Thanks to all the people who left reviews :). Second to last chapter - enjoy!


Chapter 9

"Now tell me, Porthos, did you have a nice week?" Captain Jonathan Archer looked at his dog, who was sitting on the passenger seat of the flitter, the expression in his eyes a rather unhappy one. Porthos hated flying in a flitter.

At the sight, Archer smiled and reached over to pet Porthos' head. "Almost there, old boy."

He returned his attention to the highway, thinking that his statement wasn't quite true. They were on their way back home from Erica's place a few hundred kilometers north of San Francisco, where Captain Hernandez lived with her sister Jocelyn and five cats, and they still had most of the way to go.

Good thing Porthos likes cats, Jon had said when Erica had suggested that they leave the dog with Jocelyn while they went rock-climbing. Actually, "liking" was the wrong expression, "being afraid of them" was more like it. Jocelyn had told him, though, that the cats and Porthos hadn't had any major disagreements, and that everything had gone smoothly. All the same, Archer was getting the impression that despite his wariness towards the flitter, Porthos was altogether quite happy to return home.

As am I, he thought. As nice as spending a week with Erica had been, he was looking forward to the three quiet and peaceful weeks that were left of his leave. He would spend the time reading, relaxing, and especially not working. Erica had told him that she had a few days off during the last week of his vacation, and maybe the two of them could do something together then. And Jon was certainly planning on paying Trip and Malcolm a visit, as he had promised Trip when they had talked on the vid last week.

"Actually," he said and looked over at Porthos, "since we're already out here, we could drop by right now, what d'you think?"

The idea had just popped into his head, and he was quite liking it. Trip and Malcolm's house was located halfway between Erica's place and San Francisco, and although Archer liked the idea of his peaceful apartment waiting for him, the thought of squeezing in a chat with Trip before he got there seemed like a good one to him. And he would get an update on how Malcolm was doing.

Better, hopefully, he thought. But he should be better by now, it's been over four weeks, after all. He checked the chronometer that was integrated in the dashboard. Three o'clock; getting to Trip and Malcolm's place should take him about fifteen more minutes, which was as good a time for a visit as any. And the two of them would surely be home, Archer didn't think that Malcolm was already doing well enough to leave the house.

"And you'll get to see Johnson," Archer told Porthos and smiled at the beagle, who at the mention of his big friend's name pricked his ears and gave a small yip. Archer laughed. "Yeah, I knew you'd like that."

About twenty minutes later, Archer turned into his friends' driveway and set the flitter down. He got out, and Porthos jumped down onto the gravel as well, obviously relieved at getting out of the flitter. The small dog bounded towards the house, tail wagging, and Archer followed at a slower pace.

As he climbed the few steps to the front door, Archer's eyes fell on the small metal plate below the doorbell, and read the names printed on it, Reed and Tucker. After the year that had passed since Trip and Malcolm had moved into their shared home, Archer had gotten used to seeing those two names on the nameplate. In the beginning, though, the idea of Trip and Malcolm actually moving in together had caused Archer some worry. Granted, at the time Enterprise had returned to Earth, the two of them had been a couple for over four years - Trip had told him once that they had discovered their feelings for each other in the course of that fateful shuttlepod incident in the first year of Enterprise's mission - but Archer had not been able to imagine their relationship working out under normal, settled conditions. He had not been sure whether Malcolm could really meet Trip's expectations of a happy relationship; the Englishman had always seemed so distant, cool even, and not at all like Trip, who always set his heart on everything he did, his love life being no exception.

Archer had been proven wrong, though. Over the last year, he had not only realized that Malcolm was the best thing that had ever happened to Trip, he had also gotten to know the Englishman from a different side than the "Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Armory Officer" one. Now that Archer wasn't Malcolm's Captain anymore, Malcolm had finally begun to relax around him, and Archer had discovered some of the humor and the kindness Trip had always told him about. Today, Archer and Malcolm were not best buddies, and Archer guessed they would never be, since the Englishman was simply not the type to be anybody's "best buddy", but the terrible awkwardness had eventually dissipated.

Porthos' impatient barks reminded Archer that he had not come here to muse on life's schemes and complexities, and he reached out and rang the doorbell.

"Sit, Porthos," he told the excited dog, and Porthos plopped down on his hindquarters, tilting his head and curiously looking up at Archer, who smiled and then after a few moments looked up at the still closed door.

