Malcolm felt sick. He had to get out of there. His gut was in a knot, and he was having trouble breathing properly, but he managed to keep his face a passive mask as he exited the mess hall and affected a purposeful walk to his quarters. Once there, he threw himself on his bed, breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to maintain control.

A little affection, a modest amount of brotherly love, that was all he’d ever really wanted. Other people seemed to have it in abundance. Why did Fate, God, the universe, whatever, always find it necessary to deprive him of it?

Life’s a joke, and the biggest punchline of them all is named Malcolm Reed.

You’re such a ninny sometimes, Malcolm. Letting yourself get all worked up because Trip didn’t see you in the crowded mess hall. Get a grip! It’s no wonder people don’t want to have much to do with you. You’re too emotional. Too sensitive. It’s downright embarrassing sometimes.

He moved about his quarters lethargically, stripping off his wrinkled uniform from the day before and slipping into his usual morning routine. Once he was clean and presentable he headed off to breakfast, his old reserve slipping around him like a protective cloak, shielding him from the rest of the universe.

It was still early, so there were very few people in the mess hall. The usual buffet table made it easy for him to snatch a plate of food with his good hand, and he retired to a small table in the corner to eat alone.

The day was a quiet one. Scans on the planet the ship orbited were completed uneventfully, and they moved on to take a look at the fourth planet in the system. This planet, while also Minshara class, was uninhabited by sentient life.

T’Pol wanted to take a science survey team down to investigate -- after some initial scans were completed from orbit to rule out the possibility of any more surprises like the psychotropic pollen that had been on one of the first Minshara class planets the crew had encountered.

The lack of activity had given Malcolm time, too much time, to contemplate the way he had reacted to Trip “ignoring” him in the mess hall the night before. He reaffirmed his judgement of the morning, concluding that he had overreacted. What was more, he began to feel horribly guilty for thinking so poorly of Trip.

It was something of a relief when the time came for him to go to sickbay so that Phlox could take another look at his injured hand. It gave him something else to think about, forcing him to remain in the here-and-now.

“Hmmm ... oh, yes. Yes, that has healed quite nicely. Quite nicely indeed,” Phlox said as he removed the bandage swaddling Malcolm’s hand, examining it closely. “Sufficed to say, you won’t be needing to keep it bandaged any longer, and you may use it as normal.”

“Will it scar, Doctor?”

“No. In a week’s time, I doubt you’ll be able to tell that it was ever injured.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Doctor.”

“You are welcome, Mr. Reed. Now, off with you, and I would prefer not to see you in here for a good while. You’re becoming altogether too much of a common sight around here. Please try to avoid being shot or involved in any accidents for a few weeks at least.”

Malcolm’s mouth quirked in a half-grin and he replied, “I shall do my best to oblige you, Doctor, but you might want to have a word with the captain about traipsing into dangerous situations, Armoury Officer in tow.”

The Englishman left sickbay, heading for the Armoury. Now that he had the use of his hand back, there was a project he wanted to get some work in on that involved a bit of fine tinkering.

T’Pol looked back, inscrutable expression firmly in place. “The decision is, of course, the captain’s. I was simply suggesting that it might be wise to postpone the ... tourism until after the science teams completed their scans of the area.”

Malcolm thought Trip was going to launch into another tirade, but Captain Archer spoke instead, regaining some control over the situation. “T’Pol, I understand your caution, but we’ve only got this one day left before we need to leave for our rendezvous with the Vulcan supply ship. It will be much more efficient if we come down with the science teams. There’s plenty of room in the second pod for a couple of extra people.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

In the end, Travis had piloted one pod down, the captain the other. Malcolm had found himself riding in the back of Travis’ pod between the bickering T’Pol and Trip. By the third time Trip decided to take offence at some, admittedly snippy, comment of T’Pol’s, Malcolm began to wish that he could have gone down in the other pod with the captain and Hoshi. It would have been much more pleasant to converse with the linguist than to try to play buffer between the Vulcan and Southerner. Needless to say, he was quite grateful when the pod finally touched down on the surface of the planet.

As soon as the pod door could be opened, Malcolm released the hatch and bolted out of the confined space. He moved as far away from his two superior officers as he could get without actually leaving the landing area, pretending that his legs were cramped from the ride down in the tight space.

Never again! I never want to get stuck playing nursemaid to those two ever again.

Archer’s pod landed a few meters away, the bulk of the science personnel tumbling out to join their co-workers, followed by Hoshi, the captain, and Porthos. The combatants had finally separated, T’Pol moving to hand out assignments to her people, Trip bounding over to join Archer. Malcolm and Travis exchanged relieved looks and walked over to join the Commander in greeting the others.

“Cap’n! I saw the most incredible looking cliff over to the east on our way down,” Trip said enthusiastically. “I wanna go take some pictures from the top of it. Care to join me?”

“Actually, Trip, Hoshi and I spotted a nice lake that we wanted to check out off in the south-west. Feel free to go on to the cliff yourself, just make sure you take somebody with you.”

Trip turned to the ensign and lieutenant walking up behind him. “Travis? Malcolm? You guys wanna go?”

“Well, Sir,” Travis replied, “I was kind of looking forward to visiting that lake myself.”

Trip looked expectantly to Malcolm for his answer. Malcolm would have just as soon gone to the lake himself, but faced with the choice of either going along with his friend to make him happy, or saying no and disappointing him, he opted for visiting the cliff.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug.

“Great. Catch the rest of you later. C’mon, Malcolm.” Trip started off toward the east, long strides eating up the ground, forcing the shorter Armoury Officer to jog in order to keep up with him.

