Trip came out of the small bathroom into his quarters rubbing his hair dry. He threw the towel back into the sink and grabbed a fresh T-shirt from his closet. As he was unfolding it, the doorbell rang. Quickly pulling it on, he went to answer.

He had no idea who it could be, but he sure didn't expect to find Malcolm there. The man had just been released from Sickbay the night before, after a week in Phlox's care. He had suffered two broken ribs, a fine collection of bruises and a bad concussion. He'd come out of it without long-term consequences, fortunately, but for the first few days, the Doctor had guarded his patient jealously.

As soon as he'd had the green light, Trip had visited. With the limited privacy of Sickbay, however, his conversation hadn't gone past 'how're you feeling' and 'you look better today'. And now the man was here, on his doorstep.

Trip gave his friend a quick, hopefully unobtrusive once over. Malcolm out of uniform always gave him the impression of a totally different person, so much more vulnerable. Still, it was an improvement over the woozy man in Sickbay.

"Hey," Trip greeted, with a tentative smile, "didn't expect to see you here!"

"I… should have called you before," Malcolm self-consciously replied.

Trip kicked himself for blurting out words that could be misinterpreted. "I didn't mean it that way," he hurried to say, "you know you're always welcome. I'm glad to see ya up and about."

"I can come back another time," Malcolm suggested, waving a hand in the direction of Trip's still damp hair.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Get in here, Malcolm, don't be an-" At the last moment, he caught himself.

"An idiot?"

It was what Trip had hissed at him just before everything had gone downhill, on that planet. With a deadpan look, Trip stepped aside, and Malcolm walked in, his movements careful and stiff.

"Still that bad, huh?" Trip pulled his desk chair out for him. "I heard Phlox had released ya and I was gonna stop by your quarters today, but honestly, I hardly had the time for a toilet break."

Malcolm cautiously lowered himself onto the chair, wincing slightly. "Bloody broken ribs," he choked out, ever reluctant to show his weaknesses. "Phlox's done his stuff and given me his magic pills, but…"

Trip frowned. "Are you sure Phlox wants ya walkin' around the ship?"

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't," Malcolm huffed out.

Trip went to sit on his bed. He knew why Malcolm was here. To clear the air between them after what had happened on the planet. He forced himself to take in the still evident signs of Malcolm's ordeal. The bruising might have turned yellowish but was still extensive. There were a couple of large bandages on the man's forehead, covering stiches. And one of Malcolm's eyes was still swollen and half closed. And that was only what was visible.

"Those guys really gave it to you," he commented with a grimace, for Malcolm had caught him staring. "Ah, Malcolm, ya should've never…" he didn't finish the thought, letting his eyes say the rest. The anger he had felt when Malcolm had offered himself as a sacrificial victim in his place had passed, but he still cringed at the memory.

Malcolm shrugged, as if getting beaten were part of his job description. "You owe me one," he said with a faint smile. He licked his lips, which were split in a couple of spots, and turned quite serious. "I, on the other hand, owe you an apology," he croaked out.

Typical. Trip blew out a breath. "Come on, ya've gotta be…" but half-way through the sentence, he changed his mind. The man deserved better. "Actually," he amended, "maybe ya do, just a little." His friend, however, still looked so… unwell that he blurted out, "Hey, we've both come back alive, so let's forget about it, I don't really give a damn about what happened."

The grey eyes came up to him unguarded, and in them Trip could see reflected his white lie. He bit his lower lip. "Alright, that's not exactly true. But I don't want an apology, I want an explanation. I want to know why you weren't yourself, down there, but only to make sure you're okay. 'Cause no way did you look okay to me."

"I wasn't," Malcolm admitted.

His facial muscles twitched in discomfort at the revelation, but Trip knew that Malcolm really needed this conversation. Or he wouldn't have come here, broken ribs and all.

The air got charged with sudden tension. Trip got up. "I'm guessing you can't drink, right?" he wondered with a lift of his eyebrows.

Malcolm gave him an apologetic look. "I'm already disregarding one of Phlox's orders," he said, "better not make it two."

"Water, then."

