Archer blinked once, and then, as was his usual habit, was wide awake.  He looked around.  He was still in Trip's bed, and the younger man was curled up against him, his blond head resting on the Captain's chest.  He was asleep; his lashes lay cleanly against his cheeks, but Archer could still observe the tracks of tears on his face.  Seeing this, he sighed, and shifted very slightly.

Trip sighed in turn, and murmured, but did not waken.  Archer decided not to disturb him by getting up.  He told himself that Trip needed all the rest he could get.  He slipped his arm under Trip's shoulders.  Trip mumbled something, then snuggled closer to his captain.  His hair tumbled over his forehead, and Archer raised his other hand, gently smoothed it back. 

As he did so, he noted once again the dark circles under Trip's eyes, the pallor of his skin, and the sunken hollows of his cheeks.  And the frightening thing was that Trip's appearance had improved since he had been brought back aboard Enterprise.  Bastards, he thought, referring to the Volashas.  He wondered how they could have kept Trip under their roof all that time, apparently as a great favorite, and not notice his deterioration.  Talk about willful blindness.

With a slight start, he realized that he had been absently stroking Trip's shoulders and back as he had been thinking.  He should really stop, he supposed.  But it seemed to be helping Trip to relax.  And damn if it didn't seem to be relaxing him, too.  The younger man sighed again, but did not waken. 

What the hell is going on here? He asked himself.  He'd never avoided looking facts in the face before, and this was not the time to start.

All right.  So.  What about Trip?

Trip.

It was safe to say that he'd like Trip from the moment they'd first met.  He still smiled at the memory of that indignant southern drawl, seeming to come out of thin air.  "There's nothing wrong with that engine!"  And Trip had been right.  It's was Trip's instincts that had lead him to isolate the problems in the fuel mix.  And it was Trip, the one-man flight crew, that made the subsequent piracy he and A.J. had carried out possible.

They'd spent a lot of time together after that, hadn't they?  From survival training at Alice Springs (where Trip had bitched and moaned every step of the way, but had been one of the few still left standing at its conclusion) to coral diving off the Florida Keys to deep space training at Jupiter Station, Trip was always there, always the point to his counterpoint, always dependable, always reliable, always ready to provide him with companionship, advice and laughter.

And in the years following all of that.  All that time, working side-by-side, getting Enterprise ready.  It was this man sleeping beside him who had taken Henry Archer's basic concepts and turned them into a working reality.  Trip was the mind behind many of Enterprise's designs, although this was not something many knew.

He'd taken it all for granted.  He hadn't realize how much it meant to him to have Trip by his side until the engineer went missing.  Trip's disappearance during shore leave had turned what had been a pleasant holiday up to then into a nightmare of fear and distress.  He'd haunted the hospitals, and could still remember with perfect clarity the horrible sinking of his heart when he had been called on to identify a body found on the beach, and the indescribable relief that had followed when it had turned out that it was not Trip, but not even human.  And then patient weeks of work, tracking his trail across half a dozen systems, until finding him on Tasumi. 

Somehow, Trip had managed to survive the abuse he had suffered there, although Archer still didn't know how.  Even more astonishing, it seemed that Trip had already come to terms with what Archer had been forced to do to him.  Witness him peacefully sleeping in the arms of the man who had put him on display for the amusement of his tormentors.

And now, Archer mused, he had his friend back.  Naturally, he was relieved.  But this relieved?  The truth was, the thought of trying to go on without Trip in his life was an intolerable one.  And what exactly did that mean?

Trip was his best friend.  Naturally, it's a relief to get his best friend back.  Yes, it would be so very easy to leave it at that, wouldn't it?  Except that wasn't precisely and completely true anymore, was it?

But, a small voice protested, I'm not gay.  He'd always been attracted to women.  Still was.  Perhaps.  But this had very little to do with a base attraction, did it?  No.  It was something far more dangerous than that. 

Somehow, somewhere and at some time, he'd passed from friendship into ... Go ahead – say it.  He'd never shied away from the truth before, had he?  Somehow –

"Captain?"  Trip had awoken.  Archer started slightly, and then looked down into those blue eyes.  Trip looked away; obviously he was unsure of how to react to this.

Archer smiled at him.  Keeping his voice light and casual, he said, "Hey.  How'd you sleep?"

