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The storm had caught them by surprise, with barely any warning as they headed back to the camp they’d set up near the shuttlepod. They’d spent the past three days on the planet, Malcolm providing security while Hoshi and Travis gathered data from a set of ruins their sensors had picked up during a scan of the Minshara-class planet.
It was back-breaking, time-consuming work, but the prospect of being off the ship for a few days had the two ensigns in high spirits, a fact the security chief noted with a tolerant air that offset his habitual sternness. Those used to a stricter, more tightly-wound version of his demeanour would have been nonplussed by his amiable acceptance of teasing from Hoshi and Travis - or the way he gave as good as he got.
He’d mellowed even further when Enterprise had informed them that the ship had to warp to another system to meet with a cargo ship that was refreshing their rations; he was quite at ease with the other junior officers, more so while away from the immediate scrutiny of the more senior crew. The three would have a further two days to themselves before the ship returned on the second day. Fortunately their supplies had been prepared so they could take into account unforeseen delays. That meant they had enough food and potable water, as well as the equipment to make more of the latter.
Now, heading for the camp in late afternoon - Lieutenant Reed insisted that they leave in enough time to not be travelling in the dark - they were only a short distance away. Malcolm felt a twinge in one shoulder and wondered why; he’d hardly been putting himself to any major exertion, after all.
“Boy, I’m looking forward to a hot meal tonight, that’s for sure,” enthused Travis as he led the way along the path, his long legs eating up the distance. Behind him, Hoshi struggled a little to keep up, but determination and pride kept her close on Travis’ heels. They were making good time, despite the need for care around the loose stones that littered the ground.
“And dessert, I take it?” Hoshi sounded amused as she picked her way along the pebble-strewn path in Travis’ wake.
“Oh yeah! It’s strawberry shortcake tonight. My favourite.”
“How do you know that, Travis?” The lieutenant’s voice was mild, but Hoshi smiled to herself as her sensitive ear picked up his own carefully-concealed amusement. “Been looking through the rations box, have you?”
The young helmsman looked around, startled, then hastily faced forward again. He hadn’t quite thought through the consequences of his little revelation, it seemed. Malcolm compressed his lips between his teeth to stifle a chuckle as Travis stuttered a response, unsure whether to refute, play indignant, or simply accept that he’d been caught out through his own eagerness.
As he opened his mouth to tease his friend a little more, Malcolm’s shoulder twinged again, and he looked around. The sky had suddenly darkened, ominous-looking clouds gathering on the horizon.
“We’re going to have to hurry,” he said. “It looks like a storm’s coming. Let’s get back to camp as quickly as possible.”
Travis and Hoshi looked in the direction he was pointing, surprise painting their faces at how quickly the storm was moving. The wind picked up, swirling around them, and trees started swaying wildly as their branches soughed in the rising gale.
“Let’s go!” Malcolm called, putting urgency into his voice, then turning it martial as they didn’t react fast enough. “I said move it, ensigns!” They both jumped at his tone and began hurrying, almost sliding down the slope as they headed for level ground.
The sky had darkened, a wall of rain driving forward beneath the low clouds, and Malcolm knew they wouldn’t be able to stay in the tents, or make it to the cave they’d scouted on their first day. Fortunately the shuttlepod wasn’t far from the campsite, so they’d be able to move everything in fairly quickly.
“Hoshi, grab the sleeping bags and duffels - let us take down the tents,” he ordered, somehow managing to talk and run at the same time, staying behind Hoshi as she tried to keep up with Travis. “Get them into the shuttlepod, it’s going to be our best bet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Travis, anything else we’ve left out - the bio-fuel, table - get them sorted while I start with the tents, then come back and help me while Hoshi makes room in the shuttlepod.”
“Yes, sir!”
The wind was buffeting them as they ran, trees bending almost double, and they were finding it hard to stay on course, even with the weight of their backpacks helping them stay steady. As they reached camp, they each headed for their own tents, unzipping and grabbing sleeping bags and duffel bags that the others handed to Hoshi as she ran to each tent before heading through the trees to where the shuttlepod stood. Fortunately Lieutenant Reed insisted that everything be ready for a quick move every morning, so the sleeping bags had already been rolled and stowed for easy carrying.
She made it just as the rain hit, hastily punching in the security code and waiting impatiently for the hatch to open, huddling herself over the bags to try and keep them out of the worst of the rain. Her uniform was drenched before she was able to get inside and drop the various bags further inside the shuttlepod, to make room at the rear. She dropped her backpack in the front, then turned as Travis ran in, one hand shielding his eyes from the rain, and fairly tossed the bio-fuel cooker, eating utensils case, and folded table at her.
“Going back to help Malcolm!” he yelled, and took off.
Hastily stowing the camping gear near their duffel bags, Hoshi went to the hatch and looked out, searching for any sign of her crew-mates. The rain had turned everything virtually pitch-black and it was hard to see more than a few metres; she grabbed a torch to guide the others back to the shuttlepod.
Back at the camp-site, Malcolm had managed to stow all three tents and was heading toward the path when Travis appeared, relieving him of two of the tents. Both men were soaked through and starting to shiver; Malcolm hoped fervently that they’d be able to warm the shuttlepod enough while the two dried off; he wasn’t inclined to stay cold and wet too long.
