NOTE: Thanks to EntAllat for info on tea as well as beverage suggestions for Malcolm! (Had already settled on Guinness, but the Glenlivet may come in handy—if not for him, maybe for me!)
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The first task Malcolm set for himself was to review the previous night's security tapes from the gym. He finally found the proper time index and watched in rapt fascination as Saunders skillfully ascended and descended innumerable times until finally the man stopped at the top and hung there. Though not quite afraid of heights Malcolm did feel a slight discomfort about them and admired the ease with which the large crewman handled himself on the rope.
After a minute or so of silence a sigh could be heard, followed by Saunders' quiet voice proclaiming, "Not bloody likely to happen now," followed by a yawned "Gotta stop talkin' like that." He then simply hung there for several minutes, swinging ever so gently on the rope. At last David spoke again, his bitter voice sounding more like his grandmother's with every word.
"Looks like you were right after all, Father. Once a screw-up, always a screw-up. You'd laugh yer arse off if you could see me now, wouldn'tcha? You said I wasn't cut out for it, and maybe you were right. Maybe I'm not. But I'll be damned if either you or Lieutenant Reed will ever hear me admit it. I won't give either of you the bloody satisfaction. I'll die out here first."
Pausing the playback Malcolm closed his eyes, pained by what he'd heard. Tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger he at last opened his eyes and resumed playing the recording. He studied every movement of the man but nothing hinted at the fall that was to come. A bitter laugh startled the lieutenant but not nearly as much as David's words.
"Well, Lieutenant, yer gonna hafta find yer entertainment someplace else, I guess," the man declared, his voice echoing through the empty room. After a moment the crewman's breathing became erratic, a tremor passing through him before his breathing leveled out and he righted himself, beginning his descent with a faint sigh. Malcolm rewound the recording to the point where Saunders had begun having difficulty breathing in an effort to figure out what was wrong. Zooming in to get a better look at the man's face gave Reed his answer. The lieutenant swallowed hard as he watched David fight to contain tears that seemed determined to come, gaping at the screen as the barely audible words "Don't bend, don't break, never cry" slid off David's tongue for what seemed an eternity. At last Saunders reined in his emotions and started down.
There had been an audible snapping sound within the first meter of his descent, and a loud pop and a scream as Saunders' fall was arrested by his left arm tangling in the rope. Reed stomach flipped as he realized that the second 'pop' had been the sound of the man's shoulder being wrenched out of its socket. A second, stifled shriek escaped from the crewman as he dangled by his damaged arm, midway between floor and ceiling. He fought desperately to pull himself up with his right arm, striving to take pressure off his tortured left limb. He gained an inch or two then maneuvered his legs so that the rope looped obligingly around his feet. Using the loop as a step he was able to push himself upward, finally gaining enough slack to free his tangled arm; it dangled uselessly as he gingerly worked his way down the rope. Just over two meters from the floor David suddenly dropped, crashing to the deck and crumpling in a heap.
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Malcolm worked furiously on the cannons, trying with little success to use the task to temporarily push aside the morning's events. He'd been unable to watch any more of the footage of Saunders' accident and was seriously regretting watching any of it. About all he'd learned as far as the cause was that it had sounded like equipment failure: since he didn't know where Saunders had stowed his gear (and was disinclined to ask any of the crewman's friends) he had no way to verify that as yet. What he'd learned about Saunders—and himself—had left a knot in the pit of his stomach.
When he'd completed the maintenance he headed to the Mess Hall for lunch. Thankfully it was far enough past mealtime for the place to be empty: word had already circulated throughout much of ship that he'd "marched Saunders through the ship on a broken leg" so he was grateful for the solitude of a vacant dining room.
Absently stirring his beef stew he mulled over the day's events then thought back over the past weeks. What little appetite he possessed fled as he realized exactly how familiar the circumstances were. How many times in his childhood had he committed some infraction, either real or supposed, against his father's rules? Countless…and each offense had been dealt with in the same agonizing manner: first came the lecture, then the cold silent stares and plenty of menial tasks to drive home the lesson that disobedience and frivolity were contrary to the Proper Conduct of Reed Men.
Even more charming had been the times when the elder Reed had employed the tactic of refusing to even acknowledge his son's existence. No matter what he'd done to redeem himself his father held firm, continuing to ignore the boy until a suitable length of time had passed. The longest had been just over two months. And the offense had been…what? Malcolm racked his brain to remember. Ah, yes…a schoolyard scuffle had brought a call from his teacher. Stuart's reaction to the call had been predictable—"What's the boy done this time?" he'd asked as soon as the teacher stated that the call was about Malcolm—and his reaction after the call had been even more predictable.
Malcolm remembered standing at attention in his father's study knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to explain the reason for the altercation at school. Never mind that the other boy was picking on one of the few friends Malcolm had. Never mind that the bully had knocked the already-bruised lad to the ground. It didn't matter that the thug had drawn back his leg to kick the helpless boy, who had curled himself into a ball in an attempt to shield himself from the blows heading his way. Unwilling to stand by and see his friend injured further Malcolm had intervened, sending the larger boy scurrying away with a bloody nose and several loose teeth. But all of that was irrelevant: the only thing that mattered was that Stuart Reed had been forced to endure the humiliation of a call from his miscreant son's teacher.
Malcolm didn't recall the details of the dressing-down: by that time in his life there had been innumerable lectures, all so similar that they had over time simply blurred together. He did have a vivid memory of standing there wishing his father would just give him a sound beating and be done with it. When he'd voiced that opinion to his friend a few days later the boy, with a fresh shiner and his arm in a cast, had just stared at him with sad, hollow eyes. "No, Mal, trust me…you don't."
And in Saunders case, Reed chastised himself, he hadn't even given the man the benefit of a lecture. If he had, there might have been an opportunity for the man to at least attempt to set the record straight. No, instead he'd opted for a combination of ignoring the man and assigning countless tasks to him, Saunders playing Hercules to his King Eurystheus.