Trip looked up hesitantly.  He saw nothing but warmth in Archer's eyes.  He could feel the Captain gently stroking his shoulders and back, and strangely enough, he found that touch brought him comfort than otherwise.  "Pretty good," he said, surprised.  "I didn't think I would, but I did."  He yawned.

"Still tired?"

He nodded.

"Then go back to sleep, Trip.  God knows you need the rest."

He looked questioningly at Archer.  "It's okay," the Captain told him.  "Really," he added, when Trip still hesitated.

Slowly, he placed his head back on Archer's chest.  It was funny – but this felt right somehow, didn't it?  He could feel the Captain's steady breathing, and that he was still gently stroking his back.  It was strange.  But good.

"Close your eyes," Archer said.

He'd always obeyed orders, hadn't he?  This was no time to start doing otherwise.  He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax.  The Captain kept gently stroking his back, and Trip found himself enjoying the touch.  It's all very weird, he thought again, just before sleep overtook him once again.

When he woke, much later, he was alone.  Not surprising, really.  After all, he was the one on sick leave, not the Captain.  He lay quietly for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.  He'd slept better this morning than he had for ages.  Except for the camping trip last week.  He'd thought it was the fresh air that had been responsible.  Obviously, that was not the case here, was it?  The only other constant in this particular equation was the presence of the Captain.  No.  Strike that.  The Captain had been sleeping in the same room with him for weeks. 

But not in the same bed.

He exhaled.  Well, this was an eye-opener, wasn't it?

He welcomed the chance to seize on and think about something other than what he had been through on Tasumi, but this was a damned odd line of thought he was pursuing.

Jonathon Archer.

Seemed like there wasn't a time in his life when he hadn't known this man.  That wasn't true of course, but it still seemed that way.

He could still recall their first meeting, clear as day.  God, he'd gone and put his foot into it that day, hadn't he?  Lipping off to the Vulcans like that.  And with Forrest standing right there, too.  But the Captain – no, he was actually a Commander then – hadn't reprimanded him at all. 

And then having a beer together that night.  Brother, Robinson and Archer had really gone at it.  Beat the hell out of each other.  And yet, just a few days later, they'd worked together to prove that Henry Archer's engine wasn't the heap of junk the Vulcans claimed it was.  He'd helped out there, too.  Damned lucky all three of them hadn't been drummed out of Starfleet for that little stunt.

Instead of a court-martial, their respective careers had flourished.  Both of them had found themselves on the fast track.  Only a few years later, he had achieved the rank of Commander, and more importantly, Chief Engineer of Enterprise, while Archer had become her captain.

But in the years leading up to that, they'd had some times together, hadn't they?  Survival training at Alice Springs.  He'd have gone crazy from the heat and the damned flies if Archer hadn't been there to encourage him to tough it out.  And the deep space training?  Hell, Archer had saved his life.  Only Archer could have reached him through the haze of nitrogen narcosis, and kept him from literally blowing his own head off.

And all those long, long hours getting Enterprise reading.  There were times when he'd been ready to bang his head against the nearest bulkhead because of his frustration.  But it seemed that the Captain was always there, encouraging him, calming him down, helping him slog through it and solve all the endless problems involved in building the first long-range warp 5 starship.

Yeah.  A lot of time together.  It was the Captain who kept him grounded, kept him from flying off the handle, kept him from allowing his own impulsiveness to lead him into trouble.

When he'd heard Archer's voice in that room in the Volasha's house, he'd honestly thought he was dreaming.  And when he understood that it was no dream, the realization that Archer had come to take him home was like a ray of bright light, piercing the despair that had covered him like a blanket.

He had no idea what it had cost the Captain to behave in a way so contrary to his nature while downplanet, but he suspected that the price Archer had paid had been a high one. 

As far as he was concerned, though, he would have let Archer hang him by the thumbs all night if it had meant being able to leave at the end of it.  Having sex with the Captain had been strange, but nowhere near as bad as his other encounters.

He puzzled over that for a moment, then realized that the difference was quite a simple one, really:  unlike everyone else who'd had him, the Captain actually cared about what happened to him.

He turned on his side, dislodging Porthos, who responded with an affronted yelp.  "Sorry," he muttered, still lost in thought.

But I don't swing that way, a small voice protested.  Yeah, okay – he'd had sex with men, but that wasn't by choice.  He shuddered slightly – better not get on that track again.  So, as far as he was concerned, all of that didn't count.  Mind you, when he came to think of it, he'd also had a lot of non-consensual sex with women, too, lately.  Still, he definitely preferred women.

