"Lieutenant, have you forgotten my warning about pushing your body too far?" asked Phlox, who seemed to Malcolm to be in possession of surveillance equipment. Just a second ago he'd been engrossed in his medical screens.

"I was just doing a few stretches." He was anxious to escape Sickbay and hoped to hasten his release.

"Do I need to describe the extent of the damage to your legs again?"

"No," Malcolm sulked. His most recent run-in with a hostile alien faction had been particularly hard on his legs, and in fact the pain had been so unbearable that his brain apparently decided to keep the memory from him.

"Besides, tomorrow we'll start working with your legs further in physical therapy. You don't want to set that back, do you?"

"No."

Trip, who had only been half-listening as he worked on his autobiography, looked up eagerly. "Hey, what about me? Do I get to stretch my legs more tomorrow?"

"Yes, Commander. Your injuries are remarkably similar. Naturally your bodies aren't reacting identically, but both of you are in good health, so your progress is similar."

Malcolm scowled. "Our injuries are similar because our captors seem to have perfected a methodical method of beating."

"So, when'll we be able to blow this joint?" asked Trip hopefully, ignoring his co-captive.

The doctor looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't recognize that phrase."

Malcolm, meanwhile, had deliberately picked up his padd and started typing. "Speak for yourself. My joints have suffered quite enough, thank you."

Shooting a frustrated look at Malcolm, Trip explained for Phlox's benefit, "When can we leave?"

"I can't be certain."

"Can you guess?"

"You may be able to return to your quarters within the next forty-eight hours, provided that neither of you attempt to resume your duties for a week after that."

"A week!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Isn't that somewhat excessive?"

"I will allow you to make medical decisions, Lieutenant, as soon as you agree to my supervision of the phase cannons."

"Try the next one," sighed Hoshi, pointing to the list in his hand.

"En en ah thu-ell," tried Malcolm.

Hoshi groaned.

"I wish I was recordin' this," Trip gleefully remarked from his biobed. "I could replay it any time I needed a good laugh."

Malcolm shot him a dark look. "I don't see you trying to learn any new languages."

"Why you're learnin' Andorian in the first place is beyond me."

"It's easier than Vulcan," Malcolm replied. "And I worked on my autobiography all day yesterday and half of today. I want to do something else." He didn't mention that Hoshi's enjoyment was a major factor.

She brought Malcolm's attention back to the task at hand. It was a good thing, he reflected, that she was patient. "You're making the two n's distinct."

"I'm not supposed to be?"

"No. Say 'en' and hold it."

"Ennnnnnn."

"Now pick it up halfway through that."

"Nnn."

"That's it, just like that. Even though they're written as separate words, you pronounce them as one. Now make the 'ah' sound faster. Nnn-ah."

He tried to repeat Hoshi's pronunciation. After the long 'nnn' he inserted a quick 'ah' sound. "Nnn-ah."

"Much better!" She practically glowed with pride. "Now add the last part, but make it a distinct word. Nnn-ah thuel."

"Nnn-ah thu-el."

"You're splitting the syllables too much. The word is supposed to flow. Thuel. The end rhymes with swell."

"Nnn-ah thuel."

"Excellent!"

Trip was still grinning like the Cheshire cat as he listened. "What does this nnahthwel mean?"

"Nnn-ah thuel," corrected Hoshi, "is 'peaceful greetings' in Andorian."

He looked disappointed. "I'd be more interested in 'get me outta here' in Denobulan."

"Somehow," remarked Malcolm, "I get the impression that language isn't the chief barrier to securing our release."

"Lieutenant, you're talking as if this is a hostage situation," chided Phlox as he ambled over to administer painkillers to his patients.

Malcolm didn't miss a beat. "Isn't it?"

Trip had convinced Malcolm and their visitors that evening to play a good old fashioned game of Monopoly. T'Pol had even refrained from pointing out the illogic of playing a game based on antiquated pursuit of money and was holding her own. Trip happened to think it was a fun game. Hoshi was winning, but he was a close second. He was just about to roll the dice to see how much he owed Jon after landing on the Electric Company when he paused.

"That's not good."