Up ahead, a light appeared, waving in their direction; Hoshi must have decided to bring out a torch to guide them, bless her.
“There, to the right!” he called to Travis; the storm was fierce enough to change everything familiar-looking, and they could easily end up running through the forest instead of clearing the short distance to their refuge. At least the light could guide them.
Even as the thought ran through his mind, he heard a crack of lightning, followed by a splintering, crashing sound. He looked up; the top of a tree had been severed by the bolt, and was falling directly for Travis. With a superhuman effort, Malcolm surged forward and pushed the ensign as hard as he could. The taller man staggered aside, and the next moment Malcolm was struck by a great weight that smacked the side of his head hard enough to leave him seeing stars.
He hit the ground on his left side and felt his shoulder pop, agony tearing through him; then a burning sensation as something pierced the outside of his calf. No! Not his leg again! Groggy, light-headed, he pushed feebly at the branch, impeded by his dislocated shoulder. The rain was so intense it ran into his nose and mouth, choking him, while the branch forced his head down at an unnatural angle, close to a large puddle. What irony; avoiding large bodies of water because of his aquaphobia, here he was facing drowning on land.
From somewhere deep inside, his innate stubbornness pushed adrenaline through his body and his limbs twitched, trying to move him. But the branch was too heavy, and he too dizzy, to have much hope of it working. Still, dammit, he couldn’t die on this unknown planet! His ensigns relied on him to keep them safe. What the hell kind of security officer would he be if he couldn’t protect them?
Then Travis was there, lifting and pushing, and the great weight on his back and side was gone. But he couldn’t move normally, what with his injured leg and dislocated arm; still, he gave it a valiant effort, and moved just enough to be clear of the heaviest branch. All at once hands fastened under his armpits and pulled; he clamped his lips against a scream that tried to escape at the tug on his wounded shoulder, but Hoshi was pulling him free of the branch and he wasn’t about to complain, or show weakness, if he could help it.
Hoshi hauled at him, managing to slide him in the mud; his weight wasn’t insignificant, the muscles packed onto his compact frame making him a solid mass that was difficult to move. Somehow she managed to wrestle him to his feet, but when she went to sling his arm over her shoulder, he baulked.
“It’s dislocated!” he shouted, or thought he did; it may have come out as a garbled mess. She looked at him in confusion, then at his shoulder, and realised what he meant. Moving to his other side, she braced him under his uninjured shoulder, yelling at Travis to avoid the arm, just get his waist, and let’s get him back to the shuttlepod. Malcolm had to hop, unable to walk on his injured leg; but the ensigns moved him as quickly as they could, taking his weight by virtue of grabbing hold of his belt and almost dragging him along.
Hoshi had left the torch in the hatch of the shuttlepod, and they headed for its glow. Finally inside, Travis turned to close the hatch and engage the inner lock as Hoshi guided Malcolm to one of the benches at the rear. At last the howling storm was shut outside.
“Where are you hurt, Malcolm? Aside from your shoulder?”
“M’leg. Don’t want ‘nother hole in my leg.” He was mumbling, almost petulant, and Hoshi looked at him sharply. She grabbed his face and held it still, checking his eyes. He sighed and closed them, dizziness overwhelming him. “Gotta c‘cussion? Prob’ly.” For the usually well-spoken, erudite Englishman to slur his words that heavily, it was clear that he’d been badly affected.
“Open your eyes and let me see.” Blearily he did as instructed, and Hoshi looked at him carefully. “You’re concussed, alright. Look, we’re going to need to do something about your arm. I’m not sure how to get it back in place—”
“Nope. Can’t. Leave it f’r Phlox. Jus’ ban—band—wrap it.”
She looked doubtful, but nodded. “Okay. We’ll have to cut off your shirt, though. Not going to wrap you in a bandage on top of this thing, it’s soaked through. Travis, can you get down the—” She turned, but Travis had been getting out the big shuttlepod med-kit while they spoke, and now handed her a pair of scissors. “Thanks. Biggest bandages available, next. Or—maybe an analgesic.”
“This looks right.” Travis hefted a hypo-spray. “We should probably keep it at a fairly low dose for now, though, so we know if we’re hurting him and we don’t injure him further because he can’t feel something’s wrong. We can top him up later.”
He adjusted the dosage to a lower setting and pressed it against Malcolm’s neck. The relief wasn’t immediate, but it was there. The security chief sighed a little. “Thanks, Tr’vis.”
“Sure, Malcolm. Let me help you with your hand.” The helmsman helped Malcolm slide his left arm across his body, pushing gently at the elbow until Malcolm could get a purchase on his opposite shoulder and his elbow was pointing at the ground. Immediately he felt some relief; his arm wasn’t hanging and dragging at the joint.
“Wait, let me cut your shirt—”
“Mm-mm. M’leg. ‘S bleedin’. Hurts.”
“Oh damn! Yes, okay, sorry, I forgot about your leg. We’ll have to clean that out really well if the skin’s been punctured, can’t risk an infection.” He grunted, unable to bring himself to speak properly; his mouth wasn’t working the way he wanted. Waves of tiredness were washing over him, but he knew he needed to stay awake.
