Here is the last chapter of this adventure. A heartfelt thank you to all my readers and reviewers.

§ 9 §

Archer stood in the middle of sickbay, behind the privacy curtain that was partially drawn around two beds, feeling a little lost.

It was not something he was used to – feeling lost.

Back at the time when he and Duval had been rivals for that first Warp 2 flight, he had been so damn certain of himself. He had known that he had what it took to make a good Starfleet Captain: courage, self-assurance, leadership. And he had been a good Captain; even in the most difficult circumstances, during the Expanse. He had accomplished his mission and saved Earth to the sacrifice of himself - himself as in character, ethics, friends…

Now, though, as he looked at two particular bio-beds and the people who lay on them, he felt none of that self-assurance. Was he still a good Captain? Did he still have what it took? For the good of his crew, he had to ask himself that.

Maybe the Expanse had burned him. Maybe, as the sacrificial victim of that mission he, as a Captain, had expired, given his last breath; and should resign.

The question had hovered at the fringe of his consciousness for a while, but he had always pushed it back. Now, maybe, it was time he addressed it.

Lately he had let his pride have the better of him. He had been mad when Trip had left Enterprise; and furious when Malcolm had deceived him. And in both cases his anger had stemmed mostly from the fact that he had put himself at the centre of the picture as the offended party. He should have stopped and weighed things with the poise and detachment that his position required, and realised that if two friends, two trusted members of his crew, had behaved out of character it wasn't necessarily with the intention to hurt him.

Trip had left Enterprise with his heart in pieces. It should've been damn clear, that time in his ready room; but jealousy had blinded him. Yes, he'd been jealous that Trip hadn't opened up to him, and had put his love-life problems before their friendship. He had turned sour and selfish, making it even harder for them both. What had happened to his insight; to his compassion and understanding, qualities he had once told T'Pol he would never give up?

Talking of not opening up…

Archer shifted his gaze from the biobed on which Phlox lay – oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, alien ridges glistening with perspiration – to the pale and still form of his Armoury Officer, on the next one. A bandage covered Malcolm's nose, bruising creeping out from under it.

With Malcolm he'd been resentful to the point of cruelty, that time in the brig. Sure, he had been rightly furious because his ship was about to disintegrate, but there had also been his offended pride, the idea that his man had put another commanding officer before him; it had made him overstep the boundary of his rank and prey on the difficult relationship he knew Malcolm had with his father. Damnit, he had pushed the usually restrained man to the brink of tears. Hadn't it been obvious that someone had twisted Malcolm's arm? That the Lieutenant had been deeply conflicted?

In that shuttle, as he waited for the fatidic moment of no return, when he would have had to give the order to lift off without two members of his away party, he had suddenly realised how much he still cared about his Armoury Officer, and that he could have shown a bit more insight in that circumstance as well.

Archer took the last couple of steps to Phlox's bed.

Trip had already regretted his transfer, and asked to come back. Malcolm would have given up his life to protect the crew from that virus; and in the end he had brought Phlox back, safe if not exactly sound. These were no traitors; these were trusted Officers and friends. And if a traitor must be found, maybe he should just look into a mirror.

T'Pol's voice drew him from his abstraction, and Archer twisted to see her talk quietly to a couple of medics. When she turned, their gazes met. With the grace and poise that always distinguished her, she approached.

"How are they?" Archer enquired, straightening his shoulders and schooling his features.

T'Pol's steady dark gaze lingered on his for a few long seconds, silently letting him know she wouldn't be fooled by his pretences. Then she crossed her arms loosely over her chest.

"Doctor Phlox is responding to the cure, but the virus is quite aggressive on his particular physiology," she replied, glancing briefly at her 'patient'. "I am keeping him constantly monitored."

"Malcolm?" Archer asked quietly. He suddenly realised that he had started calling him by the first name again, even in his thoughts; it melted a knot in his chest.