Trip felt Malcolm's eyes follow him as he went to get a couple of glasses and filled them in the bathroom.

"That first explosion, I thought it might just be an accident," Malcolm began a moment later, cradling his glass, from which he hadn't taken one sip yet. "When I realised that it wasn't..." He paused and shook his head lightly. "Each new deflagration took down a piece of what had held me together for so long."

Watching Malcolm rub a self-conscious hand on his sternum, Trip said, "I'm not sure I understand."

"We'd made it," Malcolm explained with a shrug. "We were through the killing, the mourning, the despair…"

Ah.

"… the deaths," Malcolm obliviously went on, eyes on the deck plating, his focus inward now, "the ugliness of things, the fear of failure, the responsibility…"

Yes, Trip was beginning to see. Each word had felt like a punch in the gut, bringing back emotions he wanted dead and buried. But would they ever be? They'd carry the scars forever, after the Expanse, even someone like Malcolm, who had appeared impervious.

Trip raked a hand through his hair, "Hell, Malcolm, I'm supposed to be the screwed up one here. But you, you were always a rock."

Malcolm looked up sharply. "I was. I had to be." He swallowed hard. "But on that planet, suddenly… I'm afraid it all caught up with me."

Silence fell for a long moment.

"And me, thinkin' you liked explosions," Trip bantered, trying to lift the mood.

Malcolm responded with a faint smile that fell a moment later. "Look, Trip, I'm sorry. I gave you a hard time, I know. But there I was, suddenly in the middle of hell again, and this time I really hadn't the faintest idea how to…" He winced, then finished, "how to get you out of it."

Trip heaved a deep breath and slowly blew it out. He felt like telling this stubborn man that he might be their Armoury and Security Officer but shouldn't always feel so responsible, that they had all known and accepted the risks that went with a Starfleet uniform, but it would be pointless. He knew Malcolm would always feel that any failure to protect the crew was his personal failure.

And then, lifting eyes that were worryingly deep, Malcolm dropped his own little bomb, saying, out of the blue, "I'm going to ask the Captain to send me back to Earth. For reassessment."

"What?" Trip cried out. He rolled his eyes. "Ya've gotta be kidding me! Isn't that a bit too drastic even for you?"

"I almost shot a woman and her child," Malcolm spat out in his darkest voice, "it's unacceptable!" He wrapped an arm around his ribs, wincing in pain.

While the man recovered taking a few careful breaths, Trip recalled the scene in his mind. It had been shocking. And he couldn't lie to Malcolm, for this is why the man had come to see him.

"To be honest, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Trip admitted. Seeing Malcolm's eyes cloud over, he leaned forward, as if those few inches could make the man also feel another, deeper closeness. "You did, however, react to a possible threat in the middle of a war-like situation," he reasoned.

"I'm trained to be in control, in war-like circumstances," Malcolm countered. "It should've never happened."

Trip bit his lip, finding no arguments against that. "Yeah, it wasn't your best moment," he quietly agreed, "but then you risked your life to save that woman and her child."

"And ended up placing your life in danger," Malcolm scoffed. "Brilliant…"

Silence fell, and with the sudden absence of conversation feelings were set free and ran rampant. Trip felt the deep-set anger he had hoped to have left behind in the Expanse surge through him again. Damn those revolutionaries, or whatever they had been! They had taken more than the lives felled by their bombs and gun fire: they had taken the carefully patched-up emotions of two Starfleet officers who had just gone to hell and back and totally scrambled them up again. After climbing up from one abyss, he and Malcolm had free fallen right back into another when they had least expected it. No wonder old wounds had reopened. All of a sudden Trip realised that in the Expanse he'd been so focused on his own grief and anger that he had never really stopped to think of how difficult it had to have been for the man whose job was to defend them. Because it was obvious, now, that it had been a hell of a ride for him too.

"So, what are you sayin'," Trip asked tautly, "that you can't do your job properly? That you can't take the ugliness of your profession anymore? Come on, say it." He narrowed his gaze, not letting the other man escape it. "You aren't like those bastards down there, Malcolm."