Hoshi knelt in front of him, using the scissors to cut up one side of his trousers until she’d exposed the wound. It was shallow, bleeding sluggishly, and had something black on the edges; fortunately the trousers had protected it from the mud. Lacking a medical scanner, she ran her standard scanner over it, then looked at Travis, surprised.
“The scanner says that’s charcoal; nothing odd detected in the wound.”
“He was probably pierced by the part of the branch that was hit by lightning,” Travis mused. “That’s lucky; hopefully that means no infection. But we should wash it out - who knows what was in the water while he was lying on the ground?”
Hoshi nodded and looked through the med-kit, finding a bottle of wound spray, saline, and some gauze. She got to work cleaning the wound, grimacing at his shudders, so unlike his usually imperturbable self. Her eyes met the helmsman’s; Travis looked as worried as she felt. Just because the wound was small didn’t mean its impact would be, especially coupled with his other injuries.
Finally it was done. She squirted the antibacterial Travis had found into the cleaned wound, covered it with a dressing, and bandaged it firmly, checking that it wasn't too tight. Not much more they could do right then. There were two hypo-sprays with three doses each of a powerful antibiotic, and the best they could do was pump Malcolm full of those and some painkillers, and hope like hell nothing went sideways while they waited for Enterprise and Phlox. What she wouldn't give for the osmotic eel right now!
Speaking of Malcolm, he wasn’t looking too good. He was still conscious, but swaying where he sat, and white as a sheet. They needed to get him out of those wet clothes, get his arm seen to, give him the rest of his analgesic, and get him to rest. Besides, if they removed his shirt, they could check for other injuries - the lieutenant was notorious for saying he was “fine” when he wasn’t. Although to be fair, he hadn’t been as stoic as usual this time, probably due to his concussion.
“Travis, will you help hold Malcolm steady? I’m going to cut apart his shirt so we can strap up his arm and then maybe we can get him into his sleep clothes so he can rest.”
“I’ve got him. Hey Malcolm, still with us?”
The lieutenant opened his eyes again. Travis was a fuzzy-looking blur, and Hoshi wasn’t much better, but their outlines looked familiar and made him feel more secure, so he nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was faint, hoarse with pain, but Travis gave Hoshi a relieved look.
“Time to cut off your shirt, and then we’ll strap up your arm, okay?”
“Mmhmm.”
With careful snips, Hoshi cut along his dislocated left arm and into the collar, then down the side seam of his shirt; then she and Travis switched places and she carefully peeled the shirt off his back, gently tugging it from under his bent arm until she could give it a proper pull down his uninjured right arm and toss it aside. Travis handed her a towel and she rubbed at Malcolm’s back and uninjured arm, while Travis patted gently at the upper surface of the dislocated arm and what he could reach of Malcolm’s sides and chest.
“Here, I’ve got the triangle bandage. Help me with his arm.” Travis made short work of the sling, grinning as he noticed Hoshi’s look of surprise. “I had to make a few of these while we were growing up. Kids’ll break their arms in some unexpected places.” He tugged at Malcolm’s belt, sliding it from the belt loops. “This should be long enough to strap his arm in place. An added precaution.” As he fastened the belt around Malcolm’s arm and chest, the tactical officer was roused by the discomfort.
“Ow. Hurts.”
“Sorry, Malcolm.” Travis looked apologetic. “We’ve got to keep that arm from moving, I’m afraid.”
“S’okay. You’re good.” They were good. His ensigns. His friends. Looking after him. He was supposed to be looking after them, but—well.
“I’m going to get our duffel bags. Let’s get him out of these wet clothes and into his sleepwear.”
“Sure. You grab his bag and I’ll get his trousers off in the meantime.” Malcolm grumbled, pushing at Travis with his good hand. “Come on, Malcolm, we have to get these wet clothes off you.”
“Mm-mm. Not ‘front of Hoshi.”
“But she’s—no, okay, you’re right. Hoshi, just bring the duffel bag here and then—maybe you can change up front?”
“Don’t you need help?”
“Malcolm doesn’t want to change in front of you, so let’s do as he asks. It’ll make him feel better.”
“I—okay. I guess this isn’t decon and he has every right to feel uncomfortable.” She handed over Malcolm’s duffel bag. “We won’t be able to put a t-shirt on him, anyway, but at least he can stay warm in sweatpants and a blanket.”
“Thanks, Hoshi.” Travis gave her a grateful glance as she nodded and turned away.
At the edge of her hearing, she heard mumbled thanks from Malcolm, and smiled. “You’re both welcome. Now I’m going to follow your example and change into dry clothing, too. Let me know when you’re done.”
It was the work of a few minutes to strip off her uniform, rub herself briskly with a towel, and slip into her t-shirt and sweats, her skin pleasantly warm after the rubdown despite the damp underwear. She busied herself with finding places to hang the wet items that wouldn’t affect the electronics, until Travis called her back. He’d changed, too, and had managed to get Malcolm into his sweatpants.
“Bring a sleeping bag, would you? Let’s get Malcolm into one and try to give him some padding so he can sit up and take pressure off that shoulder.”
