Thanks to everybody who read the first chapter, and especially to those who left a review! Please keep them coming!

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Chapter 2

"... well, Forrest says they're going to contact you about the project as soon as you're back from nursing leave. Oh, and he said to tell Malcolm to get well soon."

Trip sighed. "He might even listen if the order's straight from Starfleet Command."

On the vidscreen, Archer leaned forward and smiled sympathetically. "That bad?"

Yes, Trip wanted to say, but then decided that it wouldn't be fair. So Malcolm was being a pain in the ass from time to time, but it wasn't that bad; not really. His anger at finding Malcolm in the kitchen, shivering and bare feet turning to ice, had dissipated overnight, turning into sympathy for his partner, who was forced to give up his independence in order to lie in bed 24/7 and have someone else wait on him hand and foot. It was no wonder that Malcolm wasn't in the best of spirits.

"Naw," he said. "He's okay. Doesn't like havin' to stay in bed, but we're dealin' with that."

Archer's expression was less than convinced. "Do you need someone to come over and help you, Trip?"

Trip quickly shook his head. He had to admit that it would make for a nice change, having someone here, but he wasn't going to spoil Jon's weekend... especially after Archer had told him that he and Captain Hernandez were planning to go mountain climbing with Travis and his wife.

"That's okay," he said. "We're good. Thanks though."

Archer nodded. "Anytime, Trip. If there's anything I can do..."

"I'll let you know." Trip smiled. "Thanks Jon."

A yelp drowned out the last word. Archer glanced down, and a moment later Porthos appeared, climbing onto Archer's lap.

"There you are, boy."

"Hey Port."

On hearing Trip's voice, the beagle turned to the screen and barked, his little tail wagging back and forth like a windshield wiper at high speed. Archer began to scratch the dog's ears, looking back at the screen.

"So, how's Malcolm today?" he asked. "Still running a fever?"

"Gettin' better. His temperature was under 38 this mornin'. He even had two pancakes for breakfast, with peanutbutter, of course."

Archer grinned, then became serious again. "Tell him to get some rest. It's been what, three weeks now?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah. It's this damn bug that's takin' forever to get out of his system. Phlox said that any physical exertion will trigger a setback, even if he thinks he's feelin' better. Well, but you know how Malcolm is, he's not gonna ask me to help him out of bed as long as he can still crawl."

Archer sighed and nodded. "He can be difficult, huh?"

"Well, sometimes." Trip tried to sound confident as he continued. "But he's startin' to feel better. Two weeks, maybe three, and Phlox said he should be able to get up again. That'll take his mind off things."

"I'm sure it will," Archer said. Then he smiled. "Maybe I'll drop by your place sometime next week, give you an evening off."

Secretly, Trip wasn't so sure if Malcolm would appreciate his former Captain as a babysitter, but he didn't say so. At least, Malcolm would stay in bed when he was ordered to by a superior officer who didn't happen to be his partner of six years.

"That'd be great."

Porthos barked, his tail still going like a crazy pendulum, and Archer gave Trip an apologetic smile. "Lunch time."

"Right." Trip grinned. "Well, I'd better get back and see what the gang is up to."

One of them probably using his sheets to climb out the window, the other one chewing a hole into the dogfood bag, he added in his mind but didn't say. He didn't want Jon to think that he couldn't even keep tabs on a jailbreaking Englishman and a gluttonous pooch.

Archer raised an eyebrow as if he had been reading his thoughts. "Don't let them get to you. "

"Naw." Trip chuckled, although it turned out a little weak. "Say hello to Erica, Travis and Alma for me."

"I will. Maybe next time you and Malcolm could come along."

"Maybe," Trip replied diplomatically, thinking that Malcolm would rather be dragged to the beach than go rock-climbing with two Starfleet captains. And if he was being honest, he himself rather preferred the beach, too. More sun, and less danger of finding yourself dangling over a bottomless abyss or breaking all the bones in your body if you slipped. "Have fun, Jon. I'll talk to you soon."

"See you soon," Archer replied over another bark from Porthos and reached out to cut the connection. "Bye, Trip."

"Bye."

The screen went dark, and Trip remained where he was for a few seconds. He had put on a brave face for Jon, not wanting it to look as if he couldn't cope. Truth was, however, that the situation was getting to him more than he liked to admit. When Malcolm was sick, Malcolm was unhappy, and there was little anyone could do about it. Yesterday had only been another incident in a long row of small arguments and disagreements because Malcolm refused to submit to Phlox' orders and stay in bed as he was told. Phlox, of course, wasn't here, and so it was Trip receiving the brunt of Malcolm's frustration, day after day after day. And as much as he loved his partner, sometimes Trip wished that he could ask someone else to take over, even if it was only for a few hours.

