§ 9 §

It had been a long and tiring shift, but Hoshi wouldn't call this a day until she had spoken to a certain person. She knew she wouldn't be able to rest properly if she didn't.

Finally the sickbay doors opened and a form trudged out of it. It was the first glimpse Hoshi caught of Malcolm since he had docked, and it did nothing to quench the anxiety that had gripped her since that call.

Malcolm spotted her and stopped. "Ensign."

"Lieutenant." Straightening her shoulders and her resolve, Hoshi enquired, "Are you all right?" Her eyes took in Malcolm's face and she grimaced at the stupidity of her words. "I mean..."

"I'm fine, Hoshi," Malcolm replied a little self-consciously. "Better than I must look, anyway," he added wryly.

They started walking along the corridor.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Malcolm asked, his voice a bit guarded.

Hoshi felt her heart clench at the unusually mangled accent. "I just... wanted to say that..." She faltered, not knowing how to breach the subject.

Malcolm took her gently by one arm and stopped again. "You did the right thing telling the Captain, Hoshi," he said, his grey eyes softening. "Forgive me if you felt I had put you in a tight spot again."

"That wasn't what worried me," Hoshi burst out, unable to hold it in any more. "Or rather, it was; but not for the reasons you might think. I was afraid that you'd..." She faltered again; not something she was much used to, but when it came to Malcolm, for some reason, her linguistic skills tended to fail her.

"End up in the brig again?" Malcolm finished for her. The bandage on his forehead lifted with his eyebrows.

Hoshi sighed. "Yes. I never want to see that happen again," she said, shifting on her legs and hiding behind a hand.

Malcolm took it and lowered it from her face, and his tired grey eyes bore into hers. "I'm not planning on making a habit of that, Hoshi, I promise. Lying to the Captain that time was bloody stupid of me."

"I can't say I disagree with you there," Hoshi commented darkly.

The corners of Malcolm's mouth started to curve up, but fell with a hiss. "Sorry, Ensign," he said, feeling his split lip, "You'll have to do without my blinding smile."

Hoshi rolled her eyes, feeling her features relax. "Don't know how I'll survive that, Lieutenant."

The last person Malcolm had expected to see when he answered the chime and opened the door of his quarters was the one standing outside it. His surprise was such that he just stood frozen for a moment.

"Commander," he finally stuttered, becoming immediately aware of his state of undress.

After leaving Hoshi, he had grabbed a bite to eat and then he'd headed for his room, where he had washed up as best as he could, put on a pair of shorts and prepared to drop into bed, looking forward to laying his head on the pillow and getting lost to the world. The bell, though, had rung.

"I apologise for the late hour," T'Pol said softly, her body perceptibly tense. "May I come in?"

Malcolm was stunned into silence. In his four years on this ship T'Pol had never once shown up at his door. He opened his mouth but his voice came out only a few seconds later, as if it were out of sync with his body.

"By all means," he said hoarsely, moving aside. "I…" he took a few quick steps to his chair and grabbed a T-shirt, which he pulled on as hastily as his battered body allowed, trying not to grimace, "…wasn't expecting your visit," he finished awkwardly, turning to her.

T'Pol raised her eyebrows in that endearing way of hers, and Malcolm's thoughts flew to Trip. No wonder the man had lost his head for their First Officer; no male crewman on board Enterprise ignored the charms of the Vulcan lady, and he himself had been quite taken with her at the beginning of their mission. A drunken conversation he'd had with Trip that time they had been stranded on the shuttlepod flashed through his mind. Yes, he had taken notice of some of T'Pol's attributes even sooner than Trip. But beauty was not everything, and he, for one, definitely looked for much more in a woman. Not that T'Pol had only looks on offer…

"I regret delaying your rest, Lieutenant." T'Pol took a step and entered the room. The door closed behind her. "I will not stay long," she said quietly.

