Squeaky

Trip lay awake, staring into the semi-darkness of his room.

The chronometer on his desk flashed dimly, reminding him that it was too early for him to get up, too late for him to hope to sleep. Another wasted night slowly turning towards another waste of a day.

He turned his head so he could see the stars as they flashed by his window. By their speed, and the gentle thrumming of the ship's engines, he knew Enterprise was travelling at impulse speed, Lieutenant Hess and her night crew treating his baby like she was their own. He could die right now, he thought, and Enterprise would be fine; hurtling on towards her journey even while his cold body drifted in space, finally being consumed by the eternal fire of one of those stars.

He smiled grimly to himself. Thinking of death reminded him of Malcolm.

The smile flew off his face. Malcolm.

Trip rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. The familiar, violent ache was starting again in his heart. Here in the privacy of his room, he allowed himself the luxury of tears, relishing their burning against his eyelids, their cool path down his cheeks to be swallowed by the cloth of his pillow.

Slowly, his tears subsided, the ache in his chest lessened until he felt he could breathe. He rolled onto his back. The chronometer flashed a new number into the darkness. Soon, it would be time for him to get up, time for him to propel himself out of bed and into the shower. To try to shape himself back into the role of Commander. He sighed, feeling the tears drying against his cheeks, not having the energy to wipe them away.

He knew he would see Malcolm on the bridge again today. The Lieutenant's exile in sick bay and his cabin having ended several weeks ago as his body had healed from the ravages of pneumonia and infection. Trip squeezed his eyes shut as his mind drifted back to the terrible crash on the ocean, and how, as Trip pleaded, Malcolm once again had refused to be saved. Trip had knocked him out and dragged him to shore, and Malcolm had nearly died because of it.

But then, Enterprise had rescued them in the nick of time, and Malcolm had been taken to sick bay, and—

—had broken up with him. Just like that. Like the past six months had never existed. Like Trip was meant to function with half his heart missing. Like he was meant to function lurching around, half dead.

"The relationship can't work." Malcolm had said. Trip had refused to accept it, said that they'd talk about it later. He had left, hurt, stunned by Malcolm's statement and had gone to collect his thoughts, to marshal his arguments. To employ the famous `Tucker temper' in defence of the best relationship he had ever had. But when he had returned, after a few fitful hours of rest in his quarters, Malcolm had been asleep. Looking at Malcolm's face, soft and vulnerable in complete relaxation, Trip's anger had dissipated, leaving him with only a sense of loss so great it had crushed the air from his lungs. Malcolm didn't want him any more. And who was he to argue against that?

So he hadn't. He hadn't tried to talk to Malcolm at all since that day. Not once. After Malcolm had been released from sick bay, they had been formal and polite while on duty, and either ignoring or snarling at each other like dogs, while off. Malcolm had laughed at him when he had been found in his underwear with Princess Kaitaama, and Malcolm had snipped at him over a poker game on the catwalk, during the neutronic storm. But they hadn't really talked to each other at all, hadn't spoken a word about what had happened, or what used to exist between them. Today would be just another day where he would have see the Lieutenant without having the right to smile at the other man; without being allowed to touch him lightly; or lean against him for a second as he checked the tactical sensors; without being able to communicate a world of meaning with just the contact of their eyes. That language was lost to him now. Malcolm was lost to him. Trip sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed as another sob tore though him. He pressed his hands to his eyes as tears started anew, feeling himself shudder against their onslaught. He didn't know how he could go on.

His alarm rang. He snuffled, wiped his eyes and stood, feeling endless nights of exhaustion overtake him. For a moment, he considered calling Jon and telling him he was sick, that he needed a day off. That someone else could keep the engines running while he stayed in bed and tried not to die. Trip shook his head, smirked humourlessly to himself. All that would do would win him a trip to sick bay, and a visit from Hoshi and Liz, their eyes full of condolence and empathy. At least at work he could avoid them and their well-meaning conversation. At least at work he might be able to not think about Malcolm.

He shuffled into the shower like an old man.

***

"Hiya, love." Liz smiled as she gave Hoshi a quick kiss on the cheek and set her tray down on the table beside her. Liz sat and began arranging her breakfast dishes, adding milk to her cereal, sugar to her coffee. "I noticed that you didn't come to bed last night," Liz said neutrally, looking at the other woman out of the corner of her eye. She stirred her coffee, waiting for a response.

"Sorry," Hoshi mumbled. "Couldn't sleep."

Liz turned to look at her girlfriend. Hoshi's face was pale, and there were purple marks marring the delicate skin under her eyes. Her hair hung in a loose ponytail, barely reminiscent of the sleek, efficient style she usually wore. She was gripping a cup of tea like it was a branch in a flood. It looked like she had been crying. She followed Hoshi's gaze across the crowded mess hall to where it rested on the brown hair and straight back of an officer sitting by himself. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

Liz felt her heart constrict in her chest, "Hoshi," she said gently, brushing a stray strand of black hair behind her ear, "it's not your fault."

Hoshi turned to look at Liz, blinking like she just saw her for the first time. "He just looks so sad, you know?" Hoshi said, her voice rough with unshed tears. She looked down at her hands around the cup on the table, "he found out about the kiss because of me."

"Listen to me," Liz said, turning Hoshi's shoulders so the other woman was forced to look at her, "you didn't want Malcolm to break it off with Trip," she said. "You couldn't have known that was what he was going to do."

Hoshi shook her head, looked away. Liz grasped her chin and gently forced her head towards her, "hey," she said softly, "we've been through this before. It wasn't your fault."

When Hoshi's eyes met hers, Liz was distressed to see that, once again, they were wet, "Malcolm won't talk to me anymore," Hoshi said brokenly, "Trip won't even look at me." A tear broke free and began to wind its way down Hoshi's cheek, "I never wanted to hurt them," she whispered.

Liz wiped the tear with her thumb, "I know, sweetheart," she said, "and deep down, I'm sure they do as well. They're just hurt and angry, is all." She smiled, "they're boys. You can't expect boys to behave rationally when their feelings are hurt." Her face became serious. "Do you want me to try to talk to Malcolm again?"

Hoshi smiled slightly, and Liz felt her heart lighten. But then her expression changed, saddened, and Liz saw a fresh wave of tears threaten in Hoshi's eyes. "No, he'll just ignore you again," Hoshi sniffed. "I don't want him to keep hurting you." She wiped her eyes. "I've ruined everything," Hoshi said, "their relationship, our friendship, everything!" On the last word, Hoshi flung herself into Liz's arms, crying openly. Liz embraced Hoshi, murmuring soothing nothings and stroking her back, trying to ignore the confused and worried glances sent her way by the other crewmembers.

"It's okay," Liz said, hand moving rhythmically up and down Hoshi's back, "we'll figure out a way to fix it." It was nothing she hadn't said to Hoshi before, hadn't said several times over the last few weeks since they had been rescued from the planet. Nothing had changed however. Trip and Malcolm were still apart, and it was still tearing Hoshi up inside. Liz felt the familiar burn of anger well up inside her, like a touch of fire against her heart. "I'll fix it," she said, and she narrowed her eyes as she held Hoshi tighter, focusing on Malcolm, where he sat, oblivious.

***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed could feel Liz's eyes boring a hole into the back of his neck. He knew exactly where she was sitting, had watched her reflection in the window in front of him as she had sat down, and eventually taken Hoshi into her arms. Malcolm knew Hoshi was near her breaking point with despair about his relationship with Trip. He knew Liz was near the boiling point with her anger at how he was treating Hoshi. He wished he could find it in him to care.

He sat in silence, alone and undisturbed at his table. His crew, already aware of his feelings about fraternization, barely spoke to him when they passed, merely giving him a quick nod before quickly moving on. They were newly conscious of his understated temper, and the air of violence that now seemed to always flow around him. His crew's performance reviews had been better then ever, their work consistently excellent; their efficiency unsurpassed. Malcolm was fully aware that the armoury was no longer a pleasant place to work, but fear was an exceptional motivator.

