Brogan's turn to hold her hands up, amused, "there's no pressure, mate, none at all. Just chill out – besides, I know your arm's still bad. Crikey, look at you; you've barely enough meat left on you to hold your bones together – I'm gonna grab a sandwich for each of us and you're gonna eat something, Mal, because you look like hell."
Reed sighed but did not protest as Brogan slipped away; Dr Phlox had been pestering him for several days to increase his calorie intake but Reed simply did not feel like eating. Still, he knew Brogan was even more relentless than Phlox, so when she presented him with a ham salad sandwich and a fresh mug of tea, he forced himself to eat some of it, at least enough to satisfy Brogan that he was not about to fade away to nothing. For a long time, they sat silently, side by side, staring at the stars, two old friends who were battle-worn and scarred, but companionable in the safety of the Enterprise. It was Brogan who eventually broke the silence.
"You know, that T'Pol has got an awfully nice bum, hasn't she?"