AN: Wow. I didn't realize it had been more than a year since I'd updated this. I keep meaning to post, and I've actually worked on it and expanded it. But it hasn't really met my satisfaction, so I had delayed posting. Well, I've decided that I'm just going to post it, because it really bugs me that I haven't ever finished it. If I need to revise and expand it in the future, so be it. So... this chapter is up, and the next is about ready, so it won't be a long delay between this chapter and the next. I can't promise anything about the one after that.

Three days later Reed returned to Archer's office, padd in hand. The armory officer was grim. He'd commed Archer earlier in the day, requesting an appointment with the captain, and the formality of the request had clued Archer in that Reed would be delivering what he considered bad news. As usual, Reed was prompt. At exactly 1500, the door to Archer's ready room chimed. Returning the formality, Archer called, "Come in."

Reed took the three steps that carried him across the small room, drew himself up to a position of attention, and snapped a salute. "Lieutenant Reed reporting as ordered, sir."

Archer ignored the obvious retort that he hadn't ordered this meeting—he had simply agreed to the meeting-- and instead, returned the salute. "At ease, Lieutenant. You've requested this meeting. What's on your mind?"

"I have the results of my investigation into the death of Ensign Carey," Reed said. "Would you like to hear them, or would you prefer to just read the report?" Reed was tense, and Archer suspected he would prefer to be allowed to let the written report stand on its own, but Archer wanted to hear Reed's verbal report. He wanted the chance to question the armory officer, and to hear his thinking.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant. I'd like a verbal report, please, and then I'll look at the written report before it's sent to Starfleet.

Reed nodded, and Archer though he'd relaxed slightly at the mention of sending the report to Starfleet. Confirmation that his concerns were being taken seriously, perhaps?

The lieutenant took a seat, his posture stiff. Archer waited.

"Sir, my investigation has shown that Ensign Carey's condition was very serious, potentially life-threatening from the moment it occurred. It is possible that she would have died, even if she'd been rushed directly from the shuttle bay to surgery. However, the fact that she didn't receive immediate treatment virtually assured her death. She was denied her one chance. Phlox made a serious medical error in not treating her first." Reed paused and took a deep breath. "I can't say with certainty that Phlox caused, or even significantly contributed to, Ensign Carey's death. However, there is enough evidence that he did that this needs to proceed to a hearing, at a minimum. Ensign Carey deserves that much." Reed stopped. He gazed silently at Archer, not moving, his face a blank mask. Nothing about him gave any indication that he had an opinion on this issue one way or the other.

Archer couldn't help but wonder. The armory officer was gazing at him, giving nothing away, but Archer couldn't forget how adamant Reed had been earlier about launching an investigation.

Archer gave a mental sigh. It didn't really matter what Reed's personal motivations might be. Archer was sure he had done a thorough, professional investigation, as much as his limited medical knowledge would allow. To make a final determination would require people with expertise in that area, who could rehash the data that had been available, and make their proclamations. Phlox would be second guessed by Monday morning quarterbacks, many of whom had never served on a Starship, and wouldn't understand the unique pressures involved. In many ways it didn't seem the best way to resolve the issue. But, Archer had to admit that Reed was right- Ensign Carey, and the rest of the crew for that matter, deserved the issue to be decided by impartial personnel.

But it still felt wrong.

Ah-choo! The sneeze shattered the silence on the bridge. Archer sighed. There had been a string of sneezes coming from the tactical station over the last few hours, and it had gotten tiresome. Ensigns Sato and Mayweather were giggling, and he was pretty sure they were passing messages on their consoles, making wagers on when the next sneeze would come-- he had caught a glimpse of Mayweather's console with a dollar amount and time displayed on it. Archer couldn't really blame them.

Ah-choo!

Archer saw Hoshi grin widely, and Travis shot her a disappointed look, and then typed something rapidly into his console, and any doubts Archer had about how they were entertaining themselves disappeared.

Archer turned to study Reed, who had his head ducked over his console, pretending nothing was wrong. Moving slowly, not wanting to draw attention, Archer went to the tactical station.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" he asked, sotto voce.

"Yes, sir. Just a touch of allergies."

Realization hit Archer. "I'd like to see you in my ready room."

"Now, sir?"

"Yes. Right now." To Travis he called, "Mr. Mayweather, you have the bridge."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman called, as the confused armory officer trailed after the captain. The moment the doors to the ready room closed behind them, Archer whirled on his unsuspecting officer. "When was the last time you had your allergy shots?"

For a moment, Reed dropped his head, and then he lifted it, staring at Archer defiantly. "It's been two weeks. Sir."

"Why?"

