He'd just begun to fall asleep when he heard a chirp from the monitor on his desk, signaling an incoming message. Malcolm glared groggily at the offending device before forcing himself out of bed and across the room. He stared at the monitor as it chirped again, sleepily reviewing the sender information, and frowned as his tired brain tried to place the name. 'Berrington. Why is that name familiar?' When his mind finally recognized it Malcolm snapped wide-awake, stomach turning somersaults. There was an acquaintance of his father's named Edward Berrington. From the Royal Navy. Admiral Edward Berrington. 'But why would he be calling me, especially at this time of night?' Malcolm wondered. If something had happened to his father certainly Mum or Maddie would make the call. Unless…something had happened to all three? No, that couldn't be it—Starfleet would be contacting him if that were the case.

He'd only met the Admiral once, when he was a boy, at some fancy function or another. And he'd made every effort to not draw undue attention to himself because he knew the consequences of causing his father any public embarrassment; despite the care he'd taken he'd failed quite spectacularly. No, this had to be a different Berrington. Had to be. 'Please God, let it be a different Berrington.' Swallowing nervously, Malcolm tried to smooth his tousled hair with his fingers before activating the monitor. The tiny elderly woman staring back at him was most assuredly not Admiral Berrington. Her blue eyes sparkled as she studied him, silently sizing up the young man.

Finally, a very puzzled Malcolm broke the silence. "May I…help you?"

The corners of the woman's mouth drew up into a smile. "Well now, that all depends," she replied sweetly, an unmistakable Irish lilt in her voice. "I'm wantin' ta speak with Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, servin' on the NX-01. Armoury officer, in charge-a security an' such. Son of Stuart and Mary Reed, brother of Madeline. Birthday's September second. You the right Reed, lad?"

'This is far too elaborate to be one of Trip's practical jokes, isn't it?' Malcolm wondered before answering cautiously. "Yes…but I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage."

"Oh, do I now? Hmm…I suppose yer right on that count, lad. Betcha were expectin' the Admiral when you saw the message ID on yer screen, weren'tcha?" Her smile evaporated. "Well, yer stuck with me, God have mercy on yer soul. My name's Colleen McIntyre, but you may call me Ma'am. And I've contacted you because I want to know what the bloody blue hell you've done to my grandson."

Malcolm's jaw dropped. He found his voice after several very long seconds, and responded angrily. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I intend to find out how you managed to misappropriate a comm channel to reach me and get me out of bed in the middle of the night so we could chat about your grandson, whomever he may be. Then I shall be all too happy to notify Admiral Berrington about this…this stunt of yours, and I'm quite certain he'll—"

"Be my guest," she encouraged, the smile far more predatory as it returned. "Tell 'im whatever ya like. A'course, by the time you reach him, he'll already know. I don't keep too many secrets from my husband, after all." Lt. Reed stared blankly at the screen wishing, for the first time since they'd left Earth, that somebody would attack the ship. 'Where are those damned Klingons when you need them?'

After gleefully watching the startled young man's expression—he looked for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry—his caller broke the silence. "Now then, Lieutenant Reed…shall we get down ta business?" Malcolm nodded silently, his mind racing to catch up. At last the gears meshed. Saunders? Trip had said that Saunders had an Irish grandmother. This could not be happening…had an irate crewman actually decided to have his grandmother fight his battles for him? What kind of man—

"Yer not lis'nin', are ya?" the woman snapped loudly, abruptly regaining Malcolm's full attention.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he apologized. "But it is the middle of the night here, and my brain is still a little foggy. My apologies. You were saying?"

She glowered at him, her darkening eyes almost seeming capable of burning a hole through the screen. "Well dear me, I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced you," she spat back sarcastically, her accent thickening considerably. "If it's such a damned bloody bother for ya, I can just cut the connection so's y' kin get back ta bed 'n' getcher beauty sleep. Maybe yer captain would be better able ta pay attention. Jonathan Archer, right? Henry Archer's boy? Has a wee dog of some variety? Beagle, I believe. I've always liked beagles. Clever little beasties. Smarter than most people I've encountered," she added, her meaning painfully clear. "Maybe it'd be better if I took this up with him—yer captain, I mean, not the dog. A'course, that'll mean wakin' him and his dog from a sound sleep no doubt. Would that be more convenient for ya?"

