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Reed didn't know how many times he had come 'round from unconsciousness – fearfully too many to keep count – but he did know that he had never enjoyed the feeling.

It wasn't like waking up in the morning. There was that awfully long moment before he became aware of his surroundings when he felt totally disoriented; not something he liked, it unsettled him deeply. And then, more often than not, there was another long moment when he would try to remember what had caused his unconsciousness in the first place. This meant he had to force himself to take stock of his injuries, and that he liked even less, because it made him face his weaknesses and shortcomings.

When he opened his eyes, this time, he was alone. It took him a few moments to realise it, but in the end his sight became focused enough to be able to make out the small environment encompassed by the privacy curtain around his biobed. He sighed; so he had his answer to the first question: he was in sickbay. Well, it could be worse, I suppose.

It took him much less to recall why he was there. The image of the Captain and T'Pol falling under alien fire stood stark before his mind's eye, making his heart jump into his throat. He must know if they… he shook his head to dispel the distressing thought and immediately the room began to spin. Cursing, he closed his eyes tightly and focused on bringing his ragged breathing under control.

It took him a few moments, but eventually he felt grounded enough to open them again and check himself over: bandaged right arm, IV tube snaking out of his left one, no other attachments, thank God for that; in fact they hadn't even stripped him of his uniform, just cut off the right sleeve and rolled up the left one. That got him thinking. Maybe they planned on releasing him shortly; on the other hand it more likely meant the sickbay crew were too busy trying to save the Captain's and T'Pol's lives.

I must know.

Reed glanced at the pouch suspended above his bed and draining into his arm via the IV. It was more than three quarters empty. Ought to have had enough, whatever it is, he decided, and proceeded to remove the IV needle from his arm. He gingerly moved his injured limb to do that, and to his relief found that he felt almost no pain at all. Painkillers were definitely a wonderful thing. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up to a sitting position. The dizziness returned, but this time he was prepared and braced himself against it

Malcolm slowly let his legs dangle and ventured to slide off the biobed. He felt a little wobbly and kept his left hand firmly attached to the edge of the bed while he looked around for something to be made into a sling: his wounded arm didn't seem to like the pull of gravity and had promptly begun to throb dully. Seeing nothing that could be of use, he just unzipped his uniform, stuffed his right hand inside it, and zipped it back up a little. It would have to do.

He took a few tentative steps and, finding he was steady enough, peeked out of his privacy curtain. Sickbay was quiet save for the usual noises from Phlox's menagerie, and seemingly deserted. His bed was the one nearest to the door, and he turned around to see more privacy curtains drawn. His heart started racing again. He knew who would be behind those curtains and his muscles tensed automatically, sending a sharp pain down his wounded arm. The groan that escaped him immediately made Phlox materialise, seemingly from nowhere, his face showing none of his usual cheerfulness.

That can't be good.

"Lieutenant, I don't believe you should be out of bed," he said, a hint of tiredness veiling his voice. "And you definitely shouldn't have removed your IV. It was there for a good reason," he added a little crossly, as he quickly closed the space between them and held his tricorder in front of Reed. "We've been… a little busy, but I was just about to come and see how you were doing."

Malcolm stalled briefly, afraid to ask but terrified of not knowing. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he replied after a moment in a strained voice. "But I must know…"

"They are alive," Phlox interrupted him in a gentler tone. "Although their conditions are quite serious. Projectile weapons may be crude but, as I'm sure you know, can inflict terrible damage," he said grimly. "Allow me to skip a full medical report, Lieutenant," he added wearily.

Malcolm blinked, his mind processing the information. "Are they going to be all right?" he forced himself to ask.

"I'm afraid it's too early to say. They are both stable for the time being, and I consider that already a success. Only time will tell," the doctor answered noncommittally. "That's what I also told Commander Tucker when he came down to visit some fifteen minutes ago."

