Disclaimer: Not mine.

Phlox finally released Reed to his quarters after two weeks, under strict orders to report to Sickbay every day for evaluation. Reed had the feeling that the doctor didn't quite trust his progress, as if he thought that Reed were somehow secreting food under his blankets instead of eating it or claiming perfect equanimity when in fact nightmares had kept him up the entire night. This second was closer to the truth, if still inaccurate. Nightmares was not exactly the right word, because the lingering images rarely resolved into anything identifiable, but he woke often in a cold sweat, half-convinced the walls were closing in on him. But Phlox didn't need to know that; it was certainly not a reason that Reed should stay in Sickbay.

Released to quarters did not, of course, mean that he would be back in the accommodations he had previously used on the Enterprise. Those were currently inhabited by his replacement. He hadn't met Lieutenant Covan, but he'd heard mention of the man and had read his personnel file out of curiosity as soon as Phlox had allowed him a PADD. Covan was the first Andorian to graduate from Starfleet Academy – one of the first non-humans, period. He had apparently caused quite a stir on his home-world by his apparent defection, and though Andoria and Earth were currently on civil terms, Covan was not regarded highly with his kind. Reed wondered what had driven the Andorian to defy his entire planet.

Because he no longer had quarters on the Enterprise, two of Reed's former staff had volunteered to give up their room and share with others. Reed knew how small crew rooms were – barely enough space for two, and yet his crewmen were readily offering to crowd in three to give him a room of his own. His instinct had been to refuse, and perhaps to take Tucker up on the offer to share his larger quarters. Instead, on further consideration, he had taken the room.

It wasn't that he objected to having Tucker as a roommate. But having a roommate at all would be a severe detriment to his privacy, which had become all the more important to him in the last couple of weeks in Sickbay. Chances were that his unsettled sleep wouldn't go unnoticed. He didn't need Phlox to have an extra set of eyes on him.

Reed prowled restlessly around the small room, feeling stifled. It was strange to be free in the ship with no place there – nowhere to go, nothing to do. He was as trapped now as he had been in the biobed under Phlox's watchful eye.

Reed wondered how free he actually was. Neither Phlox nor anyone else had mentioned him being restricted to only certain areas of the ship, although Archer had made it abundantly clear that Reed was no longer trusted. With good reason, Reed knew, but the attack had only hurt more because of that. But even Archer had assigned no confinement. Reed had not seen him since the disastrous conversation in Sickbay, but the Captain could easily have communicated through Phlox or anyone else if he wanted Reed restricted.

Given his current lack of job, Reed was essentially a civilian on the ship. And yet he wasn't; regardless of the circumstances, he still retained his rank and security clearance until they were officially revoked. If he was in any kind of legal trouble as far as Starfleet was concerned – which he very well might be – he had heard nothing about it. He was in a strange limbo – neither officer nor civilian, but something of both. He wished he could return to the Armoury and take up his job as if he'd never left it.

It was impossible, of course. Even if Archer hadn't confined him, he would hardly allow Reed to resume work. Still, perhaps working would help him shake off the feeling of Phlox's eyes ever upon him, waiting for him to make a mistake. Waiting for him to show some sign of incompetence. In Sickbay, and even now, there was constant pressure to perform to the doctor's pre-defined standard of where his recovery should be at this point. It was enough to make anyone in perfect health begin to question their own sanity. If he could have a few days to not worry about how his recovery looked to others, Reed thought wryly, he would probably be much more recovered.

And what exactly would those few days look like? Curled up in a bed where you never sleep anyway? Shivering in terror at the slightest sound? What do you have to hide?

It wasn't that he was hiding something, Reed told himself aggravatedly. It was just the feeling of always needing to give the right impression that made actual improvement difficult. Say the right things, match the body language, move neither too fast nor too slow. Eat and sleep on a perfect schedule.

But that's what you should be doing anyway. If you're not hiding anything, then why do you have to perform?

He just wanted to go back to work. If he was unsettled, it was because he didn't know what to do with himself. Satisfied for the moment with this explanation, Reed resumed his pacing, which had paused as he considered this point. A circle of the room made nine steps. His own nine paces of at least partial privacy. Nine paces to drive himself crazy with his own solitude while he waited for the hail of judgement to begin.

