Usually Strong

by Erithacus

The usually strong lieutenant looked uncharacteristically fragile; his hair shaved close to the skull, gaunt cheekbones, bruises and scabbed cuts on pale skin.

T'Pol sat by his bedside for a while. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest gave any indication that the Armoury officer was alive. At length she returned to the outer office where, unusually, the doctor was simply sitting, staring into space. As she slipped silently past, he stirred and motioned for her to sit. After some moments had passed in silence, she enquired,

"When might the lieutenant regain consciousness doctor?"

Phlox shook himself slightly and turned towards her, his face for once quite grave.

"Hopefully in the next day or so. It's hard to say with head injuries and it's quite a bad fracture."

"Is there cause for concern?"

"Well individually all his injuries will heal in time, but taken together, with the blows to the head and the chemicals in his bloodstream - yes, I'm very concerned."

"What is the prognosis?"

"Well the difficulty is that with a serious head injury, shock and these unknown chemicals - I daren't administer any sedatives or even painkillers, and when he wakes up, he's going to be in a great deal of pain." He paused, unhappily thoughtful.

"It'll come down to whether the lieutenant has the reserves and desire to come through."

"I'm sure if Malcolm has survived to escape and return to Enterprise - he will continue to fight on."

"I hope so. Anyway I'll let the captain know as soon as Malcolm wakes up."

T'Pol paused in front of the open doors as something struck her.

"Doctor, is it not a human custom to place cards or mementoes for a sick person? I saw no such objects."

Phlox gave a wry smile.

"Your observation is correct Sub commander. In fact I have cards and some chocolates from the Armoury Division." He paused, choosing his words.

"The bridge crew no doubt have less time to spare. I'm sure they will visit when they can."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow at this comment, nodded to Phlox, and left.

She recalled Phlox's message in the mess hall at lunchtime the following day and queried Trip.

"We-ell," he shifted uncomfortably.

"Cap'n said it weren't necessary." He didn't meet her eyes. He knew without looking that T'Pol was frowning.

"Look. It ain't like he's even woken up yet."

T'Pol decided not to press him further but she still wore a frown when she finished her meal.

In sickbay she established with the nurse on duty that Reed's condition remained the same. She read the Armoury 'get well' card. The sentiments expressed were of pride and support. There were also a few books and candies that other visitors had presumably left.

Archer was reading in his cabin when the door chime sounded.

"Come in."

"Take a seat," he offered, seeing T'Pol.

"What can I do for you?"

"I have come to enquire why no bridge crew have visited Lieutenant Reed."

"As I understand it, Lieutenant Reed is still unconscious?"

"That is the case. Nonetheless I am curious, it seems out of character."

"Well," he exhaled sharply.

"I think until people know the full story, they're a bit hesitant."

"The full story . . .?"

"Well – after what the First Minister was implying, there's, well, a distance."

"Captain, my understanding was that the First Minister was merely speculating. There is much doubt surrounding Lieutenant Reed's escape. Is there not a human saying concerning the benefit of the doubt?"

Archer looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"I can't tell people what to feel, Sub commander."

"No. But you can set an example of how to behave."

"I have to think of our diplomatic relations with the Aliaans."

"I see. Of course. Goodnight Captain."

"Goodnight."

On impulse, T'Pol found herself punching in the floor for Sickbay into the turbolift controls. She reflected on the illogical nature of the crews' reactions. They were clearly unhappy with their own behaviour. Conscience would hopefully prick them into action before Lieutenant Reed became aware of their neglect and hard feeling.

Sickbay seemed expectant as T'Pol entered. She gathered from the nurse that Lieutenant Reed had awoken and was being examined by Doctor Phlox.

When the doctor emerged he handed a couple of vials of blood to the nurse, dictated some notes, and then turned to her with a smile.

"He's awake." She found herself smiling back without knowing why.

"How is he?"

"Seems oriented and pretty coherent – all encouraging. You can see for yourself if you like. Although he'll be asleep again any minute."

Despite the dimmed light in the curtained-off bay, she could see Lieutenant Reed's eyes were open. She sat down.

"Hello Malcolm. It's good to see you awake." A slight smile cracked his lips.

"Hello T'Pol. You're a fine sight for sore eyes." She smiled at the light-hearted reference to his black eyes.

"And you're a sore sight, Lieutenant," she returned. "How do you feel?"

He exhaled deeply. "Pretty numb at the moment. Just glad to be safe. I'm sure I'll feel plenty sore soon enough." He yawned and his eyes began to close. "See you later?" He whispered.

"I will see you tomorrow Malcolm."

As she watched him fall asleep – her eyes took in his visible injuries. Both hands were bandaged. His bare arms were covered in bruises as was his face. Enquiring of Doctor Phlox, he responded,

"Both hands are very badly burned. They'll heal well but it'll be agony for a while. A broken bone in his left leg, fractured ribs, severe skull fracture and severe bruising all over really."

