A/N: hello again! Thanks for a warm welcome to the fandom.

You know, I was so nervous about posting again after years that I completely forgot to tell you the most important thing: This story has been inspired by the wonderful fanfiction writer Sita Z, who has been writing ENT fanfiction a couple of years ago. One of her premises just stuck with me, so I took it and spun my own tale around it. I'm not gonna tell you which story it was till the end of this one, so you'll just have to check out her profile and read all those delicious stories.

Also, in case you're wondering: this story contains some plot-relevant OoCness. You'll know what I mean once you read this chapter. Have fun!

STRINGS ATTACHED

CHAPTER 1

Heading towards Sickbay, Trip and Malcolm automatically resumed their official roles. Mal was talking to him, but no treacherous words like 'darling' or a first name slipped out – Malcolm strictly addressed him as 'Commander' again.

It was late enough that even Malcolm had felt comfortable with the two of them exiting Trip's quarters at the same time. Usually, he planned ahead excuses for them to leave the other's private quarters in the morning, should anyone pass by in the corridor. There was excitement in the secrecy, Trip gave him that, and the hurried, sloppy kisses between meetings or ambiguous remarks one of them sometimes dropped in company were hot as hell (though afterwards, Malcolm's fretting for days was a serious mood killer). There were code words and rules, and as much as Trip liked to see Malcolm in his element, it really wasn't his element.

He wondered if they would ever find common ground. Things were going so well, and it was hard for the extroverted Engineer to stay discreet when all he wanted to do was show the world that Malcolm Reed was far from a detached iceberg.

"Commander?" Said iceberg asked suddenly, irritated. "What do you think?"

Busted.

"Erm, suure," Trip hurried to answer. And when Malcolm looked at him indignantly, he improvised: "I'll have a look at your ...modulations tomorrow?"

Malcolm pursed his lips in a way, that, for Trip, was so innately British that it made him grin. So he had indeed talked about the weapons' system (again. Shocker.), but knew at the same time that Trip hadn't listened to a word. And while the Lieutenant would never dare to point out in public that his superior officer had been daydreaming, he couldn't suppress an unconscious reaction. Over the last three years, Trip had become acquainted with a variety of subtle tics, sounds and twitches Malcolm made to convey his opinions without voicing them – he had that in common with T'Pol, though Trip wisely kept that to himself. Since they started dating, this knowledge had come in handy a lot.

The doors to Sickbay came into sight now and they both quickened their steps. Even though they surely would have been informed if someone had been hurt critically, getting a late-night call from the Doctor was seldom good news.

When the doors swished open, Trip's eyes fell immediately to the single occupied bed, on which a very disgruntled Jonathan Archer, dressed in civilian clothes, sat. Doctor Phlox stood next to him, PADD and scanner in hand, reading the screens. Hoshi and Travis were already there, and an intimidated looking Porthos cowered at their feet. They all looked up when Malcolm and Trip entered.

A pang of worry exploded in Trip's chest when he realized that Jon was the reason for their call to sickbay. All their issues be damned – Trip didn't want Jon to be hurt or sick. Period.

"Cap'n," he breathed out loudly and hurried over, Malcolm right behind him. "Are you o-" he stopped short when Jonathan met his gaze. He still wasn't used to contempt and anger in these eyes. The confusion and frustration about Jon's random behavior towards him resurfaced, but, obviously about to be confronted with some sort of crisis, Trip pushed the feelings away.

"What happened? Doc?"

"Ah, the Captain is quite alright," the Denobulan smiled good-naturedly and waved his medical scanner. "I'm still running a couple of precautionary tests, but there is no reason to worry."

Jon's glare turned to the Doctor and told a different story. By now, Malcolm and Trip had made it to the bed, but stayed a respectful couple of steps away. A few months ago, Trip mused, he would have waltzed up to Jonathan and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"There have been issues with the environmental settings in the Captain's quarters," Hoshi piped up when no one spoke. "Life support was affected."

Trip furrowed his brow. The environmental settings on Enterprise were a safely guarded technical system within life support, a grid separated from all the other systems except for the main control unit that ran tests and check-ups every few hours. Any disturbance resulted in a direct alert to Engineering and Security, for there was nothing worse that could happen to a starship but an unnoticed damage to life support.

