Disclaimer: I own neither Enterprise nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only, no financial gain is recognised from these works.

Author's Note: Thank you my readers and reviewers... as always and heartfelt. Thank you too, to my always incredible beta-readers: silvershadowfire, gaianarchy and kate98 without whom the finished product would be a much lesser thing. Also: if you are interested in any possibility of rescuing Enterprise, vote in a way the industry recognises. If you can, buy the DVD set when it is released. Other shows have been resuscitated this way, and in television money is the only persuader that counts. If the advertisers know the audience is willing to buy... cyincal, I know, but true. And it's not like we don't like the show...

Oh, and for those of you who are wondering? Cat person. Definitely cat person.

Chapter 4: Like Cats and Dogs

He woke in a bed, or at the very least, on something flat. His head still hurt… damn, Malcolm had a sharp elbow. Nasty little bastard, too. He hadn't even changed expression – it was a move worthy of Hess. They are perfect for each other.

He slowly opened the eye that didn't hurt – why'd you have to hit me there? – to try and determine where he was. Small room, heavy doors, break-resistant windows… only one place on the ship looked like this. Well, I can't say I don't belong here.

"I thought I'd better keep you somewhere I can better monitor the oxygen supply." Malcolm's dry tones dropped from the overhead speaker. "After all, I wasn't getting anywhere trying to talk sense into you, and I do like having all my bits attached."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a vicious son-of-a-bitch?"

Malcolm pretended to think. "I'm not sure that there isn't a person who hasn't –once they get to know me."

"What do you want with me?" Funny how having someone to be mad at could make you feel better. But it did. He felt sulky, which was a million times better than the fear he'd been running on.

"My life. I might get away with hitting you, but if I let you die…" Malcolm shuddered.

"She wouldn't actually kill you." Probably not, anyway.

"I'm not staking my survival on that. Besides, is it really that difficult for you to consider that you might just have friends?" Malcolm didn't seem willing to even try to understand how impossible that was.

"Is it so difficult for you to consider that I don't want them?" Sooner or later… look what happened with Jon. Sooner or later, they always get hurt. He didn't need that on his conscience. He'd done enough damage already.

"Well, like it or not, you're stuck with us." Malcolm stared him down from the safety of the other side of a cell door. "You're just going to have to face the fact that there are people in your life who care about you, and care what happens to you."

"You shouldn't." Trip reiterated. "It's not worth the pain."

"It's not your call. If I want to be masochistic, that's my decision." Malcolm walked up and stared into the cell. "Personally, I don't think I'm the masochist here. But if you want to play martyr, I'm not building you a cross."

"Thanks. I've seen your building skills." Trip closed his eye and tried to forget anything existed, especially those angry, accusing eyes. I never wanted to be your friend, Mal. You were the one that had to play saviour. It was stupid, too. Any intelligent person would have let Trip crawl into that air-lock and double his or her own chances of survival. But when it was Malcolm's turn… he practically demanded that Jon kill him for the good of the ship, or some such nonsense. Even tried to do it himself.

But I was stupid. Young, stupid and naïve, when Hess came along and wormed her way inside his fences and alarms. He'd fallen for it, because he wanted a little sister again, and knew it wouldn't be fair to impose on Elizabeth. And then Jon, following the tunnel that Hess had already dug, falling for the con that was (then) Lieutenant 'Trip' Tucker. God, Jon, you should have seen. But Jon didn't know the prison rules, so he couldn't figure it out from Trip's behaviour. Ready to fight, but backing right off when authority commanded. Because you always fought to defend your territory, your space, your authority, but you never messed with those who were bigger, stronger and nastier than you. Except… how could have Jon missed the flinches, those automatic tenses as Trip waited for the first blow to land? Every time someone gets mad… That had been one of the hardest things to adjust to: the fact that violence wasn't what most people defaulted to; that every time someone screamed, it didn't have to mean that they were going to hit you.

I never should have lost that. If he hadn't, maybe he would have seen this hit coming. Next time, though… the next bastard that tried to hit him was going to get it. With certain exceptions, of course. Nicci could probably beat the crap out of me and I wouldn't fight back, mostly because Hess never would. And James. He chewed the inside of his lip as he admitted the truth to himself. He could never fight back against James. James was the man in charge.

He heard a cough, and squeezed his eyes tighter, suppressing a gasp at the pain. No, not now. No.

"Captain," Malcolm sounded concerned, though mostly for his captain.

"I think I'm outside of a hundred feet." Jon sounded bitter. "And I'm not talking to him, either."

That's me. The man with no name, no identity. A name meant dignity, worth. But Trip had neither of those. 110921683. That was who he was, or at least who he'd been for four years. A number in a system. A faceless entity. Better that way.

