§ 11 §

Malcolm sat by Trip's biobed, looking unblinkingly at his friend. He was lying on a slightly raised bed, to help his breathing, and was peacefully asleep. If one ignored the bandages around his chest, one would think that he was just fine.

It had been four a.m. when Malcolm had been jerked awake by yet another one of those lovely dreams that haunted his nights lately, regularly depriving him of a few hours of sleep. Well, that ought to teach him, stubbornly refusing to go to Phlox for sedatives; if things kept going like this, soon he would have to. He had needed a friend, but the only friend whom he felt comfortable going to at such an ungodly hour of the night was in sickbay. So he had finally decided to go to him all the same. Even if Trip slept, he still felt better there than alone in his quarters.

Trip, at least, was on the mend. He had already been awake, and had even spoken to Archer a couple of times. Phlox had shooed away all other visitors, and only this morning, probably taking pity on the sight he must be offering, had allowed Malcolm to sit by his friend's bed.

The Ferendellians had got away with a good deal of information on Enterprise's W5 engine. The damage to the nacelle had turned out to be more serious than Kelby had anticipated, and by the time they'd had warp drive back online, the two alien ships' trails had already dissipated. Malcolm had felt despondent ever since, and that had been two days ago. The knowledge he had done everything possible to stop them was not of much comfort: he had failed. There were no two ways about it.

"Cheer up, 'tis not my funeral yet," a low but familiar drawl suddenly said, piercing his grim thoughts.

Malcolm refocused on a pair of blue eyes and a pale smile. "About time you woke up," he said, mirroring Trip's expression. The corners of his mouth, though, dropped quickly as images that were half reality half nightmare flashed before his eyes, and he had to struggle with a sudden surge of emotion to add, "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah." Trip's eyes took in his bruises and his smile fell too. "Dammit, Malcolm… I'm sorry," he stammered. "I was such an ass, and…" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

Malcolm shook his head, wanting to say something, but Trip held up a weak hand, stopping him.

"You were there for me and in return I..." He lowered his eyes. "I think I was… re-directin' some of the hurt that I suffered. Totally on the wrong person."

Silence stretched, so Malcolm felt authorised to speak. "I admit: I called you a few very creative names down there, Commander," he said, raising his eyebrows. "But not entirely for the reasons you might think." His voice dropped down low. "I didn't know what had happened, and yet I couldn't forget our mission and come looking for you."

"Sorry," Trip breathed out again. "I meant to be gone only for a couple of minutes, but I got lost in my thoughts and… and then that guy was there."

Malcolm clenched his jaw. If there was a hell, that man deserved to burn in it. "What happened?" he asked, an edge in his voice. A part of him wanted to know exactly what had gone on.

Trip winced in misery.

"Forget it," Malcolm hurried to add. "If you prefer not to talk about it I'll understand."

"He seemed to know so much about me, as if he could really read my eyes," Trip began, ignoring his words. "And I wanted so much to believe that he could take the pain away…" He paused. "I felt mesmerised. We went into a side street, and he put his hands to my temples, and for a moment it seemed to work. I don't know what he did to me, but I woke up later, slumped on the ground, stripped clean."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wise men flatt'ring…" Malcolm murmured thoughtfully.

"What?"

Malcolm heaved a sigh. "Something that just came into my mind: 'Wise men flatt'ring may deceive us with their vain mysterious art'," he quoted. "'Magic charms can ne'er relieve us nor can heal a wounded heart'." He pursed his lips. "It's a beautiful aria by Handel."

"I should have relied on a friend not a stranger to help me," Trip said regretfully. "Instead I pushed you and the others away…"

Malcolm passed a weary hand over his eyes. He felt part of the blame for what had happened. "Yes, you did. But I didn't really go out of my way to try and get past your barriers," he muttered.

There was another heavy silence and Malcolm saw Trip's eyes travel over his bruises again. "You ok?" he asked, wincing.

"Fine."

Predictably, Trip shot him a sceptical look, so Malcolm added, in a fairly good impersonation of the ship's physician, "Bruises and cracked ribs; nothing extraordinary for Mr. Reed." He was glad to see his friend's face relax in a genuine smile. "But only thanks to your target shooting," he went on more seriously. "You may have showed up a bit late, but saved my life down there; I was going to lose that fight."

