Disclaimer: I do not own these characters… even if I did flesh one of them out a bit.

Author's note: Sorry about the delay on updating… weddings are evil (marriage is fine, but weddings… the amount of time I've spent… and it's not even my wedding). Throw in work, school prep… The fact that I'm not Hess and need my eight hours a night… but without further ado:

Chapter 9: Rivalries

From: Prisoner # 1

To: Prisoner # 2

Re: Abduction

Hess! Where is my bear??!! I know it had to be you… you're the only person besides me who knows about him.

From: Prisoner # 2

To: Prisoner # 1

Re: Mwhaaahahha

Not anymore.

From: Prisoner # 1

To: Prisoner # 2

Re: Murder.

I'm going to kill you, Hess!!! Who did you tell??? It better not be Malcolm… it's Malcolm, isn't it? Hess, you bitch… give me back my bear!!! If you don't… I'm going to tell Captain Archer on you!!

From: Prisoner # 2

To: Prisoner # 1

Re: Baby

I am not a bitch… the only reason Porthos likes me is the liver. But go ahead… be a baby-little-tattle-tale. It's not like you can tell him stuff he doesn't already know or suspect… and how much do you want him knowing about your stuffies, anyway? Mr. Cry-baby-sucky-thumb?

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Actually, it's true. Malcolm and I have barely proceeded with our conversation when the door hisses open without announcement.

"What the hell is going on here?" Captain Archer is livid. I assume he took some time to calm down before coming to see me… but it doesn't appear to have worked.

"Um… we were discussing things, sir." Malcolm's back to his red appearance. His eyes are rolling back in his head, too.

"Is there something you wanted to ask me, captain?" Never confess, if you don't know the details about what they want. There are trick questions out there… like when the police officer says: "Do you know why I stopped you?" If you're not careful… you'll give them more to nail you with than when they started.

"Actually, Hess, there was. The word is Union."

"Captain, I can assure you, this is not what it looks like." Since Malcolm and I are sitting on my bed, and I'm only wearing a towel, I can understand his concern.

"Shut up, Malcolm." The captain stalks forward. "Why are the people of my ship organizing into an illegal union?"

"Actually, sir… under the law… forming a union is not illegal. A great many paramilitary organisations have unions, and…"

"Spare me the legal history lecture, Hess. I want to know what you have to do with this union. And don't tell me 'nothing,' because I'm not going to believe you. A stunt like this has your name written all over it."

"Sir…" I raise my left hand, index and second fingers together and pointing upwards and the rest of them closed with the thumb curled over top.

"Knock it off, Hess. You were never a Boy Scout."

"As a matter of fact, sir, I was. Five brothers, sir. I got twenty-nine merit badges." Given that this is one more than Malcolm, I receive a pair of icy stares. "There's also the citation of bravery from the city of Atlanta. Saving the life of a police officer, sir.[1]"

"Lieutenant…" Captain Archer's teeth are beginning to chatter – I think he's ready to bite.

"I can't arrest her, sir. She's already under arrest." Which is why I'm fairly safe at this moment.

"Are you certain we can't just shoot her?" Then again, maybe not.

"Not without upsetting Commander Tucker, sir."

The captain looks like he's about to scream. "If I have to listen to one more recitation about how I'm mean…"

"Sir?" Malcolm looks completely lost… which he is.

"Hess!" Captain Archer snaps. "I want you to tell Commander Tucker that I am not mean!"

"You're asking me to lie sir? To one of my best friends?" After all, I have no proof that he doesn't somehow fall into the category of average[2].

The captain suddenly grins, and I'm reminded of Commander Tucker's stories about crocodiles. "But you won't be lying Hess. Because I am a very nice guy. I'm so nice, in fact, that you're going to tell me everything about this Union."

"Sir…"

It's my turn for the Arched Eyebrow. I scramble up on the bed and try to hide behind Malcolm.

"Hess… are you afraid of me? Surely the crew would find that…"

Spare me from amateurs and their pathetic attempts at blackmail. First Malcolm – which was at least a little interesting – and now this.

"Everyone's afraid of you, sir. It's because you're the captain. You can make their lives very, very miserable."

The grin widens. "But I'm a nice guy, Hess. I rather think that my crew respects me, rather than fears me. Don't I have your respect?"

Okay, where did he get his lawyer genes? Maybe he just dated one at Stanford. "Of course I respect you, sir. I have nothing but the utmost of respect for you, sir."

"Then you will have no problem in telling me whatever you know about this Union."

"Actually, sir… my problem is called the American Bar Association. They frown on things like that… and then they revoke your membership."