Something cold and moist touched his hand. He looked down and found that Johnson was sitting on his heels next to the chair, gazing up at him with accusing eyes.

Trip sighed and got up. "It's only half past twelve, Johnny, it's not as if I'm starvin' you."

Johnson seemed to disagree, and bounded into the kitchen with uncharacteristical speed. Trip followed him at a slower pace, grinning at the dog's single-mindedness when it came to his mealtimes. In a way, Johnson was as set on getting food as Malcolm was on getting out of bed.

"You two are gonna be the death of me," he told Johnson as he poured kibble into the dog's bowl. Johnson reacted by thumping his tail against Trip's leg, then lowered his head and began to noisily consume his lunch. Trip watched him fondly, remembering the day Jon had introduced the dog as their new family member-to-be. "I found him behind a trash can in the city," Archer had said, ignoring Malcolm's look of disbelief at seeing a large, shaggy dog making himself at home on their living room couch. "I can't have two dogs in my apartment, but I thought you might like him. He's a good boy." He had smiled at the dog who in the meantime had started to chew on the armrest of the couch. "Right?"

"He looks like Father Johnson," Malcolm had said, and at their inquiring looks, had added, "The parish priest back in my hometown."

The name had stayed, as had the dog, and in the meantime even Malcolm admitted that Johnson was a nice, if somewhat hairy addition to their life, even though he did eat the occasional sock or slipper.

"Could be worse," he had said dryly after Archer had left. "He could have brought us a horse."

Trip smiled in remembrance and watched Johnson destroy the last few bits of his lunch. When the dog had finished, he looked up at Trip and barked once.

"You wanna go see how Malcolm's doin'?" Trip asked. Johnson wagged his tail at the mention of Malcolm's name, and Trip nodded. "Okay, let's go check on him."

Trip picked up a thermos full of tea and followed Johnson up the stairs. The bedroom door stood ajar, and the dog pushed it open with his nose, wagging his tail as he trotted over to the bed. Trip followed him inside, closing the door before he turned to look at Malcolm.

As usual, Malcolm was lying on his side with the covers pulled up to his waist. When he became aware of Trip, he tried to smile a little, but it turned out more like a grimace. Instantly worried, Trip set the thermos aside and walked over to the bed.

"Malcolm?" he asked. "You're okay?"

Malcolm opened his mouth to answer, but immediately closed it again, clamping a hand over his lips. Trip reacted just in time, pulling out the basin from under the bedside table and helping Malcolm sit up. Johnson whined worriedly as Malcolm began to retch and heave, licking the hand that was clutching the edge of the bed.

Trip held Malcolm and stroked his back until the vomiting had passed. He had to struggle not to let his disappointment show on his face; Malcolm had seemed so well this morning, and had even smiled when Trip had come in with the pancakes.

Finally, Malcolm raised his head again and Trip set the basin aside.

"Here," he took a glass of water from the bedside table and handed it to Malcolm, who took a few careful sips. His face was still pale, and he was avoiding Trip's eyes as he handed the glass back.

"Thanks."

Trip knew that Malcolm felt embarrassed and humiliated after episodes like this, and so he only nodded. He would have liked to say a few words of comfort or even ask if Malcolm was feeling better, but knew that neither would be appreciated; not now.

He carried the basin to the adjoining bathroom and cleaned it, then returned to the main room with a spray to neutralize the smell. Malcolm had lain back down again and closed his eyes, but Trip knew that he wasn't sleeping.

After he had returned the basin where it belonged, Trip sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Jon says hello," he said, and Malcolm opened his eyes. He looked tired, but seemed grateful that Trip had not commented on his sudden attack of nausea.

"Is he still working on the transporter project?" he wanted to know.

Trip nodded. "Yeah. He and Erica are takin' the week off to go mountain climbin', but they'll be back on Friday. He said Forrest's gonna call me sometime to give me an update."

He didn't mention the nursing leave; Malcolm was feeling guilty enough as it was about keeping Trip at home. No need to rub it in.

Malcolm, however, seemed to have guessed what Jon had really said. The sad expression on his face hurt Trip, and he slid a little closer to his unhappy partner, resting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, and began to stroke him softly.

As his hand caressed Malcolm's back, Malcolm's eyes began to close and the tension slowly disappeared from his face.

"Poor darlin'," Trip said quietly. He continued his gentle massage until he was sure that Malcolm had dozed off. Then, carefully, he got up from the edge of the bed and picked up a padd, settling down on the cot he had been using ever since Malcolm had fallen ill.

After a while, however, the padd slipped from his hands and he had nodded off as well, his soft snoring joining the chorus of Johnson and Malcolm, who were both sound asleep.

TBC...

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