Malcolm Reed strode briskly down the corridor, ignoring all the looks he received.  You'd think they never saw a man carrying a tray before, he thought irritably.

He stopped in front of the Captain's quarters.  Although now, technically, they were the Captain and Commander Tucker's quarters.  It was, of course, impossible to keep anything as momentous as the Chief Engineer moving in with the Captain a secret aboard ship. 

Normally, such a move would give rise to any number of salacious rumors.  However, in this case it was generally understood that the Commander was suffering from a severe case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and was not to be left unattended for any great length of time.  Since most of the crew would also prefer not to remain in Sickbay for any extended period (Phlox's pets tended to get noisy), moving the Commander into the Captain's quarters, seemed, well, to quote Subcommander T'Pol, a logical move.

He buzzed the door, waited.  No reply.  He buzzed again.  This time, he could hear Commander Tucker's faint response.

Reed entered.  The Commander was in his bed; apparently, he had been sleeping.

He still slept a great deal.  Reed was not surprised by this, considering what the engineer had been through.  He was struck once again by the monstrous unfairness of it all.  This genuinely decent, genuinely nice, genuinely good man had been subjected to a nightmarish hell of repeated rapes, assaults and humiliations.  And for what purpose?  It made no sense.

Reed sighed slightly.  He still felt a great deal of guilt over the whole affair. When Trip had failed to show up at their pre-arranged meeting site during shore leave, his first reaction was one of irritation.  He had gone ahead and assumed that his friend had forgotten or had been distracted by something else.

If only I'd gone looking for him right then and there.  I might have been able to find him before they did.  Instead, I sat and fumed.  Didn't try to get in touch with him, either.  And I didn't bother to call the Captain until well after nightfall.  Too late then.  I'm so sorry, Trip.

The engineer looked over at him, but was silent.  Reed felt awkward as hell; what could he say to him?  And yet to not speak to him was a cruelty beyond measure.  "I've brought your lunch," he finally managed.

Trip shook his head.  "Not hungry."

Reed was able to smile at this.  "The Captain thought you'd say that."  He took a padd out of his pocket.  Balancing the tray with one hand, he handed the padd to Trip.

Trip sighed, but took the padd, saw the five words on its screen:  Eat.  That's an order.  Archer.  He sighed again.

Reed, still nervous and awkward, placed the tray in his lap, then raised his bed and fussed about him.  He was about to tuck the napkin into Trip's pajama top, but a glare from the Commander stopped him.  "You going to feed me, too?"

"Only if I have to," was Reed's response.

Trip stared.

"Captain's orders," Reed elaborated.  At the look on Trip's face, he went on:  "Seriously.  He said either you eat this yourself, or I feed you."

Trip looked at his lunch without much enthusiasm.  "He really said that?"

"Would I lie about something like that?"  Reed pulled up a chair and sat down.  "He also said I was to stay here and make sue you cleaned your plate.  And drank all your milk.  He told me to tell you that, and I quote: 'Your days of starving yourself are over, Trip'."

Trip sighed.  "Sounds like the Captain, all right."  And he began to eat, but without much enjoyment, while Reed sat and watched.  It took every bit of will power the tactical officer had not to fidget, bite his nails, run a hand through his hair, but to sit quietly instead.

He watched Trip slowly and methodically work his way through the angel hair pasta, chicken and salad Chef had prepared for him.  Finally, Reed couldn't stand the silence any longer.  "How are you?" he asked.

Trip stopped eating and simply looked at him.  Reed felt like ten different varieties of fool, and prayed for a tear in the fabric of space-time to appear and allow him to sink through the floor and out of sight.  The universe, having other things to worry about, failed to cooperate on this, and Reed was left to try and work his way through this on his own.

"Stupid question," he said.  "Forget it."  Trip gave him another look.  "I mean, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?"  He swallowed.  "But I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"On the planet.  I should have come looking for you.  Maybe if I had, I might have found you.  Before ... "

Trip shook his head.  "Wouldn't have made any difference."  He added, "Mal."

"You can't know that."

"And neither can you.  So forget it."

Reed looked at him.  "Really – Trip.  How are you?  We're all worried about you.  I mean, after everything ... "

Trip stopped eating again.  "Who's 'we'?"

"The Captain.  Phlox.  Me.  Hoshi.  Even Subcommander T'Pol, though of course you'd never hear her say so."  He saw the slightly frozen look on his friend's face.  "No one else really knows what happened to you," he added quickly.  "It's none of their business.  But we were helping the Captain get you out of there."  Trip nodded, slowly.

"Hoshi cried, you know," Reed added, apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"When she found out what they were doing to you, she cried.  For hours.  Phlox finally had to give her a sedative.  Really," he said, seeing the look on Trip's face.  "And Subcommander T'Pol?  She worked day and night for a week, getting the information we needed out of the planetary database, breaking the encryption for the bank codes, that sort of thing.  I don't think she slept until you were back on board.  I do know for a fact that she bullied the Vulcan Security Directorate into releasing all their reports on the Tasumi in general, and the Volashas in particular."  He looked at Trip.  "No one thinks what happened to you is funny in any way, shape or form.  Nor is anyone snickering about it, if that's what you think."

Trip had no answer for that.  Instead, he simply looked at his plate.

