AN: Thanks to Volley and STReader for taking time to review. I write for me, but I post for others to (hopefully) enjoy, so it's nice to hear back from people. I'm honored that anybody spends their time reading my stories. I had actually thought this was a short linking chapter, but it turned out to be pretty darn long. At the end of this you might think you know what's going on with Malcolm, and you might be close—but there is more than meets the eye.

*****

Four hours after his ship had come to a screeching halt, Archer surveyed his engine room. He schooled his features, trying not to reveal his frustration. The Enterprise was, once again, wounded. The engine room was in a state of controlled chaos. At least the area was safe to enter again. T'Pol had successfully vented the area with the help of the armory crew. Now they had to get the engine restarted. Unfortunately, Malcolm had done his work too effectively. The engine had needed to be shut down, but the crisolige he had used had coated the engine parts, and he had burned up much of the warp plasma. The reserve store was enough to get them back to space dock, Archer hoped, but only if they could get the crisolige out of the engine. Malcolm's methods were effective, but would have turned a Starfleet engineer's hair grey. The armory crew, with remarkably little grumbling, were manually scrubbing out the warp core. The work was hard, made even more difficult by the need to wear environmental suits in the tight confines of the core. The hot strenuous work meant they had to trade out crewman every thirty minutes. Archer watched a new two-man team enter the core, while the exhausted team that was exiting the core pulled off their helmets. They were flushed and drenched with sweat. T'Pol directed them toward a bench and the beverage station. They gratefully gulped water and took seats to rest. He caught T'Pol's eye and after a word to the crewman she came over to greet him.

"Captain," T'Pol greeted him.

"How are things going Sub-Commander?"

"We're making progress but it is slow. The crew's can only work for thirty minutes at a time, before they become fatigued and lose effectiveness. "

"How much longer?" Archer realized he sounded abrupt, but T'Pol didn't seem to notice.

"I believe in six hours we will be ready to recharge the engines with the reserve warp plasma. That will take approximately six hours. Once that is complete we can attempt to restart the engines. "

"Attempt?" Archer asked, with a twinge of alarm.

"I am not certain our efforts will be successful, captain. This procedure has never been done on an Earth vessel outside of space dock. The mix ratio must be precisely balanced, or it will not initiate. I am optimistic that we can achieve re-start, but I am not certain. "

Archer scrubbed his face with his hand. "Alright, Sub-Commander. I'll leave you to your work. Do you need any more help?"

"I believe we have adequate manpower. Has Commander Tucker recovered?"

"He's still sleepy, and at times confused. Dr. Phlox wants to keep him under observation until he's less groggy."

"I would prefer to have him present when we re-initialize the warp corp. He has the most experience with balancing Enterprise's engines. His presence would increase our odds of success," T'Pol said.

Archer sighed. "We only get one shot at this, right?"

"Yes, captain."

"Then I'll make certain he's here. If we have to delay the re-start, we will."

"Have you been able to determine what caused the engine to become unbalanced?" Archer asked.

"I believe so. It was an unfortunate confluence of circumstances."

Archer didn't attempt to reply to that statement, but lifted his eyebrows and waited for his second in command to elaborate.

"The jolt we experienced was caused by the a gravitational anomaly. Unfortunately, that particular anomaly emitted magnetic waves, and at the instant of the encounter plasma was being injected into the warp core as part of the normal engine function. It caused the injector lock to be freeze open for 0.7 seconds, rather than the normal 0.03 seconds. That resulted in a large influx of plasma, which unbalanced the engine.

Archer was not an engineer, but as a Starfleet captain he had a good understanding of all aspects of how his ship worked.

"So the anomaly caused the injector lock to stick and flood the engine with plasma."

It was not a question, but T'Pol answered anyway. "Yes."

"And Malcolm burned up the extra plasma, and cooled the engine with the crisolige, making a mess but saving our butts."

T'Pol nodded, and then asked, "How is Lieutenant Reed?"