Maybe they're not home, after all, he thought. He was just about to raise his hand and knock - he wouldn't ring the doorbell again - when the lock gave a clicking sound and the door swung open to reveal Trip Tucker standing in the doorway.

At the sight of his friend, Archer had to resist the urge to raise a surprised eyebrow. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, Trip was still in his pajama bottoms, which he had combined with an old, rather worn-out red sweatshirt. His feet were bare, and the look on his face was that of a man who had just been woken up from a restless sleep.

There was a moment of silence, Trip squinting at Archer as if he had been expecting someone else. Then a smile appeared on the engineer's face.

"Hey, Jon," he said.

Archer returned the smile. "Is it a bad time?" he asked, thinking that it was certainly quite some time ago that he had seen Trip look so tired. Trip shook his head, and stepped aside to wave Archer inside.

"Naw, come on in," he said, suppressing a yawn. "I'm sorry for this," and he waved a hand in the general direction of his clothes, "I was just takin' a nap. We had a rather... chaotic night."

Not reacting to Archer's inquiring look, Trip turned towards the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home," he called over his shoulder. "I'm just gettin' myself somethin' to drink. You want anything?"

Archer followed Porthos, who had already bounced into the living room to greet Johnson, who was sprawled on his doggy bed and indulgently endured the small beagle's enthusiastic greeting rituals. "Just a glass of water, please," Archer called into the kitchen, then sat down on one of the two armchairs, smiling as Johnson almost drowned Porthos by sweeping his huge tongue across the small dog's face.

His eyes fell on the large couch, and the ruffled quilt and the squashed up pillows that showed signs of Trip's afternoon nap, and wondered what Trip had been talking about when he had mentioned his "chaotic night". Archer knew that Trip rarely slept during the day; he wasn't a morning person and had occasionally been known to sleep well past noon, but he was no friend of afternoon naps.

When the engineer entered the living room, a glass of water in one hand and a mug in the other, Archer looked up at him. "So," he said, "what's been going on?" He accepted the glass Trip handed him and took a sip. "How's Malcolm doing?"

At that, Trip sighed and plopped down on the sofa, sliding down until he was sprawled on the seat and resting his feet on the coffee table. It was a moment before he answered. "Not so well," he said then, his tone a mixture of worry and resignation. Archer frowned.

"Still? I would've thought he'd gotten rid of that bug by now."

Trip nodded, and took a sip from his drink. "He was doin' quite well until yesterday," he said. "Phlox even allowed him to work an hour a day. His temperature was goin' down, and he was eatin' again. Last night, though..." Trip shook his head, and laughed a little, even though it sounded rather frustrated to Archer. "Last night he got delusional from the fever and decided to take a stroll in the woods, and it wasn't 'til this mornin' when I finally woke up and noticed he was gone."

Archer was silent for a moment, digesting the information. "Is he okay?" he asked then, and Trip nodded.

"More or less," he said with a sigh. "When I found him, he was barely conscious, and half frozen. I got him home and tried to warm him up the best I could, and then I called Phlox. The doc said that he should be okay. But it's gonna cost him at least two weeks of recovery time."

Meeting Trip's eyes, Archer recognized his friend's ambivalent feelings. He knew that Trip loved Malcolm more than anything else, and he was sure that Trip would continue to give his partner the same dedicated care as he had until now. But he could also see that Trip was beginning to grow tired of the setbacks and the constant disappointments, of Malcolm getting sicker and sicker despite everything that Trip was doing for him. The situation was draining Trip of all his energy and spirit, and Archer was starting to worry that the way his friend was going, he would be heading for a breakdown before too long. The way Trip was looking at him, Archer suspected that Trip knew that as well.

"Trip, you know that I meant it when I told you that if you needed a hand, I'd be happy to help out," he said. Trip turned his eyes away and nodded.

"Thanks, Jon," he said, looking down into the mug he was holding in his hands. "I... You know, I don't know if Malcolm would be comfortable with the idea." Trip raised his head and smiled somewhat lopsidedly. "He can be weird that way."

Archer smiled as well. "I know what you mean." He grew serious again. "Tell me the minute you decide otherwise."

Trip nodded. "I will." He fell silent for a moment, the sighed and got up, putting his mug down. "I gotta go upstairs and check how Malcolm's doin'. Be right back."