“Okay, then we can give him the rest of that analgesic and maybe he can sleep. I’ll set an alarm for his next antibiotic and pain-killer.”
The two decided they’d sit on either side of Malcolm and help keep him upright as they all dozed; they had to wake him every few hours, anyway, to check that the bandage wasn’t cutting off circulation.
It was a difficult night, no one getting any sustained period of sleep, and Malcolm was grumpy with fatigue and pain as Hoshi approached him with his next antibiotic and analgesic. She was a little clumsy with the antibiotic, and Malcolm cried out as it pinched, lashing out with his good hand and pushing the hypo-spray away. Hoshi lost her grip, watching in horror as it arced in a parabola before hitting the floor. She rushed over and picked it up as Travis calmed Malcolm.
“Oh no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The hypo-spray’s not working, and I’m not sure how much antibiotic I actually got into him.” She sounded so forlorn that Malcolm’s throat twisted in guilt.
“Sorry, Hoshi.”
“It’s okay, Malcolm. We’ll just keep you warm and dry and as pain-free as we can until Phlox gets here, okay?”
“Okay.”
They managed to eat and drink a bit, and look out of the window at the storm that was still raging, albeit not quite as intensely as the night before. Hopefully they’d be able to stay on top of Malcolm’s concussion, though it was difficult for him to rest, given that they kept having to check him for cognitive function, as well as circulation. At least he was no longer slurring his words, although he still couldn’t focus for longer than a few moments.
It turned out to not be as easy as they’d hoped. With a dose of antibiotics missed, Malcolm’s temperature started rising. He was already grouchy; now he became fretful, too, his composure rapidly devolving. He’d been resting against the bags they’d packed under a blanket, hoping to give him a comfortable wedge against which to lie so there wasn’t too much pressure on his injured shoulder. Hoshi and Travis were playing a card pick-up game - Hoshi had dug a deck of cards out of her duffel - and he was half-watching, dozing lightly, not really paying attention.
All at once his chest tightened, his heart started hammering, his ears filled with a rushing noise, his skin prickled, and irritation roared through him. His entire body felt wrong. Unable to simply shrug off this feeling, which happened when he was particularly anxious, he threw aside the blanket that was draped over him. The ensigns looked up, startled at the sudden movement.
“Malcolm, what’s wrong?”
“I feel—” Trapped. He felt trapped. He tried to struggle to his feet, hissing at the pain of his dislocated arm. Travis was at his side in an instant.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No. No! I’m not a damn invalid!”
“No, you’re not,” Travis spoke carefully, trying to calm the lieutenant’s annoyance. “But less than twelve hours ago, you couldn’t speak, let alone move under your own steam, and you’re still injured. So we need to check.”
He laid his hand on Malcolm’s bare shoulder, and as the smaller man jerked at his touch, Travis sent an alarmed glance Hoshi’s way.
“He’s too hot.”
She moved forward and laid a gentle hand on his forehead. He grumbled, pulling away, so she ran her scanner over him.
“He’s overheating. Maybe it’s because of the missed antibiotic. His forehead’s sweating.” She carefully placed the back of her hand against his neck, trying to avoid making him flinch. “We have to bring down his temperature somehow, Travis. We only have three doses of antibiotics left. That’ll see us through today and tonight, but Enterprise will only be back later tomorrow.”
Travis looked around and spotted Malcolm’s wet shirt lying at the front of the shuttlepod.
“Maybe we can put his wet shirt back on, cool him down a bit? If he’ll let us.”
Hoshi looked at him helplessly, her hand on Malcolm’s good shoulder. He didn’t seem inclined to move it, but he wasn’t exactly leaning in, either, his expression wary as he watched them. “What if he won’t?”
Travis licked his lips, thinking of how under normal circumstances, their scarily competent tactical officer was fully capable of fighting them both with one hand tied behind his back. Maybe being concussed and having an arm strapped to his chest instead would be an impediment, but Travis wasn’t keen to find out first-hand.
“Uh—Malcolm? Are you feeling too hot, maybe?”
He’d been about to start ranting again, but that gave him pause. “Yes. How did you know that?” Suspicion buzzed through his tone, and he tensed under Hoshi’s hand.
“Well, you’re sweating, and your skin feels hot, and the scanner says your temperature is higher than normal.” Seeing Malcolm’s shoulders relax minutely at his logic, Travis breathed a silent sigh of relief. No fighting - for the moment. “Would you like us to try and cool you down? Maybe put your wet shirt onto your back?”
“I—alright. That’d be nice. But no more needles, yeah? No poking. That hurt, earlier.” He looked aggrieved at the memory, his eyes fever-bright.
Travis exchanged a startled glance with Hoshi at his casual wording, before she said, “Okay, Malcolm, we don’t need needles now anyway.” She went over to the shirt and wrung it out over a towel, to get that damp for later. He watched her, narrow-eyed, as she came back over to him, holding the wet material. “May I put this on your back?”
His eyes went to the shirt and, suddenly lucid, he said, “You should probably cut that down the other seam so you have something for later.”