Jon dropped his voice so Trip couldn't hear clearly. One or two words slipped through, but not much. Words like 'danger' and 'trust.' Words like 'lied to me.'

I'm sorry, Jon. I didn't think you'd like the truth. That was the other thing. He didn't do well on his own, either. There'd always been someone else there: parents, a brother, a cell-mate… and then suddenly he was on his own. And then there was Nicci, and Jon, and he clung to them like they were driftwood and he was drowning. Except people weren't like driftwood… driftwood didn't walk away if they found out nasty things about you.

I'm not staying here, though. He didn't dare, not with James running around free. Here, and hurt… there was no way to save himself or anybody else. He was a sitting duck. So I ain't gonna stay sitting. James liked a challenge, and by distracting him, Trip could keep people like Malcolm and Hess from getting caught in those claws. And he'll shred you. Hess liked to think she was tough, but the truth was, she was as emotionally resilient as whipped cream in a cup of coffee. If James had managed to learn anything about her, he'd never take her on physically. He'd hit her where it hurt instead which would mean…

No. That wasn't going to happen, not again. James had killed the neighbour's dog, Trip had found the pieces. And like Malcolm had pointed out, Hess loved those animals more than anything.

Silently, he began an inventory. Malcolm had taken away most things – including his shoelaces – but had blessedly left his boots otherwise intact. None of his teeth were broken, that was a good thing, because teeth could be more useful than people guessed when it came to an escape. The blow to the ribs hadn't been that hard, because they didn't even seem to be bruised. Which meant the only damage was to his eye. Good. It was his right eye anyway, and his dominant eye was his left. Not too bright for an armoury officer, Mal. Then again, there was only so much Malcolm could reasonably pull off. Any more, and it would be questionable whether he'd be wearing a hospital gown or a lawsuit.

He waited until Malcolm left, then pulled one of his boots off and began picking and chewing at the threads that held the leather over the frame. Too bad, these were good boots. The best boots, really – Hess had given them to him as a birthday present. They were custom-made and designed to withstand anything an engineer could throw at them. Which is a hell of a lot. They were also comfortable as hell – far more comfortable than Starfleet issue. Damn, damn, double, triple damn.

But what they also had was a hell of a lot of little metal strips. Steel toe wasn't enough for these babies, they had a flexible shock-absorbing cage and wiring for the in-sole electromagnets. To an engineer, that translated into a mini-toolkit. Give an engineer a tool-kit… Especially when that engineer knew the specifications of the pen that held him.

(dds)

"I don't know how this happened, Sir." Jimmy had to give this Malcolm guy credit: he kept his face absolutely blank the entire time, even though it was his failure that created this empty cell. What was he thinking, leaving an ex-con without guards? Didn't he know that anyone who'd been Inside automatically had escape plans?

Well, it was a nearly empty cell. The weird looking engineer crouched inside, letting loose a string of profanity that would out-do even Big-Brother. "Stupid, fucking idiot," she muttered again.

Jon smirked and Jimmy couldn't help but feel a little bit of satisfaction. Even the blind are beginning to see.

"Lieutenant?" Malcolm stepped into the cell with her and began looking at whatever had caught her attention.

"Where the hell am I going to get him another pair of boots out here? You don't just buy these things off the shelf, you know. And even if I ordered him replacements, we'd never be able to get them, because by the time a cargo ship caught up with us…"

Beside Jimmy, Jon rolled his eyes. "Lieutenant, most of us have bigger concerns than the fact that Commander Tucker is barefoot. The least of his troubles right now is the fact that his toes are exposed."

"Considering that, Sir, I'd be more concerned about us." Lieutenant Hess shot back, dryly. "You've obviously never had a close encounter. He's the first person I ever insisted keep his shoes on inside my house." Then she seemed to remember who she was talking to and shut up.

"I thought you said he hit her or somethin'," Jimmy said quietly. This girl didn't seem like the type to take that sort of thing.

"Apparently that's not as bad as his feet." Jon's tone was as dry as Hess' had been. "I said she was intelligent, I never said she was smart." He also sounded on edge.

Hess straightened up and looked straight out the door at Jon. "You know what the difference between Commander Tucker and you is, Sir? When he commits a crime, he's got the guts to admit it."

"That sounds like insubordination, Lieutenant." Jon's eyes narrowed. No, he didn't have much patience for this girl at all.

"Charge me. I know some very good lawyers, Sir. By the time it gets to trial, you'll be too senile to testify." Jimmy could swear that her teeth were ready to start chattering, like some inbred poodle before it bit you.

Malcolm laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke softly in her ear. Jimmy caught one or two words, but they didn't sound like English. They distracted her though: she got an irritated look on her face then turned away.

