Thank you for following this and letting me know that you don't believe me capable of killing off Malcolm. Are you sure, though...? Well, you'll find out in this last chapter. ;-)

§ 4 §

Trip awoke slowly, feeling comfortably warm and relaxed. He stretched lazily under the blanket and for a moment didn't know where he was. But as soon as he opened his eyes his surroundings brought the memories back with shocking speed. He jerked his head up and before he could stop himself had turned to the side. The sight of other bench empty caused a lump to form in his throat.

"How are you feeling, Mister Tucker?"

Jerking back to the words, he saw Phlox coming through the door with Archer. Their faces were tired and lined, but a small smile was on both of them, painfully at odds with Trip's mournful heart.

"I'm…" Fine, he was going to say. But the word, in his mind, had a familiar if distinct accent, and stuck in his throat. He ended up murmuring, "Still alive."

Phlox had reached his side and was passing a medical scanner slowly over him. "I should think so," he commented softly, studying the readings. Shifting his blue gaze to Trip's eyes, he explained, "Your fever broke about eight hours ago, a couple of hours after you had fallen into a comfortable asleep. I took a blood sample not long ago and you'll be glad to know that there is no more trace of the virus. You will still feel a little tired, but I can assure you, you're as good as new." He turned to Archer, who hadn't said a word yet. "A day of rest and you'll have your Chief Engineer back, Captain. I'd say the Commander can go back on light duty tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doc," Archer said wearily.

"Very well." Phlox pocketed his instrument. "I've got to get back to Crewman Spencer's sprained ankle. If you'll excuse me…" With that and a small nod he left.

Trip had thrown the blanket aside and pushed to a sitting position, grateful that his balance was restored. Archer plopped down beside him.

"You gave us one hell of a scare," he croaked out. Grimacing, he shook his head and added softly, "This time I really thought you wouldn't make it."

"Malcolm…" Trip breathed out, closing his eyes against the memory of his friend raising a hypospray to his neck.

Archer heaved a deep breath. "He didn't suffer, thankfully. I am grateful for what he did."

Trip felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Not that you wouldn't have done the same for him. It was Phlox's choice."

Biting his lip, Trip nodded. He waited a moment, until the painful knot in his throat had somewhat loosened, before saying quietly, "Capt'n, I wanna thank you for bein' there for me. I wouldn't have made it without you."

There was a pause.

"I did nothing, Trip," Archer replied dismissively.

"Seriously, Capt'n," Trip insisted, turning his gaze to the compassionate green eyes of his Commanding Officer, "You don't know how much you helped. I was hearin' some pretty horrible sounds. Your voice kept me focused and fightin', kept me anchored." Unable to keep a slight quiver from his voice, he added, "If there had been silence I think I'd have caved in and died too."

There was another pause; this one longer.

"Trip, what are you talking about?" Archer finally enquired, in a puzzled voice. Suddenly he turned to the empty bench across from them, then back, wide-eyed. "Oh, hell… Trip, you don't mean to tell me that you think…" He grabbed him by the arm. "Malcolm didn't die. He's alive and well."

The words bounced around in Trip's brain for a moment; he blinked, afraid this might be a dream. But Archer was still there, his face softening into a warm smile.

"Alive?" he blurted out, his voice thin with disbelief and hope.

"Yeah. The Doc ordered him to his quarters. But I came by a couple of times and saw him: he was by your side almost throughout. And if you heard anyone talk that must've been him. No one else was allowed in here till Phlox came to take your blood sample, just recently."

Trip let himself fall back against the wall. "You've got to be kiddin'," he breathed out. "Then the treatment… the violent reaction…?"

"There was none, he was fine; something about his allergy shots immunising him against the counter effects." Archer smirked. "You were the one who got really sick. Phlox wasn't sure he'd develop the vaccine in time. Thank God he did."

Trip had been ordered to his quarters, but there was no way he would lock himself in his room without a small detour first. After all - he figured - as long as he was in some quarters and not in Engineering it wouldn't matter whose they were.

Malcolm opened the door bleary-eyed and out of uniform. He squinted against the brighter light in the corridor and took a moment to react.

"Trip…" he finally rasped. "You ok? Phlox let you out?"

The voice was definitely that of someone who had been dragged out of bed, but Trip was too happy to be worried about - or even sorry for - having woken his friend up. As he nodded, it struck him that maybe also something else made Malcolm sound as if he had swallowed a grater: the man had probably never talked so much in one go in his entire life. He couldn't help breaking into a smile.

"Mind if I come in a minute?" he asked, letting the happiness and relief, and a hint of amusement dance in his eyes.

Malcolm gave him a tilt of his tousled head and a questioning frown. Then his mouth curved up slightly too. "A minute? I believe I can grant you that, Commander," he said, recovering his poise and stepping aside.

As he walked in, Trip raised his eyebrows at the teasing in the tone and the grey eyes. Well, teasing it was then. "Did you enjoy your little hero stunt?" he asked, injecting the words with just enough sarcasm that it would be detected and resented. "You must've got that shot of adrenaline you like so much." He felt the man behind him stiffen.

"Trip, listen, I only did what the Doctor told me," Malcolm countered, in a voice that had suddenly acquired a tighter, defensive edge.

It was a naughty long moment before Trip turned to face him. "I've come to thank you," he said, mellowing. He took secret pleasure in watching the other man falter at the unexpected change.

But Malcolm quickly regrouped, quietly replying, "No need. You'd have done the same. Besides, in the end I was fine."

"Yeah," Trip agreed. "But that's not what I've come to thank you for."