Phlox appeared, and Malcolm bit his lip, trading a glance with Trip. He should have known the Doctor would have unobtrusively been keeping an eye on them; he just hoped he had not overheard his imitation.

"Commander, I think you ought to rest now," the Denobulan said, checking Trip's monitors. "And you too, Lieutenant. Your shift doesn't start for another three hours. Why don't you go and lie down again; you might yet catch a little sleep."

"Three hours?" Trip frowned. "What time is it?"

"Nearly five a.m.," Phlox replied.

"Just give me another minute, Doc," Trip asked in an pleading voice. "I'm feelin' ok, I swear."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "You and Mr. Reed will never change. As soon as you feel slightly better, you start wanting to do as you please," he complained. "All right," he added, walking off. "But just a minute."

Trip didn't look like he'd been listening to that at all; Malcolm felt again under scrutiny as his friend's gaze studied him closely, and this time he knew it wasn't because of his bruises.

"What's up, Malcolm?" Trip enquired. "'Cause somehow I doubt you had planned to pay me a visit this early in the mornin'."

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly and passed a hand through his hair. "I suppose feeling a friend fading away under your hand as his blood seeps through your fingers wins you a free subscription to Nightmares," he said with wry sarcasm, shooting Trip a dark glance.

Trip raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in understanding, and Malcolm smirked, knowing that was not all of it.

"And…"

"And?"

"And as if that weren't enough, I failed the Captain, the ship, Starfleet… whatever," he continued in misery and anger. "A couple of days ago we were attacked and boarded by four Ferendellians, and they got away with a good deal of information on our W5 engine."

"Knowing you, I'm sure you did everything you could to prevent that," Trip said, seeking his eyes.

Malcolm slumped in his chair. "Of course I did, but does it matter? What counts is the result."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He shouldn't burden Trip with more worries, but it felt so good being able to unburden himself with a friend, this friend… He had missed that. The weeks since that messy Terra Prime business and little Elizabeth's death had been hard and lonely for him too. But now perhaps that time was over.

Taking as deep a breath as he dared, he pushed up, getting ready to leave. "I'll be fine, Trip," he said, seeing concern in the blue gaze. "It's that… well, you know me. I don't take failure lightly."

"I think we both need to restart some of the good habits we've recently abandoned, Lieutenant," Trip said with a faint smile. "Habits that involve beer."

Malcolm felt warm relief spread through him. "I would like that very much," he said with feeling. With a smile he added, "I'll let you rest, then, so you get out of here soon," He made to leave but Trip stopped him.

"Just another thing, Malcolm," he said. "When I talked to the Capt'n…" He hesitated; then seemed to find the right words. "It sounded like he felt responsible for what happened down there. I was sure he'd put an official reprimand on my file, but he doesn't seem to have a mind to do it…"

Malcolm lowered his gaze to the floor. "I'm afraid it's partly my doing," he admitted after a beat. He had known sooner or later he would have had to tell Trip this; but he would have rather it had been later. "Before we launched, I told Captain Archer I felt you might not… be ready to go on a dangerous mission. He disagreed. He pressed me to tell him whether or not I felt comfortable having you with me, and I said it was fine." Struggling, he met Trip's eyes again. "Now Archer thinks I was right; that you should have stayed on board."

Trip's pale and obviously drained face became troubled.

"I should have come to you with my qualms in the first place, but we were hardly speaking to each other…" Malcolm mumbled regretfully. He cursed himself for the umpteenth time in the last few days. It seemed that everything he did or said these days ended up hurting someone.

"Do you think I shouldn't have gone?" Trip asked deadpan.

Malcolm didn't want to answer that question. He didn't know how to. He pursed his lips. "I… I don't really know. It's hard to think objectively and…"

"Lieutenant, I'd be grateful if you left now," Phlox said sternly, appearing from nowhere as he often did. "I thought you had asked for one more minute, Commander," he added with a severe look at Trip. "Look at you, you are exhausted."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Malcolm muttered. "I'll leave right away."

He silently blessed the physician's timely appearance. He felt so confused about this whole business. He had a strange feeling he didn't have the entire picture; that something still escaped him.

"Get some rest; we'll talk later," he told Trip, hoping this last bit of conversation wouldn't set them back again just now that the old Trip seemed to be coming back. Trip nodded silently, lost in thought, and Malcolm went away with a heavy heart.

TBC