A/N: hello! Before we go on with the story, it's time to address a few issues my lovely reviewers noted:

- Malcolm shouldn't be in charge of the investigation! lol no, he definitely shouldn't.
-Archer is crazy! yeah, seems like it!
I will write a few lines about my take on the characters in a later chapter, when it fits better.

Inquistor Kilya: no, unfortunately I'm not a "faghag (sic) writing class, contaminating this fandom". I wish I was, though, what a great idea! I will now propose a fag hag writing class to my ff-network. Thank you for your inspiring words!

No worries, guys. I got this ;)

STRINGS ATTACHED

CHAPTER THREE

174.

There were exactly 174 screws in the walls of his quarters.

If you counted the screws in the bathroom that were covered through tiles, there were an estimated 216 screws in his quarters.

Trip had counted them. Twice.

He wasn't entirely sure about the bathroom, since he had only removed a few tiles to check if the wall panel design was similar to the rest of the quarter's, and then deducted a rough prediction. He was pretty sure, though, that the wall right behind the shower followed a different construction pattern due to the plumbing, and unfortunately he didn't know how the shower booth was connected. Could be with screws too. Maybe welded?

As Trip was brushing his teeth, he glared at the shower's reflection in his mirror – various times today, he had been tempted to uninstall the shower booth to get to the tiles behind it, loosen them and check. He had decided against it, because there was a slight chance that he wouldn't get out of these four walls for a while, and he really wanted to have a working shower if that was the case.

Right now, Trip wouldn't put it past Jon to lock him up without getting his broken shower fixed. The bastard would probably even enjoy himself.

But damn, he wanted to know if he had estimated correctly.

"You're going crazy," Trip mumbled and finished brushing his teeth. 216 was a good guess, he reassured himself.

...He was so, so bored.

And to think that it had been only about 24 hours that Jon had kept him under arrest... Trip just wasn't made for quiet contemplation and sitting still for too long. He needed to move and work and keep his mind occupied with interesting tasks like fixing the warp drive, puzzling over alien technology, and annoying Malcolm with the super funny British limericks he had learned at the academy (or were they Canadian? Ah, who cared. Tomato, tomahto, right?).

Setting himself the task of finding out how many screws were used in constructing his quarters might not have been the smartest move after all, because not knowing things about his ship drove him mad.

Like not knowing where they were going.

Or why there was that weird, new humming noise since they had exceeded Warp 2, instead of the sweet, sexy purring his engines usually made.

Falling back on the covers of his bed, Trip sighed for the 19th time – yes, he had counted that as well. In only 24 hours, things had gone to shit with breathtaking speed; the stinging feeling of betrayal by Jon's accusations was buried by a temporal blanket of fury and indignation and didn't bother him too much right now, but something was wrong with his engines and Malcolm was seriously pissed at him.

Stuck in here, Trip couldn't do anything about any of it. He hadn't heard that engine noise before, but his gut told him that it meant something was wrong, and he had learned to trust his gut feeling since it had lead them through the Delphic Expanse. Meanwhile his heart, which had sent him on a roller coaster of emotions during the last year and which he was thus a little bit suspicious of, reminded him that he had to do something about Mal, that this wasn't Malcolm's usual prissiness about T'Pol.

Mal had been deeply hurt by finding out that Trip hadn't told him about her possible reasons to go to the conference. Trip was no fool; Malcolm had been really mad at him this evening. He hadn't said anything else about T'Pol or the matter after switching to his interrogation and mechanically asking a few very predictable questions, but his heart hadn't been in the investigation and Trip was sure that he had counted the seconds until he could leave... which he had done, without even saying goodbye properly, leaving Trip to feel like the biggest asshole in the world.

He never would have taken brave and self-assured Malcolm Reed for the jealous type. Sure, he had seen past the stoicism quickly when they had become friends: beneath the professional distance, Malcolm was just as insecure as anyone else (and really, on Enterprise, they were all just children stumbling through the vastness of space, improvising and hoping against the odds that nobody noticed that they had no idea what they were doing out there – all but Jon, Trip had believed for the longest time. Jon had always known what to do.). Although Trip hadn't yet found a sufficient explanation on what had caused his boyfriend's deep-seated self-doubt and why he had wrapped it in blankets of violence, martial arts and weaponry (and Trip was sure there was a connection), he knew that Malcolm's well-hidden sass and his confidence was just as much a part of him as well. And since that part valued honesty and loyalty, Trip had thought being straight-forward with him was a good move, and never lied about still finding T'Pol attractive... and anything else would have been ridiculous, really. Who would have believed that, after months of him trying to win her over? But being honest hadn't worked, lying hadn't worked, and now Trip was at a loss of what to do.

