AN: Thanks for your kind reviews!

2

"So, how're you holding up, Malcolm?"

Malcolm smoothed a few creases out of his blanket and tried to sit up straighter, wishing Phlox hadn't wrapped that ridiculous orange scarf around his neck.

"Fine, sir. Thank you, sir."

For some reason, the Captain sighed deeply as he sat down on the chair next to Malcolm's bed. "At ease, Malcolm. I'm not here on an inspection round, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Oh." Malcolm knew he sounded as stupid as he felt... but that was nothing new, at least not when he found himself confronted with Captain Archer in his "Me and my buddy Malcolm" mood. He had great respect for Jonathan Archer, but ever since that fateful breakfast several months ago - still haven't started to follow any sports, sir - Malcolm had been careful to avoid any situation that might inspire the Captain to initiate another little "getting to know you" session. Actually, Malcolm was rather confused why the Captain would want to know him better in the first place; he'd been told by several independent sources that he could be a "very difficult person to be with". Well, one of those sources had formulated it more along the lines of "ya sure can be a pain in the ass if ya set yer mind to it, darlin'", and had subsequently been smothered with a pillow, but fact was that Malcolm was well aware he wasn't the most sparkling of conversationalists.

Captain Archer, however, didn't seem to mind that Malcolm's contribution to the conversation consisted mainly of a few croaked yes sir's. He told him everything about the new M-class planet they'd discovered and were now headed for, about Ensign Rose offering to continue the self-defense lessons Malcolm had scheduled for the crew a few days before he had fallen ill (Malcolm couldn't quite suppress a sigh at that), and about the New Year's Eve party the crew were planning.

"You'd never guess these people had a big Christmas party only six days ago," Archer sighed. "They even considered using the torpedo launchers for a show of fireworks."

"What!" Malcolm startled so badly that he almost upset the water pitcher on his bedside table. "Sir, you... you didn't..."

Archer smiled - a little too indulgently for Malcolm's tastes. "No one's touching the torpedoes, Malcolm, don't worry. I told Trip and his gang to take their stuff to Cargo Hold 2, after he'd assured me that those things won't do damage to the bulkheads."

"Trip?" Malcolm asked, and Archer looked very much as if he'd like to clap a hand over his mouth.

"Using the torpedoes wasn't exactly Trip's idea, come to think of it," the Captain quickly added, obviously trying to make amends. "I think it was Crewman Kopleck who made that suggestion."

Nice try, Malcolm thought, but he wasn't fooled; Clara worshipped the torpedoes almost as much as her boss did, and wouldn't dream of abusing them for a show of pyrotechnics. No, this harebrained idea had the name of his dear partner written all over it in three meter high neon letters.

And doing it while I'm in sickbay, unaware that someone's about to mess with Enterprise's expensive defense equipment...

Silently fuming, Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"If you happen to come by Engineering, sir, would you mind asking Commandah Tuckah to pay me a visit?"

Archer looked unhappy. "Malcolm, I'm sure he meant no harm..."

"Oh no, sir. He never does."

Seeing that Malcolm was unwilling to give in, Archer sighed. "But don't tell him I told you."

Ten minutes later, Malcolm watched his Captain leave, still flinching inwardly every time he thought of what had almost happened to his torpedoes. Correction: what Trip had almost done to his torpedoes.

He glanced at the bedside clock; only one and a half hours until Trip's shift was over. Just as well. For this time, there was going to be Trouble.

----------------

Only ten minutes after the Alpha shift in Engineering had ended, Trip's blond head carefully peeked through the curtains. From the guilty look on his face, he'd already talked to the Captain before coming here.

"Hi, darlin'!" He smiled nervously, still only partly visible behind the curtain. "How ya feelin'?"

"Fine," Malcolm said. He didn't sound as dangerous as he wanted to (his voice was still little more than a hoarse croak), but made up for it by giving Trip his best drop-dead stare. "How was your day, dear?"

Trip flinched at that last word; he knew that Malcolm calling him "dear" meant that he was in big trouble. He closed the curtains behind himself, and Malcolm saw that he was holding a plate with a piece of pie.

"Brought ya somethin'", he said with a guilty smile. "Apple pie. I peeled off the crust an' ate it so it wouldn't hurt yer throat."

"Well, that was very thoughtful of you," Malcolm said, eyeing the crust-less piece of pie. It didn't look very appetizing, but the smell was delicious and he found that some of his anger was melting away. Still, the thought of his torpedo launchers being abused for a New Year's Eve amusement was outrageous, and he maintained his cool stare. "Why don't you take a seat, dear."

Trip shuffled over to the chair next to Malcolm's bed. Before he sat down, however, he held up the plate.

"D'ya want it now or later?"

Malcolm considered; reading someone the riot act would look less impressive if he was eating a piece of apple pie at the same time. On the other hand, he was rather fond of warm apple pie. Very fond, to be honest.

And doesn't he know it, Malcolm thought sourly as Trip set the pie down in front of him with a big smile.

"Dig in, darlin'. Bet the doc didn't get ya any dessert."

"Thanks," Malcolm muttered, savoring the taste of juicy apple bits mixed with crumbs of pastry. Swallowing did hurt a bit, but he'd had enough soup dinners to last him for a lifetime. And it was thoughtful of Trip to bring him dessert, even though the man had a blatant disrespect for Malcolm's precious torpedoes.