"What about the rest of E deck?" Trip felt Archer's glare drilling into him and thus chose a technical question. The fact that he directed it at Hoshi, while the Captain hadn't said a word yet, left a bad feeling in his stomach – with T'Pol gone, Malcolm and he were the highest ranking officers; yet the two Ensigns had been called before them. A dysfunction within the environmental settings was possible, of course, but a restriction to one specific room was unsettling. It was either a technical or a security matter, and either way, there should have been an alarm. They should have been called first.

Trip didn't like how any of this spelled out.

"What happened exactly?" Malcolm, who had been quiet until now, chimed in. Surely he had picked up on the crudities before Trip himself had.

Hoshi spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "It appears as if the air filters have... malfunctioned, but only in the Captain's quarters. Oxygen levels were very low, carbon dioxide levels uncharacteristically high."

Trip drew in a sharp breath. At this time of the night, the Captain could have easily died of oxygen deprivation in his sleep. He cast a worried look at Jonathan. The muscles of his upper arms were tense, his whole body language screaming stress.

"Are you alright?" he asked, finally addressing the Captain directly. Hoshi visibly relaxed when the question drew Jon's attention away from her.

"Ensign Sato has been very... prudent in her account," he said quietly, voice rough. "I don't think there has been a malfunction."

"No. There would have been an alarm." Malcolm stepped closer. This was his turf, now.

"Fortunately, Porthos started to feel the effects a lot sooner than I did." Archer turned his face to Porthos, who lay quiet and subdued at his feet. At last, a familiar softness took hold of Jonathan's expression, the fondness he felt for the beagle calming him down. "I jumped up when he collapsed and then felt the dizziness myself."

Trip bend down to Porthos, taking in the scared, tired animal that wagged his tail weakly when he realized that one of the humans gave him attention. He hadn't seen him in a while, and wondered if the beagle had forgotten about him already. A few months ago, Porthos and Trip had been inseparable, and Jon had been green with jealousy when Porthos refused to take his evening walks without Trip joining them.

"Porthos will be back to normal in no time," Phlox answered his unasked question. "I first thought the Captain and he caught a virus, but the scans were negative. It took us a while to figure out what to look for."

This really didn't spell out well. "A malfunction is always a possibility, though I can't think of one that could inhibit the alarms as well. And it would have at least affected the other parameters." Like temperature, maybe even gravity. In front of Trip's mind, the sensors' blueprints unfurled. A specific change in the air-oxygen mixture couldn't happen as isolated as it apparently had.

Calmly, Malcolm voiced Trip's thoughts as he spoke to the Captain."You think someone changed it intentionally."

Jon's eyes bore into him as he nodded, and Trip felt his heart sinking into his boots. He had a feeling where this was headed. In his chest, a whirlwind of incomprehensible emotions swelled up, slowly creeping up to fog his mind. But Jonathan wouldn't... would he?

Uncertain, he looked at the others to read their faces. Neither Hoshi nor Travis met his gaze, the Doctor had buried himself in the screen of his scanner. He was suddenly very aware that his hair was still damp and that he had thrown on his uniform sloppily – a call at night-time forgave a hurried appearance, but right now, Trip felt like he could use the figurative armor a reputable uniform provided.

Trip swallowed. "Cap'n?"

"I think someone sabotaged the settings," Jonathan stood up now, slowly but steady, arms crossed over his chest, "and disabled the alarms."

The Doctor dropped his scanner and slowly shuffled over to his desk, obviously glad to get away from the situation. Travis' eyes followed after him, almost comically longing, and Hoshi picked up the discarded scanner, studying the data on it or at least trying to appear busy. Their body language clearly suggested that they wished themselves light years away. Hell, Trip couldn't blame them.

"When did you leave Engineering, Commander?" Jonathan asked, finally.

Part of Trip had known that it would boil down to this, but the question still hit him like a slap across the face. Next to him, he heard Malcolm drawing in a sharp breath.

"What are you getting at, Jon?" Trip used Jon's name now deliberately, hoping against reason that his Captain remembered what the two of them had been through together. The mess of feelings in his chest had morphed into a very distinguished and well-known anger that now burned his insides and threatened to creep up his spine. It took Trip a lot of effort to stay calm and keep his mouth shut, when all he wanted to do was yell and break something, preferably Jon's nose.