"Do you believe what the First Minister was implying could be true?"

"That Malcolm collaborated? Gave away vital intelligence? No! I don't." He was firm.

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't be sure, but why would his injuries be so bad if he was talking? I know it's impossible to know how anyone would cope with torture. But Malcolm has a great deal of determination and pride and," he paused, "he hasn't given me any impression that he may not have held out. But," he added hurriedly, "as his doctor 'a' anything he tells me is confidential and 'b' I will give him the best possible treatment regardless."

"I would expect no less Doctor. I will return as soon as my duties permit."

"Thank you T'Pol. I know your visits will be very welcome and will help his recovery."

Mulling over what could be read into the doctor's last comment as she entered her quarters, T'Pol was slightly surprised to realise that hardly any of her time had been spent here - having chosen to meditate, as far as possible, whilst at the lieutenant's bedside in Sickbay.

A message waited at her console from Trip. It was an invitation to meet up for a game of pinochle after shift. Without too much regret, and hoping he would follow suit, she replied that she planned to return to Sickbay in that period to check on her colleague's condition.

Returning to Sickbay after meditation the next day, she remembered to ask Phlox about the Lieutenant's recovery. Her studies of human behaviour did not contain comparable data and she was unsure how Reed would react and behave when he regained consciousness - and what he would need. Phlox seemed happy to explain.

"Well without going into private detail, he's received nasty physical injuries - the process of receiving them must have been traumatic and distressing. That can be difficult to shake off." T'Pol must have betrayed her mystification.

"Well human beings are complex, but they live happily oblivious to the nightmare experiences that life, especially in Starfleet, can throw at them. That 'blissful ignorance' if you like, has been taken away for Mister Reed - that can take some getting used to."

"I see."

"Then, also, we do not know what other experiences the Lieutenant may have had. Mental, emotional disturbances - we'll just have to 'play it by ear' as the humans say."

"Indeed."

"T'Pol?" She paused and turned to face the Denobulan.

"Whatever happens - there's no doubt Malcolm will need a friend in the crew - someone he can talk to - who won't pass judgement. At the moment I think you're the only person I can count on - apart from his subordinates in the Armoury."

"I understand Doctor. I will do all I can to help Mister Reed."

"Why do the Armoury crew not avoid him as the others seem to?"

"I think that in security, they're all trained to deal with this type of thing. They know how ugly it can be - I think their empathy and sympathy are at least as strong as any other feelings they might have. They know that no-one's invulnerable and everyone has a breaking point."

Ensign Cueto was leaving Sickbay as T'Pol entered.

"Are you here to see Lieutenant Reed?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Good." He paused, changing his mind about what to say, she intuited.

"It's times like this that you find out who your friends are."

The Vulcan absorbed that comment thoughtfully, but made no answer.

Phlox was not around, the outer office empty. Entering Lieutenant Reed's chamber she realised Phlox and a nurse, were changing a dressing - or preparing to.

"Wait." Reed's cracked voice haltered her.

"You don't have to go - unless you want to, that is." She approached so he didn't have to strain his voice.

"What I mean is," he whispered, "I could use the distraction. Although I warn you there might be swearing and there will be clenching of teeth." He ghosted a smile - but no amount of forced lightness could disguise that he was, if anything, paler and more drawn that when she saw him last.

"I would be happy to keep you company Lieutenant."

"Thanks." He settled against pillows on the raised bed.

"How are you?" He enquired politely. She smiled, as Phlox and his colleagues began with tweezers to undo the sterile bandages on his hands.

"I am well, thank you Malcolm. I believe you may be able to assist me regarding last night's movie." His eyes were tightly closed, face turned away from where bloody bandages revealed raw flesh and swollen misshapen digits. He forced them open as he managed to respond weakly.

"Oh, yeah?"

"The thieves used an explosive called SemTex and a safe filled with water to open the door - what properties of this explosive made it suitable?" Reed explained gratefully, in between winces as fresh ointment spray was applied with clean dressings.

After a sharp intake of breath as the final bandage was pressed into place on this feet, Malcolm let out a weary sigh. He blinked.

"Sorry, T'Pol - I missed that - what did you say?"

"It is not important. I will let you get some rest now. Is there anything you need?"

"Apart from painkillers and a large whisky - no - I'm good thanks."

"Goodnight Lieutenant Reed."

"Bye T'Pol."

T'Pol was so busy with data from the diplomatic exchanges and prison information and enquiries that she was unable to visit Sickbay, but messaged Phlox to pass her apologies to Lieutenant Reed.

When Archer at last left her in peace and she was able to complete her tasks, she evaded Trip who was again pressing her to join him and a group of crewmen in a card game. She hoped that eventually curiosity or guilt might persuade Trip to visit his friend. She wondered if he might be feeling responsible since his vote had swayed the decision to reduce security on the landing party. She would have to find a way to bring it up with him.