"The Lieutenant will be fine. He needs rest, but his fever is already abating. There were traces of some drug in his blood, and the medics found a puncture mark on his shoulder – as they did on Phlox's thigh; they were probably anesthesized. Mister Reed's nose was fractured; the medics have splinted it."

Archer silently nodded. "How about the doctors of the Science Station?"

T'Pol blinked, and feeling shone briefly in her gaze. "I'm afraid there was nothing we could do for Doctor Sahak and Doctor Vinci."

Her voice was veiled, and for a moment she looked uncharacteristically frail. He wasn't the only one who had sacrificed himself for the mission in the Expanse – Archer mused; T'Pol had perhaps sacrificed even more, compromising her Vulcan character. He felt a sudden fatherly impulse to take her slim form into his arms. He wished for a moment he could be her friend, and not her Captain.

Recovering her emotional balance, T'Pol went on, "The other doctors are struggling, but I am confident we can save them. Doctor Trenton-"

"Doctor Trenton is the least of my worries," Archer cut her off sharply, swept off by a sudden wave of anger. He took a claming breath. "I'm sorry," he forced out. "Go ahead."

"Doctor Trenton is recovering in the brig," she resumed, dark eyes boring into his. "But he is showing signs of paranoia. He seems to think Starfleet wants him dead."

"He created his own demons," Archer said gravely. "I'm afraid he'll have to live with them now." He passed a tired hand over his face.

"Captain, your cranial ridges may have disappeared, but I believe you should rest. You are displaying signs of exhaustion."

Resolve to send him to his quarters rang out clearly in her voice. Archer shot his SIC a narrowed-eye look. "Such as?" he bit back.

"Such as a short temper," she easily replied, lifting her eyebrows.

Archer let out a slow breath, feeling older than his age.

"Maybe my exhaustion is more serious than we think," he croaked out. He gave an inner smirk. Maybe it was T'Pol who should take him into her arms in a soothing embrace.

T'Pol tilted her head to one side, looking to ponder the meaning of his words. He had no doubt that she would get it pretty quickly.

Iindeed, she said, "You should not doubt yourself," after a pause. "We have been through a lot, and as the Captain you bore the heaviest burden. Your crew understands that."

"A Captain can't allow personal emotions to influence the way he treats his crew," he countered. A difficult admission; but he valued T'Pol's advice. He wondered with mild amusement what Soval would say, if he heard him talk like that.

"The fact that you understand that is a sign that you will not allow it to happen again."

T'Pol's serene face was like a calm sea, and he took comfort from it.

"Your experience will guide you in the right direction," she went on with her quiet logic. "That and rest," she added meaningfully.

"All right," Archer sighed. Just then Malcolm decided to stir. "Give me a moment," he told her.

T'Pol glanced at the Lieutenant; then back at him. "I will remain in Sickbay, in case I am needed." With a nod, she left.

Archer walked around Phlox's bed to Malcolm's. The man was shifting under his sheet; after a moment his eyes cracked open, but it took them a while to focus.

"Captain," he eventually choked out in a slightly nasal voice, sluggishly starting to scramble to a straighter position.

As he put a restraining hand out to stop him, Archer couldn't help smiling. The last thing Malcolm had seen before drifting into unconsciousness was the gaze of his Captain looking at him, and now it was also the first thing he found upon drifting back to reality. The man must feel haunted.

"Easy, Lieutenant," he said. "You're going to be fine, but take it slowly."

Malcolm's expression remained somewhat wary. He slowly took stock of himself, raising a tentative hand to his nose; then turned to his surroundings. "The Doctor?" he enquired, worry entering his voice as his eyes took in the less than reassuring sight of Phlox lying next by.

Archer half-turned and looked at the Denobulan. "He's struggling, but T'Pol says he's responding to the cure." He grimaced. "Unfortunately I can't say the same for Doctor Sahak and Doctor Vinci. They didn't make it."

Malcolm closed his eyes, relaxing back on his pillow. "I tried..." he breathed out.

"I'm sure you did your best."