"Answer the question," the Captain was not swayed, nor did he acknowledge Trip's valiant efforts to stay calm. His friend Jonathan had once known how difficult that was for his impulsive Chief Engineer. "When did you leave Engineering?"

Through gritted teeth, Trip answered. "Right after my shift ended. Lieutenant Hess will tell you so, she took over for the night."

"Hn, Lieutenant Hess will tell me indeed," Jon pressed his lips together. "I sent for her to meet me in a few minutes, after she restored the environmental settings and checked the other decks."

"I can do that, Captain." It was a moot point, Trip knew, but he wouldn't leave this room without forcing Jon to actually articulate what he was insinuating with this little game he played. The situation was out of his control and Jon had made it abundantly clear that he didn't trust him in any way to help with this incident, but Trip wouldn't go down without a fight. "There are ways to retrace manual manipulations from the consoles. We'll find out where the instructions came from."

Engineering was his department, whether Jon had forgotten about this or not, and a possible attack on the Captain was a serious affair. There was no way he would leave his department in this mess, after hours, false accusations or murder plots be damned.

"No," Jon countered sternly, the lines on his face suddenly long and deep. "Lieutenant Hess and Lieutenant Reed will investigate this matter. I'm confining you to quarters until further instructions."

Hoshi clasped a hand over her mouth with a gasp. Obviously, she too had hoped until last that this would turn out differently. It was the only sound in the room for a few seconds, even Phlox, superficially busy with work, had stopped dead in his tracks. So Jonathan hadn't shared this little piece of information with them when the briefing took place. That was interesting.

Watching Hoshi and Travis was easier than facing Jonathan, so Trip observed how Hoshi slowly turned towards Travis, who imperceptibly shook his head. Like an anchor to normalcy, their reactions helped Trip to hold onto his indignation – Jon's implied accusation was absurd. More than absurd.

"You're not seriously accusing me of changing your oxygen settings, are you?"

There, he said it. A lump had formed in his chest and threatened to climb higher up his throat, making his voice raspier than usual. This was insane. This was downright crazy. It made Trip mad, angry and sad at the same time – he felt the anger stirring up, taking over, with the famous temper he had controlled until now flaring up.

Jonathan, in the meantime, had stepped closer and was now standing directly in front of him, taking up the confrontation. That was just fine for Trip, who had balled his hands to fists by now and shook from the effort of keeping his cool.

"I have my suspicions," Jon said. His face was now dangerously close to his, their noses almost touching. "There are very few people who have the knowledge and the control codes to change life support systems in specific chambers."

"So it had to be me who tried to murder you? Are you even listening to your own words?!" He yelled now, at last, and it broke the shocked stupor they all had been in until now.

"Commander," a calm voice piped up all of sudden and he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. Malcolm was still next to him, uncharacteristically quiet during this whole shit show, and warned him to keep his cool.

However Mal saw the ordeal, Jonathan apparently interpreted his Chief of Security's interruption as act of an ally, for he smiled at him encouragingly. It made Trip's blood boil even hotter, and he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten accordingly. Temper, Trip.

"With all due respect," he managed to spat out, sarcasm dripping, "this is ridiculous. Sir."

Jonathan was entirely unmoved. "We'll see. Until then, I relieve you of your duties. You will be confined to your quarters for the duration of the investigation. No communication within the ship or to the outside." Then, to Malcolm: "Lieutenant, please escort Mister Tucker to his quarters. I want security personnel posted at his door."

Trip felt tired all of sudden. Maybe this was some bad dream, he had had his fair share of them since joining Enterprise. Jonathan Archer accusing him of a murder plot was a new one, though. Not less scary than dead crew members talking to him, alien weapons incinerating his family's home, or a slime monster almost integrating him.

...Wait, two of these things had actually happened. When had his life become such a mess? Trip had to make an honest effort not to laugh out loud as he turned around on his heels and left without a further word, Malcolm right behind him.

He didn't slow down after the doors to Sickbay closed behind them and he didn't stop when Malcolm called his name. It was an exasperated 'Commander!' that finally made him snap.

