This multi-chapter story is set in season four, a few months after Terra Prime, ignoring TATV.

Grateful thanks to Gabi2305 and RoaringMice, who beta read it. And a special hug to IchthusFish, who was my "Starship Technology & Operational Systems Theorist"! She gave me invaluable help in figuring out some of the technical stuff.

§ 1 §

He had been gone in the matter of hours. Taken off the ship.

It hadn't been the treacherous act of an alien race transporting him off the Bridge or the Armoury; he had been taken somewhere – nobody knew where – by a Vulcan ship. That guy, Harris, had called one night, and that had been that.

Malcolm hadn't liked it: Trip had known. The knowledge had started as a cold knot in his stomach and ended as a wrenching in his gut. Well, it hadn't taken a genius to know how Malcolm had felt about it. The damn man had locked himself up in his quarters to pursue his favourite sport: brood, suffer alone. Not a word to him; Malcolm had probably intended to leave without even telling him anything. It had been Archer who had informed him.

"Harris has requested Malcolm for a mission," Archer had told him in a careful voice as he had paced the ready room, to which he had summoned him well past the end of their shifts. "A Vulcan ship is picking him up in a few hours."

"How… What mission?" Trip had blurted out, his mouth, as usual, faster than his brain. If Harris was part of the picture, it wasn't likely Archer would know. And in fact he hadn't had a clue. "Is Malcolm willin'?" Trip had enquired. He had sensed something strange in the way the Captain had told him.

"He has asked me to let him go."

Archer's tone had been unrevealing; but the green eyes had said everything Trip had wanted to know, and what he had read in them had tied that first knot in his stomach. This man, his friend Jonathan, invariably wore his heart on his sleeve: there had been no mistaking the expression on his face. It had said 'I had to let him go even though I didn't want to'.

Malcolm was different. When he wanted to, Malcolm could be dying inside and not show anything. Although, over the years, Trip had got to know him better than anyone else on board, and learnt to read even through the man's poker face. He had long accepted, however, that there would always be a part of Malcolm he'd never be able to fathom. There would always be a bit of mystery, a secret chamber to which no one would have access. And that was fine with him. Not, though, Malcolm leaving on a mission for God knew how many weeks without a word.

Trip had stormed out of the ready room and marched to his friend's quarters in a muddled state, worry and irritation battling in his chest. And to hell with the fact that it had been past twenty-two-hundred. He'd been pretty damn sure that Malcolm wouldn't be asleep, anyway.

Indeed the man had opened the door looking as if he already knew who'd be there. He had taken but a glance at him and said quietly, "Trip, I don't have much time, and there are quite a few things I still need to do before I leave." His voice had been clipped but not unkind; uneasy more than anything else.

"Why?" Trip had asked directly, standing in the corridor, not even bothering to try to get invited in.

"Why what?"

"Why are you lettin' Harris take you off this ship? Away from your life?"

"I can't refuse."

Not 'I must'. The subtle but important difference between something one must do and something one can't refuse to do had suddenly jumped to Trip's attention.

"Malcolm, I thought you were finished with--"

"Look, I owe him one, ok?" Malcolm had cut him off harshly. "It's the last time. And then he can go to hell."

Trip could still remember the look in the grey eyes. It had belied the man's hard, determined tone.

Trip had muttered, "I thought you'd said that already."

"I have to do this; have to go back on my word," Malcolm had replied in his deep voice. And then he had spat out, "But not after this time. After this is over, Harris had better forget that I exist."

Trip had stared into the taut face of his friend, and that was when he had felt that wrenching in his gut. He'd been afraid to ask what favour Harris wanted paid back. He'd been afraid to hear that it had something to do with the events of Terra Prime, a few months back. Trip had been too involved, emotionally, to be fully aware of all that had gone on, then; and had never asked Archer, later, because he had wanted to forget. But why would Malcolm have been leaving without telling him? Had the man wanted to avoid him because he didn't want to dig up that past with him, didn't want him reliving those painful days? Didn't want him to find out that he'd gotten indebted to Harris during that crazy business, to help him and T'Pol? Trip just hadn't had the heart to ask.

"Were you gonna let me find out that you were gone when I came by the Armoury tomorrow mornin'?" he had finally blurted out, worry quenching the fire of his initial resentment.

"That was the plan."

The smile on Malcolm's face had not reached his eyes. Suddenly looking brittle, he had added, "Look, Trip… I can't tell you anything and… I've never been good at good-byes." Hugging himself tightly he had muttered, "They only make things more difficult."

Trip had nodded silently, biting his lower lip. "Promise to be careful, wherever you'll be," he had told him. "Harris or no Harris, this is where you belong. Don't you forget. Make sure you come back, and in one piece."

"I'll do my best, I promise." Malcolm's mouth had twitched in a downward smirk. "Good night, Commander."

With those innocent and ordinary words he had triggered the door closed and disappeared from their lives.

Until today.