He was mildly surprised that the Captain had not yet been around to speak to him about it. Perhaps no one from the armoury had been brave enough to go over his head. Perhaps Archer had been so impressed with his team's performance that he was willing to overlook the mood of trepidation that infused the place. Malcolm smiled mirthlessly to himself, Perhaps Archer was hoping everything would just blow over, return to normal without his having to intervene. He fingered the PADD he held in front of him, letting first one corner, then the other rest on the table. He knew how to fix the morale problem in the armoury, and he planned on doing just that, as soon as he had made arrangements for the PADD to be delivered to the Captain.

But first he had to go to the armoury for his shift, make sure there were no crewmembers lolly-gagging it over breakfast, so he could round them all up and send them to sick bay for their vaccinations. He stood, slipping the PADD into a pocket, and returning his untouched tray of food to the recycler. Glancing around, he caught the eye of two of his crewmembers sharing a small laugh over their last sips of coffee. They blanched, and immediately jumped to their feet. Malcolm smiled grimly to himself. He knew they would all show up on time today. They wouldn't dare otherwise.

***

As it turned out, his day started with a trip to sick bay after all.

Sometime during the night, one of the science officers had developed a case of Varoshen fever. A virulent virus that spread quickly and, in rare instances, could prove fatal. Trip almost didn't go, nearly sent Ensign Kelly to ensure the engineering team received their vaccinations while he hid in his office. He was in the mood to tempt fate, to see just how dangerous this virus really was. What was the worst it could do, after all? Trip knew the answer: leave him alive.

He sat on one of the biobeds in sick bay, overalls around his waist, black shirt off while Dr. Phlox administered the vaccination directly into his deltoid muscle. It was unusual for a vaccination to have to be giving this way, usually they could go straight into the neck with a hypospray, but something about the shape of the molecules of the dead virus meant that was impossible with Varoshen Fever. Trip had volunteered to go first, and his team was standing around him, concerned and fearful looks on their faces. Most of them had never seen a needle before, let alone received one. Trip knew they'd feel better once they saw him get inoculated, and realized it wasn't all that painful. He wished Dr. Phlox would hurry- he was getting cold.

Dr. Phlox fussed over the preparation of the needle, and muttered about the inconveniences of old-fashioned technology. Then, almost without warning, he plunged the needle into Trip's shoulder. Trip gasped, surprised by the small bite of pain. Then, it was done, and Dr. Phlox was ushering him out of the area while the next recipient sat down. Trip saw that it was Ensign Lawless who was next, and he managed to give her a ghost of a smile before he turned his attention to putting on his black undershirt.

"Whoo hoo!" Lawless said, winking at him, and then turning back to shout at the rest of the engineering crew, "Check out the Commander's biceps!" Trip felt his face grow warm as the crew laughed, and suddenly, Trip found himself laughing with them. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt like laughing. He put on his shirt and pulled on his overalls, zipping them up quickly. His good humour was fading. But still, it had been there. It made him feel gregarious; almost like his old self.

"Ensign Lawless," he said, loud enough for the rest of his team to hear, "since you were so interested in studyin' my biceps, why don't you admire `em while helpin' me dismantle the secondary bridge in the catwalk?" There was a chorus of laugher, and statements like `poor Mae,' and `you're in trouble now,' from the crew. Lawless had the grace to blush, her dark eyes twinkling. Dismantling the secondary bridge was a very simple job, and Trip knew Lawless knew he was actually giving her an easy day of it, a chance to relax while on duty, and even end her shift early. He figured it was a just reward for making him smile.

***

"How do I look?" Hoshi asked, as she finished tightening her hair clip and put her hands by her sides.

Liz straightened the collar of Hoshi's uniform and smoothed her hands down her arms, "Perfect." Liz smiled, "no one will know you were crying."

"Thanks," Hoshi smiled back. She suddenly felt self-conscious and let her smile drop, turning her attention to fixing the cuffs of her uniform, "sorry I lost it back there in the mess hall," she said softly, "it's just, I couldn't sleep, and then there was Malcolm sitting by himself…"

Liz stroked the side of Hoshi's face, tenderly lifting her chin so Hoshi was looking into her warm blue eyes. "Don't worry about it," Liz said, "I know how much this whole thing has been getting to you." She moved her hand to Hoshi's shoulder, "But you can't go on like this," she continued, "you're not eating, not sleeping properly. Hell," she laughed, "one day we won't have time for a `quick fix' in your quarters before your shift, and the entirety of the bridge will see you, eyes red and puffy, nose running-"

Hoshi grinned, gave a small laugh. "Stop it," she said, "I'm not that bad."

Liz's eyes grew serious and she took both of Hoshi's hands in hers. "I'm worried about you," Liz said, "this thing is tearing you up inside, and it's got to stop."

"I know," Hoshi sighed, "but I don't know what to do about it." She looked down again, "you know they won't talk to me."

"When was the last time you tried?" Liz asked.

"I don't remember," Hoshi mumbled. She looked up at Liz, stricken, "you're not going to make me talk to them again, are you?"

"Hoshi," Liz said, "I can't make you do anything," she rubbed the other woman's arm, "but you know that I think you need to talk to them."

"I'm scared, Liz." Hoshi said, "Malcolm's all cold and distant, and Trip, well, you've seen how Trip is."

"Trip's your friend," Liz replied, "you were friends before he and Malcolm started going out," she smiled encouragingly, "he'll talk to you."

"What if he gets mad?" Hoshi said, "what if -"

"Hoshi," Liz said, cutting her off, "We've only got a couple of minutes before our shift begins. You need to talk to Trip. Today."

"You think it will help?" Hoshi heard the pleading tone in her voice. She hated feeling this way.

"It can't make things worse," Liz replied, "you should go talk to him."

Hoshi took a deep breath. "I will," she said, "today, on break. I will talk to Trip Tucker." And she would, she vowed to herself. Hoshi eyed Liz, "And you're going to talk to Malcolm?"

Liz grimaced, "Yes."

***

Trip picked up a plasma torch out of the toolbox at his feet and hefted it, evaluating its weight. "Has this thing been recharged?" he asked Ensign Lawless as he held it out to her.

She frowned a bit as she took the implement from his hand, "I'm not sure, sir," she said, she stood from where she had been kneeling by the box, inspecting the other tools, "want me to go check?"

Trip nodded, "You know I hate it when the torches are used and not recharged, Mae," he said, "and if it ain't, I want to know who used it last." He made his tone vaguely threatening. He was in no mood for the equipment to be mistreated.

"Yes sir," she responded smartly, and took the torch from him. She grabbed the spare out of the toolbox and walked them both over to the re-charger by the far bulkhead. Trip turned his attention back to the tools, making sure the ones they would need for dismantling the bridge on the catwalk were ready. He crouched down by the box and took out the de-magnetizer, happy to note that the stiletto- shaped instrument was fully charged. It was one of the best tools they had for removing the tiny screws that he and his team had used to secure all the extra wiring throughout the catwalk, and without it, all those screws would have to be removed with old-fashioned drills. A lengthy task Trip wanted to avoid at all costs. He removed the hyrdo-spanner from the box, as well as the hyrdo-wrench set. While both were very useful for repairing the warp coils, he didn't need them for this job and they would just take up room. He also took out an extra PADD, adding in another de-magnetizer from a separate box by his foot.

"Trip?" A tentative voice asked.

Trip sighed to himself, didn't look up from checking the tools, "aren't you supposed to be on the bridge, Hoshi?" he asked, aware of how sharp his words sounded.

"I'm on break," she replied, and he could see her cross her arms out of the corner of his eye, "I wanted to talk to you."

Trip turned to look at her. "I'm busy, Hoshi," he said. He turned back to the box.

"We need to talk, Trip." Hoshi said, she didn't move.

"What part of `I'm busy' don't you understand?" he said. He stood up, crossing his arms as well.

"Don't give me that," Hoshi snapped, "we need to talk and you know it."

"Ain't got nothin' to talk about." Trip said. He turned back to his tools.

"Damn it, Trip!" Hoshi swore, "I won't let you ignore me!" Hoshi was practically yelling by the time she had finished her sentence, and Trip glanced up to see several of his crew looking at them curiously. Mae was standing half-way between the plasma torch re- charger and Trip's position, a torch in each hand. Her expression was one of confusion and concern as she clearly debated whether or not she could continue walking towards him.