She found herself looking forward to Reed's straightforward attitude – despite the confusion and hurt he must be feeling (she knew by now that Trip, Archer or Hoshi's lack of interest must have been noticed) he was somehow easier to talk to about hard subjects than Trip.

Phlox welcomed her with a cheery smile as always – but she could now read the nuances of his expression. She saw fine lines of strain that said all was not well.

"Are you alright Doctor?"

He smiled, genuinely.

"I'm alright, thank you Sub Commander. I just can't help feeling for Mister Reed – I wish I could give him some medication to help but I simply can't risk it yet."

"It must be difficult for you Doctor – faced with the problem all day – I'm sure Malcolm understands that your hands are tied." Phlox smiled broadly at T'Pol's accidentally tactless remark – she smiled sheepishly back on realising.

"He's worse - now. I'm afraid." Phlox regretted being the bearer of bad tidings – he was wondering if T'Pol was becoming more than professionally interested in the lieutenant.

"If he can hang in there for another 20 hours – the concentration of agents in his blood will have fallen enough for the intervention of some painkillers." T'Pol nodded.

"What should I do?"

"Oh just what you are doing – be there for him. Listen or just talk and don't worry if he doesn't seem to be listening. Actually," he hesitated as a thought struck him, "if you can manage it, Humans often find touch very soothing. . ."

"I will bear it in mind Doctor, thank you."

She was glad Phlox had prepared her somewhat. Reed was deathly pale and there was a smell of vomit in the air. She could see he was perspiring and restless.

Making use of a cloth and bowl of water on the bedside table, she gently dabbed Reed's face and exposed torso with the cold water. His eyes flickered open.

"Hello," he whispered, weakly.

"Hello," she responded simply, not stopping.

"You look beautiful."

"Please. Don't stop. I'm sorry – it just slipped out. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

There was a note of stress in his voice that she had not heard before. She carried on cooling his fevered skin.

"There is no need to apologise, Malcolm – thank you for the compliment. I'm sorry I was not able to visit yesterday."

He swallowed, painfully, she saw.

"Hey that's ok – I'm just glad to see you agai-," his voice choked off as a spasm of pain clenched his jaw. Fresh beads of sweat appeared. After a few minutes his face relaxed again. She wiped his brow, rinsed the cloth and draped its damp coolness across his neck and shoulders. His eyes opened, clouded with pain. After a while his breathing eased enough for him to talk.

"T'Pol I didn't tell them anything. I'm sure of it."

"Lieutenant, I believe you, I have found only evidence corroborating what you have said."

"You believe me?" His eyes desperately searched to find the truth in her face.

"I do Malcolm. Please try to relax. Would you like some water?" He sank back into his pillows, shaking his head.

"It shouldn't matter, damnit. I know what happened. But it still feels better if I think that you believe I didn't betray anyone."

"Then rest easy Lieutenant."

For the next few hours she reviewed reports and completed paperwork. Occasionally Reed would shiver violently, the biobed showed rising temperature and heart rate. By evening, when she had to leave, he was too feverish to notice.

Phlox was accustomed to occasionally being helpless to reduce the suffering of his patients, but it didn't make it any easier to watch them in pain. He had vials and hyposprays lined up to administer as soon as the half-hourly checks on samples of blood showed that Reed could safely tolerate medication. That point was still hours away at current rates. They had found nothing to speed up the breakdown of drugs in his system either. The potent combination of neuro-toxins and stimulants was lingering dangerously.

What Phlox had been unable to yet share with anyone not directly involved in patient care were other injuries and assaults the lieutenant had evidently suffered. Every time he thought of this first medical examination of the lieutenant he winced inwardly. As well as the external injuries, he'd found evidence of rape; at least four different DNA types of semen. Plus traces of blood and matter on his body and clothing that were also foreign. Fortunately he was too busy to speculate much on how they could have got there. He did not share these discoveries with anyone.

Phlox asked Captain Archer if he or anyone else from the bridge crew could spend even a few minutes with Reed as it would be beneficial for his patient, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The senior crew clearly believed that Lt Reed had put them in danger and were too busy working to mitigate that danger to be diverted - even if they could be persuaded to recall their old bonds of friendship.

In the meantime Reed grow slowly but steadily worse. He was conscious, only sleeping for short periods when exhaustion overcame his agonising injuries. Awake his body shook from head to toe as feverish chills and muscle cramps took turns.

When T'Pol could free herself from her mounting workload, wondering if Trip and Archer's queries were a deliberate ploy to minimise the time she could spend with Reed, she paused in her cabin only long enough to collect her calligraphy brush and Vulcan military memo pad. If Reed was not awake she could at least leave him a handwritten note.

In sickbay Phlox assured her that toxin levels in Reed's blood would be sufficiently low within the hour and the worst would soon be over. Encouraged, she took her customary place at his bedside.