Archer shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't had time to get back to sickbay. By the way, thanks for your help in sickbay."

T'Pol nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. "No thanks is necessary, captain. I was doing my job."

"What did you say to him?"

"Captain, I would prefer to keep that between the lieutenant and myself. Suffice it to say I reminded him of his position on this ship, and his duty."

Archer wanted to ask more, but didn't. Instead he gestured at the core. "I'll leave the engine in your hands. Let me know when you're ready to load the reserve plasma. I'll be on the bridge."

Leaving the engine room to continue on his rounds, T'Pol's question came back to him. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't checked with Phlox on how the injured were doing and Phlox had been far too busy to provide his customary updates. With his ship dead in space, Archer had forced to put the injured out of his mind. He had more pressing duties, and there was nothing he could do for them. Now that things were quieting down, and there was nothing he could do to help his ship at the moment, Archer's thoughts turned to his injured crew, particularly Reed. Reed had saved the ship at great risk to his own life. Archer would not have expected anything less from the armory officer. But he didn't understand Reed's behavior in sickbay. Not allowing himself to be treated didn't make sense. Even the on-going hearing investigating Phlox role in Carey's death didn't explain Reed's actions. Archer's steps slowed, and he lifted his hand to tap a com panel. Pausing, his hand hovered above the controls. He lowered his hand, considered, and changed his direction. Three minutes later he entered sickbay.

Things were much quieter now. The scanner was silent, and although all of the biobeds were occupied, the floor was clear and the chairs were empty. The lights over the biobeds had been dimmed. Phlox was sitting at his desk studying his computer, illuminated by a desk lamp. Cutler was curled up on a gurney, sound asleep, emitting occasional soft snores. Jacobs and another science crewman, free of their environmental suits were sitting by a lab bench, chatting quietly. It was hard for Archer to believe that just four hours ago the place had been in disarray. Quietly he moved toward Phlox. The doctor looked up at the sound of his steps. His smile was wan. "Captain?"

Archer pulled up a chair and sat down. "How are you holding up?"

"Captain, as you know, Denobulans rarely sleep. On this occasion, I find myself envying humans that daily release."

"You may not need sleep, but you need food and a mental break. Have you eaten?"

"Crewman Cutler kindly brought me a meal. I'll take a break soon."

Archer didn't push the doctor. "How are your patients?"

Phlox brightened. "They will all survive. I've sent those with minor injuries to their quarters, with instructions to return in the morning. Those with significant radiation exposure will require close monitoring for some time. Mr. Rostov's arm is broken, and he had a significant exposure to the fumes, so he'll need to be here for a few days, and he'll need even more time off duty. "

"The biobeds are full."

"I've kept those who had the highest exposure to fumes in sickbay, so I can monitor their respiratory status. The fumes they were exposed to can do serious damage to the lungs. Pulmonary edema can come on quickly, so they need close monitoring."

"Pulmonary edema?"

"Fluid on the lungs," Phlox clarified.

"What about Commander Tucker and Lieutanant Reed?" Archer asked. Phlox hadn't mentioned either officer, which Archer took to be a good sign, but he was still concerned.

"Commander Tucker has a concussion. He also has a serious burn on his leg, and he had a high level of radiation to that area, but his crew evacuated him quickly, so his exposure to the fumes was minimal."

"And Lieutenant Reed?"

Phlox looked down for a moment. "Lieutenant Reed didn't have any traumatic injuries but the level of fumes he inhaled was significant, and he received a high level of radiation exposure. His decontamination was fairly prompt, but his lungs were full of fluid when I scanned him. I was able to treat him in time to prevent respiratory failure. I'm giving him treatment for the lung damage." By the end of the little speech Phlox voice had risen. Realizing this, he looked quickly around sickbay to see if anyone was awake. He dropped his head and added in a lower voice, "He was on the verge of respiratory failure. By the time I was done scanning him, he could barely breath. Any longer and I would have had to intubate him, and the lung damage would have been permanent, if he'd even survived. I won't let it happen again."