'Please, God, send Klingons.' "No, no, no," Malcolm stammered, panicking, "That won't be necessary, ma'am. I assure you, you have my undivided attention."

Colleen McIntyre grinned triumphantly. "Thought I might. Now then, I was sayin' that my grandson David—you know him as Crewman Saunders—recently sent me a rather disturbin' message regardin' an incident with you. To be fair, I'm not sure he even knows he sent it, 'cuz he's not the sort ta go whinin' ta his grandma'am, an' he looked to have been in the Guinness just a wee bit. I suspect he intended ta delete it and hit the wrong button. But regardless of his intentions the fact remains that he sent it, and I played it. And yes, I am familiar enough with command structure ta know that ya can't have outsiders muddlin' around with ya every time ya discipline one-a yer men. But I know my grandson a damned sight better than you, and I know that you've accused and punished him fer somethin' he never woulda done."

"Respectfully, ma'am, you weren't—"

"Shut up, ya feckin' eedgit," she snapped. "Shit an' molasses, boy, if ya wanna show me 'respectfully' then ya kin bloody well hear me out! I'm guessin' ya weren't willin' ta listen ta my boy but by God yer bloody damned well gonna listen ta me, understand?"

Malcolm nodded mutely. 'Please God, send many many Klingons. Maybe some Suliban, too. And a few Andorians for a splash of color. And please hurry. Amen.'

"All right, then," Colleen continued. "Now, ta be honest, David mentions ya in every one of his letters."

Malcolm groaned mentally. 'Note to self: Crewman Saunders' death must be made to look accidental.'

David's grandmother pressed on. "But this last one came as a bit of a shock. In all his other letters he describes a man that he admires and respects. Says yer strict and no-nonsense when it comes ta the job, gotta quick mind fer problem-solvin', and yer above all a fair and honorable man. Says he never hasta worry 'bout feelin' homesick, either, 'cuz ya remind him so much of his Grandsir. An' never once has he been the least bit worried 'bout any a' the scrapes you've been in, 'cuz he knows yer on the job an' y'll keep 'em all safe. Even those Andorian fellas you knocked heads with didn't worry him none—he said if those fellas had known who they were up against and had any sense a'tall they'd've run home ta their mothers rather than get you on their arses.

"So imagine my surprise, Lieutenant Reed, when I get his latest video letter an' he's lookin' like death warmed over. Kin tell jes' by looking' at 'im that he's not eatin' proper, not sleepin'…tells me he thinks he's made a mistake, that he should come home, that he's not cut out fer it. That maybe his father was right, that he's too weak ta measure up. That maybe it's not too late fer him ta come back here an' try ta follow the path his father's tried ta cram down his throat his entire bloody life." For the first time her voice broke but she quickly regained control.

"Eventually he gets ta the part that involves you. Says he scorched himself doin' some sorta maintenance an' apparently his language got a bit…shall we say, interesting. From what he said, he an' his crewmates didn't hear you come inta yer armoury til after he'd used a phrase that is seemingly one you yerself use—not infrequently, as I understand it—an' one of his mates commented how he sounded jest like you. This soundin' a'tall familiar to you, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am," Malcolm replied quietly, afraid to say more. He'd been totally unaware of any injury at the time.

Colleen nodded and continued. "Thought it might. Ya will let me know if any'a this is off the mark, won'tcha?" she asked without allowing time for a response. "He says you were quite unamused. Felt you were bein' mocked by those under yer command. Says he could see in yer eyes that he'd done somethin' unpardonable. An' when he tried ta explain, ya wouldn't hear a word of it.

"He says it was really quite understandable on yer part, thinkin' you'd been disrespected 'n' all, but he thought after you'd hadda chance ta cool down you'd be willin' ta hear him out. Says he wasn't surprised that you'd assign him ta work double duties fer a few days—gotta maintain discipline, after all. But a couple of days have turned inta more than two weeks, with no end in sight. Says he's even been stayin' ta work beyond his assigned shifts, plus goin' in early, wantin' ta get back in yer good graces—though why he'd wanna be in the good graces of a sodding egomaniacal son of a sea cook such as yerself is beyond my comprehension. But there's no sign from you that he'll ever make it right by ya, an' he knows he can't keep up the pace much longer. As far as he can tell, he's not measurin' up and never will.