Hoshi nodded. “You’re right. I can’t wrap this around you, anyway.” Malcolm seemed pleased when she got out the scissors and cut the shirt in half, looking to him for approval. He was satisfied enough to submit to having the damp cloth draped across his back, hissing a little at the cold sensation against his heated skin, lying back against it, but refusing to have the blanket draped over him again.
While Hoshi was getting him settled, Travis went through the med-kit again, finding some electrolyte sachets. “Hey Malcolm, you have your choice of flavours here for re-hydration drinks. But only two of each. So I guess you want to start with the pineapple?” He chuckled as Malcolm perked up at the thought. “Want to hear the other flavours while I prepare it?”
“Yes, please.”
“Aside from pineapple, there’s blackcurrant, cherry, lime, strawberry, and passion fruit. Quite a selection, heavy on the berries, but I suppose when it comes to hydration, they want to keep you coming back for more.” He shook up the flavour mix and water and handed Malcolm the bottle. “It’s not too cold so it shouldn’t shock your system. Drink up, and I’ll make you more in a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” After several swallows, Malcolm said thoughtfully, “I like pineapple and lime and blackcurrant best. I bet you like cherry and lime, right, Hoshi?” When the linguist nodded, he looked gratified. “That’s why you smell so nice,” he said confidingly, and Hoshi gave a surprised giggle. “And you, Travis, you like strawberry, but also … passion fruit? I’ve seen you drink it.”
“That’s right - I like the berries but passion fruit’s a strange taste and I enjoy that.”
“You seem to be feeling better, Malcolm.” Hoshi kept her voice low and soothing.
His mouth twisted a little, and he drank more fluid. “Not really. But I like talking to you. To both of you.” He finished the drink and held out the bottle, his eyes starting to close as Travis took it. “I think I’m going to sleep now.”
“Okay. We’ll keep an eye on you.”
His eyes shot open and he half-rose. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”
“Yes, we will, I promise.” The reassuring tone seemed to make it through to him, and he lay back, mollified.
“Holding you to that,” he mumbled and the next moment was out like a light. Travis and Hoshi smiled fondly at him, and at each other with some relief. They were used to him being less formal with them, especially since they ate so many meals together; but he was still given to some measure of distance and stoicism. His current extremely casual and almost needy demeanour was probably at least partially because of the concussion.
Any hope they had that he’d get some much-needed rest was dashed when he started tossing restlessly about an hour later, mumbling words that even Hoshi’s sensitive ear couldn’t decipher. Sweat was gathering on his face, arms, and chest, and he was frowning in his not-quite-sleep.
“His temperature’s rising again,” Hoshi said worriedly, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb him. “We have to cool him down somehow.”
“We can try the other piece of his shirt, it’s still damp, but I don’t know how much that’s going to help on his back. Maybe if we fold it and wrap around the back of his neck? Try to cool down his head?”
“Yeah, I can just see Lieutenant Reed submitting to having a wet cloth draped over his head.” Hoshi sighed. “Okay, let’s try that when he wakes—if he’s lucid. And I’ll get some wet cloths and water together. We’re going to have to wipe him down as much as possible.” She pinched at the bridge of her nose. “He’s going to hate this.”
“What?”
“Being so helpless and vulnerable and having to rely on us. You know how he hates to ask for help.”
“Well, he’s not asking, but he needs help, so he’s going to get it. We’ll deal with the consequences later.”
Malcolm was in decon, but instead of blue lights, the place was filled with steam. He was sitting on a wooden bench, wearing his sweatpants and the top half of his excursion uniform, and feeling like he was boiling alive. He tried to rip off his uniform shirt, but his arms wouldn’t work properly, and it ended up hanging from his neck, snagged around his left arm and impeding his movement.
“Phlox!” he called, but there was no response. “Why is it so damned hot in here?” Nothing. “Can someone turn down the heat and turn off the steam, please?”
As if in answer, even more steam billowed into the room, and the temperature seemed to rise. Every breath was waterlogged; there was water inside his nose, running down his forehead into his eyes, dripping from his ears. As he watched, the steam started releasing water, more like a shower than rain. The room started filling with water; he jumped onto the bench, but the water level kept creeping up.
Suddenly he smelled cherries and passion fruit. Voices called from around the corner. “Malcolm! We’re waiting for you. Come on, Malcolm!”
“Hoshi? Travis? Is that you?” They didn’t respond, just kept calling his name. He looked at the water, shuddered, and jumped in. It came up to his waist, hot, not quite boiling, but he had to get out of here. He waded to the door, banging on it to be let out.
“Malcolm! Come on!” The voice was coming from around the corner. Frowning, he followed it into the locker area. Hoshi was there, fiddling with an airlock door. A miniature version of Travis with his arm in a sling stood beside her.
“Hoshi, what are you doing? You need an EV suit! And what happened to Travis?”
She looked up, smiling. “It’s okay, Malcolm,” she said, and held out a hand. “Come on, we’re waiting for you.” And she reached for the door lock.
“No!” he cried, and leaped forward as the door opened and the water ran into space, taking Hoshi with it, still smiling and holding out her hand while half-sized Travis laughed and waved—
Malcolm woke with an almighty gasp, to find at two faces staring at him with twin expressions of worry. Still in the throes of the nightmare, he flailed at Hoshi with his good hand, trying to grab her; Travis barely caught it in time before it smacked into her shoulder.