Archer leaned forward, cognizant that there were others present and he was discussing one of his senior officers. In a low voice he asked, "You won't let what happen again?"

Phlox jerked, and blinked at Archer. "I'm sorry, captain. I shouldn't have said that. I can't discuss it. Patient confidentialty. You understand." Phlox rose. "I need to check on my patients, captain. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed are in the back corner. They were asleep last time I checked, but if you need to speak with them-"

"That's all right. I'll talk with them later. When can Commander Tucker leave sickbay? We're going to need him to restart the engine."

Phlox furrowed his brow. "By the morning his thinking should be clear. The burn on his leg will need additional treatments with my Erithmic eel, but he could go to engineering and assist." Archer knew that at the start of their mission Phlox would have argued against releasing Tucker so early, but the doctor had learned the realities of space travel on an Earth vessel.

"And Lieutenant Reed?"

Phlox shook his head vehemently. "He can't be released for some time, captain. He-"

Archer lifted a hand to cut the doctor off. "I realize that. I was just wondering."

"My apologies captain. Of course you're concerned. I don't know. He barely avoided intubation. I am hopeful that the edema will fully resolve over the next few days, and then he'll need a few more days off. His eyes were badly affected as well. It will be a few days before his vision clears. But he will recover. This time."

"This time?"

Phlox just shook his head.

*****

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Reed rolled to his side, and with his right hand swiped at the air, trying to turn off the alarm. When his efforts proved futile and the beeping continued, he tried to bury his head in his pillow. He could still hear the sound. Irritated he rolled on to his back and opened his eyes- and immediately slammed them closed again, groaning at the light. Now that he was more awake the beeping was fading, and he recognized it as the biobed monitor, announcing his heartbeat. Keeping his eyes closed, he strained to hear what was happening around him. The soft murmur of voices reached him. The sickbay creatures were chirping and twittering in the background. He could also hear other beeping from other biobed monitors. He sighed, and turned to assessing his own situation. All things considered he felt remarkably well. His eyes felt grainy and he had no desire to open them again, and his chest felt heavy and sore, but he felt no other pain. He was comfortable, drifting, the result of painkillers he was certain. He tried to sit up, but it too much effort and he collapsed back onto the soft pillows, content to lie in warm comfort. He recognized that his peaceful lethargy was medication induced, but he didn't care.

A soft chuckle from his left drew his attention and he turned his head in that direction, still too drowsy and comfortable to make the effort to open his eyes.

"Well, look who finally decided to join the living," Trip drawled.

"Mmmm," Malcolm replied drowsily. With an effort he opened his eyes and squinted at Trip. "Sleepy."

Trip grinned. It was unusual to see Malcolm so uninhibited. He was obviously still in the grip of the medications running into his arm.

Malcolm's mouth opened in a huge yawn, and his eyes drifted closed again. "What happened?"

"Oh, the usual. Ship in peril, you running around acting like a hero, saving the ship. Same ole thing," Trip replied. "Got yourself a pretty good dose of radiation and breathed in a heck of a lot of plasma and crisolige fumes."

"Oh. Right." Malcolm sighed. His nose itched and he reached up to scratch it. His fingers encountered hard plastic and he realized he was wearing an oxygen mask. He pushed it off his face.

"Better leave that alone. Phlox will be mad as hell if he comes back and that thing is off again. It's giving you some sort of medicine for your lungs." Trip's voice was teasing, but held a note of command. He sobered. "You sure gave him a hard time, Malcolm. "

Malcolm's eyes came open again. He worked to sit up again, and his eyes roamed sickbay. "Who else is injured? Did anyone," Malcolm gulped, "die?"

"No. A lot of injuries, mostly minor. Rostov broke his arm, and he got a lot of radiaton. Not as much as you though."

"Phlox provided treatment to everyone promptly, though? He didn't delay their treatment on my account?" Malcolm was becoming agitated, the sluggishness he'd been displaying gone. He frantically searched sickbay.