So here he was, stuck in a cabin, his brain trying to figure out what was going on with Jon and this weird malfunction, his gut screaming at him that this piece of metal hurtling them through the vacuum of space wasn't working properly, and his heart urging him to finally fix these issues with Mal. And the only thing shutting all three down was wondering whether or not he could rebuilt his shower after finding out whether or not 216 was the correct amount of screws in his quarters.

Great.

What a shit show.

There was no way he would be able to sleep tonight. Having struggled with insomnia for the largest part of his adult life, Trip knew when he was fighting a lost cause. And since he really didn't want to be an insomniac in a cell without a working shower, he finally got up and walked over to the communicator panel he had actively refused to look at for the last twelve hours.

Luckily, he had experience with this. When the Suliban had taken over Enterprise, Trip had needed almost an hour to figure out how to reroute a boosted comm signal through the EPS grid – now he only needed two minutes and a few skilled flicks of the wrist.

When the signal was clear, his fingers lingered over the number pad for a moment, wondering if he was making the right call.

The comm crackled two times, then a sleepy voice answered.

'Hello?'

Trip couldn't help but grin. She always had this effect on him.

"Oh Hoshi, it's so good to hear your voice."

'Trip! You're not supposed to contact us!'

He couldn't tell if she was amused or mad. With Hoshi, you never quite knew. "Well, it got boring."

'How are you?'

"Ah, you know. Testing the drive, getting accused of murder. The usual. How about you?"

Talking to her felt good, like a little bit of normalcy his life had been lacking lately. It was tempting to just chat, but the matter was too pressing.

Hoshi agreed, apparently, for her playful tone changed immediately. 'Trip, what the hell's going on?'

He sighed. "I was hoping you could tell me."

'Me?'

"Hoshi, where are we going?"

Her silence was scary. It should have been an easy question – either she knew, or she'd react like Malcolm, denying any movement.

'You feel it too?'

Trip's heart skipped a beat. "Definitely," he breathed. "We've been flying over Warp 2.2 for hours and we changed direction before accelerating."

'I thought I felt something,' Hoshi said. Although the linguist had adapted to space travel well by now, she was still more peculiar about it than the rest of the crew. Luckily for him, her stomach, combined with her mad hearing skills, picked up subtle movements and noises precisely. 'I heard the engines, but now it's different.'

"So is there a new mission? Where are we headed?"

'I don't know!' Hoshi sounded distressed now. 'Apparently, we aren't headed anywhere. Travis has even been sent to telemetry to help with the overhaul.'

"What?" The engine's weird humming Trip had been feeling in his stomach for hours suddenly felt ominous and threatening. He swallowed hard. What the hell was going on? Where they flying without a pilot?

'We haven't moved far away from the nebula according to the readings.' Hoshi's voice lingered for a moment on an uncertain note, but then hardened with determination. 'But I can feel that we did.'

This was weird. Really, fucking weird. Looking out of his window, Trip only saw faint, distant stars that wouldn't thin out into lines until they went over Warp 2.5. If he remembered correctly, the course correction he felt would have moved the nebula to the stern. He couldn't see anything of it with his window positioned at the wrong angle, except maybe a faint, blue hue that might just be his imagination.

For a second, Trip wondered which conclusion he disliked more: hurrying through space without knowing where to or how, or fantasizing movement and going crazy over it, while a huge nebula was only a few degrees out of his vista.

"You'll need to find out what's going on, Hosh," Trip sighed, burying his face in his hands. "I can't do shit in here."

Malcolm had made it pretty clear that even if Jon's accusations didn't hold, he might have to face disciplinary charges for insubordination. Getting Hoshi involved definitely didn't help his case and was dangerous for her as well, but something was very, very wrong and he needed eyes (and ears) on the outside.

Fortunately, Hoshi was someone to rely on.

'Travis doesn't know, and Malcolm hasn't even been to the bridge today. I guess asking the Captain is out of the quest-'

"No!" He had acted quicker than his brain worked and had shouted into the comm. Sucking in a breath, he stared at the door, hoping that Malcolm' security hadn't heard him. After a few seconds, he relaxed. "No. I don't think that's a good idea."

Right now, involving Jon in anything felt wrong and dangerous. Trip hated thinking about his Captain and former friend this way, but he couldn't risk losing Hoshi to one of Jon's weird moods.

'...You think he's up to something.'

Hoshi and Trip had forged a deep friendship over the last years, and Trip usually prided himself with knowing and reading her better than anyone else on board, except maybe for the Doctor. But the linguist had full control over her voice, always, and knew exactly how to drain it of any emotion, inflection, or insinuation when she needed to. This was such a moment – Trip had no chance of hearing if she had posed a question, made a statement, or an observation.

"I... I don't know. But something is going on and he hasn't... he's not himself lately."

