§ 4 §

The going was slow, but Trip wasn't ready to take chances. If he made the wrong move he could nullify his progress so far and have to start from zero again; not to mention that he might cause more debris to fall on Malcolm. As he threw aside the rock he had carefully removed, Trip heaved a deep breath, fighting the desire to hurry.

His left hand was beginning to hurt. Well, this wasn't exactly a sterile environment, and the bandage T'Pol had applied had gotten filthy. Great. He was probably going to give some of Phlox's creatures a good time, once they were back.

And it was damn hot and stuffy. Unzipping the top of his uniform, Trip got out of the sleeves and tied them in a knot around his waist. Then he reached for one of the canteens and took a couple of long gulps, relishing the feeling of water running down his dry throat. He wished he could give Malcolm that small comfort too.

A hiss of pain made his eyes go wide. He had eagerly waited for a sign of life from the other side of the rubble. Yes, no matter how pained. It was definitely better to hear Malcolm hiss in pain than the disquieting silence of the past half hour. He carefully capped the canteen and wiped an arm over his mouth.

"Malcolm, can you hear me?"

"Would appear so," Malcolm choked out. "What… are you doing?" he added haltingly.

"Digging you out, Lieutenant."

There was a pause.

"What happened?"

Trip, who had already heaved a relieved breath, frowned: not that damn confusion again…

"We were caught in a cave-in," he started patiently.

Malcolm grunted. "Really? You don't say."

Trip's mouth curved up in a pale smile of relief. "Ya took a trip to lala land," he re-phrased, guessing that was what Malcolm had wanted to know. He wasn't going to tell him that his trip to lala land had begun even before he'd lost consciousness. Focussing back on his task, he pulled tentatively on a large piece of rock: it seemed he could move it without risking causing an avalanche.

"Looks like we won't need that sun lotion after all," he commented, to fill the silence.

It was not easy to keep a conversation going while doing a delicate job that would have required all of his concentration, but Trip was determined not to let Malcolm fade away again.

"Right. Not much sun in here," Malcolm agreed hoarsely. "Not much… room either," he added in a voice that shook slightly with the shivers that racked him.

Trip raised his head from the task at hand and stopped a moment, grimacing. It was the first time Malcolm had hinted at being trapped in a cramped space. An image of them holding glasses filled with Andorian ale flashed through his mind, as memories of a related conversation flickered past.

"You won't be there for long," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm working at it."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm breathed out, "I wish I could… change position."

"Hurts that bad?"

Trip heard some movement, followed by a groan that spoke volumes.

"I see… stars if I shift… even slightly."

It was quite obvious that Malcolm was 'seeing stars' even if he didn't move at all. Trip let out a frustrated huff. "If only I could reach to touch your leg, I could have a hypospray of painkiller transported. But..."

A sudden thought struck him.

"Wait a minute!"

"Are you sure Malcolm will be able to inject himself?"

"Yes. His right arm is free and uninjured. Believe me, Capt'n, it's the only way, and Malcolm can really use a dose of painkiller …"

Archer, who, after deciding with T'Pol that her plan could not be implemented, had reluctantly agreed to return to Enterprise, pursed his lips. "All right, Trip," he replied after just a brief hesitation. "This crewmember never received any training in rescue operations, but I suppose he'll manage."

"Piece of cake. Honestly, Sir."

"I'll tell Phlox to get a hypospray ready."

Before signing off, Archer leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desk. "How are you doing, Commander?" he enquired directly. He hadn't missed out on the tension in his Chief Engineer's voice.

"After this away mission I hope you'll grant me some R&R, Capt'n."

Trip's light tone was so obviously forced that Archer closed his eyes, willing to re-open them and find he had just been dreaming.

"Somewhere on a sandy beach?" he asked, going along.

"Anywhere but inside a damn cave."

Archer frowned in concern. "How long till that gap is big enough for you to get Malcolm out?" He heard the other man blow out a breath.

"I don't know, an hour, maybe. I'd better get back to work. Get me that painkiller, Capt'n. The sooner the better."

"I'm on it; tell Malcolm to hold on. Archer out."

A restrained grunt now punctuated every second breath that Malcolm took. Trip could hear that his endurance was weakening, but there was still nothing he could do for him, so he willed himself not to be distracted from his job. It was the best he could do.

Removing yet another bit of rubble, Trip shoved it hastily behind him. "When we're back on Enterprise the Doc'll probably lock you in sickbay and throw away the key," he blurted out. The words had hardly left his mouth that he felt like slapping himself. Why the heck had he said such a stupid thing? To Malcolm, of all people... He must be getting tired.

Just as he had expected, though, a reply made itself rare. Trip hated these long pauses. They left him wondering if Malcolm was still with him. He bit his lip and couldn't stop himself from picking up his flashlight, which he had turned off after he had received the worklight, and once again searching the other side of the rubble. Malcolm's shivering had gotten more pronounced. Trip wished he could make eye contact with the man.

"Sickbay sounds nice," Malcolm suddenly mumbled.

Trip's heart clenched. "The painkiller will be here soon; just hold on a little longer."

A single, slurred word drifted back to him. "Cold…"

"You're injured…" Trip swallowed hard.

Another interminable pause.

"And, don't forget," he went on, suddenly feeling an urge to speak over the strained sounds so he wouldn't hear them, "Ya have been lyin' still for more than…"

"Get me out!"

The unexpected cry startled him. Panic was so alien to Malcolm's usually quiet and controlled voice that Trip's worry grew exponentially.

"Easy, Lieutenant," he urged.

"It's stuck! I'm trapped... Call mother!"