"Huh?" Trip was confused, "Delay treatment? No, of course not. Phlox wouldn't do that- what are you talking about, Malcolm?"

Malcolm lay back, relieved. Phlox had treated everyone promptly. No one had died because of him. He let the warm sluggishness wash back over him. The slight pressure on his upper arm let him know that he had an intravenous line and he realized he was still getting medications. Some small part of his mind rebelled against being sedated, but he couldn't focus long enough to get truly upset. He could hear Trip chuckling. "What are you laughing at, Commander?" he asked.

"You. I've never seen you so… relaxed."

"It's the medication," Reed struggled to maintain some dignity, but couldn't restrain another large yawn.

"Well, you were kicking up such a fuss, I can't blame Phlox," Trip said. "Really, Malcolm, what do you have against him? You haven't exactly been treating him fairly, you know."

"I most certainly have been," Malcolm roused to voice his protest. "He just… he needs to be accountable."

"Well, sure. But it's not like he wasn't doing his best. There's something else going on Malcolm. I know once you sink your teeth into something, you're pretty persistent, but this isn't like you."

Malcolm yawned again. He felt loose, open. Part of him thought he shouldn't be talking to Trip about this, but another part wanted to make Trip understand. "Did I ever tell you about my cousin?"

Trip looked over at the armory officer. Malcolm was lying on his biobed, eyes closed, body quiet. He seemed relaxed, but something told Trip that it wasn't an idle question. "No."

"Oh." Malcolm fell silent, seeming disappointed by the reply.

"Do you want to? Tell me about him... or her?"

"Him. He was my father's brother's son."

Trip remained silent, just listening.

"We were pretty close. They called us the Terror Twins; he was three days older than I was, and we only lived three houses apart." Malcolm opened his eyes and turned to look at Trip. He had a distant look in his eyes and a slight smile as he remembered. "We had a lot of fun, got into a lot of trouble..." Malcolm chuckled. "One time we were grounded for a week for filling Maddie and Lana's- that was his sister-beds full of spiders."

Trip shuddered. "You shoulda been grounded for a month."

Malcolm chuckled. "We nearly were." He fell silent, and Trip wondered if that was all he would say. The smile left Malcolm's face. "He died when we were sixteen."

"I'm sorry." Trip paused, uncertain what to say and a little uncomfortable. Malcolm was clearly under the influence of drugs, or he would never be sharing something this personal. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"He had a brain tumor." Malcolm was no longer looking at Trip, but as gazing at the ceiling. "One that was operable, if it had been caught in time. It wasn't really in his brain— it was on the lining of his brain. But it got too big, and he had a seizure while he was swimming. He drowned. He hadn't been under that long when he was pulled out, but-" Malcolm paused for a long time before finally continuing. "It took too long to get to the hospital."

Trip knew there was more to the story. The drugs might have loosened Malcolm's inhibitions, but Trip suspected the armory officer had wanted to tell someone this story for a long time.

"Were you with him?"

Malcolm nodded. "I pulled him out of the water. It wasn't too deep. I tried to give him CPR, but…" Malcolm turned his head away from Trip to look at the opposite well, and Trip knew Malcolm was in a different time and place. Somewhere in sickbay there was an alarm chimed and Malcolm started, brought abruptly back to the present. He glanced around, looking to see if anyone else was paying any attention to their conversation. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. "We'd gone camping. We never should have-- I knew he was too weak, that he hadn't been feeling well, but he insisted. If we hadn't, he might have been able to get to a hospital. He might have been saved. But our fathers listened to the doctors. They said he was malingering, trying to get out of school because he'd been having some academic difficulty. He wanted to prove them wrong." Malcolm's trailed off, and he didn't say anything more for several moments. Trip thought he'd fallen back asleep, but then Malcolm's eyes fluttered open again.

Trip took advantage. "Listened to the doctors?" he prompted.