“Close the airlock!” The ensigns exchanged glances, Travis patting Malcolm’s hand before putting it down on his stomach.
“Don’t worry, Malcolm, there’s no airlock here. You must have been having a nightmare. I guess having a fever makes it difficult to breath, right?”
“Water … there was—too hot—and steam.” He was panting as though he’d been running, finding it hard to catch his breath. “In decon. Phlox didn’t come. But—cherries. And a small Travis. Hoshi opened the airlock.”
Trying to follow his explanation, Hoshi looked surprised, but said only, “I didn’t quite get all that, but you know I’d never mess with the airlock normally, so try to remember that next time, right?” She wrung out a damp cloth and wiped his forehead and temple; the cool touch was an instant relief. He groaned a little and felt fatigue strike him; everything was a little blurred and bleary, and his head ached. Damn, he felt awful.
“Want something to drink, Malcolm? And maybe another analgesic for your shoulder?” He couldn’t quite manage to nod, but it seemed Travis understood the tiny head movement, because soon there was a fresh bottle of flavoured water being offered, and a hypo-spray at his neck.
He had difficulty grasping the bottle, but Travis didn’t seem to mind holding it while Malcolm directed its position relative to his mouth using his fingers on Travis’ wrist. Hoshi kept wiping him down all the while, refreshing the cloth in cool water as she swabbed the rest of his face, his throat, shoulders, sides, and stomach.
When he’d finished drinking, Travis set the bottle aside and the pair of ensigns crouched on either side of Malcolm, moving to put their hands under his back. He flinched a little and they drew back.
“What—?”
“—are we doing?” Hoshi finished. This time he was able to nod, despite the pounding in his head. “We need to lift you upright so we can get at your back, wipe that down. We’ll put a damp cloth on your neck to try and cool you.” She hesitated. “Would you mind if we wet your hair? It might help cool your scalp and draw the heat out of the top of your head.”
For a moment he wavered, but he could trust them not to try and hurt him, so—“Alright.”
They carried out the tasks they’d said, then Travis held a bowl of water while Hoshi wet her hands in between running her fingers through Malcolm’s hair until it was wet through. The movement helped soothe him, even though even his hair hurt by this point; she was gentle enough not to tug, and the cool water felt good on his scalp. In fact, everything they’d done so far had helped him gather his wits and feel a little more himself, although he was still fatigued.
Finally they sat back. Travis and Hoshi exchanged proud grins, and then she bent to his leg.
“Let me check your wound, Malcolm. I don’t think it needs anything, but best to make sure.” He let her pull up the leg of his sweatpants and unwind the bandages so she could lift the dressing; she made a satisfied sound and closed it again, making sure the dressing was flush to the skin, and refastened the bandage. “It looks clean, no redness or weeping, so it should be fine until Enterprise gets back.” Her stomach rumbled, and she looked embarrassed.
“What time is it?” Malcolm wondered if the two had had anything to eat while he was dreaming - or indeed, at any time at all since their hasty breakfast after he’d knocked the antibiotic from Hoshi’s hand. The sky through the window was no help; the storm continued and it might as well have been night, for all they could see.
“A little after twenty-hundred hours.”
“Have you eaten anything since this morning?” Hoshi said nothing, so he looked at Travis, allowing the martinet in him to come a little to the fore in his tone. “Travis?”
The helmsman had the grace to look sheepish. “Uh—not really, sir.” He winced as Malcolm frowned. “We did share a protein bar!”
“Relax, Travis, I’m not about to lecture you. I know you’ve had your hands full looking after me.” His head ached, but he found he was able to smile reassuringly. “But I’m feeling a little better, thanks to the two of you, and I think it’s time you turned some of that care on yourselves.”
Still looking abashed, they nodded, then hurried to do as instructed, gathering and heating dinner rations and preparing their sleeping areas on either side of him.
“You need to eat before your next antibiotic shot, si—Malcolm - what would you like?”
“I’m still pretty nauseous, Hoshi—not really feeling well enough to eat. Maybe something dry. Are there any crackers?”
The reply came from Travis. “There are, and not only that, Trip packed some microwave popcorn so we could watch movies on the PADD. So if you’d like some plain salted popcorn, that’s available.”
Malcolm looked thoughtful. “Maybe later. Let’s see how I handle the crackers, first.”
He sat back and savoured the crackers - his first real food since the day before - while watching and listening to his younger companions banter and tease, gently ribbing him, too. He wasn’t quite up to witty repartee, but they didn’t seem to mind his silent smiles and wordless reactions, keeping him involved despite his reticence.
After a while Hoshi noticed that he was staring at her meal, seemingly unaware that he was doing so. “It’s mango chicken - I know that’s one of your favourites. Would you like some?”
Malcolm blinked, then considered. “I don’t think I could handle a full meal, even though it smells delicious, but thanks, Hoshi.”