But he hadn't been told to stay in the room. If anything, by telling him to get plenty to eat and to visit Sickbay daily, Phlox had insinuated that he was free to move about parts of the ship. Why not the rest? The Armoury, at any rate, was closer than either Sickbay or the mess hall. He couldn't work, but what was to prevent him going down to see how his staff had fared in his absence? Perhaps he'd even get the chance to meet his replacement. And at the very least, recovery in public was better than in private. There was less chance that people – that Phlox – would think he was huddled fearfully in his quarters with the door barred if he was out in public socializing.

Thus decided upon his course of action, Reed disengaged the emergency deadbolt, unlocked the door, and left, wondering how much his department had changed since he had left nearly three months earlier. Would he be welcomed or had his staff moved on without a second's thought? He had received one communication from Archer since the captain had cornered him in Sickbay – a memo sent to the crew some days previously, forwarded to him with no accompanying message. It had been the public story of Reed's rescue. From it, he understood that most of the crew were under the impression that the entire situation was a cleverly arranged kidnapping by Orion slave traders that had targeted Reed simply because he'd been the most isolated member of the away team back on that planet they'd been exploring. S'Trep had been explained as a fellow captive who had spent much of the time with Reed but had managed to escape only after they had been separated. Reed's incapacitation over the past weeks was written off as illness due to his captivity.

It was a fairly watertight story, skipping over all the awkward details of Section 31 and the Romulans. Reed assumed that Archer intended for him to stick to that story until instructed otherwise. He was quite satisfied with the doctored version of the truth, except for the damning fact that it entirely skipped over his voluntary decision to leave. He couldn't even tell anyone the most important truth, the one that would lead to distrust and hatred. It was a dangerous secret to have. A dangerous, a stupid thing to have done.

The only small consolation he had left was that his debt was repaid. Archer's debt was repaid. The obligation he'd unwillingly incurred on Archer's orders was gone. Section 31 had no remaining claim on him.

That was as comforting as it was untrue. The Section would always have a claim on him. But now, Harris had no unsettled debt with which to leverage him. And he never will again, Reed promised himself. That was a great relief. It was also too late to do him any good.

Reed entered the Armoury quietly, hoping not to draw attention to himself. He wanted an accurate feel, untainted by his presence, for how the place had changed. However, he was afforded no such opportunity. Ensign Tanner caught sight of him two steps in and called the entire Armoury to attention. Reed paused, shocked.

It was of course routine procedure in Starfleet to call a room to attention when a superior officer in the chain of command entered. However, such policy had long since been abandoned in weapons and engineering divisions because of the nature of the work: it wasn't wise to drop what you were doing, even for a senior officer, when what you were doing involved antimatter or explosives. Archer had quickly disposed of the regulation throughout the entirety of the Enterprise. He wasn't the type to stand on ceremony, and had argued that it reduced the efficiency of the crew. Beyond the occasional "Captain on the bridge," the crew had learned to accommodate this policy.

But beyond even that, Reed was no longer in the Enterprise's chain of command. He wasn't an officer of the starship anymore. Hell, he wasn't even in uniform. The proffered courtesy was completely unwarranted – and unwanted. Under such circumstances, it was a sign of the highest respect. It was the best welcome that the Reed of three months ago could have imagined. Now it was almost more than he could stand.

Reed almost left right then, overwhelmed by the gesture that he had done nothing to deserve. They thought he was a hero returning from some horrific ordeal. Instead he was a traitor, hidden behind other people's lies. The story that protected him was not even his own creation. Whatever he had suffered was only his just due. His former staff's respect curdled in his stomach.

"As you were." The response came automatically. Rather than returning to their stations, most of the staff in the Armoury began to crowd around to greet and welcome him. Reed returned their greetings with a tight smile. His heart raced. This was as much a trap as if the walls were closing in on him. He wanted to run from their well wishes.

Tanner saved him. The Ensign waded into the small crowd, smiling broadly but waving his hands and calling out in an authoritative tone. "Alright, alright. Back to your stations. This Armoury won't run itself, you know!"

The group dispersed reluctantly, leaving only Tanner standing nearby. "Welcome back, sir," the ensign said ebulliently, holding out a hand. He looked as if he were only just restraining himself from embracing Reed, who accepted the handshake but let go quickly. He couldn't quite meet the younger man's eyes.

