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Archer marched inside sickbay and headed straight for the only occupied biobed. "Doctor?" he asked, looking at his Armoury Officer lying unconscious on it.

Phlox led the Captain away, pulling the privacy curtain around his patient and Trip, who was sitting on a chair beside the bed.

"Captain, I just carried out a thorough check-up of Lieutenant Reed and medically speaking I can't say there is much wrong with him," Phlox said, looking perplexed. "All I did find is a chemical imbalance in his neurotransmitters: it would appear he suffered something like a panic attack. Commander Tucker's description of the Lieutenant's confusion could also be consistent with that."

"A panic attack?" Archer glanced towards the closed curtain. "Do you think it's possible that this might have anything to do with Malcolm's transport back to Enterprise?"

Phlox thought for a moment before answering. "It's difficult to say," he eventually replied. "I checked the Lieutenant right after he was transported, and he was fine. But I must admit that it is curious that the beginning of Mr. Reed's symptoms should coincide with his return from the planet. Unless…" he added pensively. "The experience could have been more upsetting than he is willing to admit, even to himself, and might have triggered his present state of anxiety," he suggested.

Archer heaved a deep breath. "I'll check on Trip; I think he's blaming himself for this," he said to Phlox, who nodded.

The Captain walked to the curtain and pulled a corner aside. Trip looked quite tense.

"Apparently there is nothing seriously wrong with Malcolm," Archer said reassuringly, entering the enclosed space.

Trip turned to shoot him a disconcerted look. "You weren't the one who kept him from collapsin' on top of the head, and you didn't see him lookin' at you as if he didn't understand a word you said!" he exclaimed. Then he added, meaningfully, "Although you were the one who knocked him out cold in the middle of a routine trainin' session."

"Yesterday's transport has almost certainly nothing to do with all this," the Captain continued, ignoring the engineer's words. "Try not to worry so much, Trip. You did nothing wrong."

"Capt'n, you weren't the one who pulled them levers either," Trip replied grimly. "Or I bet you'd be worryin' too."

"I worry for all my crew," Archer reminded him, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knew Trip hadn't really meant to imply he didn't.

"I'm sorry, Capt'n. I know you do," Trip murmured, shaking his head regretfully. "It's that… this can't just be a coincidence. Malcolm looked confused the moment he re-materialised and since then he's only been gettin' worse," he concluded bitterly.

"Phlox says he had a panic attack," Archer said, squeezing Trip's shoulder.

Trip turned to Archer, his brow knitted in a frown. "Well, now that's reassurin', Capt'n," he huffed. "When was the last time you knew Malcolm to have a panic attack?"

Archer didn't reply. Although he had never seen Reed panic, he suspected that his aquaphobia had most likely caused him a few attacks in the past. But Trip was not privy to that information, and Archer wasn't about to disclose it, even if it would have eased the engineer's concern.

Just then Malcolm stirred, his eyes cracking open.

Archer's hand left Trip's shoulder and went to Reed's arm. "Lieutenant," he called softly.

Malcolm turned his head to the sound of Archer's voice and blinked. "What happened?" he slurred, taking in his surroundings.

Archer saw the disorientation in Malcolm's eyes and wondered how much, if anything, the lieutenant could remember. He decided to keep the answer simple. "You fainted. You're in sickbay," he just said.

Malcolm grunted, closing his eyes. "Brilliant," he mumbled. He opened his eyes again and focused them on the Captain, before shifting them to Trip. "Why? What happened?" he repeated.

"You were sick. After the trainin' session. In your quarters," Trip replied, watching Malcolm closely for any sign of recollection.

Malcolm seemed to look right through him for a moment. Then his eyes showed his memory clearly returning.

"Thanks for… well, you know," Malcolm trailed, meeting Trip's gaze.

Trip smirked and said, "If you wanted me not to worry, that wasn't the best way, ya know?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to upset you," Malcolm replied. He pushed to a sitting position, letting his legs dangle off the side of the bed and grabbing the edge with both hands.

"I'm not sure Phlox would approve of you getting up, Malcolm," Archer warned.

