§ 6 §

"Captain, I'm detecting seismic activity on the eastern sector of the southern hemisphere," T'Pol reported from her station to Archer, who had just reappeared on the bridge from his ready room with Doctor Phlox in tow.

Archer frowned. "Well, that's – what – at least a couple of thousand kilometres away, isn't it?"

"Approximately two-thousand-five-hundred-and-fifty," the exact Vulcan Officer replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, it can't affect Trip and Malcolm, can it?" Archer specified in frustration. This thing with Vulcans having difficulty reading between the lines could be pretty tiresome.

"Not directly," T'Pol replied. "But it means this planet's geology is highly unstable. There could be other earthquakes, closer to where the Commander and Lieutenant are."

Archer felt several pairs of concerned eyes converge on him, and pursed his lips. "Trip is doing all he can to get them out of there. Phlox and I just spoke to him: they'll be within transporter range soon."

"Come on, I've had enough of this reeking hellhole," Trip said after he had put the communicator away. Malcolm was struggling, he could tell. But the man was stubborn enough to find the strength he needed, he felt sure about it. "You think with my help you can stand up?"

Malcolm didn't reply, but fought to raise his head off Trip's shoulder and sit straighter.

"That's it, Lieutenant."

Trip slid Malcolm's right arm around his shoulder and slipped his own left arm around the man's waist.

"You handled this great, Malcolm."

He had been impressed at how calm Malcolm had managed to remain, in general, under the circumstances. Perhaps his own presence had helped; but still, Malcolm had kept his feelings in check quite admirably.

"Painkiller helped," Malcolm slurred.

"Actually I meant… you know, bein' trapped and all," Trip said, getting ready to stand up.

"Wh… what?"

"Come on, now," he encouraged, ignoring his friend's evident confusion. "A last effort. Up…"

Trip began to push to his feet, and Malcolm valiantly fought to rise with him but when they were half way there his legs suddenly gave way. Under the unexpected weight, Trip barely succeeded in lowering them both gently enough back to the ground.

"Sorry," Malcolm said between gasps. His head lolled forward, his broken collarbone obviously making it hard and painful to hold it upright.

Trip gently pulled it back to rest against his shoulder. "No problem," he said, trying to hide his concern. "If you can't walk I'll carry you. It's just that if I pick you up I'm afraid I'll hurt your arm more. If you could gather enough strength for just a few steps... it's not far."

"I'll make it," Malcolm said doggedly. "Just give me a moment."

He didn't look like he would. In fact, he looked ready to be sick, but Trip refrained from telling him that, and turned his attention to Porthos, who was whimpering and seemed restless. The beagle kept going to the opening Trip had dug and back to them again, as if to spur them on.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Trip told him. "We'll get out soon, don't worry."

A sudden jolt made him realise that the dog was agitated for other reasons.

"Oh, hell!"

The communicator chirped, but Trip ignored it. "Come on," he shouted, tightening his grip on Malcolm's arm and waist. He pulled up a bit more violently than he should have, eliciting a stifled cry. Without wasting time and breath to apologise, Trip propelled them forward, and they took a couple of stumbling steps.

"Trip…"

"I know. I'm sorry. Just a couple of meters…"

Malcolm's legs folded under him again, and Trip had once more to break their fall.

The ground was shaking, Porthos was barking, and the communicator was chirping; Tip cursed loudly. He was about to scoop Malcolm up in his arms when the man bent over and started heaving.

This isn't exactly the right moment for that, Trip silently ranted, immediately regretting the thought.

Malcolm didn't have much in his stomach, but whatever he had wasn't going to stay there. Trip did his best to support him, as he prayed that their escape way would stay open. The quake was light but continuous, and already dust was rising in the air.

"Go…" Malcolm choked out, still bent forward, pushing weakly on Trip with his right hand. "I…" Another bout of sickness cut him off.

"Forget it," Trip growled. "I haven't dug out half the mountain to leave you here." Besides, a promise is a promise, he silently added.

Disregarding Malcolm's feeble attempts at pushing him away, Trip picked him up awkwardly. There was a groan; then the weight in his arms suddenly went limp.

"Come on, Porthos!"

The difficult part was getting on the other side of the debris. It was a tight and uncomfortable squeeze, but Trip was strongly motivated. They were barely on the other side when he felt the transporter grab them, and for the first time he truly enjoyed the sensation.

The first thing Trip did as they re-materialised was to stumble and lose his balance. He would have fallen unceremoniously off the transporter pad had someone not kept him upright. He felt strong arms gently lower him to the ground and Malcolm being lifted off him.

It took Trip a moment to realise that Archer was kneeling near him, and that Phlox and a medic were taking care of the Lieutenant, placing the unconscious form on a gurney.

"I want you in sickbay, Commander," the Doctor told him sternly with a glance in his direction, before hurrying off with his patient.

"Wouldn't miss it," Trip replied grimly.

"You two are gonna be the death of me," Archer muttered, watching his Armoury Officer being carted away.

Porthos barked.

Archer turned to him, frowning. "And don't you dare learn from them."

"I should throw you in the brig for disobeying a direct order."

Trip shrugged apologetically, shifting his eyes briefly to Archer from the work a conscientious medic was doing on his left hand.

"What went through your mind?" Archer asked, with an inquisitive frown. "It's not as if you could have helped Malcolm anyway."

"Turned out I could, actually," Trip countered, raising his eyebrows innocently.

Archer huffed. "You know what I mean, Commander."

"I just froze, Capt'n." It was a half-truth, if he was honest. Trip pursed his lips, unsure whether to say anything more. This was really something between himself and Malcolm.

"I cleaned and bandaged your injury, Commander," the medic said, releasing Trip's hand. "But I'm afraid it's become infected. You'll have to wait for Doctor Phlox; he will want to put you on antibiotics. The man's dark eyes scanned Trip's upper body. "Does anything hurt badly?"

"Nah, I'm fine, thanks," Trip said dismissively.

"You have a few bumps and bruises but they don't look serious."

"Thanks again, Ensign." Trip nodded to the medic, who left; then he turned back to Archer. Now that they were alone he felt he owed the man a better explanation. "I'm sorry I made you worried, Capt'n, but... I just couldn't leave him there," he said softly. "Don't ask me why."

Archer sighed, studying him with narrowed eyes. "All right, Trip," he eventually relented. "I'm just glad to have you both back in one… Back safely," he amended hoarsely.

Trip shuddered as a disturbing image flashed through his mind. "Malcolm's in bad shape," he said, rubbing two fingers tiredly on his eyes.

"Yeah. But I'm sure Phlox will patch him up."

Letting himself fall sideways on the biobed he was sitting on, Trip closed his eyes. "Next time I ask ya to be part of an away team, do me a favour and lock me in Engineerin'," he drawled out.

Archer smiled. "I know you too well, Trip," he said, patting the man's arm. "Next time around you'll be the first in the shuttlepod."

But the Engineer couldn't hear him, having promptly fallen asleep.

TBC