Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks to trisuns5 (not much Hoshi because I hadn't seen any of season 3 when I started writing this, and I've been writing on what I knew from other people, which didn't include much about Hoshi), and Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for reviewing the last chapter, and to Kat31 and G. Eliot, my betas. Sorry this has taken so long, there's been some betaing problems…hopefully the rest should be posted in the not to distant future! &!& means change of perspective but not time.

Chapter 9

"Mike."

Jon walked over to his friend. Mike was facing the window, looking out at the stars.

"I didn't want you to leave without talking to you again," Jon continued. "You're just about the closest thing I've got to family."

Mike faced him and smiled slightly. "You're wrong. Your family is here."

"Trip."

"And the rest of the crew. I didn't come here to start a fight, Jon, heaven knows I've had enough of them with your father. I came to see how you were doing and I think you'll be just fine."

Jon smiled at his words, before asking the question he'd forgotten earlier. "I hadn't asked you, what are things like on Earth?"

A pensive expression settled on Mike's face. "We've changed, Jon, all of us. I haven't yet figured out whether it's for the better or the worse. There was so much anger and fear, and it's still there. It may only disappear once this generation is dead and buried, the memories fading with time. Too many people still want to remember and hate." He sighed and leant back against the bulkhead.

"When Enterprise started out, the media celebrated our advancement into space. Everyone could feel like they were a part of it. Now, Earth wants to isolate us from the rest of the galaxy."

Jon was disturbed, but not surprised by Mike's comments. A society would become more insular if attacked on the scale Earth was. "With the threat over, maybe things will change again," he offered, not really believing his own words.

Mike grinned. "And Enterprise can get back to exploring again."

Exploring. It would be good to explore some exotic planet, Trip taking a picture of the crew, Malcolm relaxing as much as could be expected, T'Pol investigating the wildlife and keeping everyone on track, some laughter and lightness in the air.

"I can't wait," he said simply, clapping Mike on the shoulder. "We'd better head to the shuttle bay, we wouldn't want to keep Admiral Forrest waiting."

They moved towards the door and Mike smiled. "It wouldn't bother me..."


"It's a beautiful ship, Malcolm."

Malcolm and his parents were walking to the shuttle bay. Malcolm tried not to appear too shocked by his father's almost reverential comment. Anyone else would see it just as a compliment to the ship, but Malcolm knew better. It was as close as his father could come to saying that he approved of Malcolm and his life.

There was pride and love in the comment. He and his parents weren't close, but that didn't mean that they weren't nice people. Yes, his father had reacted badly to him joining Starfleet, but he had gotten over that, he'd just never told Malcolm that he had. Malcolm knew that he was very much like his father; he also had trouble communicating his feelings and connecting with people. Trip had been the first person to really succeed in getting Malcolm to open up. And when you got two people in the same room who hated talking about or exposing their feelings, things were bound to be tense.

He allowed himself a small smile when he responded to his father's words. "Thank you."

His mother reached for his hand, holding it and squeezing his fingers for a few seconds before letting go. Malcolm finally realised that his parents didn't need to tell him in words how they felt, they had always done it through their actions; he'd just been too blind to see it when he was younger. Even after his fight with them, his parents had come to all his important occasions whenever possible, they had always been a silent support. He'd resented their coming, but now he found that he didn't. It was amazing how a few simple gestures could completely change your outlook on life.

They reached the shuttle bay and Malcolm was vaguely amused to find that they were the first ones there. They stood silently waiting for the others to arrive, but Malcolm did not find the silence stiff or cold. The door opened and Malcolm saw Trip's father walk through, but without Trip. He was slightly puzzled and concerned by it, as he hadn't seen Trip since he'd walked out on lunch. Mr Tucker walked slowly, and Malcolm knew that something had gone wrong by the look on his face.

Hoshi and her parents, and Admiral Forrest soon arrived, followed lastly by the Captain and his friend who were talking animatedly. The Captain looked around when he arrived and Malcolm saw the look of puzzlement and slight annoyance on his face when he realised that Trip wasn't there. Mr Tucker seemed to pick up on the Captain's expression as well, as he commented that something had come up.