The uncomfortable expanding knot in his stomach made it impossible to finish his meal. Abandoning the stew Malcolm fled the Mess Hall. He quickly made his way to Sickbay, Colleen McIntyre's voice burning in his ears. "Guess I should have 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?" The knowledge that he had, however unintentionally, behaved as his father seared his soul and Malcolm was determined to bring that behavior to a screeching halt.
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The privacy curtain was drawn around Saunders' bed, causing Malcolm to approach hesitantly. He froze at the sound of voices coming from behind the curtain, not wanting to blunder in and interrupt. He thought at first that Phlox was back there tending his patient (with God only knew what kinds of slugs, leeches, or other members of Sickbay's menagerie—he certainly didn't need to see that!); it took only a moment for him to realize, however, that the voice softly bantering with Saunders was female.
He was now faced with a bit of a dilemma: proceeding through the curtain meant interrupting a private conversation, but holding his present position meant eavesdropping on said conversation. There was the risk that his departure would be heard but he was loathe to listen in and most assuredly didn't wish to intrude. Malcolm opted for a stealthy retreat in hopes that, since his entrance had apparently gone unnoticed, so too would his exit. He'd almost made it to the door when David's voice, loud and drunken-sounding, with an unmistakable Irish lilt, froze him in place.
"Hey Randy…wanna know the difference b'tween my father and Lieutenant Reed? Father's taller." There was a small, humorless chuckle from Saunders, then a sigh. "Nah…never mind. Guess that was a low blow. That's not the only difference. The lieutenant, t' th' best of my knowledge, has never kicked any puppies. An' I know fer-a fact that he's never broken a chair across m' back. Well, not yet, anyway. Guess I could ask Porthos if he knows about any puppy-kicking incidents. An' maybe hide the chairs in the Armory, just in case."
"Dave, there aren't any chairs in the Armory," Atkinson pointed out.
"Hmm…I wonder why…" he chuckled.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, finally broken by the woman's nervous voice. "Dave, maybe you should get some sleep. I can come back later. I'm due in the Armory pretty soon anyhow."
"Please don't go, Meeranda," he slurred drunkenly. "I promise...no more talk of Father."
"I don't mind if you wanna talk about him—might be good for you to let it out. I'm just worried that if you get too agitated Phlox won't let me back in here."
"I'm not agitated," Saunders objected almost cheerfully. "Got too much of the Doc's latest concoction flowin' through me ta be agitated."
"Yeah, well…you shoulda seen your vitals spike just mentioning your father." She paused before asking softly, "He didn't really—?"
"Help me turn over." There were sounds of movement and a stifled groan, then Saunders said simply, "Take a look." Miranda gasped. "Wanna know the funny part, Randy?" David asked after a moment. "In the gym, before the feckin' rope let loose, I was hangin' there, clearing' my mind, thinkin' about everything, an' I'd all but decided ta pack it in. Jus' give him my resignation an' go home. But when I thought about it…goin' home meant havin' Father know he was right, showin' him what a sodding failure I am. Couldn't let that happen. Given a choice, I much prefer DBR—Death By Reed," he elaborated. "Less painful. Besides," he continued, "I figured that if I survived Father I sure as bloody hell shoulda been able to survive whatever the lieutenant could dish out. Think I handled it wrong, though. Spent all this time tryin' ta redeem myself, but the more I think about it the more I suspect I shoulda jus' kept pissin' him off. If I'da got 'im mad enough he coulda jus' pitched my arse out the nearest airlock. Then he'd be happy, I'd be happy, and Father'd be feckin' ecstatic, 'cuz he'd be rid of the last of his failures. As it is now…" He sighed again then blurted out, "Lieutenant's gonna kick me over to Engineering, y'know."
"WHAT? He can't…where'dja get that idea from?"
"He told me so himself. Or at least, he started to. In the turbolift, when he brought me here this morning. Even called me 'David'…hell, I didn't even know that he knew my first name. Anyhow, I guess he figured actin' friendly would ease the blow. Said he needed ta talk t' me 'bout what happened then said he'd been talkin' t' Commander Tucker 'bout me. 'I've had a word with Commandah Tuckah,'" he flawlessly mimicked the lieutenant. "His exact words. That's as far as he got 'cuz the lift stopped, an' I guess he didn't wanna discuss it in the middle of the corridor. Shit an' molasses, Randy, I suck at Engineering. 'Bout all I'll be good for down there is fetchin' coffee fer Rostov. I get anywhere near the engines, chances are I'll blow up the whole bloody ship b'fore the week is out." Another long sigh escaped from David before he spoke again. "Airlock's lookin' pretty damned good right about now, Randy. I'd be savin' the ship from certain destruction. Could even be a posthumous commendation in it fer me."
"Not funny, Dave."
"Nah…I guess not."
"It's not fair, y'know," Miranda said angrily after a long pause.
"Show me exactly where it's written that life's supposed t' be fair, Crewman Atkinson," David slurred. "It's when things start ta seem fair that I start worryin', 'cuz that's just about the time y' can start lookin' fer the shit t' hit the fan."
"Y'know…for two cents I'd tell Lieutenant Reed exactly what I think of him."
"Be sure t' lemme know when yer plannin' ta do that so's I can be somewhere safe…like inside the warp reactor." Both crewmen laughed softly before Atkinson replied gently.
"Okay…probably not one of my better ideas."
"No kidding," Saunders agreed. "Hey, didn't you say you're due in the Armory?"
"Uh-huh. But the world won't come to an end if I'm ten seconds late, will it now?"
"Betcha Mr. Reed would disagree with ya on that one. B'sides, if yer too late the lieutenant'll be sendin' out a search party for ya, or maybe come lookin' himself. Trust me, Randy, you bloody well do not want ta piss him off." David gave a long yawn before continuing. "Y'know, maybe Engineering won't be too bad…"
"Are you feeling okay?" Atkinson joked. "Maybe Phlox should cut back on your pain medication."