Trip stood and grabbed Hoshi non-too gently by her upper arm. "In my office, now!" he spat at her through gritted teeth as he half- pulled, half-dragged her into the small room. She barely had a chance to protest at his rough treatment before they were both inside, and he had secured the door behind them. He leaned his back against the desk, arms crossed, expression dark. "You've got my undivided attention, Ensign," he snarled, "so shoot."

Hoshi seemed to deflate before his eyes. "I don't want to fight with you, Trip." She said, shoulders sagging, "I'm sorry to have bothered you while you were on duty." She turned towards the door, "I'll go."

Trip felt his anger fade away, leaving only the cold ache that he had been living with for weeks. The constant pain that sat heavily in his chest, refusing to fade, slowly killing him. He sighed deeply, and let his head fall forward. "Its okay, Hoshi," he said. He moved away from the desk, indicating the chair in front of it with his hand, "here, have a seat."

The raw hope in Hoshi's smile caused guilt to flare through Trip, and he forced himself to hold her gaze. She sat, looking up at him, fingers worrying each other.

"What's on your mind, Hoshi?" he asked, pretending he didn't know.

"I just wanted to say, that I'm sorry I told Malcolm that you kissed me," Hoshi said, and the guilt Trip was feeling burned even hotter as he realized she was blinking back tears. "I just wanted him to know how much you were hurting," she continued rapidly, "I never expected him to break up with you because of it…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her hands. "It's all my fault," she said softly, "I'm sorry."

Trip felt wretched. Did Hoshi really think that his break-up with Malcolm was her fault? He shook his head. If he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that his recent behaviour towards her would have led her to believe that he thought so, too. He hadn't been that communicative recently. Well, uncommunicative verging on hostile. And she was one of his closest friends, after the Captain. He rubbed the back of his neck. "It ain't your fault, Hosh," he said, using his pet name for her, "you don't have anythin' to apologize for."

Hoshi looked up, eyebrows raised in confusion, "but," she stammered, "he broke up with you after I told him, and," she lowered her eyes again, "and you've been so mad at me."

Trip laughed softly, "I've been mad at the world recently, Hoshi," he said, "ain't just been you." He sighed. "I'm sorry too, Hosh. Sorry that I've made you feel bad." She looked up sharply at his words, eyes questioning. "I guess I've been blamin' you for somethin' that ain't been your fault," Trip continued, "I guess it was just easier if it was about you, somehow, than about me and Malcolm."

"I've really missed you, Trip." Hoshi said quietly, "that's been the worst part of all of this for me, thinking you were so mad at me, and that we'd never be friends again. And it was all my doing."

"I've missed you, too," Trip said, realizing it was true. "C'mere." He gently pulled her out of the chair and embraced her, holding her tightly while she cried against his shoulder. The moment, there in his office, was a strange reflection of that moment on the beach, so many weeks ago when Hoshi had been the one to hold him as he cried, frightened beyond endurance that Malcolm would succumb to his illness before Enterprise had a chance to rescue them. He had kissed her then, desperate for something—anything—to distract him from his terror, to make him feel alive and in control. Afterwards, deeply ashamed of himself, he had decided he wasn't going to tell Malcolm what happened. Hoshi had, and the resulting conversation between him and Malcolm had ended in their breaking up. But Malcolm had said the kiss had nothing to do with it, had said that it was only symptomatic of how hard, how brutal the relationship was on Trip, and that Trip couldn't handle being with the armoury officer; a man who might die in the course of duty. Trip had never told him otherwise.

Hoshi pulled away from him and rubbed her eyes with her hand. "Damn," she laughed, "I'm going to be such a mess when I get back to the bridge."

"You look beautiful," Trip smiled at her.

"Flatterer," Hoshi grinned. She blotted her eyes with her sleeve. After a moment, she stopped, and looked squarely at Trip, eyes questioning. "So, what happens now?" she asked, "Do we go back to normal, or what?"

Trip dropped his head forward and stared at the ground. "I don't know what normal is anymore," he muttered.

Hoshi placed a comforting hand on his arm. "This must be awful for you," she said. "You and Malcolm were so good together."

"Love sucks, huh?" Trip's laugh faltered. He leaned back against the desk. "I just wish I could've talked to him, y'know?" He said softly, "Before he decided to end it, and all."

"Have you talked to him since?" Hoshi asked, sitting back down in the chair.

"No," Trip admitted, "not really." He looked up at Hoshi, looked away. "He's so closed off now. I wouldn't know where to begin."

Hoshi placed her hand on Trip's knee. "Have you told him how you feel?" she said gently.

"Like I said," Trip replied. He met Hoshi's eyes for a second before letting his gaze fall again. "I just don't want to get hurt again."

"I said nearly the same thing to Liz when she told me I should go talk to you."

"Oh yeah?" Trip said, "And what she say?"

Hoshi smiled, "She said it couldn't make things worse."

Trip sighed. "I suppose not." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've wanted to, plenty of times. Just never seemed like the right time, is all."

Hoshi rubbed his knee. "I know what you mean. I've been losing sleep for weeks thinking about coming to talk to you."

Trip raised his head, "Really?" She nodded, and Trip felt yet another brief spike of shame. "Oh Hosh," he said regretfully, "I wish you'd come to me sooner."

"Me, too." She grinned at him again, "but if I can get up the courage to talk to you, then I know you can be brave enough to talk to Malcolm."

"Probably," Trip agreed. He gave a small smile. "Come with me?"

Hoshi stood, brushed off her uniform. "No way in hell, Commander," she said pleasantly, "Oh look, I'm going to be late getting back to the bridge." As Trip laughed, she turned towards the door, opened it, and was half-way through before she turned back. "Go talk to him, Trip," she said, "he needs to know how you feel"

"I will," Trip said solemnly, "tonight, after I finish up on the catwalk." He smiled. "I'm glad you came down."

Hoshi smiled back. "Me, too."

***

Ensign Mae Lawless was fighting with the screws on the access panel. Even with the de-magnetizer on full power, one of the screws refused to budge. It didn't help that her head was pounding ferociously, making it hard for her to concentrate. The mild headache that had started about an hour ago was now a raging migraine. In one minute, she was going to have to break down and ask the Commander for help. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He was further down the catwalk, head and both arms inside the hatch. She could hear the small hiss of the plasma-torch as he welded the connection tubes back together after removing some now-redundant cables. He was turning the torch on and off in short bursts, to ensure the temperature didn't get high enough to risk igniting the warp plasma under their feet. The Commander was being over-cautious as the hatch was well-insulated and inside the bulkhead, at least a metre above the deck. But with the entire ship at stake, there was nothing wrong with caution. Glancing down, she saw that his access panel was propped up against the bulkhead at his feet. She grimaced. She would get this thing open if it killed her.

"Any problems, Ensign?" Tucker asked, as he finished his task and withdrew his upper body from the hatch. He bent down, put the plasma torch on the deck, and picked up the panel, re-aligning it against the hatch and taking his drill out of a pocket on the side of his leg. He didn't look at her as he worked, obviously concentrating on getting the screws, panel and holes all lined up properly.

"No, sir," she said, wincing as the sound of her voice in her skull increased the pounding in her head.

"Good," he muttered, and continued to re-attach the panel. Mae pressed the side of her hand holding the de-magnetizer against her face. She was feeling hot and sweaty now, also a little shaky. Was she getting sick? She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the panel. It felt wonderfully cool and she closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the blood hammer through her temples. Underneath the sound, she could hear a strange scratching nose, like the tap of plastic against metal. She frowned to herself, wondering what the noise was. Reluctantly, she stood back from the bulkhead, closing her eyes for a moment as her vision went a little blurry around the edges. Yes, she was definitely getting sick. She debated telling the Commander now, and staggering off to sick bay, but then she remembered the strange sound from behind the panel. She didn't want to leave the job half-done, especially if there was a problem. Marshalling her strength, she attacked the one screw left with the de-magnetizer. Miraculously, it came out, and she was able to lift the panel off. She set it on the ground carefully.

"Damnit!" Tucker swore softly as he dropped a screw on the deck. It pinged against the metal and went skittering around his feet.

