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24

Malcolm frowned, re-read what he had written, and, with a sigh, reached out to delete it. He'd only gotten as far as "Dear Mother and Father, I hope you are well", and if he proceeded like this, he'd finish the letter come next Christmas. He wasn't even sure why he had deleted the few words; eventually, that was how his letter would begin, anyway. There wasn't much else he could say, was there?

"Dear Mother and Father, I hope you are living it up"? Not bloody likely.

"Dear Mother and Father, I hope you aren't alienating the neighbours again and complaining about their lawn sprinklers"? That was true, but not something he could write in his first letter home since two years. Or in any letter, come to think of it.

"Dear Mother and Father, some things have happened and I'd like to tell you about them"? That was exactly what he couldn't write; Reed family communication didn't work that way. Exchanging information along the lines of "I've been posted to Enterprise" was acceptable (even if the posting to Enterprise was not), formal statements ("Captain Archer is a fine commanding officer") would also pass muster, and maybe even cautious good wishes like "keep well" or "kind regards". But there would be no faffing around with sentimentalities, and if there had been profound changes in someone's life, well, those were best kept to oneself, anyway, weren't they.

Captain Archer, of course, didn't understand this. He'd called Malcolm's parents while Malcolm had still been in sickbay, and had conveyed Mother's request to "tell the boy to write soon", along with an admonition of his own to send the letter as soon as possible. "They were worried about you, Malcolm. I think they need to hear it from you that you're back safe and sound."

Safe and sound. Well, he was safe, anyway, and working on the sound part. Phlox had released him the day before, and had sent him to rest in his quarters, under the condition that he reported to sickbay twice a day and didn't set a foot in the Armory. Malcolm wasn't too worried about the latter part. First acquaintances, then quite good friends, he and the doctor had developed their own way of reaching an understanding. "Not a foot in the Armory" translated as "you may drop by once or twice, just to check that things are in order", whereas "do not even think of going there, and that's an order" meant that Phlox actually wanted him to stay away from the place. He'd deferred to the doctor's orders in that he had only poked his head in, had shook hands and answered smiles before he'd left again to make his way to his quarters. Prior to his visit, Ensign Müller had sent him a status report on what had happened during the last three months, which was sitting, unopened, in Malcolm's inbox.

Three months. Not what you'd call a long time, actually. He'd been trained to survive under harsh conditions longer than that. And maybe that was just what he should have done, after he'd crawled ashore with Trip in tow. Should have found a shelter, a hiding place, and tried to survive. There was a chance that the Vulcans would have never discovered them. There was a chance Enterprise would have found them sooner. There was also a chance that Trip would have died in the wilderness.

Malcolm sighed. He knew there was no sense in going over different scenarios, picturing his own options, picturing Trip's. What he should do was finish the note to his parents – if he was honest with himself, he'd never intended to write a full-length letter – read Müller's report, and then catch some sleep. His bandaged ribs ached, and while he recognized it as a sign that they were healing, their constant dull throbbing "sucked the life outta him", as Trip would say. Sitting here writing and deleting the same nine words wasn't a productive way of spending his first evening out of sickbay.

"You're not so brave now, are you, pau'kaluk?"

The voice came out of nowhere, and almost made him flinch, although he knew – knew – that there was no one in the room with him. T'Mai. And how right she'd been.

Still is, another voice said, and this voice he knew very well. Cynical, whiney, self-pitying, the coward was there, and more alive than ever. There's no reason why you should feel the way you do. Out of touch. Empty. Tired, even when you wake up from ten hours of sound sleep. Hell, there's no reason why you shouldn't be happy. You realize that, don't you? You realize that you're the kind of person who looks for trouble like other people look for missing puzzle pieces, turning your life inside out until you've found another piece that will fit into the picture of misery you're putting together?

He realized it, of course. He should be glad that he was back, that he still had his job – yes, there would be counseling and there would be a psych assessment, but he was confident that he'd be able to fake his way through them – and that, unlike Trip, he hadn't sustained any permanent damage. Even the scars on his back were easily removed by laser therapy, or so Phlox had said. It was when he'd seen the scars that the doctor had first suggested counseling sessions. Knowing that it was the easiest thing to do, Malcolm had shrugged non-committally, although he knew that he'd never tell any smiling Starfleet shrink on a screen about the sunny yard and the blood.

"So you're saying the Vulcan whipped you until you screamed like a tortured cat, while his minions were waiting for him to be done so they could drag you off to the bunkhouse to gangbang you? How did that make you feel, Lieutenant?"

"Well, doctor, I'm not sure, but I think it made me feel like I would like to kill every one of them as slowly and painfully as possible."

"That is very interesting, Lieutenant, why don't we continue next week."