"I'm fine, an' the pain meds are spot on…it's just occurred to me, though...pretty high ceilings in Engineering, right? Might make for a good climb."
"You are incorrigible, you know that?" Atkinson chastised good-naturedly. "Besides, we're not gonna let the lieutenant ship you off to Engineering. Who'll sing his torpedoes to sleep at night if we let that happen?"
"I do no such thing!" Saunders objected.
"You're forgetting that I've heard you. Can't decide which I enjoy more, though—when you sing that serious opera crap or when you're bein' funny. What was that one you were belting out last month, when we were calibrating the sensors?" She whistled a few bars of a tune unfamiliar to Malcolm but which Saunders immediately began singing along with, his voice slurred by the drugs but still strong and more or less on key.
"Bang bang, you shot me down. Bang bang, I hit the ground. Bang bang, that awful sound. Bang bang, my baby shot me down." The crewmen chuckled.
"Yes, that's the one!" Miranda squeaked. Both giggled aloud for several moments. As their quiet laughter died down Reed heard another yawn from Saunders.
"Y'know what this means, don'cha?" the young man asked groggily. "I'm gonna hafta learn some Engineering songs."
"Nah…we'll just smuggle you into the Armory when the lieutenant's not there an' you can have your little concerts then."
"Won't work, Randy," Saunders told her sleepily. "Lieutenant's always there. Lieutenant all but feckin' lives there. Just hafta make Engineering work, I guess," he yawned. "At least Commander Tucker doesn't hate the very sight of me, like the lieutenant does. Not yet, anyways. That'll change pretty quick once I bugger up his engines, though," David chuckled, yawning again, and a few minutes later Malcolm heard a chair slide against the floor.
Moving quickly, Reed activated the door to give the illusion of having just entered; he feigned surprise when Crewman Atkinson came out from behind the curtain. "Ah, hello Crewman," he greeted her cheerfully. "How's the patient?" He pretended to not notice Miranda's formal, icy tone or the anger in her dark eyes.
"He's just fallen back to sleep, sir," she replied, her glacial voice soft and dangerous. "Dr. Phlox said he'll be laid up for a few days and should avoid any undue stress or agitation."
"Very good," he responded, maintaining a balance between cheerful and aloof. When she made no move toward the door, Malcolm officially invited Atkinson to leave with a casually tossed out "Dismissed, Crewman." The expression that flickered across her face lasted only an instant yet displayed enough emotion for Reed to be grateful that she wasn't carrying a sidearm.
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Malcolm thought at first that Saunders realized who his new visitor was and was pretending to be asleep, but it only took a moment for the lieutenant to realize that this was not the case. Standing next to the bed he silently perused David's vital signs before turning his attention to the sleeping man's face.
Though his color had improved his skin was still pale enough to accentuate the dark circles under his sunken eyes. Despite his state of slumbering relaxation his face was gaunt and haggard, his brow furrowing as he slept. The blanket shifted as David moved his legs, exposing his bare shoulders and chest. Malcolm studied the man's damaged arm, which Phlox had expertly dressed then immobilized across David's chest. Only the index finger and thumb of his left hand were exposed: bruising and swelling from the injured area had leaked out from under the dressing, all but enveloping the exposed digits. Malcolm shuddered inwardly at the memory of Saunders at the phase cannon, trying to juggle a scanner in that wrecked hand, forcing his wounded body to continue working. Unintelligible murmurs escaped David's lips as he shifted again, bringing Malcolm's attention back to the present.
The crewman's feet had snared the blanket, each movement of his legs pulling the covering away from him. Almost his entire torso now lay exposed and shivering so Malcolm gingerly took hold of the bedclothes, easing them gently over the fitfully-sleeping man. Satisfied that he hadn't roused the patient he turned away, reaching for the nearby chair, then gave a start as a hand weakly grasped his wrist.
David's eyes were half-open and glassy as he stared blankly at Malcolm a long while.
At last Malcolm found his voice. "Hello, David."
Saunders smiled, blinking slowly. "Hello, Grandsir."
'Grandsir? Bloody fabulous…kid thinks I'm his grandfather.'
The man's grip tightened, his smile suddenly gone. "I'm so sorry, Grandsir," David slurred groggily. "I know you must be terribly disappointed in me. Please, please forgive me," he pleaded. "I just…when Molly tried t' stop him and he grabbed her…had to stop him…couldn't let him—"
"Shh," Malcolm comforted. "Don't worry about it. You did fine," he added, hoping he was saying the right thing.
"I hit him, Grandsir. I hauled off and pasted him. Please forgive me."
Malcolm stared, considering his next words carefully. The conversation he'd overheard earlier left little doubt in his mind whom David had hit. "Don't worry about that right now. Everything's going to be fine. Just try to get some rest."
"Forgive me, please forgive me," he begged, his grip on Malcolm's wrist growing painfully strong.
"David, listen to me," Malcolm urged, placing his free hand on the man's uninjured shoulder. "You need to calm down." David slowly nodded, frightened blue eyes searching Malcolm's face for absolution. "As far as I'm concerned," Malcolm continued, groping for words, "if he made a grab for Molly, then…you did the right thing. There's nothing to forgive, David—"
"But I hit him, Grandsir. I hit him…Jaysus, I lit inta him, just kept hittin' him…"
"I forgive you," Reed blurted, desperate to give the man peace. "I forgive you. Just please try to rest awhile, all right?"
The fear and desperation drained from Saunders' face, his grip on Malcolm slacking. "Aye, sir," David moaned tiredly. "I am kinda knackered, and I think maybe I've busted up my hand. There is one thing I'm wonderin', though…wouldja mind not tellin' Grandma'am? I think I should tell her myself."