"Need my help, sir?" she asked, watching him as he hunted for the screw with his eyes. The scratching sound was louder now that she had the panel off, and swallowed hard as the noise echoed in her head and made her dizzy.

"S'okay," he replied, "finish what you're doin'." He was staring at the deck.

"Okay," she replied. She turned back towards the hatch, and looked in.

She screamed. In one movement, she dropped the de-magnetizer and picked up the Commander's abandoned plasma torch, turning its flame on full-blast and aiming it down the hatch.

"What the hell?" the Commander said, "what the hell are you doin'?"

"Spiders!" Mae cried, "the bulkhead is full of spiders! I've got to kill them!" She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, every blow echoing in her head with shrieking intensity. She hated spiders, was frightened to death of them.

"Ensign, listen to me!" Tucker said, grabbing one of her arms, "you have to stop!" He tugged hard at her arm, forcing her to turn and face him. She kept the torch aimed into the hatch, its heat reflecting off the metal, singing the tiny hairs on the back of her hand. "Look at me," he said, voice gentle, "there's nothin' to be afraid of." He held out his hand. "Now, give me the torch, and we'll both go down to sick bay, get you all checked-"

"Commander!" Mae screamed. There were spiders crawling all over him. They were covering his upper body like a blanket, creeping up his neck, heading for his face. She could see their hairy legs, their beady eyes and vicious, poisonous fangs. They were going to kill him. She turned the torch on them, burning them off his body in great arcs of flame.

She heard him scream, knew with dreadful certainty that they were biting him, ripping off chunks of his flesh with their fangs, their poison infecting his bloodstream. He fell backwards onto the deck, rolled onto his side into a ball. She burned off the spiders that had swarmed over his back, feeling like she was going to throw up as she heard them spit and pop in the immense heat from the torch and smelled the stench of their burning bodies. She was crying from fear, her breath almost too quick to matter. Her head felt like it was going to split open. She was seeing spots in front of her eyes, knew she was close to passing out. But she knew she couldn't; the Commander would die if she couldn't protect him. He was moaning from the pain of those hundreds of spider-bites. She wouldn't faint; she was Starfleet, after all. She would die to protect her commanding officer.

Using the torch, she burned away the spiders on the bulkhead and the deck plating around them. The Commander said something about `plasma,' and she assured him that she had enough. She didn't want him to worry, and she grabbed the second plasma torch out of the toolbox to show him that she could keep them both safe for a little while, at least. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she had cleared the area of spiders. Gently, she moved the Commander up against the bulkhead. He moaned when she touched him, and she had to fight back nausea again when she saw his skin was all red and burned- looking from the poison in the bites. The spiders' vicious fangs had ripped through his uniform, their poison charring the cloth, leaving swollen and painful skin. "Don't worry, Commander," she soothed him, "it's okay. I still have one torch left. Don't worry." She undid her uniform top and tied the arms around her waist, pulling off her black undershirt. Folding it into a makeshift pillow, she gently placed it under Tucker's head. Part of his jaw and cheek were swollen, and she had to close her eyes for a second at the rush of dizziness the sight provoked.

"Get help," he muttered.

"I won't leave you, I promise!" Mae said. Her head was still causing her terrible pain, her skin so hot it prickled. Afraid she would fall down otherwise, she sat in front of the Commander, knees drawn up to her chest, plasma torch on and ready. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but she wouldn't let herself. The catwalks were infested with spiders. She couldn't let her guard down, not even for a moment. A skittering movement caught the corner of her eye and quickly she turned and burned the spider before it reached Tucker. She shuddered, hugged herself tighter. She hoped someone came and found them soon.

Liz stood outside Malcolm's quarters, leaning against the bulkhead. She had cajoled Dr. Phlox to let her off a few minutes early so she could wait for Malcolm to return from the bridge, or the armoury, or wherever he had been that day. Naturally, he hadn't responded to the messages she had sent to his consol. She knew he would come here after shift, either to change for his workout in the gym, or to keep up his self-imposed exile. He wouldn't be able to avoid her this time.

She saw him coming down the corridor, and purposely stood in the middle of his path, adjacent to his door, arms crossed. The only way he could avoid her is if he turned around and walked back from where he came. But that would be tantamount to him admitting that he was trying to avoid her, and Liz knew that Malcolm would never do that.

He stopped in front of her. Blue eyes narrowed, expression grim. "Ensign," he said, not smiling.

"Malcolm," Liz replied, using his first name on purpose, "there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Now's not a good time, Ensign," he said dismissively. He turned away from her and went over to his door. Liz slid sideways so her shoulder was resting on it, her body effectively blocking him from touching the keypad.

"We're going to talk now, whether you like it or not." She said to him, voice low and full of warning. The rage she had been carrying around with her for days was welling up, threatening to spill over. She stabbed at him with her eyes.

"Move away from the keypad, Ensign," Malcolm said. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

"Are you going to listen to what I have to say?" Liz said, allowing her anger to come through in her voice. Malcolm glared at her. "Then I'm not moving." She leaned harder into the wall.

"Don't try me," Malcolm hissed at her, "I'm in no mood to be trifled with."

"I'm in no mood to be ignored, Malcolm," Liz hissed back, "I've had about as much of your shit as I can take." She knew her expression had turned ugly, but she didn't care. "Now, either you let me in to talk about this, or we have it out right here. Your call."

"I'm warning you, Ensign," Malcolm said, face dark. His hands curled into fists by his side and Liz tensed, holding his gaze with her own. Still leaning on the keypad, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, bent her arms slightly at the elbows.

"I'm not moving." She replied tersely. She could feel the tension creep into her shoulders. She glowered at Malcolm, "You'll have to hit me."

He curled his lip in a snarl and shoved her, hard. She stumbled backwards, nearly losing her balance, and in that second he keyed in the code to his room. The door slid open and he deftly stepped inside, immediately keying it to shut. Liz threw herself forward and just managed to stick her foot in the doorway before it closed. The computerized mechanisms sensed the blockage and slid back the other way, and Liz jumped in, feeling the small puff of air as the door shut behind her.

Malcolm was right in front of her. Face so twisted with rage that she barely recognized him. He looked mean, dangerous. And a sliver of fear imbedded itself in her anger. Perhaps confronting Malcolm wasn't the best idea she'd ever had.

"Get the fuck out of my room," he said, enunciating every word.

Liz crossed her arms. "No."

"I repeat," he said, "get the fuck out of my room." He took a step towards her. "Now."

Liz felt a burst of fury, so strong it overrode her caution. She shoved Malcolm back with both her hands. "No!"

He faltered, regained his balance, and shoved her back. "Get out!" he yelled.

She swung at him, propelling her arm forward with her shoulder and twisting at the waist just as he had taught her. She felt the jolt of impact race up her arm as her fist connected solidly with his jaw. There was an immediate sensation of pain across her knuckles, but she didn't open her fist.

Malcolm fell backwards, his ass connecting hard with the deck. He held his jaw with one hand, eyes wide.

"Listen you fucking bastard!" Liz roared, "I don't care how many times you tell me to leave, I'm not fucking leaving!"

Malcolm started to laugh. Softly at first, but then the sound built and soon his shoulders were shaking and tears were running down his face. Liz felt her anger waver, and a smirk fought its way onto her lips, and suddenly she was laughing too, hard enough to force her to her knees and then into a sitting position. Finally, the guffaws began to subside. Liz leaned her shoulders against Malcolm's bed, chuckling weakly. Malcolm lay on his back, knees bent and arms out, gasping, wiping at stray tears with his hand.

"I taught you well," he wheezed out after a while. "I didn't even see that coming."

"You deserved it," Liz said, smiling. "You've been a complete jerk."

Malcolm's tone grew serious, "I've had a lot on my mind."

"Like how stupid it was to end your relationship with Trip?" Liz countered. She turned her head so she could look at him where he was still lying on the floor.

"I had no other choice."

"That's a load of shit and you know it!" Liz shot back. "There was no reason whatsoever for what you did."

Malcolm sat up, rested his forearms on his knees. "What about the fact that `a piece of Trip dies every time I almost do?'"