'I agree,' the voice over the comm said then, quiet but steadfast, and Trip felt as if someone had finally caught him from a long, free fall.

He stared at the comm. "You do?"

'Yes,' she had allowed emotions to bleed into her voice again and sounded sad. 'He hasn't been for a while. I thought he was just stressed, but now it's gotten out of hand.'

Apart from Trip, Hoshi was the one person on board who had known Jon long before Enterprise launched. Their relationship had always been strong, not as outspoken as Jon and Trip's had been, but subtle and gentle and full of support.

If Hoshi agreed that something was seriously wrong with Jon, it was all the proof Trip needed. After months of pent up frustration and helplessness, he finally felt how a calm resolve settled over his mind.

"Then we need to find out what's wrong with him. Enterprise might be in danger."

Something was wrong with the Captain and their second-in-command wasn't around to fix it. He was the ship's Commander... but most of all, he was an Engineer – it was his job to find solutions. Preferably before his baby was in pieces.

'I'll try to find out what's going on with the ship. Maybe it's just the overhaul and the systems are going crazy.'

Trip suppressed a groan. That damn overhaul. As if a spiteful and furtive Captain wasn't enough, the system's overhaul was messing with all the machinery and computers. Just when he was under arrest...

A thought flickered into existence in the back of his mind, right where a small voice had been shouting at him for a while that something was wrong with Jon, that this was not a normal, stress-induced phase of mood swings. He had ignored that voice out of fear what it could mean, just like he wanted to ignore the thought now.

Unfortunately, this time Malcolm wasn't here to divert him. The thought finally unfurled in front of his mind's eye.

Maybe it wasn't such a coincidence that he was under house arrest just when T'Pol wasn't here either. Jon had started to withdraw from them all, and apparently didn't even tell Hoshi or Malcolm what he was up to.

Maybe Jon wanted them all out of the way.

That feeling of falling freely? It was right back, and giving him vertigo this time.

"Get in contact with Phlox," he said therefore, speaking loudly to gain resolve. "Maybe he can find something."

The last time they mutinied, Trip remembered grimly, Jon had been sprayed with Xindi goo and imprinted on some insect eggs. Weird things had happened to them and there was absolutely no indication of the universe that they'd stop happening. Phlox had begun to run regular extensive medical tests on them, but along alien viruses, singularity radiation that made you obsess over chairs and air particles that caused horror hallucinations of math teachers, it was easy to overlook some things.

'You want him to relieve the Captain of duty?'

Well, there was that, as well. If Phlox found any explanation, he was able to relieve the Captain of command for medical reasons. It would certainly be the cleanest, by-the-book solution... if he found something. Maybe Jon hadn't been to his latest physical – with the Senior Staff's conflicting schedules and crazy tasks, they often missed out their appointments and had to make good for them later. Come to think of it, Trip didn't even remember his own last physical.

"Well, if there's a medical explanation, that would be the necessary next step."

'What about Malcolm? He works closest with the Captain now.'

It was logical thought, but Trip felt his heart clenching up. Bringing in Malcolm didn't feel good, not with all the tension and distrust between them right now... to which he was about to add more secrecy. Trip sighed, hating himself for what he was about to do.

"No. He won't side against the Cap'n."

The fact that it wasn't a lie helped a little bit. Instigating against Archer was not an activity Malcolm would conduct on a whim – Trip had fresh, first-hand experience how serious Malcolm took his role as Chief of Security and trustee of the Captain. It didn't feel good to be under suspicion by your own boyfriend, especially since said boyfriend obviously never trusted his fidelity to begin with...

Knowing Malcolm, the Brit was probably lying awake right now and agonizing over Trip and T'Pol's non-existent relationship. If he couldn't even bring his partner to trust him about them, Trip doubted he'd bring him to rebel against his Captain.

They needed to do this without Malcolm for now, thus. Best case scenario? They found what they were looking for alone and spared Malcolm the agony of choosing sides. He would be swayed by evidence, not hunches.

'We can trust him...' Hoshi insisted, taken aback by Trip's refusal.

"Not yet. Malcolm's too loyal." All his logic, and arguing against Mal still felt like shit. He wondered if T'Pol felt the same sometimes. "We'll bring him in later when we have proof."

'Alright,' maybe she had sensed the tenseness in his voice and didn't push further. 'How can I reach you?'

That was a good question. They needed to be careful, and Trip didn't want Hoshi to get into more trouble than necessary if they got caught. Since he could hardly fry the comm or the EPS grid without damaging Enterprise further, Trip would have to overcharge some conduits without fusing them.

"Do you have a hypospanner?"

Quickly, he explained her how to hack the comm, but warned her to contact him only when it was absolutely necessary. "If they detect us, we're toast. Both of us."

