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"You didn't tell me we'd have to cross a lake," Malcolm commented in a tone of voice that held a slight note of complaint.

"What am I, your mother? It's right there on your padd: you do have a padd, remember?"

After a winding downhill stretch, they were now at the bottom of a wide valley, in front of a body of water that was oblong in shape and not very wide across. On the other side of it they could see, in the distance, the ship's wreckage.

"I know it's on the padd, I'm not blind," Reed bit back. "You just didn't say anything about crossing it! I'd assumed we'd walk around it."

"Come on, Malcolm! You mean to tell me you'd rather walk another – what – two kilometres rather than wade across some five hundred metres of shallow water?" Trip asked, with amused disbelief.

Malcolm didn't answer and went up to the detested element, holding his scanner in front of him. He so hoped he'd find the lake swarming with dangerous wildlife! But no, these waters were as dead as a dodo.

"So, anythin' we should worry about?" Trip asked.

Reed briefly contemplated lying, but his integrity wouldn't let him.

"There doesn't appear to be one sodding living organism in these waters," he replied grimly while he silently chastised himself, damn you, stop being such a bloody weakling.

"What are you afraid of," Trip joked. "We can't get any wetter than we already are. In fact it will actually be quite refreshin'. Might even take a swim later on, if there's time."

Reed just grunted.

Trip eyed his colleague. "What's the matter, Malcolm?" he enquired, perplexed.

"Nothing. You don't like deserts, I don't like water. That's all," Malcolm replied matter-of-factly, even though if someone had taken a scan of his innards now they'd have seen a lovely, inextricable knot.

Trip studied him for a moment, intrigued, then shrugged and said, "We'll be on the other side before you have time to take a dislike to it. The scanner shows that the water is mostly only deep enough to reach our waist. Come on, Lieutenant, after you."

Malcolm clenched his teeth and stepped in hesitantly. He felt the damn liquid seep into his boots and then gradually envelop his legs in a creepy embrace, but bit his lip and bravely trod on.

Bloody hell! I am serving on a starship – a STARship, like in space, cosmos, universe – what am I doing wading through a sodding lake, he silently bemoaned.

Trip followed him, more than a little puzzled at Reed's suddenly heavy mood.

The water was now waist deep and Reed clamped down on his rising anxiety. He took a couple of deep, calming breaths, focusing on the distance that separated him from the other side. He could hear Tucker chattering behind him, but couldn't make out any of the words: all his senses were concentrated ahead.

Sensing Malcolm's discomfort, Trip was trying to distract the lieutenant with some idle talk. Looking around at the lush vegetation he asked, "This place wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the humidity, don't you think?"

When there was no answer he turned again and gasped: where Malcolm had been just a moment before now was a concentric series of ripples.

"Malcolm!" he screamed, not knowing what to think.

Malcolm had taken another step and found that the bottom of the lake was not there any more. For some crazy reason – nerves, he guessed – he almost burst into hysterical laughter: who else if not he could walk into the one spot where the water seemed bottomless? Then he felt himself sink deeper and deeper, and thought it would be a better idea to use the air left in his lungs to try and save his skin. Keep your wits together, he admonished himself. He kicked his legs frantically in an effort to work against the force that was pulling him down, but felt them get tangled in something – probably weeds – and the carefully controlled panic immediately swelled up.

Trip looked at his scanner. "Damn!" he cursed. Reed had fallen into some sort of deep pit. The man can swim, he reassured himself. But when, after five seconds, his friend had not re-emerged, he began to feel quite worried. He pocketed the scanner, took a deep breath and let himself drop underwater, opening his eyes wide to try and spot the blue Starfleet uniform.

Malcolm felt his lungs burn. 'Deep breaths will help contain a panic attack' his doctor, back on earth, had drilled him. Brilliant! Try and do that under water! Then, quite unexpectedly, panic was overpowered by another emotion: anger. I won't bloody die like a stupid fool in a damn puddle in the middle of a sodding alien planet light years away from the cursed Royal Navy!

He pulled wildly at whatever was anchoring him down and blessedly succeeded in getting his legs free. But the effort had burnt up almost all of his remaining oxygen, and his vision began to blur. He was about to surrender to darkness when he caught the most beautiful sight: a hand reaching out for him. With the last of his strength he stretched his own arm towards it and latched on for dear life.