Liz looked at him, surprised. "What?"

Malcolm looked sardonically at her. "Surely you remember our conversation down on that planet, Liz."

"Of course I do," Liz said, "what's it got to do with you breaking up with Trip?"

"You made it very clear to me, that Trip was having a great amount of difficulty dealing with the hazards of my occupation," Malcolm replied, eyebrow raised. "I should think the connection is obvious."

Liz was aghast. "You broke up with Trip because of what I said?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Hoshi told me that Trip kissed her because he was `upset' over my illness. You told me that my near-death experiences are slowly killing the man." He looked down at his fingers, started picking at his thumbnail with his other hand. "Not much choice there, really."

Liz shook her head. "You are a total dumbass, you know that?"

Malcolm looked up at her sharply, "I beg your pardon?"

"Malcolm!" she cried, throwing up her hands, "you completely and utterly misunderstood what I was trying to tell you! And instead of either checking with me, or talking to Trip about it, you just break up with him!" She rolled her eyes, "how dumb is that?"

"I think you were quite clear in what you said," Malcolm replied stiffly.

"I know I was clear," Liz said, "but you misunderstood." Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but Liz cut him off. "No Malcolm, you did." She turned towards him moving away from the bed and crossing her legs. "What I actually said was that `every time you try to sacrifice your life, a little piece of him dies as well.'" She shook her head at Malcolm's eloquent look. "Trust me, I remember. I wasn't the one out of my mind with pain and delirium."

"I don't see the difference," Malcolm said. "Trip can't handle the realities of my job. End of story."

"Don't you get it?" Liz leaned towards him. "It's got nothing to do with your job Malcolm, and everything with how you do it." She paused. "Look," she continued after a second, "I sincerely doubt that Archer included `must be ready, willing and able to sacrifice your life for the crew at a moments notice' as part of your job description."

"It's implied."

"No it's not!" Liz slapped her palms on the floor for emphasis. "Trip's not stupid. He knows the job of the Chief Tactical Officer is to ensure the safety of the crew," she said, "but no one is expecting you to continually attempt to kill yourself in the line of duty. You are constantly acting like your life is only worth something if you give it up." She glared at him, "do you know how hard that is for us—the people who care about you—to live with?" When Malcolm didn't say anything, Liz spoke again. "We love you, Malcolm," she said quietly, "Trip loves you most of all, and he can't understand why his love for you is not enough to get you to want to stay alive."

Malcolm looked at her from the corner of his eye. "He's never said that to me."

"You didn't give him the chance, did you?" Liz said, "You just broke up with him."

Malcolm scrubbed his face with his hands. "How could I ever live with myself if something terrible happened to this ship—her crew, and I could have prevented it by giving my life for her?" His voice sounded tight with emotion.

"Don't you think we all feel that way about Enterprise?" Liz looked at him, "do you think any of us could live with ourselves if we refused to do everything in our power to save her? Hell! We're Starfleet! That's what we're trained to do."

"Yes, but-" Malcolm started.

"No buts," Liz interrupted, "you don't have the monopoly on the right to self-sacrifice, so you have to stop pretending that you do." She leaned forward, grasped his boot with her hand. "If the idea of trying harder to stay alive than trying to die is so difficult for you, perhaps…" she bit her lip, "perhaps you need to talk to Dr. Phlox about it."

"I do not have a death wish, Ensign!" Malcolm shouted, "no matter what Trip might have said about my actions in the shuttle pod."

"Or when you were trapped on the hull by the mine?" Liz reminded him. "You tried to kill yourself. In front of the Captain!"

"The man was going to let his desire to save me destroy the whole bloody ship!" Malcolm retorted, "I still think my decision was sound."

"But Archer saved you in the end, didn't he?" Liz said, "And you weren't even going to give him a chance to try!"

Malcolm got to his feet, waved his hand dismissively at Liz. "This is all an irrelevant discussion, anyway."

Liz stood as well. "What do you mean?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What did you do?"

Malcolm turned his head away. "Contrary to popular belief," he said softly, "I am well aware of how my behaviours affect others. I know that my-" he caught Liz's gaze, "distress at breaking up with Trip has had an adverse effect on my armoury staff-"

"And?" Liz prompted.

"-And," Malcolm continued, "an adverse effect on my friends as well-"

"And?" Liz prompted again, exasperated.

"-And," Malcolm said, "since I cannot risk doing Trip further emotional damage by continuing my relationship with him-"

"What do you think you're doing to him now?" Liz cried.

"-I have decided," he carried on as if Liz hadn't spoken, "to request a transfer back to Starfleet headquarters at the earliest convenience."

Liz felt her jaw drop. "What?"

"I gave it to Archer's steward. It should be on his desk by now."

Liz felt the blood rush away from her face. "You're requesting a transfer?"

"Yes," Malcolm said, "I think it's for the best."

"If I hadn't come down here, would you have told me about it?" she whispered.

Malcolm looked at her. "I don't know."

"Would you have told Trip?"

He crossed his arms. "No."

Liz sat down on Malcolm's bed, reeling. "But we've been friends since the first day we came on board and I met you in the gym," she said, hearing the plaintive note in her voice, "you're my best friend." She looked up at him, her vision blurred from a sudden wash of tears. "You're my best friend," she repeated, "aren't you?"

"I'm surprised you still want to call me that after the way I've been treating you," he said, voice rough.

Liz shook her head, wiping at her eyes with the side of her hand. "You still don't get it, do you?" she said. She stood and walked over to him, looking him right in the eye. "You are my best friend, Malcolm Reed," she said, "I love you. Trip loves you. Hell! Even Hoshi loves you, and she was scared of you for the longest time!" Malcolm gave a half-smile. "It's not funny!" Liz cried, "Don't you see? You matter to us! Really matter, and all you want to do is throw it away." Suddenly the conversation was too much for Liz, and she turned away from Malcolm, hugging herself tightly, head down.

Malcolm put his hand on her shoulder, "Liz, I-"

She shrugged off his hand. "Just forget it Malcolm, okay?" she said, swiping at the tears that were beginning to fall, "you're either going to kill yourself for the ship, or transfer to Starfleet headquarters, and nothing anyone says or does will make a damn bit of difference. I understand."

"I never meant to hurt you," Malcolm said awkwardly, "I'm sorry."

"Save it," Liz snarled, turning to face him. "What's done is done." She narrowed her eyes. "But let me tell you something, Mal," she said, pointing her finger just under his nose, "hurting me is one thing, but you'd better not dream of transferring out of here without telling Trip, face to face. He doesn't deserve this shit." She turned away, stormed towards the door and hit the code to open it. The door slid open and she turned back, glaring at Malcolm over her shoulder. "I wish I'd hit you harder," she spat and stalked out. She waited until she was back in her room before she allowed herself to let the tears fall.

***

Pain.

It was the totality of his being. The beginning and ending of every thought, every breath, every heartbeat. His skin burned with it, his nerves screamed with it. It was killing him. But not nearly fast enough.

`Careful what you wish for.' The quote echoed over and over in his head. After Malcolm had ended the relationship with him, Trip had wanted to escape, to die. Anything to end the pain he was suffering. Anything to melt away the cold that had settled deep into his soul and covered his heart. But he hadn't wanted this.

He could see Lawless sitting in front of him, arms wrapped around her knees, the edge of the plasma torch just visible swinging against her leg. Her blue undershirt was wet with sweat, and she was shaking, rocking back and forth, talking rapidly to herself. He had tried to talk to her, tried to reach her through whatever had taken hold of her mind, but she couldn't hear him, and eventually, exhausted, he had given up. She was trapped in a horrific vision of poisonous spiders; where Trip was dying from the venom of hundreds of spider-bites. She was half-right.

He knew no one would come looking for them. Lawless was known to be a very competent crewmember; he was the Chief Engineer, and the job on the catwalk was easy. No one would interrupt him unless it was for the most dire of circumstances. They would assume he had gone straight to his quarters after shift. They would not think about him or Lawless until sometime tomorrow morning. He could feel the blisters forming along the swaths of his burned skin, knew some had opened and were staining his uniform with precious fluid. He was already terribly thirsty. Trip knew he would be dead by then.