No, he couldn't tell one of these people any more than he could tell his parents. Which didn't change the fact that he still had the message to finish. The Captain was right; he owed them at least that much. And if it didn't contain much more than "I hope you are well" and his best wishes, well, maybe that was for the best.

He'd written the first two lines of his note/letter when the door chime sounded.

"Come," he called, wondering if Phlox had decided to make a house-call. Surprise visits were another strategy the doctor used in their little warfare, amicable though it was.

It wasn't Phlox who had come to check on his captive, though. When he saw who was leaning in the doorframe, an almost shy grin on his face, Malcolm got up from his deskchair.

"You're supposed to be in sickbay."

Trip's grin became more confident. "An' you're supposed to be in bed. I remember the doctor tellin' you to get some rest. So, can I come in?"

"Please."

Trip walked into the room, or rather, limped inside. When Malcolm stepped forward to help him, he shook his head.

"Thanks, I'm good."

He wasn't "good", Malcolm saw that as Trip slowly made his way over to the small couch and sat down. It was obvious that even the exhaustion of walking from sickbay to Malcolm's quarters had pushed him to the limits, and that, when he'd arrived, it was either sitting down or falling down. His face was pale and drawn, and the loose-fitting pajamas underlined just how much weight he'd lost.

Noticing Trip's foot, Malcolm blinked. The engineer had pulled a giant white sock over the stabilizing cast, and the effect was rather strange, as if the foot and ankle were encased in an old-fashioned plaster.

"Are you supposed to walk around with that?"

Trip shrugged. "Phlox didn't say I couldn't."

Malcolm was fairly sure that Phlox had at least implied it, but he said nothing. He knew how it was with sickbay; sometimes, you just couldn't stay there, just had to be somewhere else. And if Trip had decided that his "somewhere else" was Malcolm's quarters, who was he to complain?

"Whatcha doin'?" Trip nodded at the screen.

"Writing a letter to my parents."

"Oh." Trip shifted a little on the couch. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't." Malcolm smiled ruefully. "In fact, there wasn't much to interrupt. I... I'm not sure what to say to them."

Trip nodded. "I know what you mean. Called my folks earlier today. It was kinda awkward."

"Yes?" Malcolm was surprised. The Tuckers had always seemed like the kind of family who shared everything from their peanut butter sandwiches to their deepest secrets.

Trip sighed. "It's just... it's not like I can tell them much. Most of it's classified, anyway. Cap'n said that Starfleet doesn't want the media to get hold of the thing."

Malcolm hadn't considered that side of things, but it made perfect sense. Relations between humans and Vulcans were always a touchy subject, and there were those who would jump at an opportunity like this. No doubt Starfleet and the High Command were doing their utmost to keep the story under wraps.

"I'm sure they were relieved to see you."

"Yeah. It was good to talk to them. I jus' wish they wouldn't worry so much."

Malcolm said nothing. He could see why the Tuckers had been worried, seeing their son like this. It wasn't only the injuries; in fact, Malcolm was willing to bet that Trip had omitted to tell them about the amputated toes. But there was something about Trip's expression, his eyes, that must have struck them immediately. Malcolm had seen it in the Captain's face when he'd come to visit them in sickbay. He and Trip had exchanged the usual small-talk about water-polo finals and mutual acquaintances back on Earth, both struggling visibly to keep their tone light and relaxed, but it hadn't felt real. It was almost like his fateful breakfast with the Captain a lifetime ago, when he'd felt too awkward even to touch the food on his plate. Worse, even, considering the close friendship Trip and the Captain shared. Back in sickbay, Archer hadn't been able to reach Trip, and it had hurt him. It must have hurt Trip's family, as well.

Out of touch. It seemed that he wasn't the only one.

"You know..." Trip's voice was very soft, so that Malcolm had to strain his ears to hear the words. "Back in the factory, this was all that kept me goin'." His gesture included Malcolm's quarters, the entire ship. "I kept thinkin', one day I'll be back here. With you, with the Cap'n, and everything's gonna be alright."

"Optimism," Malcolm said. There was no irony in his tone. It was long ago that he'd considered Trip's optimism "treacly", and had berated the man for it. He knew that without it, Trip would most likely not be sitting here.

"Yeah, I know. The thing is, though..." Trip trailed off, then laughed a little. "It's stupid, I guess."

Malcolm had a feeling that he knew quite well what "the thing" was. "It's not alright, is it?"

Trip slowly shook his head. "It's like you're the only one who knows that I'm really back. Everybody else... the way they're lookin' at me..."

