"Shit."

"That just about covers it." Trip said, smiling bitterly.

"Ha bloody ha." I don't have time for this. I have to find another encryption code Hoshi won't be able to crack, which it goes without saying is one of the most difficult things anyone could possibly have do.

"Jen, we have to make sure that ship is gone before we get there."

"No kiddin' Einstein." She said.

"So, what code we usin'?" he asked.

"I was thinking . . ." she paused and leant back on his bunk to rest her head on the back "FPBR-3." She said staring down at her boots.

Trip stood up from his desk, which he'd been leaning on, looking horrified. "No way Jen! You can't do that! What if Hoshi sets it off? It, it, it'll " he stuttered.

"I know, but I can't think of a better one, and with Ensign Hoshi Sato at communications, we don't have a choice." She said quietly.

He nodded sombrely, trying to avoid thinking about the trouble this was going to cause.

The door swished open on the bridge to reveal Ensign Jennifer James. She walked briskly over to Malcolm's station. She tried to engage him in conversation but he ignored her point blank. She leaned in further and whispered something inaudible in his ear. His head snapped up and there faces were millimetres apart. She nodded her head very slightly, and straightened up. He rose from his chair and they headed towards the turbolift.

"Lieutenant, where are you going?" Sub-Commander T'Pol asked.

"To the mess hall" he said shortly.

"The mess hall? Lieutenant you shouldn't leave your post."

"My shift was over ten minutes ago, so I think you'll find I can." He said curtly, stepped into the turbolift and closed the door.

I wonder what that was about. Hoshi thought. A quiet beeping on her comm drew her attention. She looked down, and began to investigate the cause. After a few minutes she found it. "Not again . . ." she said.

"Ensign?" T'Pol enquired.

"Another encrypted message."

The Vulcan characteristically raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Then I suggest you inform the Captain, and begin to decrypt it."

"Yes Ma'am."

Malcolm followed Jennifer down the corridor of B-deck. He couldn't believe them, he just couldn't believe them, the gall of it, and telling the chief of security. Idiots. He stopped at a fork in the corridor he went to turn left but Jennifer carried on walking right.

"Jen? Where . . .?" Then it dawned on him. "Commander Tuckers quarters?"

She doubled back, and nodded "C'mon Malcolm." He followed her reluctantly.

When they reached Trip's quarters Jennifer didn't press the door chime, but opened the door herself and walked straight in. He was sitting at his desk, looking at the screen on his desk and running his hands through his hair, looking extremely stressed. He glanced round when they entered, but then turned back to the screen.

"Commander?"

"Lieutenant." He said quietly "Why don't you take a seat?" he asked politely indicating his bunk, eyes still focused on the screen.

"Jennifer said something about a communication with the Endeavour?" he asked.

"Yeah, Jen why don't you explain?" he asked her, finally turning round to face them.

Jennifer rolled her eyes, causing Malcolm to smirk, but nodded. She turned round, and sat crossed legged. He turned to face her, and looked her straight in the eye.

"Well, you know the ship we got the distress call from?" he nodded "It belongs to a pair of aliens we traded with, while we were on Serena."

"Traded?"

"Well yes, um, that's the problem, it wasn't exactly a fair trade. We ended up shooting them and taking theirs, and keeping ours. So they won't exactly be please to see us." She smiled slightly at this. Malcolm still hadn't dropped his calculating gaze, so she continued. "So we, me and Trip, sent a message to the Endeavour to pick them up before we get there."

"And why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"Well we both felt really bad about, you know . . ." she trailed off.

"Erasing my memory." He supplied.

"Yeah, yeah that." she said.

"Look Malcolm about that," Trip piped up "we really didn't have any choice. If you'd woken up with your memories you might've let something slip, or ratted us out." He added as an afterthought.

"True, but I still don't get it, why . . .?"

"The encryption code we used, it er, we used . . ." Trip couldn't bring himself to say it.

"FPBR-3." Jennifer said. Malcolm paled. He was speechless. "Malcolm?" she leant forward and put her and on his arm "Say something."

"Like what?" he managed to get out.

"We just thought we should tell you." Trip said.

"We didn't want to, but you know Ensign Sato, she can decode anything, and with Sub-Commander T'Pol's help . . ."

"We just thought, you'd like to be prepared . . ."

". . . Incase she sets it off."

"I, eh, OK." He said. "At least I got some forewarning." He said. He felt Jennifer's hand slide down his arm, and her fingers wrap round his and squeeze it gently. He looked down at their entwined hands, still slightly dazed then up at her, she was half smiling. He glanced over at Trip, who had turned back to the screen, and had begun running his fingers through his hair again.

"Well I think I'll go then." He said, gently pulling his hand away from Jennifer's and standing up.

"OK Malcolm." Trip said. Turning away from the screen he got up and walked towards Malcolm who had reached the door. "So," he said quietly "does this mean your talking to me again?" he asked hopefully.

Malcolm couldn't help but smile at the look on Trip's face. "Sure." he said, and before he knew if Trip had pulled him into a hug. Trip pulled back quickly.

"Sorry, it's just, I missed ya." He said rather timidly.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I missed you too." He said and smiled at Trip, who beamed back. "maybe I'll see you at dinner?" he asked.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away." Trip said.

Malcolm turned to Jennifer expectantly. "Ensign?" he asked, making her laugh.

"Sure thing, Lieutenant." He smiled to them both, and left.

Walking down the corridor he couldn't help but feel lighter somehow. He'd really missed his friendly banter with Trip.

But there was one thing that occupied his thoughts more than anything else. More than the fact he'd made up with his best friend, more even than the gut-wrenchingly dreadful information they had just supplied him with. The warm, soft touch of her hand in his.

So people, press the button below for more, or I'll take the hint and quit writing, please press it, I really want to develop the story further. Any suggestions are welcome, oh and stay tuned to find out exactly what FPBR-3 is and does, mwahahahaha . . . .