The Ensign flinched suddenly, and torched an area near her foot. The deck plating smouldered underneath the flame's intense heat. Trip's eyes widened in horror. The warp plasma. He had to stop her.

"No!" Trip croaked, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears, "Lawless, Mae, stop! You gotta listen to me-"

"Commander?" Mae said, moving over to him on her hands and knees. She still held the torch in a death-grip in one hand.

"Mae," Trip reached out his hand, trying to touch her. She scooted back just out of his reach. "Mae," he said again, "you gotta listen. There are no spiders. It's all in your mind. If you keep aimin' the torch at the deck, you could ignite the plasma down there. You'll destroy the ship. Blow it up. You understand me?" He raised himself up on his left arm, burns shrieking, body shuddering against the new rush of agony that movement caused.

Mae had her fists against her temples and was shaking her head back and forth, eyes squeezed shut. She opened them again, and Trip could see there were tears in her eyes. "Commander," she whispered, her voice was raw, "I think there's something wrong with me." She leaned in closer to him, drops beginning to collect on her eyelashes and spill over. "I think there's something wrong."

"Mae," Trip repeated, voice urgent, "you're gonna be okay. But you need to give me the plasma torch." He held out his right hand, palm up, "give it to me, and everythins' gonna be alright."

Mae nodded, a sharp, jerky movement. She held up the torch and moved it towards his hand. Trip nearly had it, brushed its warm metal with his fingertips. Then, she stopped. Her gaze drifted back towards the deck. "I'm sorry, Commander," she whispered, as she aimed the torch where she was looking, "but there are too many spiders. I can't leave you unprotected."

"Ensign!" Trip shouted, using his most authoritative tone, "give me the plasma torch, now. That's an order!"

"I can't!" She moaned, openly sobbing, slim shoulders shaking as she cried. She pressed her hands to her head again, eyes closed. "It hurts," she whimpered, "it hurts so much." Her eyes flew open, locked with Trip's, so dark he could no longer see their pupils. "Do you think it's the poison?" she whispered, "Do you think I've been bitten?" All at once, she whipped her head around. "I hear them, Commander," she said, eyes roving wildly as she searched the deck plating, "I hear them."

"Wait," Trip said, holding out his free hand to stop her, "just wait." He was gasping for breath, trembling with the effort of keeping himself up on one arm, of fighting off the pain. Quickly, he moved his hand and began fumbling at the zipper of the pocket on his sleeve. "I'm just gonna get out my communicator-"

"There's one on your arm!" Mae shrieked; she turned the torch towards his hand.

"No! Wait!" Trip yelled, trying to stop her with his right hand. It was too late. Quick as a cat, she moved the torch over his upper arm, holding the flame there. The communicator melted in his pocket in a matter of seconds, the heat radiating through the cloth into his arm. He screamed, tried to pull his arm away. The movement caused him to fall onto his back, his injured skin roaring in agony. The pain slammed into him, overwhelmed him, dragged him downwards into darkness. Gratefully, he surrendered.

His last conscious thought was of Malcolm.

***

"Blast." Malcolm swore softly to himself.

He rolled over onto his other side, positioning his arm beneath his pillow, closed his eyes. An image of Liz, eyes wet with tears, filled his vision. "Blast!" he said again, rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, turned his head to look at his chronometer, stared up at the ceiling again.

Only three minutes had passed since he had last checked it. It had been over two hours since he had tried to go to sleep.

After Liz's impromptu visit to his quarters, he had abandoned his plan to go to the gym, had eaten a leftover ration bar for dinner, finished up some reports and turned in early. Now, it was late, and he still couldn't sleep.

"Bollocks," he muttered. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. For a minute, he rested his forehead against the sides of his fists, arms propped up on his knees; willing Liz and their conversation to leave him alone. He was leaving Enterprise, after all. It shouldn't affect him anymore.

He stood up, and padded his way to his closet, wincing against the brightness when he turned its light on. "Bloody hell," he murmured, as he threw on a black t-shirt, pulled off his pyjama bottoms and replaced them with a pair of jeans. He spent a minute searching for his sneakers, then settled on sandals instead when he found them first. "God damn," he mumbled swiping his hand through his hair to return it to a semblance of its military precision. He went to his comm., hand raised to punch in Trip's code when he stopped. Trip probably wouldn't answer once he heard Malcolm's voice. "Fuck," he said, keyed in his door code, and left. He turned down the hallway in the direction of Trip's cabin, his sandals making a soft slapping sound against the deck.

***

Trip wasn't in his quarters.

Nor was he in the gym, the mess hall, or any of the lounges. Malcolm pondered going to the bridge and getting the beta shift to locate Trip for him, but then there would be odd looks and speculation, which Malcolm absolutely wanted to avoid.

He wondered if Trip was with the Captain.

He shook his head violently to clear it of that thought. If Trip was with the Captain, perhaps easing his heartache with the other man, Malcolm truly didn't want to know. He would rather not talk to Trip about his impending transfer then; would rather not find him at all.

Malcolm stood in the corridor outside the secondary lounge, debating. He could pass by the mess hall one more time, or check Trip's room again. For all he knew, Trip could be passed out on his floor, an empty bottle of bourbon by his side, ignorant to the chiming of the door. Malcolm grimaced at the thought. No matter how upset Trip was, he wouldn't resort to the oblivion of alcohol. That was reserved for life-and-death situations.

Perhaps he was with Hoshi, or Travis, or T'Pol for that matter, or with any one of the 79 crewmembers Malcolm had yet to mention. He rolled his eyes. Who would have thought finding a tall, lanky southern Chief Engineer would be like finding a needle in a haystack? He really was going to have to ask the bridge crew to track Trip down for him. Or, he thought hopefully, he could return to his bed and forget this fool's errand altogether. It wasn't as if Liz was going to speak to him again to find out if he told Trip about the transfer or not.

Malcolm grimaced again. He knew Liz was right, Trip didn't deserve to be treated like this. At least he had one more avenue to try before having to go to the bridge. Sighing, he went over to the comm. panel in the wall and keyed in the code for Engineering.

"Hess here," came the near-instant reply.

"It's Lieutenant Reed," Malcolm said into the comm., I'm trying to locate Commander Tucker. He's not with you, is he?"

"Lieutenant!" Came Hess' startled response, "he's not here right now, I'll ask…" He could hear some murmuring in the background, then her voice returned. "He was working on the catwalk with Ensign Lawless today, Mr. Reed," she said, "that's all I know. Sorry I can't be more help."

"Quite alright, Ms. Hess," Malcolm said, and then belatedly, "thank you." He switched off the comm.

Malcolm put his hands on his hips and looked upward, imagining the catwalk several decks and two ladders above him. Clear at the other end of the ship. Trip's last known whereabouts. Most likely, Trip had ended his shift at the normal time, and was now pouring his heart out to the Captain over a glass of beer and a game of water polo. There was absolutely no reason for Malcolm to climb all the way up there. He could easily turn around, go back to his cabin and go to sleep, evading this unpleasant conversation all together.

But the hair on the back of his neck had begun to prickle as soon as Hess had said Trip had been on the catwalk. He considered alerting security, but dismissed the notion. What would he tell them anyway? That he had a feeling that Trip might still be on the catwalk, in need of help? No, Malcolm thought grimly, it would do his reputation no end of harm when the team arrived there and Trip was nowhere to be found.

Walking quickly, Malcolm entered the turbolift and gave it the code for the launch bay so he could access the convoluted pathway up to the nacelles.

***

Malcolm padded softly down the catwalk in the semi-darkness. The computer had automatically shifted the lights to low power at the end of Alpha shift, and the dim lights cast long shadows over the bulkheads and deck. Malcolm squinted his eyes against the gloom, straining his ears to hear the slightest sound above the gentle noise of his breathing and the constant vibrations of the engine. They were still flying on impulse power, so while warm, the catwalk was well within the range of human tolerance.

But there was nothing to see or hear regardless. The area looked empty, deserted. He was wasting his time.

Suddenly, he froze, mid-step. There had been a small sound, a human sound of pain or despair. It was a woman's voice, somewhere ahead, buried in the shadows.

