Archer heard the door chime and called, "Come in."

T'Pol entered the ready room with that lithe step of hers and stopped before the Captain's desk, hands behind her back.

"Lieutenant Reed is resting in his quarters. The Doctor says his wound is not serious, although he is not to use his arm for a few days. Crewman Brown is going to spend the night in sickbay: the portion of crumbling wall that fell on her didn't do much damage but Doctor Phlox says the crewman displays a high level of anxiety, so he wishes to supervise her for a few more hours." T'Pol reported in her neutral tone.

"Any progress in finding out who the hell those people were and where they came from?" Archer growled. He was tired and angry. This was supposed to be a mission of peaceful exploration but, as it was turning out, humans seemed to be one of the very few species in the galaxy who knew what 'peaceful' meant.

"No. But it is logical to assume that they are somehow linked to those ruins. Perhaps they are descendants of the people who once inhabited the planet and the site is sacred to them. In any case they seem to be no longer interested in us, now that we have left the planet. They have vanished as fast and mysteriously as they appeared."

There was a pause and then the Vulcan continued, "I am… regretful, Captain. The alien ship had barely uncloaked when we detected the transport; I immediately contacted Lieutenant Reed but was too late to avoid the worst."

"You shouldn't feel sorry T'Pol. Beside the fact that – correct me if I'm wrong – it's an emotion, you did prevent the worst. If you hadn't had the presence of mind to transport us out of that cursed planet, some of us would probably be dead now," Archer replied, his voice sounding hoarse. "I really must learn to anticipate trouble every single time we leave the ship," he then bitterly admitted.

T'Pol studied her CO's green eyes and saw raw emotion in them. A lot of things could be said about this human, she thought, but not that he is unwilling to admit his own mistakes.

"Do you want me to transport Mr. Mayweather down to retrieve the Shuttlepod?" the Vulcan asked, preparing to leave.

"I guess it's something we'll have to do. Send two security men with him. I want them transported as close to the Shuttlepod as possible and off the damn planet without delay. Dismissed."

Reed thought with horror of the long day ahead of him. Thankfully, the night had passed without nightmares, but to be off-duty, with nothing to do but think, was something he wasn't looking forward to. He had showered and dressed, and spent the last two hours trying to write an objective report on the previous day's incident. Having to use his left hand made the task even more difficult than it was already. He shot the pad an annoyed glance and stood up from his desk chair. Pacing his quarters like a caged animal, he was beginning to surrender to despair again when he suddenly had an idea. He opened the door and slipped out of his quarters.

Malcolm might have his right arm in a sling, but that didn't mean that he couldn't do a little target practice with his left one. He'd better make it a regular routine, in fact. He must be prepared. Miss. Keep his mind focused. Miss; again, damn! His body trained. Hit. He must concentrate on priorities. Hit; that's better. Salvage what he can of his old self. Hit; getting good, Lieutenant.

"There you are!" A familiar voice exclaimed.

Miss. Bloody hell!

"I oughtta have known that even with a bum arm you wouldn't be too far away from your beloved weapons." Trip stood a few steps away and was grinning widely.

"Is there something I can do for you, Commander?" Reed clamped down on his irritation.

"Not really. Just came to see what you're up to. But since you're askin'… and since we're here… you did promise to make a marksman out of me, so how about giving me a little lesson. Provided you've got that shinin' armour ready…" Trip bantered.

"I'm off duty until tomorrow, Sir." Reed replied curtly, without meeting Tucker's eyes.

"Hello, Malcolm, you in there?" Trip joked, although his friend's behaviour was beginning to worry him a bit.

He saw Reed clench his jaw.

"Commander, we can schedule a target practice session for tomorrow, if you have half an hour to spare. Now, if you don't mind, Sir, I'd like to get back to my own training."

Trip's eyes, which had widened in surprise at Malcolm's tone, now narrowed as he studied his friend attentively.

"You're not beatin' yourself over what happened on that planet, are you?" he probed.