Wait a minute, that voice objected.  'Preferred'?  What the hell does that mean?

He rolled onto his back again, stared at the ceiling, exhaled.  He remembered reading somewhere that human beings tended to have a "range" when it came to sexual attraction.  Some people had their own private compass set directly at north or south, however the case may be, but most people had a few degrees of what you might call "latitude" in these matters.

This wasn't about sex, though, was it?  Right now, his interest in that particular activity was in the minus range.  Phlox had told him that a "lowered libido" was a natural outcome of his PSTD, depression and recent events in his life.  Sounded reasonable, although Trip sometimes suspected it was just because he was exhausted.  "Tuckered out", you might say.  He smiled slightly, then sobered again.

If not about sex, then what?  About something far more dangerous than a bout of slap-and-tickle, it seemed.  Jonathon Archer had been his best friend for what had seemed like forever.  That was something he could wrap his head around.  But now, things had changed.  It had been so subtle, happened so slowly, that he really hadn't noticed it, until being kidnapped and sold into slavery – melodramatic but true – had brought this forcibly to his attention.

Somehow, somewhere and at some time, he'd gone from friendship to –

"Commander?"

He started slightly, and looked over to see Dr. Phlox giving him his usual benign regard.

"Doc. Hi."

"Am I disturbing you?"

"No.  Just doing a little wool-gathering."

"I see."

I really doubt it, Doc, Trip thought with tired amusement, I really do.

*  *  *

"Trip?"  Archer looked around, faintly alarmed.  As far as he could see, their quarters were empty.  Trip's wheelchair still sat at the end of his bed, and Archer knew that the engineer was still not able to walk for any great distance, so it was doubtful he was trundling around the ship somewhere.

Then he heard the sound of water running, and let out a sigh that was one of mingled relief and exasperation.  He went to the bathroom, looked in.

Trip was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, while a stream of water pounded his back.

"Trip," Archer said gently.

His friend started, opened his eyes.  "Captain."

Archer turned the water off, threw him a towel.  "Come on."

Drying himself off, Trip followed him back to his bed.  He sat on the bedside, rubbing his hair, looked up, and saw Archer's regard on him.

"My back ached," he explained.

Archer sighed.  "Trip," he said, "I really don't want you taking showers unattended.  If you get dizzy, you could fall.  Hurt yourself."

Trip sighed in turn.  "Do I have to, Captain?"

"I'd prefer it if you did, Trip.  I know it's annoying, and believe me, I'm not happy about asking you to give up your privacy, but until you're better, I want you to promise me.  Someone watching you."

Trip exhaled slowly.  "All right.  I promise."

"It should be only for a little while longer," Archer said encouragingly.  "Once you're no longer having any dizzy spells, it won't be necessary.  Okay?"

"Okay."

"Lay down," Archer told him.  He brought out some of Phlox's muscle relaxant.  "Let's see if we can ease that aching back."

*  *  *

Archer put his book down.  Bedtime.  And now, he had a decision to make.  Did he go to his own bed, or climb in with Trip?

He couldn't believe he was actually asking this question, but he was.  He considered.  He could go to his own bed, but the chances were more than good that he'd end up over with Trip sometime during the night because of Trip's nightmares.  It would certainly be more efficient to stay in one place, wouldn't it?

But what would Trip think?  He was half asleep right now.  What would his reaction be if his Captain just strolled over there and hopped into bed with him?  And especially considering everything he'd been through, too.  Well, if Trip objected, that would be it.  He wouldn't push it.

He closed the book, dimmed the lights, and then walked over to the engineer's bedside.  Trip looked up at him drowsily.  "Bedtime?"

"Yep."

"'Kay."

Archer sat on the bedside, waited for Trip to demand just what the hell he thought he was doing.  Instead, Trip simply shifted over, making room for him.  He was amused to note that Porthos also moved.

Silently, he lay down, pulled the blankets up over both of them.  Trip turned on his side, curled up against him.  "G'night," he murmured.

"Night, Trip."

There was no answer.  He looked over.  Trip, his head resting on Archer's shoulder, was already sound asleep.  Lightly, he stroked the younger man's hair.

Will wonders never cease, he thought, then stretched out and fell fast asleep himself.

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