"Thank you," Reed said quietly, without pleasure. Tanner's smile shrank slightly. Reed could almost see the man's thoughts – of course he's not quite recovered yet. He wondered how much he had changed, in the eyes of his former subordinate. Tanner had certainly changed. Far from the anxious ensign who had once hesitantly accepted a temporary command while Reed was on a two-day away mission, the young man now standing before him seemed confident and comfortable with leadership. Reed wanted to remark upon it, but he swallowed the words. Tanner didn't need the praise of a traitor and a liar.

"We're glad to have you back," Tanner went on, apparently hoping to goad Reed into sharing his enthusiasm. "It's been way too long."

That, at least, Reed could agree with. He nodded gravely, letting his eyes wander around the Armoury. Not much had changed, to the casual glance. The configuration of torpedoes in storage was slightly different. The room was a touch more cluttered than it had been. Things had continued to function smoothly in his absence. That was something of a relief. They didn't really need him here. Whatever happened, he could be confident that the Enterprise was well protected.

"Would you like to look around, sir?" Tanner asked hopefully. "I'll be happy to show you the changes…" He trailed off as Reed shook his head.

"No, that's fine. Frankly, I'm not even sure if I'm supposed to be here," he admitted.

"Phlox?" Tanner grinned. He, like most of the Armoury personnel, was familiar with Reed's frequent exasperation with the doctor's unnecessary precautions. Reed did not smile.

"No." He didn't go on, though Tanner was clearly waiting for him to finish.

"Well," the ensign fumbled when the silence became too long, "you're always welcome here, sir. This is your Armoury."

"I'm not your commanding officer anymore," Reed pointed out sharply. "Speaking of which, where is Lieutenant Covan?"

"He's on the bridge, sir. I can call him down here if you'd like to meet him," Tanner added eagerly.

"No need. I'm sure I'll have the opportunity later."

The image of the Andorian lieutenant sitting at the tactical station on the bridge, waiting on the Captain's bidding, brought an unexpected pang. That was his place, Reed thought, not Covan's.

But it wasn't. Not anymore. He had forfeited that position when he agreed to Harris's offer. He had no right to it anymore. Even had Starfleet not replaced him with the Andorian, Archer had made it abundantly clear that Reed wasn't wanted anymore. He wasn't trusted. Down here in the Armoury, it was all too clear that he was no longer needed either. Which, no matter how much he told himself it was for the best, still stung.

It was for the best, though. His former staff would have much better leadership under Covan. They would have a leader they could actually trust.

"Sir? Lieutenant Reed?"

Something tapped Reed lightly on the shoulder. He flinched away on instinct. Tanner pulled back apologetically.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't think."

He didn't even seem surprised at Reed's reaction. Exactly how much talk had there been about his condition, Reed wondered, even as he forced himself to relax. Did they pity him? That thought left a sour aftertaste. There was nothing to pity him for. He had brought this upon himself by his own desertion.

Opting to pretend nothing had happened, Reed turned back to Tanner. "What do you think of Lieutenant Covan, Ensign?"

"Oh, he's very good, sir," Tanner said. "I don't have any complaints. He's been training us in Andorian tactics." The ensign smirked. "I think we'll be able to impress Commander Shran if we run into him again." Suddenly realizing his potential mistake, Tanner hurried to revise his statement. "He's not you, of course. We'd all rather have you back."

"Is that so?" Reed managed a bitter grimace of a smile, which Tanner seemed to mistake as genuine.

"Yes, sir. We're all eager for you to be back on duty."

It occurred to Reed that he had almost taken it for granted that Covan would be his permanent replacement. He hadn't given much thought to what would happen to himself. Tanner's ready assumption that he would soon return to duty startled him.

"We'll see," he said softly.

"Take your time, sir," Tanner said sympathetically. Reed wanted to spit the sympathy back at him. "We're just glad you're back safely." Safely? That was a funny word for it, Reed thought. "Alex would have been glad, too. I'm sure he'd want me to pass on his regards."

It seemed a strange turn of phrase. "Would have?" Reed frowned. "Did he transfer?" It was odd, but not impossible. The Enterprise had rendezvoused with a Vulcan ship at least once in his absence. Reed supposed that Crewman Alex could have left on the ship. Tanner's eyes widened.

"I – Alex – I thought," Tanner stammered. "I thought…you would have heard, sir."