Reed was still refusing to meet Tucker's eyes. Trip saw that he was fighting to keep his temper down. He stood rod straight and… in fact, now that he looked closer at the man, he was standing at attention. Aw, for heaven's sake!

"Respectfully, Sir," he heard Malcolm retort, "I wish to keep my feelings over that incident to myself."

That did it. Hell, we're back to square one! Trip fumed. He closed the gap between them and grabbed Malcolm roughly by his good arm, finally forcing the man to face him. He saw his friend wince in pain and felt a stab of remorse, but it was quickly smothered by his boiling anger.

"Damn, but you are stubborn!" the engineer exploded. "I'm not gonna take this military nonsense, standing at attention and tagging 'sir' to every second word. So you'd better tell me what's going on, if you want to be left alone, because I'm not budging until you do!"

Trip had expected Malcolm to react with antagonism to his angry words and was taken aback to read a different emotion in his eyes instead. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but for sure it wasn't irritation.

"Malcolm," he started more gently, feeling guilty at his loss of control; he never got to finish his sentence, as the comm came alive.

"Rostov to Commander Tucker."

Blowing an annoyed breath, he punched the link open. "Yes, Michael."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but you are needed in engineering. We have run into a small problem. Nothing serious but you'd better have a look at it."

Trip knew that Rostov would not disturb him for nothing. He heaved a sigh and let go of Malcolm's arm. He saw the lieutenant drop his chin to his chest.

At least he's no longer acting like a first-year recruit, Trip consoled himself. But to be honest his friend's now slumped shoulders worried him just as much as his previous rigid posture.

"You know that I'm not finished with you, don't you?" he asked him with a conciliatory smile. Reed slowly turned his face to look at him. For a moment Trip thought he was going to say something, but then he just nodded, with a resigned sigh.

Doctor Phlox heard the sickbay doors open and turned to see who was in need of his assistance. At the sight of Lieutenant Reed he stifled the grin that was dawning on his face.

"Lieutenant, you are early, I wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours: is your arm bothering you?" the doctor enquired with professional concern.

"My arm is fine, Doctor. I'm here to visit Crewman Brown. I've heard that you kept her overnight." Reed replied, and Phlox almost let our a sigh of relief: Malcolm Reed would not set foot in sickbay if he could avoid it and for a moment the doctor had thought that something must be very wrong with him.

"Yes, Crewman Brown was a bit shaken last night, so I preferred to keep an eye on her for a few more hours. But this morning she felt a lot better and her injury is nothing to worry about, so I released her to her quarters. You just missed her, actually. Well, since you're here, Lieutenant, why don't you let me treat your arm, so you won't have to come back later, hmm?"

Phlox saw Reed hesitate; he knew the man hated being fussed over. But he had him cornered. The lieutenant tilted his head in annoyance, then without a word went up to a biobed and climbed somewhat clumsily to sit on it.

While he went about the business of cleaning the wound and changing the bandage, the doctor studied his patient. Reed was not in very good spirits, even for his standards, he noted.

"Ah, excellent! Your injury is healing nicely. In a couple of days we shall take the sling off and let you start with a few exercises. I guarantee that in a week your arm will be almost as good as new, Lieutenant!"

"Grand," was Reed's laconic and unenthusiastic reply.

The doors to sickbay swished open again and Captain Archer marched through them.

"Captain," Phlox greeted him, "What can I do for you?"

"I've come to visit Crewman Brown," Archer replied; then he added, "I'm glad you're here, Malcolm; I passed by your quarters to check on you, but didn't find you."

As Malcolm straightened his shoulders and nodded to his CO, Phlox explained, for the second time in a row, why the crewman everybody wanted to visit was no longer there.

"I'm sorry you came all the way here Captain: I've just released Crewman Brown to her quarters. I was about to inform you. She is going to be fine; I prescribed a day's rest, after which she can go back to part-time duty."

"That's good to hear," Archer said, eyeing Malcolm and trying to figure out his unreadable frame of mind. Well, perhaps not so unreadable after all, the Captain thought, cringing.