"Fair enough. Now get some sleep," Malcolm urged gently, giving the man's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go. The crewman's eyes slid closed, his hand gradually relinquishing its hold on Reed's wrist. Silently placing the chair next to the biobed, Malcolm settled in, listening to the younger man's breathing even out as Colleen McIntyre's accusations kept ringing in his ears.
"Should've expected as much from Stuart's boy…God forgive me, I trusted you! …Didn't think I'd hafta be worryin' about who'd be there t' pr'tect him from you! …Y've broken him, an' fer what? All fer yer bruised ego…if anything happens ta him out there I'll be holdin' you to account fer it."
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He awoke despite his best efforts, grudgingly opening his eyes. Disoriented at first, he tried to figure out where he was. A twinge of pain flickered through his left shoulder and down the arm, jump-starting his memory. Sickbay. The lieutenant had escorted him to Sickbay…how long ago? David squeezed his eyes shut at the humiliating memory. The sound of a gentle snore made him open his eyes again and cast a look around. He stared slack-jawed at the sight that greeted him as he looked to his right.
Lt. Reed sat no more than a meter from the biobed, hands folded on his lap, mouth slightly agape, and head thrown back as if he were studying the ceiling. Closed eyes and intermittent soft snores assured the crewman that the man was indeed asleep, but David couldn't piece together why his CO was here.
'Is he really so eager to toss my arse to Engineering that he came to wait for me to wake up so he could do it?' Saunders dismissed that notion solely because he suspected that Phlox wouldn't allow the lieutenant to do such a thing. 'Maybe I muddled up the phase cannon I was workin' on and he's come to ream me out for it?' That theory, too, fell by the wayside: first because, once again, Phlox wouldn't allow it in his Sickbay, and second because the lieutenant surely would have roused him rather than lazing around waiting for him to wake up. And he certainly wouldn't take a nap in Sickbay. Not willingly, at any rate. David thought frantically, struggling to remember everything he'd recently done and trying to decide what action or actions would have brought the lieutenant here. 'Musta made a feckin' mess of something or he wouldn't be here. Think, man…what have you done this time?'
Staring at the lieutenant, several things occurred to Saunders. He realized that he'd never seen Lt. Reed so completely relaxed. Also, for the man to be so soundly asleep in the middle of Sickbay—at least, without the benefit of one of Phlox's elixirs—he must be thoroughly exhausted. And David would never have figured the lieutenant for a snorer. Though with his head at such an ungodly angle it shouldn't be surprising. 'He'll have a helluva sore neck in the morning,' he thought. Saunders considered calling out to wake the lieutenant—for all of about three milliseconds. After all, you don't go into a bear cave in the middle of winter and start whacking the bear on the snout. Especially if the bear in question has easy access to phase pistols and torpedoes. And enjoys using them.
So Saunders laid perfectly still, staring nervously at his slumbering superior for several agonizing minutes, contemplating a plan of action. Weighing the risks and rewards he finally decided to make a break for it. Maybe he could hide in Phlox's office or even (David shuddered) the imaging chamber. Even that would be preferable to being here when Reed woke up: he felt too brittle to endure those glacial eyes boring through him again. Bracing himself against the pain ('Marvelous time for your magic potion to wear off, doc!') he silently eased the bedclothes away with his right hand, inching his way cautiously off the left side of the bed.
So far, so good. He was sitting on the edge of the bed looking over his shoulder at his still-sleeping visitor. Sitting stock-still he considered his next move. Wouldn't do much good to get out if he didn't have a destination. What were his options?
Returning to his quarters was too obvious. The Armory was out since Reed seemed to practically live there. Mess Hall? Too public. One of the maintenance shafts? He shuddered at the thought of the narrow passageways; that would have to be a last resort. Maybe the transporter's control processor room? That might work—damned near everyone on board was scared shitless of the transporter and hated going near the thing, including Lt. Reed. He finally discounted that, though: if the lieutenant were the one to find him, the proximity of the transporter would save the senior officer the trouble of hauling his sorry arse to an airlock. Besides, it was too far away—he'd be spotted and corralled in record time. Especially since he'd be flitting about the ship in just a pair of pajama bottoms.
He was fast running out of ideas. He was just about to admit defeat when the perfect solution came to him. It was nearby yet not an immediately obvious hiding place. He grinned. Not too small, off the beaten path, and not currently in use. 'It's feckin' perfect!' David mentally congratulated himself for the idea. Of course, the idea would be useless if he couldn't actually get there. His left arm and hand were really starting to throb, and his right leg was reminding him exactly how hard he'd landed on it. If he didn't move soon he feared he wouldn't move at all.
Eyes locked on the lieutenant Saunders rose from the edge of the bed with agonizing slowness. His leg was protesting desperately but he pushed aside most of the pain. His breathing quickened but he made almost no sound as he leaned heavily against the bed and hobbled cautiously down the length of it. Once at the foot of the bed he identified with dread a serious flaw in his "feckin' perfect" plan: his damaged leg was going to have to hold his full weight, for there was nothing else for him to cling to for support and his future hiding place, though relatively close, was still a good distance away. He was sure the leg hadn't hurt this much before he'd been brought to Sickbay, but it was fairly screaming at him now. He was trapped.
He felt blind, unreasoning panic welling up within him. 'Not now, not now. Pull yourself together! Yer not trapped, just…delayed.' David fought to slow his breathing, certain that his heart was pounding loudly enough to wake the lieutenant. It took almost a full minute for him to regain control and push aside the panic attack. And still, remarkably, Lt. Reed hadn't heard anything. Saunders held his position another half minute, bracing himself against the anticipated pain. Finally, certain he could withstand the discomfort long enough to make good his escape, he stepped away from the bed.
And screamed as his leg buckled under him.
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Malcolm leapt from the chair and was crouched beside the collapsed crewman in an instant. His first thought was that the man had fallen from bed, but Saunders' position made it obvious that he'd gotten out of bed and tried to walk on his injured leg. David was now half-sprawled, half-kneeling on the floor, having somehow managed to save himself from landing on his injured arm. He remained unmoving, staring at the floor as he gasped futilely for breath.