"It's just that," and Reed sighed, "that we – I – don't quite know what to say to you.  This is something we've never had to deal with before."

At this, Trip managed to raise an eyebrow.  "No kidding."

Reed shook his head.  "Bloody hell," he said.  "I've done it again, haven't I?  Sorry."  He looked at Trip.  "I'd imagine you must be rather sick of hearing that, too."

"It's tough," Trip finally admitted.  "I mean, you're not the only one who feels awkward, you know."

"Listen," said Reed, very seriously, "I can't even begin to imagine what you must have gone through.  And, frankly?  I don't want to even try.  But if you need to talk, I'm here.  Anytime.  I'll listen."

Trip nodded.  "Thanks, Mal.  I appreciate it."

And he began to eat again.  Reed watched, and after a few minutes of silence, asked, "So?  Do you want to talk?"

Trip looked at him.  "Can I finish my lunch first?"

Archer entered his quarters, and was pleasantly surprised to find Trip lying on the couch.  He was covered with a blanket, and Porthos was at his feet, which was of course, usual.  What was unusual was that he was currently playing a game of chess with Reed.

"If you want a real game of strategy – " Trip was saying.

" – I'll stick to chess, thanks," Reed cut him off.

Both looked up at the Captain's entrance.  Reed immediately stood at attention.  "At ease, Lieutenant," Archer said, smiling.  Reed slowly sat back down.  "Who's winning?"

Trip and Reed spoke simultaneously.  "I am."

Archer smiled again.  "I see," he said neutrally, but inwardly, he was pleased to see that Trip was up to bickering with Malcolm, for however long it would last.

Reed still looked uncomfortable, and Archer knew that his tactical officer was still not completely comfortable socializing with his superior officers.  It was a mark of Trip's charm and personality, Archer reflected, that he had managed to strike up a real and lasting friendship with the taciturn Brit.

"I think I'd best go now," Reed said.  He looked at Trip.  "We can pick this up tomorrow.  Don't move any of the pieces."

"I don't need to cheat to beat you," was Trip's retort.

Reed picked up the tray he had brought in, and prepared to leave.  Archer stopped him.  "Just a minute."  He lifted the cover, saw the empty plate and glass.

"He ate it all, sir, " Reed told him.

"Glad to see you're following orders, Commander," Archer said to Trip.

The younger man nodded.  "Yes, sir."

I'll just be glad when I won't have to order to you eat, damn it.  But all he said was, "Very good.  Carry on, Lieutenant."  Reed practically saluted his way out of their quarters.  The Captain carefully smothered a smile and waited until Reed had left.  "He here all afternoon?" he asked Trip.

Trip nodded, then suddenly looked worried.  "You mean, he wasn't supposed to be?  Captain, I – "

Archer held up his hand.  "No, no – it's all right, Trip.  It's his day off, and Malcolm volunteered to stay with you, and make sure you ate."

Trip suddenly looked down at his blanket, blinking hard.  "Every one has been so good to me," he said almost inaudibly. 

"And why shouldn't they be?" Archer asked gently.  "You've got a great many friends aboard this ship who care a great deal about you, Commander."

Trip didn't reply.  Archer went and sat beside him.  "I can't begin to tell you the number of times I've been asked – by just about everyone onboard – how you are, if there's anything you need, if there's anything they can do."

Trip's eyes were bright with tears.

"I don't know if you realize this, because you're usually sleeping, but Hoshi comes by to check on you on her break," Archer continued.  "Chef's been spending all of his spare time thinking up new recipes to try and tempt you to eat  Hell, even T'Pol spends most of her time researching various ways to help you out, and bending both Phlox's and my ears with her results.  Mind you, I think she'd rather die than admit she's worried about you.  Travis asks about you constantly, and got all his relatives to look out for your kidnappers.  I could go on and on, but I think you get the point."

Trip was still silent.  But the tears were flowing freely now.

One part of Archer rejoiced to see them; it meant that the walls Trip had erected around his feelings were starting to crumble.  On the other hand, it was heartbreaking to see this strong, confident young man reduced to this.  He remembered Phlox telling him that Trip was going to have to be put back together, one piece at a time.  And he knew, difficult as it was to watch, that this was the start of that process.

He put a gentle arm about Trip's shoulders.  "I'm sorry," his friend managed.

"Don't apologize," Archer told him.  "Let it out, Trip.  You've been keeping all of this inside you for far, far too long."

Trip trembled, and Archer drew him into a reassuring hug.  "Go on.  It's all right.  I won't think any less of you.  I told you I thought you were one brave son of a bitch, and I meant it.  You are brave.  You kept yourself held together when a lot of people wouldn't be able to.  But there's another kind of bravery, Trip.  The bravery to confront these feelings.  And you've got that kind within you, too.  I know you, Trip, and I know you do.  So go ahead.  Let it out.  It's time."

And Trip capitulated.  He began to cry; deep, wrenching sobs that shook his slender frame.  Archer's shoulder was soon wet with his friend's tears, but he continued to hold him, offering himself as the life preserver that Trip was in such desperate need of right now.

"That's right," he kept repeating.  "It's going to be all right.  You're going to get through this."

And he thought that for the first time in what seemed like forever, he might actually be speaking the truth.

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