Phlox helped Reed back into the sleeves of his uniform and with a jovial "See you tonight, Lieutenant!" left him alone with his captain.

"How is your arm, Malcolm?" Archer enquired just to break the silence, for he already knew what the answer would be.

"It's fine, Sir, thank you."

Reed's voice was despondent. The Captain found talking to him in this kind of mood one of the greatest burdens of his command. Or perhaps, if he was honest with himself, he felt the burden of having to admit to the man that he had wronged him. He heaved a deep breath and forged ahead.

"I owe you an apology, Lieutenant."

Malcolm flinched.

"Sir, please…"

Reed sounded embarrassed and annoyed, and Archer knew why: a Captain should not apologise to a lower ranking officer. But he felt the lieutenant needed to hear his words just as much as he himself needed to say them, so he raised a hand to prevent any further complaint and continued.

"I'm sorry I disappeared on you. I shouldn't have. I didn't think we could run into any trouble. I guess I was proven wrong one more time."

Reed looked frozen. For a moment Archer thought he'd have to call Phlox with his miraculous hyposprays; then, with a visible effort, the lieutenant met his gaze. His often indecipherable eyes showed disappointment, but strangely enough it didn't seem directed at him.

"Sir, I won't deny that when all hell broke loose and you were nowhere to be seen, I was quite… upset. As it turned out, though, this time you made the right move: away from the archaeological site you were much safer than the rest of us."

A strange way to speak, considering our skirmishes over security issues, Archer reflected.

The lieutenant broke eye contact and continued, his voice tense, "Things happened rather fast, but I believe I could have handled them better, Sir. You'll have my full report by tonight."

Ah, that's what this is all about, you thought you screwed up! The Captain sighed. Typical Reed!

"Look, Malcolm. I don't really care if things could've been handled better. There is always a better way of doing things. All I'm interested in, is to know that you did your best, under the circumstances. Which I am sure you did. And to know that no lives were lost. That, for me, is the most important thing."

"Of course, Captain. But what I did on that planet was far from my best, Sir." Reed insisted grimly. And Archer knew that there was nothing he could say right now to make him change his mind.

With what he hoped was a reassuring smile he quipped, "At least I listened to your suggestion and let you take Müller along…"

Reed looked at him with pained eyes. "I am glad you did, Sir. He was instrumental, with Subcommander T'Pol, in getting us all out of there alive."

Trip had been tied up in engineering longer than he had expected. The "small problem" had turned into a headache, and by the time he had solved it he was surprised to see that his shift had long finished. He glanced at the watch and debated with himself whether he should go to Malcolm's quarters.

It's late, the man is injured, he'll probably be resting, a mean little voice suggested.

What kind of friend are you? a more compassionate one countered.

You're dead tired and starving. You deserve a decent meal and a shower, the first one insisted. Mal is going to be in no mood to talk to you anyway.

That's just an act. You know him; he needs you, even though he won't admit it, his counterpart nagged a bit too loudly.

So the Chief Engineer went to the mess hall, grabbed a tray and placed on it a couple of sandwiches, a cup of coffee, and a cup of tea 'with a cloud of milk and no sugar' to ingratiate his victim; then he made his way to his friend's quarters.

He stopped in front of the door and looked at it long and hard, still hoping to hear more objections from voice number one; unfortunately it appeared to have been smothered by number two, because it remained mute.

Taking a deep breath, Trip balanced the tray on one hand and raised the other to ring the bell.

"Come," he heard.

Trip entered and squinted in the semi-darkness of the room. He heard a sigh; then a low, sleepy voice coming from the bunk stated, "I was actually beginning to think I had escaped you, Commander."

"Not a chance in a million!" Trip joked, carefully approaching the desk to put the tray down on it.

There was a moment of silence, then he added, "Sorry if I woke you. Didn't mean to. Tell you what, I won't charge you for room service: I passed by the mess hall on my way here and picked up sandwiches, coffee for myself and a cup of tea for you; just the way you like it, milk and no sugar."