During the long trek to the cliff top, Trip paid Malcolm very little attention. He only spoke to the other man when a comment or request was directed at him, but otherwise remained lost in his own thoughts. Intrusions into those thoughts, such as when Malcolm asked him to slow down or tried to make small talk, seemed most unwelcome, and eventually the Englishman lapsed into an introspective silence of his own.

“Ow!” Malcolm slapped at the insect which had bit into his neck and abruptly knocked him out of his reverie. He trapped the offensive creature between his fingers and squashed it out of existence. “Got you, you little bugger.”

“You say somethin’, Malcolm?” Trip called back over his shoulder.

“Something bit me.” He wiped the remains of the bug off on his pants leg, wincing slightly at the pain in his neck. “It really stings.”

“Didja kill it?”

“Yes.”

“Quit whinin’ about it then. You’ve had your revenge.” Trip continued to stride toward the cliff edge, one hand dipping into his pocket to retrieve his camera. Malcolm straggled after him, rubbing aimlessly at the painful bite. By the time he caught up with the engineer, he was feeling slightly dizzy.

“Wouldja look at that view!” Trip didn’t bother to spare a glance at his companion as the man came to a halt a few paces behind him, immediately beginning to take pictures of the impressive vista before him.

Standing there, looking at the view as he was bid, Malcolm became aware of a distinct, bitter taste at the back of his mouth. Oh, shit. “Commander,” he said, attempting to get the other man’s attention.

Not turning from his picture taking, Trip waved one dismissive hand at him. “J’st a sec. I wanna get a couple more shots.”

Malcolm’s vision began to go grey, and he sunk to his knees on the hard ground. “Trip.” His voice was strained and held more urgency this time, but the blonde man still did not turn around.

“Hold on, will ya! Sweet Jesus, Malcolm, you don’t gotta be so impatient.”

His breath was coming in ragged, uneven gasps now, and his body began to tremble violently. Why won’t he turn around? Pain lanced through him, and next he knew he was staring up at the alien sky, the back of his head grinding into alien soil as his body convulsed. Bloody fucking hell. I’m going into anaphylactic shock, and Trip’s too busy playing landscape photographer to notice. This is not how I’d hoped to die.

Either Trip had turned around of his own accord, or Malcolm had cried out in pain without realising it, because suddenly the engineer was kneeling at his side as he writhed in the dirt. The last thought Malcolm had before his world went black was, It’s about bloody time.

Malcolm awoke in sickbay. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, but otherwise he felt a great deal better than he had just before passing out on the planet’s surface. Dr. Phlox must have been hovering nearby because, within moments, the Denobulan’s cheerful face came into view.

“Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling, Mr. Reed?”

“Like I could use a glass of water.”

“Of course. I’ll go get you one.” The doctor padded off, and Malcolm slowly levered himself into a sitting position.

When Phlox returned Malcolm asked, “How did I get back to the ship?” He had a feeling he knew the answer already, but he felt the need to ask anyway.

“Commander Tucker had you transported back.”

“Ah. Somehow I didn’t think there had been enough time for him to carry me back to the shuttlepod and then fly it up to Enterprise,” Malcolm said, accepting the water from Phlox.

“No, quite. It was a rather close thing as it was. The insect which stung you appears to have had a venom similar to that of an Earth bee.”

“I’ve never had an allergic reaction that strong to just one bee sting.”

“Yes, well, this creature’s venom seems to be several times stronger than your average bee, which explains your extreme reaction to it.”

Meaning it almost killed me rather than just giving me heart palpitations.

There was a moment of silence as Malcolm drained the water from the glass before handing it back. “How did the Commander like his first transporter trip?”

“Commander Tucker didn’t transport up with you.”

“He didn’t?”

“No, he came back on one of the shuttlepods with the others. Once they’d finished their surveys, of course.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not as though he could have been any help, Lieutenant,” Phlox said kindly, seeming to pick up on some of Malcolm’s disappointment. “There was a medical team waiting in the transporter room when you were beamed up, and the commander told me what had happened over the comm. That’s all that was necessary for him to do. The rest of the time you were unconscious, so...” The doctor let his sentence trail off with a shrug.

He didn’t even come to check on me. My best friend, and he didn’t bother to make sure that I was going to be alright. Malcolm’s throat constricted and his stomach roiled with an unhappiness which he viciously suppressed. He had no intention of making a fool of himself by breaking into tears in front of the alien doctor. Phlox said something to him about suggesting that he rest, and he accepted the excuse to hunker down miserably under the thin blanket on the biobed.

Best friend. Hah! Why do you let yourself harbour such silly delusions, Reed? You should know by now that you don’t make friends. You make acquaintances, some of whom happen to be friendly, but you don’t make real friends. Never have. Never will. Pathetic little bugger. Trip’s best friend is the captain. You are hardly even a blip on his radar. He’s probably just grateful to have you out of his hair for a while, you stupid git. You’re so needy, Reed, such a clinging vine. You shouldn’t make yourself such a nuisance. Do your duty, be polite, and keep to yourself. Don’t bother people. It won’t get you anywhere. No one wants you, so quit foisting yourself on them. Life will be easier that way, for all concerned.

Trip poked listlessly at the slice of pecan pie the captain’s steward had set in front of him. Guilt consumed him. He couldn’t stop kicking himself for ignoring Malcolm’s attempts to tell him that something was wrong back on that planet. God, how that hurt, to know that his friend had almost died because he was too busy taking pictures to pay attention to the man. He felt even worse because he chickened out of transporting back to the ship with Malcolm. Sitting back at the pods, waiting for the others to return and trying to decide how he was going to tell Archer that his Armoury Officer was on death’s doorstep because of a bug bite, didn’t help any either.