"I am not a…" Jon didn't seem willing to let it go, though.

"You've just never been charged." She spun around and again it seemed like the security guy was the only thing stopping a fight.

I thought Starfleet was big on discipline. Then again, maybe being friends with your boss bought special favour. And it wasn't like Big-Brother had a whole lot of spine. He'd come apart against her like a cookie in a cup of coffee.

"I…" Jimmy didn't have any trouble sounding confused.

"Ask him how this engine even got out of the prototype stage," Hess snarled. "Where I'm from they call it 'Grand Theft.'"

Jon looked uncomfortable. "Starfleet didn't see it that way."

"No, because you were Daddy's boy."

"That's enough!" Now Jon snapped. "Get her out of here, Mr. Reed. Confine her to her quarters and I suggest you post a guard."

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm half-pulled, half-coaxed the girl out into the hall.

"Your brother is the only thing that stopped me from doing that a long time ago." Jon tapped his fingers against his leg, agitated. "Now…"

Hmmn. Something to keep in mind there. "That close, huh?"

Jon shook his head. "Sometimes I used to think they were separated at birth. The stunts they'd get up to… Of course, I didn't realise that he already had…"

Jimmy laughed. "Yeah. He was always doing crazy things. Like the time he dismantled the garbage disposal 'to see how it worked.' We never did find all the circuits. Then he wondered why Mom and Dad never believed him when he said that I was the one who broke things."

Jon looked a little distracted for a moment. "Really."

"Hey. I'm not saying I didn't break things… Mom and Dad just usually defaulted to Trip, because he was the one usually doing it."

Jon smiled. "Now, that I can see. I swear he's not happy unless he has something lying around in pieces. Once we went a week without anything going wrong or breaking down and he was the most miserable person to work with that you've ever seen. I think he broke the air-recyclers on purpose, just to have something to fix."

"That's my Big-Brother. He never could just let things be. No patience whatsoever." Jimmy cast a sly look at Jon. "So… how did the engine get out of prototype stage?"

"Long story," Jon answered him. "And unfortunately, it's classified."

Jimmy laughed. Oh well, he'd find out sooner or later.

"But I'll tell you what I can." Jon gestured for Jimmy to lead the way and they left the prison area behind.

Why'd you leave, brother? Remind you too much of the old days?

(dds)

Damnit, Nicci, why'd you do that? Trip watched on the monitor as Hess blew up at Jon and Malcolm pulled her into the corridor. The girl couldn't go two seconds without getting herself in trouble and it was usually over him.

"Come on, guys." He scooped up Evil Thing and tucked him into his carrying-cage. The ginger cat chewed lightly on Trip's finger for a moment then settled down as Trip closed the door.

"You too, monster." Igor looked at him questioningly, but didn't protest. They trusted him; his only fear was that they might trust James as well.

You guys have been hurt enough. There was no way he was going to let James get anywhere near them. He wrote a quick note and left it on the desk.

I've got the kids. Don't worry about them. I just don't want them getting hurt. The animals were like children to Hess. If James wanted to get her, this would be the quickest way. It wouldn't take him long to figure that out, either. And while it would be a huge mistake – Jon's biggest soft-spot was animals – Trip wasn't going to let them be sacrifices. That's not the way I play. It might be James' game, but he wasn't James.

Picking up the cases, he moved quickly. It wouldn't be long before Security came looking for him – even if he wasn't charged with anything, he was still in trouble. And if Malcolm was bringing Hess back here then Trip needed to be long-gone by the time they arrived. After all, this is essentially a kidnapping. Evil Thing might be his cat technically, but he'd granted custody to Hess from the beginning. And the rabbit was all hers. While she could defend herself, they couldn't. I'm just not taking any chances anymore. Not with the lives of others. Hadn't he learned that the first time? That James couldn't be stopped?

One thing about being chief engineer – he knew some good hiding places. He tucked the animals into one and gave them some food and water. Evil Thing nuzzled up against him, possibly sensing that Trip needed comfort, but more likely seeking comfort of his own.

"It's okay, pal. I'll be back soon." He scratched the cat behind the ears, feeling tears burning at his eyes. They had no idea what was going on, all they knew was that Trip had taken them from their familiar quarters and brought them to this much smaller cubby-hole. He felt like a traitor… he felt like he did the day they took the dog in to be put down. He hadn't understood, either, just kept looking at Trip with those big brown eyes until he stopped breathing. "It's only for a while, okay? Then you'll be back home with Mommy and everything will be okay."

Evil Thing 'brrrped' and head butted him.

"I wonder what Jon would say if he knew the truth about you." According to an old girlfriend, there really were cat people and dog people. Jon was definitely a dog person, even if you eliminated Porthos. He gave an order and expected obedience. He wanted his people to follow him.