Malcolm nodded. It had been the same when Travis and Hoshi had come to see him in sickbay. Hoshi had kissed him and Travis had punched him – he still sported the bruise on his upper arm – but he hadn't missed those imperceptible glances passing between them, the way their smiles slipped a bit when he wasn't looking their way. Trip had put it quite aptly; somehow, to them he wasn't quite back, not the way it mattered.

"Maybe," he said softly, "we aren't back yet. Not entirely."

He expected to receive a strange look in return, but Trip only nodded. "Maybe not."

Silence followed after that, then Malcolm said something he hadn't expected to say at all. "You can come here whenever you like, you know."

Trip looked at him, and Malcolm's cheeks grew warm. He smirked to conceal his reaction. "Any time. As far as I'm informed, rumor has it that I don't sleep."

Trip grinned. "Yeah, I heard that one." He became serious again, his eyes never leaving Malcolm as he said, "Same here, y'know. Whenever you like."

Malcolm nodded, knowing that Trip wouldn't take his silent acknowledgment as rejection. And he was glad. Back in sickbay, he'd found just how bad the nightmares could be, and how much it helped not to be alone when they came.

The comm beeped, and Malcolm, glad to have something to do with his hands, turned to his console.

"Reed here."

"This is Phlox." The doctor sounded somewhat annoyed, and Malcolm felt a grin tugging at his mouth. Maybe Trip and Phlox should devise their own code of understanding about sickbay protocol. "You don't happen to have seen the Commander, Lieutenant?"

"He's not in sickbay?" Malcolm asked in his best innocent tone.

"No..." There was a sigh from the comm speaker. "It seems that he decided to leave while I was in the messhall."

"Really?" His voice held just the right amount of righteous indignation.

"If you see him, could you tell him to return here, please? I haven't discharged him yet."

"Of course, doctor."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Phlox out."

Malcolm swiveled around in his desk chair to face a grinning Trip. "You do know that I'll be accused of connivance when he finds out?"

"Yep." Trip leaned back on the couch and folded his arms behind his head. "But he won't come here to look for me, at least not any time soon. You sounded real convincing."

"Covert ops is my field of expertise."

Trip laughed. "So you don't mind if I stay a while?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Not at all. Here," he picked up a blanket from his bed and tossed it to Trip, who caught it with one hand.

"Thanks. Mind if I borrow your music player?"

Malcolm handed him the requested item, and Trip settled back on the couch, plugged the earphones into place and closed his eyes. Malcolm watched him for another moment before he turned back to his desk and the waiting letter on the screen.

He read what he'd written so far, and smiled a little. Yes, he'd finish the letter, but not now. Someone else waiting to hear from him, too, and as it happened, he'd thought of just the thing to tell her.

Malcolm paused a little, then began to type.

"Dear Maddy, I'm sorry I haven't written earlier..."

"Istau'e kupi'hafauer'si'mun weh'tor." Hoshi smiled and raised her hand, her fingers parted to form a V. "Herboshere'si kai."

You will be missed. Malcolm wasn't really surprised to find that he understood what she was saying. He'd heard enough spoken Vulcan during the last few months to brush up what little he'd remembered from his Academy course, and add several new phrases to his vocabulary.

"I'tora, duhsu!" , for example - do it now, idiot. Or "Taflaue kai" - you're going to get it. And, of course, the all-time favorite, "pau'kaluk".

He wondered what the two young Vulcans would say if he used the word in front of them, what Hoshi would say, before he caught himself. This wasn't right. The senior crew had assembled at the airlock to say goodbye to the two Vulcans - to Halan and Mevak, and he knew that he had all reason to be grateful to the two men. If not for them, it would have taken Enterprise a lot longer to cross the doorway. Maybe the Captain would have been forced to give up at some point, ordered to leave by Starfleet Command, and Trip and he would have...

Malcolm tried for a smile as he turned to the taller of the two men, Halan.

"Thank you for your help," he said. "We appreciate it." It didn't come out as cordially as he'd intended; in fact, he sounded rather cool. Nor was he the only one who had noticed, from the looks he was getting. Only Trip kept his eyes to himself, studying the deck at his feet.

"I mean, we're very grateful," Malcolm added, but he knew that the damage had been done.

"Yeah," Trip said quietly. "Thanks. And good luck with your mission."

The two Vulcan men didn't seem offended, although they must have noticed that something strange was going on. "Thank you," Halan said. "May you have a safe journey, Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed."

Malcolm sensed that he wasn't only referring to Enterprise's next mission. "You too."

"Well," Captain Archer said, in a tone he often used when launching into a speech. "On behalf of Starfleet and my crew, I'd like to thank you for your help and dedication. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for you." Malcolm caught the Captain's meaningful look, and accepted it by lowering his eyes. Archer turned back to Halan and Mevak. "Before you leave, there's something we'd like to give you. An old Earth custom," he added when he noticed their puzzled expressions. "With humans, it's customary to give someone a going-away present."