"Yes. Brian had gone to the doctor when he started having problems with his coordination, but they said there was nothing wrong, that he was just going through 'an awkward stage'. They never did a thorough examination, once they found out that he had failed a math exam the week before. They thought he was looking for an excuse. When he started having vision problems, they said he needed glasses. They ignored the fact that he told them he was having other problems...." Malcolm trailed off, swallowed hard. "They never believed him. The tumor could have been removed. It was benign and it was in a place where surgery could have helped. Or other treatments. But the doctor didn't believe him, didn't take him seriously. And he died." As he spoke Malcolm had been fiddling with the edge of his blanket. Now he yawned again, and his eyes drifted shut.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded acknowledgement, but didn't open his eyes.

"What happened to the doctor?" Trip persisted. Malcolm shrugged and forced his eyes open. His fingers were still worrying the edge of his blanket, and he tugged on a thread. He seemed surprised when it broke in his hand. He looked over at Trip, and Trip noted how glazed Malcolm's eyes were. "My uncle filed a complaint, and I think he was censured, or put on some sort of probation, because it was the first official complaint against him. But Trip... it wasn't the first time it had happened. We found out that something similar had happened with a young girl-- he'd missed her heart condition. But her family hadn't complained. If they had, he might not have been practicing. My cousin might have lived, if they'd had the courage to complain." Malcolm released the blanket and his hands dropped. "I'm very sleepy, Commander. I'm going to take a nap now," he said, his voice faraway, almost dreamy. He pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and rolled to his side, facing away from Trip.

"Sure," Trip replied, staring at Malcolm's back. Malcolm hadn't shown any emotion while relaying his story. Watching the sleeping armory officer, Trip was certain he hadn't heard the whole story. A thought came to him. At first Trip pushed away the idea, not wanting to consider it. Taking advantage of the information Malcolm had revealed while in a drugged state repelled him. Malcolm had never before shared such personal information; if Trip used it, their friendship might be over.

But there was Phlox to consider. He had a responsibility to Phlox, too. If the doctor lost at the hearing, he could lose his career with Starfleet. Trip didn't know what repercussions there would be on Denobula. He hadn't discussed it with Phlox, but Trip was certain that at a minimum his reputation would be tarnished. His selection to the Exchange Program had been a high honor, but it had made him well known on Denobula. The disgrace of being found guilty of causing a death would certainly follow him home.

Trip was in a no-win situation. He didn't want to think about the hearing anymore. Even thinking about his damaged warp engine was preferable to his current dilemma. Glancing over at Malcolm, Trip felt a pang of jealousy. At least the armory officer was getting some sleep. Trip sighed, and lay back on his bed, wondering if he would be able to fall asleep. He closed his eyes….

And opened them again several hours later to Phlox voice.

With a stealth born of years of experience working around sleeping people, Phlox had silently approached Trip's bed, before gently calling to the engineer. When Trip opened his eyes, Phlox deftly removed the bandage on Trip's thigh to examine it. He nodded, pleased at the progress, and began applying a strongly scented salve. The doctor glanced at the adjacent biobed. Noticing that Reed was now facing the wall, his brow furrowed. "Is Lieutenant Reed awake?" he asked quietly.

"He was," Trip replied. "But he went right back to sleep. He was kinda odd- real relaxed, for him. He told me a story about when he was a boy, and then drifted off again."

Phlox had finished applying the salve, and was securing a fresh bandage. When he finished he moved to Malcolm's biobed and studied the monitors over Malcolm's head. He made a slight adjustment to one of them. "I want him to rest, but not for too long." Phlox chuckled. "I doubt he was really aware he was awake when he was talking to you."

Trip stared at the doctor. He felt a tightening in his stomach, the uncomfortable feeling that he had been a voyeur. "Not really awake?"