"Thank you, Sir," Reed simply replied.

"Malcolm, what's with all these commanders and sirs? You've been doin' it all day and to be honest it's starting to get to me," Trip retorted with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Reed reached behind him and raised the lighting; then got up from the bed and stood to face Tucker. Forgetting that he was injured, he made to cross his arms in front of his chest; then, with a grimace, settled for cradling his right arm with his left one.

The engineer studied the range of emotions flashing in the other man's eyes: determination; sadness? Not quite, more like regret. Insecurity; wait a moment: insecurity and determination?

"It's what I'm supposed to call you, Sir," Malcolm replied without flinching, interrupting Trip's scrutiny.

Trip was puzzled, and peeved. "Since when? We are friends, for heaven's sake, and you know perfectly well that I don't give a damn about rank, especially when there's no one around!"

Malcolm's gaze was steady but his breathing had quickened. He seemed to be searching for words. It took him a while to find them, and when he spoke his voice was low-pitched.

"I can't be your friend. In fact, I can't be anybody's damn friend," he finally blurted out, and immediately averted his eyes as if he didn't want to see Trip's reaction.

Tucker was left speechless, but for once he welcomed the silence that fell between them. He needed it, if he was to try and figure out what on earth had got into the convoluted mind of this stubborn man in front of him this time. I swear it, warp theory is nothing compared to your thinking processes, Malcolm!

Trip purposely let the silence stretch, and grow heavy; he knew Malcolm and silence got along just fine, but in the end it was too much even for him, and the lieutenant risked a glance towards him. The engineer immediately seized his chance and locked eyes again.

"I think you'd better explain that to me, Malcolm, because I'm afraid I just don't get it," he asked levelly.

Malcolm knew he had said too much to keep the rest inside. He turned his head away and spat out, "I messed up on that bloody planet, because I got too friendly with some of the crewmembers on this ship."

"Of all the stupid things…" Trip exploded.

Reed cut in with determination. "You wanted an explanation, now the least you can do is listen to it!"

After a moment he resumed, his words fast and furious, "I let my guard down. I spent my time talking to you, cracking jokes like good friends, and was not ready."

"That is absolute nonsense, and you know it. The moment those aliens started shooting, you pushed me down to the ground and had your phase pistol in your hand. You couldn't have reacted to the situation any faster," Trip replied with conviction.

But Reed didn't seem to have heard him and continued his list of sins: "I was out of position. I wasted precious time determining each crewmember's situation, whereas I should've been keeping everyone always under control. Bloody hell, I hadn't the faintest idea where the Captain was!"

Trip saw his friend's distress and felt sorry for him. Perhaps the man was right. But while anyone else would move past a faulty performance – provided Malcolm's was actually that – the Lieutenant tormented himself over any little mistake he made.

But Reed had not finished yet. Looking embarrassed, he went on, his voice full of self-reproach, "When I saw Hoshi looking terrified, for a moment my mind shut down. I felt compelled to help her, because she is my friend! Johansson and Brown were in much greater danger, pinned behind that sodding crumbling wall, but there I was, thinking of Hoshi!"

"Malcolm…" Trip began in a soothing voice, but he was immediately cut off again.

"And to crown my model performance, I took foolish risks, played bloody hero against any logical reasoning," he cried out. Then he concluded, mortified, "But I just couldn't stand hiding behind that rock, where I could do nothing to help, where I shouldn't have been in the first place!"

Trip saw Reed shut his eyes tightly against the painful memory.

"So forgive me, Commander, if I cannot be a friend to you or anyone else on this ship. If I am to carry out my duty and protect you - all of you - Sir, I must keep my distance. That's the only way my mind can remain focused. I made a mistake adapting to the relaxed atmosphere the Captain likes to keep aboard this ship. I was a damn fool. I'm just lucky that my stupidity didn't cost us any lives yesterday," he finished, looking totally miserable.