"It's... not a problem," Malcolm stuttered. It felt utterly strange to be standing in his quarters barefoot, in shorts and T-shirt, alone with T'Pol. He felt uncomfortable, a feeling that increased when he saw her eyes travel over his injuries, rather than around his room, as he would have much preferred.

"I hope you have not come to acute harm."

Malcolm almost frowned. After serving for so long on an Earth vessel T'Pol had subtly changed, gradually becoming less stiff; even her peculiar way of expressing herself had become less... different. Now all of a sudden she seemed to have regressed to the T'Pol of old.

"Only a few bruises. I'm fine," he replied, gesturing for her to take a seat. She didn't move. "But only because of your information about the Ferendellians' eyesight, I might add," Malcolm went on. "I must thank you for that. If Trip hadn't shot all the lights out things could have gone a lot differently."

The name brought a hint of emotion over T'Pol's face, but it quickly disappeared. "Then I am grateful I did not disregard the small footnote on the Ferendellians' file in the Vulcan database," she replied.

"So am I, believe me." Malcolm's mouth twitched in a quick smirk. "What can I do for you, Commander?" he asked after a beat. He was exhausted, and only wanted to collapse into bed.

T'Pol took a few steps and stopped in front of him, capturing his gaze. "Lieutenant, I wish to ask you something," she said in a deep voice, "Is the Commander's injury related in any way to his... state of mind?" she asked directly.

Malcolm swallowed. What she really wanted to know, he supposed, was if their recent falling-out had anything to do with Trip getting himself nearly killed. What a delightful question. He licked his lips. He had given Archer only a verbal report so far, and T'Pol seemed not to have been made privy to it yet.

"Trip had... a lot on his mind, T'Pol" Malcolm said carefully, deciding to forego the 'Commanders' and speak more like a friend than a subordinate. He supposed being so definitely out of uniform helped. "But I don't think that during that fight in the bar he took unnecessary risks, if that is what you are asking." He watched relief make a brief appearance over the Vulcan's features.

"Thank you," she breathed out.

"Don't mention it."

"I will now let you get the sleep you undoubtedly require."

Malcolm smiled inwardly – or, as Trip would say, "Get some shuteye, you look like shit." How those two had got together... Perhaps it was true that opposites attracted each other.

T'Pol made to turn, and Malcolm suddenly realised how thin and frail she looked. This was another friend who had gone through a lot lately. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"T'Pol…" The word was out of his mouth before he could think.

She tilted her head questioningly.

"How… are you doing?" he forced out. He hoped his eyes would show her what would be too long and complicated to express in words.

A ripple of something travelled over the Vulcan's lovely face. "I am… better," she replied. "Thank you."

"I was very sorry for what happened," Malcolm added a little awkwardly. "I never said as much, but…"

"You never needed to, Lieutenant," T'Pol filled in.

Malcolm swallowed. Something was on the tip of his tongue and he didn't know if he dared say it. But he had stepped back from helping his friends a few too many times.

"This is probably none of my business," he said hesitantly, "But… I believe that when Trip is better it would be… good if you talked to him." He lowered his gaze. Not all Humans are like a certain Lieutenant, who likes to wage lonely wars with his feelings, he silently added. Licking his swollen lip, he raised his eyes again. "Trip is a warm person, and I believe he needs to know that he is not alone in his grief."

He could tell his words had left the mark on T'Pol's heart even though her features were virtually impassive.

"I will consider your suggestion," she said, holding his gaze.

Malcolm nodded; then walked her to the door. She only turned briefly to say good-night, before going gracefully on her way.

As soon as the door had closed, Malcolm staggered to his bed and lowered himself gingerly on it; then, with a groan, he collapsed on his pillow and went out like one of those lights Trip had so deftly destroyed.

"Greg Sullivan and Tim Clapton." Admiral Gardner spat the names out with ill-concealed anger. "Sullivan was the son of the politician. Probably promised someone in Starfleet some unlikely career advancement, to get the blueprints. Clapton was a small fish. We're not exactly sure how he entered the picture, probably just helped Sullivan get a ride to the planet through his acquaintances in the cargo business. Unfortunately we still don't know who the mole in our organization is."