He broke into a loping run, crouched low over the deck, his sandals barely sounding against the deck plating. Within seconds he found her, and he immediately stopped, carefully climbed over the railing to the primary deck above her position. He could now creep up right in front of her, partially hidden by the deck and the railings in between them. Getting down onto his stomach, he moved over until he was almost directly above her, crawling low on the ground, like a snake. He peeked at her through the bottom railings.

It was Lawless all right, but not like he had ever seen her before. She was sitting on the deck; arms huddled around her legs, rocking back and forth. She clutched a plasma torch clutched tightly in one hand. Her uniform was partially off and tied around her waist. Her blue undergarment was stained with sweat and he could see she was shivering even though the air was warm. Her cheeks were tear-stained and flushed, as if she was suffering from a fever. Her eyes were wide, constantly darting back and forth, up and down as if she was expecting an attack. She looked sick; she looked like she was out of her mind.

There was a dark shape resting against the bulkhead behind Lawless. Malcolm narrowed his eyes to focus on it, moving forward to get a better view. He felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart start to hammer in his chest.

The shape was a man. It was Trip.

Malcolm's thoughts were racing. What had happened to Lawless? Why wasn't Trip moving? Silently, he moved his hand to the pocket on his left arm to access his communicator and contact the armoury to tell them there was an emergency. His fingers met bare skin and the sleeve of his T-shirt. His uniform was back in his quarters, his communicator safely in the re-charger on his desk.

He shut his eyes for a second in frustration, took a deep breath. He knew the most prudent plan of action would be to leave the catwalk and return to the main part of the ship, where he could use the comm. to alert the security team and sick bay as to the situation. Most certainly, something terrible had happened to Lawless and she, in turn, had done something terrible to Trip. It would be foolhardy for Malcolm to attempt an unarmed rescue by himself against a madwoman, armed with a plasma torch.

"Spider!" Lawless whispered, burning an empty section of deck.

"No, Mae. Stop." Trip moaned, "The warp plasma…" Malcolm released the breath he didn't know he was holding. Trip was still alive.

Malcolm jumped up and vaulted the railing in one, easy movement. He landed gracefully a few feet from Lawless, ready to spring.

Lawless scrambled to her feet, torch held out in front of her with both hands. "Who's there?" she cried, looking straight at Malcolm, "what do you want?"

"Ensign," Malcolm said calmly, "I'm Lieutenant Reed, the Chief Armoury Officer. I need you to put down your torch."

Lawless blinked rapidly at him. "I thought we were all alone," she said.

"Malcolm?" Trip's voice was weak and laced with pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Trip try to move, to sit up, then collapse back to the deck with a cry of agony. He lay there, gasping.

Trip was hurt, badly. Lawless had hurt him. Malcolm felt sick, felt a desperate desire to kill Lawless with his bare hands. He made himself go still. "Put down your torch," he said again.

"I can't." Lawless said, "There's spiders." She was visibly shaking, clearly terrified, out of her wits with fear and something that Malcolm couldn't recognize.

She's hallucinating, Malcolm surmised. He took a slow step towards her. "I will protect you from the spiders, Ensign," he said, "put the torch down."

"Malcolm, get outta here," Trip panted, "she's dangerous. She'll burn you."

"I'll be fine, Commander," Malcolm replied, never taking his eyes off Lawless. She had backed up a step away from the lieutenant, still clutching the torch.

"No!" Trip cried, "Malcolm, go now!" He gasped, grunted with pain. "She's dangerous, I mean it."

"I'll be fine," Malcolm said again. He took another step towards Lawless, hands out, palms facing her. "I mean you no harm, Ensign," he said, "I promise, I will protect you and the Commander from the spiders. But I need you to put the torch down."

Lawless violently shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," she breathed, "but I have to protect the Commander. He's my commanding officer, I can't let anything happen to him."

"Put the torch down," Malcolm said sharply. He stood in front of her, ready.

"You have spiders on you!" Lawless whimpered. She turned the torch towards Malcolm, eyes wide with fear.

Malcolm moved his leg up in one swift, arching movement. The kick connected solidly with her wrist, spinning the torch out of her hand. It landed and clattered across the deck, flame extinguishing with its fall. In the next instant, Malcolm had tackled Lawless face- first to the ground, pinning her wrists behind her with one hand. He reached for his side pocket with his free hand for his restraints. "Blast!" he swore. He had forgotten he was out of uniform again. Leaning forward, he put his mouth right next to Lawless' ear. "If you move, I'll kill you," he whispered, "I'll tie you up and leave you to the spiders." Lawless nodded her head in agreement as she cried, tears streaming down her face.

Pushing off her, Malcolm turned and knelt by Trip. In the low light, it was impossible to see how badly Trip was wounded. He slid one hand beneath the Commander to help him sit up.

Trip screamed and Malcolm pulled his hand away.

"She…burned…me," Trip struggled for breath, "my chest, my face, arm. My back." His hair and face were damp with sweat, the left side of his jaw blistered and swollen, his lips cracked from loss of moisture. Trip looked horrible; like he was going to die. Malcolm felt his heart seize in his chest.

"We've got to get you to sick bay, now!" Malcolm said. Gingerly, he helped Trip move into a sitting position, leaning the other man up against the bulkhead. "I'll get your communicator," he continued, reaching for the pocket on Trip's arm.

"Don't touch it!" Trip shouted, flinching. Malcolm immediately stopped moving, looked at Trip expectantly.

"Melted." Trip said. "Burned into my arm."

Malcolm swallowed down a sudden rush of bile. "I'll carry you, then."

"No." Trip panted, "take Mae…first."

"What?" Malcolm said. Surely he had misunderstood.

"You heard me, Lieutenant," Trip ground out, "take Mae. She needs help."

"So do you!" Malcolm cried, "Here, I'll help you up." Cautiously, he put his hands under Trip's arms, and crouched down for leverage to lift Trip upright.

"No!" Trip shouted, pushing Malcolm away. "Mae's under my command. Take her first. That's an order!"

"You're ordering me to leave you?" Malcolm whispered, aghast. "I can't leave you, not like this."

"You can, and you will, Lieutenant." Trip said, holding his gaze, and suddenly, Malcolm was back in the shuttlepod as it was slowly sinking into the ocean, clutching his broken arm, telling Trip to leave him to drown.

"I can't leave you," Malcolm said again.

"I can't let you take me instead of Mae," Trip said. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. "End of discussion."

Malcolm looked at Trip's face, waxen in the pale light. Trip had ordered him to leave; Malcolm couldn't leave him. He didn't know what to do. A devastating feeling of helplessness tore through him, and stupidly, inappropriately, he felt a lump forming in his throat. He looked back at Lawless, still lying on her stomach, head turned towards him. Her eyes were also closed, she appeared to be asleep.

Immediately Malcolm turned, knelt beside Lawless and rolled her over. The skin of her arms, her back was hot to the touch. Trip was right, she was sick. "What?" she said, blinking, pressing her hand to her forehead. She gasped when she saw the Lieutenant, and tried to push away from him. "Don't leave me to the spiders!" she cried.

"Don't worry, Ensign," Malcolm said as he untied her sleeves from around her waist. "I'm going to get us help, right now." He pulled her communicator out of the left arm pocket, thumbed it open. "Reed to sick bay," he said, "we have a medical emergency on the catwalk. Please respond."

***

The Captain's hail had woken her out of the soundest sleep she'd had in days.

She had been nestled against Liz, her back against the other woman's front, calm and happy after finally talking to Trip, and mending some of the pain of the past few weeks. She had been dreaming when the comm. woke her, its shrill chirp dragging her back to consciousness in fits and starts. It had taken her forever to realize what Archer was trying to tell her.

Now Hoshi was jogging towards sick bay, heart in her throat.

She rounded the corner and stopped in front of the sick bay doors. The millisecond it took for them to open lasted an eternity. Finally, she was able to step through, immediately scanning the room for Trip.

He was lying on a biobed near the back, head lolled to one side, eyes closed. His shirt was off, the blanket covering him from his waist down. There was a translucent creature lying on his chest, covering him from his right hip to his left shoulder. A fat tentacle rested against his cheek, another holding on to the side of his upper left arm. Trip was very pale, the angry red of his burns a starling contrast against his too-white skin, even when seen through the strange jelly-like substance of the animal.