Trip tried to collect his thoughts. Could Reed have a point? He shook his head to clear it of the doubt that had dawned in it. Malcolm's reasoning went against all that he believed in. And surely duty could not preclude a Security Officer from making friends!

"Alright Malcolm; let's say you were not perfect down there. Hell! We're talking of something that happened in four to five minutes tops! You're no robot for God's sake! You might've reacted a bit late, but you did the right thing in the end: left Hoshi alone and concentrated on how to help get Johansson and Brown out of trouble. Perhaps you acted a little rash, I'll grant you that. I suppose playing hero is double nature to you..." Trip offered, with a bad attempt at humour.

"You obviously didn't listen to me!" Reed cried out again, "My tactical mind went off-line, I let myself be ruled by my bloody emotions!" he growled, in a frustrated voice.

"You listen to yourself now! You sound like T'Pol, for goodness's sake! You are no Vulcan, and whether you like it or not emotions are part of your DNA! There is no way you're ever gonna live without them, so you'd better start learning how to deal with them!" Trip shouted back in irritation.

Then, more calmly, he added, "And don't you come and tell me that to protect me you cannot be my friend. If you hadn't been my friend, you wouldn't have pushed me down to the ground and out of the line of fire at the first sign of trouble."

"Of course I would have. I would have done that to protect any member of the crew," Malcolm stated bitterly.

"Oh yeah? And what about that time in the Shuttlepod; would you have pointed a phase pistol at any member of the crew, someone you hardly knew and didn't care for, someone who wasn't a friend to you, to stop him from doing that stupid thing I was about to do?"

Reed searched his soul for the truth.

"I don't know," he confessed after a while, closing his eyes, "I'd like to think that I would have. But I was freezing and exhausted, and scared to death, and… not thinking very straight, with all that bourbon inside me."

The picture of the two of them trembling in the Shuttlepod was still clear before his mind. As difficult as it was to think back to those dreadful moments, Reed had to admit that he was fond of that memory in a way he couldn't explain. Or perhaps he could. He had felt deeply then. Sorrow, fear and cold; but also dedication and friendship. The depth of his emotions – of their emotions – was what made the memory so special.

He hesitated a moment, then said, "I think that time it helped that I considered you my friend, Trip."

"Yeah, I thought so," Tucker concurred with a grin.

Reed sighed.

"Well," Trip conceded, "I suppose you didn't put in your best performance on that planet."

Malcolm frowned, caught by surprise. "Then you agree that…"

"I feel kind of responsible," Trip interrupted, apologetically, "I distracted you from your duty. I'm sorry."

"My duty is not to let myself be distracted. That's what makes what happened so difficult to accept."

"Look, Malcolm, you're not gonna miraculously stop making mistakes just by refusing to get close to people. All you have to do is be aware of what happened for the next time, and work on it. You didn't think you could stop learning, did you? Upgrade you tactical mind, expand it to include your friends." Trip winked at him, "Even those who try to distract you."

Suddenly, a voice cam through the comm. "Phlox to Lieutenant Reed."

Malcolm glanced at the watch and cursed under his breath. Pushing the link open, he answered, "Reed here."

"Ah, Lieutenant, you are half an hour late for your medication. Is anything the matter?" The doctor enquired blithely.

"No Doctor, nothing at all. I'm sorry, I just lost track of time. I'm on my way. Reed out."

Malcolm turned to Trip, "Looks like I must pay a certain friend a visit. Can't say I fancy the idea," he added, grimacing

Trip chuckled. "So… friends like before…?" he ventured, as they went to the door.

Malcolm paused. He had to admit that it would be next to impossible to keep detached, emotionally disconnected from everyone on board. And deep down he really didn't want to sever the ties he had so laboriously managed to develop in the past year and a half. Trip was right. Isn't he always? He'd have to reconfigure his strategic thinking. It was the only thing he could do.

He met the Commander's expectant eyes and replied, feeling sudden relief, "Friends like before."

The engineer smiled and triggered the door open.

"Sir."

THE END