Trip could not take his eyes off the docking arm slowly pulling Shuttlepod One up into the launchbay. It seemed an interminable operation, as if time had suddenly come to a standstill. He could feel Archer fidgeting beside him, shifting his weight back and forth; T'Pol, on the other side of him, was immobile, arms locked behind her. Darting a glance at her face he saw that her usual straight expression seemed a little absent. She often looked like that, since their daughter's death.

"Travis made good time," Jon commented, probably needing to break the silence.

Trip saw the launchbay doors finally close. "Yeah, he pushed on the gas pedal alright," he agreed. "Forty minutes to the planet and back."

Damn it, how long could it take for the bay to pressurise? He heaved a deep breath to clamp down on his anxiousness.

More than three months had passed since that early morning when a Vulcan ship had taken their Armoury Officer away; three months during which they had heard nothing from or of him. That total absence of news had been difficult. Trip had always known Enterprise's crew was special, but in that period, from the many subtle signs which had told him how much Malcom was missed, he had come to realise what a close family it had become. He supposed the months in the Expanse, and the respect Malcolm had earned himself then, had had a lot to do with it.

And then, four days ago, Hoshi's face had lit up and a lovely smile had blossomed on her lips as she had pressed on her ear-piece, as if afraid to miss something. Trip, at the Engineering console on the other side of the Bridge, had known right away.

At Warp 5 they had taken reasonably little time to get to the planet where Malcolm had been waiting. But it had still seemed like ages.

The flashing green light signalling that they now had access to the bay brought Trip back to the present. They entered the room just as the pod's top hatch was being opened. The ladder was lowered, and a moment later a dark head appeared, hair slightly longer than regulation.

Malcolm climbed a few steps and paused, hands on the rails, casting a look up. His eyes went to Archer, and emotion fleetingly showed through before it was reined in and shoved behind.

"Permission to come on board, Sir," he said, as if he no longer belonged on Enterprise.

Trip was glad to hear Archer reply, a hint of teasing in his voice, "Get up here, Lieutenant. This is your ship as much as ours. Welcome back."

Malcolm's mouth tightened with what could only be another surge of emotion, and Trip frowned in surprise: it was hardly like Malcolm to be so demonstrative. The man's eyes briefly sought him, and a transient smile made an appearance. The grey gaze looked tired, though. No, exhausted. And more than that; there was something... Trip had no time to study it, for while Malcolm climbed the last few steps his eyes shifted back to Jon.

"It's good to have you back," Archer said, clasping a hand to his Armoury Officer's shoulder.

Jon was the picture of delight.

"Thank you, Captain."

Malcolm's voice also sounded tired, Trip thought. The grey jeans and dark sweater didn't hide the fact that he had lost weight.

"Indeed, it is agreeable to see you, Lieutenant," T'Pol echoed in a welcoming tone that managed to round out the stiff Vulcan choice of adjective.

Malcolm's deep gaze lingered on her before he replied warmly, "And you, Commander."

Trip felt a touch of jealousy at the silent communication that had passed between them. These days his own communication with T'Pol was rather difficult. Don't be such an ass – he reproached himself. Those two had developed a high regard for each other, as colleagues. They had always sort of understood one another, thought along the same lines. Malcolm's discipline and caution made him the most Vulcan-like Human on board, and Trip had little doubt that T'Pol had missed his balancing presence in the past three months.

Malcolm's eyes shifted back to Trip, finally remaining a moment longer. "How have you been?" he asked, shaping his lips into a quiet smile again.

"That's what I'm supposed to ask you," Trip quipped. "Good to see ya." His own grin, wide and genuine, fell a little at the impenetrable quality to Malcolm's gaze. It was as if his friend didn't want him to see something.

Nodding, Malcolm straightened his shoulders, probably to appear less worn out; then turned to Archer again. "I suppose I'll have to go through decon," he said. "And a medical check-up."

"I'm afraid that's the protocol," Archer said with a lift of his eyebrows. "Phlox is waiting. But that is your only obligation for today, Lieutenant. Unless…" He tilted his head. "If you're up to it, I'd like you to join T'Pol and me for dinner. Trip, you too, of course."

Malcolm frowned imperceptibly and his eyes flicked away, and Trip took the opportunity to shoot Archer a look like saying 'don't you know the man better after all this time?', which was acknowledged with an unobtrusive smirk.

"I'd be honoured, Captain," Malcolm croaked out. "But…" He licked his lips, obviously looking for the right words. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company tonight," he eventually said. "I'm in dire need of a good night's sleep."

"Of course. Well, we'll make it another day. It's not as if you're going anywhere, at least for a while," Archer agreed in a playful tone.

Malcolm looked up sharply. "No, not for a while" he echoed, his voice marred by a hard edge.

There was a puzzled pause.

"I'd better not keep the Doctor waiting," Malcolm added uneasily, aware that he had come on a bit strongly.

"That's a good idea."

As Archer went on to say something about expecting Malcolm in his ready room the next morning, Trip studied the man who had come back to them: he was definitely a man on edge.

"Aye, Sir," Malcolm said. With a last, awkward look at Trip, he nodded and turned, and hurried off to the decon chamber.

Trip knew him too well not to realise that he had resented his assessing gaze; as he watched him walk away, questions crowded in his mind.

TBC