Archer got up as well. "I'll come with you. I haven't seen Malcolm in ages. Might as well say hello."

Trip just nodded and steered towards the staircase. Archer followed him. He was concerned for Trip, because it was becoming very obvious that the whole thing was getting to him, but he was also worried about Malcolm. When Phlox had diagnosed the virus, the doctor had told them that after two, maybe three weeks of bed rest, the worst would be over. It had been over four weeks now, and Malcolm still hadn't gotten much better. Archer refused to think that this meant that the worst was yet to come, but he couldn't help worrying. He would have liked to help in some way, but tried not to resent Trip's renewed refusal of his offer. After all, it really was Trip's decision.

Archer was half-way up the stairs when Trip, who was a few steps ahead of him, froze for a second and uttered a small, "Oh no." Then the engineer quickened his pace, hurrying up the few remaining steps, and Archer took the next two in one stride to be able to see what Trip had discovered. As he turned around the bend in the staircase, he was able to overlook the upstairs hallway, and knew what had startled Trip.

The bedroom door at the end of the corridor was standing open, and half-way down the hallway, there was Malcolm, with his head lowered and one hand on the wall for support as he shuffled towards the stairs.

At the sight, Archer almost started a little. He had seen Malcolm last about three weeks ago, and had thought then that Malcolm did look pretty unwell. Compared to now, however, he'd looked well-rested and in perfect health. The man half-leaning against the corridor wall was almost painfully slim, his pajamas hanging loosely on his thin frame. There was sweat gleaming on Malcolm's forehead, and the only color in his face were the red unhealthy patches on his cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes.

When Trip hurried towards him, Malcolm stopped and raised his head to squint at his partner.

"Malcolm!" Trip came to stand in front of the other man and put an arm around his shoulders. "What are you doing up? You gotta stay in bed."

Malcolm let go of the wall and leaned against Trip. Archer could see tremors running through the smaller man's body.

"I was looking for you," Malcolm said in a slurry, hoarse voice. It was spoken so softly that Archer, who had taken the remaining few steps and was standing at the top of the stairs now, almost didn't catch it.

Trip sighed and wrapped his arms around Malcolm, pulling him close. "Mal," he said, and Archer thought he heard something bordering on despair in his tone. "Mal, Mal, Mal. What am I gonna do with you?"

Malcolm neither answered nor moved, his face buried in Trip's chest. Trip stayed where he was as well, and looking at the two exhausted men, Archer came to a decision.

"Hi there, Malcolm," he said, taking a few steps closer.

Malcolm slowly raised his head and blearily looked at him. He blinked once, obviously processing the information that Archer was here, as well. "Oh," he said then, and Archer saw him trying to straighten up a little. "Hello, sir."

Usually, Archer would correct Malcolm and tell him that he should call him Jon. At the moment, however, Archer thought that the respect Malcolm had for higher ranking officers might come in handy. He gave Malcolm a friendly enough look while he tried for a stern tone of voice. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Malcolm had moved away from Trip a little, and at Archer's words he blinked again, then nodded. "Yes, I was just..." He raised a hand and vaguely indicated the bedroom door behind him. "... just looking for Trip..."

He trailed off, looking lost and overall quite miserable, and Archer almost felt sorry for trying to manipulate the Englishman by using his Captain tone on him. He ignored the feeling, though.

"Well, now you've found him," he said, his tone kind but resolute. "So let's get you back in bed now, shall we?"

Malcolm nodded, obediently turning around and beginning to creep towards the bedroom door. Trip, who had silently watched the short exchange, looked up to give Archer a grateful glance, then helped his partner down the corridor and into the bedroom.

Archer followed at a few steps' distance and remained standing in the doorway while Trip helped Malcolm lie down and tucked him in. Malcolm, exhausted as he was, was already dozing off when Trip turned away from the bed and returned to where Jon was standing. Archer let his friend pass him by, then followed Trip out of the room and pulled the door almost shut behind himself.

He turned around and looked at Trip, who was standing in the corridor behind him, answering his gaze with a rather helpless and resigned expression. Archer raised his eyebrows.

"Trip," he said quietly so as not to wake the sick man in the room behind them, "I really think you need some help here."

Trip took in a breath, then let it out in a defeated sigh. "Yeah," he nodded, "I guess I do."


Epilogue soon to come up!

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