A/N: Okay, here's the next installment. I thought I'd start replying to individual reviews, since I love it when other authors do it for me. So here goes.

Ocean: Thank you for your kind words. I have to say that I'm not consciously trying to write it from Trip's mind. I'm just imagining myself in his shoes. If that works, all the better for me!

RoaringMice: The answers are coming up soon. To be honest, I haven't really worked out exactly what I want to happen. I have a vague idea, but I don't usually know until I type it out.

Luna: My friend's cat is named Luna. Hehe. That's just a pointless little fact I'm sure will not improve your life any, but I thought I'd share it anyway. As for your comments, all the answers will come soon. Until then, bear with me.

Rinne: You are a fantastic beta, and I really appreciate your support of my writing. I just couldn't wait to post this chapter! I think it's one of my favourites, and I selfishly wanted to share it.

Gabi2305: I agree. Archer is an idiot. But don't worry; he redeems himself many times over in a few chapters. I think he just got a little caught up in the situation. ;p

Tata: Your wish is granted. Here is the next chapter. :)

JadziaKathryn: You'll find that there are many twists to this story. At least, I hope there are. I love writing first person point of view when something tragic happens, but like you, I didn't want it to be a cliche. Hopefully I did it okay.

MikiNare: I'm so glad you fell in love with him! I was worrying I was the only one that happened to! I appreciate you told me that, I loved hearing it. Please continue reading, I hope I don't disappoint you.

I want to thank you all one more time. You've been fantastic, and make this writing so much more fun. Is that proper grammar? I guess it doesn't matter. Enjoy!

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When I wake from a largely restless sleep, it's to what I think is an empty room. Sickbay is not silent, and I'm fairly certain the noises I have been hearing are not from an actual visitor, but from the large amount of animals who call this place home.

I blew it. There's really no other way to say it. Instead of proving my sanity through carefully worded arguments, I managed to achieve the contrary by getting paniced and emotional. I wonder how many people on board know the specifics about what happened. Knowing my luck, Starfleet had already been informed that the Chief Engineer of their flagship was allegedly suicidal. But I'm not, am I? The same old arguments and questions from my last waking minutes come back, and I'm left to rehash everything I'd already been over three times. If I am suicidal, certainly I would be the first to know. Of course, if Malcolm has me on tape doing what everyone says I was doing, then it's really a moot point, isn't it? I mean, unless this is a huge conspiracy to get me off the ship. Tampering with my torch, creating some footage on the security cameras. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. But then again it is the most lucid thought I've had in hours.

I sit up in bed suddenly as something occurrs to me. Phlox must've hooked me up to some IV liquids, because even though I've had very little to drink in the past day, I have to pee like a racehorse. This poses a momumental problem, given my current state. I close my eyes softly, try to envision a mental blueprint of sickbay. I know roughly the area I'm in. Well, roughly as in I'm in one of the six biobeds in the room, although I'm not quite sure which one. I know the lav is to my left, right next to the decon chambers, but it might as well be back on Earth for all the good it would do me.

I slide off the bed carefully, but startle myself by landing on a boot. A boot? What the hell is a lone boot doing in sickbay?

"Trip?"

Oh. The boot is on a foot, which happens to belong to a certain armoury officer who is in sickbay. Malcom's voice sounds thick, as though he has a great wad of peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. This is highly unlikely though, I'm sure peanut butter is far too low class for a man of Malcolm's dignity. Besides, he's probably allergic to it.

"What are you doing here, Malcolm?"

I try to concentrate on the conversation at hand, and not at the fact that if I don't cross my legs, I'm going to do something I haven't done since I was in preschool.

"I...I must've dozed off. I only meant to be here for a minute."

I replay the sentence carefully in my mind, but decide he's being sincere enough. Besides, as I may have mentioned before, I don't think Mal is capable of treachery. Unless it's ordered of him, of course.

"What time is it?" I have taken to bouncing on the balls of my feet to distract myself from my near bursting bladder. I'm sure there's a bedpan around here somewhere, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna use one of those in front of my subordinate.

"0300. Are you all right? Why are you dancing like that?"

I still my movements, wonder for a minute if I can trust him. Of course, he was stranded with me in the shuttlepod that time. He knows how intensely frustrating it can be to have to use the facilities when they are none. Or you just can't find them. I sigh, slump my shoulders forward. "I have to...y'know...pee."