As if on cue, the Doctor appeared. "Ah, Mr. Reed. Hello again. How are you feeling?" he enquired.

Reed considered the question. "I'm not sure, Doctor," he said dryly. "Fine, although somewhat… scrambled, I suppose."

"To the best of my knowledge you suffered a panic attack," Phlox informed him.

"Lovely," Reed commented, wincing uncomfortably and looking away.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"More or less." Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was in my quarters with Commander Tucker. I felt agitated and… muddled. All of a sudden I could not make out the Commander's words. I was overcome by nausea and… well, I was sick and everything went dark."

"Any lingering anxiety, confusion?"

"Not at the moment; but they have been coming and going," Malcolm said. "Am I free to return to my quarters?" he asked, looking at Phlox with undisguised hope in his eyes. "I do feel all right now."

Phlox thought for a moment. "I will give you something to help you relax," he said, moving off.

"You sure you wouldn't rather spend the night in sickbay?" Archer asked, completely serious.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Quite certain, Sir."

Phlox returned and pressed a hypospray to Reed's neck. "This will help you sleep. I can see no reason for keeping you here overnight," he said thoughtfully. "However, I want you to report to sickbay for another check-up first thing in the morning," he warned, seeing Reed ready to jump off the bed.

"Understood, Doctor," Malcolm obliged.

Malcolm's eyes flashed open. He lay still on his bed for a few moments, unblinkingly looking at the grey ceiling. Then he tossed the covers aside and got up. He pulled on his uniform and boots, and left his quarters.

He walked confidently along the dimmed corridor on B deck all the way to the turbolift. Getting inside, he looked at the buttons for a moment, before pushing one.

O'Rourke hated working the night shift. He really wished there was a way to avoid it, but everyone, even the senior staff, took turns. But he did hate it. He just couldn't function well beyond a certain hour. It didn't make sense, he knew it: on a starship you couldn't really tell the night from the day, but… Hearing the doors to the launch bay opening he turned to see who was the unlucky person who shared his trouble – a trouble shared is a troubled halved. Lieutenant Reed came in.

"Good evening, Sir," he greeted him, immediately straightening his shoulders. The man was a superior officer, and besides: you simply didn't slouch in front of Lieutenant Reed.

Reed looked at him in silence for a moment, making him cringe – what was it about the relatively unimpressive lieutenant that gave him such an air of authority? – Then he simply moved off.

O'Rourke watched him in puzzlement. Not very Reed-like. What was he doing here at this time anyway? It wasn't that long since the Armoury Officer had worked the night shift; and the ship's grapevine had it that the lieutenant had been overpowered in a combat training session by the Captain and had ended up in sickbay. O'Rourke couldn't help smiling at the mental image.

He watched Reed cross to a shuttlepod and open its hatch. Something about him was strange, the way he walked perhaps – not as graceful as usual. O'Rourke just couldn't put his finger on it. I really should mind my own business, he thought. But his feet took him to the pod and he peeked inside. Reed seemed busy powering up the shuttle.

"Is there an away mission scheduled, Sir?" the Ensign asked.

Reed froze, without speaking, his very silence making him even more intimidating.

O'Rourke swallowed and cursed his nosiness: if the gossip was true, Reed must not be in a very good mood. Well, no going back now, he thought. "...Sir?" he enquired hesitantly.

Reed slowly turned to look at him with icy-blue eyes. "Yes?" he simply said.

"I was told by Commander Tucker to do a complete check-up of the pods; I thought no more teams were going down to the surface," O'Rourke replied. "Are there new orders I am not aware of?"

Reed jumped out of the pilot seat, suddenly looking quite agitated. Something appeared to be really wrong with the Lieutenant. His breathing had accelerated and his face showed a battle of sorts going on within him.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" the ensign enquired nervously. When no answer came, O'Rourke knew the man really wasn't. He took a step back, saying, "I'll be right back, Sir."

He turned to get to the comm. link. He was wondering whether he should wake up his CO after paging sickbay when suddenly his world went dark.

TBC