The grey eyes blinked open again, unusually unguarded. The man's self-discipline generally reined in any kind of emotion. Not now.

"I'm truly sorry," the Lieutenant murmured. "Phlox considered Sahak a friend."

"Love, of any kind, does not exist without pain," Archer reasoned out loud. The words were hardly out of his mouth than he realised they were rather loaded, given the strained relationships there had been on board, lately. Indeed they caused a frown to crease Malcolm's brow.

Hand on his chest, the man turned away for a fit of coughing, which made him go a shade paler.

"You need to rest," Archer said, getting ready to leave.

"Captain..." Malcolm choked out, turning back. He cleared his throat, catching his breath. "Before, on that planet… My tone was entirely out of line, Sir, and…" He faltered, ill-at-ease.

Right. The Lieutenant hadn't exactly been a model of propriety. Archer lifted his eyebrows. "I should undoubtedly throw you in the brig," he quipped. "But at the moment it already holds a guest."

"That didn't stop you before, Sir," the Armoury Officer observed in a low voice, with a direct look.

Archer studied the taut but expectant face before him. It wasn't often that Malcolm was this open – challenging, even – with him. Was it the man's way of asking where they stood?

"That time you deserved it," he said in all honesty, though carefully checking his tone.

Malcolm's eyes shifted away; then back. He pursed his lips. "I know I failed you, Sir," he said deep in his chest. "I cannot undo what I did. But if you're wondering whether you can still trust me-"

"Lieutenant," Archer cut him off. But when silence fell, he was suddenly at a loss for the right words.

Hell, it wasn't all that difficult.

"Sometimes it takes losing something – or someone – to realise how important they are to you," he said, rubbing a hand on his forehead. He paused, emotion still raw in him as he remembered. "In that shuttle, as time was running out, I thought I'd lost you and Phlox. I'm glad I didn't. Both of you."

He placed a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, like in the old times. "I need my Armoury Officer. This Armoury Officer. Get back on your feet and quickly." Breaking the moment with a playful lift of the eyebrows, he concluded, "That's an order."

Malcolm's mouth tightened briefly, before curving into a smile. "Gladly, Sir," he croaked out. "You know how much I like staying in sickbay."

§ A week later §

Checking his posture in the mirror, Malcolm stretched his arms above his head, enjoying the pull on each vertebra of his spine. He had chosen dinner time to come to the gym so he could be alone for the first time he worked out, after his illness. He hadn't done more than twenty minutes of light exercise, but it felt good to be able to do some physical activity again.

"Hey, are ya even s'pposed to be in here?"

The unmistakable Southern drawl made him refocus, and in the reflection he watched Trip enter, sweatpants and T-shirt, and towel around his neck. It was strange for the Engineer to be here at this time, but he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad. It was high time they picked up on their friendship.

"I'm not doing anything strenuous," Malcolm said, turning to him. "Besides, I've got Phlox's green light."

Trip chuckled. "I suspect Phlox's own desire to get back to work, this time, has a lot to do with that."

Malcolm felt a smile bud on his face. Shaking his head in amusement, he agreed, "It seems the man can't stand his own medicine."

"Well, ya know what they say, about doctors bein' the worst patients." Still chuckling, Trip climbed on a stationary bike and set his exercise. "You two might even start gettin' along." A grin was firmly in place as he started pedalling.

"We're both protectors, for one," Malcolm quipped back. His smile fell abruptly as the thought of the two lives that had been lost chased all happiness away.

Leaning forward on the handlebars, Trip fixed determined blue eyes in his cloudy ones.

"You're not gonna brood on me, now, are you? It's already a miracle you managed to save as many lives as you did; yours and Phlox's included."

After all this time, Trip could read him like a book. Malcolm grunted an assent, but wondered if the Engineer would ever fully understand what losing a life that could've been saved meant to him. Not because the man was callous; on the contrary, Trip was a very sensitive person. But it didn't fall on him to keep people from harm. When a life was lost there wasn't only grief to deal with, but also a damning feeling of failure that didn't leave him for days on end.