To my greatest surprise, I can hear no humour in his voice when he says, "All right, then. Shall I escort you?"

I feel him grab hold of my elbow lightly, and before I can say boo, he's leading me away from the bed in the general direction I was headed to anyway. I know Phlox wouldn't be cruel enough to leave something out in the middle of the floor for me to trip on, and even if he did, Malcolm is a much better friend than to let me fall over something. But I still take tiny shuffling steps anyways. After a lifetime of relying on my sight to get me around, I'm suddenly left floundering when it's gone.

"Here we are,"he says, and a second later my hip bumps against something I later find to be the doorframe. "You'll be all right?"

I shoot him what I hope is a deadpan look. "Yeah, I can take it from here." I wonder idley what he would have done if I had've said no. I hear him begin to close the door, but call out his name to stop him before he can.

"What is it, Trip?"

I frown for a minute, fighting a losing battle against the blush rising up in my cheeks. "What am I wearing?"

Again he surprises me by saying in a completely sincere tone, "Hospital issue scrub pants. You don't have a shirt on."

I don't want to belittle his help that much by pointing out the obviousness of that last bit. He has helped me greatly, and somehow I know I can trust him to not pass this on. The last thing I want the rest of the ship knowing is how I needed an escort to use the facilities.

He closes the door behind him, leaving me to my own devices. It isn't really as difficult as I had feared, but a part of me worries I left a big mess on the floor for Phlox to clean up. Actually, truth is a part of me wishes I left a big mess on the floor for Phlox to clean up. I am still really, really bitter about being sedated.

Malcolm meets me on the other side of the door, and escorts me back to the biobed. This time, I remain sitting. I've been laying down for far too long, and the risk of bedsores is starting to play prominently in my mind.

For a long few minutes, we sit silently facing each other. Fat lot of good it does me, though. Finally, Malcolm breaks the quiet.

"How are your hands?"

I flex the aforementioned appendages with little difficulty. "Pretty good, I guess. Either they're starting to heal, or Phlox has me drenched in pain meds. I'm not quite sure which."

I hear a sound not unlike a sigh, and realize Malcolm is laughing. He is one of the only people on board that I know of who can laugh without making a sound. I used to find it funny, but now it's just unnerving. My chin drops down to my chest, and I stare sightlessly into my lap.

"Look, Trip,"Malcolm begins, and I find myself fervently hoping for a tactical alert to stop this conversation before it starts. I'm just beginning to forget what happened earlier, and now I fear Malcolm is going to bring it up again. "About what happened earlier..." Sometimes I despise being right all the time. "It's really not fair how we brought it up, and I'm sorry. You were just beginning to understand what had happened to you, and we dropped that bomb in your lap. I don't blame you if you're angry, but I really regret the way things happened. The Captain does too."

I frown, thinking that one over. He's a better man than me to be able to apologize for something like that. The fact that he is here at all confirms what he just said. But the absense of Captain Archer, the man I thought was my friend, is nagging me, like the beginning of a toothache. I wonder if the Captain really does feel some regret, or if Mal just included him in the apology to take the pressure off himself. Eventually, I nodd.

"Thanks, Mal. I'm sorry too. I definitely could've handled it better." I'm not entirely sure that I could've, but I figure it's the right thing to say.

Quietude descends over us once again. The one thing that I've noticed above all others is that when I'm with Malcolm, there's never a pressing need to say anything, to fill the gaps in conversation. I think it's probably just because we both talk so much on the job, that when we finally get a chance to sit down we only want to relax. Many a silent, but completely comfortable meal as been eaten in the mess hall between us.

I settle back against the pillow, and close my eyes softly. It gets to me after a while, the neverending inky blackness in front of my eyes. It's disorienting to not have any points of perspective, and if I'm not careful it makes me nauseous. At least with my eyes closed I can pretend my sight will still be there when I open them.

I hear a creak next to my bed, then a hand falls on my shoulder and squeezes gently. He's leaving. He's put in his obligatory amount of time, and now he's leaving. But I don't want him to. Suddenly the worst thing I can imagine is being left alone in this room, in this infernal darkness. I reach out blindly to grab onto him, but he's beyond my armspan.

"Malcolm!"

I hate the plaintive, desperate tone that sounds so different from my own, but it seems to do the trick. I hear a pause in his footsteps.

"Do you...um...do y'think y'could stay? Unless you got something more important..."