"I've chosen to discontinue treatment."

"You've what?"

"I have chosen to discontinue treatment. It's my choice, Captain. Allergies are not life threatening, the treatment is just a convenience--"

"Seems like a bit more than a convenience to me. You're sneezing your fool head off. What if we had to go on a mission that required stealth?"

"I have tablets I can take, sir. The side effects can be unpleasant, so I don't take them unless I need them."

"And you don't need them now?"

"Sir... it's just a little sneezing."

At a loss, Archer stared at him. "But Malcolm... why would you put up with it when you don't have to?"

Malcolm looked away, and then back at Archer. He didn't seem so defiant now. "Allergy shots are not without possible complications. I don't want to risk it any longer."

Archer didn't respond, just continued gazing at Malcolm until the other man dropped his gaze. "So this has nothing to do with not wanting to be treated by Dr. Phlox."

Archer was certain Malcolm would deny this, and was surprised at Malcolm's next words.

"It has everything to do with not wanting to be treated by Dr. Phlox. Until it has been proven to my satisfaction that he is competent to treat humans, I would prefer not to be under his care."

"Not even just for allergy treatments?"

"No."

And despite Archer's best efforts, he could not change Reed's mind.

Malcolm sat on the biobed in sickbay, holding his side, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his side, and mentally cursing the captain's insistence that he come here. Archer stood by the biobed, enforcing his order.

"I'm fine, sir. I don't need to be here."

"Malcolm, your lips are blue. You are not fine. Until the doctor tells me you're fine, you're staying here."

"Sir... I will not allow him to treat me, and with all due respect, you cannot order me to accept medical treatment."

Archer remained silent, trying to remain outwardly impassive despite his growing anger. Malcolm was correct. He couldn't order him to accept treatment. He could require that he be evaluated for fitness for duty, however. He was about to point this out to Reed, when Phlox arrived at the biobed.

"What happened, Lieutenant?"

"I was slammed against the control console in Shuttlepod One when the anomaly expanded."

Phlox scanned him without meeting his eyes. "Hmmm. Well, you've cracked two ribs. No other damage, though. I'll give you something for the pain, and wrap the ribs for you, and then--"

"No." Malcolm had slid off the bed, still keeping his left arm tightly pressed against his aching ribs. "Captain, I've been evaluated. I decline any further treatment. I have some aspirin in my quarters."

Archer kept his voice calm as he replied smoothly, "Fine. I'll see you on the bridge in ten minutes. Your uniform is torn, Lieutenant. Take care of it."

Malcolm's jaw dropped. Archer was sending him immediately back to duty? Even though the ship was moving smoothly through space, with no threat in the area, he was going to require Malcolm to return to duty?"

"Captain, the lieutenant should take a day or two to rest--"

"The lieutenant insists he's fine and doesn't need any treatment. In that case, he should be on the bridge. It is his duty shift." Archer strolled toward the exit, calling back over his shoulder, "Ten minutes, Lieutenant."

"I don't understand, Lieutenant. I'm sorry. You really should rest." Phlox looked sad, and for a moment Reed pitied him. And then his heart hardened, as he remembered Phlox puttering around, ignoring Carey's deteriorating condition.

"It's not your concern, Doctor." Reed moved gingerly but with purpose as he exited sickbay. He only had eight more minutes.

Archer paced around the bridge. Nothing of interest was really happening right now. Hoshi was working on some routine translations, occasionally shooting worried glances at Reed. Mayweather was all but asleep at the helm. T'Pol was doing-- well, who knew what, but it was keeping her occupied. Reed was sitting at the tactical console, pushing buttons, his task as nebulous as T'Pol's.

"Mr. Reed, anything close to us?"

"No, sir."

"Good. You were talking about doing some testing on the phaser targeting software. Wouldn't this be an ideal time?"

"Yes, sir." The words were spoken slowly, drawn out, as though Reed regretted having to say them. Archer knew why. To test the targeting software, Reed would need to go down to the armory and use the controls there. It wasn't normally a strenuous task, but required moving around the armory, as monitors were cross-checked, and new settings entered manually into various systems. Not enough exercise to even be noticed normally, but with freshly cracked ribs the movement would be very uncomfortable. But Reed was insisting he didn't need treatment. Fine. Then he needed to do his job. On some level Archer knew he'd been pulled into a childish battle of wills, and seeing how pale Reed was he almost rescinded the order-- but then he remembered the hurt look on Phlox face when Reed had refused to let the doctor treat him, and Archer hardened his will.

"Then let's get that done."

