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Reed entered the mess hall and was suddenly struck by the notion that it wouldn't be very easy to get a tray, put food on it and carry it to a table with one arm in a sling. He stopped in his tracks and heaved a deep sigh. It wasn't in his nature to ask for help.

As it happened he didn't have to, for a gentle voice behind him said, "Need a hand, Lieutenant? No pun intended."

He turned to the welcome sight of Hoshi, a wan smile on her lips. "I could indeed use one, thank you, Ensign," he replied gratefully.

"What can I get you? How does pasta-veggies-and-pie sound?" Hoshi suggested. "Or perhaps you're in an adventurous mood and dare try the mashed potatoes and meatloaf?"

"I'd rather leave that to Commander Tucker, Ensign," Malcolm answered with a smirk. "Pasta will be just fine, if you please," he added before walking to a table and sitting down heavily.

A few moments later Hoshi returned with a tray laden with both their meals.

They sat eating in silence for a while. Uncharacteristically, it was Malcolm who broke it first.

"Thank you for not asking, Hoshi," he said softly, feeling a little better now that some nourishment was beginning to be absorbed into his system.

"Not asking what?" Hoshi replied slyly, her lips curving upwards.

Malcolm's fork stopped half-way to his mouth. "Well, if you make me say it, it won't count any more," he replied.

"After serving together for four years, I know better than asking our Armoury Officer how he's feeling when his arm is in a sling," Hoshi said, a glint of amusement flashing in her expressive dark eyes. "Besides, I already know the answer."

Reed sighed. "A sore arm is the least of my problems right now," he murmured.

Hoshi frowned. "What do you mean, Malcolm?" she enquired.

Malcolm pursed his lips. "Nothing. Forget I ever said anything, probably shouldn't have," he said, wondering if Trip had informed the senior staff about the explosion signature.

"You are worried about the Captain and T'Pol, aren't you?" Hoshi suggested.

"…Yes," Malcolm answered, taking advantage of Hoshi's train of thought to steer the conversation away from what he should indeed treat as classified information, at least until told otherwise. Not that the new direction their little talk was taking was any less distressing. "I feel responsible," he murmured grimly, averting his gaze.

I am responsible. What if they… even in the privacy of his mind he couldn't finish the sentence. After a moment, when Hoshi didn't answer, he turned to her again. Concern showed on her gentle features.

"I know you too well to try and convince you to stop feeling guilty, Malcolm," she said, softening her eyes. "But right now I think you should try and put that feeling aside and concentrate on helping yourself and Trip out of this situation. You need each other."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. So Hoshi knew about his predicament, the senior staff – whatever remained standing of it – had been informed.

"Right," he said. "Don't worry. As far as I'm concerned, he'll get all the help I can give him."

But his mind wondered how Trip felt about it. Two people he deeply cares for are seriously injured because of an explosion I should have prevented; he probably has doubts about my loyalty… I don't really know how much Trip needs me right now, he thought with a heavy heart.

They sat in silence for another few minutes.

"Hoshi," Malcolm said before rising to leave. "I need you to do something for me."

Hoshi tilted her head. "Just name it," she replied.

"I want you to check if Ensign Timothy Brown, of my security team, received or sent any messages in the last few weeks," Reed said in a low voice. "Make it a priority."

"Yes, Sir," Hoshi replied, switching to professional mode. Malcolm felt her enquiring gaze on him but she didn't ask anything, for which he was quite grateful.

"It shouldn't take very long," she said after a moment.

Malcolm nodded and stood. "Please report to me as soon as you have the information," he told her softly.

Ensign Brown entered his quarters. His bunkmate was on duty, so he was alone in the small room. He shoved aside the few odd items of clothing the other crewman always seemed to leave crumpled on the chair and sat at the desk. He turned to the computer and began to type. 'Dear Louise, thank you for your message. It was good to receive your news…' Brown narrowed his eyes and sat pensively for a few minutes before typing away again, a smug smile on his face.

A while later he contacted Ensign Sato. "Ensign, I have a private message to send to Earth, whenever is convenient."

Hoshi felt a twinge of something. Funny – Malcolm had just asked her to check Brown's messages and here was the very guy asking her to send a letter to Earth. "No problem, Ensign," she replied. "Bring it to me right away, I was just about to forward a bunch of communications home," she lied. It felt like the right thing to do.

Trip sat near the Captain's biobed, his gaze focused on his friend's face. If he ignored all the tubes and machines and looked only at Archer's face perhaps he could forget that he was injured and unconscious. His features were smooth and serene, no pain transpired from them, as if he were just asleep. T'Pol's finely chiselled face had an ugly greenish bruise covering most of the right side, so looking at her was more distressful. Trip had spent some time with her too, but then he had found it unbearable to watch her battered features so he had come to sit near his Capt'n. Here at least he could pretend that the person lying on the biobed was all right.