Trip couldn’t face going to sickbay once the pod got back to the ship. He was too afraid to hear what had happened to Malcolm. Instead, he threw himself into his work in Engineering, figuring that, if he did something useful, he wouldn’t have time to think about it. His feelings of guilt swelled anyway, and he later found that he couldn’t bear to even go visit his friend once he knew he would be okay.

“Trip... Trip?”

The captain’s voice cut through his reverie, and he looked up, confused. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Do you want to talk about it, Trip?”

“I don’t know what’s to talk about. I fucked up royally, no doubt about it. I wasn’t payin’ attention, and Malcolm almost died because of it. End of story.”

“Trip, Malcolm is fine. Has been for weeks now. Don’t you think you’re carrying this guilt thing a little too far?”

“Weeks, yeah. Didja know that in all that time, I’ve never once seen Malcolm outside of duty? I think he’s angry with me, but he won’t sit still long enough for me to talk to him about it. Not that I can blame him. I’d probably be pretty stoked too, if I’d been the one writhing in the dirt while some idiot was happily taking pictures of the landscape not three feet away.”

“Trip,” Archer said sternly, “you have to talk to him. Hunt him down, trap him in a turbolift; I don’t care what you have to do, so long as you talk to him.” The engineer looked as though he would object, so he levelled a glare at the man and added, “That’s an order, Commander.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Trip soon found that cornering Malcolm for a talk about his guilty feelings and Malcolm’s supposed anger was easier said than done. The man always seemed to have something that needed to be done immediately. The one time Trip had cornered him off-duty Malcolm had stood, silently staring at him through cold blue eyes while Trip fumbled about, trying to find a way to broach the subject. The lack of any emotion in those eyes, save but for what might have been a glimmer of disgust, so unnerved Trip that he finally made up something about wanting to run a diagnostic on the power relays running to the phase cannons and escaped to his own quarters. Once in the safety of his personal space, Trip was left wondering just who that silent man was, and what he had done with his Malcolm Reed.

The answer to that question was simple. Malcolm had resurrected the man he had been before his harrowing experience on the shuttlepod with Trip, before his posting to Enterprise. A cold, aloof man. One who had more than one girlfriend scream at him while leaving, “You’re more Vulcan than Human, Malcolm Reed.” This man held the words of the old song close to his heart, the only thing allowed such access: I touch no one, and no one touches me. I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.

This man was resurrected for the sole purpose of protecting the small, lonely little boy who lurked inside him, and who remembered all too well the terror that accompanied being a fragile waif amongst boys older, bigger, and meaner than he, far from the dubious protection of his equally menacing father. A little boy who had learned the hard way never to judge on appearances, never to trust too much, and that he could never please anyone.

He’d tried so hard to please his father, his teachers, and now his superior officers. He had an impressive twenty-eight merit badges from his scouting days, a fistful of awards from school science fairs and regional competitions, top honours at college and the university, high-distinction in his Starfleet training, a plethora of gadgets he had either designed or perfected for Starfleet, and he held the highest ranks in a multitude of martial arts styles. It was all for nothing. He gained the occasional pat on the head and “that’s nice, Malcolm,” but nobody was terribly impressed. Nobody was pleased with his accomplishments, least of all himself.

He had begun to realise that these people saw him as little more than a tool, a walking, talking weapon to be pointed in one direction and let loose. They couldn’t see the little boy craving attention, or if they did, they ignored him.

This feeling had been brought to the surface first a number of months ago, after the incident on Terra Nova. While he had been locked away in sickbay, recovering from surgery to remove the bullet in his leg acquired while protecting his captain and the fever brought on by a combination of shock and allergies, Travis Mayweather was feasted at the captain’s dinner table.

Why this was, Malcolm could not fathom. The ensign had done little during the mission save for a bit of research that could have been easily accomplished by any college student. Malcolm had been injured and held hostage, and yet the honour of dinner with the captain was never extended to him. Indeed, he had received no praise at all from Archer beyond a murmured, “It’s good to have you back.”

As a consequence, Malcolm buried himself in work. Still, he had felt more hopeful after the impromptu birthday party the captain had organised for him, and even more so after he had seemed to forge a bond with Trip Tucker during their shared ordeal in the shuttlepod. Finally, he had thought, I have friends, people who care.

How wrong he had been. He had been forced to face that unpleasant fact after his unfortunate allergic reaction to the alien bee three weeks ago. He had been forced to look at all of the signs he had ignored along the way and see them for what they really were. They were signs, not merely of disinterest, but of uninterest. No one was interested in Malcolm Reed. All that mattered to them was that they had someone who could fulfil his function. And that hurt him; more than he could say.

“Is there something I can do for you, Hoshi?”

“Would it be alright if I were to stop by your quarters in a few minutes, Sir? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Sure, Hoshi. No problem. I’ll see you in a bit then?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He sat back down on his bed, picking his book back up to read until the ensign’s arrival.

“Sir,” began Hoshi, perching on the edge of the captain’s sofa, “I’m concerned about Lieutenant Reed.”

“Oh?” Archer’s brows furrowed, and he cocked his head, silently signalling her to continue.

“He’s been really ... withdrawn lately.” Hoshi held up a hand at Archer’s indulgent smirk. “I mean more than usual. He never was one to socialise much, but he was usually willing to chat in the mess hall over a meal. Now, you’re lucky if you even see him outside of the bridge or Armoury, never mind getting him to talk to you. He doesn’t even make those dry quips of his on the bridge anymore.”