Trip saw Malcolm struggle and then, as he was reaching out to him, felt his friend's hand grab his. It pulled him down with a force born of despair, and for a few long moments the engineer was powerless, the lighter man suddenly seeming to weigh a ton. He felt his lungs scream for air and his fear escalate. But then either Malcolm realised that he just had to let himself be saved or he had no more energy left to thrash about, for all of a sudden he seemed to relax.

Trip quickly pulled him towards himself and grasped him under the arms, dragging him towards the surface. After what seemed like ages they finally emerged gulping for air, and Tucker heard Reed suck it in as if he'd never breathed before in his life. Then his friend's body went limp in his arms and Trip half swam, half staggered to shore hauling him along. A few minutes later they were both lying on the grassy bank, panting.

"Where are Trip and Malcolm, T'Pol?" Archer asked, trying to make it sound as a routine enquiry.

The Vulcan checked her monitor. "They just crossed the lake and…"

"Lake?" Archer interrupted her, straining to hide the concern in his voice.

"Yes, Captain," T'Pol replied, raising one eyebrow.

"What the hell happened?" Trip asked, after he had caught his breath a little.

Malcolm's breathing was still quite laboured and the lieutenant took his time before answering him darkly, "All of a sudden I was in deep water, and my feet got tangled in some weeds."

Trip turned onto his side and faced him. Reed looked pale and was shivering slightly, and kept his eyes averted from him.

"Malcolm…" He hesitated a moment, then continued, "When you say you don't like water… you don't like water as in 'I'd-rather-take-a-walk-in-the-country-than-a-swim-in-the-sea' or …"

For the second time he was interrupted by a chirp. This time it came from Reed's communicator, and the lieutenant groaned and reached into his arm pocket for it.

"Reed here," he said, hating the wavering, croaking sound that was his voice.

"Malcolm," Archer answered, "T'Pol saw your biosigns crossing a rather large expanse of water…"

The Captain left the question unspoken and Reed was grateful for it. He may have got more open in the past couple of years, but that didn't mean he wanted everybody to know everything about him, his aqua-phobia being one of the irrelevant details he'd rather keep to himself. It was bad enough that he'd told Archer, but at that moment he'd thought his time had come.

"Correct, Sir. It was more like marshland than anything else," Reed explained managing, between rasping breaths, a steadier voice. "We, uhm, got to the other side and now are only about a kilometre away from the wreckage."

There was a pause at the other end, as if Archer were processing the information and/or trying to read between the lines.

"Good," he said eventually. "Everything else all right?" he asked noncommittally.

"Yes, Captain," Malcolm replied, much in the same tone of voice. "Commander Tucker will contact you when we reach our destination."

"Acknowledged. Archer out."

Reed put the communicator away and pushed himself to a sitting position. Trip followed suit and they remained in silence for a few moments.

"You know Malcolm, with a family name like yours marshlands oughtta make you feel at home," the engineer finally joked, glad to see that his friend seemed to be feeling better.

"I'll be damned if they'll ever do," Malcolm replied with a humourless smirk. "The only water I'll ever enjoy is the one coming out of a shower," he firmly declared.

"I guess the Capt'n is real worried about us," Trip commented with a chuckle. "He keeps makin' sure that we're still in one piece."

Malcolm smiled weakly. "It would appear so, yes. Although he needn't be concerned: Away Team 2 - TUSAM 0," he tallied, raising two fingers in one hand and designing a zero with the other.

Trip began to laugh but then stopped, as he saw Reed turn unexpectedly serious again.

The lieutenant winced and said, "Thank you for, uhm, delaying my untimely journey to the other side."

"You're welcome," Trip replied sincerely, studying Reed's eyes. "Nothing you haven't already done for me at least half a dozen times," he added.

"I almost pulled you down with me… I'm awfully sorry about that," Malcolm murmured, blushing.

Trip was intrigued. He sensed there was something left unspoken, but decided not to pry.

He joked, "It's already the second time you've apologised to me today, Lieutenant. I thought you said that it was always me who got us into trouble on away missions."

"This, then, must be an exception to the rule," Reed promptly answered, a roguish grin swiftly chasing away his troubles. "Shall we?" he then asked, jerking his head in the direction of the wrecked ship.

"Ready when you are."

They got up, hauling their packs, and resumed walking.

TBC