If he had managed to break the lock of the main lab sooner… If he had prevented Trenton from starting the self-destruct sequence… If he had thought of searching the man, and found the cure sooner… If they had made it back a few hours earlier… If, if, if. Invariably, when something went wrong, his mind was full of ifs.

"Have you talked to Phlox?" the Engineer asked.

"Hmm?" Malcolm frowned, a bit confused. Of course he had talked to Phlox.

"You know… about Sahak and Vinci."

Walking to his water bottle, Malcolm picked it up. "Yeah," he muttered. "Phlox was quite understanding. I must say, he's been overly benevolent with me, lately."

The silence that followed was rather eloquent. Right, he hadn't filled Trip in yet on his foolhardiness.

Malcolm took a deep breath and turned to his friend. "That time..." He licked his lips, knowing by Trip's undivided attention that he didn't need to specify which time. "I purposefully hindered Enterprise's search for him," he forced out.

He watched Trip's face react to the words, a veil falling over it to cover any emotion. The man slowed down his pedalling and came to a halt.

"Why would you do something like that?" he asked, frozen in place, blue eyes boring into him.

Malcolm swallowed. "I lied to the Captain, trying to throw Enterprise off-course," he went on, ignoring Trip's question. "When he found out and questioned me, I refused to reply. So he threw me in the brig." He watched Trip narrow his eyes. "When those Klingon attacked us and placed the ship in danger, I..." Malcolm closed his own. "I still didn't answer his questions."

"Why would you, of all people, do something like that?" Trip repeated.

"Because I'm a bloody idiot," Malcolm huffed. He uncorked his bottle and took a swig, more to escape Trip's gaze than for anything else.

"And?"

Eyes carefully averted, Malcolm wiped an arm over his mouth. "I was made to believe Phlox was on an important mission for Earth. I was to protect it by hindering Enterprise's search for him."

"You were made to believe... by who?"

Trip was keeping his voice carefully level; but his disturbing stillness was shouting. Malcolm took another steadying breath, hoping that after this conversation things could still be the same between them. He had just patched things up with Archer, he didn't want to break them with this friend; especially now that he had come back.

"By someone called Harris. My former CO," he said, summoning the courage to look Trip straight in the eye. In a voice that came out hoarser than he'd intended, he added, "I worked for him as a covert agent, long before Enterprise."

Trip blinked a couple of times; then let out a low whistle.

"Why didn't you confide in the Capt'n?" he wondered after a long pause. Releasing the handlebars, he sat up straight and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd have expected you-"

"I wanted to, but Harris forbade me," Malcolm cut in vehemently. He passed a hand through his hair, pulling on the nape of his neck. "I knew nothing of the attempt to create Klingon Augments, I swear; that Phlox would find himself in danger," he went on in earnest. "I was used." He blew out a breath. "I told you: I'm an idiot."

Trip looked at him deadpan for a moment; then raised his hands, palms out. "Okay, I believe you."

Malcolm groaned. "Is that all you're going to say?"

Rolling his eyes upwards, Trip made a show to think hard. "Want to share a couple of beers tonight?" he eventually asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Malcolm blurted out, "I'd like that."

So they hadn't needed a cold start after all. He turned from Trip and closed his eyes, needing a moment to himself because he felt giddy with the sudden release of tension. Maybe the crew of the Enterprise could leave their demons behind, and be once again the men and women that nobody and nothing could pull apart.

"A covert agent?" he heard Trip mutter in disbelief. "Honestly, Malcolm…"

Blinking his eyes open, Malcolm realised he had forgotten about the mirror. Trip was studying him. He met his friend's reflected gaze. "Yes," he stuttered awkwardly.

Dropping back into position, Trip resumed his pedalling, a smile playing on his face. "Kind of like James Bond?"

Malcolm sighed, knowing what was coming. Still, to get his friend back…

"Ya know what we're gonna talk about, over those beers, right?"

… it was a worthwhile price. He was forgiven.

THE END

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