“Now that you mention it,” said Archer, “he has been kinda quiet lately.”

“See! Whenever I try to talk to him he just brushes me off with these really cold looks. And those are nothing compared to the look he gave Commander Tucker the other day -- that could have frozen molten lava!”

“I take it, then, that Trip hasn’t been entirely successful in carrying out the order I gave him to talk to Malcolm?”

“I really doubt it, Sir.”

Archer sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “When did you start noticing Malcolm’s odd behaviour?”

“It became really apparent after we left the Vulcan supply ship. Thinking back, though, I think he’s been sliding into it for a while now.”

“Define ‘a while now.’”

“Umm ... since, I don’t know, a couple of weeks after our run-in with T’Pol’s micro-singularities.”

Shit. “That long?! That was months ago. How is it that nobody noticed until now?”

“The changes were all so subtle, and nobody really knows him all that well. Commander Tucker is closer to him than anyone else on the ship -- at least they seemed close right after we rescued them from suffocating on the shuttlepod. Lately though...” Hoshi let her sentence trail off, shrugging.

“Commander Tucker,” Archer said the name deliberately. “Something tells me he’s the lynch-pin in all of this. Malcolm may have been on a downward slide since November, but I’m betting that stupid bee incident is what pushed him over the edge!”

“Sir??”

The captain pursed his lips and shook his head irritatedly. “Trip’s been on a guilt trip over that ever since it happened. He felt so guilty that he couldn’t face visiting Malcolm in sickbay. From what Trip tells me, they haven’t spoken outside of duty since.”

“Are you serious?” Hoshi was incredulous. “No wonder he’s been so closed-off from everybody. If I’d been sick like that and not even my best friend came to visit me, I’d be seriously depressed. Even if I had been feeling fine before!”

“Do I want to look into the implications of ‘not even?’”

Hoshi grimaced and shifted guiltily in her seat. “Well, Travis and I figured that it was just a little allergic reaction, that the commander had been overreacting on the planet when he told us what had happened. We thought Malcolm would be out of sickbay quickly, and that Commander Tucker would be doing more than enough fussing for all of us, so ... so we never went to visit him. It wasn’t until the commander actually described Malcolm’s reaction to us in detail that we realised how serious it’d been, and by then it was too late, he’d been released and was back on-duty.

“God, I feel terrible. He must think we all hate him.”

They sat in silence for several long moments before Archer finally said, “So how do we rectify the situation?”

“I honestly don’t know, Sir. He’s built up this wall between himself and everyone else... I don’t think I can get through to him; I doubt Travis could either.”

“Which leaves me, T’Pol, Phlox, and Trip to try. I can’t see him opening up to me. I doubt T’Pol would even be willing to try.”

“Probably not. She doesn’t really understand Human reactions well enough yet to be of much help anyway. Phlox would be better, but I’m not sure that Malcolm wouldn’t just see him as being a nosy medical professional.”

“I figured as much. Which leaves us with Trip.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Archer sighed again, heavily. “I don’t suppose locking the two of them in Shuttlepod One, with all of its systems disabled and only two days of air, and dumping them in space to sort things out would be a viable option, would it?”

“No, Sir, probably not.” Hoshi suddenly brightened, sitting up straighter in excitement. “But what about sending them on an away mission together?”

“Hoshi?”

“T’Pol said that the system we’re en route to has a space station not unlike the one we were at in the Rigel System, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you send the two of them down alone to, I don’t know, do an initial survey of the place to see if it’s worth our time to hang around? They’d be stuck together without a lot to do other than talk to each other.”

“Hoshi, you’re brilliant! I can’t imagine Trip would let Malcolm keep to himself for very long in a situation like that. At least it would get them talking again.”

The question is how am I supposed to talk to Malcolm when he won’t listen to me? But I have to do it soon -- he gets more withdrawn by the day. Trip studied the taut lines of Malcolm’s back and shoulders. He’s so tense all the time these days. It’s like he’s afraid he’ll fly apart if he relaxes even a bit.

There was a slight jostling as the pod settled down on the landing pad. Trip stood and moved to release the hatch while Malcolm powered down the engines. He zipped up his jacket and secured his phase pistol in its holster before turning to his companion.

“C’mon, Malcolm, let’s get on with this.”

The Englishman nodded curtly, and the two men stepped out of the pod, setting out on their task of surveying the station.

“Damn it! All I want to know is how to get from here to the administrative offices!”

A sudden silence descended on the cargo bay, the merchant’s crew pausing in their work of shifting crates to stare at the Southerner. Just as suddenly, the bay erupted into sound. Whatever the UT had translated Trip’s words into, it had not been good. The merchant and his crew all began yelling and gesticulating wildly. Unfortunately, Tucker lost what was left of his cool and started shouting back. Malcolm began to become distinctly nervous when a number of the aliens began to draw their weapons, waving them wildly in the air.

In the chaos, Malcolm saw one of the aliens train its weapon on the commander. Moving on instinct, he threw himself at the blond man, knocking him to the ground and out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, he had not moved quite fast enough for his momentum to carry the both of them out of range.

An energy bullet burned into his back just below the left shoulder. The pain was blinding. He could hear Trip calling his name frantically, but it sounded far off despite the fact that the man had to be practically yelling in his ear. All he could manage in response was a low moan into the fabric of Trip’s uniform. Malcolm distantly felt Trip wrap an arm around his waist, holding him in place where he lay collapsed on top of the engineer. A sudden jostling, which sent a fresh wave of pain through him, told him they were moving.