"That's not going to be easy to find out, with both men dead," Archer commented.

Gardner narrowed his eyes. "We were hoping to capture the people responsible for this alive... I must say I am looking forward to your report, Jon."

Archer bit his lip. "And you will get it, Sir, but I still have to get a written one myself from Lieutenant Reed. He was badly bruised and dog-tired, and the Doctor wants him off duty for a day." Archer didn't flinch away from the Admiral's pinning gaze, even if he definitely wanted to avert his eyes. "From what Reed has told me," he continued, "The sturdier of the two men was killed by his partner when he tried to make a run for it. The other one was shot by Commander Tucker, but Tucker was using an alien weapon and had no time to figure out how to set it on 'stun', provided it even had such a setting."

"What had happened to his phase pistol?"

"It had got... misplaced." Archer heaved a deep breath. "Admiral, you will get a full report, just give me a little more time."

Gardner pursed his lips. "How is Tucker?" he enquired.

"Still with us. Phlox says he has a chance." Archer tried to draw hope from his own words.

"Let's hope so. All right, Jon, I'll be in touch."

"Aye, Sir."

Gardner's face disappeared, to be replaced by the Starfleet logo. Archer stared at it for a long moment, before deciding that also a starship Captain was entitled to some sleep.

The throbbing under his hand was getting erratic, a wild rhythm that desperately tried to keep going. Malcolm knew the battle was one that was destined to be lost; he could feel Trip's blood seeping through his fingers, his pulse missing beats; he could feel the jerking as his lungs struggled to inflate. Worst of all, he could read the terror in his eyes. His own lungs began to draw air in hitching gasps, and it just wasn't fair. Malcolm let go of the wound and brought his hands to his neck. It hurt.

His eyes opened to total darkness. The lump in his throat was more painful than his cracked ribs, and he was as out of breath as if he had just run the marathon.

Nightmares. Brilliant.

Malcolm lay still for a moment, fighting away a lingering sensation of despair. Then, disentangling himself from his sweat-drenched sheet, he painfully pushed to a sitting position. The effect of the painkiller must have worn off, for breathing wasn't much fun and he could feel every bruise. Perhaps that's what had triggered the bad dream. With a careful sigh, he switched on the light and checked the time: five am. He had slept for a little over six hours.

Twenty minutes later he was crossing the threshold of sickbay. Phlox was, as usual, up and about.

"Lieutenant."

The Doctor took a look at him and waved him to a biobed. "Pain or bad dreams?" he enquired.

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up fleetingly. "Both."

"Let me give you another hypospray of painkiller."

"Thank you," Malcolm murmured a moment later, breathing more freely. His eyes sought the drawn curtain around Trip's bed. "Any change?"

Phlox's mouth curved into his famous smile, and Malcolm wondered when it had suddenly turned into such a beautiful sight.

"The Commander is definitely improving. He's breathing on his own now." The Doctor jerked his head. "Go on, Mr. Reed. Mr. Tucker is still sedated, but a short visit will do you some good. Might even cure you of your nightmares."

Malcolm shot Phlox a look. He stepped over and with a hesitant hand moved a corner of the curtain aside. It was the first time he set eyes on Trip after returning to Enterprise. He looked to be simply asleep, under the sheet that covered him. His face was pale but relaxed.

"When do you think he'll…"

There was a thunderous noise and the ship suddenly shuddered under his feet, sending him off balance. A moment later lights went on tactical alert.

Malcolm regained his footing and hurried to the closest comm. link.

"Reed to Bridge."

"Sir," Donna O'Neill, the shift's CO, shouted back, "Two ships. Came out of the blue and fired without warning."

"Polarise the hull plating and stand by weapons," Malcolm ordered. "I'll be right there." He flew out of sickbay as fast as his injuries allowed him.

TBC