Footsteps near my bed again, there's another creak as presumably he settles back into the chair. "No, I don't have anything more important. I just thought you wanted to get some sleep."

I breath a sigh of relief, and allow myself to relax. I've never been the type of person desperate for company around the clock. Actually, it was much the opposite. Growing up in a house with three other siblings, I learned fast to appreciate privacy and alone time. But none of that matters anymore. I can actually feel my pulse racing at the mere thought of sitting in this bed with no link to the outside world.

"No, I think I've got enough sleep to last me a week. I just...I don't wanna..."

I trail off as another creak sounds next to me, then Malcolm speaks up, closer to me this time, "It's all right, Trip. I understand. I wouldn't want to either."

I smile shakily. It's good to know I've got at least one friend who can read my mind without making me put everything into words. And three years ago, I never would've guessed that friend would be Malcolm. I've never been more pleased to be proven wrong.

Captain Archer comes back about a half an hour later. The only reason I know it's him is that I can practically hear Malcolm snap to attention beside me. Almost four years with the same Captain and the man still acts like a first year cadet getting his initial peak at the top brass.

"How ya doing, Trip?" The Captain sounds overly jovial, and he grabs my foot again, both of which I take as bad signs. The first time he visited me in sickbay I found out I was blind for an indeterminate amount of time. The second time he accused me of trying to kill myself. I wonder what I'm in store for now.

I frown a little bit, but manage to keep the sarcasm out of my tone when I say, "Jes' fine, Cap'n. Well, considering...y'know."

There's a short, uncomfortable silence, then he taps my shin with his finger, and says, "That's good to hear." I wonder how he can possibly sound so upbeat when I'm laying in this bed with my very future undecided. If it were him in this bed...No, let's not go there. I don't like to think how I would react if it were him blinded in a freak accident. And that's all it was. An accident.

I tune back into the conversation taking place over my head. Malcolm and Captain Archer are discussing some kind of upgrade to the targeting software. I'd like to add in my own two cents, but I lack the energy it would require to speak up. They continue on for several more minutes, before Malcolm excuses himself to head up for his bridge shift. He promises to come see me on his lunch break, but I try to tell him it won't be necessary. I want to tell him that I'm not a child, that I can entertain myself even without sight, but the words don't come. Instead all I can do is thank him gruffly, again hating myself for the damn neediness.

A creak sounds next to the bed, and then a hand grasps my forearm lightly. I'm pretty sure it's the Captain, but I wouldn't bet money on my certainty.

"How are you really doing, Trip?"

I sigh harshly. As much as I hate to admit it somedays, he does know me fairly well. Of course he would know that I would hold back. Even in front of Malcolm, the man I now consider my closest friend on board, save maybe the Captain. Despite my rumoured quick fuse, I've always been a little uncomfortable expressing my feelings. An old girlfriend, psych major at the time, of all things, told me once that I make a pretense of being open and easy to read because I experience certain emotions so close to the surface. The ones that really matter, that really make connections with people, I keep close to the chest. Kind of a defense mechanism, I guess. Hide the real me behind a carefully constructed facsimile. It's the reason she gave for breaking up with me. She said that she couldn't be with a man who had worse problems than the patients she saw everyday. I wonder for a minute what she's doing now-a-days before remembering that Captain Archer is still waiting for an answer.

I clear my throat, hoping that he assumed I was sorting through my feelings rather than getting nostalgic over a girl who made the best chocolate chip pancakes this side of our galaxy. "Um...I don't know, Cap'n." My voice cracks on the last bit, and he squeezes my wrist in a sympathetic gesture. "I mean, Phlox could be wrong, right? This could be permanent."

I imagine him shaking his head emphatically. "Phlox has gone over everything three times, Trip. I doubt he would be wrong about something so important."

I nod, but I'm not convinced. It's not that I doubt the capabilities of our good doctor. There is just far too much riding on this for me.

"How do your hands feel?"

As I did for Malcolm not an hour ago, I lift one hand off the sheets and give it a good flex for the Captain's benefit. "They don't hurt. That's a good sign, right?"

He chuckles softly, and removes his own hand from my wrist. "I spoke with Phlox earlier. There's only an hour left in your sentence."