Barely conscious, somehow the lieutenant sensed her presence and tilted his head towards her. His face was a taut mask of pain, his eyes looked almost drugged. Recollecting Phlox's suggestion, and with mental shields in place, she reached out and gently ran her hand over the soft spikes of his shaved hair. Gradually, slowly, his eyelids drooped. She kept the touch regular, soothing him into a doze. When the doctor returned an hour later with his hypospray, she hadn't felt the time pass.

T'Pol detected his relief as Phlox was able to safely administer a moderate dose of painkiller. Almost instantly Reed fell into a deeper, more natural sleep.

T'Pol was feeling distinctly unhappy with the behaviour of the other bridge crew members. She tried to speak to Ensigns Sato and Mayweather about why they should logically at least give Lieutenant Reed the benefit of the doubt, or visit him out of sympathy. Surely they didn't imagine they could have withstood such torture? This argument especially simply brought looks that plainly said they didn't see how anyone could - even the Armoury Officer.

More than ever though, she was convinced it was guilt, an emotion, ruling their behaviour. After all, she recalled, both Hoshi and Travis had volunteered to help set up the refugee camp - but Malcolm had insisted he had the more appropriate all round skills and should take the shuttle berth. She was sure; looking back, that he had been so insistent because he felt the mission was more dangerous than the Captain's assessment.

She resolved to persevere with these more junior crewmen especially. For their sakes as well as for Malcolm's.

After a heated, on his side, debate with his second-in-command, Archer found himself charging through the ship's night time corridors on a mission. To sickbay. To finally find out Reed's story, or his version anyway.

Entering sickbay, he was relieved to find it deserted. Phlox must have gone to the mess-hall. Swiftly activating the opaque force field 'door' which gave privacy to certain biobeds, he strode directly to Reed's bedside and studied the sleeping crewman.

He hadn't paid a huge amount of attention while piloting, to the first aid administered in the back of the shuttle and Reed had been immediately whisked off to Medical on landing. Seeing the face with cropped hair, he felt a pang of empathy at the mistreated and vulnerable state of his officer.

Quickly he tapped the unbandaged arm away from him a few times - until Reed stirred and forced his sleepy eyes to open and focus.

"Captain?" he sounded pleased.

"Malcolm," acknowledgment.

"I'm here on business. I need to know a bit more detail of what the Aliaans would have learned from you," impersonal.

"What the Aliaans would have learned?" Reed was still half-asleep.

"Nothing. I didn't tell them anything except," he yawned, "name, rank and number."

"I'm afraid I have to be sure of that Lieutenant."

"Sure? I don't understand." Keeping his bandaged hands carefully off the sheets he shifted up slightly.

"Come on Malcolm." Archer leaned over him, "Do you think I can believe that fantasy - I've seen what they did to you."

"You've seen-? What! What are you-? I told them nothing." Reed was more alert now, edgy at Archer's uncharacteristic tone.

"What did you tell them? I understand that you were under duress Lieutenant, but you've got to be honest for Enterprise's sake. People will understand. Your record won't suffer, I'll see to it. If you tell me the truth. Now. What did you tell the Aliaans?"

"Malcolm Reed. Lieutenant. ENT524301." He stared defiantly at Archer, breathing faster as adrenalin mustered a familiar response to the aggressive tone.

"That's not good enough, I'm afraid, Lieutenant. T'Pol may be prepared to accept whatever little 'hero' story you've spun for her - but I have a responsibility to this ship to know for real the danger we're in."

He seized Reed's bandaged hands and gripped them tightly. Reed cried out in pain immediately and tried to twist away.

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" Archer tightened his hold relentlessly, blood began to soak through the dressings and Reed started to sweat.

"What did you tell them!" Archer shouted.

"Malcolm Reed! Lieutenant! ENT524301!" Suddenly Reed twisted his hands convulsively out of Archer's grasp - at the same time kicking out - he caught Jonathon across the face with a well-aimed bare foot. As the Captain stumbled against the wall Reed slapped at a call button on the wall and stood, bloodied hands raised defensively, on the other side of the biobed.

"What are you doing Captain?" He ground out. "What is this?"

"My job," stated Archer as he left, wiping blood from his nose. "My job."

Adrenalin began to desert him, leaving him shaking helplessly in its aftermath. He rapidly sat down against the wall before he fell down. When Phlox burst in, Reed had his eyes closed, head tilted back, hands resting, palms up, on his thighs, trying to bring his breathing under control. Phlox let out a Denobulan curse.

"What happened?" As he was helped to the bed, Reed responded hoarsely, "Captain Archer paid a visit - he insisted on shaking hands," And began to laugh, which turned into dry sobs briefly before he regained control.

Phlox was shaking his head as he sprayed topical anaesthetic and antiseptic.

"I'm so sorry Lieutenant. I had no idea-" he trailed off, too appalled.

"Me neither," Reed murmured tiredly. "Me neither."

