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Thank you for reviewing. This chapter is a little longer; hope you enjoy it.

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Archer was leaning against the bulkhead in his ready room, looking out of the porthole at the planet they were orbiting, when the door bell chimed.

"Come," he called, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from the beautiful sight to see who was coming in. "Subcommander," he greeted his SIC.

T'Pol took a couple of steps inside the room and stopped, putting her hands behind her back. "The away teams have almost finished, Captain," she informed him. "The last shuttlepod is scheduled to dock in about an hour."

Archer smiled. "Good," he said. "Anything worth noting?" he asked.

"We will know that after we analyse the samples," T'Pol answered with one of her impassive yet somehow meaningful looks. "However, the teams have reported something happening on the planet that is rather… intriguing," she added.

Archer looked at her inquisitively and waited for her to continue.

"Bursts of electric energy," she said. "The phenomenon only began some twenty minutes ago. It looks like small flashes of lightning, producing cracking sounds. What is curious about them is that they seem to come in patterns that keep repeating."

Archer frowned. "That's odd. Are they close enough to our people to constitute a problem?" he asked.

"No. They do not pose any threat, Captain," T'Pol replied self-assuredly. "The amount of energy is quite limited, not enough to hurt a human being who came into contact with it."

"Something to do with the weather, perhaps?" Archer asked, puzzled.

"I do not believe the phenomenon is weather related," T'Pol replied. "The patterns in it would suggest that it is not natural."

"Then what?" Archer asked with a deep frown. "A… signal of some sort?"

"It is possible. I would like to find out," The Vulcan officer replied with her usual aplomb. She paused for a moment, before asking, "Captain?"

Archer considered her request. "We are explorers…" he said thoughtfully. He met her gaze. "Ask Hoshi to help you. And take no risks," he finally said, giving his consent.

"I had no intentions of taking any," T'Pol replied, raising her eyebrows. "I can conduct my research using our long-range sensors, at least preliminarily."

Archer turned to look out of the porthole again, absorbed in thought. "Make sure the away teams leave the surface as soon as they are finished," he told T'Pol. "I don't want to take any chances."

"Understood," T'Pol replied. "Thank you, Captain."

"Commander Tucker with Ensign Mayweather; Ensign Sato and Subcommander T'Pol; Captain, you'll spar with me," Malcolm said to the senior officers who had gathered in the gym.

"We'll review punching combinations and kicks," Reed instructed. "Remember your defensive and parrying moves. Let's begin with simple combinations and work our way up." He nodded, and the group split into pairs.

Archer approached him with a mischievous smile. "There can only be two reasons for you to choose me as your sparring partner, Lieutenant," he said playfully. "Either I'm the best and you're planning to have a tough practice session; or I'm the worst and you feel you have to take personal care of me."

"Just your turn, Captain," Malcolm answered with a small smile.

Every week Reed would spar with a different officer. That was to give the person a closer-to-real fighting practice, for they were expected to use a fair amount of power instead of just rehearsing the moves like the rest of the officers.

Malcolm felt brittle and tired, but fortunately this was his last duty of the day. He had spent the afternoon in the Armoury, cooped up in his office doing 'paper work' while struggling to keep his scrambled feelings in check. In a little over three quarters of an hour he would take a long shower and then drop into bed, and, dreams permitting, hopefully tomorrow he'd be back to normal.

"Usual drill, Sir," he reminded Archer. "I attack first; you parry and then attack back."

Malcolm heaved a deep breath, wishing his sluggish brain would allow him to focus, and executed a combination of punches. It felt as if his normally nimble body was moving in slow motion; Archer parried without difficulty and counterattacked. Malcolm deflected the blows and blinked. Good thing this was only a training session; in a real fight today he'd be in trouble, he thought, trying to ignore his underlying anxiety. He was getting good at that, at least, after so many hours.

"Very well, Captain," he said, lowering his guard. He glanced briefly at the other pairs; they seemed to be doing fine. "Ready for something a little more challenging?"

"Sure," Archer replied, taking a defensive stance.