It all hurt so much. Pain became his whole world. He could no longer tell if he was crying out as he was moved, jerking and shuddering, to cover. Soon, the pain was more even than he could handle, and consciousness fled.

Trip was in a panic. Energy bullets were flying everywhere. The meagre cover he’d dragged himself and Malcolm behind was too flimsy to deflect the shots for long. Worst of all, Malcolm wasn’t conscious anymore. Trip checked frantically for a pulse, letting out an explosive breath when he finally found his friend’s erratic heartbeat.

He scrunched into the corner created by the wall behind him and the storage crates to the front and side, pulling Malcolm up so that the brunet head rested on his chest and wrapping his body around him protectively.

“Okay, Mal, we’re gonna git you outta here. J’st hang on, an’ we’ll be back on Enterprise ‘fore y’ know it.” Trip fumbled in his pocket, attempting to retrieve his communicator. He finally got a hold of it and pulled it out, flipping it open with one smooth motion. “Tucker to Enterprise!”

“Enterprise here. Trip what the hell is going on down there?! T’Pol says she’s detecting weapon’s fire in your general area.”

“General area?!! Shit, Cap’n, these people are shootin’ at us! Malcolm’s been shot. I can’t get back to the shuttlepod. These bastards have us pinned behind some storage crates. You’re gonna have to beam us out. Sooner the better. I don’t know how long this cover’ll hold, and Malcolm’s not doin’ so hot.”

“Trip, I’m sending T’Pol down to the transporter room. Just hang on for a bit longer. We’ll get you out of there. Archer out.”

Several shots impacted crates at the top of the pile the two Starfleet officers were hiding behind, causing the whole thing to shake. Trip cast a worried glance at the shifting containers and hugged Malcolm closer to him. “Damn it, Jon,” he muttered to himself, “we may not have ‘a bit longer.’”

Another volley struck the barrier, and the crates began to fall.

“Sonovabitch! Now would be a good time, T’Pol!!” The last word was barely out of his mouth when an odd tingling sensation overtook his body, and suddenly he was sitting on the transporter pad. Trip breathed a relieved sigh, his death grip on the unconscious Armoury Officer relaxing. “Now that’s what I call timin’.”

The Vulcan raised one eyebrow, but did not comment. She watched dispassionately as the med team rushed into the small alcove and up onto the pad to get at Reed. Tucker shifted to give them better access to the wound, but seemed unwilling to let the man be taken from him. She found this behaviour curious. Dr. Phlox, however, seemed to have some understanding of it. He did not try to convince Tucker to release Reed and instead guided him in positioning the smaller man to ease the doctor’s work.

“There,” said Phlox, “that will stabilise him for now. Let’s get him to Sickbay.” He reached out one hand to steady Tucker as the engineer lurched to his feet with the lieutenant cradled in his arms.

T’Pol watched as the group moved away from the transporter and disappeared into a turbolift. With a small shake of her head, she turned, returning to the bridge to make her report of the situation to the captain.

“When d’ya suppose he’ll wake up, Doc?”

“Mmm, it’s hard to say for certain, Commander. Likely within the next twenty-four hours, possibly even in the next twelve.” Phlox gave the Southerner an appraising look. “If you wish, I can contact you when he awakens, that way you may make your report to the captain and get some rest yourself in the meantime.”

“Wouldja?”

“Most certainly.”

“Hey, thanks. I ‘preciate it.”

“You are most welcome, Commander.”

Except he hadn’t. Somehow, against all odds, he had survived. Once again, the Enterprise crew had managed to preserve their Armoury Officer, but this time said officer wasn’t grateful to have been saved.

Why do they bother? At least if I were dead they could replace me with someone less bothersome, someone more to their liking. I’m tired of being in pain; emotional, physical... It’s all so tiring. I just want to sleep ... forever.

“Hey, Doc,” said Trip, approaching the bed, “I thought you were gonna give me a call soon as Mal woke up.”

“Mmm... I’m sorry, Commander, but the lieutenant didn’t awake all that long ago, and given the early hour, I thought it would be best to give the both of you a chance to eat breakfast. I also wanted to take a look at his shoulder before allowing a visit.”

“Ah, well, I guess that’s alright then.” Trip shifted his attention to the other man and said, “So, how’re you feelin’, Mal?”

“Tired, Sir.”

“Yeah, I suppose you would be. I j’st want to tell you how much I appreciate you savin’ m’ life back there. I’d prefer it, though, if you’d refrain from almost gettin’ yourself killed in the process from now on. You scared me half to death there.”

In neutral tones, “I’m sorry, Sir. It is my job, Sir.”

“I know it’s your job to protect me, Mal. Doesn’t make it any easier to watch you almost die. All I’m sayin’ is you need to worry about you, too, while you’re worryin’ about me. Or the cap’n for that matter. You hear me?”

Lips pressed into a thin line. “Are you telling me how to do my job, Sir?”

“No, Mal, I’m j’st...” Trip was cut off by the sudden jostling of the ship and a barely noticeable change in the vibration of the deck plating. “What the hell? Tucker to Engineering. What’s goin’ on down there?”

The voice of Trip’s second, Lieutenant Hess, answered through the comm. “One of the anti-matter injectors just blew, and the warp manifolds are destabilising. You’d better get down here, Sir.”

“I’m on my way. Tucker out.” Trip closed the comm link, turning to dash from sickbay. As he left, he jabbed one finger at the Armoury Officer and said, “We’ll finish this later, Malcolm.”