Phlox shook his head. "A little perhaps, but he likely won't even remember speaking to you. The medication he's getting is not only a sedative, but an amnestic. Some of the treatments he needed were unpleasant. I didn't really want him to remember much. "

Trip swallowed hard. He'd been struggling with whether or not to use Malcolm's revelation, and if Malcolm hadn't even been really awake, might not even recall the conversation, made the decision ever more difficult. He didn't mention his concerns to Phlox. Instead he just said, "When will he wake up? Really wake up?"

"Oh, very shortly I imagine. I've stopped the medication. His body was terribly stressed, and he needs sleep to recover, but he should wake soon."

As though to prove Phlox words, Malcolm stirred. He rolled to this back, and Trip and Phlox saw him stretch. After a large yawn, he rolled to his left side, and opened his eyes. Spotting Phlox he tensed. Trip could see Malcolm's muscles contract, and Malcolm's face, which had been soft with sleep, tightened. An instant later he partially relaxed, but his guard was up.

Trip felt a wave of sadness at Malcolm's reaction. It drove home how tense Malcolm normally was. Trip was so accustomed to Malcolm's usual wariness and taut alertness, that he no longer consciously noticed it. The contrast to his recently relaxed state was stark. He couldn't remember ever seeing Malcolm relaxed, sickbay visits aside. Even on shore leave, Malcolm didn't let himself lose control. Remembering their ill-fated visit to Risa, Trip realized Malcolm had not really let loose. He had sipped at drinks, soaked in the atmosphere—but when they'd left their drinks on the table to follow the aliens down to the subterranean gardens, Malcolm's was still half full. It must be exhausting to be on guard every waking moment, thought Trip.

"Doctor," Malcolm said. "Trip." He rolled to his back, and sat up. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Twelve hours, give or take," Trip said, with a grin. "You woke up once, but not for too long."

Malcolm nodded, and Trip knew he was trying to shake off his sluggishness.

"The ship? The engine? Is the engine okay?"

"Yup. Your guys have managed to clean up the core pretty good, after you made such a mess of it."

"My men?" Reed asked, his brow creased.

"Yea, most of my guys got some radiation, or had other injuries, so your guys were recruited. They've been scraping the crisolige out of the core."

"Oh. I see," Malcolm replied, but Trip knew he was trying to catch up. Malcolm swung his legs over the side of the bed. Phlox moved closer, and when Malcolm wavered, the doctor put out a supportive hand.

"Easy, lieutenant. You've been sleeping quite a while, and you're not well yet. Your lungs still have some fluid in them, and you need several more treatments for radiation. Not to mention needing fluids and a good meal. "

"We have to get the engine restarted," Malcolm insisted, trying again to stand. Phlox blocked his movement and fixed him with a glare.

"NO, lieutenant. That's final. Do you want me to restrain you?"

Malcolm's glare matched the doctor's, but he slid back into bed. Trip knew Malcolm must feel ill to surrender so easily.

"Commander, lieutenant. I've got work to do. I trust you to behave yourselves." Phlox fixed them with a stern look. "Commander, I plan to release you in a short while. Don't do anything to make me change my mind." With one last glance back, he returned to his lab.

Trip sighed. "He doesn't pull any punches does he?" He looked at Malcolm, who was sitting propped on his bed, scowling.

"No."

While Trip's tone had been light, Malcolm's was anything but. Trip studied his friend. He desperately wanted to know if Malcolm remembered their earlier conversation. Hesitantly he began. "Malcolm?"

"Yes, commander?" Malcolm wasn't helping him any.

"I'm sorry about your cousin," Trip blurted.

Malcolm's mouth dropped and his eyes widened. For an instant he froze, but he recovered quickly. His mouth closed with a snap. "What?" The word was forced.

"Your cousin. I'm sorry-"

"What do you know about my cousin?" Malcolm demanded.

"Just what you told me," Trip replied hastily. "When you woke up before. Don't you remember?" Trip knew that Malcolm didn't remember, but this was Trip's way of clueing Malcolm in to the fact that he had unknowingly revealed the very personal story to Trip.