"Look," Trip began, plucking at a non-existent thread on his sleeve. "I know you're mad at me, but I was gonna ask ya first. Honest. I only told Jon because I needed his permission as well."

Malcolm ate another piece of pie and threw Trip a sideways glance. "You do realize that deactivating the torpedoes for your nonsense would have left us defenseless in case we were attacked?"

Trip ducked his head. "Yeah, I guess we got a little carried away..."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "'We'?"

"Uh, the organizin' team. For the party."

"Ah." Now that he knew that Trip hadn't intended to go behind his back, he found it hard to stay angry with the engineer. Especially with the pleading puppy dog look he was getting.

"Ya still mad at me, darlin'?"

Malcolm sighed. He'd had a rather caustic speech ready for this occasion, about the importance of treating defense equipment with proper care, and Engineering not being the only important department on Enterprise. Now, however, he found himself thinking that the speech could wait until he was feeling better. And besides, he wasn't really angry anymore.

"Only a little," he said and handed Trip the empty plate. "The pie was very good. Thanks, Trip."

Trip grinned and set the plate down on the bedside table. "Anythin' else I can do fer ya?"

Malcolm sighed. "Not really. Unless you can get me out of here without the doctor noticing..."

Trip made a show of thinking about it. "How 'bout I repair that malfunctionin' hand scanner an' hide ya in my tool box on the way out?"

Malcolm grimaced and coughed, groping for the box of Kleenex on his bedside table. Trip hurried to pull one out for him, and Malcolm snatched it out of his hand, glaring at his partner as he spit another bit of... something into the handkerchief.

"V-very funny," he croaked, aimed for the bin and missed it by two centimeters. "I mean it, Trip. The doctor said I've got to stay here for another three days. I won't survive that long. And..."

Malcolm trailed off and lowered his head. He wasn't going to admit it, but the idea of spending New Year's Eve alone in sickbay was a little depressing. Not that he cared about the party, of course. But he didn't want to be left here, in his least favorite place on the ship, celebrating the New Year with a box of tissues while everybody else was having fun.

Trip seemed to have picked up on his thoughts. He smiled and reached out for Malcolm's hand.

"Darlin', d'ya really think I'd go off to the party an' leave ya here to clink glasses with the bat?" He didn't wait for Malcolm's answer, shaking his head to emphasize his point. "I wouldn't do that, no way."

"Trip..." Malcolm began, wanting to tell his partner that he didn't want to spoil his fun and hoping at the same time that Trip wouldn't listen to him, but was interrupted before he could say anything.

"Don' worry, darlin', we're gettin' you to the party. There's no way you're not goin'."

Malcolm's heart sank at that. True, he'd rather be anywhere than in sickbay, but a noisy party in Cargo Hold 2 was only slightly further down on his list of Places Where Malcolm Reed

Does Not Want To Spend More Time Than Absolutely Necessary.

Sad to think that he should have such a list at all, he thought as he listened to his partner's excited rambling.

"Rostov's promised to make his special punch, an' the Cap'n said we could use a few small fireworks if the walls don't end up lookin' as if we'd had a showdown with alien invaders." He grinned at Malcolm, his earlier plans to use the torpedo launchers completely forgotten. "You'll love it, Mal."

Malcolm sighed. All he wanted was to be in his quarters with Trip, and have a nice, quiet time without any fireworks, parties, or smiling doctors who were set on keeping him confined to a biobed. But it wasn't going to happen. And he didn't want to hurt Trip's feelings, seeing how enthusiastic the man was about the idea of partying with Malcolm.

"I'm sure I will, Trip."

Trip's grin grew even broader. "I knew ya would say that. Now, I'll be back at 2200 to pick ya up. Liz Cutler's invited the doc to the party in the messhall, so there's no way he's gonna see ya leave."

Malcolm smiled weakly. "There are two parties?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah, but the one in the messhall is more about eatin' and talkin'." He grimaced, as if he couldn't understand why anyone would waste their time. Malcolm thought that if he had to pick the lesser of the two evils, he'd rather go to the "eating and talking" event in the messhall, but there was no way he could tell Trip he wasn't exactly in the mood for any party. Thanks to Phlox infernal leg compresses, his temperature had dropped back to almost normal, but he was still feeling as though a shuttle had landed on him.

Malcolm sighed, and noticed Trip's expression turn into a worried frown. "Y'alright, darlin'?"

For a moment, Malcolm considered shaking his head. Truth was, he was feeling like shite, but he knew he'd feel even worse if Trip abandoned his long-awaited New Year's Eve party to sit with him and hold his hand. As nice as holding Trip's hand might be, Malcolm wasn't that selfish. He nodded.

"Sure. Just a little tired."

Trip patted his hand. "Flu's a bitch, ain't it? Well, we'll make sure to find a nice sofa fer ya."

Malcolm nodded, thinking that even if he wasn't required to do anything but sit on a sofa, the party raging around him would be more than enough to drive him insane. But he wasn't going to tell Trip. The engineer would enjoy a party even if he had to be dragged in on a stretcher to attend, and Malcolm didn't have the heart to tell him no.

"I'd like that," he said, dragging up another smile for his partner. Trip smiled back in response and leaned forward for a quick kiss.

"Great. Well, I've gotta be off now. You gonna keep yourself entertained till I'm back?"

Malcolm nodded weakly and watched Trip pick up the empty plate. His hand on the curtain, the engineer winked back at him.

"See ya later, Mal!"

Malcolm leaned back and closed his eyes. He needed a plan.

TBC...

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