Reed got into position and attacked, using a more complex combination of punches; then he rotated on himself and threw a kick. The movement made his vision swim. Through his daze he saw Archer coming back at him; he reacted and parried a couple of punches, then felt a hard blow on his jaw, and fell backwards, banging his head hard on the floor.

He lay there for a long moment while the room spun and distorted sounds rang in his ears, barely aware of the commotion that was going on around him. Then, through the haze, a familiar voice emerged.

"Malcolm!" Archer was kneeling beside him and was shaking him lightly. Malcolm squinted, trying to focus on his Captain's face. When he finally succeeded, he almost snorted at the astonishment he read in his CO's green eyes.

"Good punch, Sir," he slurred, feeling his jaw.

No one laughed at his joke. Trip was kneeling beside Archer, looking worried and baffled. The other officers were standing nearby, T'Pol with eyebrows fully up. Just what Malcolm liked, being at the centre of everyone's attention. With a grunt he pushed to a sitting position and his vision blurred again. Automatically he squeezed his eyes shut and winced.

"Lieutenant, are you all right?" Archer asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"Yes, Sir. Just give me a minute," Malcolm replied, blinking and rubbing the back of his head.

Archer's voice sounded again. "That will be all for tonight," he said to the others, dismissing them. "Trip, comm. Phlox."

"Sir, there really is no need," Malcolm protested, striving to stand up.

"Malcolm," Archer said warningly, pushing him back down. "Sit still. Or I'll have to punch you again," he added, sounding dead serious. "What in heaven's name happened anyway?" he asked, frowning. "I've never floored you before."

"I…" Malcolm faltered. How was he going to explain to Archer what was going on with him? He didn't know himself. "Got distracted," he eventually said, casting a surreptitious glance at Archer. The Captain was looking at him wide-eyed. But it wasn't a lie really - when one's brain can't concentrate that is called being distracted, isn't it?

"You what?" Archer blurted out in disbelief.

Just then Phlox entered the gym, carrying his medkit.

"Lieutenant, you're a challenging patient today," he greeted him.

Archer looked at the doctor enquiringly and then back at Malcolm, who avoided his gaze uncomfortably.

"What do you mean by that, Doctor?" Archer asked, as Phlox knelt down near Reed.

The Doctor spoke without turning. "Must I remind you the principle of doctor-patient confidentiality, Captain?" he said. He addressed Reed. "What happened, Lieutenant?"

"The Capt'n knocked him flat," Trip informed him, earning himself an incinerating glare from Malcolm.

"Oh, I see," Phlox said, not bothering to hide his amusement as he checked Reed's jaw and his vital signs. "Could this have anything to do with… the problem you complained about this morning?" he asked, turning serious.

"What problem?" Archer demanded.

"Captain," Phlox said, sounding slightly annoyed. "As I said …"

"It's all right, Doctor," Malcolm interrupted him. He turned to Archer. "Sir, I dropped by sickbay this morning because my head felt a little heavy. But the Doctor found nothing wrong with me. I slept badly last night and as a consequence today I haven't been one hundred per cent myself."

Phlox turned off his tricorder and stood up.

"Mr. Reed is fine. No concussion," Phlox told Archer, who sighed in relief. He turned to Malcolm. "However, you do display symptoms of anxiety, Lieutenant, though it is not totally unexpected, considering you are overtired and were just… knocked flat, to use Commander Tucker's colourful expression," he said with a small grin. "Other than that, I cannot find anything wrong with you. I suggest you go to bed early and get a good night's sleep. And report to sickbay tomorrow morning for a check-up. If you wish, I can give you something to help you relax."

Malcolm pursed his lips. "Thank you, Doctor, but I'm quite certain I'll be dead to the world the moment my head hits the pillow," he said. He got up and cast Archer a self-conscious glance. "I'm sorry about all this, Captain."

"Forget it, Malcolm," Archer said. "Just get back into shape. Can't afford to have my Armoury Officer feeling off for more than a day or so," he joked.

Malcolm hinted a smile and nodded to his superiors, turning to leave. As he made for the doors, Trip hastened to join him. "I'll walk with you to your quarters," he said, falling in step with him.

They left the gym and started along the corridor in silence. Malcolm stole a sideways glance and realised that Trip looked like a volcano about to erupt, so when they got to the turbo lift he turned to face him.