Gently placing a hand on the crewman's right shoulder, Malcolm spoke. "Saunders…can you hear me?"
The crewman raised his head, pale blue pain-filled eyes meeting the lieutenant's but not quite seeming to see him. Mouth agape he finally caught his breath enough to speak. "Jaysus…what happened?"
"You got out of bed and tried to walk on a broken leg, you bloody git. Where did you think you were going?" Reed asked, worry obvious in his voice.
Despite the agony Saunders had enough presence of mind to withhold the truth. "Bathroom," he panted, swallowing hard as it quickly dawned on him how horribly true the statement had suddenly become. "Have to get…gonna be—" he wasn't quite able to turn his head away from the lieutenant before violently heaving the contents of his stomach onto the floor of Sickbay as well as a good portion of Malcolm's uniform. When he finished retching he forced himself to look at his CO but couldn't bear the sight and cast his eyes to the floor. "Please just kill me now," he pleaded softly.
"Don't worry yourself about it," Malcolm said sympathetically, stoically ignoring the mess on the floor and himself. "Lean on me, and keep off that leg," he insisted, looping David's right arm over his shoulder. He hoisted on the larger man, helping him off of the floor and back to the edge of the bed. The sound of the doors opening and the doctor's cheerful humming reached Malcolm's grateful ears and the lieutenant called out. "Phlox! Get over here! We need some help!"
The Denobulan appeared at once, shoving the curtain aside and surveying the scene before him. He helped Malcolm get Saunders stretched out on the bed and began scanning David's leg. "Well, what started out as a hairline fracture of the tibia is now a full-fledged break of the tibia and fibula, Mr. Saunders," he scolded sternly as he administered a hypospray. "It will take a moment, but this should alleviate some of the pain. What happened?"
"He got out of bed. Said he needed the lavatory," Malcolm answered, a quick tip of his head toward the mess on floor emphasizing his point.
"And you let him get up?" the doctor accused, incredulous.
"I'd dozed off in the chair. Didn't know he'd gotten up until he yelled—by then he was already on the floor."
"What on Denobula were you thinking, getting out of bed unassisted?" Phlox asked his trembling patient, who was staring unblinking at the ceiling.
Breath still coming in rapid, shallow gasps, David's answer came in a strained, shaking voice. "Didn't know the leg wouldn't hold me. It was fine this morning."
"It wasn't fine this morning," Phlox corrected, exasperated. "Each step you took aggravated the injury, but since you were in shock it most likely didn't feel as though it was seriously damaged." Saunders stifled a retch, swallowing hard as he clenched his jaws. Phlox motioned urgently to a basin on the nearby counter. "Lieutenant, bring that here, quickly." Malcolm seized the basin and brought it back, standing near the right side of David's head. The crewman squeezed his eyes tightly shut, obviously trying to fight his still-churning stomach. When he could hold off no longer he turned over, dispensing the remaining contents of his rebellious gut into the basin.
Almost as disturbing to Malcolm as the retching was the sight of tears forcing themselves out from beneath David's tightly-closed eyelids. He felt uncomfortable enough seeing women cry; men, he had always been taught, do not cry, no matter the reason. Upon reflection, though, hiking around on a broken leg was probably as good a reason as any to weep openly.
Nausea finally subsiding Saunders rolled onto his back, eyes still squeezed shut as he struggled to catch his breath. At last the pain medication began to work and his breathing slowed, though his body was still wracked by tremors. He felt blankets being laid over him and a reassuring hand on his shoulder but couldn't bring himself to look. Even when he heard Phlox gently demanding that he open his eyes he couldn't do it, for he knew who else he'd see standing there. It would have been hard enough seeing those icy eyes glaring down at him before. Combine those eyes with the vomit-spattered man they belonged to…he just could not bear the thought of that sight. "Jaysus, please just let me die," he whispered.
"Sorry, Mr. Saunders," Malcolm said kindly, "but that's not an option. Just try to relax. You're going to be fine."
Surprised by the sympathetic tone of the lieutenant's voice, David slowly dared open his eyes to meet the officer's gaze. Contrary to expectations, Lt. Reed didn't look the least bit angry, but seemed genuinely concerned as well as oblivious to the state of his uniform. As David's eyes drifted downward, taking in the mess, he squeezed them shut again. "Sir, I'm…I'm so sorry." He couldn't bring himself to say more, fearing that he'd totally break down and begin bawling like a baby.
The hand, still on his right shoulder, patted in consolation as Malcolm gave the injured man a hint of a smile. "Nothing a shower and change of garments won't remedy. I told you before, don't worry yourself about it."
"It's not just that, sir. Bad enough I doused you like that, but then you wind up having to hold the basin while I cut loose again. As if I hadn't caused you enough trouble already. Perfect capper to a feckin' perfect day." Opening his eyes again, he stared at the ceiling.
Phlox spoke up almost immediately. "Believe me, Crewman, he's been through worse and survived it." Walking to the counter he prepared another hypospray. "This will make you sleep, so I can tend that leg without causing you any undue discomfort. You should wake up in a few hours, and I want you to remember to stay in bed this time, young man."
The doctor was taken aback when Malcolm put a restraining hand on his arm. "Doctor, I was wondering if you could hold off on that for a few minutes? I need a word with him…alone."
Phlox looked as if he was going to protest but at last nodded. "Very well…but only a few minutes, Lieutenant and only if it's all right with Mr. Saunders," he stated firmly, turning his attention to his patient. Saunders nodded mutely. "As you wish. I'll be back in a few minutes." The doctor drew the privacy curtain back around the bed as he left.
Saunders spoke first, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Sir…may I know what I did?"
"Come again?" Malcolm asked, genuinely perplexed.
