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3
"Now, Lieutenant, which one do you think is more appropriate?"
Blearily, Malcolm looked at the two garments the doctor was dangling in front of him. One of them was blue and pink in color, the large patches blending into each other in a way that reminded Malcolm of batik. The other was slightly less... alarming in the coloration department, but made up for it by having large, trumpet-shaped sleeves, each of which contained enough fabric to make another shirt of the same size. And it wasn't as if the doctor needed anything smaller than XXL.
The doctor beamed at him, obviously taking his silence for stunned admiration.
"Appropriate for what?" Malcolm asked to gain time.
Phlox smiled. "Ms. Cutler asked me to accompany her to the party, and I was wondering what sort of clothing human men wear on such occasions?"
Not anything remotely like these shirts if they can help it, Malcolm thought, but of course didn't say.
"Well..." he began carefully. "I'm not sure if I'm the right person to ask. Maybe you should go to Commander Tucker."
He might even like the blue-and-pink combination, he added in thought, still not quite having forgiven his partner for his planned attempt on the torpedoes' well-being.
"Oh no, Lieutenant!" The doctor's grin widened, reminding Malcolm of the famous Cheshire cat. For a second or two, his feverish mind wondered if the doctor might also disappear one day, leaving only his slightly disturbing smile behind. The mental image that came with the idea was so distracting that Malcolm missed Phlox' next words.
"... underestimate yourself. I've heard Ensign Sato say to another lady that you're one of the best dressed male crewmembers. I believe you must be quite the expert."
Malcolm sighed inwardly. It was already 2115, and if Liz Cutler didn't show up soon, he wouldn't have time to put his plan into action - which wasn't much of a plan except for "leave sickbay before Trip gets here", but still, Malcolm knew he would need time to do so. He turned his eyes back to the garments and tried to look as if he were seriously considering the merits and drawbacks of each of them before answering. Truth be told, looking at those hideous things all he could really see were drawbacks. For a moment, he considered asking the doctor whether he had any less... eccentric wardrobe, but then decided against it. "Plain" was very likely not something that came in combination with Phlox' off-duty shirts.
"I guess I'd take this one, then," he said, pointing at the shirt with the large sleeves. At least it won't make you go blind when you look at it. "I'm sure it is... appropriate."
"Thank you, Lieutenant!" Phlox smiled at him, then glanced at the monitor over Malcolm's head. "Everything looks fine, your temperature's gone down a little, I see. Ensign Summers will be in the laboratory next door, just call her if you need anything."
Malcolm nodded, trying to look tired. "I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."
Which actually was what he would have liked to do, but first he had to find a way of getting away so no one would drag him off to a party or another undesirable event.
"A good idea, Lieutenant," the doctor said, obviously surprised at his patient's unusual meekness. "The more you allow your body to rest, the sooner you will be back to full health."
Malcolm nodded at this piece of medical wisdom, allowing his eyes to droop to make it look real.
"Have fun, doctor," he said. "Oh, and a Happy New Year."
Phlox beamed at him. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'm sure it will be."
Malcolm closed his eyes, and a moment later heard the sickbay doors open.
"Hello Phlox," Liz Cutler said and after a short pause: "You look great tonight!"
It sounded as if she really meant it, and once again, Malcolm admired the female gift for tactfulness. Then again, maybe Liz liked men in flared sleeves.
The doctor sounded pleased. "I believe I can return the compliment, Ms. Cutler. Your dress certainly flatters your, how do you say, female bends."
Liz snorted. "Thank you. You mean "curves", though."
"Yes, curves, of course! What a curious expression."
Malcolm risked a glance and, catching a glimpse of Liz, he had to admit that Phlox was right. Before he could take a closer look, however, Liz turned his way and he quickly closed his eyes again. She didn't need to catch him admiring her "female bends", and besides it would ruin his impression of being fast asleep.
"How's Lieutenant Reed?" Liz asked. "Is he doing better?"
"Oh, he'll be fine," the doctor answered cheerfully. "A little rest is all he needs."
"You didn't knock him out, did you?"
"No, of course not." The doctor lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Actually, I was planning on it, but he went to sleep all by himself. The fever must have left him quite tired."