Admiral Forrest shook hands with all the Enterprise officers before stepping into the shuttlepod and Hoshi hugged her parents before they also got on board. Malcolm shook hands formally with his father and kissed his mother on the cheek, expecting them to then move away. Before they did, his mother grabbed his hand again and squeezed it. Mike, the Captain's friend, hugged the Captain, whispered something to him and then climbed on board the shuttlepod. The three Enterprise officers retreated back to the observation area and watched the ship leave. Malcolm felt relief at its departure, whether at the fact that he finally understood his parents or for some other reason he didn't know. The Captain and Hoshi both looked downcast and left the room quickly, the Captain leaving first.

Malcolm stood there for a while longer, until he felt that he could leave. He hadn't known what was holding him there, but something was. The door opened and he stepped out into the corridor and headed to his quarters. He had a lot of thinking to do.


Trip floated back up through the layers of his mind. His front was warm but his butt and back were cold. He opened his gritty eyes and looked at his shower. His mind had trouble figuring out exactly why he would be looking at his shower. He looked down at his arms and couldn't see them, there was a blanket covering him. It took a minute more of fuzzy thinking before he finally came to the conclusion that he was sitting on his bathroom floor. He'd been so tired after he'd finally finished crying that he must have fallen asleep, but he didn't remember grabbing the blanket. That's not to say he didn't grab it, anything was possible, especially when he was that tired.

He pushed the blanket off and stood up slowly. His legs protested slightly at being vertical, the cold had seeped into them, giving them the tendency to want to cramp. He staggered over to the basin and looked at his multiple reflections in the mirror. He'd forgotten about that. He'd have to put in a requisition to get it repaired and come up with a creative excuse that didn't result in being sent to an anger management therapist. Well, his multiple reflections looked awful, so his single one must look pretty bad. He splashed some water on his face and rubbed it dry, wincing slightly at the tenderness of the skin. He almost yelped when he rubbed across his cheek, leading him to study the spot in the mirror. There was no way that anybody could miss the angry red mark now. Although there was at least some purple to contrast with the red.

He hadn't had enough sleep, he still felt slightly woozy, although that could also be from not eating and working his ass off in engineering. The problem was that after that sort of anger and grief there was no way in hell that he would be able to eat, or able to easily go back to sleep. He crossed unsteadily to his cupboard and pulled a pair of track suit bottoms and a plain shirt out, slipping off his uniform before changing into the comfortable clothes. He would have to see Phlox in the morning to get himself back on track, but until then he'd do his best to forget about everything that had happened. The fact that the way he was going to do that would make his doctor kill him was irrelevant.


"You wanna get drunk?" Trip said as he walked into Malcolm's room unannounced, carrying a bottle of bourbon. Malcolm wouldn't have been sure of his identity if he hadn't spoken, as the lights were dim.

Malcolm thinned his lips and eyed him. "Have you ever heard of knocking Commander?" he said, placing emphasis on the rank. "And I believe that your override code is only for emergencies. Now if you don't mind, I wasn't particularly in the mood for company right now."

Trip sprawled down on the bed beside Malcolm. "Well, Lieutenant, I guess I could make it an order. Lieutenant Reed, I order you to get drunk with me. To refuse that order would be insubordination and downright irritating. Besides, we don't want this bottle to feel lonely, do we?"

Malcolm smirked and rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure of the validity of that order, Sir, but when you put it that way."

Trip smiled grimly, broke the seal on the bottle, opened it and took a long swig. He handed the bottle to him as Malcolm asked, "So where'd you get the bottle?"

Trip waited for him to take a mouthful before replying, "The Captain's quarters."

Malcolm choked, swallowed and sputtered before wiping his watering eyes. Trip grabbed the bottle and took another swig, wiped his mouth and sighed.