Absently, T'Pol smoothed away strands of sweat-soaked hair from the Lieutenant's pale brow as she contemplated the Captain's attack. Caught on sickbay's video screen, designed to let doctors monitor patients unobtrusively, Archer had manifestly tried to intimidate, cajole and ultimately force some kind of confession from the Armoury Officer. Even for 'irrational' humans, she felt this broke some kind of behavioural code.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realise that Reed had come to until he whispered softly.

"Hey. If I'd known I'd get this treatment, I'd have insisted the Captain say 'hi' earlier."

Amazed at his light heartedness, she replied,

"There are easier ways to obtain it I'm sure Lieutenant." She met his eyes and he smiled.

"I'll just try asking in future then."

"Why not?" For a moment she felt a strange connection pass between them. The feeling reinforced her decision. To take his mind off the current situation, she decided now was as good as any time to put her proposal forward.

"On the topic of asking Lieutenant. I would like to ask for a favour from you." Voice activating the biobed's controls, he raised himself to a more comfortable sitting position.

"Intriguing, sub commander. Do continue." She sensed that he did indeed welcome the diversion, a distraction from his current problems.

"Have you ever heard of the Vulcan Pon Farr?" He frowned in thought.

"I think so, Hoshi told me about it from the database. Something like a hormone driven mating ritual?"

"In essence yes. Vulcans, male and female, are compelled by hormones to seek out a mate and procreate once every seven years. Indeed for females conception must take place-or else the hormones cause the female to eventually die." Reed's eyebrows went up.

"It cannot be put off or avoided by medicine or meditation. Most Vulcans are 'joined' to a compatible partner at a young age to facilitate future Pon Farr."

"Is this 'joining' like a betrothal?"

"It is a formal ceremony of telepathic pairing, but it has no legal status, it is simply for safety and convenience. My partner unfortunately died in adolescence and has never been replaced. Malcolm. My Pon Farr is due in a few months' time. I can ask to return to Vulcan, and by leaving Enterprise soon, arrive in time to find a suitable mate. Or there is an alternative."

"Order a Vulcan gigolo delivered?" he asked, mischievously.

She raised an eyebrow and matched his smile, realising he was flirting with her deliberately.

"No, that would be unfeasible. Doctor Phlox has assured me that Vulcan and Human physiology are compatible." Suddenly Reed looked completely serious as she continued.

"It is possible that I could choose to mate with someone on board."

"And have you decided . . . " another pause.

"I would like to remain on board and continue in my posting if this option is viable."

"But pregnancy . . ." he began thoughtfully.

"I do not plan to bear children on duty Lieutenant." Reed looked up sharply - realised that despite her usual poker face that she was teasing and responded,

"Well that's good - I don't think our shift have much hands-on experience with gynaecology - and we're a bit light on crèches." As his voice tailed off, her smile faded. The 'hands' comment was clearly registering and calling back negative emotions. Quickly she continued.

"Malcolm, would you consider joining with me for my Pon Farr?" Jolted, surprised, he stared at her open-mouthed.

"Me? Why? I mean I'd be honoured, but, are you sure?"

"Yes, I have considered this for some time. The 'joining' and Pon Farr are naturally intimate experiences, I will explain all aspects in detail before I will truly ask for your decision. I cannot imagine-" she paused, "trusting anyone else on board in this way. I find you very honest and easy to communicate with, also," again a pause to find the best word, "I find a certain ease in and desire for your company that I cannot explain, but I do not find it with anybody else on board." He blinked a few times, processing.

"I . . .I don't know what to say - except, yes. I'd be delighted . . .if my head injury isn't causing me to hallucinate all this." There were a few moments of quiet.

"T'Pol?"

"Hmm?"

"You do know that I'm attracted to you don't you? That regardless of the Pon Farr, I would like to ask you to consider a relationship . . . don't you?" She nodded slowly.

"I was beginning to realise this, yes, Malcolm. I'm not sure how or if the Pon Farr will help or hinder such a relationship, but I have no objection." Involuntarily he gripped the bedsheets.

"Ow! Stupid, bloody idiot!" He hissed with pain, then continued regardless.

"Hang on, hang on. T'Pol, are you saying you will, I mean we can . . . you'll go on a 'date' with me?" She nodded.

"Yes I am saying that."

"Woo-hoo!" He grinned for the first time.

"Sorry," he sobered his expression briefly, "I'm going to go all childish for a while," then grinned massively again. His happiness was infectious, and she found herself mirroring his expression.

The lights were dimmed when he walked into the briefing room, as if for a presentation. But it wasn't until his sixth sense heard the almost imperceptible change in tone that engaging the electronic door locks made that he felt a twinge of unease. The senior staff who had been so scarce the past couple of weeks were all gathered; Hoshi, Trip, Mayweather and Archer, on his feet, pulling back a chair and gesturing for Reed to sit.

He did so, recognising the ambush and automatically buying time. He couldn't override the door lock in time, even assuming he dared make a break for it. He felt like a stranger at his own funeral. Archer produced an optical data diskette.