Malcolm almost ran into him when he whirled around in rage. "What?!"

"Calm down," Malcolm urged him, eyes darting back and forth to scan the corridor. "We don't have much time and if you run all the way, we'll have even less."

Indignantly, Trip tried to stifle a huff and instead focused on breathing out slowly. Mal was right, they needed to think. As soon as he was confined to his quarters with a guard post watching him, talking in private would be difficult.

"He snapped," Trip offered therefore with an airy voice, and Malcolm nodded, much to his relieve.

They started to walk towards the turbolift slowly, and the reality of the situation sank in. Snide remarks and bitchy hissy fits were one thing, but that Jon actually thought he was capable of ruthlessly killing him... It stung. Bitterly, so.

Trip's anger balled into bright knot of hurt just under his solar plexus, pushing against his lungs. Jon thought he was capable of killing. Jon thought he was capable of killing. No matter on what part he concentrated, it was painful.

"It was highly unprofessional of the Captain to voice his accusations without proper evidence," Malcolm shook his head in disappointment. "And in front of the Ensigns, too."

"Yeah, how dare he?" Trip looked at him with wide eyes. Leave it to Malcolm to comment on proper conduct when his boyfriend was accused of a murder plot. Seriously. "Speaking of proper, a little bit of support would have been nice, Mal."

With a pained grimace, Malcolm pressed the button of the turbolift that took them to B deck, where their quarters were located. "There wasn't much I could do. I would have made him even angrier had I tried to argue with him."

Trip tsk'ed, unsatisfied. The lift was moving now, and with the doors closed and no one else in the room with them, Malcolm took his hand into his own and squeezed it. It would have been a cute but rare moment of affection from the stubborn Brit, had he not reached for the wall panel at the same time and pressed the comm button.

"Lieutenant Reed to Security."

'Go ahead, sir.'

"I need two guards posted at Commander Tucker's quarters asap."

'Understood.'

Trip stared at him, incredulous. "You have got to be kidding me."

Helplessly, Malcolm shrugged. "He ordered it specifically. I can't really ignore him, can I?"

"He's accusing me of murder!" Trip almost yelled. He was on a ship with crazy people, each one of them. "Yes, Malcolm, you can ignore his orders! They're insane!"

The lift had stopped by now, but when Trip wanted to head out angrily, Malcolm grabbed his overall and yanked him back. "Trip, think!" he all but hissed, throwing furtive glances into the corridor. "He commed us belatedly. Both of us."

That was right, Trip remembered. Hoshi and Travis had clearly been briefed, if not about the Captain's suspicions, and Anna from Engineering had also been informed about the incident. It was logical for the Captain to exclude him, the suspect. But his Chief of Security? Malcolm should have been the first person to be called.

Worry settled in his stomach. "You don't think he's after you, too?"

Malcolm furrowed his brow, contemplating. Then he motioned Trip to leave the lift with him. The security personnel would arrive soon, and the two of them had to be at Trip's quarters before even more suspicions arose.

The couple of meters to Trip's door were crossed in silence, each dwelling on his own thoughts. Part of Trip still hoped that this was all a bad dream – it hadn't even been 40 minutes ago that he and Malcolm had settled in for a quiet evening. Hell, his hair hadn't even dried! And now...?

"We'll have to check the whole ship's life support," Malcolm mused, all businesslike. "I guess I'll start interrogations tomorrow afternoon, when the reports have come in."

"Great."

The doors to Trip's quarters opened, and he stepped in – alone.

"I'll make sure to be the one to conduct the interrogation."

"Great," Trip repeated, sarcasm meeting his deadpanned expression. "It's a date."

Two members of Malcolm's security team came around the corner. Malcolm glared at him, then turned to his men and gave them a few hushed orders.

Trip shut the door without another word. There was no reason for the suspended Engineer and the Chief of Security to chat at this hour of the night. Shaking his head, Trip unzipped his uniform and headed for the bed.

The sheets were all mussed. He briefly wondered when Mal would be able to berate him about not making his bed before leaving, again. He had a feeling that it wouldn't happen too soon.

-tbc-

well that escalated quickly. R&R, please!