"So, Lieutenant, it looks like congratulations are in order. You have succeeded where the boy's bloody no-account bollocks-for-brains rat bastard bully of a father failed. You've convinced him that he's never gonna measure up. That he's worthless." Her voice cracked again. "Well done. You've broken him. Feckin' hurrah for you." She tried to blink back tears but failed, and they began coursing down her cheeks. Her voice quivered uncontrollably as she continued.

"You had a man who would've marched barefoot and naked through the flamin' gates of Hell and crawled on his belly over broken glass once he got to the other side, all on your say-so. Hell, he'd've carried ya on his back the whole way through, and done it with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. And ya've turned him inta an empty shell of a man who's convinced he can't draw his next breath ta your satisfaction. Guess I should've expected as much from Stuart's boy. He'll be right proud of ya when ya brag ta him 'bout this one, won't he?"

Her tears flowed freely and she angrily scrubbed them away. "I swore I would not give you the satisfaction of tears but damn you ta hell, you betrayed me, an' even worse you've betrayed him! When I found out David would be servin' on that ship I made a point of checkin' inta the crew—I wanted ta know what my boy was gettin' inta, who was gonna be watchin' his back. Made me nervous as hell when I came upon the name Reed, let me tell you, but when I read your record I actually relaxed. An' when he told me aboutcha in his letters it put my heart at ease—I truly thought it was good that he'd be servin' under ya. God forgive me, I trusted you! I knew from the start it was gonna be dangerous out there fer him—fer all'a ya—but I convinced myself that you'd keep 'im safe, that you'd pr'tect 'im from whatever alien beasties might trouble ya out there. I never imagined I'd hafta be worryin' about who'd be there ta pr'tect him from you!

"David told me you were a fair and honorable man. Said ya remind him of his grandfather. I'll grant ya, Edward could be quite stern with his men, an' rightly so, but he'da just a-soon thrown himself overboard before he'da made any of 'em lick his boots fer weeks on end, an' he never woulda condemned a man without hearin' him out. 'Cuz Edward knew that he had a duty ta take care of the men under his command, and he knew that a broken man is a damned sight harder ta mend than broken equipment.

"Not that I suppose it mattered to ya then, nor that it matters now, but ya've broken him, an' fer what? All fer yer bruised ego. And now that ya've broken him, I'd be interested ta know how in bloody blue hell yer planning' ta fix 'im?" All Malcolm could do was stare mutely at the enraged, distraught woman, unable to give her an answer.

"Hmph," Colleen finally snorted. "I thought as much. Well, you'd best listen up, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. David E. Saunders may be just another disposable crewman in your eyes, but he's my only survivin' grandson, and if anything happens ta him out there I'll be holdin' you to account fer it. An' no matter how big the galaxy may be, it won't be big enough for ya to find a suitable hidin' place."

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Still cowed by Colleen McIntyre's tirade, a sleep-deprived, very subdued Lt. Reed showed up in the Armoury half-an-hour earlier than he normally would. A quick check showed no sign of Crewman Saunders—who wasn't due for another half-hour—so Malcolm set about busying himself with several small tasks while he waited for David to arrive. Forty-five minutes later he was still waiting.

"Anybody seen Crewman Saunders?" he asked, directing the question to everyone within earshot. The puzzled, nervous glances back and forth were not lost on him—it was as if they were silently drawing lots to see who got the privilege of poking a sleeping bear with a sharp stick.

Finally a young woman stepped tentatively forward, her dark, pretty face marred by tension. Crewman Miranda Atkinson stood at attention in front of her CO, having to look up to meet his gaze. "He left already, sir. Got here about twenty minutes before you did. Said he had to get started on the aft phase cannon maintenance you'd scheduled."

'Bugger.'

As Malcolm headed for the door Atkinson nervously called to him. "Lieutenant…?"

Reed turned slowly, gazing tiredly into her dark brown eyes. "What is it?" he asked softly. Miranda, evidently expecting a more volatile response, met his gaze with a stunned stare. "You wanted to say something?" Reed gently reminded her.

She found her voice with difficulty and stammered her response. "Y-yes sir…it's about, well…David. Crewman Saunders," she quickly corrected herself. "He was…I mean…it might look worse than it actually is, sir, but," she paused as if trying to decide how to phrase it. "He's kinda messed up, but I couldn't convince him to go to Sickbay. Something's wrong with him."