I perk up at that. I had been doing a lot of thinking while confined to this bed, and I had decided that the only way to make this week go by at a reasonable speed is to have something to distract me. And there is nothing that can hold my attention that resides in this sickbay. Except maybe the doctor, but I can hardly expect him to spend all day everyday entertaining me. Truth is I'm kind of hoping to get back to work. A lot of the things I do down in Engineering are instinctually anyway. I don't need my sight to do most of it. But I'm not about to let the Captain in on that. He wouldn't allow it. I guess I'm figuring that it would be easier to get forgiveness than permission.

"Oh yeah?"

He's quiet for a minute, then he says softly, "It's not a good idea, Trip."

I decide feigning ignorance would be a good idea. "What's not a good idea?"

"Whatever it is you're planning. Don't think I don't know you that well by now. You've got your scheming face on."

My hand clenches unconsciously around the sheets. I don't want to talk about this now. I don't want to hear him telling me that I can't go down to Engineering. I don't really want to talk about anything, but I know it's likely he's not going to take a hike anytime soon. You'd think being Captain of the first warp capable starship would be more time consuming.

"I really don't know what you're talking about." I grate it out through clenched teeth, hoping that he's going to get the point. He's not a stupid man; a person can't get to where he is without being able to notice things. If he doesn't figure this one out I'm going to seriously consider consulting Phlox about a headscan.

He sighs audibly, probably so I realize just how trying I'm being. I do realize, though. It just doesn't bother me.

"Look, Jon. I really think I should get some sleep. Y'know? I'm really beat."

There's a long, drawn out silence, then I feel his hand on my arm again. "Okay, Trip,"he says, and he's gone all quiet again. "Whatever you like. I'll, uh, drop by later."

I nodd, but don't respond. There's nothing for a long minute, then I hear a pair of footsteps walking away from me. The doors to sickbay open, then close again. And I'm alone again.

Malcolm and Hoshi come back at the end of my last hour. I'm glad someone did; as hard as it was going to be to accept the help I desperately need, it would be even harder to negotiate my way down the corridors. Granted, I could probably get to my quarters just fine on my own, but I don't feel like trying. To try could mean to fail, and I'm not sure my bruised sense of self could handle it.

Malcolm seems to understand the beating my ego has taken in the past few days, and I don't even recognize that he's trying to help until a minute or two later.

"We were heading over to the messhall to grab a bite. Do you want to come with us?"

It's a pretty tall order. I haven't left sickbay since the accident, haven't been in the company of the general crew for days. I wouldn't be able to see them staring at me, but chances are I wouldn't have to. That kind of attention you can feel.

The question hangs uncomfortably in the air while I think about it. I haven't eaten yet this afternoon, more likely than not Phlox's own brand of encouragement. I know it's late too, so the mess hall will probably be nearly empty. It wouldn't be so bad, I think. Besides, it will be nice to get away from the prepackaged meals I've been forced to eat.

"Can I get a shower first?"

Someone takes hold of my elbow, and rather insistently helps me off the biobed. "I would discourage it, Commander. A shower would impede the healing process."

I frown, try to dig my heels into the deck plating, but the hand on my elbow isn't very forgiving. I don't want to go out there at all, but especially not when smelling as rancid as I most certainly do.

But the first hand is joined by another on my other side, then Hoshi's voice says, "You look fine, Commander. Don't worry about it."

I would like to tell her it's not my looks I'm worried about, but if she hasn't complained by now I must not stink as bad as I think I do. My stomach chooses that inopportune moment to growl loudly, exclaiming that in no uncertain terms will it be denied some of Chef's fried catfish for another two days. I sigh, and simply allow my "helpers" to continue leading me.

I hear the doors to sickbay open in front of us, and I swear I can feel a difference in the air as we step out in the corridor. Seems...larger, almost. Does that make sense? Probably not. But I can't explain it any better than that. It just feels more encompassing than sickbay.

For their part, and likely some half-assed attempt to make me feel involved, Hoshi and Malcolm are discussing whatever happened on the bridge today, surely a conversation they practiced on the ten minute trip down here. Most of it goes over my head though, partially because I haven't been up there in two days, but more because I just can't bring myself to give a damn.

We pass a couple of crewman on the way. They don't say anything; the only way I know is I can hear their footsteps slow as they near us, then speed up once again behind us. It should be mortifying, knowing they're trying to avoid me like that, but at least this way I can pretend I don't notice them.