“I don’t mind if you have some of mine. Even if you just have some rice and sauce, and aren’t up to the chicken.” She reached out, about to offer him the ration pack, then hesitated. “I can put some into a separate dish for you? That way you can have your own utensils and don’t have to share.”
He smiled, touched by her consideration. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
With a quick smile of her own, she rose to get a separate container and spork, then carefully dished out part of her meal - not too much, as she didn’t want to overwhelm him, but a good portion. All he’d had was some crackers and a few bottles of hydrating supplements, and that was definitely not enough for a man with his metabolic needs. The lieutenant could give Travis a run for his money when it came to food; he was not a small eater by any means.
Malcolm savoured each bite, enjoying the flavours even though it was only part of a ration pack and not Chef’s usual fare. The crackers had helped settle his stomach, and now he could simply appreciate a meal shared with good companions who didn’t seem to expect anything from him other than to recover and let them care for him. It went against the grain for him to rely on anyone else, but the ensigns were pretty stubborn in their own ways, and anyway, he told himself, he didn’t want to hurt their feelings by rejecting their help.
The meal finished, Hoshi approached him with the antibiotic and another dose of analgesic; his arm was starting to ache again, and she’d noticed his carefully-concealed winces and subtle movements as he tried to ease his discomfort.
“Ready to try again with the antibiotic? I promise I’ll do a better job this time.”
“And I’ll be less of a curmudgeon if it does sting. It wasn’t your fault last time, Ens—Hoshi. Don’t blame yourself—I certainly won’t.” He was pleased to see her sheepish flush and little smile, and realised that she really had been blaming herself for what had been a simple accident. At least she knew now that he wasn’t holding a grudge.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that he was calling Hoshi and Travis by their given names, and had been for most of the trip. Of course, he did the same on board ship, especially at meal-times, but it was dawning on him how much easier it was to engage with them as friends and not merely colleagues. He’d never minded them calling him by his first name unless circumstances required rank. Perhaps that was why Trip insisted on the same from him.
Once Hoshi had completed the medication ritual, Travis brought out a PADD. “Shall we watch a movie anyway? It might help us fall asleep—I think we could all do with some rest, and you don’t seem to be as badly affected as this morning.”
Malcolm nodded. “I don’t think I can concentrate on a movie, the dizziness comes and goes. But I don’t mind lying here while you two watch. The sound won’t disturb me, and I can doze off without disturbing you. And the storm seems to be dying down, so the sound of the rain will help.”
Travis nodded, then hung the PADD off the bulkhead across from where they were all lying, and they settled in for a watch - minus popcorn, since it was so soon after supper. It didn’t take long for the low sound to work its magic on Malcolm; as he slid into a dreamless sleep, he considered that he could do worse than being stuck in a shuttlepod with two good friends at his side.
When he awoke the next morning, it seemed to be just before dawn. The storm had finally passed, and soft morning light was slowly becoming visible through the front window. Quiet breathing came from his right, closest to the front; he looked down from his elevated position, and found Hoshi curled up inside her sleeping bag, facing him, one hand draped loosely over her eyes. Light snoring from his other side meant that Travis was also still asleep, sprawled as much as he could within the confines of his sleeping bag, protected from the light by Malcolm’s raised torso blocking it.
He chuckled silently to himself, lying back again. The ensigns clearly needed their rest, and since they weren’t on board ship and there was no particular routine to which they needed to adhere, he’d leave them to it.
An hour later, Hoshi stirred and stretched, opening her eyes to see Malcolm holding a finger to his lips. Curious, she sat up to see why he was shushing her, and spotted Travis on his other side. They shared a conspiratorial grin before Hoshi whispered, “You’re looking a lot better. How are you feeling?”
“Like pants,” he admitted, “but better than when I was imagining myself stuck in a decon sauna while you opened an airlock, so there’s that.”
Sympathy softened her gaze. “Want some crackers or a protein bar before I give you your antibiotic shot? You can have the analgesic now, instead of waiting.”
“Yes, please. And then food. I could actually eat more than crackers today, but let’s start with a protein bar. And probably some hydration.” He indicated his arm, and smiled ruefully. “I can’t do much, or even walk over there, but if you bring me the water and bottle and a pack of flavouring, I can make the fluid.”
She nodded, and brought over the requested items before delivering a shot of analgesic. As she handed him a protein bar, the radio crackled.
“Enterprise to away team.”
With a pleased little cry, Hoshi settled into the seat at the communications console and responded.
“Away team to Enterprise. We hear you loud and clear.”
“Hello there, Hoshi. It’s good to hear your voice. But where’s Malcolm?”
“Right here, sir, and may I say that it’s good to hear from you. I’m sure the ensigns will agree with me on that point.” Travis had roused at the sound of voices, and now nodded fervently.
“If I may ask, sir, how far away are you?”
“Eight-point-two hours at our current velocity of warp three, Lieutenant,” came T’Pol’s voice.
“In that case, we’ll fly out and meet you part of the way there.”
“Oh? Has something happened?”
“Nothing we couldn’t take care of, Captain. Ensigns Sato and Mayweather in particular. But I think we’d all feel better being back on board. So—with your permission?”
“Sounds like something I’d like to hear more of.”
“It’ll all be in my report, sir.”