"We're not in the United States anymore, darlin'" I'm worried – he's starting to pick up Southernisms from Commander Tucker. He must have lawyer in his background if he's willing to stoop to that. "And I certainly have no intentions of telling them."

"It's ethics, sir. Right now, for your sake, I would be glad to tell you everything I know… but I'm not allowed. It's like asking Dr. Phlox for medical details… or a priest to tell you what somebody said in Confession."

"For my sake?" His eyes narrow – he looks dangerously close to violence. I move out from behind Malcolm – I'm not going to put the boy in any physical danger after all – and try to look as non-threatening as possible.

"You're obviously very stressed, sir. There are signs of Tuckeritis…"

"Tucker…"

"You just called me 'darlin',' sir. Coming from you, that's not good. Maybe you should see Doctor Phlox…"

"I'm not the one who's going to need a doctor."

"Actually sir, if I'm forced to defend myself, you are." I am not threatening a senior officer – I am merely stating a pertinent fact.

"Hess…" The captain pulls himself up to his full – rather impressive – height.

"Sir!" Malcolm jumps up too suddenly and smacks his head on the top of the bunk, and accomplishes something that few people ever do: he knocks himself out.

"This," I point at Malcolm, now crumpled on the floor, "is not my fault."

"I don't care if it's your fault or not. I'm still blaming you."

"You can't do that, sir."

"Yes, I can, Hess. I'm the evil son-of-a-bitch in charge of this ship… and if I say you did it…"

"That's defamation of character sir… if Malcolm was awake it would be slander."

He sneers at me. "Just where did you get your law degree, anyway? Mail order?"

I shrug. "Just some dinky little school in SanFran… Stanford, I think they call it." I wouldn't be so nasty… except my UC Berkley side is kicking in. And since the captain is a fellow Stanford grad…

"You went to Cal." Given that the schools are massive rivals, I expected him to latch onto this fact… it's one of the reasons for his animosity.

"Yes, sir, I did. For Engineering, sir. Stanford Law, sir. It's a Hess tradition… and it was closer to where I needed to be than Harvard."

There's a little vein on the side of his head that's pulsing like crazy now. Several unpleasant facts have begun to hit all at once. One… I'm not as stupid as I act – most people can't handle Stanford Law (or Berkley Engineering) on it's own. I double majored the two[3]. Two… he's been arguing points of law with (not to mention denying basic rights to) a highly-trained lawyer. Three… my alumni outnumber his alumni… and are probably better paid, too[4]. Four… he's still trying to wrap his head around the idea of combining a Cal education with a Stanford one. Five… he's trying to fit me into the image of a Stanford bunny, and failing miserably. Six… I've just (honestly) implied that there are Stanford and Harvard law grads in my family, which means that if he tries anything, he could be – as Commander Tucker says – up to his ass in alligators[5].

"Don't you think we should call the doctor, sir? Malcolm might be hurt." After all, he is rather delicate. Unlike a certain Floridian of our acquaintance, he does not have a skull made of adamantium.

The captain stalks over to the com and pages Doctor Phlox. By the time the doctor actually manages to arrive, Malcolm has woken up.

"What happened here?" I'm not sure if the doctor is just asking what happened to Malcolm, or thinks that it's part of some bizarre human sexual ritual[6].

"I…"

"Malcolm whacked himself on the head." I figure it's probably best for the clearheaded one to provide the details.

"Oh, dear." Phlox runs a few scans. "Well, he appears to have avoided a concussion… by the way, captain… why are people gathering in the lounge with signs? Is there some human tradition…"

Malcolm and Phlox manage to grab the captain as he lunges at me, which is a good thing, because my towel slips at that moment, and my hands are (reflexively) busy trying to keep anything important from showing. If they hadn't been there… well, being naked can give you an advantage, if you know how to use it.

"I will get you for this, Hess… no one messes with my ship and gets away with it… I know this is your fault…" He almost gets away – he's that agitated – but Phlox hits him with a sedative, which is probably for the best. "I'll get you for this…" They carry him away as he loses consciousness… I wonder how they're going to explain that one.

[1] I don't add that it was more cowardice than bravery – Mom would have killed us we'd stood by and watched Uncle Ned's car sink… even if he had been chasing us at the time. I still don't know how we got classified as 'bystanders' over 'fugitives,' but that's life in our little family.

[2] Statistically speaking, that is.

[3] It's not my fault I only sleep two hours a day. I didn't pick out my genetic problems.

[4] And that's just the Stanford ones.

[5] Not that – I suppose – it's fair to compare alligators and lawyers… apparently alligators aren't that nasty.

[6] It might be… but the captain would be better equipped to answer that one… Stanford frat boy and all.