Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Enterprise (or any other affiliations thereof), and they are used without permission. The work that follows is merely a work of imagination and in no way related to the works of Paramount. I have no affiliations with Paramount Entertainment. Financial recompense is neither received nor sought for this work. This work is purely for entertainment purposes.

Author's note: Yes, I know it's short… but there is more to come. (You think she's getting off this easy?) I am a feedback junkie (is there a support group for that?) so reviews are greatly welcomed.

Day Three:

When I wake, Malcolm is (blissfully) gone. I wriggle my way free and make a break for the bathroom, locking the door just in case he decides to come back. After a hot shower, I get dressed and grab Rossie's paperwork and head first to Engineering. Rossie's not there, so I leave the paperwork on the desk and head off again.

I find the object of my non-affection down in the armoury, like the good little lieutenant he is. I march up to him and hand him his socks, much to onlookers' astonishment. (1)

"Well washed, I hope."

I open my mouth to reply and realise something horrible.

"What? No witty comeback?" Malcolm's not as quick on the uptake as he would like to think he is.

I try again, just in case it was… well, I don't know what, but I'm in deep denial. Unfortunately, I get the same result. Nothing.

"Have you lost your voice? Lieutenant, you shouldn't be here. Not if you've got laryngitis. Good lord, do you realise how many people you could make sick?"

Some of you don't need help. I'd say it to his face, but I can't.

"Now, you get yourself straight back to bed. There's no sense in you wandering around in your condition." He turns me around and gives me a gentle push towards the door. I'm not about to argue, because at least it keeps me away from him. (2)

Out in the hall, things go from looking up to straight down the long black tunnel that leads into the recyclers.

"Lieutenant…" Our joined-at-the-hip pair of engineers, Harvey Bryson and David Higgens just happen to be walking past. Or as Commander Tucker refers to them: 'the only two people I've ever had the urge to slowly torture to death.' (3) I ignore them, because (a) I am physically incapable of saying what I would like to, and (b) even if I could say it, they'd probably take it as an invitation. (4)

"I guess she's just dumbstruck," Bryson snickers, when I don't answer.

"Well, I'll agree on the dumb." Did I mention that Higgens can be incredibly stupid? Maybe he thinks that having a highly connected parent buys immunity. (5)

A phaser bolt lashes out of the Armoury and strikes Higgens dead on. "You're right, Stewart," Malcolm's voice carries easily to all concerned. "There is a problem with the safety on this one."

Unfortunately, it was only set to 'stun.' Either that, or Higgens is too thick-headed to realise that 'kill' means you're supposed to die. Either way, he's still breathing and the matter is none of my concern. I mean, it was clearly an accident, even if the timing is curious. Statistically it could happen. (6)

I get back to my room without any more major incidents. I do make a minor stop along the way to pick up some gear and once I'm back, I begin my work modifying the locks. A simple code change wouldn't be enough: as chief of security, Malcolm has an override to everything. Instead, I'm adding a few locks, and an alarm for good measure. There is no way I'm going to be ambushed by a nutcase nanny again.

Working on something more suited to my training lifts my spirits a little. I decide to go for a real challenge and start designing a security system that would out-fox even the expert. No, I don't mean Mr. Smarty Reed with all his little overrides and 'I am in charge of security around here.' I mean someone who really makes locking things up a challenge. I'm going to come up with one that would beat the Boy. (7)

Of course, this means getting more supplies – including a few notices about industrial hazards. After all, in deference to other people, I'm going to have to warn them that opening my door could lead to severe electric shock. I'm just not saying how. (8) I also have to keep in mind that I'm not the only person here – Igor and Evil Thing live here too, so all the dangers have to be on the outside.

Before I can finish, however, I'm ambushed by the guy this was originally meant to keep out.

"Get into bed!" Malcolm bounds through the door and jabs a finger towards my bunk.

I pick up a padd and scribble him a note. No wonder you have no luck with women.

His expression darkens considerably. (9) "Captain Archer says if you're healthy enough to be fooling around with engineering something, you're healthy enough to report for duty."

I wave the padd in the air, reminding him of my current limitations.

"Believe me, I mentioned that, and his reply was, 'It should be peaceful for you, then.'"

I scribble another note. Phlox?

"Unless you're still contagious, it's unlikely that there's anything he can do." Malcolm actually looks worried. "Are you still contagious? Because I might be susceptible."

This confuses me for a moment, then I realise what he's saying. (10) If he gets sick, then I can't go on duty in the armoury, because that would create the incredibly awkward situation of ensigns giving orders to a lieutenant, which is not only against the rules, it's unfair. (11)

I could breathe on you and we could find out, I write.

"Are you insane?" He pauses for a moment, clearly remembering our conversation from the other day. "Sorry, sorry… forget I said that. You're just evil and malicious." He takes a couple of steps backwards though, as if that would be enough to protect him from something airborne.

I put on my best 'insulted' face. I was only trying to help you.

"Making me sick is 'helping.'" He shakes his head. "Remind me to ask you to explain the logic on that some day."

Well, since you don't…

"Not today." He doesn't even let me finish with my note. "I already have a headache."

Maybe you're the one who belongs in bed. Maybe you're already sick. Actually, the correct word is 'always' instead of 'already,' but there's an art to insulting people.

"Now that you mention it…" He pales on cue, something that is supposed to be physiologically impossible. On the other hand, whoever came up with that rule didn't take into account somebody as psychosomatically suggestive (12) as Malcolm can be.

You get straight to your quarters and you call Dr. Phlox. I spin him around and give him a push towards the door. This is just too easy.

(1) And, this being a workplace, great curiosity.

(2) Especially after I change the locks.

(3) Unfortunately, I can't say that. I've had that urge about dozens of people, especially those that hurt animals. Commander Tucker is just too nice.

(4) The reason they recognise me is that they spend too much time staring at parts of my anatomy other than my head and face. I'd kill them, but it's far easier to stand back and let them make themselves look like fools.

(5) Regrettably, it does, which is why Commander Tucker and I simply amuse ourselves thinking of 'accidents' the two of them could encounter.

(6) I mean statistically Captain Archer could start tap-dancing and singing show-tunes, too. Admittedly the odds are somewhere around infinity-to-one, but it could happen.

(7) Not that I have to worry about him breaking in. He only does if it's a real emergency, or he needs to work out a new strategy on my game system.

(8) This is actually nothing new… my father used to insist on it for 'liability purposes.'

(9) Which is quite the accomplishment when you consider he didn't have a good one to start. I mean, he complains about his parents, but I'm not sure even a mother could love a mug like that.

(10) While this may not be the implication he's thinking of, it's the best meaning for me.

(11) Though it's difficult to say whom it's more unfair to: junior officers seem to get a lot of malicious pleasure out of creating nasty jobs every time the positions get reversed. This is why demoted people rarely return to their old regiments.

(12) Or maybe just hypochondriacal