"This was sent to us courtesy of your friends in Naaila prison. A little home movie I think." Reed felt his mouth go dry and was glad he was sitting down. Archer didn't require a reply.

"We're all going to watch it together. Except T'Pol. She seems to have suddenly taken quite a shine to you. I wouldn't want to ruin it for you." Was he jealous? Malcolm began to wonder, as well as insane! He tried to moisten suddenly dry lips and hoped his voice wouldn't tremble.

"Is it genuine?"

"Computer analysis does suggest a pure, virgin, recording, no image tampering was detected. The source was genuine. Oh - we haven't watched it yet. We were waiting for the star of the show." He nodded to Trip and the screen came on as the disk was loaded.

Hoshi sitting nervously near Malcolm, saw him pass a hand across his lips, then lace his hands together on the tabletop. In the dim light she could see his knuckles were clenched white. She too felt frightened, at the prospect of watching her friend's betrayal, as Archer had termed it, not to mention torture. She wished she hadn't been ordered to attend. As the image of a bare cell resolved on the screen, Reed's fragile self-control broke. He stood up.

"I don't need to see this!"

"You will witness it with us." He stared at Archer, at all of them in disbelief.

"Have you all gone mad? I was there! It happened to me! I didn't betray anyone! I don't need to see you humiliate yourselves like this. Why won't you believe me at all?" Biting off the words.

"Sit!" Reed swallowed, gazed around helplessly and sat down heavily as if his legs could no longer support him.

"I don't want to see this," he whispered. "Let me go. Please."

In the flickering light of the video, Travis saw Archer seat himself at Reed's side, to make sure he didn't turn away.

"Watch." He commanded.

When the disk finished playing, there was absolute silence for a long while. Finally Archer dared turn and look at Reed. He was white, dry-eyed, but trembling minutely. Without a word, without looking round, he pushed himself slowly, stiffly, to his feet.

Anticipating, Archer hurried to enter the code and unlock the door. Reed simply walked, slowly, out of the room. Open-mouthed, Archer turned to face the equally shocked expressions of his senior crew. Shame burned in each of them. Travis looked as though he would be sick, Hoshi was weeping silently, had been, he realised subconsciously for the last hour, as they had witnessed Malcolm, screaming, weeping and begging in agony, give away nothing to his captors.

Recollecting himself, and determined to start behaving as he should, Archer turned and caught up with Reed down the corridor. He was walking slowly but steadily. Clearly in a state of shock, he didn't give any sign that he heard as Archer spoke to him. Realising that he wasn't getting through, Archer followed ready to catch him if necessary as he looked so faint. Reed walked to his cabin, palmed the door entry and went inside.

Archer comm'ed T'Pol.

"T'Pol here."

"Can you come to Lieutenant Reed's cabin immediately?"

"On my way. What is it?"

"I'll tell you when you get here." He stood at a loss, sickened at himself for the way he'd behaved. Disgusted that he'd failed Reed so badly. When T'Pol hurried up, he could hardly look her in the eyes, but came clean about what had just taken place.

"He needs you. Go in."

The cabin lights had not been triggered, only dim starlight illumination showed her Malcolm's still figure, sitting on the edge of his bunk. Quietly seating herself beside him, she waited. He was staring vacantly into space. She could hear his tense breathing loud in the small room.

Slowly, he moved his hand to where hers was resting. Without any other movement, he was suddenly gripping it firmly. His palm was ice cold. With her free hand she manoeuvred the blanket from the bed and draped it around him as best she could. Without breaking his hold on her hand, she gently touched his chin and turned his face towards her. Tears were running freely down his face. Suddenly he seemed to crumple, his whole weight helplessly resting on her as she held him, his body shuddering with the force of pent up sobs.

For a long time she supported him, rocking him and resting a hand on his neck. She felt his bared teeth biting into the shoulder of her uniform, hand clenching its fabric like a drowning man.

Some time later, half-dozing, she dimly recognised the vibration of the busy corridor outside at shift change. Gently she unlocked Reed's arm from her neck. He was not asleep, but unmoving, dead weight; totally exhausted. His eyes never left her as she gently laid him down and laid beside him under the blanket.

Stroking his short hair, thinking he'd never looked more courageous than now, utterly empty, trusting in her to see him so lost and to be with him, to be his strength. Understanding that she had telepathically 'read' him throughout. She watched his blue eyes as he slowly fell asleep. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, she watched his face relax and listened to his breathing become deep and even, until she fell asleep.

She woke when she felt Reed stir slightly. Looking over her shoulder at the chronometer, she saw they had slept over twelve hours. Focusing on her partner's face as his eyes blinked open. He still looked wiped-out. Moving her hand to massage his shoulders, she felt a surprising tension in his muscles. He loosened a little at her touch, lifted his hand to smooth back her hair and gave a deep sigh.