Reed rose slowly. He understood perfectly what the captain was doing, and his own stubborn streak asserted itself. He pulled himself up to his full height, and strode from the bridge into the lift, maintaining his impeccable posture-- until the doors closed. He crumbled against the side of the lift, resting, and trying to only take shallow breaths until the door opened again. Once more he pulled himself upright, and with his head high made his way to the armory.

Phlox paced the perimeter of sickbay, checking on his animals, checking supplies, and stopping occasionally to tidy some spot that didn't really need it. He was trying to keep his mind off the upcoming hearing, and off the fact that he had no patients. Hadn't had any in two days. The routine ones that had been long-scheduled had slowly been cancelled, as the crew came up with an assortment of creative excuses to miss them. Worse, Phlox had seen crewmembers with assorted minor injuries that had not come to sickbay. He suspected they were going to Crewman Cutler on the sly.

It hurt.

He tried to tell himself that it was only natural. The fact that the human crew had accepted an alien doctor so readily had been a surprise to him. Oh, there had been a few hesitant crew members at first, and some who had been particulary skittish about Phlox unusual brand of medicine and the use of living creatures, but once he had proven himself that had disappeared. In fact, for a species making their first foray into the deep space, they had been amazingly accepting. That he had gotten so used to their acceptance made this rejection hurt all the more. And the fact that it was a member of the senior staff, a man he respected and trusted, that had ostracized him bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Oh, he knew it was Reed's grief over losing his friend that had started the problem, but still he suspected there must be something more to it. That Starfleet was acquiescing to the request for the hearing was even more surprising. Phlox was tempted to resign his position, return to Denobula-- but here in the expanse that wasn't a possibility. And he knew that even though they had turned on him, he wouldn't turn on them. His ethics wouldn't allow it.

Well, if the crew wouldn't let him treat them, he would use the time to catch up on his research. He pulled the microscope closer, and adjusted the slide on it. Peering into the device he began making annotations into his padd, but his heart wasn't in the job. When the door to sickbay slid open he was relieved to break away from the task.

"Ah, Commander Tucker. How can I help you this evening?"

Trip looked around nervously. "I was sorta wondering if Ensign Cutler was around."

Phlox face fell. He turned back toward his microscope. "She is working in the exobiology lab this week. I haven't needed her. I'm sure you can find her there. I hope you aren't too badly hurt."

"Too badly... what?" Realization dawned on Trip. "Doctor, I'm not hurt. I just wanted to ask Elizabeth what movie she'd like for Tuesday. I promised her she could pick this one." Trip came further into sickbay, walking over to the doctor's lab bench. When the doctor didn't look up at him, Trip leaned against the bench, facing the doctor next to him. "It's been a rough week, I guess."

Phlox didn't look up, so Trip couldn't read his eyes. "The crew has been hesitant to come to me for treatment. It's understandable."

"No, it isn't."

Phlox looked up at the unexpected statement, but he didn't have a reply.

"The way they're treating you isn't right, Doc, and there's no need for you to go excusing them. They're upset, and scared, but they know it wasn't your fault. Malcolm has them all riled up. I'd kick his tail for doing this, if I could, but he's followed all the rules to a tee, so I can't. But I want you to know that it isn't right, and we don't all feel that way. It's just been a light week."

"I hear Ensign Cutler is running a clinic out of xenobiology."

"That's an exaggeration, and she doesn't want to do it. She tells everybody they're crazy, that you're the best doctor they could have. She's given out a few bandages, but that's it. Most people agree with me and her anyway."

Phlox hesitated before asking the next question. "Commander... why is Lieutenant Reed so adamant that I'm a criminal?"

Trip sighed. "I don't know. I'd tell you if I did, but I really have no idea. He's... well, he's just gotten this notion in his head, and you know Malcolm—once he gets something in his head, he just gets carried away."

"I see."

"Don't take it personally, Doc. It would be the same with anyone. And once you've been cleared, I'm sure things will get back to normal."

"If I'm cleared. Right now, I'm not so certain. I DID err in putting the Ensign last in the triage I conducted. I didn't listen to her, and if I had, I might have been able to save her. Her odds would have been much better, at the very least."

Trip looked a little startled, and the doctor noted it. "You weren't aware of that, were you, Commander? Once all the facts are out, you may change your opinion about how I should be treated."

Trip flushed, but stood his ground. "I don't care what the outcome is, Doc. You're my doctor, no matter what. I've seen you work, and I know you're a great doctor. I don't know why Malcolm isn't seeing it that way, but if he gives you any more trouble, you let me know, and I'll give him a swift kick in the butt."

"Ah, yes, that will certainly change his opinion, won't it? No, Commander, the lieutenant is entitled to his opinions. I'd rather you didn't interfere. We'll work this out."