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4

"Scuse me, Chief?"

Trip looked up from the champagne bottles he had been arranging on the buffet table. Crewman Kelly was standing next to the comm, a ladder in one hand and a glittering discoball in the other. Briefly, Trip wondered if she had pushed the receiver button with her nose, then decided that he definitely needed to cut down on his consumption of the brownies Chef had sent down as a refreshment for the party crew. All that sugar seemed to be getting to him, if his last train of thought was any indication.

"Chief, Doctor Phlox wants to talk to you!"

Trip frowned and abandoned the champagne bottles to join Kelly next to the comm.

"Doc? Somethin' wrong?"

"Commander," Phlox said, in a tone that bode no good. Trip had a feeling that he was not going to like what the doctor would say next.

"Doc, what is it? Is there somethin' wrong with Malcolm? Is he all right?"

"I hope so. Commander, I'm afraid the Lieutenant has disappeared."

Trip frowned. "What do you mean, he has disappeared?"

"Lieutenant Reed is no longer in sickbay. He's not in the Armory, and Ensign Hsan just informed me that he is not in his quarters, either. I was hoping you could tell me where he is."

"I've no idea where he is, doc." Aware of Kelly's eyes on him, Trip tried to keep his growing apprehension out of his voice. "I haven't seen him since I stopped by sickbay a few hours ago."

Phlox sighed. "Ensign Summers contacted me a few minutes ago. She went to check on the Lieutenant as I had asked her to do, and was quite upset to find him gone."

Trip was about to ask whether they had tried scanning for Malcolm when he remembered that the internal sensors were offline. The region of space they were currently flying through was something of an interstellar wasteland, and there was hardly a chance that they would come across so much as a stray asteroid, let alone anything that could prove a threat. As good a time as any to run an internal maintenance check... or so he had thought. He hadn't expected that they would need the sensors to search for their wayward Armory Officer.

"Do you think he's delirious, doc?" If Malcolm was wandering through Enterprise's corridors in a fever-blurred haze, there was no telling what kind of trouble he might be getting himself into. Trip could only hope that he would stay away from the weapons' lockers.

"He's certainly not in his best state of mind, but I don't suppose that he is sleep-walking. At least I hope he isn't."

Trip found the doctor's statement to be less than reassuring. "We've gotta search the ship for him, doc. The scanners are gonna be offline for another three hours, and-"

"Wait a minute, Trip." Jon's voice interrupted him, sounding reassuringly calm and captainly. Apparently Archer had been standing next to Phlox, listening to their conversation. "Are you down in Cargo Hold 2?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Tell the party crew to start searching decks E and F. I'll make a shipwide announcement for the rest of the crew to start searching decks A to D. We'll find him, don't worry."

"Aye, sir. Thanks, Cap'n."

"And Trip?"

"Yeah?"

"Go check your quarters. Maybe he's there."

Trip nodded. "On my way."

Malcolm wasn't in Trip's quarters; nor was he in the messhall, his office, or the gym. Followed by Jon and Porthos, Trip checked every place where he could imagine Malcolm might have gone, constantly encountering search parties of two or three who were doing just the same. After more than an hour, none of them had had any luck, and Trip found himself getting seriously worried. He couldn't help thinking that Malcolm might have fallen down a maintenance tube and was now lying somewhere, injured and sick, with no means of calling for help. It didn't help that some of the crewpeople seemed to derive a certain enjoyment from the "Hunt for Reed", giggling and recounting the various occasions when Malcolm had escaped from sickbay. When he entered the messhall to find Rostov surrounded by a giggling crowd, making a show of poking around in a large bowl of potato salad, it was only the Captain's quick intervention that stopped him from giving the crewmen the dressing down of their lives. After a few stern words from Archer, the crewmen hastened to get back to their search, leaving behind a fuming Chef who seemed to regard the ruined potato salad as a personal offense.

"I have no idea where Reed is," he spat when he caught Trip's eyes. "And if you're going to ask me whether I have any pineapple rings to use as a bait, the answer is no!"

Trip hadn't yet decided whether he should risk telling Chef just where he could stick his uncalled-for sarcasm when the Captain laid a hand on his arm.

"We haven't checked the starboard observation deck yet," he said.

Trip turned his head, ignoring Chef who disappeared into the galley uttering unintelligible Norwegian swears. "Why would Malcolm go to the observation deck?"

Jon shrugged. "Can't hurt to check, can it?"

Trip nodded. Things were getting to a point where he would have climbed down into the very bowels of the ship if there was any hope of finding Malcolm there.

"Let's go."

As Trip had half expected, the observation deck was empty. Except for the usual collection of couches and the large yucca in the corner by the window, there was nothing there. He was already on his way back to the door when Jon called out behind him.

"Wait a minute, Trip!"

He turned around again and saw Porthos over in the corner by the yucca, wagging his tail and yipping excitedly at something half-hidden between the plant and the window. Something that appeared to be wearing mint-green sickbay pajamas.

"Malcolm!"

Trip crossed the room in a few large strides. As he came closer, he saw that it was indeed Malcolm who was sitting wedged in between the yucca and the window, curled up into a tight ball with his head resting on his knees. As if trying to protect himself from the cold, he had slipped the one-size-fits-all sickbay gown over his legs and pulled his hands into the sleeves.