"How are you feeling Malcolm?" He tried to smile but got nowhere as his lips began to tremble. She continued her touches, meaning the tenderness and intimacy for him to feel. He reopened his eyes, a line between his brows, his breathing started to rasp in a tightening throat. Shaking his head mutely he began to cry again. As she drew his shaking shoulders in closer, he jumbled out words incoherently between choking sobs.

"Saw it. I saw it all. I remember. Everything. I was so scared." He gripped her tighter. "It hurt," he moaned.

"It hurt so much."

When T'Pol awoke she was careful not to move. Reed's head was pillowed on her shoulder, he was deeply asleep. Staring into the darkness she recalled seeing all his injuries, the contusions, ragged wounds and patches of flayed skin. Watching images of the damage being inflicted must have seemed a waking nightmare. As if each of the injuries were fresh, raw and bloody again. She hoped and hold herself she knew that he had the strength to heal them.

When Malcolm finally awoke, she watched him raise both hands and turn them in front of his eyes. He was, she realised, reminding himself that they were no longer burned and painful. This time he looked more rested, the circles under his eyes were reduced. His eyes seemed much clearer as they turned to watch her.

"Hello." She smiled

"Good evening Lieutenant." He twisted to look at the clock.

"Oh my goodness! We've been in bed for ages." He sounded hoarse but quite calm. He smiled at her, tentatively at first, then with more belief.

"Well that should start some rumours!" He pulled her into a tight, meaningful hug.

"Hell of a first date huh?" He sounded a little nervous.

"I've had worse." Feeling him laugh against her, she kissed his neck and along his jaw, bristly with stubble. By the time she reached his mouth his breathing was deeper, he kissed her back expressively, passionately. Finally, breathlessly, they parted. He lay back, trying to think rationally again. She felt the heat of him against her body.

"I don't know," he panted. "Taking advantage of a sick man. Terrible."

They lay in silence for a while. An unaccustomed feeling of hope was sweeping over him - knowing T'Pol was there - that they had a definite connection - too bad he was lacking the energy to explore it further.

"I'm really hungry," he commented.

"I think that supplies have been airlifted to us."

"Eh?"

"Look."

Following her eyes to the bedside, he saw a thermos flask, cups and a tray of croissants and muffins. A note on the flask read 'Had to drop in on you to make sure all was well. Thought the love-birds would be needing some sustenance. Don't wear him out! Regards, Phlox'.

He chuckled, shaking his head in wonder.

"You know." She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"D'you know - I actually feel lucky, right now," he sounded astonished.

"I am pleased, Malcolm," he turned to her, smiling.

"I am pleased that it's hot chocolate in the thermos, not that insipid tea," she was a deadpan as her Vulcan genes would allow.

"Why you cheeky-. Let's find out if Vulcans are ticklish!"

To passers-by, if any had stopped to listen, the faint sound of laughter behind cabin doors was audible.

"What would you like to do?" she enquired, happy to able to offer him some control of his life once again.

"Well," he considered, "I'm going to enjoy Phlox's goodies, then take a shower and get cleaned up. Then I'll head over to the mess for some real food and then I'll head by sickbay, Phlox must be pining for some more of my blood by now - and to find out if I'm gonna live." He twitched his eyebrows at her. "You?"

"If it is alright with you, I think I will accompany you." He met her eyes and said, huskily, "Oh it's more than alright T'Pol. And thank you for last night, and everything. Being here."

"It was my pleasure," she answered, simply.

Emerging from the bathroom in a towel he sat heavily on the bed and leaned over. T'Pol came over instantly.

"Malcolm. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just a bit light-headed. Too long on my feet and not enough calories."

"I can bring some food back here?"

"No, that's ok. Give me a minute. I'll be ok."

Helping him dress so he didn't have to stand too long - she observed how underweight he was, and how fresh the healing scars looked. Catching her gaze - he glanced down at himself then back at her. He shrugged.

"I'm sorry Malcolm-" he cut her off - not about to give in to self-pity;

"What? You don't think a few scars make me even more rugged and handsome?" She smiled again, matching his resilient attitude.

"As long as they don't impair performance." He bit his lip, and she was inwardly delighted to see his pale cheeks blush.

"Now comments like that aren't doing my blood pressure a bit of good!" he managed as he pulled a sweater over his bare chest. He stood, slowly, carefully, then reached out for her.

"Come on cheeky minx, let's go feed me up then." With her arm around his waist to support him, they left. She found herself very much enjoying the odd glances, nudges and whispers as they passed crew. From his bright eyes, she could see Malcolm did too.

The crew knew, by word-of-mouth, that Lieutenant Reed had not passed on any classified information, and although no one interrupted their meal, there were smiles and nods as they passed - she felt the quietly positive reception doing Reed good.

Over the next few days Reed was able to move and stand for longer as his sore muscles and deeper injuries continued to heal well. His appetite was steady and he made good progress.

T'Pol made no demands on the lieutenant, but was pleased when he sought her out during breaks in her shift to sit for meals with her. He read in her cabin while she wrote reports but he did not stay overnight. By unspoken agreement they both felt the time was not right, would not be right, until Reed had made a full physical recovery.