"I've been trying to work out what I did wrong this time, but I don't know what it was. You wouldn't waste your time hanging around Sickbay waiting for me to wake up unless I'd bol—" he caught himself before saying 'bollixed', pausing to find a suitable substitute. "Unless I'd screwed up somehow," he finally finished in a wavering voice. "May know what I did, sir?"
"First off, I don't view checking the medical condition of one of my men to be a waste of time," Malcolm answered quietly as he pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. "Secondly…I wanted to speak with you this morning, but we got a bit…sidetracked, didn't we?" Despite having mentally run through what he wanted to say dozens of times, Reed momentarily faltered. Saunders was looking at him now, unable to mask his confusion and uncertainty.
"I was talking to Commandah Tuckah," the lieutenant continued, "and he helped me realize how unfairly I've treated you as of late. I'm hoping that you'll accept my apology."
David stared at him a long while before speaking. "You want to apologize…to me…" His voice trailed off, eyes still locked on the lieutenant's.
"Yes."
"And you're doing this…because…Commander Tucker ordered you to," he stated bitterly, eyes blinking rapidly several times.
Malcolm stared in shock at the crewman. "No, no," he assured Saunders, "that's not what happened. He just started talking about you and got me to thinking…and I realized what a git I've been." Sighing, he continued. "We've only been on this ship a few months, and I admit that it's taking some getting used to. Things are a bit more…relaxed…than I expected them to be. And I'm aware that I've been the butt of more than a few jokes around here because of my more…regimented manner. So when I entered the Armory a few weeks back just in time to hear what I took to be a mocking impersonation of me by one of my subordinates I did not react well. You should have been allowed the opportunity to explain what was going on but I denied you that chance.
"I also held onto my anger about the whole affair far longer than I should have, telling myself that I was teaching you proper discipline and respect for authority when all I was doing was making your life hell. Though I'm not sure you'll be willing to accept it—and I wouldn't fault you if you didn't—I owe you an apology and came to offer it." David's eyes were locked in a wounded stare that Malcolm found himself unable to break away from.
The painful silence stretched on until, no longer able to bear it, the lieutenant slid the chair back and rose to his feet. "Well," he said awkwardly, "I'd best be going before Phlox tosses me out."
"Lieutenant," Saunders called out as Reed turned to go; the lieutenant turned to face the injured man. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" David requested quietly, his voice respectful yet tinged with enmity and a hint of his grandmother's accent.
Malcolm at last nodded. "Of course." He settled into the chair again, waiting patiently as David gathered his thoughts. The crewman's eyes had gone several shades darker and sparkled with anger. His uncanny resemblance to Colleen McIntyre caused Reed to fidget uncomfortably until Saunders spoke, jaw firmly set.
"If any aspect of my behavior or service has been at all disrespectful then I deserve and accept the consequences, sir. However," he continued, narrowing eyes firmly set on Malcolm, "I feel there is something you should know. When I was growing up, I spent as much time with my maternal grandparents as I did with my parents—maybe even more. My grandfather is British, and proudly served a number of years in the Royal Navy. I have always strived to make him proud of me, not out of obligation or fear, but because I love him more than life itself. He has already taught me a great deal more than most men know about discipline and respect for authority, sir. If I ever treated a superior officer with anything less than the utmost respect I would never be able to face Grandsir again. And I'd rather die than allow that to happen." The privacy curtain slid open just as Malcolm opened his mouth to speak.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Phlox interrupted, "but you have to go now."
He was going to argue with the doctor but a glance at Saunders drained the protest from him. The crewman's unblinking gaze had returned to the ceiling, his features as stern and unyielding as his grandmother's had been. Lips pressed firmly together Malcolm swallowed hard and slowly rose, silently nodding to Phlox before heading for the door.
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Early the next morning Lt. Reed showed up in Sickbay seeking out the doctor's help with a very stiff neck. Phlox, however, was nowhere to found. Looking toward the biobeds, he saw the privacy curtains drawn back and the head of Saunders' bed raised slightly: the patient was awake, staring at the ceiling looking bored out of his mind. Not wanting to intrude upon the man's thoughts Reed tried to remain inconspicuous as he drifted over to the opposite side of Sickbay, taking an uncharacteristic interest in the tools of the Denobulan's trade as he rubbed his neck.
"Sir?"
The moment Reed looked at him, Saunders began struggling to sit up straighter.
Malcolm motioned him down. "As you were, Saunders. Don't want you undoing Phlox's work. Where is he, anyhow?"
"Said he was going to the Mess Hall, but he should be back soon, sir." Looking away from the lieutenant, David squirmed nervously. Seeming to come to a decision he drew a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "Would it be possible to have a word with you, sir?" Coming alongside the bed Reed nodded, suppressing a small smile at the lilt that had crept into the nervous patient's voice, and Saunders continued. "About last night, sir...I neglected to thank you for all your help, gettin' me up offa the floor and...everything."
"Well, you did have a few other things on your mind at the time. You needn't concern yourself about it."
David shook his head with a frown. "It was unacceptably ill-mannered of me. I was taught better than that, an' I'm sorry I forgot my manners with you last night. In more ways than one, I'm afraid." He paused to consider his next words. "If I might be a bit more candid, sir, I was more than a little put out atcha last night, after you tried to apologize to me. Got my knickers in a knot, as my mum would say. Consequently, I forgot something else I learned from my grandfather. He taught me that if someone offers you a sincere apology, it's rude and ungentlemanly, even uncivilized, to refuse it." Malcolm was both taken aback and relieved when Saunders extended his good hand. "Has to be properly done or it doesn't count," David said with an uncertain half-smile playing across his face.
Reed returned the smile, clasping the crewman's hand in his own as he nodded in agreement. "Feel up to a little company?"
"Certainly, sir." He gave a puzzled look as the lieutenant, absently rubbing the back of his neck, pulled up a seat. "Is there something wrong?"