Phlox took Reed by the elbow. "Come now, Lieutenant, you really must…"

"I really can't, Doctor," Malcolm interrupted him resolutely. There was no way anyone was going to keep him in bed.

"Your system suffered a trauma. Your injury may well be minor but you still need to rest," Phlox insisted.

"I feel fine," Malcolm replied unwaveringly. "With the Captain and First Officer incapacitated, Commander Tucker needs my help."

The doctor looked at him sternly and Reed heaved a deep breath. "Please Phlox, I know I don't have a very good record as a patient, but surely you can't fail to see that this is not one of my tricks to get out of sickbay: I really am needed up and about."

Malcolm cringed at his pleading tone and didn't think he could remember ever addressing the doctor by his first name before, but he thought he might have achieved the desired effect, for Phlox shook his head and sighed.

"Mr. Reed, you are a stubborn being if I ever met one," he commented. After a moment he added resignedly, "But I can see how under the current circumstances the Commander may indeed need your help. Let me at least put your injured arm in a proper sling."

"Thank you, Doctor," Malcolm replied gratefully.

Reed stepped on the bridge from the turbo-lift and saw several heads turn and anxious gazes converge on him.

Hoshi's dark eyes softened and relief was clear in her voice as she said, "It's good to see you, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Sir," Travis agreed, echoed by the men manning the science and tactical stations.

Malcolm nodded. "Thank you. Is the Commander in the ready room?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," Hoshi answered. "Ensign Brown is with him."

Reed crossed over to the door and pressed the bell.

Trip heard the chime and answered it without tearing his eyes off Brown. The door swished open and only then did he shift his gaze to see who would be standing in the frame. He was surprised to see Malcolm, his right arm in a sling. It was not long since Trip had visited sickbay, and Reed had still been unconscious.

"Lieutenant," he greeted him, as he took in his friend's rather pale face. "Dismissed," he told Brown, and the man nodded and turned to leave.

As his subordinate passed by him, Malcolm reached to put a hand on his shoulder and said wryly, "I'm glad at least you made it back in one piece, Ensign."

Brown acknowledged the words with a stare and a nod, and left without a word, and Malcolm turned to shoot a concerned look at Trip. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Sit down, Malcolm," Trip said quietly, and Reed obeyed without question, which spoke plenty of how poorly his friend must be feeling. Damn, he hated this! He was beginning to understand what 'burdens of command' really meant. He felt overwhelmed by the present circumstances. He much preferred being Chief Engineer, tinkering with his beloved warp drive.

"How're you feelin'? I came down to sickbay but you were still out of it," Trip said.

"Forget about me," Malcolm replied firmly. "I'm fine. What's happening? Have you spoken to the Raans? Have you found out anything about the explosion and why they fired on us?"

He sounded tired and tense. Trip pinched the bridge of his nose. "Would you mind telling me what happened down there, first?" he asked.

"…Hasn't Brown filled you in?" Malcolm replied after a moment of hesitation.

"Your report, Lieutenant," Trip tersely ordered.

He saw something cross Malcolm's eyes and immediately felt bad, not so much for his brusque tone, which could be forgiven in light of the critical situation, but for pulling rank now that the two of them were alone; he hadn't done it since… hell, since the first year of their mission, and he knew it put a distance between them that antagonised the bond of friendship he had so laboriously developed with Reed. But much as Trip hated it he couldn't let friendship stand in the way of objectiveness right now.

Malcolm immediately responded to his command tone, as Trip knew he would, and it gave him a twinge of guilt to see his friend's discomfort as he automatically straightened his shoulders.

"Aye, Sir," Reed replied with professional politeness. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "The talks were finished and the Captain and Commander had taken leave from the Prime Minister and his entourage who, according to Raan protocol, remained in the hall," he began. "We were walking back to the shuttlepod, which was some three hundred metres from the buildings, on a landing area where other vessels were also parked, when we heard an explosion."