A cold claw pinched Reed's gut. "Apparently I haven't, Ensign. Heard what?"

"Crewman Alex gave his life in service, sir," Tanner said softly. Respectfully. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

Reed blinked numbly. His hands had gone clammy. "No. I hadn't heard." He could not bring himself to ask how. He was afraid to.

"We got in a firefight with the Orions," Tanner admitted cautiously, as if he were afraid of provoking a violent reaction. "He didn't make it back to the ship."

"I see." Your fault. Your fault. Reed's heart beat out a condemning rhythm. There was only one away mission Tanner could be talking about. He had seen them, and yet he'd hidden. If he had approached them, no life would have been lost: not Alex's, and not the Orion slaves'.

"I'm sorry, sir," Tanner repeated. Reed nodded acknowledgement.

"Thank you for telling me." He took a step backward, needing an escape from the damning echo of his own life in his ears. "I…should go."

Tanner looked at him helplessly. "You're always welcome, sir."

"Thank you." He could stand the younger man's eyes on him no longer. Reed turned to leave and nearly fled as soon as the doors closed behind him, imagining he could still feel his former subordinate's eyes boring into his back.

Reed locked himself in his small room and paced savagely, pressing a balled fist over his mouth. He wanted to scream at the injustice. He, a cowardly traitor, had survived, while one of his best and most honourable men had fallen trying to rescue him from a fate that it was supposed he had gone to unwillingly. All he had done was watch from the safety of his hiding place. It was so wrong. Reed bit down on his fingers until they twinged sharply. He felt tense and dangerous, like a wild animal trapped with nothing to occupy itself; with nothing to tear at but itself. He wondered if he should return to Sickbay, but dismissed the possibility. Phlox would think him crazy.

Something in the room chimed. Reed stopped short. It took him several long seconds to understand the source of the sound – the computer monitor. Slowly, he unclenched aching hands and went to turn on the screen. He'd received a text communication.

Lieutenant Reed

Report to my ready room promptly for debriefing.

Captain Jonathan Archer

His official statement. Reed's mind unfogged slowly. He should have been expecting this. Phlox at the least had heard scattered bits of his story, but he had yet to make any official statement. In retrospect he was surprised it had taken so long. Probably Phlox had been preventing it before now. But even the Chief Medical Officer's authority only went so far, light years away from Starfleet headquarters and with an angry Captain breathing down his neck for answers.

Reed hadn't seen Archer since in person since their first conversation in Sickbay, and based on how well that had gone, he was far from thrilled at the prospect. Then again, he didn't have much of a choice.

Reed opted to enter the ready room through the small hall outside the Captain's mess rather than through the bridge. He didn't want the eyes of the bridge crew on him. Deciding to err on the safe side, Reed reported in formally to Archer.

"Sit," Archer instructed curtly, motioning to the chair directly across from him. On the table between them was a recorder. The microphone pointed at Reed like a reproachful finger.

"You are here to make your official statement about what happened during the approximately six weeks of your absence," Archer said without waiting. "This need not be an in-depth recount of every detail. I will request further interviews if I deem it necessary. Please include only the level of detail that you believe is relevant."

It was strange to hear Archer being so formal. "I intend to record this entire conversation," the Captain went on. "Do I have your consent?"

Reed nodded, but spoke hurriedly as Archer's hand moved to turn on the recorder. "Captain…what do you want me to say?" Was Starfleet to receive the whole story? Presumably Archer had invented the version of the tale circulating among the crew. Was that to be the official story? Archer stared at him hard.

"Are you asking me to tell you to lie?" he said coldly. Reed's heart sank. That hadn't been how he intended it at all. Before he could say anything, Archer continued. "If it wasn't perfectly clear, I want the truth, Lieutenant. Whatever your version of the truth may be, at any rate," he added. Reed tried not to wince. Archer turned the recorder on.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the starship Enterprise." The words still came naturally, but as soon as they were out Reed wondered if it was a misstep. Of the starship Enterprise? Was he still? His hands twitched nervously in his lap, and only with a conscious effort did he still them.

"Starting from the beginning, then. When did you first consider leaving the Enterprise?"

"It was the day before the away mission. I –" Reed fumbled awkwardly. "I don't remember the date."

Archer named the date of the away mission for the record, speaking to the microphone rather than to Reed.