He was shivering uncontrollably, and didn't look up when Trip crouched down next to him.

"God, Malcolm." Carefully, Trip laid a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. Even through the fabric of the shirt, he could feel the heat coming off the other man's skin. "Malcolm, are you awake? Can you hear me?"

Finally, Malcolm raised his head. His face was dripping with sweat, his eyes bleary and unfocused.

"T-trip?"

"Yeah," Trip said, trying to sound reassuring. Behind him, Jon was talking to someone, presumably Dr. Phlox, on the comm. "It's me. What are you doin' here, Mal? We've been lookin' for you all over the ship."

Malcolm's teeth were chattering, and he frowned as if he were trying to remember. "The b-bat," he said. "There was... the bat."

"You mean Dr. Phlox' bat, darlin'?" Trip asked, gently brushing the sweaty hair from Malcolm's forehead. Malcolm seemed too far gone to make much sense, but at least he had recognized Trip. "That's okay, she's fine. Don't worry about her."

"N-no," Malcolm said a little impatiently. "She's not fine. She... she got out, I think. You have to find her... put her back in her cage. She can't be outside. It's for her own good."

Trip had to smile a little despite Malcolm's obviously miserable condition. "Don't worry, Mal. We've found her, and we'll make sure she doesn't get out again."

"Good," Malcolm whispered, and allowed Trip to pull him closer, offering no resistance when the engineer began to rub his hands and feet in order to warm them up. "Don't... don't let her out again. She's not going to the party."

Trip laughed softly. "No way." He began to stroke Malcolm's damp hair. "Bats don't like parties all that much anyway, do they?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No... I guess not..."

His eyes were beginning to droop, and when Phlox and the med team arrived with the stretcher, Malcolm Reed was fast asleep.

"Happy New Year, Mal."

Malcolm opened his eyes and found himself looking at Trip's smiling face. It was a little blurred around the edges, and Malcolm blinked. After a second or two, the dancing spots in front of his eyes disappeared, and Malcolm realized that he was in sickbay. Back in sickbay, his mind supplied, although the phrasing didn't seem to make much sense. Had he been out of sickbay? And if so...

"Trip? What happened?"

Trip's smile widened, although Malcolm could not see anything funny about his question. "Don't you remember?"

He shook his head, wincing when there was a dull throb at the base of his skull. All he remembered was feeling tired... tired and cold.

"No, I don't. Was... was I out of sickbay at some point?"

Trip laughed. "You could say so. You decided to make your getaway, again I might add, and wandered off when no one was payin' attention. We spent more than an hour lookin' for you, and when we finally found you on the observation deck, you were in a pretty bad state. But the doc says you're better now. Seems like the worst is over."

Listening to Trip's explanation, Malcolm had the sinking feeling that the "worst" was yet to come. "Who exactly spent more than an hour looking for me?" he asked, half dreading the answer.

"Oh, just me and the Cap'n..." Trip's tone was far too innocent. "And the rest of the crew."

Malcolm groaned. "Do me a favor, Trip?"

"Yeah?"

"Just shoot me."

Trip grinned. "C'mon, Mal. It's actually quite funny, if you think about it. And the important thing is that you're feelin' better, right?"

Malcolm sighed and nodded. He was feeling better, at least a little, and his recollection of last night's events was mercifully vague. If he tried, he could even pretend not to remember that he had made a complete fool of himself by babbling incoherently about Dr. Phlox' bat.

"You think you can sit up a little?"

Malcolm nodded and Trip readjusted the biobed so that he sat propped up. It was only now that Malcolm noticed the two champagne glasses on the table next to the bed. He gave Trip an inquiring look, and the engineer smiled.

"I thought you might wanna catch up with the celebrations, since you missed the party last night."

Malcolm lowered his head. He didn't remember much, but he recalled enough to know that his main motivation to get out of sickbay had been avoiding the party... the party Trip had been looking forward to for weeks.

"Trip, I'm sorry if I ruined your evening. I..."

"Hey." The teasing tone had disappeared from Trip's voice. Malcolm looked up again, but instead of the frown he had expected to encounter, the engineer was smiling ruefully.

"You didn't ruin anythin', Mal. I guess I'm the one who should apologize. I was so excited about gettin' you to the party even though I knew you weren't doin' so good, and, well..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry if I made you feel you had to run."

Malcolm smiled. "You didn't. You know, I really wanted to spend the evening with you... when I walked out of sickbay, I was planning to go to your quarters to wait for you, but then I suppose I got lost on the way."

The grin reappeared on Trip's face. "Well, it's never too late to have our own little party."

He picked up a thermos bottle from the bedside table and carefully poured a generous amount of light brown liquid into each of the champagne glasses. Then he handed Malcolm one of them and raised the other one, smiling.

"Doc said you can't have alcohol yet, so I guess cold tea will have to do. Just pretend it's sparklin' wine."

Malcolm smiled back and raised his own glass, clinking it against Trip's. "Happy New Year, Trip!"

And even though Malcolm Reed usually didn't like parties, he had to admit that this one was turning out quite all right.

Das Ende

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