Malcolm paused and Trip studied him, feeling like a damn bastard. Having to recall and recount what he very likely considered a personal failure was clearly distressing for his friend; his drawn features betrayed more than just physical discomfort. And this Commander-Lieutenant charade certainly didn't make things any easier. Trip had to bite his tongue to stop himself from putting and end to it, easing the tension with some encouraging word. But Malcolm was in full officer mode. Trip saw his eyes harden as he braced to continue.

"We turned and saw smoke billow out of the buildings we had just left. Seconds later people began to pour out of them running and screaming; I immediately ordered Brown to escort the Captain and Commander to the shuttlepod while I followed close by, covering their backs, keeping an eye on the situation. A moment later I heard shots behind me and felt a sharp pain in my arm; I turned just in time to see the Captain and T'Pol fall to the ground. Brown had taken cover behind a vessel, and I rolled behind some sort of low wall. I got my communicator out and contacted Enterprise to get us transported. You know the rest, Sir," he concluded in a tense voice.

"Do you have any idea of what or who might have caused the explosion?" Trip asked, looking pointedly into his friend's eyes.

He saw Malcolm frown as he answered hesitantly, "A bomb of some sort; an attempt on the Prime Minister's life… but it's only a guess. Commander, haven't you been able to find anything out?"

Trip felt a cold knot form in the pit of his stomach. "As a matter of fact, I have." His voice was tight, but he couldn't help it.

"Well?" Malcolm urged him, suddenly oblivious of rank.

Trip looked straight into his eyes and dropped his own 'bomb'. "The explosion has a Starfleet signature."

He saw Reed blink. "That is impossible," he answered in a hollow voice.

Trip clenched his jaw. Still looking closely at Malcolm, he said, "I had Müller analyse the data we got from the planet. You were unconscious and I needed confirmation."

"Of course," Reed murmured.

"Here." Trip offered a padd to Malcolm, who took it with his left hand.

While Malcolm buried himself in the data, Trip's mind was swirling with questions and doubts he refused to acknowledge, but had a precise duty to consider.

His previous conversation with Brown had left him deeply unsettled. Confronted with the data, the Ensign had confirmed it. Yes, Sir. The explosion definitely bears a Starfleet signature, he had said in surprise. And when Trip had asked if he could offer any explanation, Brown had shaken his head and added pensively, as if talking to himself, None, Sir; Lieutenant Reed thoroughly checked the hall prior to the talks. Nothing gets past him. It would take the cunning of a covert agent to…

That's when Brown's words had faded into the background and Malcolm's past involvement with Covert Ops had suddenly jumped into Trip's mind. He had forcibly dismissed the thought, but had not been able to forget it. It had remained in the back of his mind, nagging, bringing back the words Brown had said in the decon chamber, Ever since we boarded the shuttle to go down to the planet Lieutenant Reed appeared quite nervous, as if something were bothering him…

"This is absurd." Malcolm faint voice brought him back to the here and now.

"Can that kind of data be faked, Lieutenant?" Trip asked, already knowing the answer. There was that damned 'Lieutenant' again; but he needed the distance.

Reed thought for a brief moment. "It could, Sir, but since the Raans never had contacts with Starfleet before now it would still mean someone gave them the specs of our explosives," he answered, holding his gaze. "It would still mean someone in Starfleet is a traitor," he added grimly.

"Could Brown have planted the explosive?" Tip asked outright.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. "He was never inside the hall, Commander."

Trip braced himself and commented dryly, "Brown claims you were nervous from the moment you stepped into the pod to go down to the planet." He looked at Malcolm enquiringly. His friend was still sitting straight and rigid, and looked totally confused by his questioning. Trip could almost read his thoughts, behind the deep frown that was beginning to knit his brow.

Malcolm looked briefly away. "I… I was, yes. You know me," he said. "Sir," he added belatedly, his mind obviously busy considering the implications of Trips' words.

Trip silently cursed. It had taken him months to get Malcolm to become less formal with him and drop that damned word, which he had stubbornly tagged to every single sentence even when they weren't on duty. He said nothing and waited for him to continue.