But I like cats. You'd never get obedience from a cat – maybe that was why he had so much patience for Hess and Jon didn't. Cat people learned to accept independence and a certain measure of wackiness. Especially when your cat has thumbs. There was a fancy word for it, Hess had told him what it was once, but it essentially came down to thumbs. Evil Thing used them like thumbs, too, picking up things with his paws, often as a prelude to hiding it. Somewhere, he had a small tool collection to rival Trip's own. You didn't order cats, you realised that they were guided by enlightened self-interest and tailored your requests to suit that.

That was probably why that relationship had broken up – Sandy had been a dog-person through and through, right down to the yappy little Shi Tzu that used to maul his ankle. Their last fight had run along the lines of 'You don't listen to me,' with Trip trying to explain that just because he didn't do like she asked didn't mean he wasn't listening. Finally, he did do what she said and stopped listening, completely tuning her out and refusing to fight. That made her even madder and ended with Trip's belongings strewn all over the courtyard of her apartment building. Fortunately, he hadn't moved much in at that point, though his stereo took a beating on the landing.

Sighing, Trip left them behind and got back to the serious task of playing bait. He found himself an out-of-the-way console and booted up the links to the security cameras. Idly, he wondered how Malcolm would react if he realised how much time Trip spent using those precious safety devices as a personal spy network. Probably not that well once he realises I've spied on him. While there wasn't a camera in Hess' room, there was an intercom linked to the doorbell.

Don't be doing anything I don't want to know about. It would be his luck for them to figure out their mutual attraction just at the moment he decided to listen.

"Kids?" Malcolm's voice and the incredulity in it came through loud and clear.

"Well, it's quicker than saying 'cat and rabbit' every time, or calling them by name." Hess sounded agitated, despite the note. "I mean… that way I know he took them, but that doesn't make it any better. Why would he take them, Malcolm? What could he possibly be thinking?"

That I know my brother better than you do. After all, if there were cat people and dog people… couldn't there also be crocodile people as well? People for whom it meant nothing to snap another creature in two? That was James in a nutshell. We're not even the same species.

"It seems pretty clear from his note that he was concerned about their welfare. Given what he told me about his childhood, I can't say as I blame him." Malcolm seemed to be adjusting to the idea of pets as children.

"I believe Captain Archer is looking for you."

Trip jumped at the sound of a voice behind him. Damn you. Now there was someone with the attributes of a cat: independent, stubborn and so quiet you never heard her sneaking up on you. "T'Pol."

"Commander. The captain mentioned concern that you were not in Sickbay."

"He probably mentioned concern that I'm not in restraints," Trip muttered. "So… you're just out looking for me? Ready to haul me back?"

"There are a great many rumours concerning…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Trip rolled his eyes. "Okay. I was in on an armed robbery. I shot and killed someone, then I turned State's Evidence and got a deal, and James was the one who got nailed big-time. Happy now? You know all about me… my dirty little secret. I'm a violent felon with a temper problem and no loyalty whatsoever."

T'Pol stared at him calmly. "I see. And that is all?"

All? Of course it wasn't. "Nobody could understand. Not even you." She was a Vulcan, Vulcans didn't get so terrified that they couldn't even breathe. "Especially not you."

"I understand that your relationship with your brother is… strained."

Trip laughed, feeling himself on the edge of hysteria. Strained? "Yeah. Or didn't you just catch the part about me sending him to jail for the rest of his life?" Malcolm couldn't make an understatement like that.

"I agree with Captain Archer in that there is reason to be concerned about your welfare." T'Pol studied Trip's face intently. "You seem to be under a great deal of stress…"

"Jon just wants me locked up so I don't mess up anybody else," Trip stated emphatically. "He already buys me as the big, bad villain and is probably scared that I'll blow up the Warp Engine or something."

"I do not believe that judgement does Captain Archer justice…"

"I've known Jon a hell of a lot longer than you have," Trip snapped. "This isn't the type of thing he forgives. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't even know me. And from what he's learned, he doesn't want to know me. Jon likes… Jon likes good people. He didn't just pick this crew because we're the best engineers and pilots and armoury staff – okay, maybe Hoshi's the best linguist you'll ever find – but because we're also decent people… or at least that's what he thought. We're supposed to be the best ambassadors for Earth. What I've done kind of excludes me from that definition."

"Commander…"

"Don't. I've already resigned my post. If you've got an engineering problem, go talk to Hess – she's in her quarters – or Rostov. Either one of them can help you out. In the meantime, I don't feel like standing around and talking." He pushed his way past her, feeling like shit. How many more people can I hurt in one day? He didn't want to know the answer to that. Way, way, way too many.