Malcolm could hear Liz approach the biobed and shifted a little for good measure, sighing as if he were deeply asleep. After an endless second she turned away again.
"Maybe you should chain him to the bed as long as you're gone," he heard her say to Phlox, an amused chuckle in her voice. "We wouldn't want him to sneak out on us again."
Malcolm had to fight hard to keep his face calm and relaxed. It was true that he was famous for his escapes from sickbay, and on one undignified occasion the doctor had actually resorted to physical restraints after Malcolm had successfully slipped away to the Armory for the second time in one day. He was still convinced that he had done the right thing - the ship had been in immediate danger of an attack, and the torn muscle in his left arm should have been no reason to keep him away from his post. However, unfortunately his staff, the Captain and Trip had conspired to have him returned to the doctor, ignoring his assertions that he was feeling just fine. The second time he was dragged into sickbay, a grim-looking Phlox had awaited him with a pair of padded cuffs, and, over Malcolm's angry protests, had used them to secure Malcolm's right wrist to the bed frame. "It's for your own good, Mr. Reed," he had said, pocketing the key. "If rational arguments won't convince you, I'm afraid I'll have to take to drastic measures." And he had left the cuff on until Captain Archer had announced via intercom that there was no further danger of an attack.
It was an experience Malcolm didn't want to repeat, and so he kept his fingers crossed under the sheets as he waited for Phlox' reply.
Fortunately, the doctor seemed to be in a lenient mood tonight. "Oh, I'm sure he won't," he said. "I believe Commander Tucker is planning to stop by later on to check on him. Mr. Reed will be just fine."
And he'll be long gone by then, Malcolm thought. He would have liked to wait for Trip, but there was no way he was going to a party tonight, let alone one of the notorious Cargo Hold 2 events. Which meant that he had to get out of sickbay, and soon.
He waited for another two minutes to be sure that Phlox and Cutler wouldn't come back. Then he opened his eyes again and rolled over so he was facing the door leading to the laboratory. It was unlikely that Summers would come out the very moment he chose to get up, but even unlikely events had to be taken into account when dealing with a tactical situation. The compresses were still clinging to his legs like two lukewarm jellyfish, and Malcolm reached down to pull them off, depositing them at the end of the bed. He couldn't have anything hindering his escape.
Stealthily, Malcolm sat up, keeping a close watch on the door to the lab. His head began to swim with the movement, and he waited a moment for the dizziness to go away. The feeling didn't subside entirely, leaving him a little disoriented, but he supposed that he could manage well enough to walk. The floor felt cold under his feet as he lowered himself from the edge of the bed, and he wobbled a little, holding on to the bed frame. Briefly, he considered a detour to one of the closets to get himself a robe and a pair of socks (he was shivering as it was, and the thin sickbay pajamas did little to keep out the cold). A noise from inside the lab decided him against it. As quickly as he could manage on unsteady feet, he made his way across the room to the doors. This was the most risky part of his escape; if anyone happened to walk along the corridor right now, they would immediately know what he was up to. And if it was Phlox coming back for some reason or other, he'd spend the turn of the year sedated and handcuffed to a biobed.
Malcolm took a deep breath and pushed the door opener. The corridor outside was empty; there was no irate doctor to chase him back inside, nor a party-hungry Chief Engineer to drag him down to Cargo Hold 2. Malcolm took a step into freedom, then another, leaning against the wall as a shiver ran through his body. Freedom was a little too chilly for his tastes, and for a second, Malcolm considered going back inside. Then he saw himself sitting on a couch inmidst a group of partying engineers, trying to look as if he were having a great time despite his raging headache and desperate wish to be somewhere else. The image decided him. If he couldn't spend New Year's Eve with Trip, then he would at least spend it in a place of his own choice; somewhere quiet, preferably warm and preferably bat-less. He couldn't go to his quarters, of course; that was where they would look first. The Armory was also out; that was where they would look when he wasn't in his quarters. They might even check there first.
I'm not that much of a workaholic, Malcolm defended himself against his own thoughts. Trip knows me best of all people on the ship, and he would check my quarters first.
The thought was something of a consolation, and Malcolm held on to it as he slowly walked down the corridor. As it happened, he had just thought of the ideal place to go.
TBC...
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