"You stole a bottle of booze out of the Captain's quarters?" Malcolm asked incredulously.

"Malcolm, I'm horrified that you think that I would do such a thing. I just borrowed it and won't be returning it."

"One of these days, Trip, you're going to get yourself in over your head," Malcolm said as he took back the bottle.

"One of these days, one of these days, POW, right in the kisser," Trip slurred in a high voice with a punch to the air.

"What?"

"What?" Trip turned to him with a confused look on his face.

"Mr Tucker, I think you're already partially drunk, and we're not even a quarter of the way through. When did you last sleep or eat? And have you been in a fight?" Malcolm suddenly noticed the bruise on Trip's face and turned it towards him to inspect it. Trip angrily brushed his hand away.

"I've had enough of parents for one day, Malcolm. So stop acting like my father and give me that damn bottle!"

Malcolm looked him fully in the face and said firmly, "No. Not until you tell me what happened."

Trip gritted his teeth in frustration and then spat, "He hit me, okay, Malcolm? Now give me the bottle." He stuck out his hand until Malcolm reluctantly handed it over.

"To parents. Unlike our friends, we're stuck with them," Trip toasted bitterly, before drinking.

"To parents," Malcolm agreed, "You can't live with them, you wouldn't be alive without them."

"That's very..." Trip paused, searching for the word.

"Profound?" Malcolm suggested.

"I was thinking deep, but I guess profound will do. Deep and profound."

Fifteen minutes later, three quarters of the bottle was gone and both men were slouched against the wall.

"Where was your mother?" Malcolm suddenly asked with surprising clarity. When no reply was forthcoming, Malcolm nudged Trip who looked blearily at him.

"You say somethin', Mal?" he slurred.

"I asked, where was your mother," Malcolm said, enunciating each word slowly.

It took a few seconds for the question to sink into Trip's alcohol soaked brain. "Oh, she has this thing call'd hippochondra."

"Sounds bad," Malcolm replied, with a slight upturn of his lips.

"She thinks it is."

"My father would be horri...horrified to see this," Malcolm said. He got no response from Trip who was taking another drink. "I'm fraternising with a senior officer."

"The way you say that sounds dirty," Trip muttered.

Trip had been dozing off again for several minutes when the door buzzer activated. "Come in!" he shouted and then realised that he'd done it way too loudly as his head spun.

"Trip, we don't wan' anybody else here. We've only got quarter of a bottle left," Malcolm said matter-of-factly.

The door opened and Captain Archer walked in the room. He half frowned, half smiled when he saw the state of the two officers.

"Hi Cap'n!" Trip said way too happily for Malcolm's tastes. "Wanna drink?"

Malcolm then remembered where the bottle that was in his hand came from. The look of absolute doom that crossed his face made Archer laugh.

&!&

"It's all right, Malcolm," Jon said with a smile. "Trip has borrowed bottles before."

"Tha's righ'," Trip drunkenly agreed. "I lef' him an IUO note."

Jon shook his head as he looked at the bedraggled men before him. Trip looked like he hadn't slept in a week and had been drinking just as long, in contrast to Malcolm who, somehow, even drunk, still appeared like he could pass inspection on a parade ground.

"Okay, Trip," Jon said, manoeuvring his arm behind Trip's back, "time to go to bed. Malcolm, I'll take him back to my quarters, you really don't want him here when he gets this drunk. It won't be a pleasant night."

"Cap'n, are you positioning me? 'Cause I don' think Malcolm's father will approve."

When Malcolm figured out what Trip meant he almost choked on his shocked laughter.

"No, Trip," Jon replied with a straight face, "I'm not propositioning you, you're not my type. You can't be left alone to sleep when you're like this, and at least in my quarters I can get some work done."

He managed to lever Trip up into a standing position, who promptly did his impersonation of a jellyfish.

"Are you going to be okay, Malcolm?"

Malcolm nodded in reply to the spoken and the implied question.

"C'mon, Trip," Jon said, shifting his stance to compensate for the added weight. "We're not going to make it if you don't help a bit."