Trip scrunched his eyes closed. Come on, Capt'n, get a move on…

Archer walked into Sickbay to find Phlox waiting for him with professional concern painted all over his face.

"Do you have everything ready?" Archer asked.

The Denobulan nodded. "A hypospray with a mild dosage of painkiller, and…"

"Mild?" Archer's brow creased in puzzlement. "Trip tells me Malcolm is in a lot of pain, Doctor."

"Mr Reed has likely suffered a rather severe concussion," Phlox explained, jerking his chin down and back and sounding a bit pissed off at having been interrupted. "I can't risk medicating him too heavily until I can assess his condition." In a gentler tone he added, "I know what I'm doing, Captain."

"Alright, Doc, I'm sorry," Archer said, straightening his shoulders. "Go on."

"I'll also send down a medical scanner. If I can get a few readings before Mr Reed is moved, it would be quite helpful," Phlox said, his blue eyes darker than usual.

"Right. Let's get on with it, then," Archer said firmly. "Lieutenant Hess is waiting for us in the transporter room."

Their gazes converged of their own accord on the member of the crew chosen to accomplish this mission. He sat on a biobed, seemingly unconcerned about what he was going to get into.

Trip heard a sound and turned to see his special delivery looking at him.

"About time you got here," he greeted him, his tension easing fractionally.

"Here, Porthos."

The beagle didn't need to be asked twice and ran happily into his lap. Just then Trip's communicator chirped.

"Betcha that's Jon checking on ya." Trip flipped the device open with one hand while scratching Porthos's head with the other. "He arrived safe and sound, Capt'n," he said, anticipating Archer's enquiry.

"Good."

Even through the comm. Trip heard his Captain exhale the breath he'd obviously been holding.

"In the pouch strapped to him you'll find a hypospray of painkiller," Archer continued. "Phlox says a mild dosage is all he wants to give Malcolm for now. He doesn't want him too sedated. We also sent down a medical scanner. The Doc wouldn't mind getting an idea of Malcolm's injuries, before you try and move him."

"Understood. I'll be in touch. Tucker out."

Trip knew he had been a little on the terse side, but he was eager to get under way. He needed Malcolm's collaboration for this, and the man had been drifting in and out of his confused state. Trip was afraid that at any moment he might lose his lucidity for good.

"You're about to earn your degree as a rescue dog," Trip told Porthos as he briefly checked the contents of his pouch. Porthos just looked at him with big, brown eyes, so Trip took him by the collar and brought him close to the hole he'd been digging. The beagle was agitated. He seemed to sense that something was wrong. Trip stroked his head and back, trying to calm him down.

"Malcolm?" he called.

"Hmm…"

"Can you understand me?"

"Most of the time."

Trip allowed himself a small grin. The accent might not be sharp as usual, but that was Malcolm at his sarcastic best.

"I'm sending Porthos to you. There's a bag strapped to him, with the hypo of painkiller and a med scan. D'ya think you could take a few readings for the Doc? "

Without waiting for a reply – Malcolm didn't sound as if he had enough breath for one right now – he released Porthos's collar and nudged him towards the hole.

"Find Malcolm, Porthos. Go!"

The beagle took a look at the dark opening and sat down, whimpering.

"Come on, Porthos," Trip encouraged him, "Don't you want to be the Rin Tin Tin of the situation? Go to Malcolm!" Trip lifted the dog bodily and started putting his front paws across the hole.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm choked out just then, "Come, Porthos!"

That did it. The beagle wriggled out of Trip's hands and jumped through the hole like a circus dog.

Trip rolled his eyes. "What is it that you did that I didn't, Malcolm?" he ranted in jest, relieved that his plan seemed to be working.

"Good boy," Malcolm's strained voice floated back. "Sit."

"Can you manage?"

A moment later Trip heard the hiss of a hypospray being emptied; not long afterwards came a groan that for once expressed something other than pain.

"Better?" Trip wiped an arm over his sweaty brow. His tense body was beginning to ache.

"Thank God for painkillers," Malcolm mumbled weakly.

Too weakly.

Trip immediately grabbed the flashlight and searched the other side of the partition. Porthos's bottom and wagging tail were in full view. "Hey, I wouldn't mind you stayin' awake, Lieutenant," he urged. "You hear me? I'm not comfortable with you goin' to sleep with a head injury. I'd much rather you did that in sickbay, where Phlox can keep an eye on you."

There was a moan. "How could I sleep, with Porthos thinking I'm an ice-cream cone?"

Malcolm's light tone wavered with the shivers that still shook him, which prompted Trip to ignore his sore muscles and return to his task.

"Take those readings for Phlox," he ordered as he studied a rather large rock. Should he try to remove it? If he succeeded, the opening would probably be big enough to pass through. When he gave it a tentative pull, to see if he could shift it at all, it moved, sending some smaller rubble crumbling down. It might be feasible, though... Trip was tempted to try.

"Enough, Porthos," Malcolm complained faintly. "Stop washing my face."

Trip's mouth curved up in a smile, which didn't last long.

"Looks like both my collarbone and left arm are broken," Malcolm said in a deep voice. "The arm fracture is compound."

"Dammit." Trip passed a worried hand over his jaw. "Put the scanner back in Porthos's bag. I'll send the information up to the Doc."

A moment later, called back, the beagle reappeared with his precious cargo. Trip glanced at the readings and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was no doctor, but Malcolm's arm didn't look good.

"Trip…"

"Yeah."

"D'you think Porthos could bring me some water?"

Malcolm's accent was getting increasingly slurred; undoubtedly the sudden respite from pain was getting him drowsy.

There was a soft bark.

"Did you hear that, Lieutenant? No problem."

TBC