Malcolm stiffened. "What do you mean, Crewman?" After a moment she shook her head.

"It's probably nothing, sir. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have troubled you. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Why not let me be the judge of that?" Malcolm replied, his tone low. "Please explain to me exactly what you think is wrong with him." He expected her to say that Saunders seemed tired, or sullen, or distracted, so what she finally blurted out took him entirely by surprise.

"Well, sir…his left arm's bunged up, and he was limping a little. And his left hand looks like it's broken."

'What the bloody hell…?'

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

He found Saunders diligently working on the aft cannon, though how he was able to do it in his present state was beyond Reed's ability to fathom. Even at a distance it was obvious from the bruising and swelling that at least two fingers of his left hand were broken. And he was trying to keep the upper part of his left arm tight to his body. As he awkwardly shifted the scanner in the palm of his left hand he flinched, sucking in his breath sharply. Malcolm could see David's profile, and the younger man's too-pale face spoke volumes. The crewman's brow was deeply furrowed, his lips pinched so tightly together that almost all pigment was forced from them making them nothing more than pale thin lines.

After several long, silent minutes of watching Saunders work Reed drew closer and spoke, his voice little more than a whisper. "Crewman?" The effect was immediate and painful for Malcolm to watch, Saunders' body stiffening as he snapped to attention.

Despite the pain the sudden movement must have caused him David made no sound except to answer his CO. "Yes sir."

Malcolm stepped up to Saunders, looking up into the younger man's tense face. Setting things right with the man was going to have to take a back seat to getting him some medical attention. He looked up into the crewman's dull eyes momentarily contemplating whether to simply order him to Sickbay, but quickly discarded that idea. "Put those tools down and come with me, please," Reed demanded gently. Saunders wordlessly complied, putting the tools into the nearby case then falling into step behind the lieutenant. Atkinson had been right: he was definitely favoring his right leg.

The two men proceeded silently until they reached the turbolift. As they rode Malcolm tried to decide how best to break the silence. He definitely couldn't mention the call from 'Grandma'am' so he went with the obvious question. "Care to tell me what happened?"

Staring straight ahead at the door, David blinked several times before responding. "It's rather embarrassing, sir," he finally replied, his voice formal but subdued. "Given a choice, I'd rather not discuss it. Besides, it's minor. Looks worse than it is, sir."

"I hope you'll forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe," Reed said. There was no audible reply but Saunders' posture changed as he stiffened even more (which Malcolm hadn't thought physically possible).

Needing to break the uncomfortable mood, Malcolm decided to forge ahead. "Look, Saunders...David," he started, trying to maintain a tone of authority while sounding conciliatory. "I need to speak with you about what happened a few weeks back. I've had a word with Commander Tucker, and—" he was interrupted by the turbolift stopping and the door opening. Sighing, Malcolm motioned David out then followed. The rest of their trip to Sickbay passed uneventfully, neither man breaking the tense silence between them.

When they arrived they were greeted by an overly-chipper Phlox, who immediately directed Saunders to sit on the exam table. As he began scanning the left arm Phlox grew serious. "I'd be interested to know how this happened, Crewman," the doctor asked. "There's quite a bit of damage here. Hmm... broken wrist...three broken fingers..." he lingered over the shoulder before continuing. "How did you get the shoulder back in the socket?"

"Just did," Saunders replied in a casual voice. "I've...had some practice with it. Not the first time it's been dislocated."

Phlox shot a perplexed glance at Malcolm then looked back at his patient. "I see. You also have a good deal of damage to the dermal layers. That would be...?"

"Rope burns, sir," David said matter-of-factly. "Can I go now? I've got a lot of work to do, and I can't get it done from here."

Phlox shook his head. "I'm afraid you're not going anywhere, young man. Not until these injuries have been explained to me and properly treated. You're in no condition—"

"I'm fine, sir. And I really have a lot—"

"You are far from fine, Mr. Saunders. Over here, please," Phlox directed, motioning the man to the imaging chamber. David looked at the small door of the chamber as if he were facing a firing squad.

"Sir, really, I'm fine," he insisted again. Phlox shook his head.

"You sound like Lieutenant Reed. Now—"

"Don't say that," Saunders hissed in a whispered, menacing voice. "Don't. Ever. Say that." He stared into the doctor's eyes, and Phlox leaned ever so slightly away from the crewman.