How would Archer act in the present situation if he were in command? He asked himself. He wouldn't judge from appearances, he decided. He would be mad as hell but still be able to walk the fine line of diplomacy. He'd dig for the truth in any way he could.

He wondered how Jon would feel about Reed. Would he believe him, after what had happened a few months before? Would he lock him in the brig? Should he, Trip, lock Malcolm and Brown in the brig, as the Admiral had suggested? Was his judgement being clouded?

Damn, he'd been in command in difficult circumstances before, but never having to face so many problems: a diplomatic incident, a devastated command structure, two friends critically wounded, one suspected of treason, a probable traitor on board. He wished he didn't feel so alone. He wished Jon would wake up from this damn coma and take control of the situation. He felt exhausted and confused, his mind teeming with thoughts and worries, and empty at the same time. Maybe he should heed Phlox's advice and consider getting a few hours of sleep.

He heard steps and the curtain move as a person walked in and stopped behind him. He knew who it was without having to look, his stealthy walk unmistakeable. Stealthy. Why had that word come to mind? Quiet, nimble, cautious; there were plenty of adjectives to describe Malcolm's walk. Stealthy was a synonym for sneaky, furtive, covert. Why was his mind conjuring up images that his heart didn't share? He sighed inwardly and half-turned to acknowledge his presence. Malcolm shifted his gaze from the Captain to him and swallowed, and Trip realised he looked miserable.

"Didn't mean to intrude," Malcolm mumbled. "Just came for a short visit. I… hadn't managed yet."

"It's ok," Trip replied slowly getting up. "I was about to leave. You can stay, if you want." He turned and took a couple of steps past the Armoury Officer.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm suddenly said.

Trip stopped in his tracks and looked at him. He had his eyes on the floor, his back to Trip.

"Trip, I'm sorry," he repeated, turning to face him. "I know how hard this is for you. They are your friends, and I failed to bring them home safely."

Trip wanted to reply somehow, to say it was all right. Except that it wasn't. He was so drained he couldn't summon the energy to form words – any words – so he just kept silent.

Malcolm of course took it as an unspoken accusation. He pursed his lips, and his face hardened in a pained expression. "They are also my friends. I would've done anything to keep them from harm," he said in a hoarse voice. "I hope you can believe that at least."

Trip felt a stab of guilt at the allusion. He had no doubt that even on the absurd chance that Malcolm had planted the explosive on someone's order, he'd never intentionally jeopardize the lives of the Captain and T'Pol. He had put his own life on the line enough times in the past to protect the Enterprise crew.

Trip strived to force words out of his dry mouth. "Of course," he said, but his voice came out as a croak and didn't carry much conviction.

Before either of them could add anything else, Phlox appeared, and they knew they were being politely asked to leave Archer's enclosed space.

After closing the curtain behind them, Phlox turned to the two officers. Seeing the question in Trip's eyes he said, "I believe there is a saying on Earth: 'no news is good news'?" He eyed Malcolm. "Lieutenant, it's a good thing you are here, I was about to page you. You're due for medication."

Reed nodded. "I hope I'm also due for some more painkiller, Doctor," he said wearily. "The throbbing in my arm is beginning to be distracting, I can't concentrate."

"Perhaps you should concentrate on getting some sleep, hmm?" Phlox suggested. "And you too, Commander," he added, with a reproachful look at Trip, who had lingered. "After all it's night on Raan at the moment; I doubt they will try to contact you before morning."

"Alright, alright," Trip mumbled. "You win, Doc. But I expect to be woken up immediately if anythin' changes in the Captain's or T'Pol's conditions."

"Of course," Phlox replied gravely.

"Commander," Malcolm said from the biobed where he was sitting. "I asked Ensign Sato to check if Brown sent or received any communications recently. She should report to me shortly. Just thought you should know."

Trip acknowledged with a nod.

Phlox came back and pressed a hypospray to Reed's neck. Malcolm closed his eyes, sighing in relief as the pain in his arm quickly subsided.

"Get some shuteye too, Malcolm," Trip said. He saw the Doctor smile in approval as he worked, and Malcolm smirk in annoyance as he opened his eyes again.

"That's an order, Lieutenant," he admonished, knowing how stubborn Reed could be. As he was leaving, Malcolm spoke again.

"Commander, have you talked to the Admiral?" he asked in a dark voice.

"Yeah," Trip replied. "Informed him of the situation."

"May I ask what his reaction was?"

Trip wondered briefly how he should reply. He didn't really like telling Malcolm that there was a good chance he'd have to lock him in the brig and bring him back to Earth for a court martial. He waited a beat.

"What would your reaction be if you were presented with the evidence we currently have?" he finally said.

Malcolm clenched his jaw. "I see," he murmured grimly after a moment.

"We need to work fast," Trip admonished. "But we need to be able to focus, that's why I want us to get a few hours of sleep."

Malcolm just nodded his understanding.

TBC