Travis stepped forward, a box wrapped in tissue paper in his hands. "We hope you'll like it," he said.

Halan accepted the box with a bewildered look. "It is... aesthetically pleasing."

"According to human tradition, gifts are wrapped in paper before they are handed over," T'Pol explained calmly. "The receiver is required to tear it off the box."

Mevak blinked. "Why is it necessary to tear it?"

Hoshi smiled. "It's not an obligation. Sometimes the person who receives the gift is so excited about the present that they can't wait to see what's inside. It's okay to unwrap it slowly, though, if you like."

"We shall honor your tradition," Halan answered solemnly. He proceeded to tear the wrapping paper into small strips, handing them to Mevak, who carefully collected them. Malcolm saw Travis and Hoshi exchange a smile.

Eventually, Halan had removed the last bit of paper and opened the box.

"Spak'eti," he said, and there was more than a hint of excitement in his voice. Malcolm wasn't sure what Halan was talking about, until the man took a lengthy brown parcel, topped with a red bow, out of the box.

"Chef's compliments," Travis smiled. "We thought you might like to take some with you, after you enjoyed them so much."

Halan put the spaghetti back into the box. "Thank you. I shall be anticipating a very enjoyable meal."

"We shall anticipate it," Mevak said, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I will actually compel you to share them with me, ashalik."

Halan raised an eyebrow at him before reaching into the box again. This time, he took out a padd, also decorated with a bow.

"All the Bond movies ever made," Hoshi said, and her grin threatened to reach dimensions worthy of Dr. Phlox. "You can switch off the Vulcan subtitles if they're bothering you."

Mevak scrolled through the padd, eyebrows twitching. "I have not had the chance to see "Casino Royale" yet."

"There are sixty-five of them, so you'll be busy for a while," Travis said.

This time, it was Halan who almost smiled. "I shall ensure that he still leaves our quarters from time to time," he said, earning himself an indignantly raised eyebrow from the other man.

The Vulcan mask slipped back into place as Halan turned to T'Pol. "We thank you for your expertise and guidance, T'Sai," he said, and T'Pol inclined her head, acknowledging the respectful address.

"Your contribution to this mission was essential," she said. Malcolm knew that out of her mouth, this was very high praise indeed. "I shall make sure that the High Command is informed about your efforts."

The two Vulcans bowed respectfully to her, then to Captain Archer. "Thank you for your hospitality, Captain." They turned to Travis and Hoshi, and Malcolm was surprised to see the stiff formality fading.

"I hope we can meet again," Halan said. "Thank you for the present."

Travis grinned. "You're welcome."

"Don't forget to write," Hoshi added, and Mevak inclined his head.

"We shall not forget."

A signal from the airlock indicated that the Vuhnaya was ready to take her officers aboard. Before they went to the airlock, however, Mevak took something out of his pocket and, to Malcolm's utter surprise, held it out to him.

"Please take it," the Vulcan said, and there was something in his eyes Malcolm couldn't quite identify. "I have been told that Enterprise will head to Vulcan next to confer with the High Council. I would like you to have this."

Malcolm hesitated, then took the item he was being offered. It was a small, Vulcan-style datachip.

Mevak looked at Trip. "Aksh'lze," he said quietly. Then, he turned away and went to Halan, who had been watching them silently.

"Trasha'a'e'si, ashalik," he said, following his partner to the open airlock.

They watched as the two Vulcans left, travel bags in one hand, goodbye presents in the other. Malcolm felt the small, hard square of the chip in his hand, shrugging when he noticed Trip's questioning look. He had no idea what the Vulcan had given him, and how it was connected with Enterprise's going to Vulcan.

"There is a place on Vulcan," T'Pol said quietly. Hoshi gave her a curious glance, but, since the Subcommander's words were clearly meant for Malcolm and Trip, didn't stop to listen.

"What kind of place?" Trip asked.

"I assume humans would call it a temple," T'Pol answered. "It does not have a religious purpose, however. It is an ancient and sacred place, and there are powers there that many modern Vulcans prefer not to acknowledge. Yet, in times of need, they are still sought."

With that, she left, and Malcolm looked after her, realizing for the first time that she, above all others, had helped to rescue them and bring them back to Enterprise. It had been her plan, her scientific expertise, her calm and controlled judgment, and all the time, she had stayed in the background - observing, leading, assisting, not expecting anything in return because what she was doing was only logical.

"There goes someone else who deserves a thank-you," Trip said quietly, reading Malcolm's mind not for the first time.

Malcolm nodded. "Yes," he said. "She does."

TBC…

Epilogue soon to come up! Please let me know what you think!