“Very well, Malcolm, Hoshi, Travis, we’ll see you a little sooner than expected. Enterprise out.”
Hoshi cut the connection and gave the lieutenant a faint side-eye. He raised an eyebrow at her in turn.
“Yes?”
“I noticed that you didn’t mention anything about being concussed or injured.”
“Yes, well, nothing much they could do about it from that distance away, Hoshi, which is why Travis is going to fly us from this benighted planet to meet Enterprise partway.”
“Of course, sir.” That was said with such a tone of innocence that Travis snorted and Malcolm narrowed his eyes at the linguist, but was unable to stop the corner of his mouth from quirking.
“And if anyone has anything to say about Phlox’s animals, there are more than a few conduits in and around the Armoury that require cleaning.” He tried to be stern, but knew they weren’t buying it, so changed tactics and did his best to look pathetic. “I feel awful.”
“Oh!” Hoshi jumped up and rushed over to the med-kit to get his antibiotic. “I’m sorry, sir—”
“Malcolm,” he interrupted. “We’re not back on the bridge, yet.”
“Malcolm, then. Here you go.” She injected him carefully.
“Thank you, Hoshi. Now, let’s stow everything and get out of here, Travis. We can eat on the way.”
“Yes, sir!” they chorused, grinning, and he rolled his eyes at their cheekiness, refraining from commenting.
It appeared that Captain Archer understood more about his armoury officer’s tendency to provide a remarkable lack of information than even the man himself suspected. When the shuttlepod hatch opened, he stood there with Doctor Phlox smiling his broad smile.
“Malcolm, Hoshi, Travis. Good to have you back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Ah, Lieutenant Reed! Now, what have we here? A dislocated shoulder at the very least; no one’s tried to put it back, I see, very good. What else should I be informed of?” The doctor moved closer and began running his scanner over the three officers.
Malcolm was uncomfortably aware that he was reporting to his captain clad in sweatpants, with a t-shirt tugged over his head and good arm thrust through one sleeve, and barefoot, while both ensigns were dressed in their - sadly wrinkled - excursion uniforms and boots. His hair stood on end, his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and he was sure he smelled fairly ripe, after several days of sweating and fever. Not that either Travis or Hoshi looked - or smelled - much better.
“A concussion and a wound in my left calf, Doctor,” he eventually said reluctantly. Might as well get it over and done with. As it was, he would be returning to a more formal way of dealing with the ensigns - on the bridge, at any rate. He should set a good example, he supposed.
“Ah. Very well, all three can be treated in Sickbay, and—” he looked at his scanner and nodded in satisfaction “—there is nothing to be alarmed about or requiring immediate treatment.” Phlox’s mouth stretched in an impossibly wide smile. “Am I to understand that Ensigns Sato and Mayweather jointly took care of your treatment?”
“Yes, and an excellent job they both did!” he exclaimed hotly. Behind him, Travis and Hoshi exchanged glances and straightened a little, pulling their shoulders back just a bit. Captain Archer watched the little by-play, unnoticed.
“I did not say they didn’t, Lieutenant,” said the doctor soothingly, and Malcolm only realised then that he had stiffened in outrage and immediate defence of the junior officers. “Perhaps it would be best if all three of you accompanied me to sickbay and we may continue this discussion there, hmm?” He gestured to the gurney beside him. “If you would lie down—”
“I can walk, thank you, Doctor,” he interrupted. It was bad enough he looked terrible and smelled worse; he’d be damned if he was rolled through the corridors as though he was incapacitated.
“Lieutenant—”
“He can lean on us,” Travis interjected, as he and Hoshi moved up to flank the tactical officer. As on the night of the storm, Hoshi moved under his uninjured arm, while Travis put his arm around Malcolm’s waist, and they stood as a united front for a moment. Malcolm hadn’t expected it, but he wasn’t going to spurn their assistance, after everything they’d had to deal with - especially from him - over the past while.
Captain Archer and Doctor Phlox exchanged one swift but speaking glance, and the doctor nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant, Ensigns, let us head to Sickbay then.”
“Captain?” Malcolm wasn’t about to forget protocol and walk out without even so much as a by-your-leave from his CO.
“Go on, Malcolm. I’ll catch up with the three of you in Sickbay, and we’ll decide then on when is feasible for a debrief.”
“Sir, I can—” he began, and was diverted by a little tug on his waist from Hoshi and a muffled cough from Travis. He swallowed his words. “Yes, sir.”
The three set off for the door, Malcolm limping, the other two keeping pace with him and providing support. As they reached the door, Travis murmured something, to which Hoshi responded, and Malcolm gave a short bark of laughter that had the others stifling giggles.
“You two and your flagrant disregard for rank will be the death of me yet,” Archer heard him grumble, “but not before a hot shower and a good meal. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!” the ensigns chorused, and then the little group was gone.
The captain turned to Doctor Phlox, his eyebrows raised. “Did Malcolm just make a joke about rank with two junior officers?”
Doctor Phlox was looking after the three reflectively. “It appears, Captain, that the lieutenant has come to the conclusion that having a friend on whom one can rely is worth more than mere protocol. For rank, after all, cannot save one’s life, hmm?”