"You haven't even rolled yet," observed Malcolm.

Trip frowned. "Not the game. There's somethin' wrong with the engines."

Hoshi looked at him quizzically. "Why do you think that?"

"It didn't feel right. Wait a second."

The group obligingly waited in silence. T'Pol and Hoshi attempted to use their sensitive ears to notice a variation. Travis put a hand on the floor in order to feel the vibrations of the ship, while Malcolm and Jon looked perplexed.

"There is was again," said Trip. He got blank stares in response. "I'm not makin' this up. Check with Engineering."

The captain walked over to a comm. panel. "Archer to Engineering."

"Freeman here. What can I do for you, sir?"

"Commander Tucker thinks that there's something wrong with the engines."

"Based on the timin' I'd say it's the intake manifolds," clarified Trip from his biobed.

Freeman presumably called up the readings, as the comm. was silent except for a few soft beeps. "He's right. The intake manifolds are fluctuating point-oh-eight percent. We'll get right on it."

"Thank you Ensign. Archer out."

"Shouldn't there have been some sort of alarm?" asked Travis, rather concerned about the possibility of engine problems going undetected.

"The computer doesn't give us the red flag until it fluctuates by one percent," replied Trip calmly.

Travis was clearly impressed. "If I hadn't heard this with my own ears, I don't think I would've believed it."

"I can attest," piped in Phlox as he ambled over to check on his patients, "that when confined, both Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed are capable of a great variety of remarkable feats. Just this afternoon, for instance, they managed to agitate my bat so that it wouldn't eat. Normally this occurs only after a serious injury."

"What did they do?" asked Archer.

"I believe it was a combination of the dartboard that Lieutenant Hess brought in, which was hung directly over my bat's cage, and their endless rendition of 'Two Thousand Cans of Beer on the Wall.'"

Archer, Travis, and Hoshi burst out laughing, while T'Pol looked on in amusement. "I guess you shouldn't quit your day job," Hoshi managed to say after a moment.

The next evening at dinner, Dr. Phlox allowed them to have dessert – a small piece of jelly roll each. Malcolm was especially pleased because it was a raspberry jelly roll. Trip usually liked strawberry better, but he was so happy to have dessert that he didn't care at all. Besides, they were getting out of Sickbay in just over thirty hours.

"It's startin' ta taste like freedom," he declared happily.

"I wasn't aware that freedom has a taste," said T'Pol as the doors slid open in time for her to hear Trip's comment.

"Tastes like pecan pie," he grinned, "but a jelly roll is gettin' closer."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to him. He's going stir crazy."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you are equally eager to leave Sickbay, Lieutenant."

"Oh, he is," assured Trip. "Malcolm's back to his usual stiff-upper-lip self."

"Perplexing."

"What?"

"Was not the lieutenant's upper lip the only facial feature to remain undamaged?"

Trip chuckled. To anyone else that might not seem so amusing, but it was T'Pol's unique dry humor – another one of the many things he loved about her. She placed her left hand on his, but pulled it away after a look in Malcolm's direction.

"Oh, ah, Malcolm's kinda figured us out," he admitted. She placed her hand back on his, and the touch strengthened their bond. "But don't worry, he's not gonna tell anyone before we do."

"Your discretion is appreciated."

Malcolm, the soul of discretion, nodded and picked up his padd. "Pretend I'm not here at all," he suggested. After checking where he'd been in his autobiography, he resumed the work. Scheduling the second year medical seminar directly after our hand-to-hand combat training sessions provided the medical students with ample opportunities to hone their skills.

He would never have admitted it, but Phlox's assignment had proven to be a bit entertaining. Malcolm was not one to spend a great deal of time reminiscing about the past, but writing about his days at Starfleet Academy had brought back some amusing memories. He'd entirely forgotten about the time he and his roommate had gone out jogging – the only thing they had in common was a shared affinity for physical fitness - and discovered their tough-as-nails ordinance professor painting the ducklings in the park. The best part was that the man actually cooed to the ducklings!

"He won't admit it," whispered Trip conspiratorially to T'Pol, "but he doesn't mind Phlox's assignment too much."

"I heard that, and I'll have you know that I only prefer this to mind-numbing boredom."