Malcolm was standing beside Trip's bed, not touching him. He was wearing his uniform, clean-shaven, hair neatly combed. One hand was against his mouth, his other hand supporting his elbow. His expression was dark, unreadable. He looked up when he heard her approach.

"Hoshi," he said. He didn't smile.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Lieutenant," she said, "I'll come back later." She turned towards the door, wishing the Captain had warned her that Malcolm would still be with Trip, wishing she had listened to Liz, who had offered to go with Hoshi before the start of Alpha shift, when Malcolm would have been at his post on the bridge. But Hoshi had been consumed with worry, hadn't wanted to sit, useless, in her cabin. Now she wouldn't get to see Trip anyway. She wished she had waited.

"Its okay, Hoshi." Malcolm said, "The Captain told me you'd be coming. I don't mind if you stay."

"Oh," Hoshi turned back around, moved to stand beside Trip's bed, on the opposite side from Malcolm. She could see deep purple markings under Trip's eyes, the shadow of his lashes on his colourless cheeks. She watched the gentle rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The creature was nestled against him, thin, straw-like appendages attached to his body. It undulated with a soft blue colour, hypnotic and soothing.

She reached out a hand to stroke back Trip's hair.

Malcolm put his hand on her wrist. "Don't touch him," he said, voice sharp.

Hoshi pulled her hand away from him, shocked. "I told you I wasn't interested in a relationship with Trip," she said archly, "surely I'm allowed to offer some comfort?"

Malcolm looked uncomfortable. "That's not what I meant," he said, "I mean…I don't mind if you touch him." Hoshi raised her eyebrow at him and was gratified to see that he actually blushed. "It's Crys. The creature." Malcolm explained, gesturing towards the jelly- fish, "it's empathic, and reads the emotions of whomever it touches. If you touch Trip, it will read your emotions through him, and get confused."

"Oh, I see." Hoshi said. They stood in silence for a while. "What does it do?" She asked finally, when the quiet had stretched on too long for comfort.

"It helps the body generate new skin," Malcolm replied, "the tendrils you see are actually giving Trip endorphins to help control his pain."

Hoshi frowned. "Then why is he sedated?"

"Because he was burned-" Malcolm paused, cleared his throat, "he was burned on his back as well as his front. Crys can't heal both at once, so the doctor has given him extra analgesia and sedated him for the pain."

"What happened?" Hoshi asked quietly.

"According to Dr. Phlox, Ensign Lawless had an allergic reaction to the preservative used for the vaccine against Varoshen fever," Malcolm said. "It caused her to hallucinate when she was on the catwalk with Trip. She thought she saw spiders…she had a plasma torch, and she…" Malcolm was blinking fiercely, hands fisted at his sides, fighting for a semblance of control.

Hoshi rested her hand on his arm for a moment. "I think I understand now," she said, "you don't have to talk about it."

Malcolm shot her a brief, grateful smile. After a moment, he let his hands relax.

Hoshi looked at him. He was paler than usual. There were dark circles under his eyes, their usual vibrant blue faded and glassy. "Have you slept tonight?" she asked him gently, placing her hand on his arm again.

He turned away from Trip's face to look at her, "No." He gave a half- smile, "do I look it?"

"Yes," Hoshi quirked her lips up for a second. "How are you doing?" she continued, turning to face Malcolm completely, "Not just with this, I mean, with everything?"

"Oh, well," Malcolm gave a small laugh, ran a hand through his hair, "you know."

"I don't," Hoshi said kindly, "tell me?"

"Not much to tell, really." Malcolm said, "I broke up with Trip, then found him near burned to death on the catwalk a few weeks later." He gave her a spectre of a smile, "that pretty much sums it up."

Hoshi looked at him, "It's very hard to see someone you love in pain, isn't it?"

Malcolm narrowed his eyes slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just, when you love someone, their health and well-being is the most important thing in the world." Hoshi gave a small shrug, "Don't you think so?"

"I already had this conversation with Liz," Malcolm huffed, "I don't need it repeated. Not here."

"Okay," Hoshi said. She moved a bit closer to Trip, tracing his eyebrow and down one cheek with the tip of her finger, felt tears pricking and burning at her eyelids. The jelly-fish undulated and its blue took on a lighter tone. Hoshi pulled her hand away.

"I told you not to touch him," Malcolm admonished.

"I thought one finger wouldn't hurt," Hoshi replied, swallowing down her tears. "I just…needed to touch him. To know he's all right."

Malcolm's eyes softened. "I understand."

Hoshi hugged herself, continuing to look at Trip's face, reassuring herself with how calm, how peaceful he looked in sleep, with the steady rise and fall of his chest. "So, what will you do now?" She said.

"What do you mean?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malcolm look at her.

"Are you still planning on transferring to Starfleet Headquarters?" She asked. "Liz told me," she clarified at his surprised look.

"I don't know," Malcolm sighed. "I didn't get a chance to talk to Trip before he…" his voice trailed off.

"I know he'd want you to stay," Hoshi said, turning to look at him again.

"I don't know if I can, anymore." Malcolm said, almost to himself.

Hoshi tilted her head, "I don't understand."

"It's hard to explain," Malcolm's lips curved up slightly.

"Please," Hoshi said, holding his gaze, "I'd like to know."

"Before, when I found Trip on the catwalk," Malcolm said, and Hoshi could see him shudder at the memory, "I was out of uniform, and Trip's communicator was…" he swallowed, "before I remembered that Lawless also had one on her, I tried to get Trip to leave the catwalk, to let me take him to sick bay."

"What happened?" Hoshi asked, thinking she already knew the answer.

Malcolm looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "are you sure you want to hear this?" She nodded, trying to communicate her compassion, her sympathy. He paused a moment, evaluating. "Trip told me to leave him." Malcolm said finally. He shifted his gaze to somewhere above Hoshi's shoulder, clearly visualizing the scene on the catwalk. Hoshi noted his hands curling into fists for a second time. "He actually ordered me to leave him," he continued, "and to take Lawless to safety instead."

"He is her commanding officer," Hoshi said, "Trip would see it as his duty to make sure his subordinates are okay."

"Duty be damned!" Malcolm swore, wheeling on her, "he was burned, dying!" He gestured emphatically with his hands, "Lawless didn't have a scratch on her, she was asleep for Christ's sake!" Suddenly, he turned away, ran his hand through his hair again. "He wanted me to leave him to die."

"I'm sorry," Hoshi put her hand on his back in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

Malcolm looked at her over his shoulder for a moment. "Don't be," he said, "it's no less than I deserve."

"What?" Hoshi asked, startled "why?"

"Because it's exactly what I did to him in the shuttlepod," he said, defeated, "He was begging me to leave, and I kept saying no. I must have near destroyed him."

"It was extremely hard on him, yes." Hoshi agreed. "But it was worse when you broke up with him afterwards. You need to talk to him, Malcolm," she said emphatically, "you need to tell him how you feel."

Malcolm turned to face her again, and Hoshi was shocked by the raw pain visible in his eyes. "Is this the way it's going to be between me and Trip, Hoshi?" he asked miserably, "each one wondering when the other will have to give the final sacrifice, have to `do his duty' and let himself die for the ship or her crew?" He covered his eyes with one hand. "Because I don't know how Trip can live with that. No matter what you say," he said so softly that Hoshi wondered if she was meant to hear, "and I don't know if I can live with that, either."

"Is that why you said you don't know if you can stay?" Hoshi said, "Malcolm, you can't mean that!"

"I need to get to the armoury," Malcolm said. "Will you stay awhile?" His eyes were pleading.

She tried frantically to think of something else to say; something to convince him to stay; something that would convince him that his place was here, on Enterprise, and nowhere else. All the arguments she could think of died on her lips. "I'll keep an eye on Trip until Liz arrives for her shift," she said finally. It seemed the only thing to say.

"Thank you," Malcolm said. He nodded stiffly and left. He didn't look back.

Hoshi pulled up a chair beside Trip's biobed and sat down, resting her forearms on her thighs, watching him breathe, waiting.