'Be careful, Trip.'

He smiled at the empty room. "Take care, Hosh."

Trip cut the connection, then quickly typed a code to C deck and raised the current. He felt a slight vibration under his fingertips before the hissing began. C deck's internal communication would shut down now in order to avert blowing. Any trace his call to Hoshi might have left had been swiped clean, and with any luck no one would even notice that there was a reboot at this time of the night. Engineering had more important things on its plate right now than a bug in internal comms.

It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Trip stared at the communication panel and wondered whether or not he should try to get in contact with Malcolm – communication would be possible again in a few minutes.

He sill didn't know what to tell him, though. A part of him didn't really want to talk to Malcolm neither, to try to convince him again that he was not still hung up on T'Pol. Maybe this was a battle Malcolm had to fight with himself, while Trip could only watch and hope that he'd like the outcome...

In the end, he decided against it. Hiding his hypospanner, Trip made it towards his bed. He felt the tiredness closing in, yet his mind swam with the conversation he just had with Hoshi. At least he hadn't thought about screws again.

For once, Trip had fallen asleep quickly. The lack of nightmares, which was sadly a seldom treat, was an added bonus. He really didn't need to be woken up by two guards loudly charging into his quarters, punching on the lights, and yelling at him.

"Get up!"

Trip, having jerked awake with a jolt and sitting upright in his bed, stared at the two crewmen with wide eyes and blinked.

The two men stared right back. To Trip, who wasn't fully awake yet, they appeared to expect something from him. Incoherently, his brain presented him with the information 'Warp 3.1?' but sulkily stowed the intel away when he didn't react on it. Having thus offended his brain cells, the only thing he came up with for the two crewmen was a semi-intellectual "Huh?".

One of the guards – Heston, Trip's sleepy brain provided slowly – made an impatient gesture. "Get up, Mister Tucker, and follow us."

The gesture revealed a phase pistol in Heston's holster, and suddenly Trip was fully awake.

There were two men in his room in the middle of the night with phase pistols.

"What the hell is going on?" He demanded to know, angry and loud, and threw off the blanket to get up. Building himself up to full height, he walked up to the two ensigns and glared at them. "Ensign Vitrenko? Ensign Heston?"

He might have been dressed in sweatpants and an undershirt, and he was confined to quarters and temporarily relieved of his rank as Commander, but he still had some authority left: Ensign Vitrenko, who hadn't said a word so far, visibly shrank away from him.

Trip turned his full attention to him when he got no answer, and moved closer, glaring him down. "I hope there's a good reason why you are standing in my bedroom in the middle of the night, Ensign."

Vitrenko swallowed and averted his gaze, but Heston didn't budge an inch.

"Mister Tucker, you will be confined to the brig. Please follow us. Now."

Trip's heart rate sped up as the words registered. "The brig? What?!"

"We have been ordered to take you with force, if necessary, Comm... Mister Tucker." Vitrenko looked like he wanted to crawl under Trip's bed and die as he said it.

This was a joke. It had to be. Crew members who got confined to the brig were accused of heavy crimes. He hadn't done any crime at all.

"Where's Lieutenant Reed?"

Brusquely, Trip moved past the two ensigns to head towards the door. This was not happening. Surely, Malcolm was standing outside or already hurrying towards his quarters to solve some misunderstanding or whatever this was. He would be utterly embarrassed, and Trip would tease him about it endlessly.

A hand grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him back. "You're not free to leave."

Heston raised an eyebrow and pointedly shifted his eyes to Vitrenko. With horror, Trip realized that the ensign had pulled out his phase pistol and pointed it at him shakily.

Eyes never leaving the weapon, Trip wet his lips. Shit shit shit. "I want to speak to Lieutenant Reed."

"We are under direct orders of the Captain."

Captain's orders. He had suspected as much, but the confirmation still felt like a punch to the guts.

Vitrenko and Heston didn't have much choice but to follow Jon's orders, though Trip was pretty sure that Heston enjoyed the power play; it wasn't every day that you could throw your Commander into the brig. Vitrenko, on the other hand, was positively terrified, but slowly gained confidence. The

hand that held the gun wasn't shaking as bad anymore.

Heston's fingers were still tightly clenched around his arm. Trip wondered for a second if he was able to overpower the man, but the weapon pointed at him at close distance prevented him from trying anything.

Slowly, Trip nodded. Without back up, there was nothing Trip could do. If Malcolm had been informed about what was happening, he would be here.

He tore his gaze from the gun unwillingly and looked at Heston, who apparently didn't feel like letting him go ever again. "Can I get dressed, at least?"

Heston's answer was a coarse yank, as he turned and walked towards the door, pushing Trip in front of him.

-tbc-

R&R, pls!