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Chapter 3

"Thanks, Phlox." Trip produced a smile and nodded at the image of Dr. Phlox on the vid screen. The Denobulan smiled as well, but after more than six years Trip knew Phlox well enough to see the concern and compassion in his expression. The fact that Dr. "Let's be optimistic" Phlox saw reason to be seriously worried did nothing to ease Trip's mind.

"Anytime, Mr. Tucker," the doctor said. "We'll talk again on Thursday."

Trip nodded, and after they had exchanged a few more words of good-bye, he reached out to cut the connection. Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Every two or three days, Phlox called to get an update on Malcolm's condition and to answer any questions Trip might have. Remembering the kitchen incident of two days ago, Trip had asked Phlox how much of an effect Malcolm's little strolls actually had on his recovery. Phlox had evaded his question somewhat by explaining about the many factors that played a part in the complicated system of the circadian rhythm, but he had been very emphatic on how important it was that Malcolm did not get up if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Trip had gotten the impression that Phlox was getting a little frustrated himself.

If he's getting frustrated, then what about me? Trip thought with a touch of self-pity, then shook his head, trying to get rid of his gloomy thoughts. Malcolm had been exceptionally compliant the last two days, and had not been out of bed once without permission. The effect was showing already, too. Today, Malcolm was having a pretty good day; good enough, actually, for him to be whining about wanting to get some work done.

That's Malcolm for you, Trip thought. Barely able to walk ten feet without collapsing, but still he wants to work.

Trip had only smiled when Malcolm had demanded the padds with the EM field calculations, and had chosen to stall for time by telling his partner that he would ask Phlox whether it was okay for Malcolm to work a little. Of course, he had done no such thing, but maybe Malcolm had forgotten about it by now. And if he hadn't, Trip would still be able to lay all the blame on the doctor.

Trip threw a glance at the clock on the view screen and decided that it was time to ask Malcolm what he wanted for lunch. And maybe he would take Johnny for a short walk afterwards.

He got up and quickly climbed the stairs. As he approached the bedroom door, he frowned as he saw that it was closed shut. He usually left the door ajar to be able to hear Malcolm if he was calling him. Which had never happened up until now, but one could always hope.

When he opened the door, though, he knew immediately why it had been closed. He pressed his lips together and turned his eyes from the empty bed to Malcolm, who was sitting at the desk, his back to the door.

At least he's put on a pair of slippers this time, Trip thought, then spoke up, anger evident in his voice. "What the hell are you doin' out of bed again, Malcolm?"

Malcolm didn't turn around, but with a certain satisfaction, Trip saw him wince a little at his tone. His reply, however, held no guilt whatsoever.

"What does it look like to you?"

Trip walked the few steps over to the desk and picked up the padd that was lying in front of his partner. He threw a glance at the display.

"I thought I told you to wait until I had talked to Phlox."

Malcolm made a small, scornful noise. "As if you ever intended to."

Trip was thrown a little off track at having been seen through so easily. He recovered quickly, however, and put the padd aside on a shelf, out of Malcolm's reach. "Well, get back in bed now," he said, the guilt he felt at snapping at Malcolm drowned out by his growing anger at Malcolm's irresponsibility. Compliant my ass, he thought.

Malcolm didn't react immediately, but after a moment obviously decided that Trip was holding all the strategic advantages, and slowly got up from the chair. He stood, and swayed a little. Trip reached out to put a steadying hand on his arm, but Malcolm moved away. He didn't quite bat his hand away, but Trip was sure he would have if he had been sure that he could keep his balance while doing it. Biting his lip to keep an angry remark inside, he stood back and made no move to help Malcolm as the other man slowly shuffled across the room and climbed into bed. It hurt him to see Malcolm like this, but for a change, the feeling did not lessen his anger, but fuelled it. When Malcolm had crawled under the covers, Trip picked up the padd again, waving it in the air and catching Malcolm's eyes before he could turn away.

"So, now tell me, what's so damn important about this?" he asked, almost surprised at the intensity of his feelings. He had no intention of holding back this time, though.

Malcolm only stared back at him, his tired eyes not quite able to produce the icy glint that usually went with this expression. Trip took a step closer. "It seems like we both know that Phlox would never allow you to even touch this," he continued. "I certainly wasn't goin' to. Not because I'm an evil person, or because I want to tease and torment you, but because I want you to get better." Trip noticed that a desperate tone had crept into his voice, but he didn't care. He wanted, he needed Malcolm to finally understand.

Malcolm seemed to have realized that he had taken it one step too far this time. His expression had lost the stubbornness of before, and he had turned his eyes away, staring at the sheets. Trip licked his lips, continuing in a slightly calmer tone. "I want you to get better, Mal, and so does Phlox and everybody else. I know that you hate the way things are right now, but the only way to change things is to play along for a while." He paused, giving Malcolm a chance to say something. His partner kept silent, though.

"You can't keep doin' this, Mal," he said. "You need to listen to me. Or, if you don't wanna listen to me, listen to Phlox. He explained to you how the virus works. You might be feelin' better at times, but actually, you're not. And if you keep gettin' up as soon as you feel better, you're gonna have one setback after another."

There was a moment of silence, then Malcolm spoke up, his tone defiant. "It's not as if I tried to go for a walk or anything," he said, not looking at Trip. "I was only sitting at the bloody desk."

Trip let out an explosive sigh. "You were workin'," he said. "You're not supposed to be workin'. You're supposed to be in bed. You can read, you can watch movies, and you can call me if you really need to get up. But you cannot get up on your own, and you cannot be broodin' over some goddamn calculation of some friggin' EM field. If you keep up doin' what you're doin' now, you'll never be able to work on anythin' again."

Silence followed his words, and Trip felt a twinge of guilt at the hurt that flickered across Malcolm's features before the expressionless mask slid back into place. But the helpless anger he was feeling was stronger. It wasn't like he was exaggerating. The way Malcolm was going, he was only worsening his condition, heading for permanent incapacity.

Or worse, Trip thought and quickly pushed the thought aside.He did not need to think of that now.

"Well," he said to break the awkward silence, "I'll go and fix you some lunch. Soup okay?"

Malcolm didn't answer, only gave the tiniest of shrugs and lay back down, his back turned towards Trip, pulling the covers up to his neck. Trip took in a breath, about to say something - he wasn't quite clear on what it would be, an apology, an appeal to Malcolm's common sense - but then only let it out again in a sigh and dropped the padd onto the desk. He'd talk to Malcolm later on. Right now he was still too worked up.

He crossed the room and stepped into the hallway, leaving the door slightly open. Through the gap, he caught a glimpse of Malcolm's dark head resting on the pillows. Part of him did feel a little guilty about his outburst; after all, Malcolm was sick, and giving him a load of crap about responsibility and reason wouldn't lead to any results. But it was the smaller part. Actually, Trip was hopeful that maybe some of his speech had gotten through to Malcolm, after all.

If it hasn't, I'm seriously screwed, he thought. I've no idea what else to try.

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