"We're almost there,"Hoshi says quietly, and maybe I feel bad for underestimating her. Apparently I don't hide my discomfort as well as I think I do. But instead of comfort, the thought of sitting in the mess hall fills me dread. I know perfectly well that at this time of night, we would likely be alone. But that provides no solace. It doesn't mean someone won't get hungry at an unspecified time. I don't want the crew to see me like this, and I especially don't want to hear their wasteful and useless platitudes. This time when I put on the brakes, it's much more effective.

"I...I don't think I can do this,"I blurt out. I take a step backwards and then another one, then the wall of the corrider is solid at my back. The strength leaves my knees in a rush, and I slide down the wall, landing hard on the floor with my knees tight against my chest. Someone's hand lands on my shoulder, as presumably they kneel beside me.

"Trip, what's the problem?" It's Malcolm speaking to me, but I can barely hear him over the roaring in my ears. This can't be happening. Not here, not now. Not after so many years...I take a great heaving breath, scrub at my face with my still bandaged hands.

"I don't wanna go in there,"I tell him, and maybe I'm speaking a little too loudly, but God help me I can't lower my voice. The very thought of going in there, facing the crew...My breath catches in my throat, and suddenly there's nothing. I reach out blindly, grab onto someone's uniform, but I can't seem to catch my breath. There's pressure on the back of my neck, and after a moment of weak resistance, I give in and rest my forehead on my knees. Breathing is a little easier in this position, and the noise in my ears as quieted a little, but I can still hear the harsh gasps of my breath in the otherwise quiet. I realize then that Malcolm's speaking to me, just like he did when I woke up the second time and panicked. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, the calm droning quality of his voice gets through the fuzz in my ears. My throat opens, and a sweet rush of oxygen fills my lungs.

"Take it easy,"Malcolm is saying. "Hoshi just ran to get Dr. Phlox. Take it easy and he'll be here in a minute."

He's rubbing my back in circular motions, and it's feels really good. Solid, like I'm not minutes away from floating right off the goddam deck plating. Breathing is still difficult, but thank God it's not coming with a gasp and a wheeze.

"I don't...don't need a doctor,"I manage to spit out, even though my voice is really hoarse. I picture Malcolm's puzzled face in my mind, and add, "It's just a...a panic attack. Had 'em before. Just need a minute."

"You have panic attacks?"

He sounds surprised, like maybe until this minute he thought I was invincible. I think it's odd that Malcolm of all people, who has probably seen me at my worst more often than anyone else, can believe something like that. I thought I was over the attacks for the most part. The doctors back home had always said I would grow out of them, become more secure in myself and my abilities. According to them, the panic was fed by my own self-doubt. Well, that's not the case now.

I've had two on board so far, not including this moment. The first was when that creature had a bunch of us in Cargo Bay Two. I guess that one can't really be counted though, since Captain Archer was there to talk me down. The second was full blown panic. Right after we heard about the Xindi attack. I was in the shower, of all places, when it finally occurred to me what my baby sister might have gone through. That time, I was alone, and I eventually passed out from lack of oxygen. Woke up ten minutes later, with a nasty bump of my forehead.

"Just gimme a minute,"I say, but even as the words are coming out I hear a couple of pairs of footsteps hurrying towards us.

"Trip? Are you okay?" That's the Captain, probably belongs to the arm that's thrown across my shoulders.

"What happened?"Dr. Phlox, the metallic thump that follows is predictably his medkit.

"I'm sorry it took so long. I went as fast as I could." That's Hoshi. I spare a moment of thought wondering why they didn't just call the Doctor, before thinking that maybe I should answer their questions.

"I, uh..." I don't want to explain the situation in front of Hoshi, much less the crewmen that have inevitably gathered around us. A senior staff member, white as a ghost, sitting in the corridor and surrounded by officers is quite a sight.

The Captain apparently senses my reluctance, and says, "Hoshi, we've got it from here. Thanks for coming so fast."

Thankfully she doesn't question or object to her dismissal. I wait but a moment to hear her departing footsteps.

Captain Archer squeezes my shoulder. "It's just the four of us, Trip. Can you tell me what happened?"

I take a breath. I've never been comfortable admitting to these attacks, especially now that I'm in such an important position. Who wants a chief engineer who loses consciousness when pressed too hard? But I've never been able ignore a question from the Captain. Besides, I've already got the blindness going against me. What's one more black mark on my record?

"It was a panic attack,"I say quietly, staring sightlessly into my hands. "I thought about being with the rest of the crew, and I freaked out."

There's a long, heavy silence, then Doctor Phlox says, "I agree with this assessment, Captain. All physiological signs point to extreme alarm."