"At approximately 2100 I received a communication from Earth," Reed explained. He hesitated. Could he speak openly? But if there was one thing he could trust, it was that the Section would quell any information as necessary.

"Who was the communication from?" Archer prompted.

"A man named Harris," Reed said. "He was someone I knew previously."

"How?"

"An employer."

Archer looked hard at Reed, who felt he was trying to stare down a snake. "Go on."

"He wanted me to come work for him again. He explained a plan that would get me off the Enterprise. I was to join an away mission that would take place the next day…" Archer's eyes narrowed. Had he known that? Reed hesitated, thrown off. "I…was to be captured by other agents working for Harris. He claimed they would replace me with the body of a clone grown from a Lyssarian Desert Larva."

"Why did Harris want you?"

"He didn't say specifically. He implied that he had a mission from me."

"Did he threaten you?"

Even now, Archer's question held a fixed sort of plea. Harris's words rang in Reed's mind. You know what happens if you refuse to pay what you owe to the Section. He swallowed hard.

"No."

"Did he coerce you in any way?"

You came back because you needed a favour. You are in my debt, and I intend to make good on that. Surely you haven't forgotten what it means to owe a debt to the Section?

Reed did not let himself falter.

"No."

There was a long pause. Reed did not look at Archer, but he could feel the man's hard gaze on him. "Go on," the captain said levelly after a while. "You agreed to go, correct?"

"Yes."

"Of your own free will?"

It doesn't seem I have much of a choice in this.

You don't.

"Of my own free will."

"Would you please repeat that louder?"

"I went of my own free will," Reed said. The words were like ash in his mouth. Archer continued to watch him closely.

"You followed the plan Harris described?"

"Yes." Reed took a steadying breath. "I requested to accompany the away mission. I allowed myself to become slightly separated from the rest of the team. When we were near an outcrop of rocks, I was hit from behind with a dart. I began to feel sedative effects from the dart shortly after. Commander Tucker called to me. He sounded alarmed. I looked behind me and saw what appeared to be members of an indigenous race approaching me. I supposed they were Harris's agents in disguise. I don't remember anything after that; I must have gone unconscious."

"What is the next thing you remember?"

"I woke up on board a ship. Harris was there."

"What kind of ship?"

Reed hesitated. "It was a Klingon Bird of Prey."

Archer's eyes widened. He clearly hadn't been expecting this. Did he not realise, Reed wondered desperately, that the Section was truly everywhere? Its hands were in every pocket, its ears and eyes in every place.

"Lieutenant, you claim that you were transported on a Klingon warship?"

"Yes."

"Continue," Archer said after another hard look.

Reed went on. He told the microphone – because he couldn't look directly at Archer – about his arrival at Jupiter station; about realizing that the Klingon ship was cloaked; about the strange medical procedure he'd undergone at the Jupiter Station facility. He explained how he had been transported aboard the Stalagmite, a heavily armed ship disguised as a freighter; how Harris had explained his – Reed did not say the Section's – involvement with a secret Romulan organization. More slowly, he told of the 'briefing' he'd received about his supposed cooperation with the Romulans in a mission involving the possible presence of the Anachron species nearby. He related the exchange between Keyar and Harris in the airlock, and his own sale to the Romulans. With distance from the actual event, fear was replaced with shame.

He spoke of the Romulans, of things he hadn't realised he remembered until he was speaking them aloud. He heard his own voice telling Archer everything he could recall, in a level, rational tone. He was a spectator to his own recounting. The images his own words dredged up were almost mesmerising.

He told Archer of S'Trep and the Orions. He described the slave market, and the Denobulans: Fenzin and the little girl who by all rights should never have been within a hundred light years of that damn brothel. Reed could only listen to his own story as he was sold to Entek and fought him, cursing his own idiocy in not properly securing the unconscious slaver. Instead of watching Archer's reaction, he watched in his mind's eye as the away team came and went. The fire blazed up and he fled with the Denobulans and the Romulan, who Entek shot when he returned for Reed. But really, it was alright that Entek had come back for him; it was alright because at least he hadn't taken that little girl too. The Andorian in the cage hadn't wanted to fight him, but it never had a choice – never had a choice or a chance. The next alien hadn't wanted a fight either; not even the Tellarite wanted it. But Entek and the shouting crowd with chains and knives had wanted it, so it hadn't mattered.