Malcolm listlessly watched the commander stride from sickbay, wondering vaguely what had prompted the odd display. He forced himself to listen to Phlox as the doctor finished with his wound.

“I’ve done all I can do for now. The rest is up to your body to heal itself. I’m sure you’d prefer to rest in the comfort of your own quarters, so I’m releasing you from sickbay. Just make sure you keep the area clean and replace the bandage once a day. I’ll let the captain know that I’ve relieved you of duty until your shoulder has healed. Sound good, Mr. Reed?”

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you, Doctor.” Malcolm slowly dressed and then shuffled back to his quarters. Once there, he deposited the box of supplies the doctor had given him for the care of his wound in the bathroom. He stripped off his clothing as slowly as he had put it on and crawled into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

It had taken a week and a half of pulling double and triple shifts, but the warp engines were finally back on-line. Trip sat, relaxing in the mess hall with a cup of coffee and a sandwich. He mentally reviewed the list of tasks he had abandoned during the emergency, re-ordering them in order of importance. At the top of the list was talk he had tried to initiate with Malcolm and was forced to cut short when the engines had started acting up.

Knowing that the other man was on medical leave and had been released to recuperate in his own quarters, Trip resolved to beard the lion in his den, as it were, just as soon as he finished his lunch. Trip was, unfortunately, thwarted in his good intentions. When he left the mess hall, he found that the Armoury Officer was not in his quarters.

At first, he thought that the Englishman might have had an appointment with Dr. Phlox, so he ambled down to sickbay. There he was greeted by the affable Phlox, but no Malcolm. Trip began to suspect that the man was ignoring the doctor’s edict to rest.

Sure enough, Trip found Malcolm in the Armoury. The left sleeve of his uniform hung loose, the torso bulging oddly because of the arm tucked inside it. The Englishman was puttering one-handed with a phase pistol, seemingly unaware of Trip’s approach.

“Hey, Malcolm, j’st what’re you doin’ down here?”

Dark head lifted, and expressionless eyes were fixed on the Southerner. “I’m working, Commander.”

His voice, his whole expression, was so lifeless, Trip had to hold back a shudder. The next words he spoke to the lieutenant were gentle. “The point is, Mal, that you’re not supposed to be workin’. Phlox said that you were to take it easy until that shoulder heals. Obviously, if you can’t manage to get your arm through your sleeve, you’re not healed.

“Why don’t we get you back to your quarters, and you can do some proper resting.” Malcolm made no move to leave the Armoury, and Trip added, “Don’t make me make that an order, Lieutenant.”

Phase pistol was dropped unceremoniously onto the work table, and Malcolm began walking toward the door with a curt, “Yes, Sir.”

The walk to Malcolm’s quarters was made in silence. Upon entering the room the smaller man sat heavily at the foot of his bed, still saying nothing. The atmosphere was stifling. Trip fancied that he could feel despair and loneliness radiating out from the very walls. He watched Malcolm sit, head hanging in defeat, for a moment before walking over and sitting down next to him.

“Here, let me help you get that uniform off. You’ll be more comfortable without it.” Malcolm didn’t protest, didn’t so much as twitch, when Trip unzipped the front of the jump-suit and began to carefully work it off his shoulders. The top of the jump-suit removed, Trip worked on freeing his friend from the black undershirt, unbuttoning it at the neck and pulling it over his head.

Malcolm wasn’t wearing his usual blue T-shirt underneath the black shirt, so Trip could now see the bandage covering his wound. He could smell it as well. The bandage had acquired the crusty, discoloured look of a bandage well past the need to be replaced. Trip dreaded seeing what the wound itself looked like, but he had the feeling that, if he didn’t replace the bandage himself now, it would only get worse.

“Sweet Jesus, Malcolm, when was the last time you cleaned this thing?”

Malcolm only shrugged in reply.

“You gotta keep it clean, buddy. It’ll get infected if you don’t; infections spread. It’s a bit too close to your heart to be takin’ chances like that.”

“It’s hard to reach,” Malcolm said quietly, as if that explained everything.

Trip shook his head and replied, “C’mon, let’s finish gettin’ you outta this uniform and into something more comfortable. Then I’ll clean it for you, okay?”

Quietly, “Alright.”

Kneeling on the floor, Trip pulled the smaller man’s boots off and then tugged the jump-suit off the rest of the way, draping it over a nearby chair. He rummaged around in Malcolm’s wardrobe until he found an old pair of trousers and a comfortable looking button-front shirt. Trip coaxed Malcolm into putting on the pants, setting aside the shirt for after he had taken care of the wound.

Trip wandered into the bathroom in search of the bandaging and cleaning supplies Phlox had given Malcolm to care for his wound. Finding them in a small container next to the sink, he brought them out and placed the box on the bed. He pulled the wastepaper basket over to where he could easily toss things in it and settled himself behind Malcolm on the bed. Trip carefully peeled the old bandage away, pulling firmly on it though it wanted to stick. He was completely appalled by what was revealed when the bandage finally came loose.

The centre of the wound was weeping freely, blood mingled with a yellowish fluid. Around the edges, what had been healthy flesh was blackened and sloughing off, while pus oozed from breaks in the skin. The sight and stench made Trip’s stomach churn, and he quickly tore open a sterile wipe to make a token attempt at cleaning the area. That done, he slapped a fresh bandage over it and helped Malcolm put his shirt on.

“C’mon, let’s get you to Sickbay. We’ll have Phlox take a look at you.” Trip pulled the other man to his feet by his right arm, planting a firm hand at the small of his back and steering him out the door. Malcolm walked the whole way with his eyes fixed firmly upon the ground and his shoulders hunched over. To Trip it seemed as though his friend was trying to collapse in on himself physically, as he already had emotionally.