"As you wish. However," the doctor urged, patting the bed of the chamber, "I still need you to lie down here." After a moment's hesitation Saunders limped to the gurney and complied, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as the bed slid into the chamber and the door closed.

"You need to stay still, please," Phlox urged loudly as he watched the image squirming on the screen. "That's better, crewman," he comforted as the man settled down.

Malcolm took in the worried look on the doctor's face. "How bad is it?" he asked.

Phlox shook his head. "I'm going to want to keep him for a while, Lieutenant. In addition to the injuries I've already mentioned, he's got a hairline fracture of the right tibia and one—no, two cracked ribs. "I don't suppose you would care to tell me what happened, hmm?"

Reed shook his head. "He wouldn't tell me and I didn't want to press the issue. Just wanted to get him down here. Wish I'd know about the leg, though. I knew it was bothering him but I never imagined it was broken."

Phlox nodded. "Well, I'm sure he didn't realize it, either. And as I said, it's a hairline fracture rather than a complete break, so we'll just keep him off of it until we get it properly mended. You did the right thing getting him here quickly, Lieutenant. In addition to his physical injuries," the doctor said, studying the crewman's reading, "Crewman Saunders' heart rate and respiration are accelerated, his blood pressure is dangerously high, he's suffering from dehydration, borderline malnutrition, and exhaustion—frankly, I'm not certain how he's still functioning." Studying the readings a moment longer Phlox ended the scan and the bed slid out of the chamber.

"All finished, Mr. Saunders," he assured the man, patting him on his uninjured shoulder. Malcolm stepped back, shocked at the man's appearance. David's face was even paler than it had been when Malcolm had first seen him at the phase cannon, he was sweating profusely, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were squeezed shut and he seemed to be murmuring something under his breath. Despite the broken fingers both hands were clenched into tight fists.

Another pat from Phlox seemed to bring the man out of it. David's eyes flickered open, meeting the doctor's kind, concerned gaze.

As his breathing slowed to something approaching normal Saunders cautiously sat up. "Can't you just let me out of here so I can get back to work?" he pleaded. "It hardly hurts at all and if I don't get that maintenance finished—"

"As I said before," Phlox interrupted too-cheerily, "you're not going anywhere for a while. This way, please, and don't put any weight on that leg," he urged, helping the reluctant man to a biobed.

"But the lieutenant needs—"

"I don't care what the lieutenant needs," the doctor interrupted again. "I'm far more interested in your needs. Now, lie down," he demanded good-naturedly. Saunders complied wordlessly, glancing forlornly at Lt. Reed. Seemingly from thin air Phlox produced a hypospray. When he had the device a few centimeters from David's neck he paused, eyes sparkling with understanding. "You were climbing, weren't you?" he asked, grinning gleefully as he lowered the hypospray.

Saunders returned the doctor's grin with a puzzled half-smile. "How do you know about that?"

"Ensign Mayweather once mentioned to me that you were fond of climbing. I must say, he led me to believe you were somewhat more...accomplished at it than this," he commented, chuckling slightly.

Saunders looked sheepishly at the doctor then at the floor. "Yeah, well...I usually am. Haven't had a chance to figure it out yet," he said, his eyes meeting the doctor's again. "By the time I got the shoulder back in place I had just enough time to stow my gear before I had to get to the Armoury, so I dunno yet if it was a failure of the equipment or the person using it." He paused briefly as if deciding whether to go into further detail, then plowed ahead.

"The rope slipped and I got my left arm wrapped up in it, which is where the rope burns came from. Hand got snagged, hence the broken fingers and wrist. Shoulder's from the abrupt stop, and my leg got banged up a little 'cuz I was further from the floor than I realized when I let go. One of my more successful descents, all in all," he added jokingly. "Any landing you can walk away from, after all."

"Or limp away from, in this instance, hmm?" Phlox joked back, grinning.

David returned the smile then grew somber. "Doctor...I have to get back to those cannons. I'm tellin' ya the truth, it really doesn't hurt all that much. Can't I just go finish with the cannons then come back here as soon as I'm done? Please," he implored.

Phlox pretended to consider the request before administering the hypospray. "I'm sure the phase cannons will still be there when you wake up," he assured his patient, watching the young man's eyes drift closed.