Reed ran out of anything to say quite unexpectedly in the middle of a losing fight with the Orion. There was nothing left to tell. He couldn't remember Archer and Tucker retrieving him. Reed felt wrung out and dazed by the intensity of the memories. He couldn't stop his hands from trembling. Archer said a few things to the microphone that Reed didn't hear, before switching it off.

"That will be all, Lieutenant." Archer's voice was quiet. Some of his earlier hostility had gone. "You are dismissed."

Reed rose shakily and left through the Captain's mess, not wanting to risk human interaction. He walked unsteadily toward his quarters, a hand on the wall for support. This was ridiculous, Reed told himself firmly, though it did not seem to help. It was only a report.

"Hey, Malcolm," a cheerily familiar voice greeted him. After a moment's concentration, Reed was able to place the voice as Tucker's.

"You okay?"

Through a field of vision that kept stubbornly trying to narrow, Reed saw Tucker walking towards him, the greeting on his face quickly giving way to concern. Answer him. His mouth didn't work. There was a strange buzzing whine in his ears that almost blocked out Tucker's cry of alarm.

The next thing Reed knew, he was leaning back against the wall with an iron grip on his upper arms. Tucker was right in front of him, talking in an urgent tone.

"Malcolm? Hey, c'mon. I need you to talk to me. You okay?"

"What…" Reed slurred. He felt numb and oddly off-balance. The world had tilted several degrees. He clutched at Tucker's arms to steady himself.

"That's it. You're okay. Come on, I'm going to help you sit."

Reed shook his head experimentally in an effort to re-orient himself. He was still on his feet, which was something of a relief.

"I'm not gonna let you fall. Just sit," Tucker coaxed.

"No," Reed protested. "I'm…fine, Trip."

"Like hell you are," Tucker said, without heat. "You just passed out."

Reed found he was shaking badly. The cold in his hands had spread up his arms, but was slowly receding now. "I'm fine. Just want to go…lay down."

"Yeah, you sure will," Tucker said. "You're gonna lay your ass straight down on a biobed in Sickbay."

Reed wanted to argue, and meant to, but wasn't sure what reasonable foundation he had on which to base his protest. He released his hold on Tucker's arms and blinked to clear his still-spotty vision. "I'm alright, Trip."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I just need to get some sleep."

"Bullshit." Tucker would have none of it. "If you don't want t' tell me, that's fine. Yew can tell Phlox."

"I'm not going back to Sickbay." Reed was insistent.

"Don't make me order you." Cautiously, Tucker released Reed, one hand hovering nearby just in case. Reed pushed himself off the wall and stood stiffly through the ensuing rush of dizziness.

"You're not my commanding officer anymore."

Tucker scratched his head thoughtfully. "Alright, then. Don't make me carry yew."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

On reflection, Reed decided he did not want to try Tucker. He had a feeling that the stubborn Southerner just might carry through with his threat.

"Fine," he relented sullenly. "But there's nothing wrong with me." Nothing that Phlox could fix, anyway. Tucker eyed him critically, making Reed uncomfortably conscious of the fact that he was still shaking noticeably.

"Alright, Malcolm. Let's have Phlox make that call, huh?"

"Is he alright, Doc?" Tucker asked anxiously as Phlox emerged from his office, where he had taken Reed immediately upon Tucker's brief explanation.

"Hm?" Phlox seemed distracted. "Oh, yes." He offered an absent and unconvincing smile. "Mr. Reed will be quite alright."

"What happened?"

"Commander, you are not included in Captain's privilege," Phlox said reproachfully, referring to the exception to medical confidentiality which allowed a ship-board doctor to inform the captain of otherwise protected details about crew members' health. "I cannot discuss a patient's medical condition with you."

Tucker looked at him in consternation. On a number of occasions, he'd been present during discussions of other crew members' health. Never before had Phlox used confidentiality against him. Phlox seemed to sense his confusion.

"On board a starship, medical information is often pertinent to a crewman's performance of duties. Therefore, medical confidentiality has been relaxed as a general rule to allow Captain's privilege to extend to commanding officers in most cases." His eyes skimmed without attentiveness over the PADD he held. He finished the thought delicately. "The only exception to that is when the patient explicitly requests confidentiality."

"Malcolm asked yew not to tell me," Tucker concluded grimly.

"Indeed he did, Mr. Tucker, and I am bound to respect his wishes."