When they made it to the lift, Jon was grateful that turbolifts started and stopped without making a person's stomach feel like it was moving too. Otherwise it could have been messy. He saw the slight tinge of green warning him that Trip had reached that stage.

"Just hold on, Trip."

He also noticed the bruise on Trip's cheek and decided to ask about it when they got to his quarters. He knew from past experience that he could get Trip to talk about things he didn't want to when drunk. Jon sighed in relief as he dumped Trip onto the side of his bed after telling Porthos to stay. They'd managed to make it with no untoward incidences or things formerly a part of Trip being left behind.

Looking at the greenness of Trip's face, he decided that the bed wasn't such a good place for him to be, and quickly but carefully guided him into the bathroom to begin his worship of the great white plastic god.

After he had gotten to the phase of dry retching, which Jon realised had occurred way too quickly, Jon approached the subject. "Trip, who hit you?"

Trip didn't look up from where he rested his sweaty head by the toilet as he replied quietly, "My father. But I don' blame him for doin' it. I'd hit me too."

"Trip, nobody has a right to hit you. Has he done it before?"

Trip snorted. "No."

Jon finally asked the question that had been plaguing him most of the day. "Why did you lie to me about your parents?"

Trip lifted his head up and, despite his drunkenness, said with conviction, "I didn'. They're no' my real paren's. Christina and Mark are. They rais'd me an' James an' Lizzie. They were our housekeeper and groundsman. I call them mom an' dad. Sad, huh?"

Just after finishing the sentence, he leaned forward and went through another bout of dry heaving. Jon rubbed his back until he finished and then commed Doctor Phlox. "Doc, I'd appreciate it if you could come to my quarters. Trip was hit in the face today and at the moment he's in no condition to make it to sickbay. Could you check him out and make sure he's okay before he passes out?"

"Certainly, Captain. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Jon filled a glass with water and handed it to Trip. Noticing how shaky he was, Jon supported Trip's hands on the glass, allowing him to swallow some without spilling it down the front of him, before wiping Trip's face with a wet cloth.

"Thanks, Jon," Trip murmured.

When Phlox arrived, Trip had managed to make it back to the bed on shaky legs. Phlox took one look at him and tutted. "Drinking on an empty stomach were we, Commander?"

"Doctor, you can lecture him tomorrow- when he's feeling even worse," Jon said. Trip shot him a dirty look while Phlox examined his face.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that there's nothing broken and no concussion. See me in the morning for something for the hangover and I'll look at the bruise again," Phlox said as he injected something into Trip's arm.

Trip's eyes had already shut and Phlox gently lowered him onto his side on the bed. He looked up at Jon and said, "Captain, can we have a word outside?"

Jon looked back at Trip to reassure himself before following Phlox out the door. Phlox waited for the door to close before speaking. "Do you know who hit him?"

"His father."

"Ahh. Probably why he did not come to me and instead sought solace in a bottle," Phlox ruminated.

"You make him sound like an alcoholic. I've known him for ten years, Doctor. He's not," Jon said with some heat.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I did not mean to suggest that. But, as I'm sure you also noticed, he's exhausted and has barely eaten anything in the last two days, which is why the alcohol hit him so hard. Do you know how much he drank?" the Denobulan asked.

"He was drinking with Malcolm, so I'm not certain. Between them they'd drunk about three quarters of a bottle of bourbon."

Phlox smiled. "Ahh, another patient. I've given Commander Tucker a dose of vitamins that his body badly needs due to his neglect of it. We'll need to watch him, Captain. He pushes his body too hard sometimes, and some day he may not be able to recover from it."

Jon was left with a lot to think about when he went back inside and covered the unconscious Trip with a blanket. He smoothed Trip's sweat darkened hair away from his forehead.

"You have to take better care of yourself, Trip," he told the sleeping man. "We can't risk losing you."

He settled down with a pad into a chair facing the bed and started writing his personal log.

TBC...