Malcolm blinked, once again taken off balance. His smart little brain, though, figured things out pretty quickly.

Shrugging, he muttered, "You were sick." From the door, where he had remained, he took a few steps towards the centre of the room. "It was a small favour. Not a problem."

The grey eyes tried to shift away, but Trip captured them. "Knowing how much you like talking, it wasn't such a small favour," he said. "Not that I remember much of what you told me, but your voice kept me afloat, as well as some rather hair-raising sounds at bay."

"Hallucinations?"

"Sort of, yeah. Not much fun, believe me."

Trip bit his lip, acknowledging a feeling of discomfort that was all the more annoying in that it was quite alien to his nature. Maybe the fact that his energy was suddenly waning had something to do with it. The sheer joy of being alive and the relief that neither of them had lost their lives had kind of given him a false feeling of omnipotence, and now that it was passing he was beginning to feel sort of limp. But in fact, along with Phlox's predicted tiredness he was getting a few more memories of their stay in decon, and they were troublesome in more than one way. He cringed as he remembered some of the things he had said and done. First he had forced his need to talk on Malcolm; then he had antagonised him, bothered by the man's possibly reckless nature; and in the end he had showed him his fear, his weakness.

A clearing of the throat caught his attention, and he looked up to see Malcolm gesturing to his desk chair.

"Why don't you sit down, Commander?" Malcolm suggested with a touch of concern.

Trip realised he must look the way he felt, and grimaced. "There's no Commander, here, Malcolm, just another human being." With all his flaws, he thought, but couldn't bring himself to say it. "But no, thanks," he added, addressing the invitation. "I'd better go to my quarters. I've been ordered to rest. I'll let you get back to sleep." It was a half-assed excuse, he knew it; ironically, he was slithering out of a situation where he would have to talk; he wanted to be surrounded in silence. Rest right now sounded like a good idea; anyway, better than when Phlox had ordered it.

Something close to regret flitted across Malcolm's features. It was intriguing, but gone in an instant.

They walked to the door. Malcolm lifted his hand to the button, and it hovered there for a moment before falling back to his side. His brow creased slightly. "I apologise for the way I reacted in decon; you know, virtually telling you to shut up," he said without hesitation but not meeting Trip's eyes. "In the end a bit of talking wasn't such a bad thing. I suppose there are times when it's better to fill the silence and not heed one's thoughts."

What – had this close call made them come to see each other's point? Trip smiled inwardly. "Words are the physicians of a mind diseased," he suddenly found himself quoting, surprised himself that he should remember, out of the blue, something he had read in school.

Malcolm darted him a curious look. "Aeschylus, if I recall," he said, sounding impressed. His facial muscles tightened briefly. "If truth be told, after it was clear how serious our situation was, talking probably helped me as much as it helped you."

And what kind of a confession was that? Trip studied the rigid man beside him. "Are you sayin' that you were scared too?" he asked outright, too intrigued to play safe.

There was a pause.

"As hell," Malcolm replied tautly, still studiously avoiding his gaze.

"You did a good job of hidin' it," Trip huffed out. The other man suddenly turned to him with a direct gaze that was surprising, even if typical of his unpredictability, of his ability to turn, in an instant, from totally reserved to thoroughly transparent. What Trip read on his face right now was innocent matter-of-factness.

"I had to," Malcolm said. "I have to, in my profession."

Trip pinned him with a narrowed-eyes glance. "But you did more than hide your fear. You jumped at the opportunity to place yourself in danger: was it courage or something else?" He knew Malcolm would understand what he meant by that. He might not welcome the question, but Trip wanted to ask it. Indeed his friend crossed his arms over his chest, and his face became quite stern.

"Trip, forget what I said about the storms, and the fascination of danger," he said. "I simply did what I thought was my duty. Nothing less, nothing more. You may call it courage, if you will; although I don't much like the word - it implies an aura of heroism I'm not comfortable with when referred to my person. I'm no different from you; and in fact you were as willing as I was to volunteer as Phlox's guinea pig."

"I was willing; you were eager," Trip countered, not convinced. "There's a difference."

Malcolm took in a long-suffering breath and puffed it out. "Look," he went on, "I simply know when it's time to break free from fear's grip, get into action and take the bull by the horns, to use an expression you would use. And I do so with determination. That's all."

"I call that courage," Trip said. "Reckless courage."

Malcolm shrugged. "I call it doing my job"

They looked at each other, Trip boring into the straight face before him, trying to understand if Malcolm's answer had been truthful; Malcolm undauntedly sustaining the scrutiny.

"Have I passed the exam?" Malcolm finally asked, with a witty lift of his eyebrows.

Trip smiled. "For the moment, Lieutenant. But know that I'll be keepin' an eye on ya."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Standing at attention in shorts and T-shirt, Malcolm hardly gave the picture of the perfect officer. Trip couldn't help chuckling.

"You'd better get that rest, Commander, before you incur Phlox's ire," Malcolm muttered. For the second time he lifted his hand to the button and this time made the door open.

Trip stepped outside. He turned to say goodnight. "If you admit that talking isn't all that bad… does it mean I'm welcome to come by for a little conversation once in a while?"

"If you really have to..."

"If I carried a bottle of somethin'?"

Malcolm jerked his head sideways, humour sparking in his grey gaze. "It would depend on what was in that bottle, I suppose."

"Leave that to me, Lieutenant," Trip said starting to take a few backward steps in the direction of his quarters. Stopping, he added, with a shrug, "Doesn't mean we can't also spend some time in silence."

"Me, you and a bottle?" Malcolm's smile even bared a few teeth. "Not a chance, Commander."

THE END