"Do you get these often?"

I frown at that question. There really isn't an answer that will allay concern. Having your first panic attack at the age of thirty two is pretty significant, but so is discovering your chief engineer has been suffering from them his whole life. I figure the truth would be slightly easier to deal with, so I sigh. "Not really. I almost had one on board a few years ago, but before that not since my teens."

Another silence follows my reply, then Archer asks, "That web monster in Cargo Bay two. Right?"

I nodd, hoping that he's looking at me and I don't have to speak. I can hear the general sounds of Phlox playing around with his scanner, then he says, "There's seems to be no lasting damage. Do you feel well enough to stand, Commander?"

I'm pushing myself up before he's finished talking. As always after one of these, I feel weak and tired, like I haven't eaten in a couple of days. I'm sure it had something to do with not even oxygen reaching the body, but I've never really cared enough to figure exactly what.

My arms are taken in two seperate hands, as though the owners of the hands believe I can't stand on my own. At the same time as I'm annoyed by their help, I'm grateful for the support. "Do you feel up to going in there now?"

I sigh again, look in the general direction of Malcolm. If ever I've hoped for telepathic communication, it's never been as strong as now. But lately, he seems to be the one who reads me best. As if in proof of my thoughts, he removes his hand from my elbow, and a moment later, I hear a pair of doors slide open. He returns to my side, hand on my shoulder, and says quietly, "T'Pol's the only one in there."

As with Hoshi earlier, I'm sure he meant that as some kind of comfort. Problem is, I haven't seen T'Pol since before the accident, when she told me she would have to stop our neuropressure sessions. The very thought of her seeing me like this, weak as a kitten and shaking like a leaf, almost makes me feel worse than I did before the attack reached its peak. Captain Archer is here, though, and so is Phlox, and I don't really feel like explaining the dissolvement of my relationship with T'Pol, if it could be called that.

I nodd briskly. "All right. I am getting kind of hungry."

I move forward with Mal on one side, Captain Archer on the other, and presumably Phlox hovering somewhere behind me. I hear the doors open again, and in one step, they're closing behind me. The smell of freshly baked pecan pie washes over me, and even as my stomach's grumbling, I'm frowning. I know then that Chef has been persuaded into baking a pie. Again I'm split in two directions; on one hand, I'm thankful for the interference the Captain surely provided. On the other hand, I'm annoyed as hell that he feels he has to. But right now, I'm just too damn hungry to complain either way.

Malcolm carefully steers me into a chair, and I sit with little difficulty. The good thing about being blind in that situation, is I don't have to worry about where not to look to avoid T'Pol. I don't see her anywhere, so maybe my sub-conscious believes she's not around. Unfortunately, she speaks at that very moment.

"Commander Tucker. It's good to see you well."

I avoid answering the same in a considerably more sarcastic tone. At least one beneficial thing will come out of this injury; my self-control is getting much needed exercise. I direct my non-gaze to the section of room I'm pretty sure she's sitting in, and say, "Thank you, Sub-Commander. I'm a little worse for wear, but the good doc insists it's nothing permanent."

"Pecan pie and iced tea okay, Trip?"Malcolm asks me. I nodd at him, wait patiently for T'Pol to say something further, even though something tells me I'll be waiting a long time. If anyone of my posse thinks it funny that we're suddenly on a title-only basis, they don't speak up. Thankfully.

There's a soft clatter as Malcolm sets some dishes down in front of me, and gently pushes a fork in my hand. When I first learned of this blindness, the only thing that occurred to me was it might not be permanent, and I would lose my career. It didn't even come to mind how difficult day to day life was going to be. Exhibit A: trying to eat a plate of pie when I couldn't even see the table. I lifted my hand, probing around in what I hoped to be an inconspicuous manner. After two passes, my fingers found my sought after booty, and I hurry to stick my fork in it, to mark it so I won't lose it again.

T'Pol's gone quiet in her little corner, and I wonder if maybe she's as uncomfortable around me as I am around her. But in the end, I suppose it doesn't matter. We'll work it out eventually, and if we don't, we're professionals. We can handle it.

I know this is going to be hard, whether or not it ever goes away, but I know that so long as I have these people around me, my friends and in some cases extended family, it won't be impossible.

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Geez, I don't think I've ever written a fourth chapter. I must be maturing! Haha.
As usual, please let me know what you think. There's more coming!