Malcolm shook his head. "What, exactly, did I tell you, commander?" Malcolm demanded. He sounded in control, but Trip could see that he was trembling, and his voice shook on the question.

"Just that he died when you were sixteen," Trip lied. He wasn't sure why, but he following his gut instinct.

"What else?" Malcolm sat stiffly in bed, his gaze fixed on Trip, searching for any sign that he had revealed more than Trip was admitting to.

"That's about it. You were pretty groggy," Trip was deliberately vague. "But Malcolm, I AM sorry about your cousin."

Malcolm relaxed infinitesimally. "Thank you, commander. It was a long time ago." Malcolm turned away and feigned a yawn. He shut his eyes with deliberate finality, and Trip knew Malcolm would not be telling him anything more.

*****

"Commander Tucker! Think you'll be getting out of bed and doing some work anytime soon?" Archer burst through the doors to sickbay in an explosion of energy. He grinned at his long-time friend and chief engineer. A shower, sleep, and good meal had made all the difference. The short lived depression that had hit him on seeing the state of his engines was past. He was once again the captain, in charge, and ready to get his ship moving. T'Pol and the armory crew had done an amazing job of cleaning the warp core, and were in the process of transferring the warp plasma from the reserve stores tank to the engine. They had delayed this task when Archer had insisted that everyone take a break and get some sleep. The crew had benefited from the break as much as Archer. In another hour they could attempt a restart of the warp core. The nervous anticipation was flooding his body with adrenalin, and it was all he could do to stay still. With nothing to do on the bridge while the ship was motionless, and finding he was only in the way in engineering, he elected to visit sickbay. It was nearly empty now. Only Trip, Reed, Rostov, and Heller remained. The others had either been returned to duty or were recuperating in their quarters.

"Hey, sir!" Trip returned Archer's greeting. "Good to see you! Hey, how is my engine?"

"Coming along. You about ready to go check things out? I'd like you to be in charge of the restart."

Trip sobered, knowing how critical the next few hours would be. "Phlox said I could go to engineering for the restart. My leg needs a few more treatments, but I don't have to stay here. In fact, I was planning to head back to my quarters. Phlox wanted to give me one more treatment before I left, for the radiation. He should spring me in an hour or so."

"Great." Archer glanced around. "Malcolm around?"

"I think he's in the shower. He just woke up. He was pretty wiped out- he's basically been asleep since he got here." Trip paused. "Captain, I need to ask you something."

Archer raised his eyebrows.

"Phlox hearing-"

"Trip, that is the least of my concerns right now, " Archer interrupted.

"I know, captain. Mine too. But with all that has happened, will the hearing be dropped?"

Archer considered. Finally he shook his head. "No. I don't think so. The issue was never whether or not Phlox could do his job. The question was whether or not he did the right thing with Ensign Carey. Eventually we'll have to resume. But it's my lowest priority right now. "

Trip studied the floor, thinking. "But when we do resume, I'll still be defending Phlox, right?"

"Of course."

"And Phlox deserves the best possible defense, doesn't he?"

Again Archer replied with, "Of course." Then he added, "What's this about, Trip?"

"If I was a real lawyer, defending a client, I'd have the right to look into things that might be important for Phlox defense, things that explain why he made the decisions he did, right? But right now, I'm not allowed access to the files I need."

"What sort of files?" Archer sounded suspicious. Trip told him.

"I don't know Trip. I see your point, but I'll have to talk to Admiral Forrest. If he agrees, I'll see that you get the appropriate access. For now, though, we have more pressing concerns."

"I agree, sir. But, if the hearing is going to resume, I have to do my best by Phlox."

"Yes. You do. But what about doing right by Malcolm?"

Trip met Archer's eyes, and Archer saw his friend's pain. "I don't know what else to do, captain," Trip muttered. "

"I'm sorry to have put you in this situation, Trip. But what you're doing for Phlox, what you plan to do- it proves to me you're the right man for the job."

Archer's words didn't make Trip feel any better.