"So much for pretendin' he's not here."

"If I weren't here, would you be talking about my activities in Sickbay?"

"That is a valid point," noted T'Pol.

"Hey!" objected Trip. "Whose side are you on here?"

He could've sworn that Malcolm laughed in response, but the armory officer's face was perfectly serious.

Jonathan Archer strode into Sickbay while taking Porthos for his walk the next morning to find that Hoshi and T'Pol were already there. The two of them had been spending an awful lot of time in Sickbay, but then again so had he.

"Morning," he greeted, stifling a yawn. "I brought another visitor."

"Hey there, Porthos." Trip and Malcolm were sitting up eating breakfast. Risking Phlox's displeasure, Archer lifted Porthos up and set him next to Trip, who rubbed the beagle's belly.

"Dr. Phlox is lettin' us out after dinner!" exclaimed Trip as Porthos thumped his tail with pleasure, enjoying the belly rub.

"We're not cleared for duty," added Malcolm regretfully, "but we can sleep in our own beds again."

"That's great news. In case you're interested, I've just been informed that Rostov is organizing a Pictionary marathon tonight at 2030 in the mess hall, and it sounds like you'll be out in time."

"Thank you," replied Malcolm, "but I'm not a Pictionary fan."

"Are you a fan of any games?" asked Trip teasingly.

"I'm quite fond of Risk, actually."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Of course."

Moving Porthos over to Malcolm's bed to be fair, Archer joked, "He's not here for guard dog training."

"He does seem interested in your toast, though," chimed in Hoshi.

"He'll have to do without my toast."

"I did not know that Porthos had an affinity for bread," noted T'Pol. Thinking of her recent experience, she amended, "unless it was covered in cheese."

"He's not all that picky," explained Trip, taking a spoon to his applesauce and watching in amusement as Malcolm petted Porthos with one hand and guarded his toast with the other. It occurred to him that now was as good a time as any to inform his friend about his relationship with T'Pol, so he put the spoon down. "Uh, the cap'n's not here, is he?"

T'Pol was perplexed and probably just a bit worried about his vision. "Captain Archer is standing directly to your right."

"That's Jon. I'm askin' about the cap'n."

Chuckling, the man in question replied, "The captain isn't on duty for another fifteen minutes." He took Porthos off Malcolm's bed so the armory officer could finish his breakfast in peace.

Trip snapped the stem of his banana because he needed to do something with his hands. "Jon, there's somethin' we want you ta know. T'Pol and I, well, we're together."

"Together?" Archer echoed. "I don't know what to say, but I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," grinned Trip.

T'Pol nodded in agreement. "Thank you. If it is possible, we would prefer to keep this information to ourselves."

Archer nodded.

Malcolm, meanwhile, had given Hoshi a questioning look and received a nod in return. He cleared his throat. "Before the captain's shift starts," he began, "Hoshi and I are seeing each other as well."

"Wow. Congratulations."

"It won't affect our duties," added Malcolm, biting back a 'sir.'

"I'm sure it won't." He looked at the two couples and then down at his faithful dog. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need to process this before the captain's shift starts."

"Of course," replied T'Pol evenly.

Once Archer left, Malcolm gave a satisfied smile. "Strength in numbers."

Trip rolled his eyes. "We weren't attackin' him, Malcolm!"

Whatever his response might have been, Malcolm was quieted by Hoshi's kiss.

Meanwhile, T'Pol pulled Trip into the white space, which he was able, with great effort, to turn into a park on a sunny day.

"Your skills are improving," she noted with satisfaction.

"I've had a great teacher. Now if I could only get the birds."

She plucked the memory from his mind and recreated the sound of the chirping birds. They proceeded to kiss. The best part of kissing in their minds was that they never had to stop for air.

In Sickbay, quite unnoticed by his patients or their visitors, Dr. Phlox was concerned by the silence and looked to see if there were any problems. Even with his extremely limited knowledge of Vulcan mating bonds, it was clear that there were no problems, so he turned back to his physical therapy plans to give the couples privacy. If anyone had been able to see his face, they would have noticed that it displayed unconcealed glee.