"Just a stiff neck. Must've slept wrong…thought the doctor could give me something for it." David looked pensive, and Malcolm noticed. "What is it?"
"I was worried about that yesterday, sir. When you fell asleep in the chair, you had your head at a bit of a bad angle. That might've brought on the stiffness." Reed tried to nod in agreement, flinching at the pain that the movement brought. "Maybe he'll use the bat," Saunders suggested solemnly, shocking the lieutenant.
"What makes you say that?" Malcolm asked, suddenly very nervous and not too eager for the physician's return.
David shrugged his good shoulder. "Well…all the animals in his little menagerie seem to have some sort of medicinal uses, but I've never thought to ask what he uses the bat for. Maybe she's a masseuse." His delivery was so serious that it took a few seconds for Malcolm to catch on. At last he caught the twinkle in the crewman's eyes and both men laughed.
The doors opened and a breathless Crewman Atkinson rushed in with a small bag. "Hey Dave, sorry I can't stay long but we're shorthanded in the Armory today so I've gotta get—" She stopped short at the sight of her smiling CO next to her friend's bed. "Hello, sir," Atkinson nervously addressed Reed.
"Good morning, Crewman," he chirped pleasantly. "Heading to the Armory from here?"
"Yes, sir. Just dropping this off on my way." There was a long silence as Atkinson's attention shifted between the two men. "Well...I'd best get going."
"Nonsense," Reed objected as he rose from his seat and stepped back from the bed. "There's not that big a rush for you to leave, though when you do get to the Armory, I'd appreciate it if you'd let them know I'll be along in a little while. Now, I'll let you two have a visit." He hid his amusement at Miranda's confusion. "Oh...you didn't happen to see Phlox while you were on your way here, did you?"
Miranda nodded, still thrown off by the lieutenant's genial air. "Yes, sir. He was in the Mess Hall with Chef, getting a tray for David. Said he'd be back here shortly, sir."
"Excellent. Thank you, Crewman," he added, moving to the other side of Sickbay and perching on the exam table.
Miranda watched after him then at David, who looked as though there had never been a problem with the lieutenant. Men, Atkinson decided, are strange. Very, very strange. Sometime when Lt. Reed was out of earshot, she'd ask Dave what the hell she'd missed, or if they should be checking their CO for signs of alien mind control, but for now she opted to put it out of her mind and enjoy her visit with him.
Sitting up, Saunders reached out toward Atkinson. "Tell me you found it, Randy," he said, twitching his fingers impatiently toward the bag.
"Oh ye of little faith," she teased, handing the bag to David.
Saunders eagerly reached in and extracted a small, well-worn leather-bound book. "Grand, you did find it," he exclaimed as he laid the book on his lap, lovingly caressing the cover. "This is great, Randy. Thanks so much! Phlox wants to keep me here a couple days, and I'll go barmy if I don't have something to read."
"I can bring something more after my shift, if you want. That's the only one you asked for by name so it's the only one I grabbed."
"That would be grand, if it's not a total pain. What else is in here?" he asked, hefting the bag and puzzling over the faint sloshing sound coming from it.
Atkinson smiled. "Made a deal with Phlox. He's bringing the food, so I brought the beverage. Go ahead," she urged. David drew a thermos bottle from the bag, struggling briefly to unscrew the lid one-handed before handing it off to Miranda. Grinning she removed the cap, holding the container under his nose.
After taking a whiff he gave her a stunned look. "You didn't…"
"I most certainly did. It was a little insulting being told that North Americans are incapable of preparing a proper cup of tea, you know."
"I never said that," David objected. "Grandma'am and Grandsir are the ones who said that. All I said was that I'd never met a North American outside of my immediate family—"
"Who knew how to do it properly," Miranda finished for him. "Yeah, I know. To be honest, I'm not certain that I got it within your exacting standards, but I figured it was worth a try. Had to dive into your secret stash, you know," she added conspiratorially. "Hope the Earl Grey is okay—that's what you had the most of. Couldn't run the risk ruining the last of the rooibos, after all," she grinned.
He inhaled from the thermos again, smiling wistfully. "I believe my exact words were, 'I've never met a North American outside my immediate family who would admit that they knew how to do it properly.' And it smells grand. Want some?"
"Nah…I'm a coffee person, remember?" she replied, handing over the thermos. "You did say 'no cream, no sugar,' right?"
He pulled a face as she wheeled a nearby utility stand closer to the bed. "Urgh. Never with Earl Grey. Clashes with the orange," he told her, and she laughed in reply. Retrieving a cup from the bag she perched it next on the stand before reclaiming the thermos and pouring some of the hot liquid into the cup. Stepping back she watched him take a sip, waiting for him to render a verdict.
His eyes closed in bliss. "Marvelous," he cooed, eyes still closed. "But I should warn you," he added teasingly, "if Grandma'am finds out you can brew tea she might very well make you marry me."
"I. Don't. Think. So. The man I marry has to know how to cook."
"I can cook," he replied, feigning wounded pride. "You said you enjoyed that pie."
"I did, but that's baking, not cooking. I'm talking about being able to put a meal together—and I don't mean throwing together a hamburger or a grilled cheese sandwich. I mean real food…actual meals."
"Not asking much, are you?" David teased. "Personally, I think grilled cheese sandwiches are real food. Besides, Grandma'am probably won't be interested in your requirements for a man. The tea's the important thing."
"Well, then I guess we just won't tell her…just to be on the safe side. And if you do tell her," she grinned wickedly, "I'll just have to tell her that I have seen you make the stuff with a coffeemaker."
"You wouldn't. No...strike that. You would."
"You better believe it. Now, do you need anything else before I go?"
"Tea and Kipling, and breakfast on the way…who could ask for more? Thanks for everything, Randy. I really appreciate it. But you better get going or you'll be late for your shift."