Tucker glanced up curiously. "What's he hiding?" he mused rhetorically.

"I was under the impression you knew Mr. Reed quite well," Phlox said. "Perhaps you ought to ask him."

That hurt. Over the past three months, Tucker had come to realise he didn't know Reed nearly as well as he'd thought. Still, he didn't think the doctor's reason for bringing it up was to taunt him.

"Or perhaps you may figure it out on your own, hm?" Phlox said lightly. Tucker understood that this was the last the doctor would say on the matter.

Reed emerged from the doctor's office, still pale but substantially steadier. He didn't look happy – not that there was anything unusual about that, Tucker thought. Reed had been on edge since the first time Phlox allowed Tucker in to visit him.

"If you don't mind, I'd like you to walk Mr. Reed back to his quarters," Phlox told Tucker.

"Yeah, sure. Yew alright, Malcolm?"

"Yes," Reed responded quickly. "I told you before, Trip. I'm fine."

"Okay." Tucker put his hands up in surrender. "I'm just askin', is all."

Reed turned to him as soon as they left Sickbay. "You don't need to walk me back. I'll be fine."

He wouldn't look directly at Tucker. "I think I'll follow doc's orders," Tucker decided. Reed shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

They made the walk in silence. Tucker tried to think of something to say as Reed unlocked the door of his quarters.

"Lissen, Malcolm. Yew know you can trust me, right?"

It was ironic, given that Reed had broken his trust – broken all of their trust – by leaving the Enterprise, and yet here he was reassuring the man that he could trust Tucker. Tucker was hardly the one whose trustworthiness was in question.

"Can I?"

The question was surprisingly genuine. Tucker hadn't expected such a response. He didn't know what he'd expected – a sarcastic answer, probably, or maybe even open hostility.

"Yew know you can."

The door closed on Reed's curt and utterly uncommunicative nod.

The thinly carpeted floor felt worn under Reed's feet.

He'd made an honest effort to sleep after the forced visit to Sickbay. The tangled knob of sheets on the lower bunk was a testament to that short-lived attempt. His mind was too full, both of Phlox's words and his interview with Archer, winding together and playing on loop every time he came even remotely near to sleep. He'd given it up as a bad job after about an hour and resumed pacing around the small room.

After hearing Tucker's explanation, which was much more detailed than Reed considered necessary, Phlox had taken Reed straight into his office for evaluation. He'd examined him with a hand-scanner and asked a few questions. Reluctantly, Reed had revealed his recent report to the Captain.

"I was afraid this might happen," Phlox had said ambiguously.

Reed scuffed his feet on the rough carpet, trying to distract himself with the sensation. It didn't work.

He'd been mortified when Phlox had kindly explained that the symptoms he described were an anxiety attack. The doctor had offered to keep him "under observation" in case it should happen again. Reed had refused outright and without hesitation. He'd made a report. It shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't a problem. Unfortunately, Phlox believed otherwise, and had taken the opportunity to reaffirm his insistence on daily examinations.

And now Tucker would be watching him closely. Reed couldn't blame him, but he also couldn't trust him, regardless of Tucker's assurances. Things were different now than they had been, and in every word that Tucker spoke Reed looked for accusation, for the anger that he'd seen in Archer. Instead he'd found only sadness and disappointment, which was even worse. The engineer seemed confused by Reed's refusal to speak openly. After all this, why hadn't Tucker come to expect deceit from him?

Reed's computer chirped, making his stomach drop. Archer again? Had the Captain gotten an incriminating report from Phlox, perhaps? But when he got the nerve up to check the message, he found that it wasn't Archer at all.

Hey Malcolm, movie night's on Wednesday. It's Travis's turn to choose. Want to come? –Trip

Reed blinked at the message, half expecting it to change. After his ungracious parting with Tucker earlier, he hadn't expected to hear from him for a while. He checked the date on the computer, feeling strangely disoriented by the fact that it was already Monday afternoon, ship's time. Why that was strange or what day it was supposed to be, he couldn't say.

He considered the offer carefully, wondering if it was a guise for something else. But this was Tucker, not Harris. Reed hated himself for his instinctive suspicion of even Tucker. He didn't want to go to movie night, but he'd been impolite earlier without cause. By way of indirect apology, he ignored his better judgement.

Sure.