Phlox looked up, a slightly confused expression on his face, when Trip walked into sickbay with a stocking-footed Malcolm. The confusion turned to concern when Trip said, “Doc, I really think you should take a look at Malcolm’s shoulder. It’s gotten infected.”

The doctor and engineer got the withdrawn man up onto a biobed and removed his shirt. Phlox pulled the bandage away, looking grim as he took in the sight of the wound. He moved away to collect hyposprays and scalpels, chastising Reed in the process.

“Mr. Reed I explicitly warned you that you would need to clean the wound on a daily basis to keep this from happening.”

Malcolm did not respond, and Trip answered for him. “He said that it was hard to reach, Doc. Maybe once you do ... whatever it is you’re gonna do to it now, I can stop by once a day and clean it for him.” Trip looked hopefully at Phlox, silently begging him not to confine Malcolm to sickbay again. He knew that would only postpone their talk once more, undoubtedly making the situation worse than it already was.

“Hmm... I suppose that would be acceptable, Commander. If you find yourself in the midst of another emergency that requires your undivided attention, I shall expect that Mr. Reed will either be returned to sickbay or you will find someone else who is willing to look after him.”

“You got it, Doc.”

Phlox set his instruments down on the biobed, retaining one hypospray, into which he inserted a vial of serum. “Lieutenant, I am going to inject penicillin under the infected area. It is likely to be rather painful.” Phlox turned his attention to Trip and said, “I may need you to hold him steady while I do this, Commander.”

Trip swallowed hard and nodded, reaching out to hold Malcolm’s arms. He watched as Phlox set the hypospray to the lieutenant’s skin, injecting him with the antibiotic. The serum created a bubble under the skin, forcing some of the pus from the wound as it took up space. Phlox changed the angle of the hypospray’s point of contact in order to force the penicillin further under the wound. When he was finished, the area around the wound had taken on a swollen quality.

Sterile wipe in one hand, Phlox pushed and squeezed the pus-filled outer area of the wound with the other, forcing it to discharge until it bled cleanly. He then cleaned the area, methodically mopping up the infected matter. During this entire process, Malcolm did not flinch once, though Trip knew it had to have hurt a great deal.

Disposing of the surgical gloves he was wearing, the Denobulan picked up another hypospray, injecting its contents into the side of Malcolm’s neck. The small man swayed in Trip’s grip as the sedative took hold, and the engineer carefully settled his friend in a prone position on the biobed. The lieutenant did not fight the drug and was soon unconscious.

Phlox had put on a fresh pair of gloves, and a scalpel rested lightly in one hand. He turned to Trip, saying softly, “I’m going to excise the dead flesh around the wound now. You may wish to wait elsewhere, Commander.”

The earlier proceedings had already made Trip a bit queasy so he took the doctor’s advice, retreating out into sickbay proper. He did not wish to leave altogether, having every intention of being on hand when Malcolm awoke. There was a chair next to one of the counters just out of sight of the ICU where Phlox was working on Malcolm, and Trip sat in it, settling in for the wait.

Not that he’d feel it anyway, thought Trip somewhat worriedly. It’s like he’s in so much internal pain that he j’st doesn’t register what’s comin’ in from outside. I don’t know how I’m gonna get through to him. Jon and Hoshi both have been on me for two weeks to talk to him, Jon even before that. Why’d I always have to let m’self get distracted? Why’d I back down the one time I did corner ‘im? We could’a had it all out then, and everything would prob’ly be fine now, but no, you had to be yella’bellied an’ let ‘im stew. Now, Trippy boy, you have even more damage control to do on this relationship. Damage control, huh! Disaster management is more like.

Thick black lashes fluttered open to reveal ocean-blue eyes. Malcolm rolled stiffly onto his right side, confused, sleepy gaze coming to rest on Trip. Phlox returned at that moment, fresh bandage in hand.

“Ah, ah, on your stomach, Mr. Reed. I need to re-bandage your shoulder, and I can’t reach it as you are.”

The Englishman obediently flopped back over, presenting his wound to the doctor. He said nothing as Phlox secured the new bandage, and helped him into an upright position when he finished. Trip offered up the shirt he had been clutching, and Malcolm put it on with only a little prodding.

“Let’s get you back to your quarters, Mal. Doc said you could keep resting there, s’long as I help you wi’ that.” Trip pointed at the lieutenant’s shoulder, half expecting the smaller man to irritably remind him that he had indeed heard the deal Trip had struck with the Denobulan earlier, thank you very much. There was no sign of his usual irascibility, however, and he simply hopped down from the biobed and headed for the door.

Trip exchanged a brief look with the doctor, before turning and trotting after his friend. On reaching Malcolm’s quarters, the engineer once again followed the other man in, this time with every intention of at least starting the long delayed talk.

“Malcolm, you and I gotta have a talk,” Trip said, pulling the chair from Malcolm’s desk over and sitting on it backwards, facing the dejected figure seated once more on the edge of the bed.

“Oh?” The reply was dull and uninterested, but at least it was a reply.

“Yeah, we do; somethin’ fierce. Mostly, I need to apologise.” He took a deep breath and looked steadily at the Armoury Officer. “I’m sorry about that whole stupid bee incident a while back. I was bein’ pissy ‘cause of my arguing wi’ T’Pol, so I didn’t pay attention to you when I should have.