Her only cause for concern was that Reed politely but firmly avoided the bridge crew, well Travis, Hoshi or Archer - excusing himself if they tried to talk to him and ignoring their invitations. She could not feel that he harboured anger towards them exactly, but she could see that he was upset and did not feel ready to accept and come to terms with their behaviour yet.

Trip, significantly, ignored Reed completely, which made her more uneasy. It was unlike the southerner to be so cold and distant.

Leaving T'Pol's cabin early in the evening, Reed came face to face with Tucker. The engineer looked at him, the cabin he'd come from, and make no effort to get out of the way.

"Leaving so early, Lieutenant? Finished already are you?" Ignoring him, Malcolm stepped to one side to pass by, but found Trip side-stepped to block him again.

"I'm talking to you!"

T'Pol caught the sound of the confrontation in the deserted corridor and activated the entry screen from inside to see what was going on. Reed made no answer. Trip smiled nastily.

"Can't speak? I know why you're out here, " he slurred, "can't get it up can you? Shouldn't waste a beauty like that on a cripple anyway. It ain't fair. Damaged goods ain't you? I saw."

T'Pol gasped in astonishment. How could Trip be so hurtful? He was deliberately goading Malcolm, and watching Tucker sway, she guessed some alcohol was providing the courage. Reed's hands clenched in fists at his sides. He was in profile to the entry camera, his face set strongly.

Trip continued into the silence.

"You got it up for that Aliaan chick didn't you though? And I bet you enjoyed that - looked like it. You like it rough don't you? I bet that's why you hit on her, she's strong enough, T'Pol, ain't she?" Disappointed that Reed wasn't going to give him the fight he wanted, he stumbled past. Reed stood still.

"Shame she can't give it to you like those others did though ain't it. Cause that's what you like. Fucking damaged goods." He stumbled around the corner, out of sight.

T'Pol saw Reed close his eyes and heard him exhale tensely. "Bastard," he whispered to himself. "Jealous little prick." Before he could walk away T'Pol opened the door, stood back inside the dark room. Reed hesitated for a long moment, thinking, then entered. As the door hissed closed he felt her arms around him and he relaxed gratefully into her embrace.

After a long period of wordless comfort, Reed stepped away and drew her across the room to sit beside him on the bed.

"He's just jealous - I know," he sighed, "stupid idiot though." He sounded surprisingly calm.

"Mal?" After another long pause, Reed turned to her smiling as it registered that she'd finally called him that.

"You know that I would welcome you spending the night when you feel comfortable doing so?" He nodded.

"Yeah I know." He sighed again.

"There's some stuff I need, I wanted," he amended, "to tell you first. I suppose now's as good a time really."

"I'm sure you know from Phlox that I haven't suffered any permanent injury. Performance shouldn't be impaired," he quirked, copying her expression from days before.

"Do you have concerns though?" He shrugged.

"Sometimes…Yes. But then I see you and I touch you and I've got no worries at all," he paused. "But, well, what Trip said - I need to tell you anyway. In the Aliaan's prison, I was raped - twice. Well more than twice really, but on two occasions, that's what Trip and the others have seen." Shaking her head at this invasion of privacy and Trip's callousness, she unconsciously rested a hand on his knee as he continued steadily.

"The first time I was tied to this table, and a woman came along and started touching me. I did fight it, but, I couldn't help responding. But, I knew I couldn't help it. I told myself straightaway not to play their stupid game and feel guilty or ashamed. After all, I mean how dumb, when you've got people really hurting you left, right and centre to then help them by hurting yourself! So Trip's right. I did just lay there and, well almost, enjoyed it, well failed to hate myself anyway so I count that as a big plus." He was lost in thought for a moment, quietly she leaned over and kissed his cheek, feeling him lean in response. Straightening, he continued.

"The other occasion, I was thrown into a dark room and I felt a load of hands grab me and hit me. Then, I think, I think I counted four men, I don't know for sure. Anyway, they took turns, holding me down and raping me. It was pretty ugly and violent. Not. Nice." She was unsure what to say or do. Reading her mind he looked at her.

"It's ok. Really you don't have to say anything - I know it doesn't matter. To me or to you. But I feel it's better that you know, just in case. I mean the rest of the ship does!" He sighed again. "Crazy." He yawned suddenly; stress still tired him quickly. He stood.

"Do you want to stay Mal?"

"No. No, not tonight. Let's both just sleep on it - and another day. Well, you know, if everything's still ok, maybe." She nodded and squeezed his hand before he left.

Another evening as Tucker passed Reed's cabin, taking another headache to bed, he glanced both ways down the corridor, then pressed his ear to the doors. A few seconds later he recoiled as though burned and hastily removed himself.

Inside, Malcolm's deep groans, gave way to gasps. T'Pol, panting, looked down appreciatively at him. Starlight from the porthole reflected from their smiles.

THE END