"I get these… hunches sometimes," Malcolm said, adding softly to himself, "Not that I'm ever relaxed on a mission." He looked up at Trip. "I can't explain why, but I had a gut feeling the mission was a risky one, Sir," he concluded.

Trip looked away, hating himself for what he was about to do. His heart ached for having to say, to imply that his friend might have something to do with… He didn't believe it for one moment, there must be another explanation, but his Captain was in sickbay, he was facing a diplomatic incident and had the duty to confront Reed with the facts at hand and consider every possibility.

After a long silence he turned again and saw Malcolm study him with a concerned look. Well, Malcolm was no fool. He must already suspect where this conversation was leading. He heaved a deep breath and said quietly, "You were the only Starfleet person who was allowed into the hall before the talks took place."

He watched Malcolm receive the blow, his eyes flash with shock, horror and pain as he acknowledged what was being suggested. It was only a moment before he regained his composure, his face impassive, but Trip knew the lieutenant well enough to suspect what kind of turmoil he must be in.

"I was indeed, Sir," he finally answered in a low and unwavering voice.

He didn't try to clear himself from Trip's allegations; he just stared at him with stormy eyes, and Trip felt a terrible stab of guilt.

Unable to sit still under his friend's scrutiny, Trip jumped to his feet and began to pace, wishing he could wake up and find that this was all a nightmare. This is Malcolm; there is no way that he would ever… He heard his friend stand up too and turned to him.

Malcolm locked gaze with him and shook his head faintly. "Commander… hell, Trip, how can you suggest…" his voice faltered and he swayed, and in a stride Trip was at his side to steady him.

"You should return to sickbay and get some rest, Malcolm, you're not well," he blurted out.

But Reed shrugged off his hand and turned to face him. "Rest? Do you actually think that I could rest, not knowing if the Captain and T'Pol will pull through while the person left in command, my friend, thinks me a bloody traitor?" he asked in an accent that was more clipped than usual and in a voice that held as much disbelief as anger.

"I never said that," Trip replied firmly.

"No, not in so many words, Sir," Malcolm retorted with a soft, humourless laugh.

Trip grabbed his friend's good arm again. "I may not believe you a traitor, Malcolm," he said with deep feeling. "But the fact remains that as far as we can tell the explosive used was Starfleet and you were the only one allowed inside that damned hall."

When no reply came, he added, "Look, I'm sorry but… there is that precedent, when Phlox was abducted and you followed Harris's orders. As Acting Captain I have the duty to consider every angle, even the most far-fetched," he concluded bitterly.

Malcolm's eyes went wide with astonishment. "That time was different!" he exploded. "I was only asked to delay us and was made to believe it would help our mission! Are you suggesting I would willingly blow up these aliens and endanger the lives of the landing party, not to mention my own?"

Trip silently held his gaze.

After a long pause, Malcolm said in a hurt voice, "If you must hear me say it, Commander, I didn't do it." He cradled his injured arm. "In fact, I fail to see how you could even consider that I may be responsible for such a sloppy job," he concluded with a snort of disbelief.

Trip grimaced. He felt stressed and tired and now also miserable for having hurt his friend, and powerless to do anything about it. He let out an audible breath and said firmly, "Well, we'd better find out who did, and fast, because it sure looks like you planted that bomb."

"Grand," Malcolm murmured laconically.

"What do you know about Ensign Brown?" Trip asked after a moment.

Malcolm closed his eyes and Trip realised it wouldn't be any easier for Reed to discover a traitor among his men.

"How would Brown…" Malcolm's answer was cut short by the sound of the comm.

"Commander, I was finally able to get Admiral Gardner," Hoshi said through it.

"Thank you, Hoshi," Trip replied. He turned to Malcolm. "See what you can find out about Brown," he urged. "Dismissed," he added softly.

Malcolm pursed his lips and nodded, leaving without another word.

TBC