"Come on, let's hear it," he said with a sigh.

Trip bit his lip and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You, of all people, get distracted in the middle of a sparring session?" he burst out. "Sorry, but I find that real hard to believe."

The lift doors opened and they stepped inside. Trip pushed the button to B deck, and Malcolm crossed his arms and leaned with a shoulder against the wall. He heaved a tired breath. "You heard what I said. What Phlox said. I didn't sleep well last night and…"

"Don't give me that," Trip interrupted him brusquely. "I've seen you work around the clock and…" Trip cut his sentence short as they got to their destination and the doors opened on an ensign who was standing just outside. They both nodded to the man, who nodded back and disappeared inside the lift. "…And you never had that… lost look like this mornin' in Engineerin'," Trip concluded.

They walked along the corridor.

"Hell, Malcolm, you told me you didn't even know why you were there!" Trip exclaimed.

Malcolm turned his friend's words over in his mind, like when you read a sentence over and over again without understanding it, because your brain is elsewhere. One thing he did understand quite well, though, was that Trip was concerned. Why was Trip concerned? He racked his memory. Right, Trip was concerned because of what had happened with the transporter the day before. But it was ridiculous even to think that his current condition – state of mind, he amended – might have anything to do with that. Nothing really happened, he repeated to himself. I am merely tired.

"Malcolm…" Trip ground out, irritated by Malcolm's silence.

"What do you want me to say, that the person you transported back is not Lieutenant Malcolm Reed?" Malcolm burst out, shooting him an annoyed look before stopping in front of his door and banging the heel of his hand on the command to open it. He strode in followed by Trip, who didn't bother to ask if he was welcome.

"I only want you to tell me what's happenin' to you," Trip said in a frustrated tone. "Is that so difficult to understand? I only want to be your friend!"

Malcolm stopped in the middle of the room with his back to Trip. He brought a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. 'I only want to be your friend… I only want to be your friend' – the words kept echoing in his mind, making him slightly nauseous. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and jumped a mile. Turning abruptly, he saw Trip eye the comm. link, and his befuddled brain was crossed by the unwelcome notion that he might not yet have seen the last of Phlox that day.

"Look, Trip…" he hastened to say before his friend could act on the plan that was undoubtedly forming in his mind. He struggled for words. "I'm not trying to… shut you out. I just don't want you to start worrying unnecessarily," he finally managed.

"Well, it's too late for that, so you better start talkin' to me," Trip replied.

Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to clear the confusion that reigned in his thoughts at the moment. "The truth is, I've felt… unfocused and… on edge since I came back from that planet. But I'm certain it has nothing to do with my… rocky transport back to Enterprise." He paused, feeling his pulse and breathing accelerate in response to the umpteenth rush of adrenaline – blimey, just how much adrenaline could a body produce in one day? He opened his eyes again and found Trip's searching ones studying him.

"Look: Phlox says I'm fine; so it must be just plain tiredness," he mumbled, his voice not sounding very convincing to his own ears.

Trip opened his mouth and replied something. Malcolm heard the sound, but his mind could not grab the words. He frowned, swallowing hard. His breathing got uneven and his face must have shown the alarm he felt, for he registered growing concern in his friend's eyes, and saw Trip's mouth form his name. He slowly shook his head, wincing, and clenched his jaw against the queasiness that was suddenly rising in his throat. Too late, it was a lost battle. With a muttered 'sorry' he stumbled into the bathroom, where for the next minute or so his stomach heaved so violently he was sure it might end up inside out.

Malcolm felt his strength waning fast and was deeply grateful for Trip's hands supporting him. Good grief, he wasn't going to black out in the loo, was he? For he felt weak enough to… crumple… to…

Trip had Malcolm in a firm grip when he suddenly found himself supporting all of his friend's weight and almost toppled under the unexpected burden of Malcolm's limp body.

"Malcolm!" he cried out. But Malcolm was out cold.

Grunting with effort Trip hauled him up against him and grabbed him under his arms, dragging his friend out into the room. He gently laid him on the floor, in the rescue position. Then he pressed the comm. link and paged Phlox.

TBC