“I felt so guilty ‘bout that, and ‘bout being too scared to transport up with you ... I beat myself up for it for days, hell, for weeks! I couldn’t even face you, I felt so terrible. I was sure you’d be angry with me, and I couldn’t face hearing the recriminations I’d already been heapin’ on m’self outta your mouth, so I didn’t visit you in sickbay.

“I am so sorry, Malcolm. I know I only made things worse with all my sulkin’. I know my dissapearin’ into Engineering this past week hasn’t helped either. I should’a talked to you, should’a said this all, much earlier, and I’m sorry if I hurt you with my stupidity.”

Trip waited anxiously for a response, and was startled by the one he did get. Malcolm’s face twisted into a sneer, and he surged up from his place at the foot of the bed. “Sorry?? After everything you’ve done to me, you say you’re sorry?! And what? I’m supposed to forgive you? Just like that?” Malcolm gesticulated wildly and began to pace in front of Trip.

This sudden outburst was shocking in comparison to the uber-withdrawn state the other man had been in previously, and Trip sat in stunned silence as the floodgates opened.

“You lead me to believe that you’re my friend, but have you ever bothered to back that assertion up? No! You consistently ignore me. As previously mentioned, you have recently left me to rot in sickbay twice now. Before that you found yourself too busy arguing what was best for that Lianna woman with her father to so much as ask after my well-being, despite the fact that I was shot and physically assaulted while trying to rescue you!

“Then there was the time we were helping those renegade Vulcans. Do you remember that, Commander? Remember your little buddy, Kov? The one who was ever so much more interesting than I? The two of you were nearly inseparable during that time. You worked on his engines, you exchanged cultural misconceptions, you poked that sharp little nose of yours into his family problems. I seem to recall attempting to join the two of you in the mess hall while I drank my tea. You got up and left.

“I feel like I’m the bloody fifth-wheel of your social life! If the captain, or Travis, or whatever alien you're befriending at any given moment drops out of the picture for a moment, well, there’s always Malcolm. Entertaining enough when there’s nothing else to do, but easily ignorable otherwise.” His voice, though hoarse and shaky, dripped with venom, and he paused briefly to draw in an unsteady breath. He scrubbed a hand across his face and then wrapped his arms around his torso, as if to keep himself from flying apart. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, though no less impassioned.

“I’d thought Enterprise would be different, better somehow than the rest of my life. I thought I would finally be able to achieve my dreams here. I was mistaken. Enterprise is no different than San Francisco, Cambridge, or any of the boarding schools I went to as a child. All of them full of people who have little use for Malcolm Reed beyond what he can do for them at any given moment.

“Why can’t anyone ever just want me for me? My father wanted a miniature version of himself, another Reed man to carry on the family tradition. To my teachers, I was always just a pawn in their little games of one-up-manship with their peers. My superior officers see me as someone to guard their backs, to pull their asses out of the fire, and to turn out the occasional helpful gadget. I never could figure out what it was any of my girlfriends wanted out of me, which is probably why they all left me. My peers ... well, they just never had much use for me at all.”

A few tears escaped to trickle down Malcolm’s cheeks, and he wiped them away angrily. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. You can’t possibly care.”

The words jolted Trip from his stunned trance. He almost tipped over the chair he was sitting on in his haste to rise and engulfed his friend in a bear hug. “Oh, Malcolm, o’course I care. That’s what I was tryin’ to tell you. You’re my friend. I never meant to hurt you. Never. I’m j’st a little dense sometimes, you know? You’re always so self-contained, it never occurred to me that you might actually want somebody to reach out to you. Always thought you’d do the reaching when you were ready.”

“I tried,” Malcolm half-sobbed into Trip’s uniform, “but I don’t really know how. Nobody seemed interested anyway.”

“Trust me, Mal, it’s not lack of interest. It’s j’st lack of know-how on our parts. We’ve all been worried about you, but we didn’t know what was wrong or how to fix it.” Trip pulled back a bit, his eyes meeting Malcolm’s, a sheepish expression on his face. “It was generally agreed that it was prob’ly mostly my fault, and that I’d stand a better chance of gettin’ you to talk anyway. Every time I turned around it seemed like either Hoshi or Jon was askin’ me if I’d talked to you yet.

“You’ve got friends, Malcolm. Please believe that. We’ve been holding back because that’s what we thought you wanted. If you need us to be more demonstrative j’st say so. Don’t be afraid to ask for company if you’re feelin’ lonely.”

“I’ve never been one for making personal requests, but I ... I’ll try.” Malcolm ventured a hesitant smile. It became more relaxed when it was returned in triplicate by Trip’s own broad, golden smile.

“You do that, Mal, and I’ll try to remember that you might need a little unsolicited affection every now and again.” Trip released the dark-haired man with a friendly clap on his good shoulder and tousling of his hair, causing Malcolm to blush. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep, and then some. Why don’t you turn in, and I’ll see you tomorrow? We’ll have lunch, and if you want, I can ask Hoshi and Jon to join us. Maybe we can get started on rebuildin’ your trust.”

“In all honesty, it will likely take a while,” Malcolm replied, “but if you all are willing to have patience, then I’m willing to try and meet you half-way.”

“Couldn’t ask for more than that.” Trip gave Malcolm a reassuring smile and moved to the door. “Sweet dreams, Mal. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Malcolm let his eyes linger on the door for a few minutes after Trip had gone, considering all that had just transpired. For the first time in months, a new hope budded inside him. Though long and arduous, the path back to his happiness seemed clear. Enterprise was once again helping him pursue his dreams.

“Sweet dreams, indeed, Trip. Sweet dreams, indeed.”