He didn't even want to consider the possibility that Malcolm could be anything less than unfaltering, that he might have to leave them.

"I love my job," Malcolm said hoarsely, "but there is an ugly side of things that…" He trailed, unable to finish.

"Besides, Starfleet's already reassessed us, after the Expanse," Trip relentlessly went on. "They put us through physical tests, psychological tests, you name it! Don't you think they'd've found somethin' if there was somethin' to find?"

Malcolm looked back speechlessly for a long moment; then grabbed the edge of Trip's desk and got to his feet. He painfully straightened himself. "I don't know," he muttered. "All I know is that I'm supposed to give the Captain my report, and I'm not going to twist the facts. It's for the best that I ask to be reassessed."

"Let me give you a few facts." Trip got up too and went to stand in front of him. "'Cause I've already handed in my report, and I'm not in the habit of twistin' facts either." He counted off his fingers. "Fact number one: we were in a high-risk situation. Fact number two: we didn't even know exactly what we were facin'." Trip let his eyes soften. "Sure, we struggled, you struggled, but you still managed to lead us to a safe place."

Malcolm grimaced. "Where I did act like an idiot, ending up getting us captured."

"Fact number three," Trip resumed, "you took charge of a civilian in distress when you could have left her behind, and then you put your life on the line for her." He put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Fact number four: you faced a brutal interrogation because you thought it was your duty, as Armoury and Security Officer of this crew, to protect your Commander." He gave the shoulder a careful squeeze. "Sure, you stumbled. You felt the pressure. Ya got me worried and even a little mad. But nothing's black an' white in this life, Malcolm. Sometimes, all we've got is grey."

Malcolm blinked a couple of times. "I'd better get some rest, I wouldn't want you having to pick me up from the floor," he croaked out, and Trip was suddenly aware of the exhaustion that lined his face.

"I'll walk you to your quarters," Trip said in concern, and Malcolm did not object, which spoke plenty of how poorly he felt.

As they walked along the corridor, Trip could not silence a reproachful little voice that was giving him a hard time. He didn't want Malcolm to go back to Earth, this was his best friend we were talking about, because Jon had become so distant... But the nagging little voice was not leaving him alone.

Suddenly they were at Malcolm's door. Trip took his friend by an arm. "Look, Malcolm," he said, glancing around to see that they had enough privacy, "I think I was wrong." He pulled on his neck. "Not about that list of facts I gave you," he added with a faint smile that fell as soon as it had curved his lips, "but about bein' so quick to write off your concerns."

Malcolm tightened his lips. "You think I should be reassessed."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes… No…" Trip pinched his nose and blew out a breath. "You probably do need some help. Hell, there's nothing' to be ashamed of, with what we've gone through."

Malcolm just stood there, looking straight into Trip's eyes, unguarded, pale as a sheet.

Trip thought of his own experience, of the harrowing effects of the Xindi attack on his own self. "Phlox is more than capable," he said, "the man's got more degrees than I have screwdrivers."

Malcolm blinked. "I don't want to mess up again. God forbid, in my line of work if I do, I could cause someone's…"

He didn't finish, but then again, he didn't need to.

Trip lifted mirthless eyebrows. "Don't forget, I've tested the Doc's skills plenty of times, after the Xindi, after… you know. Talk to him first." But the nagging voice was still there, so he forced himself to add, "But if it makes you feel better, take it up with the Captain."

Enterprise needs you, not someone else, was what Trip really wanted to say, but the weight on Malcolm's shoulders was heavy enough as it was without adding to it.

Malcolm's eyes bore into his gaze for a long time. "Thanks," he breathed out.

Trip's eyes tracked to the faint smile that had come to grace the bruised face of his friend and he felt a little lighter. "Good night, Lieutenant."

He never called Malcolm that these days. Not unless he was teasing him or mad. Now, though, he was neither. He was simply giving Malcolm his armour.

With an effort, Malcolm straightened his shoulders. "I only want what's best for the ship," he said, his sharp accent back.

"You'll figure it out," Trip replied, nodding slowly, "and also what's best for you. But if you need me…" He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.

And with a crisp salute, he turned and went back on his way.