Atkinson nodded. "Happy to help. Of course, I'm gonna make you pay me back by hitting you up for climbing lessons. Wait a sec, that's a bad position for eating." She adjusted the back of the bed so David was sitting upright before stepping away. "Okay…gotta go…don't forget, you're gonna teach me to climb as soon as Phlox gives the green light," she said, heading for the door.
"You're on," he assured her as the doors closed. After nursing the tea for a few more sips he set the cup on the table, turning his attention to the book on his lap.
Tenderly running his fingers over the cover once more he opened the slender volume, pouring his entire attention into the text. After reading several pages he cautiously perched the open book between his chest and his still-bandaged left hand before reaching for the cup of tea with his right. He drank in slow sips, savoring the beverage with absolute delight. Returning the empty cup to the table he resumed reading.
Malcolm watched all of this in rapt fascination. Until now he'd thought he was the only tea drinker on Enterprise, except for T'Pol and her herbal blends. Well, there was also Captain Archer with his—gads—iced tea. 'Leave it to the North Americans to take a beverage as refined and civilized as tea and turn it into something akin to soda pop.'
Yet here was this American crewman drinking fresh-steeped tea as though it were the most precious beverage in the world (which, in Reed's opinion, it was, excepting perhaps a pint of Guinness). 'And to top it off, he's reading Kipling.' Deciding he must have heard wrong, Malcolm worked up the nerve to speak. "Did you say 'Kipling'?"
"Hmm?" Saunders replied distractedly, obviously entranced by the book. A second later he remembered that he wasn't alone and looked up sheepishly, sitting up straighter. "I'm sorry, sir…forgot you were still here. Did you need something from me?"
Malcolm smiled. Bored with waiting, he approached the bed. "As you were, Crewman. I was just wondering what you were reading. I thought I heard you mention Kipling earlier. Hard not to eavesdrop in here," he added apologetically as he pulled up a chair and sat.
"Yes sir, it's Kipling," David answered, noting the astonished expression on the lieutenant's face. "You seem surprised, sir. Not a fan?"
"It's not that. It just seems a little…uncommon, that's all."
"Perhaps, but I enjoy him. This," he explained, motioning to the book, "caught my eye from its home in Grandsir's study. Probably because I was just learning to read and this was one of the smallest books there. At the time it didn't seem as intimidating as Homer or Dostoevsky, and it was a great deal easier to lift off the shelf than The Collected Works of Shakespeare. In retrospect, Barrack-Room Ballads probably wasn't an ideal choice for someone just starting to read, but it certainly was interesting." He smiled wistfully then went on. "I honestly believed that Grandsir didn't know I was sneaking it off the shelf every chance I got. Thought that I'd put it back exactly as I'd found it each time, until I pulled it down and a note fell out of it. All it said was, 'Do you have a favorite?'
"Thought at first I was done for. I couldn't put it back on the shelf fast enough. Didn't touch it again for almost a week. One evening a few days before I went home I found it perched quite conspicuously on the nightstand of my room, along with the note. Figured it was time to make a clean breast of it and found him in his study, waiting for me. Smiling. He sat up half the night with me, reading it to me 'til I fell asleep right there on his lap. To this day his study is my favorite room in their whole house. And I can't read this without hearing his voice. He gave it to me before I left for Enterprise." Embarrassment suddenly clouded his face. "Sorry, sir…didn't mean to ramble on like that. Must've bored you just about to death."
"Not at all. So," Malcolm ventured after a moment, "do you? Have a favorite?"
"I've always been fond of 'The Shut-Eye Sentry'."
Reed's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Your favorite is one about a drunken officer?"
"Well…yeah, it is. When I was a kid I liked it for the mental image of the stuff the guy's doin' when he's drunk, but when I got older I started to appreciate the idea of his men takin' care of him while he's out of his head. Still do."
The doors slid open to admit Phlox, who was carrying a tray laden with food. "I wasn't certain what you'd like, so—why hello, Lieutenant!" the doctor greeted Malcolm happily. "Here to visit Crewman Saunders, hmm?"
"Yes, but that's not the only reason I'm here," Reed stated as he stood, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Think I slept wrong…woke up with a bit of a stiff neck. Anything you can do for it?"
"Of course, just let me put this down," he said as he placed the tray on the table at Saunders' bedside. "I see Crewman Atkinson made her delivery," Phlox observed. "How did she do with the tea? She said she wasn't sure it would be up to your grandparents' high standards."
David laughed. "She worries too much—it's grand. But geez, Doc, how many of me did you think you were feeding?" he asked as he looked over the varied foods on the tray. "This is great, but there's enough to feed a small village here."
Phlox chuckled. "Yes, well…I neglected to find out if you had any preferences, so I had a talk with Chef and this is what he came up with."
"Scones? Chef made scones? Gad, I'm gonna hafta get busted up more often," he joked.
The doctor chuckled as he guided Malcolm to the exam table. "I'll pass along your compliments to Chef the next time I see him. Now, Mr. Reed, let's see about your neck."
Saunders called out to the men as Phlox scanned Malcolm's neck. "Have you gentlemen eaten yet? There really is more here than I can possibly eat. You're welcome to join me if you want," he offered.
Phlox shook his head, grinning. "In all honesty, I couldn't resist—I sampled one of your scones on the way back from the Mess Hall. Quite excellent, by the way. How about you, Lieutenant—have you had breakfast yet?" Malcolm's stomach betrayed him, rumbling loudly before he could answer. "I'll take that as a 'no'," Phlox remarked jovially, administering a hypospray. "This should provide relief in a few moments. Are you going to take up Crewman Saunders on his offer?"
Before he could decline David spoke up, holding a domed plate cover aloft. "You'd really be helping me out, Lieutenant. Chef kinda went overboard—there's enough bangers and mash here to feed the entire Armory staff. Plus I've got a thermos full of tea that'll go cold before I can finish it."
Malcolm considered gracefully declining but his stomach rumbled again and he relented. "Well…how can I turn down scones and fresh-brewed tea?"